Playing Dead in Dixie

by Paula Graves

  "Under the swing!" she called, the last word more a howl than an actual word.

  Carly hurried to the porch swing, a metal bench attached to the top of the porch by two sturdy chains. She pulled the bottom of the swing up, groaning a little at its weight, and ran her hand along the bottom. "Got it."

  She dropped the swing and hurried to Wes's side, handing him a small box with a magnet affixed to the bottom. Wes removed the key from the box and unlocked the deadbolt.

  They pushed through the door and found Shannon lying sprawled half-on, half-off the sofa, her face pale and twisted with pain. Nate sat beside her, barking furiously. Somewhere in the back of the house, Jackson was crying.

  Wes rushed to Shannon's side. "Are you in labor?"

  She jerked her head from side to side. "No. It's my back."

  "Did you fall?"

  "Yeah, but because of the pain. I couldn't move my legs right. I just sort of slid off the couch," she panted.

  Alarm rattled through him. He glanced at Carly. Her face was almost as pale as Shannon's. He reached out and touched her arm, making her jump. Her green eyes took a second to focus on his. "Carly, can you go check on Jackson?"

  She nodded and hurried toward the rooms at the back of the house.

  Wes turned back to Shannon, pressing his fingertips against the pulse in her wrist. A little fast but strong and steady. "Can you move your legs at all?"

  She nodded, biting her lip. "They move, but it hurts like the dickens." Shannon glared at the bloodhound, who hadn't stopped barking yet. "Nate, for mercy's sake, will you please shut up?"

  The hound subsided, licking her hand in canine sympathy and making quiet whimpering noises.

  Shannon's voice came out in a low, groaning gasp. "I was trying to get to the phone to call someone to help me."

  "Good idea." Wes went to the phone sitting on a table near the door to the kitchen and dialed 911. "Hey, Jason, it's Wes. I need a rescue squad out at Shannon Burgess's house, off Culpepper Road."

  "Got it. I'll get you a crew out A.S.A.P." There was a pause as the dispatcher put a message through to Fire and Rescue. "What do we have?"

  "Thirty-year-old—"

  "Twenty-nine," Shannon growled indignantly.

  "Twenty-nine-year-old female, about eight and a half months pregnant, experiencing severe back pain. Pulse is good and she's conscious. She can move her legs but only with debilitating pain."

  "Any signs of labor?"

  "She says no."

  "Don't move her," the dispatcher warned.

  "Wouldn't dream of it. Any idea of an ETA?"

  "EMTs are already on the road—maybe five minutes. No more than ten."

  Wes hung up and went back to Shannon. "How you doin', sugar?"

  "I feel like I have a red-hot poker stuck from my knees to my hips, thank you. How you doin', darlin'?" Shannon glared up at him from beneath a hank of curly red hair.

  He chuckled softly and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Remind me not to volunteer to be your birth coach when the time comes."

  She laughed at that, then winced. "Ow! Don't make me laugh, Wes."

  Already Wes heard sirens, distant but getting louder. "That sounds like them. Let me go put Nate up somewhere."

  "You can put him in my room. First one on the right."

  By the time Wes returned from shutting up Nate in Shannon's room, he heard boots on the porch steps. He let the emergency medical technicians in.

  "Hey, Wes." Phil Toomey hauled his equipment bag inside. Tommy Logan brought up the rear, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Phil hurried to Shannon's side. "Well, if it isn't little Shannon Hake. You always did know how to get yourself in a scrape, didn't you, sweetness? Let's see what we have here."

  With the two EMTs taking over at Shannon's side, Wes felt some of his tension seep away. Tommy and Phil had known Shannon all her life, just as he had. She was in good hands.

  When it was clear they weren't about to scoop her up and run, Wes went to the back to check on Carly and Jackson. He found her sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the baby's darkened bedroom, sleepy Jackson tucked against her shoulder. She hummed softly as she rocked the little boy.

  Wes moved quietly into the room and crouched beside her. "The EMTs are here."

  "Is she okay?" Her voice was thick. As she turned her head, her face came into the shaft of light shining through the doorway from the hall, and he saw her cheeks were damp with tears.

  "So far so good. He put his hand on her knee. "Are you okay?"

  She nodded, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I'm being—" She fell silent. "I'm okay now."

  His chest tightened at the shaky sound of her voice. It scared him a little, to see her so fragile. He thought of her as strong, vibrant, bigger than life.

  Right now, she looked small and scared. And he was beginning to think her odd reaction was due to more than what was happening to Shannon.

  He squeezed her leg, wishing he could scoop her up in his arms and take her home, where he could keep her safe from whatever she was running from. But he had to take care of Shannon right now.

  "Do you know what's wrong with her?" Carly asked.

  "I think it's probably some sort of back spasm or maybe a pinched nerve. Her pulse is good, and she does have control over her legs, though it's painful for her to move them. She's in pretty good spirits, although I'm now afraid for whatever poor soul has to deliver her baby in a few weeks."

  Carly chuckled at that, rubbing her cheek against Jackson's hair. "Is Jackson asleep yet?"

  Wes stroked the little boy's silky red hair. "Yeah, he's zonked out again. Listen, I think they're going to want to take Shannon to the hospital in Savannah. I should go with her. Are you going to be okay staying here with Jackson until I know more about what's going on?"

  She nodded. "Of course."

  "Here, let me put him back to bed." He gently extricated Jackson from Carly's arms and carried him back to his crib. The little boy smelled good, powdery sweet and sleepy. He held onto Jackson a second or two longer, then laid him down in the crib. Jackson made some soft whimpering noises for a moment but settled back down.

  Carly joined him at the crib. "Thanks for the evening, Chief Wes. You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

  He bent and kissed her temple, affection eclipsing the low hum of desire that had buzzed between them all evening. "I'll call you as soon as we know anything. Thanks for pitching in. Listen, I've put Nate up in Shannon's room while the EMTs are here. Can you let him out in a bit? He may need to go out for a bathroom break. He won't give you any trouble; he's an old softie."

  "Sure, I'll take care of him." She turned to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She buried her face against his shoulder for a moment, and he felt her body trembling. A shaft of alarm shot through him.

  "Carly?"

  She took a deep breath, her breasts sliding against his ribcage. A series of little explosions darted up his spine in response, making him feel like something of a hound dog himself. Especially after the tender moment they'd shared only a few seconds earlier.

  Carly pulled away, knuckling away the tears welling in her eyes. "I'm okay. Go. Stay with Shannon."

  He gazed down at her, wondering what secrets those tear-stained eyes were hiding. He promised himself he was going to find out. Sooner or later, he was going to know everything he wanted to know about the woman who called herself Carly Devlin.

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze and headed out to catch up with the EMTs.

  Chapter Eight

  "MISS BONNIE, YOU DON'T HAVE to do this." Shannon winced a little as she settled back against the pillows in the spare bedroom. She caught Carly's hand. "Carly, tell her. Jackson and I can go to Savannah to stay with my cousin."

  "Janie just had twins two months ago herself, honey. There's no need to give her more to worry about, now, is there?" Bonnie straightened the quilt over her legs. "You won't be a bit of trouble for us, though. Will she, Carly?"

  It h
ad taken a week with Bonnie for Carly to realize she wasn't an imposition on the woman's life at all. On the contrary, Bonnie lived to do for others. Having her hospitality and her mothering rejected was far more distressing to her than the trouble she put herself to for people in need.

  Now to convince Shannon, who didn't like to be a burden to anyone else, that she should let Bonnie cater to her needs for the next few weeks . . .

  Carly sat on the edge of the bed in the room that used to belong to Steve Strickland and patted Shannon's hand. "Just think of it as an extended sleepover. We'll do each others' nails and eat popcorn and watch scary movies until we're afraid to close our eyes to sleep. It'll be fun!"

  "See there? All settled." Bonnie moved aside as Wes and her son-in-law Ray brought Jackson's crib through the door. "Jackson can sleep in here with you, but I've put a baby monitor in Carly's room so she can hear if Jackson wakes up in the night and needs anything."

  Bonnie's daughter Beth came into the room behind the men, holding her own toddler, Ricky, on her hip. Jackson walked beside her holding her free hand. "Here's Mommy," Beth said.

  Jackson let go of Beth's hand and raced to his mother's bedside, bouncing up next to her. "Mommy, you're home!"

  Shannon pulled him into a fierce bear hug, her forehead wrinkling with pain. "Hey there, Tatertot. I sure am!"

  Carly reached out and ruffled the little boy's carrot top. "He was a real good boy for Carly, weren't you?"

  "I can't ever repay y'all for being so good to us." Tears welled up in Shannon's blue eyes. "You're all such a blessing."

  "I'm just glad you're okay." Carly brushed away tears in her own eyes, embarrassed by the sudden surge of emotion. "Are you sure you didn't need another day in the hospital?"

  Shannon had been diagnosed with a pinched sciatic nerve, not an uncommon ailment in pregnant women and treatable with rest and special exercises to keep her back properly aligned. But Carly had seen the kind of pain Shannon had been in the night before. She'd been surprised when Wes had called her around dawn to tell her the doctor was releasing Shannon.

  "Okay, let's clear out and give these two a little time together," Wes suggested, touching Carly's shoulder. "I think they could both use a nap."

  "You just call us if you need anything." Bonnie patted Shannon's leg. "Beth and Ricky are going to stay here for the day, so Jackson will have someone to play with. You just send him on out to us if he's not asleep when you're ready to take a nap." She slipped out of the room.

  Carly squeezed Shannon's hand and followed Wes out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

  He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You look wiped out yourself."

  "I got a little sleep on Shannon's sofa, waiting for you to call." She stifled a yawn. "You're the one who's probably dead on your feet."

  "I had about a gallon of coffee at the hospital. I'm good for a few hours yet." He rested his hand against the small of her back and guided her toward the living room, away from Bonnie and the others, who'd gone into the kitchen. He bent his head toward her, keeping his voice low. "I'm going home to shower and get Nate settled at my place. I have a fenced in yard; he should be okay there while Shannon's out of commission."

  "Good, I was starting to worry about the old fellow."

  "After that, I'm heading into the office, at least until noon or so. I'll see how I'm feeling after that. But we need to talk soon. Alone."

  Carly glanced behind her to make sure no one else was around. "This affects our plan for Monday night, doesn't it?"

  "Maybe. We'll figure something out. Do you have to work today?"

  "I go in at ten. I'm off at four."

  "Meet me at my house after you get off. It's within walking distance." He gave her directions.

  She walked with him out onto the front porch. "You're a good man to have around in a crisis, Chief Wes."

  "You've been a real trooper, too. Thanks."

  Though pleased by the grudging admiration she saw in his eyes, Carly felt a growing tightness in her throat as she realized she'd once again stepped into a trap that would hold here in Bangor longer than she'd originally planned.

  Shannon would need her help until she gave birth, which might not be for another two or three weeks. She couldn't possibly leave town until Shannon had her baby and was able to take care of both of her children on her own.

  She was in so much trouble. How could she have let herself be sucked into these people's lives so quickly, so thoroughly?

  And then there was Wes. Wes, who still smelled good, even after a night in a hospital waiting room in crumpled clothes. Wes, whose soft, warm laughter made little bubbles of happiness burst in her stomach and spill their fizzy contents into every cell of her body.

  Wes, who'd just asked her to come to his house after work.

  Where they'd be alone.

  She was halfway in love with Wes Hollingsworth already, and that was after a week of trying to fly under his radar.

  What would three more weeks do to her?

  AGENT JIM PHILLIPS OPENED the packet that had arrived overnight from the National Transportation Safety Board. Preliminary findings on the casino tour bus crash in Virginia. He took a deep breath and opened the envelope.

  Inside he found several technical reports that he set aside to read later. His gut told him that foul play hadn't been involved in the bus crash. Even a man as connected as Dominick Manning couldn't have arranged that accident.

  But the list of injured and dead—that could be interesting. Why had Lottie hopped that particular tour bus? Had she known someone on board?

  He scanned the list of passenger names until he found Lottie. She hadn't been on the original manifest generated by the tour bus operator in Richmond, but one of the agents who'd been staking out the Palais Royale had confirmed that Lottie had boarded the bus in Atlantic City, and they'd found her identification near the crash site, so Phillips had submitted her name to the NTSB to be added to the list.

  Hmm. This was interesting. He looked over the list a second time, just to confirm what he was seeing.

  Thirty-eight passengers on the bus. Thirty-seven accounted for—fifteen dead, twenty-two injured. And one missing.

  Lottie Sandano.

  Searchers had found all of the other bodies that had spilled into the river after the accident, thanks to a beaver dam that had created a logjam about a mile downriver from the crash site. If Lottie had been in the river, odds were that she'd have been found as well.

  Maybe his case against Dominick Manning still had a little life left in it after all.

  He reached across his desk and picked up another file. Opening it, he flipped through the papers until he found the color photo of Lottie. It had been taken by one of his surveillance men, early in their investigation of Dominick Manning. Lottie had just started working at the casino, and one of his agents had taken extra care snapping her photo.

  Phillips had given the guy grief for playing games with Bureau equipment, but he could hardly blame the man for wanting to get a good shot of Lottie's legs She was a looker, their Lottie. Built like a Vegas showgirl and a whole lot prettier than most. The camera loved her.

  "You're hiding from me, aren't you, Lottie Marie?" he murmured to the photo.

  Her green eyes gazed back at him, full of secrets.

  But not for long.

  Not if he had anything to say about it.

  He hit the speaker button. "Marcy, can you get me the Richmond field office on the phone?"

  CARLY RANG UP THE SALE. "One seventy-two thirty-eight."

  As the customer pulled his wallet out and started counting out bills, Carly glanced over her shoulder toward the back of the store. The door to Floyd's office was still closed. Sherry had been back there alone for—Carly glanced at the clock on the wall—an hour and forty-five minutes.

  What if she was getting rid of evidence?

  As soon as Carly gave the customer his change, she waved Josh Scarborough over. "Josh, can you
run the register? I'm going to take lunch."

  As Josh took her place at the register, she walked back to the break room and shed her uniform vest, hanging it on a hook in her cubbyhole. Crossing to Floyd's office, she leaned toward the door, listening.

  She heard what sounded like a drawer opening, the mechanical rat-a-tat of an electronic adding machine. All reasonable sounds for a bookkeeper at work in an office that didn't keep its books on computer.

  She'd been surprised when she realized Floyd didn't have his books backed up on a computer. It was an outdated and potentially dangerous way to do business, and any bookkeeper worth her salt would have talked to Floyd about buying bookkeeping software a long time ago.

  The fact that Sherry apparently hadn't was a bit dismaying, but it wasn't a crime. If Sherry was bilking the hardware store out of hard-earned profits, living in the bookkeeping dark ages wasn't proof of it.

  Still, Carly made a mental note to talk to Floyd about transferring his files onto computer. There were dozens of inexpensive bookkeeping software programs available, and it wouldn't take much of a computer system to run them. Floyd could invest less than two-thousand dollars and have everything he needed to computerize his bookkeeping.

  Sadly, computerizing wasn't going to stop fraud, however, if fraud was the culprit behind the hardware store's recent downturn.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Carly pushed open the office door and stepped inside without warning.

  Sherry sat at Floyd's desk, ledger books spread out in front of her. She jerked back in surprise as Carly entered. "Sheesh, Carly, you scared me."

  "Sorry, I just wanted to see if you were going to be in here through lunch. I'm about to head out for something. I could bring something back for you."

  Sherry's eyes narrowed slightly, but she flashed Carly her best Miss Bangor pageant smile. "That's sweet, but I'm skipping lunch. Gotta watch my figure."

  Carly hid a sigh. So much for sneaking a look around while Sherry was at lunch. "Okay, I'll be back in thirty."

  She left the store and headed south down Main Street, toward Charlie's Diner on the corner. She stopped just outside at a payphone, digging coins out of her pocket with one hand and running her finger down a posted list of municipal numbers until she found the Police Department. Depositing the coins, she punched in the number. She gave her name to the man who answered, asking for Wes.