by Rita Herron
JOHN SPOTTED A SILHOUETTE of a man running through the woods and chased him through the trees. The man turned and fired at him, and John ducked behind an oak and fired back.
The bullet pinged an evergreen beside him, but the man skidded down the embankment, sending rocks skittering. John vaulted forward to follow him. By the time he made it to the top of the embankment, the sound of a car engine roared to life. He jogged down the hill, sliding as his feet skidded on the wet pine straw and the car raced away.
Dammit.
He pushed to his feet and fired through the clearing, then chased after the car and fired again, trying to get a read on the license plate, but it was too far away. His breath rushed out as he jogged faster but the car accelerated, tires squealing, slinging gravel at him as it disappeared around the curve.
He cursed again and lowered his weapon. There was no way in hell he could catch the guy on foot, and by the time he raced back to his car, the vehicle would be miles away.
Furious, he turned and climbed back up the hill, then wove through the woods toward Sam’s. By the time he reached the clearing and her house, the thick smoke was diminishing, and the firefighters had gotten the situation under control. The acrid scent of the charred wood still filled the air though, and he spotted Sam pacing with the baby in the driveway near the fire engine.
The first strains of morning bled through the sky as the sun fought its way through the storm clouds. Sam suddenly pivoted, saw him and ran toward him, hugging the baby to her.
Relief softened the fear in her eyes, and she flew at him. “John, my God, I heard the shots and thought you might be hurt.”
His gut tightened, and he reached out and pulled her closer to him. “No, I’m fine. I chased him through the woods, but he escaped.”
A frown marred her face. “So he was watching?”
“I’m afraid so.” He stroked her arm, the image of what could have happened tonight taunting him. “Sam, I want you and Emmie in a safe house until we find this guy.”
“No,” Sam said. “I’m not running. I want to find Honey.”
“Listen to me,” he said, then pressed a hand to her cheek. “This guy has tried to kill you more than once. I want you safe so I can investigate.”
She cut her eyes toward the house where the evidence of just how dangerous the situation was dared her to argue. With a shaky breath, she trailed her finger along the baby’s soft blond curls. “No, we’ll take Emmie someplace safe. Then I’m going to help you find Honey.”
He studied her for a long tension-filled moment. “Where would you put the baby? With Miss Mazie?”
She sighed, distress heavy in the sound. “Only if you can put a guard on her. I don’t want this guy to track her there and hurt Miss Mazie.”
“That I can do,” he said. “We’ll pull a fake, leave the baby with Miss Mazie and a guard, and make this guy think we still have her. Then if he comes after us, we’ll be ready.”
The fire inspector approached them, and John pulled away from her and shook the man’s hand. “Dave, thanks for coming out. What did you find?”
The gray-haired man frowned. “Definite signs of arson. It looks like the perp doused some old rags in kerosene, then lit them against the porch. We’ll collect what forensics we can and take it to the lab.”
“Thanks.”
The firefighters rolled up the hose and gathered their equipment, and John and Sam walked back up to the house. “There’s probably water damage now,” John said. “You’ll have to contact your insurance company.”
“I’m not worried about the house,” Sam said. “I just want to stop this guy and find Honey.”
“Let’s go in, shower and pack a bag. Then we’ll talk to Miss Mazie and contact the guy Honey met up with in Alabama.”
He led her around to the back door and they went inside. When Sam saw the water damage in the foyer, her face clouded with anguish. John silently vowed to make it up to her, and to see a smile on her face before he left Butterville.
SAM TUCKED EMMIE BACK into the portable crib and covered her up, then hurried to the shower. Hopefully the baby would be safe at Miss Mazie’s so she and John could figure out what was going on and find Honey and her little boy.
She undressed, stepped into the shower, then scrubbed her body and hair, hoping to alleviate the scent of smoke clinging to her skin. Her nerves pinged back and forth as she replayed the evening and the fire.
And that gunshot—for a moment she’d imagined John bleeding and dying in the woods, all because he’d rushed into the dark to protect her and Honey’s daughter. Emotions had nearly overwhelmed her. But she’d maintained her control in front of the firemen and John.
But alone in the shower, the pent-up emotions raged to the surface, and she allowed the tears to fall. Her body shook with sobs, and she leaned against the shower wall and breathed deeply as the warm water sluiced over her, soothing away the aches from lack of sleep and the anxiety riddling her.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, purging her emotions, but the water began to get cold and eventually she calmed, flipped off the water and climbed from the shower. Chilled, she dried off quickly, then pulled on her thick terry cloth robe, combed through her wet hair and blew it dry, letting the long strands fall around her shoulders. Knowing that John was probably waiting on her downstairs, she stepped into her bedroom, but the door to the hall was open, and John stood inside the doorway, a feral expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Panic stabbed her. “Did something happen? Did you hear news about Honey?”
“No, Sam, no news.” He stared at her for a long moment, his hands fisted beside him, his expression tortured. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, although inside she felt as if she were wilting, as if she might crumble again any minute. She didn’t like that feeling and folded her arms, then turned away. She dealt with emotional situations and traumatic family relationships in a professional capacity, but none of them hit as close to home as this one.
“Sam…”
She closed her eyes, battling more emotions, then suddenly felt John move up behind her. He gently gripped her arms and turned her around to face him. She sighed shakily, and stiffened, but he made a guttural noise deep in his throat.
“God, Sam…”
Her gaze swung up to his, and the intensity in his dark eyes sucker punched her. A strength and powerful protectiveness radiated from him as he enveloped her in his arms.
Sam leaned into him, her heart stuttering. His heat felt heavenly, his touch wonderful, soothing, titillating against her shivering body, his scent erotic and so enticing that when he lifted her chin with his thumb and caressed her jaw, she parted her lips, closed her eyes and imagined kissing him.
A second later, his lips touched hers, and he slid his hands to her waist and pulled her up against him as he claimed her mouth with his.
Chapter Ten
John pressed his lips over Sam’s, tasting her stubborn sweetness as he pulled her firmly against him. Her plump breasts teased his chest, her hips flaring enticingly beneath his hands as his hard length brushed her abdomen.
A soft purr of desire sounded from her throat, spiking his hunger, and he deepened the kiss, probing her mouth with his tongue. She parted her lips and welcomed him inside with another purr that sent his pulse racing. He wanted to strip that damn robe and feel her bare skin beneath his fingers. A surge of longing ripped through him, and he stroked her waist through the robe, sliding his hand down against her hip to press her more firmly against his sex.
She moved subtly against him as if she felt his arousal and liked it, and he clutched her tighter, brushing his tongue along her lips, then dropping a kiss on her ear and lower to her neck.
Her freshly bathed skin tasted like strawberries, exotic woman and stubbornness, all the wonderful things that made Sam so special. He suckled her neck gently, and she threaded her fingers in his hair pulling him closer and angling her neck to offer him better acces
s. Desire and hunger heated his blood.
Sam could have died tonight in that fire, and he might never have tasted or touched her. Somehow that felt wrong, as if it would have been a terrible loss, but he didn’t stop to analyze the reason.
He only knew that at this moment, he wanted her desperately. Wanted to make them both feel alive. Wanted to erase her fears and sadness and replace those emotions with joy and excitement.
Wanted to feel her writhing beneath him, giving herself to him, twining her body with his.
His lips trailed lower, licking, suckling, nibbling at her bare skin, and her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath. Driven to please her, his fingers found the lapel of her robe and he parted the top just enough to dive deeper with his mouth. She moaned softly, slid her foot against his calf and stroked his leg, torturing him.
He nibbled at the upper curve of her breasts, his mouth watering to taste her, his sex hardening and aching. A fierce, primal need ripped through him, and he imagined throwing her on the floor and pounding himself inside her.
The realization jerked him back to reality.
This was Sam Corley. Tough, tenacious, stubborn Sam who had a baby in the next room, a baby she might very well be adopting if they didn’t find Honey alive. Sam who would want to stay settled in Butterville.
A place he desperately wanted to leave.
Sam whispered his name, the sound so intimate and sultry that he was tempted to forget any reservations.
But Sam was one woman he wouldn’t want to lead on. She wasn’t a one-night stand. She needed—and she deserved—promises and love and the whole nine yards.
If he made love to her and left, he would hurt her.
Summoning every ounce of restraint and honor he possessed, he slowly pulled away, then tugged the edges of her robe back together and released her. She looked up at him, wild-eyed and aroused, strains of hunger and need brimming in her eyes. That look tore at him and almost made him drag her into his arms and finish what they’d started.
But he liked Sam too much to take advantage of her.
So he took a step back. “I’m sorry, Sam. I got carried away.”
Her sultry look sharpened at his apology, and she started to speak, but he held up a warning hand. “It won’t happen again. Now get dressed and let’s take the baby to Miss Mazie’s. Then we’re going to find out what happened to Honey and her little boy.”
SAM TRIED NOT TO LET JOHN’S dismissal of what had happened between them hurt, but as she rushed to change and he left the room, she wondered if she had done something wrong. She was so damn inexperienced that maybe she’d acted too needy and desperate.
For just a moment, she’d felt a deep connection with him as if he’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him.
But wanting and needing a man was dangerous. Hadn’t she learned a long time ago to stand on her own? Besides, how could she even think of sex now when Honey was missing?
Guilt plagued her and she threw on jeans and a white button shirt, grabbed a sweater and pulled it on, then slipped into the spare room where Emmie was sleeping and packed some of her clothes, diapers, toys, anything Miss Mazie might need. Although the older woman no longer officially took in foster children, she knew Miss Mazie wouldn’t turn her down, that she’d take care of Emmie temporarily. She’d do anything she could to help Honey. And Honey’s baby was practically her grandchild.
Five minutes later, Sam carried the bag back down the steps. The scent of burned wood and smoke filled the downstairs, reminding her of the earlier attack, and anger and determination set in.
John met her at the steps, his jaw tight. “I’ll stow that in the car if you want to get the baby. I talked to Deputy Floyd and he’s going to watch Miss Mazie’s.”
“Good.” Sam sighed. “The last thing I want is to put Miss Mazie in danger.”
He took the diaper bag from her, and she rushed back up the steps and scooped up Emmie. The baby stirred, but Sam snuggled her closer and Emmie fell back asleep. John met her at the bottom of the steps and walked her to his car, his body tense and alert as he scanned the property.
“I called and made arrangements with Bo Simmons to repair your place.”
Sam stiffened. “John, you don’t need to do that. I’m perfectly capable of handling my own business.”
He frowned as they settled inside. “I know you are, Sam. I was just trying to help. Can’t you just say thank you for once?”
She started to argue, but the tension rising between them stemmed from the situation and their earlier encounter. A kiss she wanted to remember—and forget at the same time.
So she sucked up her pride, thanked him, then angled herself to look out the window until they arrived at Miss Mazie’s. John grabbed the diaper bag, and she carried Emmie up to the door. Miss Mazie greeted them with a smile and, as she expected, agreed without question to take care of the baby.
Using their fake-off plan in case the man after them was watching, Sam wrapped one of Miss Mazie’s dolls in a baby blanket, cradled it to her as if she were carrying Emmie as they walked to the car. She even made a production of placing it in the car seat and strapping the doll in before climbing in the front seat.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the police station. John handed her a cup of coffee, and she took the chair by his desk, her anxiety rising while he made a call to the police in Alabama.
When he hung up, he punched in the number for Randy Ackerman. She held her breath, praying that Randy had a lead for them. The storms were threatening again outside, more bad weather approaching.
JOHN PUNCHED IN ACKERMAN’S phone number, determined to stick to business now, solve this case and get the hell out of town before Sam got under his skin any more than she already had.
He tried Ackerman’s home phone first, but the man didn’t answer, so he punched in his work number next. Ackerman worked at a local food mart and it took a few minutes for the clerk who answered to get him on the line.
“This is Randy, what can I do for you?”
“Mr. Ackerman, this is Chief of Police John Wise from Georgia. I’m calling in reference to a woman named Honey Dawson.”
“What about Honey?” the man asked in a breathy voice.
“She’s missing and may be hurt.”
“What? Oh God….”
The man sounded sincerely worried. “I understand that you and Honey were involved.”
“Yeah, but that was months and months ago. I haven’t seen Honey in over a year.”
John pulled a hand down his face. “What happened between you?”
“Honey was ready to move on,” Randy said. “She made it clear from the beginning that she was only stopping through town and wouldn’t stay.”
“And you were okay with that?” John asked.
A small snort. “Well, yeah. Have you ever met Honey?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know she’s not the settle-down type. But she can sure make a man feel good. I mean, with a babe like her, a guy takes what he can get.”
“So you were okay with her leaving you behind?”
A small hesitation. “What are you getting at, Chief? You think I did something to Honey?”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Ackerman. I’m just trying to locate her, that’s all.”
The man cleared his throat. “Listen, I had a fling with Honey while she was here, but there were no hard feelings when she left. She wanted to make the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and I wanted that for her. Besides, I got another girl now. We’re getting married.”
Frustration knotted John’s neck. “Did you keep in contact with her after she left? Do you know if she got involved with anyone else?”
“From here, she went to Shreveport,” Ackerman said. “She sent me a postcard and said she was working at a Cajun place. She needed more cash to get her to Dallas.”
“Do you remember the name of that Cajun place?”
“Big Daddy’s,” Ackerman said, then a tense pause. “Chief?”
>
“Yeah?”
“I hope you find Honey.”
“Thanks,” John said. “If you think of anything else, anyone she might have mentioned being involved with after she left Alabama, please give me a call.”
He gave Ackerman his number, then hung up.
“Anything?” Sam asked impatiently.
John shook his head. “Just like every other man who dated Honey, he worshiped the ground she walked on, and understood when she moved on.”
Sam smiled, not surprised.
“When she left Alabama, she stopped in Shreveport and worked at a restaurant there. I’m going to find that number and give them a call.”
Sam drained her coffee and set the cup on the steel table against the wall, then went to stare out the window while he searched the Internet for Big Daddy’s.
A minute later, the manager came on the line, and John explained the reason for his call.
“I’m Big Daddy,” the man said. “But Honey ain’t worked here for over a year. She said she was moving to Dallas.”
“Was she involved with anyone while she was there?”
Big Daddy sighed. “Yeah, she hooked up with one of my waiters for a while.”
“Does he still work there?”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t come in till the night shift.”
“Would you give me his name and number so I can talk to him?”
“Sure thing. You really think someone hurt Honey?”
“It looks that way,” John said, then scribbled down the other man’s name and number. As soon as he disconnected the call with Big Daddy, he phoned Eric Cumberland. John let the phone ring and ring, and finally the man answered in a groggy voice.
“Who in the hell is this? It’s eight o’clock in the damn morning.”
John stiffened. “This is Police Chief John Wise calling from Georgia.”
“Huh?”
He’d obviously woken the man. “Police Chief John Wise. I’m calling in reference to Honey Dawson.”