LAST SEEN...

by Carla Cassidy

  "A jack-of-all-trades," she said.

  He grinned. "And master of none."

  As he got to work on the back door, she poured them each a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table and watched him work.

  She could smell him, that male scent that she found so attractive. It was funny, although she didn't miss Kurt, there were' little, silly things she missed about having a male in the house … like the fragrance of minty shaving cream lingering in her bathroom, or a sleepy early-morning cuddle against a warm, strong body.

  She missed pouring two cups of coffee instead of one in the mornings, missed the small talk just before drifting off to sleep.

  "There," Adam said as he finished with the door. "I hope you intend to call a locksmith first thing in the morning."

  "I do." She gestured to the chair opposite hers where his coffee awaited him. "Would you like cream or sugar?"

  "No, this is fine," he assured her as he sat and wrapped his hands around the mug. "Are you all right?"

  His eyes were filled with such sweet concern that she felt a sudden sting of unexpected tears in her own eyes. She swallowed hard against them. "It's funny, I've seen some horrible things in my time as a cop, things much more horrid than a stuffed bear hanging from a tree. But I have to confess, seeing Mr. Bear hanging from that noose shook me up."

  "Of course it did." His soft, deep voice flowed over her like a welcome balm. "These bad things you've seen before … they were never so intimately personal, they were never an implied threat to people you love."

  "I just can't help but believe this is intended to harass Rachel and that Michael Rivers is behind it. It's the only thing that makes any sense." She took a sip of her coffee, then continued. "I'm going to go to Sycamore Ridge tomorrow morning and have a little chat with Michael."

  "Then I'm going with you."

  She looked at him, surprised by the firmness in his statement. "Adam, I can't ask you to do that."

  "You didn't ask." He leaned back in the chair, looking perfectly at ease and filled with confidence. "You said your partner is unavailable. I can at least tell by looking at Michael if he resembles the size and shape of the man who slammed me over the head. Besides, I can't let you go confront him alone. I can stand next to you and look menacing."

  Despite the seriousness of the events of the night and Breanna's worry, his statement struck her as funny. A burst of laughter escaped her lips. "I'm sorry." She shook her head and drew another deep breath. "You're such a nice man, Adam. I just can't imagine you looking menacing."

  The blue of his eyes darkened as his jaw muscles clenched, transforming his features into something hard and dangerous. "If somebody is threatening the people I care about, then I can not only look menacing. I can be downright menacing."

  Breanna's breath caught somewhere in the center of her chest. He looked so intense … almost dangerous, then he smiled and the threatening danger on his features transformed back to simply deadly handsome.

  "You realize you can't do anything to him. In fact you shouldn't even speak to him."

  He shrugged. "That's fine. We can let him think I'm your strong, silent, slightly pissed-off partner."

  Breanna laughed again, enjoying the release of tension the conversation brought. "All right, then as soon as the locksmith comes and fixes the lock, we'll take off for a drive to Sycamore Ridge."

  For a moment they sipped their coffee in silence.

  "I like your house," he said, breaking the silence before it became too long and uncomfortable. "Your decorating is so warm and inviting."

  A flush of pleasure swept over her at his words.

  "Thank you. I wanted to make it nice, but it was also important to me that I make it a home for Maggie. I didn't want her raised in an apartment and I managed to make a nice arrangement with the landlord." She looked at him curiously. "You mentioned that you were raised by an aunt and uncle. Did they have children of their own?"

  "A son." He shifted positions and took another sip of his coffee.

  "That must have been difficult, at eleven years old trying to become part of a family."

  "They were good people … still are. The first couple of years were a little rocky. I missed my own home, my room … my parents."

  She tried to imagine what that would be like … to be eleven years old and have everything you know and love ripped away from you. She'd been so lucky to have the support, the love of her family both throughout her childhood and now. "And were you easy to raise or tough?"

  "Easy," he said without hesitation. He frowned, a touch of pain darkening his eyes. "As good and loving as my aunt and uncle were, I worried that if I gave them any trouble or heartache, they'd send me away." His frown melted away as his lips curved up in one of his sexy grins. "I know now that it was a totally irrational fear, but it was one my cousin liked to play on."

  "That doesn't sound nice," she observed.

  He shrugged. "That's enough about me," he replied. "I heard in town that there's some kind of a powwow next weekend at the Cultural Center. Are you involved in that?"

  "Minimally, in that I will be there. Actually Maggie is part of the ceremony. She'll be one of the shell-shaker girls on Sunday." She smiled at Adam's bewilderment. "The traditional dance of the Cherokee is the Stomp Dance. There is a leader, assistants and a couple of shell-shaker girls. The girls wear leg rattles made out of turtle shells filled with pebbles."

  "Sounds fascinating," he replied. He leaned forward, bringing with him his wonderful scent. "And were you once a shell-shaker?"

  She smiled. "Both Savannah and I were shell-shakers."

  "And what about Clay? Did he have a role in the ceremonies?"

  Her smile faded as she thought of her brother. As much as she loved him and as supportive as he'd always been, she didn't feel like she really knew him. "When he was young he took part in the ceremonies and events, but when he was a teenager he refused to do anything that spoke to his Cherokee blood."

  "Why?"

  Breanna laced her fingers around her mug. "We aren't sure why. It's been a great source of pain for my mother and I think it's a source of torment for Clay, but it's something he won't talk about."

  "When your mother arrived this evening, she said something curious … about a raven?"

  "Raven Mocker." As she told him the legend about the most dreaded of all the Cherokee witches, who robbed the dying of their life, she couldn't help but notice that his curly dark hair looked like it would be soft and silky to the touch.

  She fought the impulse to reach out and tangle her fingers in his hair, pull his lips to hers and enjoy the excitement, the splendor of a first kiss.

  "I've kept you way too long," she said and stood. "It's getting really late." She suddenly needed to be away from him, was afraid that tonight she was too vulnerable, felt too alone.

  To her relief, he stood as well and together they walked to the front door. He opened the door and stepped out on the porch. She joined him there, her gaze automatically going to the big tree now devoid of strange fruit.

  "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

  "Sure. I'm a single parent and a cop. I'm strong and capable."

  He placed two fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I know all that," he said softly. His eyes were silvery from the illumination of the nearby streetlamp as he gazed at her intently.

  In that instant she knew he was going to kiss her. She knew it was foolish to allow it, knew it was a complication she didn't need in her life. However, even knowing all this, she leaned forward, lips slightly parted to accept what he offered.

  Tentatively at first, his lips touched hers, almost reverent with whisper softness. It wasn't enough. She wanted more. She reached up and did what she'd thought about doing earlier … tangled her fingers in his silky hair.

  His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer as his kiss became more confident. Masterfully, his mouth plied hers with heat as he pressed her more intimately against the leng
th of his body.

  The sensation of his strong, warm body holding her tight, and the cool night air surrounding them was erotic and as his tongue touched hers a ball of heat burst into flames in the pit of Breanna's stomach.

  His tongue swirled with hers as his hands moved up and down her back. As his hands cupped her buttocks and pressed her into him, she felt that he was fully aroused. Her knees weakened and her entire body felt like it was nothing more than liquid fire.

  It was as if foreplay had begun the moment they met and now a single, first kiss had exploded into a well of desire that threatened to consume her.

  His mouth left hers and trailed, down her neck. She dropped her head back to allow him better access to the hollows of her throat, the sensitive skin beneath her ears. Each nip and teasing touch of his lips spun her desire higher … deeper.

  She wanted him. It was as simple as that. She wanted him in her bed, holding her, making love to her. She trusted him, this man who had appeared out of nowhere. A man who had taken a brick in the head for her protection, who, when he looked at her, reminded her that she wasn't just a single parent and a cop, but a woman as well.

  It was obvious he wanted her, too. Pressed so intimately against her, it was impossible to ignore his desire. His lips captured hers once again, this time hot and hungry.

  In the back of Breanna's mind was the knowledge that the house was empty. If he came inside and stayed the night, nobody would know. Rachel was gone … Maggie wasn't home. This single night could be theirs.

  "Adam," she gasped breathlessly as the kiss ended. "Come back inside with me." She leaned back to look at his face and what she saw in his eyes only confirmed that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. "Come inside and spend the night. Make love to me."

  He seemed to stop breathing as his hungry eyes searched her face. He stepped back from her and drew a deep breath of the cool night air. "Breanna, there is nothing I'd rather do at the moment than come inside and spend the night with you."

  He dropped his arms from around her and stepped back. Immediately Breanna felt bereaved, as if his embrace had been giving her the very air she breathed and now she was lacking in oxygen.

  "But I don't want to make love to you on a night when you've had a shock and might not be making the decision under the best of circumstances." He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, then stepped back, regret darkening his features. "Believe me, Breanna, if I was certain I wasn't taking advantage of you, I'd be in your bed in a heartbeat."

  If she'd wanted him before, his words merely increased her desire for him. But she knew he was right, and a wave of embarrassment swept through her as she realized how forward she had been. "You're right," she said, looking away from him. "I'm not myself and I'm not thinking as clearly as possible."

  Again he placed fingers beneath her chin and forced her gaze to his. "I don't know about you, but the moment I met you I was attracted to you. But I don't want us to make a mistake in the heat of a moment when you aren't yourself and thinking clearly." His blue eyes were so earnest, so filled with caring, she found it impossible to maintain any embarrassment.

  Although she believed she'd wanted to make love to him, there was a part of her that was grateful he'd called a halt to the prospect. She had ridden an emotional roller coaster from the moment she'd seen Mr. Bear hanging from the tree. She wasn't sure that wasn't playing into her desire for him to stay the night.

  "We're still on for tomorrow," he said and dropped his hand from her face. "Going to Sycamore Ridge and finding Michael Rivers."

  She nodded. "As soon as the locksmith gets finished."

  He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." With those words, he turned and left her porch.

  She watched until he disappeared into his house, then she went back inside and carefully locked the door. Once again the silence of the house pressed in around her as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom.

  The house was silent, but her head was filled with chaotic noise, the sound of confusing thoughts banging against one another.

  As she undressed, she tried to make sense of her thoughts. There was no denying she was vastly attracted to Adam Spencer. From the moment she'd encountered him in her driveway in the middle of the night, she'd felt drawn to him.

  She'd felt the exact same way when she'd first met Kurt, although not quite as intense as with Adam. And, like Adam, she'd thought Kurt was a nice guy, a man of moral fiber, a man who could be depended on through thick and thin.

  She'd been horribly wrong about Kurt, and how did she know she wasn't horribly wrong about Adam? She had told herself she would never again get her heart involved with a man, she had promised herself she would never subject Maggie to a stepfather.

  He wasn't offering a lifetime commitment, a little voice whispered in her head. It was one night of desire shared, one night of passion spent. What was wrong in allowing herself that much?

  She got into her nightshirt and got into bed. Closing her eyes she replayed those moments spent in Adam's arms, with his lips so hot and hungry against her own. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to remember that she was a woman with a woman's needs. Adam had made her remember.

  She stretched against the sheets, exhaustion weighing heavy now that her hormones had settled down. She closed her eyes and had almost drifted off to sleep when the telephone rang.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  Walking away from a warm, willing Breanna was the most difficult thing Adam had ever done in his life. But he knew he couldn't make love to her without her knowing the truth about him. And the truth was he was the cousin of a man she hated.

  He entered the cottage and sank down on the sofa, waiting for the blood to stop pulsating in his veins, for his heartbeat to return to a more normal pace.

  Deciding he was better off pacing than sitting, he stood and began to move back and forth across the tiny living room floor.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Breanna. Kissing her, holding her in his arms had only managed to flame the fires of desire higher and even now he wanted nothing more than to complete what they had begun … to make love to her.

  What had Kurt told her about his family? Had he mentioned who his parents were … that he had a cousin who'd been raised with him like his brother? Adam knew Kurt often rearranged the reality of his family to suit his personal interests.

  It didn't matter what Kurt had told Breanna. Adam had to tell her the truth. The longer he put it off, the angrier she would be when he finally did tell her.

  Although he had no intention of forming any lasting relationship with her, he wasn't the kind of man to sleep with her under false pretenses. Once he told her the truth, he'd probably never have a chance to make love to her. But he'd rather never have the opportunity to be with her than to be with her with a secret between them.

  He flopped on the sofa and raked a hand through his hair in frustration. There were times he wished he could be more like his cousin, times he wished he could take his pleasure as he pleased and never suffer consequences or a pang of guilt. But he couldn't. It simply wasn't in his makeup.

  He got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. He needed to stop thinking and just go to sleep. Tomorrow he would tell Breanna the truth and face whatever consequences came.

  It didn't take him long to fall asleep and his dreams were filled with visions of Breanna. In those dreams he was in her bed and her naked skin was pressed against his. Her scent had eddied in the air, driving him half-insane.

  They'd made love with a feverish need, a wild abandon, and he awakened with the taste of her lips on his, the scent of her filling his head and the memory of his erotic dreams as vivid and fresh as if they were reality.

  It was just after six and the sun was just peeking above the horizon. He grabbed a cup of fresh-brewed coffee and sat outside on his front porch, trying to forget the dreams
of the night before.

  It was hard to believe that it was just the night before that he and Breanna and Maggie had gone for ice cream. If somebody had told him a month ago that he would take a woman and her child out for an ice-cream cone and he'd enjoy it, he would have laughed in their face.

  But he had enjoyed it. Watching Maggie maneuver a double dip of chocolate marshmallow ice cream had been a delight.

  As she'd licked and savored the frozen treat, she'd shared little bits of herself with Adam. Her favorite color was pink, but she loved purple as well. Her favorite food was chicken nuggets and, of course, ice cream.

  As she chatted, it was obvious that despite her young age she was already well educated in the ways of the Cherokee. She told him about a Cherokee marble game called Di-ga-da-yo-s-di, which was played on a field and used marbles the size of billiard balls.

  Watching Breanna eat her ice cream was a delight of another kind. With each lick of her tongue on the cone, Adam had felt his blood pressure rise just a little bit more.

  He stood and went back into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee, trying to shove sensual thoughts of Breanna from his mind.

  He returned to the porch and was still seated there sipping coffee when a panel truck with the words Lock, Stock and Barrel pulled up in front of Breanna's house.

  A thin, gangly young man got out of the driver side and loped to Breanna's front door. He was invited inside and returned to his van a few minutes later. Armed with a toolbox, he went back inside.

  Adam stood and stretched, working out the kinks that had appeared while he'd sat. It wouldn't take long for an expert to change out the broken lock on Breanna's back door and when the locksmith was finished, Adam knew she'd be ready to make the drive to Sycamore Ridge.

  A half an hour later the locksmith pulled away and Adam walked over and knocked on Breanna's door. When she opened the door, concern instantly washed over him.

  She looked exhausted, with shadows beneath her eyes and her features taut and drawn. "Good morning," she said with what appeared to be a forced smile.