The Secret of Cherokee Cove. Paula Graves

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      Nix’s lips twitched again. “I might have emphasized the fact that you’re the chief of police and that there have been previous attempts on your life.”

      “What were they looking for?” Dana asked.

      Doyle’s gaze swung back to her. “Certainly not money.”

      She smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

      “I don’t keep any case files at home,” he added. “Although—”

      “Although what?” she prodded when he didn’t continue.

      Doyle glanced toward Nix, not answering.

      “I have a phone call to make,” Nix murmured, leaving the room almost as quietly as he’d entered it.

      Dana pulled her chair a little closer, laying her hand on her brother’s arm. “What didn’t you want Detective Nix to hear?”

      “It’s nothing, really. I don’t suppose there was any reason to try to keep it secret from him or anyone. It’s just—I’ve come across some strange information recently, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”

      “What kind of strange information?”

      Doyle’s focus tightened, and for the first time since Dana had entered the hospital room, he seemed to be fully awake. “Remember a few months ago when I arrested my chief of detectives for kidnapping a local girl?”

      “Not exactly the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget,” she said drily.

      He smiled weakly. “No, I suppose not. Anyway, during the interrogation, Bolen said something that struck me as odd when he was explaining why they’d kidnapped the girl.”

      “I thought you said it was all about putting pressure on the girl’s father to keep the Bitterwood P.D. alive and kicking.”

      “It was,” Doyle said with a nod. “But I didn’t tell you the rest of it.”

      “There’s more?”

      “A little more. See, there was a point, right before Laney and I managed to turn the tables on Bolen and his boss, that I realized they had deliberately set out to get me up there on the mountain with the missing girl.”

      Dana hadn’t heard this part of the story before. “I thought you just sort of walked into the whole mess.”

      “Not exactly. At the beginning, Craig Bolen had only agreed to go along with his boss’s plan because he thought they could let the girl go free when it was over. But when it became clear that she might have seen or heard too much, they knew they couldn’t let her live. So they needed a scapegoat.”

      “You don’t mean you were supposed to be the scapegoat.”

      Doyle shrugged, grimacing a little, as if the movement pained him. “I was new in town. I had a vested interest in keeping the police department going.”

      “That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to buy a story like that?”

      “That’s what I asked Bolen.” Doyle covered her hand where it lay on the edge of his bed. “That’s when Bolen said something strange. He told me I was a Cumberland, and everybody in Bitterwood knows the Cumberlands are crooks and swindlers and baby-killers. He said no good ever came from a Cumberland in these parts.”

      Dana frowned. “Mom’s maiden name was Cumberland.”

      “I know.”

      “She never talked much about her past.” Dana looked thoughtfully at her brother. “But we knew she came from somewhere around here, didn’t we? That’s why she and Dad were here when they had their accident.”

      “Yes. So I’ve been doing a little asking around. And while I don’t put a whole lot of stock in much of what Craig Bolen has to say these days, he was right about one thing.” Doyle’s brow furrowed as his troubled gaze met hers. “People around here seem ready to believe the Cumberlands are capable of just about anything bad.”

      * * *

      NIX CHECKED HIS WATCH, wondering how much longer Dana Massey intended to stay in the room with her brother. He’d already worked a full day and his night hadn’t exactly been uneventful. He could use some sleep.

      But if he was honest with himself, his growing impatience had less to do with going home and getting some shut-eye and more about getting another eyeful of Dana Massey’s long legs, shapely figure and intelligent green eyes.

      She is not the woman for you, he reminded himself, closing his gritty eyes against the harsh artificial light in the otherwise empty waiting room. And not just because she’s leaving town in a few days.

      He wasn’t sure that such a woman existed, for that matter. He’d gone thirty-six years without finding a woman who would put up with his cynicism or his emotional reserve. It had been easier to live with that knowledge when he was full-time military, because war was hell on marriages. He’d seen the corrosive effects of long tours of duty, the stress on families trying to stoke the home fires when any moment could bring devastating news from a world away.

      But he’d been a civilian for five years now without finding a good woman and settling down.

      What’s your excuse now, hotshot?

      “Falling asleep on me, Detective?”

      He opened his eyes at the sound of Dana’s low voice. She stood in front of him, the hint of a smile on her lips. But her amusement didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. Her night had been even worse than his, and it showed in the faint pallor beneath her tan and the dark shadows under her eyes. “You ready to go?”

      She nodded, and he pushed to his feet, falling into step with her as they headed for the elevator. She was quiet all the way to the car, buckling in without speaking. But there was an edge to her silence, hints of a gathering storm.

      It struck halfway back to Bitterwood.

      “What do you know about the Cumberlands?”

      His back stiffened for a second at the sound of the name, and he shot Dana a quick look. In the blue glow of the dashboard lights, her strong profile seemed carved in cool marble, both beautiful and unapproachable.

      He’d like to paint her like that, too, he thought.

      “Why do you ask?” he said.

      “Do you know anything about my family background?”

      He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “No.”

      “My mother’s maiden name was Tallie Cumberland. Ever heard of her?”

      The stiffness in his back returned, flowing all the way to his hands until they white-knuckled the steering wheel. The dread ran through him like ice in his blood, freezing him as if he were still that little boy from Cherokee Cove who believed every tale his mama told him, especially the scary ones.

      “Don’t even look СКАЧАТЬ