Manhunt. Carla Cassidy
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over her features. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“I’ll drive if you’ll provide directions to the church.”
He pulled his car keys out of his pocket.
“All right, but we aren’t going to a church.”
Together they left by the back door, where his car was parked in the small lot behind the bed-and-breakfast. “Where are we going if not to a church?” he asked.
“The Cherokee Cultural Center,” she replied. “Clay and Tamara are being married in a traditional ceremony.” She tried not to freeze as he opened the passenger door for her, standing close enough that she could smell his cologne but not so close that they might inadvertently touch.
She didn’t want him to touch her in any way, was afraid a single touch might bring on the vision and she wanted nothing to mar the happiness of the day.
She slid into her seat and watched as he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side. His suit hung on him as if it had been made to fit his broad shoulders and slender hips.
She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it around her. A man as handsome as he was would be married. He probably had a good woman and two or three kids at home, waiting for him to return from his field trip. Meanwhile, he probably flirted with every female in sight when he was in the field, or had meaningless affairs while away from home.
By the time he slid in behind the steering wheel, Alyssa was working up a case against him, anything to keep him at a mental and physical distance.
“All set?” he asked as he fastened his seat belt. She nodded. “Get on Main Street and head north,” she said.
“You mentioned that Clay and his fiancée are being married in a traditional ceremony. What does that mean?” he asked once they were on Main Street.
“It’s not only a beautiful ceremony, but lots of preparation has gone into it before the actual ceremony begins,” she replied. “The place for the ceremony is blessed for seven consecutive days. A sacred fire burns, and before the ceremony begins all the guests are blessed, as well.”
“Sounds fascinating,” he said.
What she found fascinating was the scent of him that filled the car interior. It was a distinctly male scent of his cologne mingling with a hint of shaving cream.
“I have to warn you,” she said. “It will be a long day. Following the actual ceremony itself will be singing and dancing and feasting into the night. If you decide you want to leave early, please don’t worry about me. There will be lots of people there who can bring me home when I’m ready to come home.”
He cast her a sideways glance, his expression teasing. “We haven’t even gotten there yet and already you’re trying to ditch me. What kind of a date is that?”
Again she felt the warmth of a blush sweep up her neck, and to her consternation her pulse rate raced a little faster. “This isn’t a date. It’s a favor for Clay and my contribution in helping find the killer that’s loose in the town.”
“Clay mentioned that you don’t date.”
“I don’t have time.” Her words were clipped and brusque. It irritated her that he and Clay had talked about her dating habits, or lack thereof.
“If you don’t date, then how do you intend to find Mr. Right?”
Although his question was innocent enough, it stirred a wistfulness inside her. She was twenty-nine years old and at this moment in her life she didn’t have time to find a Mr. Wrong, let alone a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Besides, she’d known from a very early age that there would probably be no Mr. Right for her, that it was her destiny to be alone, to live alone.
“What makes you think I’m interested in finding a Mr. Right?” she finally asked in answer to his question.
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I thought that’s what all women want.”
“That’s the most chauvinistic thing I’ve ever heard,” she replied.
He laughed, a pleasant low rumble that stirred something inside her and once again made her heart race just a little faster. “Not really, because I think the same thing is true about men. All they really want is the love of a good woman in their lives.”
She eyed him curiously. “And do you have that? Are you married, Nick?”
“No.” The single word shot out of him and she thought his hands tightened perceptibly on the steering wheel.
Divorced, she thought, and by his reaction to the question it had probably been a nasty divorce. She was grateful when the cultural center came into view.
“Clay wasn’t kidding when he said practically everyone in town would be here today,” he said as he angled his car into one of the last parking spaces in the lot.
“The people of Cherokee Corners love a good party,” she said. She didn’t wait for him to open her car door. The moment the car came to a full stop, she unbuckled her seat belt and got out.
When he exited the car and they began to walk toward the building, she remained far enough away from him that he couldn’t take her arm or touch her in any way.
“Should I have put on more deodorant this morning?” he asked, obviously noticing her distance.
“No, you’re fine.” She steeled herself and moved closer to him. It was highly probable that at some point throughout the day they would touch. Shoulders might bump, hands might brush…she simply had to prepare herself for such an event.
The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air. It was a day of celebration, she reminded herself. Tamara and Clay would join their lives together today. Most of the townspeople would be here for the joyous event. It was not a day for visions of death. She refused to allow any visions to ruin the day.
To test herself and her inner strength, on impulse she reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour of the building before we join the party in the back.”
“All right,” he agreed. His strong fingers closed around her hand and she breathed a grateful sigh.
She felt no approaching darkness, no headache edging its way through her brain. She felt nothing except a seductive warmth flooding through her from their point of contact.
When they entered the building, she broke the physical contact between them. She wasn’t sure why, but she found touching Nick almost as disturbing as suffering from one of her visions.
Nick had begun to think that Alyssa Whitefeather had no sense of humor and had never allowed the luxury of a smile to cross her lush lips.
He’d been wrong. After the interesting, educational, but brief, tour of the place, they had stepped out the back doors of the building, where immediately members of her family had greeted her.
It was like a switch had been turned on inside her. He was introduced to Thomas and Rita James, Savannah and Riley Frazier, Breanna and Adam Spencer and a delightful little six-year-old charmer by the name of Maggie.
But, as the introductions were being made and small talk exchanged, Nick was riveted by Alyssa’s smile, her laughter and the sparkle that lit up her dark blue eyes.
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