"What's wrong?" he asked as he followed her through the living room and into the kitchen.
"Coffee?" She gestured him to the table.
He nodded in distraction. "Breanna, has something happened?"
She poured two cups of coffee, then joined him at the table. "I got another phone call last night."
"The same as before? The lullaby?"
She nodded and wrapped her hands around her mug, as if seeking some kind of warmth. "Only, when the song finished playing, a man's voice asked me if I liked the presents he'd left for me."
"You didn't recognize the voice?"
She shook her head. "It sounded raspy and muffled, like he was trying to disguise it."
"Is that all he said?"
"That's it. He hung up before I could say anything."
Adam frowned thoughtfully. "I'm assuming you don't have caller ID."
A faint smile curved her lips. "I don't have cable television or caller ID or an answering machine. My father teases me about being stubborn when it comes to welcoming technology into my home."
"You can't afford to be stubborn right now," Adam observed. "While we're out today we'll get you a caller ID box."
"But can't people do something to block their numbers from showing up on those things?"
"Sure, but I'm hoping this nutcase isn't firing on all cylinders and will make a call without blocking the number."
"I guess it's worth a try," she agreed, then looked at her watch. "It's about an hour's drive to Sycamore Ridge. I guess we could go ahead and take off."
"Fine with me," Adam agreed. He finished his coffee and stood. "Are you sure you're up to it?"
She smiled again, this time fully. "I will be. In the best of times I'm not a morning person. I don't really fully wake up until about ten."
"Then I think it's best if I drive to Sycamore Ridge. I don't want a half-asleep woman behind the wheel of the car when I'm a passenger."
"It's a deal. Just let me get my purse and I'm ready to go."
Minutes later they were in Adam's car headed away from Cherokee Corners. The scent of her perfume filled the small confines of the car and he found himself drawing deep breaths to savor the attractive smell.
In spite of the dark smudges beneath her eyes that indicated a lack of sleep the night before, she grew more animated with each mile that passed.
Adam realized it was going to be difficult keeping things light and easy between them when all he wanted to do was touch her warm skin once again, taste the sweet honey of her mouth.
"Maggie called me first thing this morning and told me that Grandma and Grandpa were fighting over what to have for breakfast. Apparently my mother had already thrown the frying pan at my father."
Adam glanced at her in surprise. "And that doesn't upset you … upset Maggie?"
"My parents' battles are legendary in Cherokee Corners. Maggie knows they fuss and fight and that's just the way they are. By the time she hung up the phone Mom was using the skillet to fry up bacon and eggs."
"I never heard my aunt and uncle exchange a cross word with one another," he said. Although he couldn't count the times he'd heard his aunt cry and his uncle curse over Kurt's antics.
"Different strokes for different folks," she replied. "Some people like the stimulation of good-natured arguments and fighting. Personally, I'd prefer a relationship more like your aunt and uncle's … if I was looking for a relationship, which I'm not."
"Why not?" he asked and cast her another curious glance. "I mean, you're young and beautiful and I'm sure there are lots of men in Cherokee Corners who would like to have a relationship with you." As these words left his lips, he felt a pang of jealousy as he thought of her with any man other than himself.
"I tried the relationship thing once and found it distinctly unpleasant."
"But that doesn't mean another relationship would be unpleasant," he protested.
"Logically, I know that," she agreed softly. She stared out the passenger window for a long moment, then continued. "The idea of doing the dating game is repugnant to me, especially as long as Maggie is so young. I don't want her to be a kid that has 'uncles' drifting in and out of her life."
She turned back to look at him, her dark eyes hinting at inner pain. "Even though logically, I know not all men are like Kurt, I gave him my heart and my trust and he betrayed me. It's hard to trust again, to put your heart on the line and be vulnerable." She cocked her head and eyed him curiously. "So what's your story? You've said you have no plans for a wife or children. Did your heart get kicked by a hardhearted woman?"
"No, nothing like that." He frowned, trying to figure out how to reply to her, trying to look deep within himself to find the answer. "I don't know, I guess I haven't had much time for any kind of a real relationship. My aunt and uncle loaned me the money to start up my accounting firm and my focus for the past several years has been on that. I finally managed to pay them back last year."
"But that doesn't answer why you don't want a wife and kids." She grinned teasingly. "You're young and handsome. I'm sure there are lots of women who would want a relationship with you."
He laughed. "Maybe there'd be women chasing me down if I was a little more exciting. Women seem to like bad boys. I'm an accountant, for crying out loud."
She laughed as well, her gaze warm on him. "I think bad boys have been greatly overrated."
"Definitely," he agreed and once again focused his attention on the road.
How could he begin to explain that he'd decided long ago never to have children who could break his heart, dash his dreams, destroy his hopes for them?
How could he explain to her that there had never been time for women of his own, that in the hours he wasn't at his office or sleeping, he was dealing with Kurt's messes. Bailing him out of jail, helping him pay legal fees, hiding him from jealous husbands, Adam had had no chance to have a life of his own, he was too busy trying to keep Kurt out of trouble.
So what was stopping him now? He had no answer and was somehow grateful when they pulled into the city limits of the tiny town of Sycamore Ridge, forcing him to concentrate on directions to Michael Rivers's apartment rather than the deep-seated reasons he refused to get a life-a woman-of his own.
* * *
Adrenaline raced through Breanna as Adam parked down the street from Michael Rivers's apartment building. Sycamore Ridge was a dusty, depressed town. Half of the stores on Main Street
were boarded up, their facades weathered to the color of the dust that blew in the air.
The apartment building where Michael lived was a depressing row of flat-roofed living establishments. Trash littered the front, flowing out of metal trash cans that sat near the cracked sidewalk.
Breanna made a courtesy call on her cell phone to Michael's parole officer, letting him know she intended to question Michael about some threatening phone calls. The parole officer let her know it was his day off and it was fine with him as long as he didn't have to be there.
"Now remember, you can't say or do anything. You just leave it to me," Breanna said to Adam as they got out of the car. She reached for the navy blazer she'd brought with her and put it on over her jeans and white blouse. She pulled her gun from her purse and tucked it into the blazer pocket.
"Are you expecting trouble?" Adam asked, worry lines creasing his forehead.
"No, but I know better than to go into an unknown situation unprepared." She smiled. "Don't look so worried. This is just routine stuff."
However, as she and Adam approached apartment 3D, Breanna knew this was anything but routine. She was an off-duty cop taking a civilian with her to question an ex-con without her boss's permission.
She knew the crime wasn't big enough to warrant this, but she'd be damned if she'd allow Michael Rivers to cause Rachel and herself another day of fear.
She was intensely aware of Adam next to her and she shot a surreptitious glance his way and saw that his jaw was clenched tight and his eyes were narrowed as if i
n anticipation of trouble. She had a feeling that despite his easygoing, good guy appearance, Adam was a man who could handle anything that came his way. He made her feel protected despite the fact that she was the one who had a gun in her pocket.
The door to apartment 3D had once been a burgundy color, but age and abuse had turned it into the brownish red of old blood. Breanna knocked briskly as tension ripped through her.
Michael would know her on sight. She had been instrumental in his arrest for the assault on Rachel. She'd testified at his trial. He would not be happy to see her again.
There was no answer to her knock. "Maybe he isn't home," Adam said.
"He's probably still in bed. His P.O. said he works the evening shift at a convenience store." She knocked once again more forcefully.
"Hang on," a disgruntled deep voice yelled from inside. A moment passed then the door flew open. Michael Rivers stood in the doorway, clad only in a pair of jeans he'd obviously hastily pulled on. His dark eyes narrowed as he saw Breanna.
"Hello, Michael," Breanna said. He was just as she'd remembered him, except on the day he'd been sentenced he'd had shoulder-length dark hair. Now, his head was shaved. A tattoo of a skull and crossbones decorated his upper left arm.
"What the hell do you want?" He glanced behind him, then stepped half-out of the doorway, the door held firmly in his hand.
"I just want to talk to you for a minute or two."
Michael's gaze shot to Adam. "And who the hell are you?"
"If I wanted you to know my name, I would have introduced myself," Adam said, his voice hard as Michael's gaze.
Michael snorted. "Cops … they got all the answers. So what the hell you bothering me for?"
"You been visiting Cherokee Corners? Maybe having some phone contact with Rachel?" Breanna asked.
He raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm stupid? If I go to Cherokee Corners, it's a violation of the condition of my parole and as far as getting in touch with Rachel…" He snorted again. "Not interested. I got me a new life and a new woman." He opened the door and looked back inside. "Hey, Alison, get out here."
A young, hard-looking blonde appeared in the doorway. Michael slung an arm around her slender shoulder and pulled her tightly, possessively against him. "This is Alison. We're gonna get married in a couple of months … once I'm on my feet. I don't need to talk to Rachel and I never want to step a foot into Cherokee Corners again."
"Where were you last night between the hours of seven and midnight?" Breanna asked. There was a sinking feeling deep in her heart, in her soul.
"At work. Check it out, lady cop. I worked from 5:00 p.m. until after one. If you're trying to pin something on me, you're out of gas."
"I will check it out," Breanna said coolly. "But if I find you're causing problems for Rachel or if I see the end of your nose in Cherokee Corners, I'll have you back behind bars so fast it will take two weeks for your tattoo to find you."
"You done hassling me?" he asked arrogantly.
"For now," she replied.
"But that doesn't mean we won't be back," Adam added.
Without another word, Michael pulled his girlfriend back into the apartment and slammed the door shut.
"Pleasant fellow," Adam said as they walked back to his car.
"Yeah, I guess Rachel proves your point about women having a weakness for bad boys … only in Michael's case there were no redeeming qualities whatsoever." She tried not to show her distress as she played and replayed in her mind every nuance of her conversation with Michael Rivers.
She slid into the passenger seat as Adam got in the driver's side. He started the engine, then turned to look at her. "I'm assuming you want to check out the convenience store where that punk works."
She smiled at him. "Keep this up, ace, and you'll be an excellent candidate for the police academy."
"Thanks, but I think I'll keep my day job."
"You wouldn't want to be a cop anyway. The hours are awful and the pay stinks. Besides, one day you'll paint a picture that will earn you great riches and respect in the art community."
"So where's this convenience store?" he asked abruptly.
"It should be just ahead on the left," she replied, her thoughts going back to the conversation with Michael. As much as she wanted to believe he was lying, that it had been him who had made the phone calls and hung the things in her tree, her gut instinct told her Michael had told her the truth.
"You know, I'm pretty sure Michael wasn't the man peeking into your windows," Adam said. "The man I saw was taller … bigger. Is it possible the window-peeper has nothing to do with the calls? Maybe some horny teenager or just your ordinary creep?"
"I guess it's possible," she said. "But a horny teenager or an ordinary creep wouldn't have been so quick to hit you upside the head with a brick. Whoever it was, he could have killed you."
Adam pulled into the convenience store parking lot. "It looks like we're the only customers," he said. "Maybe I'll help the local economy and buy a soda. Want one?"
"Why not?" They got out of the car and walked into the gas station quick stop. Adam went directly to the coolers in the back while Breanna asked the kid behind the counter if a manager was in.
"Hey, Joe … somebody out here wants to talk to you," the kid yelled.
A big man, belly hanging over an ornate turquoise belt, lumbered out from the back room. He offered Breanna a big smile until she flashed her badge, then his smile fell and he emitted a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, what can I do for you, Officer?"
"Michael Rivers … did he work for you last night?"
"Yeah, he was here. Worked from about five until after one."
"Were you here as well?" Breanna asked as Adam joined her at the counter, two soft drink cans in his hands.
"What's the point of having help if I got to be here all the time with them?"
"Then, how do you know he was here?" Breanna countered.
He pointed a pudgy finger to a camera in the ceiling. "Every night I load a tape and every morning I watch it. You'd be surprised how some of the hired help will try to rob you blind."
"You had problems with Rivers?" she asked.
"Nah. He shows up on time and stays late if necessary and so far he seems honest enough." He scratched his belly. "Sodas are on the house," he said to Adam, then looked back at Breanna. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"You have a copy of this past week's schedule for Michael?" she asked.
"Hang on, I can get you one." He disappeared into the back and returned a moment later with a sheet of paper.
"We appreciate your help," Breanna said and she and Adam left the store.
The minute they were back in the car and on the road to Cherokee Corners, Breanna stared at the copy of the work schedule for the convenience store. A knot of apprehension twisted in the pit of her stomach.
"According to this, on the nights and at the times I got those phone calls, Michael was at work."
"Is it possible he might have called from work?" Adam asked. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was thinking the same thing she was … if it wasn't Michael Rivers tormenting Rachel, then was it possible it was somebody trying to torment her?
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
The drive from Sycamore Ridge back to Cherokee Corners was accomplished in relative silence. Adam felt Breanna's worry wafting from her, but he had no soothing platitudes to offer her.
"It's after eleven," he said as they entered the city limits. "How about we grab some lunch out, then we can pick up that caller ID box for you."
"That sounds good," she agreed.
"You need to direct me to the best place in town for lunch."
"I'm assuming you're talking about someplace between a drive-up window and coat and tie required."
He smiled at her. "You're reading my mind." He was glad to see her return his smile, her features less tense than they'd been moments before.
"Red Rock Café on the
city square has a really nice lunch buffet," she offered.
"Then Red Rock Café it is," he agreed.
Twenty minutes later they faced each other across a table, plates heaped high in front of them. "I always eat too much when I come here." She looked at her plate as if she had no idea how all that food had gotten on it.
"I'm obviously no slouch when it comes to the 'my eyes are probably bigger than my stomach' department," he replied and gestured to his overfilled plate.
As they began to eat, it was as if they'd made an unspoken pact not to discuss anything unpleasant.
They talked of the books they had read, surprised to discover they both shared a voracious appetite for mysteries. She shared with him some of the Cherokee legends and they discussed the tragic history of the Trail of Tears.
Adam loved watching her as she talked, her features animated and her eyes shining. He envied her her strong sense of identity, the pride she took in belonging to a group of people who saw themselves as caretakers of the earth.
They lingered over coffee and he wondered if she was as reluctant as he was to walk out of the restaurant and back into the complications of life.
"Thank you," she said as they left the restaurant
"For what? You insisted we go dutch."
"Thank you for letting me ramble on about nothing to keep me from thinking about everything."
"It was purely selfish on my part," he assured her. "I enjoy listening to you."
Her gaze was soft and warm. "You're a nice man, Adam Spencer."
He wasn't a nice man, he thought a few minutes later as he watched her talking to a salesman in the phone department of a discount chain store.
He wasn't a nice man at all. As she listened to the salesman going over the features of the various caller ID products, Adam wondered when he would have the chance to kiss her lush lips again.
As she was paying for the machine they hoped would lead to the man making the phone calls … the man who had hung poor Mr. Bear by a noose, Adam wondered what it would be like to make love to her, to caress every inch of her body until she writhed with want … with need.
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