by Paula Graves
Two former partners find their feelings rekindled when they’re forced to uncover the truth in Paula Graves’s Bitterwood P.D. trilogy!
Assistant FBI director Adam Brand is out of time. His attempt to expose a domestic terrorist hiding in plain sight has left him with more questions than answers. Still, asking his former FBI subordinate Delilah Hammond for help is even more dangerous.
Once before, the unexpected heat between them drove her back to her mountain hometown—and Adam to the heights of the Bureau. And now, as a new sheriff, Delilah has much more to lose…even as her skills and determination leave Adam breathless all over again. Staying two steps ahead of their ruthless quarry reignites a desire neither can resist. But as Delilah puts herself on the line to set a lethal trap, will they survive to explore the future neither has given up on?
His hand slid up under the hem of Delilah’s jacket and crept beneath her thermal sweater until his cool fingers traced over the hot skin of her waist. “Kiss me.”
She lowered her mouth to his slowly, her heart pounding. His lips were warm and dry, soft at first, but hardening as her mouth met his. She threaded her fingers through his dark hair, slanting his head so that their mouths fit together more completely.
Kissing him still felt like sin and salvation, contradictory and irresistible. She knew she couldn’t let herself want him, but she was powerless to resist the pull of attraction. Nothing—not their present danger or their past betrayals—could stem the tide of her desire…
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
For nearly thirty years fearless romance has fueled every Harlequin Intrigue book. Now we want everyone to know about the great crime stories our fantastic authors write and the variety of compelling miniseries we offer. We think our new cover look complements and enhances our promise to deliver edge-of-your-seat reads in all six of our titles—and brand-new titles every month!
This month’s lineup is packed with nonstop mystery in Smoky Ridge Curse, the third in Paula Graves’s Bitterwood P.D. trilogy, exciting action in Sharpshooter, the next installment in Cynthia Eden’s Shadow Agents miniseries, and of course fearless romance—whether from newcomers Jana DeLeon and HelenKay Dimon or veteran author Aimée Thurlo, we’ve got every angle covered.
Next month buckle up as Debra Webb returns with a new Colby Agency series featuring The Specialists. And in November USA TODAY bestselling author B.J. Daniels takes us back to “The Canyon” for her special Christmas at Cardwell Ranch celebration.
Lots going on and lots more to come. Be sure to check out www.Harlequin.com for what’s coming next.
Enjoy,
Denise Zaza
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Smoky Ridge Curse
Paula Graves
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.
Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.
Books by Paula Graves
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
926—FORBIDDEN TERRITORY
998—FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION
1046—FORBIDDEN TOUCH
1088—COWBOY ALIBI
1183—CASE FILE: CANYON CREEK, WYOMING*
1189—CHICKASAW COUNTY CAPTIVE*
1224—ONE TOUGH MARINE*
1230—BACHELOR SHERIFF*
1272—HITCHED AND HUNTED**
1278—THE MAN FROM GOSSAMER RIDGE**
1285—COOPER VENGEANCE**
1305—MAJOR NANNY
1337—SECRET IDENTITY‡
1342—SECRET HIDEOUT‡
1348—SECRET AGENDA‡
1366—SECRET ASSIGNMENT‡
1372—SECRET KEEPER‡
1378—SECRET INTENTIONS‡
1428—MURDER IN THE SMOKIES‡‡
1432—THE SMOKY MOUNTAIN MIST‡‡
1438—SMOKY RIDGE CURSE‡‡
*Cooper Justice
**Cooper Justice: Cold Case Investigation
‡Cooper Security
‡‡Bitterwood P.D.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Delilah Hammond—The Bitterwood, Tennessee, native has returned home after years away. But when her former boss—and onetime lover—shows up injured and on the run from the good guys and bad guys alike, she realizes she has to face her past before she can plan her future.
Adam Brand—Once a rising star in the FBI, Brand is a hunted man, framed for espionage and murder. With pursuers closing in, he goes to the only person he trusts, his former protégée, Delilah.
Wayne Cortland—The lumberyard owner seems to be an upstanding businessman in his rural Virginia town. Is Brand right that his law-abiding facade is a clever cover for a ruthless backwoods crime lord?
Rachel Davenport—Her stepbrother tried to kill her shortly after he met with a man fitting Wayne Cortland’s description. Could Cortland be the one targeting her for murder?
Seth Hammond—Though Delilah’s brother has reformed his wicked ways, someone’s still gunning for him. Are his troubles connected to his checkered past? Or has his relationship with Rachel Davenport made him a target?
Nolan Cavanaugh—The geeky code cracker has helped catch criminals before. But is he working against Wayne Cortland—or for him?
Glen Rayburn—The Bitterwood police department’s captain of detectives has proved an impediment to recent police investigations. Is he digging in his heels against changes in the department, or are his motives darker?
Alexander Quinn—What does the CIA master spy want from Adam Brand? Does he know more about Wayne Cortland’s criminal enterprise than he’s willing to say? And who is the mystery man he’s sent to keep track of Brand’s movements?
For my readers, who choose to read my stories when there’s such a delightful array of great books out there to be enjoyed. I’m forever grateful.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
Winter had come to Bitterwood, Tennessee, roaring in on a cold, damp wind that poured down the mountain passes and shook the remnants of browning leaves from the sugar maples, sweet gums and dogwoods growing at the middle elevations. Delilah Hammond remembered well from childhood the sharp bite of an Appalachian November and dressed warmly when she headed up the winding mountain road to her mother’s place on Smoky Ridge.
Reesa Hammond was on day three of her latest hop on the sobriety wagon, and withdrawal had hit her hard, killing her appetite and leaving her shaking, angry and suffer
ing from a persistent headache no amount of ibuprofen seemed to relieve. Frankly, Delilah was surprised her mother had bothered trying to stop drinking at all at this point, since her previous eight attempts at sobriety had all ended the same way, five fingers deep in a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey.
Delilah didn’t kid herself that this time Reesa would win the battle with the bottle. But Reesa had taken a hell of a lot of abuse trying to protect Delilah and her brother, Seth, from their sick creep of a sperm donor, so a little barley soup and a few minutes of company wasn’t too much to offer, was it?
Her cell phone beeped as she turned her Camaro into a tight curve. She waited until the road straightened to answer, aware of how dangerous the mountain roads could be, especially at night with rain starting to mix with sleet. “Hammond.”
“Just checking to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind.” The gruff voice on the other end of the line belonged to a former leatherneck named Jesse Cooper, the man who’d been her boss for the past few years, until she’d given her notice two weeks earlier.
“I haven’t,” she answered, tamping down the doubts that had harassed her ever since she’d quit the best job she’d ever had.
“You’re overqualified.”
“I know.”
“You’re no good at small-town politics.”
“I know that, too.”
“You should have held out for chief of police, at least.”
She grinned at that. “Talk about small-town politics.”
“I can keep the job open for a month or two, but that’s it. Our caseload’s growing, and I can’t afford to work shorthanded.”
“I know. I appreciate the vote of confidence in me, but I’m ready for a change.” She tried not to dwell on just how drastic a change she’d made in the past two weeks. Going from a global security and threat assessment firm to a detective on one of Tennessee’s tiniest police forces was turning out to be a shock to the system even she hadn’t anticipated.
She still wasn’t sure why, exactly, she’d decided to stick around Bitterwood, Tennessee, after so many years away. She only knew that a few weeks ago, when the time had come to go back to work in Alabama after an extended assignment in her old hometown, her feet had planted firmly in the rocky Tennessee soil and refused to budge. She’d returned to Maybridge just long enough to work out her two-week notice, talk her landlord into letting her break her long-term lease and gather up her sparse belongings. Two days ago, she’d moved into a rental house off Vesper Road at the foot of Smoky Ridge. In a week, she’d start her new job with the Bitterwood Police Department.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything else about Adam Brand?” she added as the silence between her and her former boss lingered past comfort.
“Nothing yet. We have feelers out. I know you’re worried.”
“Not worried,” she denied, though it was a lie. “More confused than anything. Going AWOL is not an Adam Brand kind of thing to do. And there’s no way in hell he’s a traitor to this country. It’s not in his DNA.”
“Your brother still won’t tell you anything more about the work he did for Brand?”
“I don’t think Seth knows anything more,” Delilah said. “He didn’t ask a lot of questions, and Brand’s not one to shoot off his mouth.” Even when a few well-chosen words might do him a world of good, she added silently.
“Isabel and Ben have both been trying to reach him, but they’re not having much luck. They didn’t keep in close touch with Brand after leaving the bureau.”
“It happens.” Delilah ignored the stinging pain in the center of her chest. “I’ve got to go. I’m taking soup and sympathy to my mom. She’s on the wagon again.”
“Oh.” She could tell by Jesse’s careful tone that he wanted to say something encouraging, but he’d been around for three or four of her mother’s last brief flirtations with sobriety and knew better than to dish out false hope. “I hope she makes it this time.”
“Yeah, me, too. Say hi to everyone. And call me if you get any news about Brand. I don’t think this Davenport case is really over yet, and he seems to know something about it.”
“Will do.” Jesse hung up.
The Davenport case was at least part of the reason she’d stuck around Bitterwood. Two months earlier, the murders had started—four women found stabbed to death in their beds, though they’d clearly been killed elsewhere. A Bitterwood P.D. detective named Ivy Hawkins had made the first clear connection between the murders—all four women had been friends with a woman named Rachel Davenport, whose dying father owned Davenport Trucking in Maryville, Tennessee, a town twenty minutes from Bitterwood.
When Ivy had caught the murderer, he’d admitted he’d been hired to kill the women. With his cryptic dying words, he’d hinted the killings had everything to do with Rachel Davenport, as Ivy had suspected. Someone had wanted to torment Rachel until she broke, and only after several close calls had the police discovered a struggle for control of Davenport Trucking was at the heart of the campaign of emotional torture.
If there was anything good to come out of the whole mess, it was that Delilah’s black sheep of a brother, Seth, had ended up a hero and even won the girl—he and Rachel Davenport were already talking rings and wedding dates, which seemed pretty quick to Delilah. Then again, she was thirty-four and single. Some might say she was a little too cautious about affairs of the heart.
Her mother’s house was a small cabin near the summit of Smoky Ridge, prone to power outages when the winter storms rolled in. But she had a large fireplace in the front room and a smaller woodstove to warm her bedroom, both of which seemed to be working based on the twin columns of smoke rising over the fir trees surrounding the small cabin.
A thin layer of sleet had started to form on the hard surface of the narrow driveway next to the cabin, crunching under Delilah’s boots as she crossed the tiny concrete patio to the kitchen entrance. She had to bend into the wind as it gusted past her, slapping the screen door against the wall of the cabin.
It swung back as she passed, crashing into her with an aluminum rattle.
She stopped short, skidding on the icy pellets underfoot, and stared at the offending screen door. It hung sideways, still flapping in the cold wind, as if someone had tried to rip it from its hinges.
Moving slowly, she stepped back and reached into her pocket for her keychain, where she kept a small flashlight attached to the ring. She snapped it on and ran the narrow beam across the patio beneath the door.
Dark red splotches, still wet and glistening beneath the thin layer of sleet, marred the concrete surface. Another streak of red stained the aluminum frame of the broken door.
Her first thought was that her mother had gone back on the bottle, taken a spill and was laid up inside somewhere, drunkenly trying to patch herself up. It was the most logical assumption.
But a lot of bad things had been happening in Bitterwood in the past couple of months. And between her FBI training and her years working for Cooper Security, Delilah always assumed the worst.
Setting the bag of take-out soup on the patio table, she pulled her Sig Sauer P229 from the pancake holster behind her back and tried the back doorknob. Unlocked.
She eased the door open. Heat blasted her, a welcome contrast to the icy breeze prickling the exposed skin of her neck. Somewhere in the house, a vacuum cleaner was running on high, its whine almost drowning out the whistle of the wind across the eaves.
She shut the door quietly. Keeping her eyes and ears open, she moved as silently as she could, checking each room as she went. If there had been blood splotches inside the house, they’d been cleaned up already. The rough wood floor beneath her feet was worn but spotless.
In the den at the front of the house, the sound of the vacuum cleaner roared with full force. Reesa Hammond was running an upright vacuum with cheerful
energy, dancing to whatever tune she was singing beneath the noise of the cleaner.
She swirled the cleaner around in the opposite direction and jumped when she saw Delilah standing in the doorway, weapon in hand.
Reesa shut off the vacuum cleaner and put her hand over her chest. “Good Lord, Dee Dee, you scared me out of my wits!”
“Are you okay?”
Reesa’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
After a pause, Delilah reholstered her Sig Sauer. “Did you know the screen door to the kitchen’s been nearly ripped off its hinges?”
“Really?” Reesa looked surprised. “It was fine when I got back from the mailbox this afternoon. I guess the wind’s stronger out there than I thought.”
“I don’t think it was the wind,” Delilah murmured, remembering the blood on the patio. “You didn’t hear anything?”
“I was in the shower for a little while, then running the hair dryer, and I’ve been vacuuming the place ever since. I reckon half the mountain could have come down out there and I wouldn’t have heard it.” She cocked her head. “You look tired.”
Delilah gazed back at her mother through narrowed eyes. “I thought you were feeling bad.”
Reesa looked sheepish. “I was, this morning. But when you called and said you were coming over, I didn’t want you to see what a mess the place was, so I started cleaning up. And before I knew it, my headache was gone, and I was feeling so much like my old self, I thought maybe I’d surprise you by having dinner ready for you when you got here.” She sighed. “But you’re early. I haven’t put the casserole in the oven yet.”
“I brought barley soup from Ledbetter’s Café.” And left it out in the cold, she realized, where it had probably reached refrigerator temperature by now.
“And I’ve ruined it for you by feeling better.” Reesa patted her cheek. “I’m sorry. I know I must seem such a mess to you.”
Unexpected tears burned Delilah’s eyes. She blinked them away. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”