The Secret of Cherokee Cove. Paula Graves
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She frowned. “At this time of night?”
“It’s not their usual procedure on a nonviolent case, but with your brother’s crash and the possible connection to Merritt Cortland—”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I guess that might light a fire under them.”
“Why don’t we clear out and go somewhere until they can come in and do their work?”
“The burglars might come back.”
“So we’ll wait for the TBI on the front porch and I’ll see what I can do about that bump on your head.”
She gave him a look of frustration that he interpreted as irritation that she hadn’t caught the intruders single-handedly when she had the chance. He stifled a smile and led her out to the front porch, settling her on the steps while he went to his car to retrieve a first aid kit. When he came back, she had unzipped her bag and was trading out her pumps for a pair of tennis shoes. She waved one of the pumps at him, displaying a broken heel, before she shoved it into her bag.
She sighed and turned the back of her head toward him to give him better access. “How bad is it?”
“Not too bad, really,” he said after he’d used some antiseptic to clean the abraded area on the back of her head. “Did they hit you with something?”
She waved her hand toward the porch railing. “They knocked me back into the railing. I hit my head on the bottom rail on the way down. I thought it was just a little bump.”
“It is. It’s just a bloody one.” He applied some antibiotic ointment to the scrape, trying to ignore the way her lightly floral perfume was making his blood run hot. Her hair was thick but soft, sliding over his fingers with the same sensuous texture as warm silk. Her skin was velvety and fragrant, tempting him to bury his face in the curve of her neck and just breathe.
He’d never been a man prone to indulging his every sexual whim, but this particular dose of desire was taking a toll on his legendary self-control, and she wasn’t even showing that much skin or giving him any indication that she found him equally attractive.
He backed away, giving himself room to breathe. “I think the bleeding’s stopped now. But that shirt may be beyond hope.”
She turned on the porch step to face him. “Thanks.”
Something intriguing glittered in her eyes, pale and mysterious in the moonlight trickling through the trees. Nix knew it would be folly to speculate what that intriguing something might be. But he’d never been any good at turning his back on a puzzle. Especially one that smelled like wildflowers.
The TBI van came rumbling down the road and parked behind Dana’s dark green Chevy Malibu. Nix recognized one of the evidence techs as a man he’d known during his time in the marine corps. He dug in his memory and came up with PFC Brady Moreland. He and Moreland had been at Stone Bay, Camp Lejeune, at the same time about eight years earlier. He and the private had played pool together a few times at Maggie’s Drawers, the rec center at Stone Bay.
“Private Moreland,” he said aloud as the younger man approached.
Moreland, to his amusement, came close to snapping to attention before his expression shifted with recognition, and a grin spread over his face. “Sarge!”
They shook hands with pleasure; then Nix got down to business, introducing Dana and letting her explain what she’d walked in on.
“It happened too quickly for me to get much of a look at the intruders,” she said with regret. “I think they were wearing gloves, but I can’t be sure.”
“It’s okay,” the other evidence technician, who introduced himself as Blalock, assured her. “If there’s anything here to find, we’ll find it.”
Dana watched them enter the house, looking as if she wanted to tag along for the search. Nix distracted her by picking up her suitcase, which still lay on its side on the porch.
“I can get that,” Dana said, but Nix waved her off.
“I’ve got it.”
“You seem awfully interested in getting me away from here,” she said in a tone that was just short of suspicious. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for being wary of someone she’d met only a couple of hours earlier under less-than-pleasant circumstances.
“Mostly, I’m interested in getting us both somewhere a little warmer.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but headlights appeared in the dark, moving toward them on the narrow, dead-end road. The unmistakable shape of a Ford Mustang finally came into view. Laney Hanvey, Nix thought as the black Mustang squeezed into the narrow space between the TBI van and Nix’s truck.
The lady herself got out of the Mustang and hurried to where he and Dana stood on the porch, her gaze widening as she took in Dana’s bloodied condition. “My God, did they attack you?”
“Not on purpose,” Dana assured her, though Nix thought she was probably glossing over the violence of what had happened to her. “I just got bowled over and hit the porch rail.”
“I should take you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
“No,” Dana said quickly. “I’m fine, really. It looks worse than it is.”
“How’s the chief?” Nix asked.
“Groggy. The doctor wants him to stay a day or two, maybe get some rehab for the leg. You can imagine his delight.” Laney made a face, but Nix could tell that she was relieved that her fiancé was feeling well enough to complain. “The break-in just gave me an excuse to make him obey his doctor’s orders.” She glanced at the front door, which the technicians had finally shut, probably to keep out the cold. “How bad is it?”
“A big mess in some rooms,” Dana answered. “Not so bad in the others.”
“Was anything missing?”
“I’m not sure.” Dana looked apologetic. “You’d probably know better than I would.”
“I think I’ll stick around, then, see what the technicians come up with. Dana, if you’d like to stay at my place tonight, you’re welcome. It’s over in Barrowville, but that’s actually closer to the hospital.”
“I don’t want to put you out—”
“I’ll be going back to the hospital when I’m through here,” Laney said with a shrug. “You’re welcome to my guest room. The bed’s already made up. You can help yourself to anything you can find in the kitchen.”
“My car’s blocked in,” Dana said.
“I’ll drive you,” Nix offered.
Dana looked at him. “Okay. Thanks.”
Nix carried her suitcase to his truck, setting it in the back.
Dana eyed the open truck bed. “Sure it won’t tumble out?”
“That’s part of the adventure,” he murmured in her ear, sneaking a quick whiff of that floral scent that made his gut tighten with desire. He rounded the front of the truck and looked at her across the roof of the cab. “Will it fall out or won’t it?”
Her green eyes glittered with amusement in the moonlight. “Easy for you to say. They’re not your clothes.”
The truck’s heater decided to work when Nix cranked the engine, blowing a blast of cold air into his face. On the passenger side, Dana gasped and reached to close the vents.
“Give it a few minutes and it might blow warm,” Nix said, buckling up.
Dana looked at him as she belted herself in. “How badly do you want to go home in the next little while?”
He arched an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”
Her