The Secret of Cherokee Cove

“You don’t have to stay with me,” Dana said quickly. “Doyle told me you’d probably try but to remind you your big case is important and I’m a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Go get some rest so you can kick butt in court Monday.”

After Laney’s taillights disappeared around the bend, Dana turned to look at Nix. “I do appreciate the offer to stay, but—”

“But you’re a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun?”

She patted her purse. “Glock 17.”

“Nice.” He bent a little closer to her, lowering his voice. “I have a sweet Colt 1911 .45 caliber with a rosewood grip, and if you quit trying to get rid of me, I might let you hold it.”

A dangerous look glittered in her eyes. “You’re trying to tempt me with an offer to handle your weapon?”

He nearly swallowed his tongue.

She smiled the smile of a woman who knew she’d scored a direct hit. “You can stay,” she said almost regally. “We’ll negotiate weapon-handling terms later.”

She headed up the porch steps and entered her brother’s house, leaving Nix to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

DANA GAVE NIX the guest room, taking her brother’s bedroom for herself. As she was trying to figure out what part of the chaos to tackle first, Nix knocked on the door frame. He paused in the doorway, eyeing the mess with a grimace. “Let me help you straighten up.”

“It’s okay. I can get it.”

“You should take a shower and clean the blood out of your hair,” he said firmly. “Go ahead. I’ll see how far I can get by the time you’re done.”

She was too tired and sore to argue. The bruises on her shoulders were beginning to ache, and the blood in her hair was giving off an unpleasant metallic odor she would be happy to get rid of. She took her whole suitcase into the bathroom down the hall, pleased to see that the room conformed to tourist mountain cabin standards by being roomy and, even better, boasting a whirlpool tub with a multisetting handheld showerhead.

She tried to hurry through her bath, but the soothing pulse of the showerhead’s massage setting against her bruised shoulders was seductive, keeping her in the tub longer than she’d intended. She forced herself out of the hot spray finally, gritting her teeth against the faint chill of the bathroom on her wet skin, and hurried through drying off and dressing.

But by the time she reached Doyle’s bedroom, Nix had finished most of the cleanup, changing the bedsheets and returning most of the clothes back to their drawers. “There were a few things smudged with fingerprint powder,” he told her as he wiped down the dresser surface with a damp rag. “I put those and the sheets in the clothes basket in the laundry room.”

“Where’s the laundry room?” she asked, tugging her robe more tightly around her as Nix’s dark-eyed gaze dropped to where the robe lapels gaped open to reveal her thin nightgown.

His gaze snapped back up to meet hers. “Just off the kitchen.”

“Ah.”

“Was the water hot enough?”

She nodded. “Bathroom’s amazing. What is this place, one of those tourist cabins?”

“Actually, I think it may be,” Nix answered, giving the chest of drawers a final swipe of the dust rag. “Back about ten years ago, some guy bought up a lot of this land and built a bunch of cabins, hoping to bring more tourism to this area. But it’s just too far off the beaten path, and Bitterwood doesn’t have enough attractions to compete with places like Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge or Bryson City. So the guy had to sell off a bunch of these cabins for a song just to keep his real-estate business from going belly-up. Doyle probably got a decent deal on the place. Is he buying or renting, do you know?”

“Buying,” she answered. “He said it wouldn’t look good for the chief of police to rent a place. Might make it seem like he wasn’t planning to stick around for the long haul. Bad optics.”

Nix’s grimace suggested he wasn’t a fan of that sort of public-service politics. Dana didn’t like it much herself, though being a federal law enforcement agent meant that some level of politics was unavoidable.

“Thanks for cleaning up,” she added, waving her hand toward the much neater room.

“Not a problem.”

As Nix took a step toward the bedroom door, Dana caught his arm, stilling his movement. He looked down at her hand, then slowly lifted his gaze back to her face. Heat radiated from his tall, broad-shouldered body, washing over her in a flood that set her own skin tingling.

“Yes?” His voice was like silk over sandpaper.

“You know something about my mother, don’t you?”

Nix recoiled slightly, the movement clearly involuntary. Dana stared at him, watched the color suffuse his face as his gaze slid.

Her pulse notched upward, fueled by a river of dread flowing through her veins to settle in the center of her chest. She took her own step backward, until her knees hit the edge of Doyle’s bed and she sat abruptly, curling her fingers into the bedspread.

“What did my mother do?” she asked, her voice tight with alarm.

Nix made himself look at her, his dark gaze unfathomable. “If the story I’ve heard all my life is true, she killed her own baby and tried to steal someone else’s.”

Chapter Four

Dana’s face went pale with shock at Nix’s words. She stared at him, first in stunned silence, then in a slowly simmering anger that chased the pallor from her face, replacing it with splotches of high color in her cheeks.

“That’s ludicrous.”

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t actually vouch for any of the details. All he knew was what the older people in his small community had whispered for years, quietly enough that they could pretend discretion while knowing full well that their children were listening and absorbing the cautionary tale of the teenage girl who got herself pregnant, got away with murder and eventually got herself run out of town for her sins.

“My mother was a wonderful, kind, smart and decent woman.”

“I’m sure she was,” Nix agreed, though not with enough conviction to drive the fury from Dana’s flashing eyes.

“You couldn’t possibly know anything about her. She left here before you were born.”

“Yeah, about a year before I was born,” he agreed.

She looked away from him, as if she couldn’t stand looking at him any longer. He took that as his cue to leave, backing toward the door.

“Wait,” she snapped.

He faltered to a stop.

She looked at him again, her expression more composed, though distress roiled behind her eyes. “Please sit.” She waved her hand toward the armchair by the window, next to a table holding a reading lamp and a small stack of books.

He sat in the chief’s chair and took a bracing breath before he looked at Dana again, steeling himself against her anger and pain. But she seemed to have herself completely under control now, her expression back to cool neutral, her eyes mirrors reflecting her surroundings without revealing anything that lay beneath.

“Where did you hear that story about my mother?” she asked.

She wasn’t going to let it go, he saw. Not that he should have expected her to. After all, she hadn’t chosen a career in law enforcement because she was incurious or prone to dodging conflict.