“Call me if you do.”
He exited the shop and tried half a dozen others. No one had seen Charlotte. He stood in the middle of town square, hands on hips. Every minute that went by increased the likelihood that she’d succeeded in giving him the slip. Think. Where would he go if he were in her shoes? Probably slink around the alleys and slip into a shop’s back door if someone approached. He hustled behind the coffee shop and scanned the alley lined with garbage bins. Down at the far end, he spotted Charlotte rounding a corner, red hair flaming like a beacon.
I’ve got you now, he thought with grim satisfaction. He hurried to the end of the backstreet in time to see her slip into the Dixie Diner.
Now he’d get answers.
Inside the diner, the aroma of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy made his mouth water. Chasing Charlotte was hard work and it was past lunchtime. He scanned the tables filled with families.
No Charlotte.
He proceeded to the back exit and stuck his head out to check the alleyway.
Still no Charlotte.
Only one place left unchecked. He rapped on the ladies’ room door once and then entered.
Lucille Bozeman, an elderly member of the local Red Hat Society, shrieked and clutched her pearls. “James Robert Tedder,” she said breathlessly, “what on earth do you think you are doing?”
At least she’d used his full name instead of Jim Bob. Normally, he found her and the other members of the Red Hats a hoot—amusing older ladies with their red hats, purple attire and carefree spirit. But not today. Heat traveled up the nape of his neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Bozeman. I’m looking for a woman.”
“You’ve come to the right place, but this is hardly appropriate behavior. I’ll speak to Harlan Sampson about this. How dare you...”
But he tuned her out and bent over. No feet were visible under the stalls, but one door was closed. He knocked on it.
“Come on out, ma’am.”
A long sigh, and then a dry voice answered. “You going to order me to put my hands up or you’ll shoot?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he answered in kind. “Unless you try to flee from an officer of the law again.”
Charlotte emerged with a wry smile and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Sorry. You never arrested me so I’d assumed I was free to leave earlier.”
Despite her flippant attitude, James noted that her face had paled and her eyes were slightly glazed. “Right. So that’s why you ran and tried to give me the slip.” He nodded at the bump on her head. “You might be concussed. Change your mind about going to the hospital to have that looked at?”
“Not at all. I’m fine.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble, young lady?” Lucille walked over, the brim of her outlandish purple hat brushing against his shoulders. Her gaze swept Charlotte from head to toe. “You appear a mite peaked.”
Charlotte’s smile was tight. “Just a few superficial wounds.”
“Jim Bob, you should take her to see Miss Glory. She’s a sight better helping folks than any doctor.”
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea—and the healer’s shop was only two doors down.
He addressed Charlotte. “What do you say? No forms to fill out or insurance cards to process.”
“All I need is over-the-counter pain medication. If you could point me in the direction of the local pharmacy?” She pushed past them both and made for the bathroom door.
James took her arm. “You’re coming with me. Stop being so stubborn. It’s obvious you’re hurt. Miss Glory can fix you right up.”
He caught a glimpse of Lucille gaping at them in the bathroom mirror. News of this bathroom encounter would be all over town in an hour.
“Thanks for the suggestion, Mrs. Bozeman.” He leaned into Charlotte, whispering in her ear, “If you don’t want your business common knowledge, let’s continue this outside.”
He stayed near her as they walked through the diner. Charlotte briefly glanced at every face in the crowd, as if taking their measure. She opened the door and stumbled, pitching forward a half step. The full weight of her body leaned against him. She smelled like some kind of flower—a rose, perhaps. It was as though a touch of spring had breathed life into a dreary November day.
Charlotte stiffened and drew back. A prickly rose, this one—beautiful but full of thorns. James clenched his jaw. Didn’t matter how she looked or smelled or felt. This woman was a whole host of complications he didn’t need or want. He’d get her medical attention, find out why she came to Lavender Mountain and then escort her to her truck and wish her well.
“If you’re on the run as you claim, the last thing you want is an infection to set in that injury. Miss Glory really can help you.”
“If I agree, will you give me a ride to my truck afterward and let me go?”
“You’re in no position to negotiate. You trespassed on my property and pointed a gun at me, as well. I believe I’m holding the trump card.”
“Okay, okay,” she muttered.
She hobbled beside him until they reached the store.
Miss Glory’s shop, The Root Worker, was dark. Glory claimed the light deteriorated the herbs strung along the rafters. The placed smelled like chamomile and always reminded him of the time he and his sisters, Darla and Lilah, had all come down with the flu at the same time. Their mother had infused the small cabin with a medicinal tonic provided by Miss Glory.
“What brings you here today, Jim Bob?” Glory asked, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She swiped at the gray fringe of hair on her forehead. Her deeply lined face focused on Charlotte. “And who’s your friend?”
James quickly made introductions. “She’s here because of a lump on her head, a twisted knee and cut skin on her right thigh. She refuses to see a doctor, so I thought I’d bring her to you.”
Glory didn’t even blink an eye. No telling how many strange stories she’d heard over the years.
“I’ve already cleaned it out and bandaged it,” Charlotte said. “Don’t see the need for anything else.”
“How bad do your injuries hurt?” Glory asked gently.
“I wouldn’t turn down some aspirin.”
“Hope you’re not so stubborn that you ignore any signs of a concussion or infection. You start runnin’ a fever or see red streaks flame out from the flesh, you get to a doctor quick, ya hear?”
Surprisingly, Charlotte nodded her head slightly. “I will.”
“You seein’ double or got the collywobbles in yer tummy?”
“None of that.”
Every moment he spent in her company, his doubts about her story grew. He remembered her steady aim and fierce eyes as she aimed a gun dead center on his chest. This wasn’t a woman who ran away from danger. She’d confront it head-on.
“Tell you what I’m gonna do, darlin’. I’m sending you home with a gallon of my sassafras tea. You drink a big ole glass of it at least three times a day. That sassafras is my special tonic that’ll clear up any nasty germs brewing in yer body.”
Miss Glory went behind the counter and rummaged a few moments, returning with a couple of items.
“A little poultice to draw out infection,” she said, pressing it into Charlotte’s palm. “And a few capsules filled with feverfew, devil’s claw and a couple other goodies. Much better than an ole aspirin.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t—”
“Now don’t you fight me on this, child. I see the pain in them eyes of yers. You’ll need a sharp mind to be of any use to anyone and you can’t have that without rest. Take it before you go to bed at night.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, stuffing the poultice and pain packet in her backpack.
“Jim Bob, grab a gallon jug of sassafras tea on yer way out. It’s in the cooler by the door.” Glory rested an arthritic-weath
ered hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I see danger surrounding you, child. They’s people wish you would go away from here and never come back.”
James was used to Miss Glory’s eerie predictions. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that hocus-pocus, but people around here claimed she had the sight. Couldn’t hurt to pick her brain. “What do you know?” he asked sharply.
“Me?” She threw up her hands and cackled. “I’m just an old woman who’s been around too many years to remember, and can sense people’s energy.”
He was reading too much into the old lady’s ramblings. Wouldn’t have even bothered coming to her shop, but Lilah swore that Miss Glory was the only one who helped her get through a difficult pregnancy and then again helped with her colicky baby.
Charlotte backed away to the door, suspicion hardening her classical features. “Who am I in danger from?” she asked sharply.
“That’s not for me to say. But I suspect you know the answer to your own question.”
Charlotte nodded and continued edging to the door.
He wasn’t going to let her run again. James plopped down a couple twenties on the counter. “Will that cover everything?”
Miss Glory nodded and leaned in, her breath a whisper against his ear. “Watch after her. She needs help whether she likes it or not.”
James shook his head. “I’m no one’s protector,” he grumbled. He had his own demons to fight. His tour of duty overseas had left him unwilling to get involved in others’ problems, beyond what was required as an officer. Lilah often fussed that he’d become too withdrawn. But whatever—all he wanted was to perform his duties and be left alone.
Charlotte gasped suddenly and flung herself against the side wall, away from the shop door. A couple of mason jars filled with herbs crashed to the floor. The scent of something earthy, like loam in a newly plowed field, wafted upward.
“What is it?” Instinctively, his right hand went to his sidearm and he surveyed the scene outside. On Main Street, a sleek black sedan accelerated and turned out of sight from the town square.
“Are they gone?” Charlotte asked past stiff lips.
“Whoever was in that vehicle? Yes. What’s this all about?”
Charlotte lifted her chin and carefully picked her way through the strewn herbs and glass shards. “Sorry, Miss Glory. I’ll pay, of course. Where’s your broom? I’ll sweep up the mess.”
Glory shooed her off, then bent over and whispered something in Charlotte’s ear before addressing them both. “I’ll take care of this. You go on, now, and do what you have to do.”
Charlotte rummaged through the backpack and dug out a wad of bills. She lifted a hand at the sight of Glory’s open mouth. “Take it. I insist. And thanks for your help.”
James grabbed a jug of tea and followed Charlotte outside. He took her arm. “What really brings you to Lavender Mountain?”
Chapter Three
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn as hell?” Charlotte grumbled. She climbed into James’s truck, slowly swinging her injured leg into the cab, and then eased back onto the leather seat with a sigh. She wouldn’t admit it for a month’s salary, but running from his office had been a mistake. Her first instinct, born from years of busting street gangs and drug rings, was to flee until she’d formed a plan and was ready to strike.
James got in beside her and slammed his door shut. “Start talking.”
“You’re taking me back to my truck, right? I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“That wasn’t the deal. What’s your game?”
She opened her mouth, and he started the engine. “Don’t lie,” he said. “You’re not running from some ex.”
She had no choice. Once he ran the gun paperwork, he’d know. “I’m an undercover cop. Atlanta PD Special Crimes Unit.”
He shot her an assessing glance, then pulled the truck away from the station and into town. “What are you doing ninety miles from the big city? Anything going on around here, we should be part of the investigation. Atlanta’s urban area may sprawl for miles, but this is still our jurisdiction.”
He might have her cornered, but she didn’t have to tell him the whole truth. “I don’t suppose you’d accept the proposition that the less you know, the better?”
James snorted.
“Right. Okay, I’m investigating a missing girl and have reason to believe she’s being held in the Falling Rock community.”
His brow furrowed. “Why? Give me details.”
“How can I be sure you’re trustworthy? Well, not necessarily you,” she amended. “But what about your boss and coworkers? Any of them could compromise—”
“I trust the sheriff explicitly,” he ground out. “Harlan Sampson is as honest as they come, and I’m not saying that because he’s my brother-in-law. I’ve known him all my life. We’ve been friends since third grade.”
“That’s fine for you, but it doesn’t assure me. Far as my research shows, the previous sheriff is doing time for twenty years of covering up moonshine and murders.”
“And Harlan has been working for over a year now to clean up the force,” James said with a scowl.
“Are you sure he’s finished? Most criminals don’t work in a vacuum.”
“Two officers were fired. That’s out of an office with a dozen employees. I have complete faith in the ones remaining.”
“But you’ve only worked with them six months.” She’d done a cursory background search on every officer.
He shot her a glance, eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve done your homework,” he noted, driving away from the downtown area and starting the drive up a winding mountain road.
“I know you’ve done a couple tours in Afghanistan. Army Special Forces.”
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he said coolly. “I know nothing about you. Yet.”
“No doubt you’ll check the gun paperwork and confirm my story. I’d do the same in your position.”
“So why did you break into my cabin? Couldn’t you survey the Falling Rock area more directly?”
Typical cop. A rookie one, no less. “That’s the difference between working undercover versus running routine patrols and answering callouts. Direct isn’t best in my line of work. I picked your cabin because it’s within walking distance of where I can get a behind-the-scenes view of most of the Falling Rock houses.”
“What do you expect to find? Are you hoping by some miracle that the missing girl is going to step outside? I don’t foresee that happening.”
Charlotte squirmed. Put that way, it did sound like a lame plan. But then, he didn’t know all the particulars. He didn’t know that she was investigating a ring, and as such, she hoped to observe vehicles pulling into backyards to hide the drivers’ comings and goings. Even license plate numbers would provide worthwhile leads to pursue. So let him think she was foolish. The less she revealed, the less interference and lower possibility of word getting back to the traffickers that she was closing in on their operation.
“Don’t make this hard,” James warned. “Either voluntarily give us the information so we can help find this missing girl, or drag your feet until we force the information out of your supervisors. Your choice.”
Damn it. If he contacted Atlanta, she’d be ordered—again—to stop searching. And that was the best-case scenario. Worst case, it was entirely possible she’d lose her job. But she’d weighed the risks from the start, and the decision had been easy. Jenny was her best friend’s daughter. If she didn’t try her best, how could she live with that knowledge? How would she be able to face her best friend for the rest of her days? She couldn’t.
“If I tell you more, can we keep it between us?”
“No way. I can’t keep this secret from Harlan and the others. Like you said, I’m pretty new here. Everyone else will have more experience. Don’t you want t
he full resources the sheriff’s office can provide?”
Hell, yeah. No question. Charlotte gazed out the passenger window, where shadows already lengthened with a hint of the coming twilight. To his credit, James didn’t press her as she weighed the pros and cons of telling him everything. But it wasn’t much of a choice, really. She had a bum leg now, and she’d been seen by the bodyguards who were obviously protecting the traffickers.
“I do need your help,” she admitted. “But if you go to the sheriff, he’ll contact my boss for verification of my story, and then all hell will break loose.”
James’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re on the up-and-up, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve been suspended.” There, she’d said it. Six years of exemplary service, and now she was in the hot seat. James would think she was a total screwup.
He pulled into the cabin’s driveway, shut off the engine and faced her, arms folded. “Why?”
She jerked her head from his piercing gaze and stared down at her folded hands. “Because I won’t give up on this case. That’s why. The official charge against me is insubordination.”
“Go on,” he urged at the beat of silence between them.
Charlotte lifted her head. Officer Tedder had been more than patient. He could have arrested her for trespassing, or even decided she was too much trouble and not searched for her after she’d fled. But he’d found her and coaxed her into getting help for her injury. A good man, she decided. Perhaps even a trustworthy one. She’d been burned before, but mostly, her gut and intuition had served her well in a dangerous profession.
“Can we talk somewhere other than here? Sitting in the open in your truck is an invitation for trouble.” Her stomach churned as she remembered the black sedan with tinted windows that had cruised through town.
He countered with a question of his own. “Is this where you run from me again?”
“No running. You can follow me in my truck while I get a motel room, or we can go in your cabin to talk.”
James drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “My cabin. I’ll park my truck behind yours. No casual observer passing by would notice it. Probably safer than you spending the night at the local motel with your vehicle in plain view, anyway.”
Appalachian Abduction (Lavender Mountain Book 2; Appalachian Magic) Page 3