Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  “Ready.” Jamison popped up next to her, the plate of cookies in his hand, a big grin lighting his face.

  The sight broke her heart a little. He yearned for a male role model. Craved positive reinforcement from a male figurehead. Instead of getting it all from his own father or even his grandfather, Jamison was searching for it in a stranger. A stranger who would soon turn his back on them like every other man in town.

  “Come on, Mom,” he said, reaching for the door. “You’re so slow.”

  Savannah covered his hand. “Hold on a sec. We need to talk.” She dropped into a crouch and searched for the right words. “You need to remember that Ian is an adult with his own busy life. He’s going to be working long days and will probably be really tired when he gets home. Just because we’re bringing him cookies doesn’t mean you can jump over there any time you want to visit. And you absolutely do not leave the house without telling me.” She gave him a stern look. “Are we clear?”

  Her warning didn’t dim Jamison’s grin any. “Crystal.”

  Damn, those freckles over his nose, the sparkle in his smile, his unrelenting hope. She ruffled his hair. “Kid, you slay me.”

  When they stepped onto the porch, Savannah realized it was much nicer outside than she’d thought. The sun beat down and the snow insulated the area, creating a microclimate of spring bliss. Snow dripped off the eaves and melted over the sidewalks. The plow had come by earlier, and a strip of the road had been cleared.

  Savannah left her mittens in her pocket and her jacket unzipped for the short walk. As they approached the strip of revealed asphalt in the street, Corwin looked over from his patrol car. He rolled down his window, smiling at Jamison. “Hey there, little man.”

  Savannah glanced down at Jamison, saw the cookies, and realized the man thought they were for him. But Jamison looked right at Corwin, then turned at the road, continuing to Ian’s without a word. Savannah experienced a collage of feelings from pride to fear. When it was obvious Jamison wasn’t going to acknowledge the deputy, Corwin’s gaze turned on Savannah—and it was anything but friendly.

  Sure, blame Mom. Everything is my fault.

  “Karma’s a bitch,” she told Corwin.

  News of this visit would go straight to Hank. Savannah was in for a real headache. She was feeling jumpy by the time they reached Ian’s door. She stood back as Jamison climbed the porch, much the way she did when he went door-to-door selling chocolate for his T-ball league.

  Jamison shifted the cookies into one hand and lifted the other to knock. The door opened before his hand met the wood, and Ian stopped short, surprising all three of them.

  “Well, hi there.” He looked down at Jamison with a curious expression, then his gaze made a quick sweep of Savannah.

  She’d seen him just hours ago when he’d been in the café for breakfast. Over the last few days, they’d built a warm familiarity. But she swore the man got better looking every time she saw him. He was in the same jeans and long-sleeved waffle thermal as this morning and every inch of fabric showed off assets Savannah wished she could investigate intimately.

  “Hi, Mr. Ian.” Jamison lifted the plate. “We brought you cookies.”

  “I see.” His gaze flitted to Savannah again. “Is this one of those fund-raiser things?”

  “No,” Jamison answered. “It’s because you’re our new neighbor.”

  Ian planted his hands on his hips. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Heck, if I’d known fresh cookies came with this place, I’d have moved in last week.”

  “They’re oatmeal chocolate chip,” Jamison told him. “My Aunt Misty’s recipe. The best ever.”

  “Sold, partner, sold,” Ian said, taking the plate. “That’s awfully”—he looked at Savannah, and a little more smile reached his eyes—“hospitable of you.”

  She returned his smile, too pleased he’d remembered their conversation from the day before.

  And while they were staring at each other, Jamison crooned, “Ooo, a bat,” and slipped past Ian and into the house.

  That broke Savannah’s concentration. “Jamison,” she scolded, “get out here. You don’t just walk into someone’s house uninvited.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Ian said.

  “He knows better.” She inched closer to the porch. “Jamison—”

  “Look, Mom.” He stood in the doorway, holding an aluminum bat. His gaze jumped to Ian. “This is a big bat.”

  “But it’s light, right?” He stepped back and opened the door wider to Savannah. “Come on in. I’ll put these in the kitchen.”

  A spark of uneasiness nagged beneath her ribs. When she hedged, Ian disappeared in the direction of the kitchen with Jamison following like a tail.

  “Jamis— Grrrr.” She was caught in an awkward place, moving forward only when neither Jamison nor Ian reappeared instantly.

  She stepped into the duplex and closed the door to the cold air. The space was the mirror opposite of hers, which meant the largest bedrooms—her bedroom and his—shared a wall. Something she really shouldn’t think about.

  “Just for a minute,” she said. “Jamison, come here right now.”

  He appeared at the front door with a mitt and baseball.

  “Jamison,” she scolded. “Those aren’t yours. You don’t touch things without permission.”

  “Mr. Ian said it was okay.”

  Savannah exhaled and glanced round, wincing at the paint job. The sheer intensity of the pink strained her eyes. The living room floor was draped with tarps, and a bucket of paint occupied one corner.

  “Someone’s finally going to paint,” she said as he came back in. “I wondered how others could live with this color. They said they got used to it and didn’t even see it after a while, but somehow I find that hard to believe.”

  “Right?” he said, also grimacing at the room with a shake of his head. “How do you not notice this? It hurts to look at it.”

  She resettled her gaze on him. All six-foot-two muscled inches. “I guess you got ahold of Mr. Baulder.”

  “I did.”

  Jamison knelt on the floor at their feet, fitting his hand into the mitt and tossing the ball to catch it. Savannah pushed her hands into her back pockets, uneasy with the nerves tingling in her gut. She hadn’t spoken to a man she was attracted to in so long that even after seeing him for four days in a row, her stomach still floated whenever they talked. “I guess that means you’ll be staying around awhile.”

  He tilted his head, his brows pulling together.

  “The one-year signing agreement,” she explained.

  “Oh, right. That feels sketchy to me.”

  “I think so too, but I guess it’s how he keeps his labor force from bugging out.”

  “That right there tells me something’s wrong.”

  “You’re intuitive,” she said. “But you still took the job?”

  “No. I’ve lived with term agreements my whole adult life. I want to be free to come and go.”

  “I’m confused.” She glanced around the living room. “You’re painting but not staying?”

  “Pfffft. I wouldn’t paint if I wasn’t staying. At least for a while. This place was cheap, and when they agreed to let me paint, I took it.”

  “Are you going to look for other work in town or…?” She cut herself off. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I didn’t come over to grill you.”

  “Doesn’t feel like a grilling.” He shifted on his feet and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Feels like small-town hospitality.”

  She laughed.

  “I’d ask you to sit down, but…” He lifted his chin toward the empty living room with a smirk.

  “Are your things coming soon?”

  “I don’t have any. Everything I own is in the back of my truck.”

  Okay…that seemed odd. “You travel light.”

  “I’ve been in the military.”

  “Ah.” She drew out the realization. “What made you settle here? Is
your family close by?”

  “Nope. Dad disappeared when I was a kid, and Mom passed away about six months ago.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks,” he said, a little subdued. “I like to hunt and fish and backpack. Thought this would be a good place to relax my first year out. Heard about the jobs available at the mine and thought I’d give it a try.”

  She fished her mind for other places he could work, but since everyone in town kept their distance, she didn’t have any ideas. “Since that fell through, what made you decide to stay?”

  “Mo.”

  “Mo Barley?”

  “Yeah. Met him in town. He’s a vet, we got to talking, and he hired me.”

  “At the garage?”

  Ian nodded. “I did a lot of mechanical work in the army. Felt like a good fit.”

  Savannah smiled, tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans, and leaned her shoulder against the wall, mirroring Ian. Jamison was content to toss and catch the ball over and over. He’d always been good at occupying himself, and he loved listening to adults talk. But Savannah was enjoying it too. This was the first decent conversation she’d had with a man in a damn long time. Initially, Ian seemed to have a lot of rough edges. But talking with him felt as comfortable as chatting with her coworkers at the café. It felt good. Better than it probably should.

  “I think you’ll like working for Mo,” she told him. “He and his wife are good people.”

  “That’s the impression I got.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad you’re staying.” The words flipped a switch in her brain and her smile vanished. Her stomach chilled. “But, yeah, about that…” She glanced at Jamison, then back. “We should probably talk later.”

  He held her gaze for an extended moment, silent and still. His gaze eventually lowered to Jamison. “Are you up for fielding some grounders?”

  Jamison’s whole body stiffened, and he looked up at Ian as if he were a Greek god come to life. “Yeah.” Then his gaze jumped to Savannah. “Can I, Mom?”

  She looked toward the road. “I don’t know. There’s still snow…”

  But Jamison jumped to his feet, swung the storm door open, and ran to the porch with the mitt and ball.

  Ian pushed off the wall, picked up the bat, and met her gaze. “It’ll give us time to talk.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Come on.”

  Jamison was already running to the quiet street bordered by snow berms. Ian strode down the walk, and Savannah lost her train of thought as she watched. He moved with force and ease. His shoulders were wide and hard, stretching the thermal material. And, damn, this wasn’t the first time she’d noticed his amazing ass. Not the flat ass of a bean pole or the lard ass of a beer belly, but the high, tight ass of a man with muscle. She freed herself up at the diner every time he finished a meal just so she could watch him walk out.

  “Might want to move your patrol car.” Ian’s words snapped Savannah out of her lust-filled thoughts, and she found him talking to Corwin, who’d stepped out of his vehicle. “Wouldn’t want to dent that spiffy paint job.”

  “Holy shit,” she muttered under her breath. Corwin slanted an angry look at Savannah before speaking into the radio on his shoulder and dropping into his car again. She’d bet her next paycheck this event was being translated straight into Hank’s ear. “Just what I don’t need.”

  But Ian and Jamison were already in position in the street, and her son was so excited to have someone to play ball with, he couldn’t stand still.

  “Okay,” Ian called to Jamison. “Watch the ball and keep your mitt on the ground.”

  As Savannah made her way to the street, Ian tossed the ball in the air and tapped it with the bat. The ball bounced, then rolled along the wet asphalt toward Jamison. He stopped the ball with his mitt and grinned like he’d hit a home run.

  “Good job,” Ian said. “Now aim for my hand.”

  Jamison’s grin faded. “Won’t it hurt without a mitt?”

  “Nah, my hands are like leather. Come on.”

  When Jamison hesitated, Ian glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser, then turned back to Jamison with “I warned him. If he doesn’t move, it’s his own fault. Toss it.”

  Jamison looked at Savannah.

  “You’re better than you think,” she encouraged.

  Jamison hauled his arm back and threw the ball straight to Ian. The leather slapped Ian’s palm, and he laughed. “Whooo-we. You’ve got an arm on you, kid. Ready?”

  Ian coached Jamison through a couple more grounders. Once they’d found a rhythm, he turned to Savannah, his expression curious. “So, what’s with the surveillance?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed, exhaling her stress over the topic. “That.”

  He hit another grounder to Jamison. “There’s either an inordinate amount of crime in this sleepy little town, or you’ve got a problem with your ex.”

  “Can you guess which?”

  He grinned.

  She glanced at Corwin’s vehicle. “Unfortunately, my problems with him also seem to become the problem of anyone who’s nice to me.”

  He didn’t respond, just encouraged Jamison with “That’s it. Good job.”

  She lowered her voice. “I think it’s only fair for me to tell you that if you decide to stay in the duplex, he’ll make trouble for you.” The guilt of how this affected those around her felt heavy in her chest. “I’m really sorry. I—”

  “You stopped apologizing for your ex a long time ago, remember?”

  Her air leaked from her lungs. “Seems to be a hard habit to break.”

  “Would help if he wasn’t such a prick.”

  Savannah laughed, and the load on her shoulders lifted.

  Jamison’s next throw went wild, and Ian lunged left. The leather slapped his palm just a foot from the cruiser’s rear window. Savannah’s breath caught.

  “Whoa,” Ian said with a grin. “That was a close one.”

  He was quick, agile, athletic. And damn, that smile of his, one she didn’t get to see often enough, was so sexy.

  “Okay,” Savannah said. “I think that’s enough for today. My nerves are fried.”

  While Jamison complained and danced in the street, begging Ian for just one more grounder, Ian asked Savannah, “What’s your ex so afraid of?”

  “Losing control.”

  “Hasn’t he already lost it?”

  Savannah cut a look at the patrol car. “Does that look like freedom to you?”

  Ian studied the car for a long, quiet moment. “My mom always told me you can’t control what others do; you can only control how you react to it.” He tossed the ball a foot in the air and caught it as Jamison ran toward them. “Why do you stay?”

  “Sometimes there’s too much power holding you down to have control over how you react.”

  “That’s just flat-out wrong.” A slow, sultry smile lifted his lips and heated his eyes. “But I’m feeling damn lucky you’re staying put next door.”

  He held her gaze, thoughts churning behind his eyes. If they were anything like the ones rolling through her own head, the two of them should erupt in a fireball of spontaneous combustion. Savannah hadn’t had thoughts like this in years. The raw power of them made her shaky.

  Luckily, Jamison ran up to them, breaking the tense spell. His face was flushed, eyes sparkling, grinning ear to ear. It was the happiest Savannah had seen him in months.

  He looked from Ian to Savannah, vibrating with excitement. “Can we paint now?”

  6

  Everly scanned the dingy office as Tim Baulder read over her résumé. She didn’t expect to find anything labeled “Terrorist Ledger” lying around, but…hell, criminals were notoriously stupid.

  The space reflected the man so perfectly, Baulder could have melted into the grungy fixtures. In his late fifties and forty pounds overweight, Baulder wore his dark hair, threaded with gray, too long and too limp. His skin had aged heavily during his years working outdoors, he hadn
’t shaved in about two weeks, and his sweatshirt and jeans were threadbare in places. In contrast, his navy parka with the Bishop Mining logo embroidered into the left upper chest looked brand-new.

  “I’d say mines aren’t the place for a woman,” Baulder said, his gaze roaming the résumé, “but it looks like you’ve grown up in one.”

  “I’ve always worked best with men. Have four brothers,” she lied.

  “Your family still in Alberta?”

  “They are.”

  He looked up from the paper, eyes narrowed and hard. “These guys are rough around the edges. Pretty girl like you is bound to get harassed.”

  “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Definitely not anything I can’t handle.”

  “Awful sure of yourself.”

  Everly gave him a smile. Baulder was not impressed. He just turned his scowl back to the paper, shook his head, and finally leaned back in his chair with a restless air, like he was beyond ready for this interview—all ten minutes of it—to be over.

  “I’ve got an admin position open,” he said. “And an HR position coming up next month when the girl goes on maternity leave.”

  Everly swallowed a guffaw. Movement in the hallway beyond the office drew Everly’s gaze. Lyle Bishop wandered in from the cold, pausing at the secretary’s desk to collect messages.

  Just the man she wanted to see.

  When he turned and walked past Baulder’s open doorway, Everly said, “I’m not looking for an office job, Mr. Baulder. I’m far more qualified for a management position in the field.”

  As expected, a woman’s voice with that bold statement in a man’s world stopped Bishop in his tracks. He scowled into the office. Everly gave him a flirty smile and swung her crossed leg as if she were wearing heels, not work boots. The fucker responded just like every man swayed by a grin—he turned toward the office and leaned his shoulder against the jamb.