by V. R. Marks
He stared at her; or rather she assumed he was staring at her. His eyes were shielded by his dark, county-issue sunglasses. It was kind of sexy in a masculine mystery and power sort of way. She swallowed. "I'll admit the message rattled me if you admit it's been a difficult day."
"You dropped your phone and mentally turned everyone in the waiting room into suspects."
"Hey, you cleared the Shepards."
"Do you ever just cooperate?"
"Not usually," she replied with zero remorse. "Seriously, changing phones is a mistake. If he thinks he's getting under my skin with creepy messages, he'll stay focused on me. Perceived success fuels the power-hungry types."
He put the car into gear and eased out of the parking space. "So you've given up the idiot with a grudge against buildings theory?"
"Sadly yes. I liked that theory." It let her keep her independence. "It seems unlikely anyone with a beef against the court house would be inclined to find my phone number and send that kind of text."
"And refer to you as a royal."
That bothered her too. More than she intended to admit to anyone. It meant Morcos had turned a Special Forces soldier into an informant. Then or now. She shivered. Or he'd managed to outwit the computer encryption of the op somehow. Again, either back then during the op or through some traitorous connection now. She wasn't sure which scenario frightened her more.
"Can you at least take out the battery until we get you moved in to Ruth's place?"
"Sure." She removed the protective case and popped the battery out, showing him the separate pieces before tossing them into her computer bag. "Where are we going?" She'd expected him to turn back toward town, toward the motel.
"I was instructed to get my things together first."
"Ah." And wherever he lived, he didn't want to risk unwanted attention. Couldn't blame him. He probably had lots of family in the area he didn't want to expose to her current trouble.
"You do know the sniper could simply be tracking the vehicle?" His jaw clenched. Of course he knew. What was wrong with her today? She usually managed things – and people – better than this. Contrite, she apologized. "I'm not always the voice of doom."
Carson shrugged. "Stress happens." He was handling all of this with remarkable calm while she couldn't shake the image of Bart falling to the floor.
She studied the landscape, trying to distract herself. They passed a sign for hayrides, a Christmas tree stand, and a few minutes later he slowed the car for a four way stop with harvested fields on all four sides.
"Were these cotton or tobacco?" When she'd first arrived in the area, she'd found the farmland charming. It seemed like they grew everything from apples to zucchini out here. She wasn't a stranger to the process, having helped with her grandmother's productive garden plot in a corner of their small back yard in the city, but real agriculture and the community attitude was vastly different.
"These were all cotton."
"Hmm."
"There's a cotton museum over in Bishopville if you want a history lesson."
She'd been through Bishopville a couple of times on errands for RCI, and remembered seeing a small sign for the cotton museum. No way it would compare to the museums she'd grown up with in New York. The entire town of Bishopville could probably fit in one wing of the Met with room to spare.
"I'd like that."
"You're serious?"
"I enjoy a good museum." If cotton was all the history she could get her hands on right now, she'd make the most of it. "Has to be a good distraction, right?" Not that she wanted a distraction as much as she wanted a real-time location of Morcos and his sniper pal.
"I guess. For about five minutes."
"It doesn't excite you because you grew up here, but I'm going with the 'when in Rome' philosophy."
He turned off the road onto a gravel track shaded by a canopy of trees. "You seem better suited to Rome than Haleswood."
"Is that some sort of crack on my ancestry?"
A laugh rumbled out of him. Or maybe it was a sigh that got tumbled around by the bumpy road.
As they emerged from the trees, she forgot any cracks about ancestry and gasped at the sweet little house with gingerbread detailing perfectly framed by green topiaries. Low hedges framed flower beds that were dormant under a fresh layer of red cypress mulch now, but she could imagine them bursting with color the rest of the year.
"You live here?" It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
"Curse of the oldest," he said with a wry smile.
"What curse? It's charming."
"It's time consuming. My grandfather built it for my grandmother when they married and worked on it all his life. The house has become an ongoing project for all of their kids and grandkids."
"And the oldest?"
"Gets to learn the value of home ownership and all the maintenance effort that goes with it."
"Family matters."
"Yeah," he said, getting out of the car.
She understood the importance and value of family. In fact, she was grateful for that common denominator connecting her big city past with her current small town situation. She thought it might be the one element that helped her fit in and kept her from going stir crazy around here.
Following him to the porch, she thought the Morris family did excellent work. The steps didn't creak, the paint wasn't chipped, and the windows gleamed. "You've put in a lot of time."
"Tell me about it. The oldest kid does get the benefit of free labor and is always the job supervisor." He grinned, clearly pleased with a provision he'd used without regret.
"Does the second in command do the gardening? Those topiaries are fun."
He glanced back over his shoulder as he pushed open the front door. "That's my grandma's influence. Again, we all have to learn. My grandparents are do-it-yourself types with a wide streak of whimsy."
"I like them."
"The grandparents or the plants?"
"Both," she said, with a grin. A sudden rush of happy barking from the back of the house had her hesitating on the doorstep. "Should I wait for introductions?"
"You're safe with me," Carson said, over the canine greeting. He'd dropped to one knee, letting a dark spaniel turn in ecstatic circles, roll onto his back for a belly rub, and then jump up to repeat the process. "This is Sheldon."
She took a step closer. "Nice to meet you, Sheldon."
At the sound of her voice, the dog glanced up at her with an expression that could only be defined as a smile. He looked to Carson and at some signal she didn't see, the dog rushed forward. She leaned down and got a face full of wet dog nose.
"No licking."
She didn't care and it seemed to make the dog happier. "He's fine."
"Give him an inch, he'll take a mile," Carson warned.
"That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" She talked a little nonsense while she stroked the sleek body and soft ears. "He's gorgeous. What breed?"
"He's a Boykin Spaniel." He snapped his fingers and the dog rushed to his side, butt wriggling. "Let the lady breathe."
"I wouldn't think your job allows for a dog."
"Maybe in a busier office you'd be right. But he's my buddy. Softest mouth and fastest learner of his litter."
"Those are good things?"
"Definitely." Carson was grinning now, an expression she found too charming. "You wouldn't know it now, but he's silent and still in the boat when we're duck hunting."
She'd have to take that on faith since Sheldon didn't seem inclined to exhibit calm anytime soon.
"Let me give him a run while I pack."
With another of those imperceptible signals, Sheldon bolted out the front door and Eva took a minute to look around.
From the outside appearance, she expected softer furnishings in a cottage style with floral chintz and an abundance of throw pillows. Instead, the sleek, dark leather sofa and oversized chair cozied up to the brick fireplace were a welcome surprise. She could easily picture Carson st
retched out, beer in hand and a basketball game on the flat screen television.
An oak drop-leaf dinette set had the place of honor in front of the other front window and the pale cabinets in the galley kitchen looked as conscientiously maintained as the rest of the house.
"This is a really nice place." Shannon must love it here. The thought made her twitchy.
"It works." He quirked an eyebrow. "Make yourself at home. I won't be long."
The urge to follow him back and see how he'd decorated his bedroom came out of nowhere. She shoved the errant train of thought off the track. His most personal space was absolutely none of her business. As a diversion, she studied a collection of photos near the fireplace. The age and style of the pictures reminded her of her own family.
She'd planned to go home for Christmas, if only to get away from the love-struck Ross and Rick and their brides to be. But now she was stuck. No way she'd put anyone back home in Bakr's sights, it was bad enough Haleswood citizens were exposed by her proximity.
She rubbed her arms as her skin prickled with a sudden chill. If he'd dug up her cell phone number it wasn't a big stretch that he might have already tracked down where she came from.
She reached for her phone, momentarily forgetting it was in pieces in the car. There had to be a way to warn her family. Stop. Ross would have handled both the necessary notification as well as a security team as soon as he'd determined the threat was legit. Panic was exactly what Bakr wanted from her. From any of his victims. It was his standard operating procedure. He'd already used fear tactics to instigate action by following a worried Bart right to her office. She couldn't keep getting sucked in – wouldn't cave to the victim mentality.
"All set."
She jumped at the sound of Carson's voice. "Great."
"Sorry to startle you." Carson studied her for a moment. Her eyes were wide and haunted and her face was pale. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the back of the chair. "Did you get another text message?"
"What?" She glanced down and cleared her throat. "No. The phone's still in pieces in the car. I'm just lost in thought."
"You'll make this harder on both of us if you lie to me."
"I don't lie," she snapped, shooting him with a scowl cold enough to freeze an ocean.
He stared back, grateful his sisters had given him a measure of immunity against lethal gazes.
"Withholding information for security purposes isn't lying," she said. "And I haven't even done that. Besides, my phone's out of commission, remember?" She spread her hands wide and turned a circle.
The move did nothing but tempt him. Between the body and attitude, she'd tempt a saint. This wasn't the time, if only because they were too close to his bedroom and he could too easily picture her there, her dark hair fanned across his pillow.
"Something spooked you." He motioned for her to lead the way to the door, a little concerned she didn't grumble over his wording. Whistling for Sheldon, he recognized her dodging the question as she bent to love on the dog when he came racing around from the back of the house.
"He's not coming with us?"
"No." Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? "My brother will pick him up and take care of him for me until this is over." He tried to sound confident it would be over and quickly. It was obvious by the tension in her face that she wasn't happy about disrupting lives.
"So tell me what spooked you," he repeated, locking the door behind them.
"Points for tenacity," she said, with a weak smile. "I had a moment. Thought I should warn my family." She turned toward the car. "What if he did more than find my cell phone number?"
"Such as?"
"What if he found my family already? What if he's cloned the phone?"
He'd never seen her rattled like this. She was always so steady, so untouchable with her immense self-confidence that bordered on cocky. One of them needed to be logical and under the circumstances, it looked like it fell to him. "Has anyone been hovering close enough to do that?"
"No. But everyone hovers in this town. Maybe he paid someone to do it."
"Highly unlikely." He tossed his bag into the back seat before sliding behind the wheel.
In the passenger seat, she practically vibrated with tension. "I know. But what if he's managed to hack my personal information or the RCI records?"
"Then he's a step ahead and there's nothing you can do about it."
"And I thought I was the voice of doom." She bounced her palm against her thigh. "Point taken. I'm sure Ross is handling it, but I just want to warn them, you know? But if I try, I'm afraid that will give Morcos an opening if he doesn't have the information."
Carson could practically hear her teeth grinding. "I get the impression you don't do afraid."
"Almost never."
His grandmother always insisted they tackle trouble head on, no matter how simple or complex the problem. Eva was on the complex end of the trouble scale when her days didn't involve old enemies and new snipers. "When was the last time?"
"Can't remember," she mumbled.
He laughed. "You said you didn't lie."
"I don't like you much right now."
Did that mean she liked him at other times? It was the wrong detail to seize on and he felt like the awkward kid in school for doing so now. "A common complaint in my line of work. Answer the question."
"The last time I was afraid was on an assignment."
"Which you can't talk about because it's still classified." He felt the long look she sent his way, but he kept his eyes on the road.
"I'm not going to apologize for my career."
"No one's asking you to. I was going to ask what helped you over the fear factor the last time you were afraid."
"Bart."
Carson gripped the steering wheel, telling himself it didn't matter. He had no claim on her. Just a significant interest. A crush really. And wasn't that a demeaning admission?
"And the rest of the team," she added, "even the night I screwed up the analysis."
He didn't know all the details, but he knew something about her after keeping an eye on her these past weeks. She didn't jump to conclusions. She was thorough, no matter the size of the task. He thought this whole thing sounded like a set up, but figured she wouldn't want his opinion. Being a deputy meant challenges and sacrifice, but he knew it couldn't compare to what she'd gone through to make a covert Army team.
"So how did Bart help you through?"
She toyed with her necklace, sliding the pendant over the chain. "He completed the mission without getting dead."
She was making this difficult on purpose and he should accept the cues and back off. His job was to stick with her and keep her safe. Emotional support wasn't on his to-do list and she clearly didn't want it.
He turned off Main Street into the motel parking lot and pulled to a stop in front of her room.
"You can wait here."
"Thanks, but you're stuck with me."
She laughed. "Ross has a bark much worse than his bite."
"Doesn't matter." And he didn't believe her. "You forget I grew up with him."
Her eyes danced with mischief. "Maybe our time together will pay off. Will you tell me his deep, dark secrets?"
"Only the ones that don't incriminate me," he said following her into the motel room.
That sultry laugh rolled over him again. He closed the door and planted his feet before he did something rash like spin her around and kiss her. It didn't take a vivid imagination to know that would backfire.
He studied the room, if only to keep from watching the way she moved as she gathered her belongings. The bed was perfectly made and he knew it wasn't because of the maid. Various chargers and cords were lined up on the edge of the desk and the few clothes on hangers were organized left to right by type and color. "You could have rented a real place."
She shrugged. "My stuff was already here. They cut me a weekly rate since I didn't want maid service daily."
He'd he
ard that through the grapevine but decided she'd rather not know that detail. She packed swiftly with an efficiency he appreciated. The longer they were out, the more he worried about the sniper. He checked his phone, but hadn't missed any messages.
Where was he hiding and who was pulling his strings? "Do you think the sniper and the guy sending you text messages are the same person?"
"No. Morcos hired someone, likely a team, to tail Bart in an attempt to find me or torture me with his death."
"How can you be so sure?"
She brushed by him on the way to the bathroom. "Because Bakr doesn't have the patience or the skill to make the shot that took Bart down today. But he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to play mind games. Hence they aren't the same person."
"You don't think he can change?"
"Not a chance. He doesn't do the wet work. His type considers it a menial task."
"Today's sniper was no slouch." All the more worrisome that no one had spotted him anywhere in town yet.
She zipped up her suitcase. "Is there anyone in town – someone not a stranger – who could have taken that shot?"
He'd been wondering that himself. "No one in Haleswood has any reason to take a shot at you for any price."
"That we know of. Sheriff Cochran should check recently filed missing persons reports."
"Trust me, if someone isn't where they're supposed to be, we find out at the Rooster before anyone has time to file a report."
"Putting a bullet through a window might have been a ransom payment."
"Come, on. You're suggesting a pretty sophisticated and detailed network in a short amount of time."
"That happens to be Bakr's specialty." Her shoulders slumped. "Call it charisma with a life-threatening edge, he inspires a certain loyalty. As for time, that's irrelevant. For all we know he's been working on this since the day I screwed up that rescue.
"Following the idea that he hired someone local…" Her voice trailed off while her fingers worked the pendant back and forth again. "That implies he didn't need to follow Bart to find me."
A thought which was obviously taking a toll on her. "Let's get to Ruth's place and then you can figure it out."
