The Smoky Mountain Mist

by Paula Graves

  “Davis?” Rachel repeated.

  “It’s not Davis,” he answered slowly. “It’s Seth Hammond.”

  She was silent for a moment. “This is the number Davis Rogers left on my cell phone. Where is he? What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I heard the phone ringing and answered, figuring the owner might be looking for his phone.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Outside Sequoyah House.” He pushed to his feet and started moving slowly down the line of bushes, looking through the thick foliage for something he desperately hoped he wouldn’t find.

  “What are you doing there?” She couldn’t keep the suspicion from her tone, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

  “I went and talked to Joe Breslin at Smoky Joe’s Saloon. He remembered seeing you there with a man last night. So he looked up the man’s credit card receipt and got a name for me.”

  “I was at Smoky Joe’s with Davis?” She sounded skeptical. “That is definitely not his kind of place.”

  “Maybe it’s yours,” he suggested, remembering her sing-along with the bluegrass CD.

  “Did you talk to Davis?”

  “The clerk said he wasn’t in his room, so I left him a message to call me.” He paused as he caught sight of something dark behind one of the bushes. “I used your name. Hope you don’t mind.” He hunkered down next to the bush and carefully pushed aside the leaves to see what lay behind.

  His heart sank to his toes.

  Curled up in the fetal position, covered in blood and bruises, lay a man. Seth couldn’t tell if he was breathing. “Rachel, I have to go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

  He disconnected the call and put the cell phone in his jacket pocket. The tightly packed underbrush forced him to crawl through the narrow spaces between the bushes to get back to where the man lay with his back against the trunk of a birch tree. He’d been beaten, and badly. His face was misshapen with broken bones, his eyes purple and swollen shut. Blood drenched the front of his shirt, making it hard to tell what color it had been originally. One of his legs lay at an unnatural angle, suggesting a break or a dislocation.

  Seth touched the man’s throat and found a faint pulse. He didn’t know what Davis Rogers looked like, but the proximity of the battered man and the discarded cell phone suggested a connection. He backed out of the bushes, reaching into his pocket for his own cell phone to dial 911.

  But before his fingers cleared his pocket, something hit him hard against the back of the neck, slamming him forward into the bushes. His forehead cracked against the trunk of the birch tree, the blow filling his vision with dozens of exploding, colorful spots.

  A second blow caught him near the small of his back, over his left kidney, shooting fire through his side. That was a kick, he realized with the last vestige of sense remaining in his aching head.

  Then a hard knock to the back of his head turned out the lights.

  * * *

  AFTER TEN MINUTES had passed without a call back from Seth, Rachel’s worry level hit the stratosphere. There had been something in his tone when he’d rung off that had kept her stomach in knots ever since.

  He’d sounded...grim. As if he’d just made a gruesome discovery.

  Given the fact that he’d answered Davis’s phone a few seconds earlier, Rachel wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he’d found.

  What if something bad had happened to Davis? He’d been her first real boyfriend, the first man she’d ever slept with. The first man she’d ever loved, even if it had ultimately been a doomed sort of love.

  She might not be in love with him anymore, but she still cared. And if Seth’s tone of voice meant anything—

  Forget waiting. She was tired of waiting. Seth had said he was at Sequoyah House. The bed-and-breakfast was five minutes away.

  She grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. If she wanted to know what was going on, she could damned well find out for herself.

  * * *

  EVERYTHING ON SETH’S body seemed to hurt, but not enough to suggest he was on the verge of dying. He opened his eyes carefully and found himself gazing up into a rain-dark sky. He was drenched and cold, and his head felt as if he’d spent the past few hours banging it against a wall.

  He lifted his legs one at a time and decided they were still in decent working order, though he felt a mild shooting pain in his side when he moved. Both arms appeared intact, though there was fresh blood on one arm. No sign of a cut beneath the red drops, so he guessed the blood had come from another part of his body.

  He couldn’t breathe through his nose. When he lifted his hand to his face, he learned why. Blood stained his fingers, and his nose felt sore to the touch. He forced himself to sit up, groaning softly at the effort, and looked around him.

  He was in the woods, though there was a break in the trees to his right, revealing the corner of a large clapboard house. Sequoyah House, he thought, the memory accompanied by no small amount of pain.

  Some of his memories seemed to be missing. He knew who he was. He knew what day it was, unless he’d been out longer than he thought. He knew what he’d been doing earlier that day—he’d been hoping to talk to Rachel Davenport’s old friend Davis Rogers. But Rogers hadn’t been in his room, so Seth had given the desk clerk a message for Rachel’s friend and left the bed-and-breakfast.

  He remembered walking back to the parking area where he’d left the Charger.

  What then?

  His cell phone rang, barely audible. He pulled it out from the back pocket of his sodden jeans and saw Adam Brand’s name on the display. Perfect. Just perfect.

  Then an image flashed through his aching head. A cell phone—but not this cell phone. Another one. He’d heard it ringing and come here into the woods to find it.

  But where was the cell phone now?

  He answered his phone to stop the noise. “Yeah?” The greeting came out surly. Seth didn’t give a damn—surly was exactly how he felt.

  “You were supposed to check in this morning,” Brand said.

  “Yeah, well, I was detained.” He winced as he tried to push to his feet. “And the case has gone to hell in a handbasket, thanks for asking.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Too much to tell you over the phone. I’ll type you up a report. Okay?”

  “Is something wrong? You sound like hell.”

  Seth spotted a rusty patch in the leaves nearby. His brow furrowed, sending a fresh ache through his brain. “I’ll put that in the report, too.” He hung up and crossed to the dark spot in the leaves.

  The rain had washed away all but a few remnants of red. Seth picked up one of the stained leaves and took a closer look.

  Blood. There was blood here on the ground. Was this where he’d been attacked?

  No. Not him. There had been someone else. An image flitted through his pain-addled mind, moving so fast he almost didn’t catch it.

  But he saw enough. He saw the body of a man, curled into a ball, as if he’d passed out trying to protect his body from the blows. And passed out he had, because Seth had a sudden, distinct memory of checking the man’s pulse and finding it barely there.

  So where was the man now? Had whoever left this throbbing bump on the back of Seth’s head taken the body away from here and dumped it elsewhere?

  If so, they’d apparently taken the discarded cell phone, as well, because it was no longer in the pocket of his jacket.

  He trudged through the rainy woods, heading for the clearing ahead. His vision kept shifting on him, making him stagger a little, and it was a relief to reach the Charger after what seemed like the longest fifty-yard walk of his life. He sagged against the side of the car, pressing his cheek against the cold metal frame of the chassis for a moment. It seemed to ease the pain in his skull, so
he stood there awhile longer.

  Only the sound of a vehicle approaching spurred him to move. He pushed away from the car and started to unlock to door when he realized the Charger was listing drastically to one side. Looking down, he saw why—both of the driver’s-side tires were flat.

  He groaned with dismay.

  The vehicle turned off the road and into the parking lot. Seth forced his drooping gaze upward and was surprised to see Rachel Davenport staring back at him through the swishing windshield wipers of her car. She parked behind him and got out, her expression horrified.

  “My God, what happened to you?”

  He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Charger’s front window and winced at the sight. His nose was bloody and starting to bruise. An oozing scrape marred the skin over his left eye, as well.

  “Should’ve seen the other guy,” he said with a cocky grin, hoping to wipe that look of concern off her face. The last thing he could deal with in his weakened condition was a Rachel Davenport who felt sorry for him. He needed her angry and spitting fire so she’d go away and leave him to safely lick his wounds in private.

  But she seemed unfazed by his show of bravado, moving forward with her hand outstretched.

  Don’t touch me, he willed, trying to duck away.

  But she finally caught his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. Her blue eyes searched his, and he found himself utterly incapable of shaking her off.

  Her touch burned. Branded. He found himself struggling just to take another breath as her gaze swept over him, surveying his wounds with surprising calm for a woman who’d been swinging from the girders of Purgatory Bridge just the night before.

  “Did you lose consciousness?” she asked.

  “A few seconds.” Maybe minutes. He couldn’t be sure.

  She looked skeptical. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “I remember coming here to talk to your friend. He wasn’t in his room.”

  “Right, but you found his cell phone.”

  He felt relieved to know his memory was real and not some injury-induced confabulation. “Right.”

  “But you cut me off. Said you had to go.”

  He caught her hand, pulling it gently from his chin and closing it between his own fingers. “Rachel, it’s fuzzy, and I may be remembering things incorrectly—”

  “Just say it,” she pleaded.

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “I think your friend Davis may have been murdered.”

  Chapter Five

  The cold numbness that had settled in the center of Rachel’s chest from the time she’d gotten Davis Rogers’s call began spreading to her limbs at Seth’s words. “Why do you think that?”

  He told her.

  She tugged her hand away from his and started walking toward the edge of the mist-shrouded woods. Seth followed, his gait unsteady.

  “I can’t prove any of it,” he warned. “If you call the Bitterwood P.D., they won’t believe a word of it. I’m not high on their list of reliable witnesses.”

  “I need to know for myself. Where was the blood?” Her feet slipped on wet leaves as she entered the woods.

  Seth’s hand closed around her elbow, helping her stay upright, despite the fact that he was swaying on his feet. “Over here.” He nudged her over until they came to a stop near a large stand of wild hydrangea bushes. A fading patch of rusting red was trickling away in the rain, but it definitely looked like blood.

  Rachel picked up one of the red-stained leaves and lifted it to her nose. A faint metallic odor rose from the stain. “It’s definitely blood.”

  “I don’t know what happened to him. I swear.”

  She turned to look at him. He really did look terrible, blood still seeping from a scrape on the right side of his forehead and his nose crusted with more of the same. “You don’t remember who did this to you?”

  “No. Everything’s a blur.” He looked pale beneath his normally olive-toned skin. As he swayed toward her, she put out her hands to keep him from crashing into her.

  “You’re in no condition to drive.”

  He shot her a lopsided grin. “Neither is my car.”

  When they got back to the parking lot, she saw what he meant. Both of the driver’s side tires were flat. She couldn’t tell if they’d been punctured or if the air had just been let out of them. Didn’t really matter, she supposed.

  “Get in my car,” she said, ignoring the wobble in her own legs. She didn’t have time to fall apart. There was too much that needed to be done. She’d think about Davis later.

  “Bossy. I like it.” Seth shot her a look that was as hot as a southern summer. An answering quiver rippled through her belly, but she ignored it. He sounded woozy—probably didn’t know what he was saying. And even if he did, neither of them was in any position to do much about it.

  “I’m going to call the police and report Davis missing,” she told him as she slid behind the wheel. “I’m going to have to include you in my statement.”

  He shook his head, then went stock-still, wincing. “Ow.”

  She turned to face him. He tried to do the same, but she could tell the movement was painful for him. Just how badly had he been beaten? “Seth, I can’t leave you out of it, because you’ve left a trail that leads to you. You gave your name to the clerk. Your car is sitting here in the parking lot with flat tires, and if we call a wrecker to come get it, that’s just another trail that leads to you.”

  His expression darkened. “You don’t know what it’s like to be everyone’s number one suspect.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I can tell the police what I do know. I was talking to Davis when the line went dead. Then when I called Davis’s phone, you answered—” She stopped short, realizing how that would sound to the police.

  Seth’s eyes met hers. “Exactly.”

  “If Davis is dead, I can’t just do nothing.”

  “Just don’t tell them I answered the phone.”

  He wanted her to lie to the police? “I can’t leave something like that out of my statement.”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue, but finally he slumped against the seat. “Do what you have to.”

  She leaned back against her own seat, frustrated. What was she supposed to do now? Ignore his fears? Tell him he was overreacting?

  She couldn’t do that. Because she didn’t plan on telling the police everything, did she? She certainly wasn’t going to tell them she’d spent most of the previous evening apparently so drugged out of her head that she’d thought a balance beam routine on the girders of Purgatory Bridge was a good idea.

  “I know what it’s like to have people judging your every move,” she said quietly.

  He slanted a curious look her way.

  “I don’t want the police to know what happened to me last night. And you haven’t pushed me at all to tell anyone the truth.”

  “I figured if you wanted it known, you’d tell it yourself.”

  She nodded. “I won’t tell them you answered Davis’s phone.”

  He released a long, slow breath. “Rachel, you know I didn’t do anything to him. Right?”

  She wondered if she was crazy to believe him. What did she know about him, really? He kept to himself at work, making few friends. She’d heard stories about his years as a con man, though she and her father had decided to judge him on his current work, not his checkered past. And he’d been a good worker, hadn’t he? Showed up on time or early, did what he was asked, never caused any trouble.

  But was that reason enough to trust what he said?

  “I guess not.” He reached for the door handle.

  She caught his arm. He turned back to her, his gaze first settling where her fingers circled his rain-slick forearm, then rising to meet hers. I
n the low light, his eyes were as deep and mysterious as the rainy woods outside the car.

  “You saved my life last night, and you’ve asked for nothing in return. You didn’t even try to use it against me just now, when you could have. Any con man worth his salt would have.”

  He grimaced. “I’m no saint.”

  “I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying I believe you.”

  The interior of the car seemed to contract, the space between their bodies suddenly infinitesimal. She could feel heat radiating from his body, answered by her own. Despite his battered condition, despite the million and one reasons she shouldn’t feel this aching magnetism toward him, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t find him attractive.

  He wasn’t movie-star handsome, especially now with his nose bloody and purple shadows starting to darken the skin beneath his eyes, but he was all man, raw masculinity in every angle of his body, every sinewy muscle and broad expanse.

  He had big, strong hands, and even with a dozen conflicting and distracting thoughts flitting through her head at the moment, she could imagine the feel of them moving over her body in a slow, thorough seduction. The sensation was fierce and primal, intensely sexual, and she had never felt anything quite like it before.

  “What now?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

  Her body’s response came, quick and eager.

  Take me home with you.

  Aloud, she said, “I guess I call the police so they can start looking for Davis.” She pulled out her phone and made the call to 911.

  “I need to clean up,” Seth murmured.

  “Here.” She reached across to the glove compartment, removed a package of wet wipes and handed them to him. “Best I can do.”

  He looked at the wet wipes and back at her, one eyebrow notching upward.

  “Habit. I was a librarian,” she said with a smile. “I dealt with a lot of sticky hands all day.”

  He pulled a wipe from the package and started cleaning off the blood, using the mirror on the sun visor to check his progress. When he finally snapped the wet wipe package closed, he looked almost normal. His nose wasn’t as swollen as it had appeared with all the blood crusted on it, and the scrape on his forehead, once cleaned up, wasn’t nearly as large as it had looked. Only the slight darkening of the skin around his eyes gave away his battered condition, and the rusty splotches where the blood from his face had dripped onto the front of his dark blue shirt.