Manhunt

by Carla Cassidy

  His gaze swept her, beginning at the top of her hair, down to the sandals on her feet, and a smile of appreciation turned his lips upward into one of his sexy smiles. “I’ll be the most envied man at the wedding,” he said.

  Despite her desire to the contrary, Alyssa felt the warmth of a blush sweep over her features. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I’ll drive if you’ll provide directions to the church.”

  He pulled his car keys out of his pocket.

  “All right, but we aren’t going to a church.”

  Together they left by the back door, where his car was parked in the small lot behind the bed-and-breakfast. “Where are we going if not to a church?” he asked.

  “The Cherokee Cultural Center,” she replied. “Clay and Tamara are being married in a traditional ceremony.” She tried not to freeze as he opened the passenger door for her, standing close enough that she could smell his cologne but not so close that they might inadvertently touch.

  She didn’t want him to touch her in any way, was afraid a single touch might bring on the vision and she wanted nothing to mar the happiness of the day.

  She slid into her seat and watched as he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. His suit hung on him as if it had been made to fit his broad shoulders and slender hips.

  She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it around her. A man as handsome as he was would be married. He probably had a good woman and two or three kids at home, waiting for him to return from his field trip. Meanwhile, he probably flirted with every female in sight when he was in the field, or had meaningless affairs while away from home.

  By the time he slid in behind the steering wheel, Alyssa was working up a case against him, anything to keep him at a mental and physical distance.

  “All set?” he asked as he fastened his seat belt. She nodded. “Get on Main Street and head north,” she said.

  “You mentioned that Clay and his fiancée are being married in a traditional ceremony. What does that mean?” he asked once they were on Main Street.

  “It’s not only a beautiful ceremony, but lots of preparation has gone into it before the actual ceremony begins,” she replied. “The place for the ceremony is blessed for seven consecutive days. A sacred fire burns, and before the ceremony begins all the guests are blessed, as well.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” he said.

  What she found fascinating was the scent of him that filled the car interior. It was a distinctly male scent of his cologne mingling with a hint of shaving cream.

  “I have to warn you,” she said. “It will be a long day. Following the actual ceremony itself will be singing and dancing and feasting into the night. If you decide you want to leave early, please don’t worry about me. There will be lots of people there who can bring me home when I’m ready to come home.”

  He cast her a sideways glance, his expression teasing. “We haven’t even gotten there yet and already you’re trying to ditch me. What kind of a date is that?”

  Again she felt the warmth of a blush sweep up her neck, and to her consternation her pulse rate raced a little faster. “This isn’t a date. It’s a favor for Clay and my contribution in helping find the killer that’s loose in the town.”

  “Clay mentioned that you don’t date.”

  “I don’t have time.” Her words were clipped and brusque. It irritated her that he and Clay had talked about her dating habits, or lack thereof.

  “If you don’t date, then how do you intend to find Mr. Right?”

  Although his question was innocent enough, it stirred a wistfulness inside her. She was twenty-nine years old and at this moment in her life she didn’t have time to find a Mr. Wrong, let alone a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Besides, she’d known from a very early age that there would probably be no Mr. Right for her, that it was her destiny to be alone, to live alone.

  “What makes you think I’m interested in finding a Mr. Right?” she finally asked in answer to his question.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I thought that’s what all women want.”

  “That’s the most chauvinistic thing I’ve ever heard,” she replied.

  He laughed, a pleasant low rumble that stirred something inside her and once again made her heart race just a little faster. “Not really, because I think the same thing is true about men. All they really want is the love of a good woman in their lives.”

  She eyed him curiously. “And do you have that? Are you married, Nick?”

  “No.” The single word shot out of him and she thought his hands tightened perceptibly on the steering wheel.

  Divorced, she thought, and by his reaction to the question it had probably been a nasty divorce. She was grateful when the cultural center came into view.

  “Clay wasn’t kidding when he said practically everyone in town would be here today,” he said as he angled his car into one of the last parking spaces in the lot.

  “The people of Cherokee Corners love a good party,” she said. She didn’t wait for him to open her car door. The moment the car came to a full stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and got out.

  When he exited the car and they began to walk toward the building, she remained far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her arm or touch her in any way.

  “Should I have put on more deodorant this morning?” he asked, obviously noticing her distance.

  “No, you’re fine.” She steeled herself and moved closer to him. It was highly probable that at some point throughout the day they would touch. Shoulders might bump, hands might brush…she simply had to prepare herself for such an event.

  The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air. It was a day of celebration, she reminded herself. Tamara and Clay would join their lives together today. Most of the townspeople would be here for the joyous event. It was not a day for visions of death. She refused to allow any visions to ruin the day.

  To test herself and her inner strength, on impulse she reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour of the building before we join the party in the back.”

  “All right,” he agreed. His strong fingers closed around her hand and she breathed a grateful sigh.

  She felt no approaching darkness, no headache edging its way through her brain. She felt nothing except a seductive warmth flooding through her from their point of contact.

  When they entered the building, she broke the physical contact between them. She wasn’t sure why, but she found touching Nick almost as disturbing as suffering from one of her visions.

  Nick had begun to think that Alyssa Whitefeather had no sense of humor and had never allowed the luxury of a smile to cross her lush lips.

  He’d been wrong. After the interesting, educational, but brief, tour of the place, they had stepped out the back doors of the building, where immediately members of her family had greeted her.

  It was like a switch had been turned on inside her. He was introduced to Thomas and Rita James, Savannah and Riley Frazier, Breanna and Adam Spencer and a delightful little six-year-old charmer by the name of Maggie.

  But, as the introductions were being made and small talk exchanged, Nick was riveted by Alyssa’s smile, her laughter and the sparkle that lit up her dark blue eyes.

  He’d thought her pretty before, but now he found her positively breathtaking. She drew him to her in a way no woman had since the day he’d met his Dorrie.

  Alyssa was beauty and mystery, and now with a smile on her face and her laughter riding the air, she was sunshine, warming him from the inside out.

  It was funny, but from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d felt some sort of weird connection, knew that one way or another she was going to play a role in his time here in Cherokee Corners.

  By ten o’clock the crowd had swelled to massive proportions and Nick reluctantly left Alyssa’s side to mingle and keep an eye out for anyone who might fit the profile of the killer that he was putting together.


  He introduced himself as a friend of Alyssa’s, insinuated himself into conversations and mentally made notes of the faces and names who could possibly be the killer or the next potential victim.

  If the killer wasn’t a local their task would be even more difficult because during the summer months there were plenty of tourists in town, plenty of strange faces visiting from different places.

  He made his way back to Alyssa’s side as the ceremony began. Despite the heat of the day, a huge fire burned in the center of the area. An elderly Cherokee appeared and a reverent silence fell over the audience.

  “That’s the priest from the reservation,” Alyssa explained to Nick. In the center of the circle that the guests formed stood Clay James and his bride-to-be. Clay looked proud and handsome, wearing a pair of dress slacks and a shirt with turquoise and coral ribbonlike material woven into the cotton. Tamara was in what Alyssa told him was a traditional tear dress. It was white with turquoise- and coral-colored triangles around the yoke and hem.

  Rita stood beside them. Because Cherokee society was matrilineal and the woman held the family clan, Rita represented Tamara as a clan mother.

  The priest went around the circle of people, blessing them, then returned to Clay and Tamara and blessed them, as well. The priest covered Clay in a blue blanket and Tamara in another blue one.

  Chants were chanted and songs were sung and Nick enjoyed the beauty of the language of the Cherokee.

  “The separate blankets portray their separate lives before their union,” Alyssa said softly from beside him.

  As he continued to watch, the priest removed the blankets from the two and covered them both with a white blanket. Once again he chanted in the beautiful Cherokee language.

  “This signifies the beginning of their new life together,” Alyssa said.

  He noticed the shine of tears of happiness in her eyes as she spoke. A flutter of warmth swept through him. He’d always been a sucker for women who cried at weddings.

  When the priest removed the white blanket from the married couple, the crowd cheered. Tamara looked up at her new husband and even from the distance where he stood, Nick saw the light in her eyes…the light that said that Clay was her one and only love.

  Nick remembered that look. He remembered the look and the feelings that went along with it…the wonder of love found, the joy of love reciprocated, the glory of love committed forever and ever.

  He remembered the feeling of loving somebody more than anything and anyone on the face of the earth, of wanting to take care of her, make her smile and be a part of her world forever. It was a heady feeling, and that was part of what had been missing in his life since Dorrie’s death.

  Murphy had not only stolen Dorrie’s life, he’d taken much, much more from Nick, and sooner or later Nick would find the man and make him pay.

  Again he reminded himself that he wasn’t in Cherokee Corners hunting for Murphy, but rather another serial killer, one who was killing vital young men and leaving them naked in plain sight.

  Following the actual ceremony began the dancing and feasting. As Nick mingled with the crowd, he didn’t forget his reason for being here, although it would have been easy to get caught up in the festivities and Alyssa’s lovely animation.

  He ate food he’d never tasted before, visited with people he’d never met before and thought of the victims who were not here to celebrate with the rest of their town.

  Greg Maxwell. Sam McClane. Tim O’Brien. And the latest victim, Jonathon Blackbird. Four men in the prime of their lives, killed, and their voices cried out to Nick, cried out for resolution and closure.

  Throughout the festivities, no matter how engrossed in conversation, no matter how deep in thought he became, his gaze continued to seek out Alyssa.

  He watched as she performed a traditional dance with some of the other Cherokee men and women. She’d kicked off her sandals and the drums beat with a contagious rhythm.

  As she danced, her hair flew wild around her, laughter bubbled from her lips and he wanted to be there next to her, dancing in the way of her people, sharing the laughter with her.

  He also couldn’t help but notice that the sundress she wore fit her like a glove, accentuating the thrust of her breasts and emphasizing a slender waist. A flicker of desire had begun in the pit of his stomach from almost the first moment he’d seen her and today that fire had begun to burn more intensely.

  It was strange, because he hadn’t felt desire for anyone for a very long time. It was odd that a woman who had been less than friendly to him in the brief time he’d known her was the one who had brought that part of him alive once again.

  The other fact he found intriguing was that she rarely left her family’s side. If she wasn’t near one of her “sisters,” she was near the other or standing close to Rita.

  It was nearing dusk when she approached where he stood talking to a couple of Cherokee Corners police officers. It had taken him only moments upon meeting Officer Jason Sheller to realize why Clay hadn’t wanted him on the task force.

  The young man talked too much, tried too hard and had an air of desperation about him. The other officer, Fred Tarleton seemed to be a nice enough man, but didn’t seem to have the sharp, keen intelligence of the men Clay had chosen for the task force.

  He watched as Alyssa drew near. Her feet were dusty, her hair in disarray, but she carried the sparkle of a wonderful day on her face. He excused himself from the two officers and turned to face Alyssa.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go,” she said, then frowned. “But, if you’d like to stay longer, I can catch a ride from somebody else.”

  He smiled. “First you tell me if I want to leave early, you’ll catch another ride. Now you’re saying if I want to stay later, you’ll catch another ride. Are you intentionally trying to confuse me?”

  For the first time, that full-wattage smile of hers was directed at him and he felt it like a punch in his midsection. “Are you that easily confused?”

  Yes, he wanted to say. Her smile for him and the gentle teasing in her voice confused the hell out of him. “Not usually,” he replied, then added, “and I’m ready to go, too.”

  Together they left the cultural center and walked toward where his car was parked. As they walked, a group of children ran by them.

  “A-tsa-s-gi-li!” One of the young boys yelled. The others giggled and they all ran faster.

  “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “Nothing…just kid stuff,” she said.

  “What did it mean?” He opened the passenger door for her.

  “Witch,” she replied. “A-tsa-s-gi-li is the Cherokee word for witch.” She scooted into the car.

  He closed her door, walked around and slid in behind the steering wheel. “Why would anyone call you a witch?” he asked curiously.

  “They were just kids being silly,” she replied. “So, what did you think of your first Cherokee wedding?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “You were right, it’s a beautiful ceremony.”

  “It was a wonderful day,” she agreed. “It was so nice to see all of the family together and happy.”

  She was more relaxed and more open than she’d been since he’d checked into her establishment. “Your family seems very nice.”

  “They’re my family through default. They took me in when I was eleven.”

  “Yeah, Clay told me you’d lost your parents when you were young and your aunt Rita and uncle Thomas claimed you as one of their own.”

  A soft smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I claimed them, as well.”

  “I didn’t realize Clay and his sisters were half-Cherokee,” Nick said, hoping he wasn’t being politically incorrect.

  Alyssa laughed. “Uncle Thomas never lets them forget that they have his proud Irish blood in their veins, but they all look so much like Aunt Rita, it’s hard not to think of them as one-hundred percent Cherokee.”

  “What about you?�
� he asked.

  “One-hundred percent pure American Indian,” she replied.

  “I was just wondering because of your blue eyes. I would think that unusual.”

  She smiled. “Apparently our bloodline isn’t quite as pure as some of my ancestors claimed. What about you?”

  “I’m a mutt,” he replied. He realized he was driving slower than usual, enjoying the fact that they were having an actual conversation, even though others might think it an inane one.

  “I’ve heard that mutts make the best kinds of dogs. I’m not sure about what kind of men they make.”

  He cast her a sideways glance, surprised to see the laughter shining in her eyes. She was teasing him and he loved it. “If you follow the dog theory, it would make me intelligent, easy to train and eager to please.”

  “And if that was the case, you’d already have a home,” she replied.

  Unfortunately at that moment they arrived back at the bed-and-breakfast. If he’d had his choice, he’d continue to drive and enjoy her mood for a hundred miles…a thousand miles.

  He wanted to keep joking with her and watch the twinkle in her eyes as she responded. He wanted to savor these moments with her, when she was so relaxed and inviting, because he had a feeling once the night ended and tomorrow came, she’d be back to being cool and distant to him.

  He pulled into a spot in the back parking lot and shut off the engine. “I’m sorry to see the day end.”

  She smiled. “Me, too. It was fun.” She turned her gaze to the back of the building before them. “But, now it’s back to real life.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He pulled his keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. She got out, as well. As they walked toward the building, Nick grabbed her by the elbow to halt their progress.

  “Alyssa, I know you got roped into taking me to the wedding today by your cousin, but I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate it.”

  She stared at him…no, not at him…through him. She was perfectly still, frozen in time like a statue of bronze.

  “Alyssa?” He spoke her name softly, not sure what to do. She must be having one of the petit mal seizures no one seemed to know about, he thought.