Copper Lake Encounter

by Marilyn Pappano

  Nev could have closed her eyes and luxuriated in the heat of the sun, the muted street sounds, the scent of Ty’s cologne and especially in the warm, gentle strength of his hand where it touched her. She could all too easily imagine herself arching against him and twining around him while purring like the loose-moraled cat that lived next door to the Wilsons.

  Instead, she raised her own hand, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “I appreciate that, but I’m fine. Bad things don’t happen to me.”

  “Because you don’t inspire that kind of passion.”

  “Right.” She bobbed her head for emphasis.

  He let her go, took a step back and gave her a look that started at the top of her head and moved down infinitely slowly. It was the kind of look men gave Marieka—long, measuring, cataloguing, so powerful that she could actually feel it, sliding over her nose, her mouth, her throat. Touching the skin revealed by the round neck of her dress. Dipping into the hollow between her breasts, even when fabric concealed his view.

  He gazed at her waist, the flare of her hips, down the length of her thighs, her calves, her ankles to her feet. He stirred heat in her, and desire, and need, and, yes, passion. Sweat beaded on her forehead and down her spine, and when he met her eyes again, she couldn’t help but moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  He looked hot, too, and desiring and needy and, yes, passionate. She knew by the way his throat worked that he found it hard to swallow. She found it hard to breathe. Her entire body was flushed and quivering, and his was taut, his snug-fitting shirt revealing the rigid lines of muscle and bone, his narrow waist and even narrower hips and his...oh, my. Trying hard not to fan herself like an innocent girl from generations past, she jerked her gaze back to his face.

  Ty leaned closer, until his mouth was just an inch from her ear, and whispered, “You underestimate yourself, Nevaeh. You sure inspired me.”

  He gestured toward the passenger seat, and she numbly sat, swinging her legs in last. Murmuring something that ended with fine, he shook his head regretfully, closed the door and then opened the driver’s seat. Automatically reaching to slide the seat way back, he laughed. “Damn, girl, do you always drive clenching the steering wheel like a lover?”

  “I find it easier if my feet actually touch the gas and brake pedals.” She sounded breathy and off-kilter and didn’t care. She was breathy and off-kilter. Dear heavens, the man had just turned her on with nothing more than a look. No touches, no words, no kisses, no caresses, just one incredible look, and she might never recover.

  Just think what he could do to her if he did touch, speak, kiss, caress.

  She might not survive.

  And though he looked totally as if nothing had happened, she’d seen the expression in his eyes. She’d seen his erection. He was way cooler than her, but just as hot.

  Before she’d gotten her heart and respirations regulated again, he’d pulled into a strip center. She scanned the businesses—a liquor store, a payday loan place, a furniture rental shop, a dollar store and, tucked between the last two, a tiny storefront that read simply Good Food.

  “I know you’re not one to judge by appearances,” Ty said as they crossed the parking lot.

  “Are you kidding? I know this place. I love this place. I can give you the addresses of ten or twelve just like it in Atlanta. Same sort of location, same sort of welcome, same incredible food.”

  The posters taped to the windows for school carnivals, tent revivals and gospel music concerts obscured the view inside, but the instant Ty opened the door and the wonderful, familiar, mouthwatering aromas rushed to meet them, she was home. She didn’t wait for him to lead the way but made a direct path to the closest empty booth, slid in and took a plastic-coated menu that stood between a bottle of hot-pepper vinegar sauce and a salt shaker half filled with grains of rice.

  “YaYa would love this menu. Everything on here speaks to me. Well, except Hoppin’ John and barbecued pigs’ feet.”

  “Barbecuing beats pickling them any day.”

  “Yes, but they still look exactly like feet when they’re done. Except for drumsticks, I like my food to not be quite so recognizable when I eat it.”

  An older man with a frizz of gray hair and wearing an immaculately white shirt brought them tea and took their orders. Between them, they ordered every dish she’d thought of earlier except the Coca-Cola cake and added biscuits and seasoned green beans. She was anticipating the calorie overload and wondering about that look Ty had given her and still convincing herself that the break-in had had nothing to do with her personally when he spoke.

  “I agree with the architect that the Eleanor Calloway Memorial Library is a great example of a public building, but it’s not usually on the local must-see tours around here. Do you normally hang out in libraries on vacation?”

  Grateful her hand was steady, Nev picked up her glass. When the condensation made the napkin underneath stick to it, she set the napkin down again, sprinkled it with salt and then put her glass down. “I told you, I don’t normally do vacations.”

  “So you were just...what? Admiring the oak floors?”

  “They’re marble.” She forced a smile that at least felt somewhat normal. “I’m a little embarrassed to admit this...” Not that she intended to tell the truth. Just part of it. “I met a woman at breakfast this morning. Anamaria Calloway. You had mentioned her, and your grandfather did, and...I was curious about her. She’s a striking woman. She has presence. She said some things...”

  “What things?” Ty was practically biting his lips to keep from grinning, so obviously he knew Anamaria claimed to have the sight. Did he believe her? Had he seen any evidence?

  “She said she’d thought she would see me today, so she brought some flowers for me to give Daisy and Dahlia. They were daisies and dahlias.”

  Ty shrugged. “Kind of obvious.”

  “But I hadn’t told anyone I was trying to get some dahlias. And why would she think she’d see me? We’re strangers.” Though Anamaria had had something to say about that, too.

  “Everyone in Copper Lake winds up at Ellie’s eventually. What else did she say?”

  That I’m going to be here a good long while. But she wanted to keep that part to herself for now. “That I remind her of someone, someplace or another time. Do you believe she can see things?”

  Ty leaned back in his seat, his long strong fingers toying with the knife on his napkin as if he were choosing his words carefully. “I’m a cop. I like physical, tangible evidence. Proof. DNA, fingerprints, ballistics, blood tests. But my mother believed in readers, seers, cards, visions. My grandmother believed, and her mother and grandmother. Granddad believes. Robbie Calloway, the biggest skeptic in the county, certainly became a believer after meeting Anamaria.”

  “So you’re not saying yes or no.”

  His smile flashed. “I’ve seen things I don’t understand. Haven’t you?”

  “Sure.” Was Anamaria right? Was Nev truly destined to stay in Copper Lake? Was there any way to know? Even if Nev did decide to move here, who was to say it wasn’t because YaYa had put the idea in her head and Ty and Anamaria had hammered it home?

  “So you went to the library to find out more about her?”

  Heat flushed her face. “Yes. I wanted to check the newspaper.” What she’d found was sad but short on details: Anamaria and Robbie, whom she’d later married, had gone to his cousin’s cabin to talk to him. The three planned to drive back into town together, but while she and Robbie waited outside, Kent Calloway, inside alone, killed himself.

  “Good,” he said firmly. “If you’d gone back to your room to use the internet, you might have been there when the bastard broke in.”

  As quickly as the heat had come, so did the ice that made her shiver. “Or he might have realized the room wasn’t empty and gone on to another.”<
br />
  “Or delivered his message in person.”

  Go home. You don’t belong here. Get out or...

  She shivered again. Why would anyone threaten her? It just didn’t make sense, and it scared her. Should she take the anonymous advice, forget about unraveling her dreams and return to Atlanta?

  Leave Copper Lake five days early. Leave Ty before getting more than one kiss and one scorching, toe-curling, butterfly-inspiring look. She could hardly bear the thought.

  Leaning forward, he gripped her hands in his. “I’ll keep you safe, Nev. I swear on my life.”

  She believed him. The fear settled. The butterflies took another series of tumbles. “Aw, look who’s foretelling the future now,” she teased as her fingers curled tightly around his.

  Chapter 7

  After lunch, as they drove back toward downtown, Ty glanced at Nev, looking satisfied and lazy—exactly the way he liked to see a woman. Before she returned to Atlanta, he intended to see her that way again. Naked.

  Maybe she wouldn’t go back, not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

  “You have any plans for this afternoon?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, sweetheart, then you’ve got two choices. You can go to Sophy’s, deliver the flowers and help wrangle those kids, or you can go to Granddad’s and keep him company.” He didn’t expect her to easily accept his dictate, and the look she shot his way confirmed he was right.

  “Who gave you the right to limit my choices?”

  “The guy who stabbed a knife through your pillow and drew a picture of you dead.”

  Her jaw tightened and her gaze narrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Hard to argue with, isn’t it?”

  She gave it her best shot—also no less than he expected. “That drawing was way too skinny to represent me.”

  “Granddad or Sophy? Only for a few hours.”

  “Well, the flowers are about to wilt, spending all day in this car.”

  “Good decision. The kids might run your legs off, but Granddad would talk your ears off.” He turned onto Oglethorpe and, a minute later, pulled into a space across from Hanging by a Thread. “I’ll walk back to the motel and pick up my car. Don’t go back there without me, okay?”

  Her look was mutinous, her agreement grudging.

  “Will you have dinner with Granddad and me tonight?”

  “I’ll do more than that. I’ll cook it.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Too bad his own kitchen wasn’t ready yet. He could so easily imagine her in there, wearing nothing but one of his shirts, making coffee while he fried bacon and eggs. Oh, hell, yeah, that would be good.

  Though she wasn’t the sleek/cool/modern type. Her dream kitchen would have lots of wood, easy-to-clean surfaces and warm colors, with high-backed chairs sturdy enough for kids to climb into without help, plenty of room to set out plenty of food for plenty of people. That would work for him, too.

  “Want me to come in with you?” He returned her keys and watched her slide them into her oversize bag. “Talk to Sophy?”

  “I can talk to Sophy. She has a retail shop. I have a master’s degree in retail therapy.” She winked at him. “Thank you for lunch and for keeping me company and for—for being there today. It made me feel safe.”

  At the gate to Sophy’s yard, he stopped and faced Nev. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her until she forgot that she’d ever felt unsafe, but there was the usual traffic on the street, both cars and pedestrians, and if he held her now, it would be so damn hard to stop it there.

  He settled for giving her fingers a squeeze and then backing away. “I’ll call you when I get off. We can stop at the grocery store on the way home.”

  When he got back to the station, Marnie Robinson, CLPD’s head lab geek, was talking near Kiki’s desk with Ryder Benton leaning against a file cabinet nearby. Kiki clicked a binder clip open and shut, listening to Marnie without actually looking at her.

  She’d taken a dislike to Marnie the first time they’d met, maybe because Marnie’s IQ was probably double anyone else’s in the department or maybe because Kiki’s brash, abrasive personality didn’t work well with Marnie’s dispassionate delivery of information in extremely large words. Neither woman was particularly people friendly but in very different ways.

  “You might wanna stop, Ty,” Kiki said when he started to circle around them. “This is about the break-in at the motel. Crime scene unit found a lot of fingerprints—Nev’s, the maids’, the manager’s, a bunch we can’t identify—oh, and yours. No forced entry. Our burglar either had a key or was let in by someone. No security cameras there. Nothing taken, but not really anything of value in the room, except for the computer in the safe. She had her money, credit cards and such with her.”

  “The freshest prints on the door were the maid’s,” Marnie said, directing her gaze to him. “She was the last one to touch the knob inside and out. Underneath hers are some smudges of Ms. Wilson’s prints. That’s all that’s usable from the knob.”

  “What did the maid say when you interviewed her?”

  Kiki snorted. “She saw nothing, did nothing, spoke to no one. Newhart employs four maids. We talked to three of them, but the fourth one had to take off early. Sick baby. No answer on her phone, so we’re gonna head by her apartment soon.”

  Marnie’s cell phone beeped, and she glanced at it and then walked away. She was like that: when she was done, she was done. No hellos or goodbyes or chitchat for her.

  Kiki made a face at her back before gesturing to a chair nearby. “How long have you known Nev?”

  The back of Ty’s neck tingled. He knew that semifriendly, sorta-casual tone of hers. She wasn’t asking just out of curiosity. She’d just made him a subject of her investigation. Her earlier words echoed: Our burglar either had a key or was let in by someone. Ignoring her offer of a seat, he leaned against the desk behind him, hands resting on the worn vinyl covering. “We met Saturday.”

  She made a note on the pad in front of her. “What’s she doing in town?”

  “She’s on vacation.”

  “She know someone here?”

  Part of him wanted to sit rigidly, fold his arms across his chest and scowl at her. Part wanted to get up and walk away. But part of him knew how she worked. Anything less than one hundred percent cooperation gave her tunnel vision, and often it was the wrong tunnel she fixated on.

  “Not when she came. She’s met quite a few people since then. Including you.”

  “Why’d she choose Copper Lake? People don’t usually go on vacation to places where they don’t know anyone and there’s nothing to do.”

  Evenly he replied, “I believe the tourism office, the historical society and the garden society would disagree with you that there’s nothing to do here.”

  The familiar annoyed grimace flitted across Kiki’s face. “She’s twenty-eight years old and single. She should be going someplace like New Orleans or Miami or Los Angeles.”

  “She likes history and quiet. I’m guessing she wanted to stay close to home. You should ask her these questions, Kiki.”

  Her only response was a grunt. Ty would bet she’d already asked Nev and was double-checking her answers against what she’d told him.

  “She couldn’t have made an enemy in town in such a short time.” It was the first time Benton had spoken. “Unless someone followed her from Atlanta.”

  “Any other stray lambs—or lions—wandering around town the last few days?”

  Benton shook his head. Ty didn’t bother to answer. In a town of almost twenty-five thousand, a stranger stuck out only if he wanted to.

  Kiki kicked back in her chair, hands folded across her flat stomach. “Let me put forth a theory here, because you know, that’s what we do.” She look
ed from Benton, who schooled his expression into utter blankness, and then to Ty. He knew from the matching look on her face that she had already discussed this theory with Benton.

  “What if Nev did it herself?”

  She was right: they examined possibilities. A break-in with no sign of forced entry, threats and a knife stabbed through the pillow, no fingerprints to suggest someone else...of course they had to look at the victim.

  But Nev, with her kind heart, sweet spirit and soft spot for old people, neglected kids and dogs, damaging someone else’s property? Lying to the police? Lying to him? He didn’t believe it. Not for a second. He trusted his instincts, and they said she was one of the finest women he was ever going to meet.

  Ignoring the disquiet inside, he evenly said, “Okay. The next question would be why. What does she gain?”

  With one careless hand, Kiki indicated him. “A handsome knight who comes running when she calls.”

  “She didn’t call me.”

  “Metaphorically.” Kiki rolled her eyes, something she did when she thought a man was deliberately being obtuse. Lieutenant Maricci made her do it so often that she’d practically wound up cross-eyed for a while. “She knew the maid would find the mess and tell the manager, and the manager would call the police. You are a police officer. Of course you’d find out and do exactly what you did—race to her rescue.”

  “And what does that get her? Lunch? She knows all she’d have to do is call.”

  Kiki raised one brow. “Maybe she thinks she’ll get an invitation to move in with you where you can make sure she’s safe for the remainder of her visit.”

  Benton made a sound remarkably like Kiki’s snort. “You know. Big bad cop protects poor helpless victim.”

  I’ll keep you safe, Nev, he’d told her at lunch. I swear on my life. And later, she’d said, Thank you for being there today. It made me feel safe.