The Trouble with Temptation

by Shiloh Walker

  He caught her wrist and stared into her furious eyes.

  Tell her.

  Yeah. Yeah, he’d do that.

  Clearing his throat, he went to speak.

  But the words that came out weren’t the words he needed to say.

  Oh, they were true. But not the ones he needed to say.

  “I liked having you staring at me,” he said.

  She glared at him.

  Stroking his thumb over her wrist, he gave her a piece of the truth because he couldn’t find the words for the rest of it. “I’d been staring at you for years and every time you looked at me, it made it easier for me to look back. Even if it did piss me off.”

  Her lips parted.

  A shaky sigh escaped her.

  He went to tug her closer.

  But she twisted her wrist out of his grasp and stepped away.

  “Brannon…”

  When she turned away, he dragged his hands over his face. What’s the matter with you, you stupid fuck?

  But he knew.

  He was afraid. Over the past few months, he’d finally admitted to himself what she meant to him. She meant everything and losing her would shatter him in ways he didn’t know if he could handle.

  He had to make her understand she mattered.

  Once she knew that, once she realized he was serious about her, once he knew things wasn’t going to fall apart after one bad storm, then he could tell her.

  A soft sigh drifted through the room and he dropped his hands, staring at her. Her hair, that rich, lush brown, was still mussed from bed and from his hands. It shielded her face from him even as she half-turned back toward him. He wanted to twine it around his hands and tug her head back, stare into her eyes and tell her … everything.

  Tell her that he’d been half-stupid about her even when it was the worst thing he could do. She’d still been in high school when he’d first really noticed her and he’d been in college. But even before that, he’d liked her. Not in that kind of way, but he thought she was a sweet kid, a tough one. He knew what she put up with, knew what had been done to her mother.

  More than once, he’d talked to Moira and the two of them had gotten together with Ella Sue to make sure that Hannah’s mother had steady work—she’d worked at a dozen jobs, a waitress, an office assistant, a secretary, cleaning houses, doing laundry, whatever it took to make sure there was money to put food on her table.

  More than once, he’d wished he could have dealt with the son of a bitch the law called her stepfather. But fate dealt with him instead.

  Hannah hadn’t cried at the funeral.

  Brannon had hugged her there, touched her for the first and last time up until the day she showed up at his door holding his wallet. His body had come alive with that one touch—something that had been given in comfort and all he’d wanted to do was take big, greedy bites out of her.

  Slowly, uncertain of the reception he’d get, he closed the distance between them.

  She met him, more than halfway, and the vicious ache that ripped at him whenever he saw her started to ease as she curled into him. Her arms were soft and strong as she wrapped them around him. “One of these days,” she said against his chest. “One of these days, we need to have a talk about whatever it is we have going on here, Brannon.”

  “Yeah.” He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair. “Listen, I—”

  The sudden, hard pounding on the door interrupted him and he swore.

  “Ella Sue would wash your mouth out with soap,” Hannah said. Her eyes were shadowed, but the smile on her lips was a real one.

  It didn’t make it any easier to let her go when she pulled away.

  “Brannon, you sod, it’s Ian and Neve,” a deep voice came from beyond the door. “Open up. It’s important.”

  Hannah looked down at her bare legs and grimaced. “Let me go grab my clothes before you open that door.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hannah stood off to the sidelines, her arms wrapped around her midsection.

  Neve and Ian were a few feet away, but none of them spoke.

  Brannon’s face was tight, the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw adding to his overall menacing appearance. “What else do you need to know?” he asked, his eyes glittering as he stared at the deputy. After Brannon had talked to Ian, he’d called the county sheriff. They’d met at the winery and both Tank and one of his deputies were there.

  Ian had been supposed to meet Alison at the pub—trying a few wines, and when she hadn’t shown, he’d called her, then the winery. Then he’d called Marc. Marc had called her house, her cell … she wasn’t answering.

  “She pissed off the senator and all of you have seen how well he’s doing with the damage control. He’s screwed. And now Alison is missing.”

  “We don’t know that she’s missing,” Tank said.

  Brannon’s stream of curses turned the air blue.

  Hannah was mildly impressed. She heard quite a bit of swearing in her line of work, and quite a bit of it was directed at her. Some of it, of course, was just directed at the situation. Nothing like having a bone poking out of your skin or seeing your toddler with his head stuck between the top and bottom of your chair to learn just how inventively you could swear—or how ardently you could pray.

  Brannon was very inventive. She’d learned that over the past few days, but this was a whole other side.

  He’d always been the more laid back of the McKays, but the temper was something people hinted at.

  Moira was serene, elegance personified. Once a person got to know her, Moira was also a wonderful friend and warm and funny, with a wicked sense of humor. But one could never consider the eldest McKay to be laid back.

  Neve was, plain and simple, a hellion. Trouble, just like her nickname said. She seemed to have settled down some, but her temper was just as sharp as ever. Hannah adored her.

  Other than the fact that he’d always been prone to snapping at her, Brannon had been the easy-going one of the bunch. If you needed something and were afraid to approach Neve—or too intimidated by Moira—then Brannon was your guy. If Neve had been edging too close to the point of no return, then Brannon had been the one Hannah would reach out to back in school—when he was home.

  Now, though, she could see that temper, hot enough to burn.

  As he advanced on the sheriff, Neve groaned under her breath. “He’s going to get his ass thrown in jail. Ian…”

  “I can try to talk him down, love, but chances are it will end with both of us getting our arses tossed in.” Ian looked grim.

  Hannah gave them both a withering look. “The last thing we need is more testosterone out there.”

  She braced herself, because this was so not going to be pleasant.

  Neve reached for her hand, but she sidestepped. “He’ll listen to me or I’ll just punch him,” she said. And she was almost certain she meant it.

  “I’ve tried that,” Ian said, stroking his beard. Then he winked at her. “Never worked well for me, but I’ve an idea it will work differently for you.”

  She could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and she resisted the urge to let it show. It was so not the time to smile. When she turned, she caught sight of Marc, sitting on the steps that led up to the winery and she wanted to go to him, hug him, tell him … tell him what?

  That everything would be okay?

  She’d be lying and she knew it.

  She had a bad, bad feeling in her gut.

  Instead of making empty promises and offering comfort that might not be welcome, she focused on the problem she could fix. Brannon was now in the sheriff’s face and his voice was at a bellow now, full of pure fury.

  She reached out and tapped his shoulder.

  He jerked his head around, words already trembling on his lips.

  Cocking a brow, she said, “Yes?”

  He snapped his jaw shut.

  “This isn’t helping,” she said quietly. Nodding toward Marc, s
he added, “You think he needs to hear this right now?”

  “What he needs is to know where Alison is,” Brannon said. He jerked his thumb toward the sheriff. “But the enterprising sheriff here seems to think we should wait until … oh, I don’t know … hell freezes over?”

  Tank opened his mouth, his face bleeding to red.

  Hannah cut him off. “Brannon, you dumbass. He’s got a job to do—there are lines he can’t cross.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” he demanded, spreading his arms out. “Just wait until the good sheriff thinks he can safely investigate?”

  “Brannon,” Tank said, his voice stiff. “I’m going to send a car out to her place and have somebody check on her. I already told you that. I—”

  But Brannon was already walking away.

  Hannah gritted her teeth and then jogged over to where he was talking to Neve.

  “Yeah, I can hang a while,” Neve was saying, lifting a shoulder. She glanced up at Ian.

  Ian nodded.

  “Good. I don’t want Marc alone for a while, but I need to do something.” Brannon turned back and caught Hannah’s gaze. “Stay here.”

  “Can’t.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ve got a job to do. I’ve got a shift at three. You were supposed to take me back to town, remember?”

  “I…” He stopped, shoving a hand through his hair. “Hannah, just stay here!”

  “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Either take me with you or I’ll call around until I get a ride, but I’m not hanging out here and twiddling my thumbs. Which one is it going to be?”

  * * *

  If there had ever been a woman as stubborn as Hannah Parker, Brannon didn’t want to meet her. But just as quickly as he had that thought, he was mentally shaking his head. He knew two women that stubborn—his sisters. They drove him crazy with it, too. And here he was, half-stupid over a woman who did the same thing.

  “You realize the sheriff is going to have your ass for being out here.” Hannah climbed out of the car and looked around, shivering a little as the breeze blew in off the river. It was overcast and under the trees that surrounded Alison’s house, it was chillier than it had been for a while.

  “He can’t really stop me, now can he?” Brannon bared his teeth in a smile. “He hasn’t declared her missing or done anything official yet. Right now, I’m just checking up on my employee. She hasn’t clocked in today. I’m not happy about that.”

  He made an exaggerated show of checking his watch. “And she’s like three hours late now. Nope, not happy.”

  Hannah just shook her head.

  As he moved to the door, she fell in with him.

  “It’s quiet out here,” she said softly.

  “Yeah.” He glanced around, trying to pretend he didn’t feel uneasy. “Part of her job package was that I’d help her find a place. I’m covering her payments for a year. She saw this place and fell in love with it.”

  Hannah made a tsking sound under her breath. “You McKays are just up for sainthood, aren’t you?”

  “I wanted her to come and work for me. I called it a wise investment in my winery. She’s a great employee.” Brannon shrugged it away, a scowl on his face. He lifted a hand and started to bang on the door. The knock was loud, echoing through the silence. There was no answer. After a minute, he knocked again.

  As they waited, he turned and stared at the car.

  It sat in the driveway.

  Narrowing his eyes, he studied the sunroof. It was partially open. “It rained last night, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  He just shook his head. He took the steps on the porch in a leap. Hannah followed him and he could feel the weight of her curious stare as he moved toward the car. He didn’t try to open the doors—knowing his luck, Alison would have an alarm system. But he didn’t need to open the doors.

  He peered inside the window and his gut went tight as he saw the water puddled on the console.

  “She hasn’t been out since it rained.” Straightening, he looked back at the house.

  “What are you…”

  As he started back, he heard Hannah’s frustrated sigh. “Where are you going?”

  “Taking a look around.” He debated telling Hannah to wait inside the car, but in the end, he decided he’d rather have her with him. Besides, she wouldn’t listen anyway, and they’d fight and waste time.

  Together, they circled around, looking at the windows, the grounds. Brannon had no idea what he was looking for.

  It was Hannah who saw it first.

  She grabbed his arm, her nails biting into his arm. “Brannon. The window.”

  He went still.

  Dread, and a sick knowledge, twisted in him as he stared at the perfectly round hole in the window.

  There was nothing else out of place.

  But that hole …

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing Hannah’s hand. He half-dragged her up to the back door and once they were there, he let go. “For the record, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a legit case for breaking down this door, but if you don’t want to come inside, then don’t.”

  Hannah said nothing. She wrapped her arms around herself and stood there white-faced, but after a second, she gave a single, short nod.

  He stared at the door for a moment and then took a few steps back.

  It was surprisingly easy, but then again, Brannon was a big guy and he knew how to use the strength he had in his body. If he’d been a foot shorter and hundred pounds lighter, he probably would have bounced off the door.

  It crashed open and immediately an alarm started to echo.

  Hannah grimaced at the sound.

  “Well, that’s going to get the cops out here,” she said sourly.

  “Grab the phone,” Brannon said, nodding to it. “That’s the same people who handle our security. They’ll call. Tell them we found signs of forced entry. Tank is probably already heading here anyway. Alison!”

  The phone started to ring.

  Hannah answered it.

  He barely heard what she said over the noise of the alarm and the sound of his own racing heart.

  The kitchen was empty, neat as a pin.

  The same for the living room, the hall, the bedroom.

  The door to the bathroom was open, the light on. It was the only light on in the whole house.

  He saw her right away.

  He lunged forward, grabbing her out of the water.

  Later, much later, he’d think about how cold the water had been.

  Later, much later, he’d recall that Alison’s body had been just as cold.

  Later, much later, he’d realize that she’d already been gone.

  But all he could think at that moment was that she was laying in the water, her eyes open, her body still.

  Distantly, he heard Hannah’s voice, sharp and clear, as he dragged Alison out of the water, as he put that cold, cold body on the ground.

  “Move back!” Hannah shouted. Then she shoved him.

  He went to snarl at her and then he stopped, remembering. “Help her,” he said. “You can help her.”

  * * *

  Oh, baby …

  Hannah’s heart broke for him.

  Brannon, he wanted to be everybody’s hero, wanted to save everybody, take care of everybody.

  There was no helping Alison Maxwell, though.

  Reaching up, she laid a hand on his cheek. “She’s gone, Brannon.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Get back. If…” He swallowed, like he was suddenly having a hard time speaking. “If you won’t do it, I will.”

  She closed her eyes. “We’ll both try.”

  Sometimes, you just had to try. Just so you knew you’d done something.

  Aware that she had people shouting at her through the receiver, she lifted it to her ear. “We need the police, EMS, immediately. Ms. Maxwell is…” dead … “There’s a medical emergency here. There were signs of forced entry and nobody answered so we bro
ke in through the back door.”

  As Brannon bent over Alison’s lifeless body, Hannah gave her name and assured them she’d keep the line open.

  Then she went to her knees and tapped Brannon.

  He was doing chest compressions.

  Water bubbled out of Alison’s mouth.

  “I’ll do the chest compressions,” Hannah said. “We’ll try.”

  Brannon only nodded.

  It was a relief that the county deputies weren’t far away.

  It took only a few more minutes for the fire department to arrive. Brannon stepped aside only when the EMTs told them they’d take over. They shared a grim look with Hannah. She just gave a small shake of her head.

  They knelt by Alison and checked her over while Hannah moved to block Brannon.

  “Why aren’t they…”

  She caught his arms. “Brannon, she’s gone.”

  “No.” But the stubborn note was fading from his voice, replaced by something rough.

  Lifting a hand, she laid it on his cheek. “Brannon, she’s been dead for hours, maybe longer. There’s nothing anybody can do for her now.”

  Then a man came into the room.

  Gideon Marshall, moving side by side with Tank.

  The chief of police glanced her way, his eyes lingering on her before he looked back to the sheriff.

  Well, no.

  That wasn’t exactly true.

  They could find who’d killed Alison.

  They could make the son of a bitch pay.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  McKay’s Treasure wasn’t a town unknown to tragedy.

  If one looked back far enough, they’d find that Treasure had been borne of it, was steeped in it, and like a phoenix, had risen from those ashes.

  The man who’d bought a piece of land to build a home for his young Quaker wife hadn’t known he’d started what would become an empire. He also hadn’t known that when he’d agreed to patrol the Mississippi for river pirates that one day, the very men who’d hired him would turn on him and he’d end up hanging from the end of a rope.

  Patrick McKay had founded McKay’s Treasure. He’d bought the property that would eventually become McKay’s Ferry, the jewel of his family’s crown, and the land around it would eventually become McKay’s Treasure, a tribute to the man who’d sacrificed all for love and for honor.