Why was her heart beating too fast?

Why did her mouth taste like copper? In the past few years she’d been in much more dire circumstances than being locked in Aunt Lillian’s café with Truman.

“Are you happy in Garth?” Sadie asked.

“Most of the time.” Truman’s response was low and rumbling. A man’s voice, not the voice of the boy she’d loved a very long time ago. No, not loved. Lusted after. Drooled over. That wasn’t love. She just hadn’t known it at the age of fifteen. He shifted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t like it here.”

“I don’t know if I like it or not.”

“So why are you so anxious to get out of town?”

Because I might start to feel like this is home again. Because I might fall in love with something here that I can’t live without…. Maybe because I already have.

Truly, Madly, Dangerously
Linda Winstead Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA WINSTEAD JONES

would rather write than do anything else. Since she cannot cook, gave up ironing many years ago and finds cleaning the house a complete waste of time, she has plenty of time to devote to her obsession for writing. Occasionally she’s tried to expand her horizons by taking classes. In the past she’s taken instruction on yoga, French (a dismal failure), Chinese cooking, cake decorating (food-related classes are always a good choice, even for someone who can’t cook), belly-dancing (trust me, this was a long time ago) and, of course, creative writing.

She lives in Huntsville, Alabama, with her husband of more years than she’s willing to admit and the youngest of their three sons.

She can be reached via www.eHarlequin.com or her own Web site www.lindawinsteadjones.com.

For my grandmother, Imogene Means, who served up more than her share of Gelatin Surprise in her ninety-nine years.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Prologue

“Behind you!”

Sadie dipped and turned, rolling across the creaking porch as a bullet smacked into the wall of the rustic cabin with a splintering crack. Still on her back, she lifted her pistol and took aim, but Santana leapt across the railing, grabbed the kidnapper’s gun arm, and twisted it up and back until the weapon fell to the porch.

The first kidnapper they’d faced was already down—permanently—and Santana was handling the other just fine. Sadie scrambled up and carefully opened the front door of the isolated cabin on this Tennessee mountain-side. The door squeaked loudly as it opened, and she stepped to the side so she wouldn’t be a clear target for anyone waiting inside. The intelligence they’d collected told them there were only two kidnappers holed up in the cabin, but if she’d learned anything working for Benning it was that you could never take anything for granted.

The main room was empty; the entire cabin was eerily silent. Her heart crawled into her throat. “Danny?” she said softly.

The young boy had been kidnapped five days ago, and his father had hired the Benning Agency to find him. The client was prepared to pay the ransom, if that was what it took. All he cared about was getting his son back safe and sound. All Sadie wanted was to be able to take the kid home, alive and healthy.

She glanced into the kitchen. Late-morning light spilled through an uncovered window. Beyond that window all she could see was sky and evergreen trees and the gold and red leaves of a Tennessee October. The view was beautiful, but the room was a mess.

She walked down the hallway without making a sound. The first bedroom she passed was as messy as the kitchen. And as deserted. The bathroom further down the hallway was small and unoccupied. That left one other room at the back of the hallway. The door was closed and locked from the hallway side.

Sadie holstered her pistol as Santana entered the hallway. She unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

Danny sat in the center of a big bed, bound and gagged and wearing the jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing when he’d been snatched from the sidewalk in front of his home. Tears filled his eyes and stained his cheeks. He was apparently unhurt…but terrified.

Sadie smiled as she walked to the bed, allowing her jacket to fall over her weapon. She had a feeling Danny had seen enough guns for one lifetime.

“Hi,” she said softly as she sat beside him and reached out to remove his gag. Duct tape. She pushed her anger deep.

“My name’s Sadie, and this is Lucky.” She nodded toward the man in the doorway. Santana was a couple of inches over six feet tall, and with his wide shoulders, big hands and killer stare he could be intimidating. Danny would respond best to a woman, they both knew that. “Your Dad hired us to come get you.”

When the gag was removed, Danny took a deep, ragged breath. “My daddy sent you?”

Sadie nodded. How much had the kid heard of the struggle that had just taken place outside this cabin? It had become clear within minutes that the kidnappers were not willing to make a clean exchange. They were going to take the money, kill the kid and kill the lackeys who’d delivered the ransom. They hadn’t counted on the lackeys being Sadie Harlow and Lucky Santana. Their bad luck.

At the very least, Danny must’ve heard the gunshots. “We scared away the men who kidnapped you,” Sadie said calmly, “and now we’re going to take you home.”

Danny nodded enthusiastically.

Sadie reached into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m going to get a knife and cut the tape away from your hands and legs, is that all right?” She didn’t want to flash a blade without warning the boy; she didn’t know what the kidnappers had used to scare him.

Danny nodded, and she flicked the knife open with her thumb.

Santana backed away while she sliced at the duct tape. “I’m going to double check and make sure those bad guys are—uh—really gone,” he said, leaving so he could move the body and the bound kidnapper to a place where the kid wouldn’t have to see them.

When the duct tape had been peeled away, Sadie slipped the knife into her pocket and examined Danny’s wrists and ankles. They were red and a little raw, but she’d seen worse. “Your daddy has been so worried about you,” she said softly.

“He has?” Danny’s blue eyes were wide and still damp with tears.

“Of course he has. We’re going to call him right now, okay?”

Danny nodded enthusiastically.

Sadie retrieved her cell phone from a back pocket and dialed. After only one ring, Mr. Graham answered with a frantic, “Hello?”

“Mr. Graham, I have someone here who wants to speak with you.” She handed the phone to Danny and stood. The kid gripped the small phone with both hands.

“Daddy?”

She stepped away from the bed for a moment to give Danny and his father some semblance of privacy. When she reached the doorway, Santana joined her. “All clear?” she asked softly.

He nodded.

A chill ran down Sadie’s spine and her arms prickled. Adrenaline crash. She was coming down as if she’d been on a powerful drug. She’d done her best to be calm and cool with the kid, but in truth her heart was still pumping too hard and her skin was flushed and overly warm. It was always that way when bullets started flying.

She was starving.

Sadie glanced up at Santana, who watched the kid on the bed with calm, contented eyes. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a dull but satisfying business meeting.

The man was gorgeous, dark and fit and downright pretty. She liked him a lot as a person, and they worked together well. And no matter how tempting she might occasionally find him, it was never a good idea to mix business with pleasure. Santana didn’t do emotion where sex was concerned, but she did. It was Sadie’s downfall, the chink in her armor, her Achilles’ heel. It was the reason she had been single in every way for the past several years.

“I’m thinking of taking a few days off,” he said. “What about you?”

“I wish,” she said softly. “I got an urgent phone call from my Aunt Lillian yesterday.”

Santana turned his brandy-colored eyes to her.

“It’s nothing, really, just…” No way was she going to tell Santana or any of her other co-workers—all males as testosterone-laden as he—why she was going back to Garth, Alabama. “I have to go home for a few days and take care of a little family business.”

He didn’t pry, but he did ask if she needed any help. She declined the offer, horrified at the very idea of anyone at the agency seeing her in the element she was about to jump back into. The Benning Agency was more than a P.I. firm. They didn’t take on seedy divorce cases or investigate insurance scams. Instead, they provided top-notch security, rescued lost or kidnapped children like Danny and took on dangerous jobs no one else wanted. Their agents were the best of the best.

Sadie smiled at Danny as she walked to the bed to take the cell phone.

“It’s going to take us a couple of hours to get you home,” Sadie said as she scooped Danny’s shoes off the floor and sat beside him. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

“Me, too. I could really use a nice, big chocolate milkshake right about now. And maybe some cheese fries and a chili dog.”

Santana lifted one curious brow. “What gives, Harlow? You only eat like that when you’re really nervous.”

Sadie took Danny’s hand as he left the bed then sent a tight smile at Santana. “I told you. I’m going home.”

And it was going to take a lot more than a junk-food binge to soothe her nerves.

Chapter 1

The old saying “You can’t go home again” was wrong. Sadie had quickly discovered that going home was easy. Much too easy. The saying ought to be, “You shouldn’t go home again. Ever.”

“Sadie,” the intrusive, whispering voice interrupted what was left of her dream.

Sadie opened one eye, barely. The bedside clock glowed green in the dimly lit bedroom. Four-fifty—in the morning! She’d gotten to sleep about one-thirty, after unpacking, listening to Aunt Lillian’s list of troubles and cousin Jennifer’s hours of unending complaints and trying to adjust her body to this hard, less-than-welcoming bed.

“Go ’way,” she mumbled as she closed her eye.

“It’s almost five. Rise and shine!”

Rise and shine were words that should definitely be justifiable cause for homicide, especially at this hour. With a moan, Sadie rolled onto her back and glared up, that one eye drifting open again. Lillian Banks stood five foot one, weighed maybe a hundred and five pounds, and carried her fifty-seven years as if it were thirty-seven.

“I didn’t get to sleep until after one,” Sadie said. Surely that was explanation enough, she thought as she closed her eye.

“Sadie,” Aunt Lillian whispered.

The dream was right there. And it had been a good one. Hadn’t it?

“Sadie.” A nudge accompanied this more urgent call.

The hard bed felt almost soft, she was so tired….

“Sadie Mae.”

Sadie sat up as quickly as was possible considering her condition, and both eyes flew open. The sound of her full name usually did that to her. She didn’t know if it was early years of maternal training or the horror of the full name that made her sound like a hick wearing a pair of cut-off overalls and straw in her hair. Whatever the reason, Aunt Lillian knew the trick. “I’m up!”

Lillian smiled widely. “Mary Beth called in sick. You’ll have to work her shift.”

This was so unfair. “Can’t Jennifer do it?”

A shake of a gray head was her answer. “No. Jennifer was out late, and besides…she’s got all the housekeeping to do and the last time she filled in for Mary Beth she spilt coffee on one of my best customers.”

Sadie’s airhead cousin, Lillian’s own daughter, had spilled that coffee on purpose, no doubt, to save her from such early-morning abductions. Maybe Jennifer wasn’t such an airhead after all. “Five minutes,” Sadie said, drifting back toward the mattress.

It wasn’t fair. Jennifer had gotten the normal name and the ability to weasel her way out of anything she didn’t want to do.

Lillian tossed a dress at Sadie, a hideous, bubble-gum pink, lace-trimmed waitress uniform that actually had her name stitched over the pocket. Just plain Sadie, thank God.

“You had this made for me?” Her heart sank. Obviously her aunt expected that these early-morning duties were going to become a regular thing. Sadie asked herself again how she had ended up here. “I didn’t come back to Garth to…”

“If you’re going to help out until I get things in order around here, you need a proper uniform,” Lillian said. “And don’t give me that look. Waitressing is a perfectly acceptable occupation for a young lady.”

Aunt Lillian was too embarrassed to tell her friends what had truly become of her niece. They all thought Sadie had gone to the big city and become a receptionist, suitable work for a young lady looking for a husband.

Pushing thirty—hard—wasn’t young, and Sadie didn’t want a husband. Almost been there, almost done that.

Lillian grinned and winked. “Hurry up. You know how early the fishermen show up for breakfast.”

Once Sadie was sitting on the edge of the hard mattress, relatively awake, Lillian rushed from the room with a parting suggestion that her niece get crackin’.

Sadie crawled off the bed certain that she’d been tricked. Lillian wasn’t all that desperate for help. She had just needed a free waitress during the one month a year that Garth was literally jumpin’. Only three weeks to the Miranda Lake Big Bass Festival, which arrived every October complete with parade, craft fair and—of course—bass tournament.

Since Uncle Jimmy’s death four years earlier, Lillian had managed the Yellow Rose Motel, and the café across the parking lot, with the help of Jennifer and a few longtime employees. But one of those longtime employees had broken his leg last week, and another had gone and gotten herself pregnant a few months back. Lillian swore she couldn’t hire just anyone. It took time and patience to find just the right person for the job.

Patience. Something Sadie did not possess.

There were financial problems, as well as a waitress shortage. A loan had come due, and for some reason the loan officer at the bank was being particularly stubborn. Financial problems Sadie could handle, though Lillian had put her foot down where a personal loan was concerned. She just wanted Sadie to meet with Aidan Hearn and reason with him. If she didn’t know better, she’d think her staunch aunt was afraid of the man.

She’d tried to get that chore out of the way yesterday afternoon, immediately after her arrival. But Hearn’s airhead secretary had insisted that the loan officer could not possibly see her without an appointment. It would be Thursday before he could squeeze her in. Two more days!

Once the financial concerns were taken care of, would Lillian let her niece go? Or did she think this waitress job that called Sadie out of bed at an ungodly hour was—horrors—permanent? Why hire a stranger when Sadie Harlow was the biggest sucker this side of the Mississippi?

The atrocious pink uniform dropped over her head. It was two sizes too big, at least. And closer inspection showed that someone else’s name had previously been in the spot where Sadie was now embroidered in red. Not only was she wearing the ugliest uniform imaginable, it was a hand-me-down.

She opened her bedside drawer and eyed the pistol there. The sight eased her. The well-oiled weapon had a soothing kind of beauty, caught in the light of the bedside lamp. For the past five years, Sadie hadn’t gone many places without that weapon close at hand. You only had to get in a jam once to get itchy about having some sort of protection nearby. No wonder she found the small pistol beautiful.

But there was no good place to conceal the weapon in the bubble-gum-pink uniform and thigh holsters were so damn uncomfortable. Maybe she didn’t need to have her pistol within reach, for a change. There was nowhere on the planet safer than Garth, Alabama. The small town was quiet. Peaceful. Dull. Which is why Sadie had been so anxious to leave her home town eleven years ago.

She left her pistol in the bedside drawer and settled for a pocket knife, which sat heavily in a deep, very pink pocket.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Sadie muttered as she walked down the stairs, again with only one eye open. That slit between tired lids was just enough to see where she was going as she made her way down to the motel lobby where Conrad Hudson—who helped out a couple of days a week and much preferred working nights—manned the desk. He’d been there last night, when Sadie had finally gone to bed. He greeted her in an annoyingly energetic voice. She grunted a surly good morning and stepped into the parking lot.

The Banks family lived above the front office and lobby, and had for as long as Sadie could remember. Right now only Jennifer and Lillian lived there, but in the old days the apartment had been crowded. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Jimmy, cousins Jennifer and Johnny. And then Sadie had come along to make everyone uncomfortable and to crowd the conditions even more.

She’d hated coming here after her mother’s death. Orphaned, grieving and different, she had realized right away that she did not fit in well. Little Jennifer and her big brother Johnny had been blond and happy, good students who had lots of friends, while Sadie had barged in with tangled dark hair, shell-shocked by her mother’s sudden passing and filled with an anger she couldn’t explain away.

It had been just Sadie and her mother for so long, since Peter Harlow had died when his only child was a baby. To be thrust into family life was an additional shock all its own. Aunt Lillian had done everything possible to make the new member of her family feel like this place was home. And it had been, for a while.

But Sadie had left Garth as soon as possible after high school graduation. Had she been running away? Sure she had, though she hadn’t known it at the time. She had run from the family who had taken her in, certain that somewhere out there was a place for her. A place where she didn’t always feel different. A place where she fit. She’d dedicated herself to college for a few years, though she’d never found an area of study that she could fully embrace. She had about decided she’d be a career student, always at loose ends.

Then Spencer Mayfield had come along, with his slick ways and his “friendship” and his smooth seduction.

She’d come so close to actually marrying Spencer. The wedding date had been a mere two months away when she’d discovered that she wasn’t his only “friend.” Just as well. She really didn’t want to go through life as Sadie Mae Mayfield.

The only men she trusted these days were her coworkers—Santana, Mangino, Cal, Murphy…even the Major. It had taken her a long time, but she’d finally found a place where she felt as if she truly fit in. And she didn’t need anything else. The fact that she was the only female in a group of difficult men didn’t faze her.

Sadie walked across the parking lot, yawning as she went, her white tennis shoes shuffling on the asphalt. Even though her coming here years ago had been sudden and tragic, in an unexpected way Garth still felt like home. Lillian and Jennifer were family. She had put down a few delicate and deep roots in her time here, but that didn’t mean she wanted those roots to grow stronger and tie her to the place.

This afternoon she’d visit the bank without an appointment and have a word with Hearn about extending the loan. After that, she’d hire at least two new employees and see them settled in. And then, if she was very lucky, someone else would get themselves kidnapped and she’d be called away on urgent business.

Three days, tops, and she’d be outta here.

Why were so many people actually awake at five in the morning? Dressed and disgustingly cheerful, the patrons of Lillian’s Café smiled and talked and…ugh, was that guy flirting with her? Did he have something in his eye or was he winking at her? She was in no mood. Maybe that was the customer Jennifer had spilled coffee on. Sadie hoped so.

She moved from booth to booth to table, pouring coffee without spilling a drop. She scribbled breakfast orders on a notepad and quickly squelched any unwanted overtures. The place was packed. Aunt Lillian worked behind the counter, and Bowie Keegan, a thin, short-haired young man who was the latest in a long line of short-order cooks, worked the grill. Sadie was the one who ended up scurrying from one end of the room to the other, trying to take care of all the tables while Lillian handled the counter and some of the cooking. Sadie did the best she could. If someone didn’t get exactly what they ordered, well, they did get fed. At this ungodly hour, they should be grateful.

“Sadie?”

She glanced down at the customer in the booth, a man in a sharp khaki uniform, a deputy who grinned widely at her. That smile was familiar, in an odd way. Wicked and cocky and…Truman McCain. Please, not now.

“No,” she said as she poured Truman a cup of coffee. “No Sadie here.” She wore no makeup, was draped in a hideous pink waitress uniform that was two sizes too large, and she had a terrible case of bed-head. This was no way to run into the guy she’d had a crush on during her impressionable fifteenth and sixteenth years. Not that Truman, who had been her cousin Johnny’s best friend since they were five, had ever given Sadie the time of day. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

He pointed at her breast. “It says Sadie right there.”

“Borrowed uniform.”

“You look vaguely familiar,” he teased.

“I get that from a lot of people. Are you ready to order?”

Truman just smiled. Why did he have to look so good? A good three years past thirty he still had all his hair, which was a lovely warm brown that curled a little at the ends, just as she remembered. His eyes remained undulled by time. They were a fabulous shade of blue—not too dark, not too light—that seemed to see right through her. He was bigger, wider in the shoulders and maybe a little taller, though it was hard to tell with him sitting in the booth that way. He just seemed… larger than she remembered.

The man who had provided her with the most humiliating moment of her life should not have aged so well. It just wasn’t fair.

“Do you need a few more minutes to decide?” she asked.

He ordered the special and she walked away, too aware that his eyes were on her legs that needed shaving, her too-big uniform, and her tangled hair. Her ill-advised return home was not getting any better.

Truman’s smile faded as he watched Sadie walk away. He hadn’t thought much about Sadie Harlow, at least not recently. She must’ve had a rough time of it. Poor thing, she didn’t look so good. She was pale and there were circles under her eyes. And she must’ve lost weight. That dress hung on her.

The legs beneath that dress were not so bad, though, he mused as his gaze landed there.

He knew damn well she hadn’t forgotten him, even if it had been more than eleven years since he’d seen her. If nothing else, the sheer terror in her eyes when she’d recognized him had given her away.

She delivered his breakfast without looking him in the eye, letting the heavy white plate laden with eggs and grits and biscuits land on the table too hard. His check followed, slapped onto the table near the edge. He mumbled a polite thanks and let her walk away. Whatever happened to forgive and forget?

Truman took his time with his breakfast, watching the sun come up. It would be another slow day, he imagined. Most of his days as a deputy for this small Alabama county were. There was crime here, there just wasn’t much of it. And it was minor stuff, usually. Some days he felt more like an errand boy than a deputy. He changed tires, picked up prescriptions for a couple of the old folks who didn’t—or shouldn’t—drive, and kept kids out of trouble. He broke up the occasional fight, and had driven home more than his share of drunks. It wasn’t the life he’d planned for himself, but he liked it. Most days.

Breakfast finished, he slid out of the booth, taking care with his right leg as he always did. His limp had improved so it was barely noticeable. Or maybe he was just getting used to it. He dropped a bill on the table.

As he approached the counter, his check and a five-dollar bill in hand, Lillian gave him a wide smile. “’Morning, Deputy Truman,” she said brightly. “Was everything all right?”

“Wonderful as usual,” he said as he handed over his check, waiting as she opened the register and counted out his change. Behind Lillian, Sadie wiped furiously at the counter and kept her head down—and her back to him. On purpose? Surely not. While Lillian placed his change in the palm of his hand Sadie escaped, taking the long way around the counter and wiping down recently vacated tables. She put an awful lot of energy into cleaning those tables, Truman noticed as he headed for the door.

“Have a nice day, Miz Lillian.” Truman pushed against the glass door and glanced over his shoulder. “You, too, Sadie Mae,” he said, casting a grin at her back.

He was still grinning when she flew out the door, not ten seconds behind him. “What is this?” she asked.

He turned around to find Sadie waving a five-dollar bill in his face. She didn’t look so tired and worn-out anymore. There was color in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, and instead of being simply tangled, her dark hair looked sexy and wild. He liked it. It struck him at that moment that Sadie Harlow had grown up quite nicely.

“Your tip?”

“Your entire breakfast didn’t cost five dollars,” she said, still thrusting the bill in his direction. “And I didn’t even refill your coffee!”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

“Take it back,” she ordered.

“No.” Truman leaned against the fender of his patrol car.

Sadie took a single step toward him. “I’m warning you, McCain.”

“Are you threatening an officer of the law?” he teased.

“Just take it!” She took another step forward. “And don’t you ever, ever, call me Sadie Mae.”

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “I call you whatever you want me to, and you keep the tip.”

“I don’t want you to call me anything,” she said, her voice softer as she came closer. “And I certainly don’t want your…your pity tip!”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Pity tip?”

“Well, what else would you call it? I gave you lousy service.”

On purpose, he was sure. “Yeah, but I figure you have potential. One day you’re going to be a great waitress.”

“Bite me,” she said, stepping forward to slip the five-dollar bill into his breast pocket.

“When did you get back?” he asked before she could make a quick escape.

“Yesterday.”

“How long are you going to stay?”

He saw the not very long in her dark eyes, but she answered, “A few days. The family just, you know, needed some help.”

“Johnny couldn’t make it?”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “My hot-shot cousin is much too busy to be bothered. Since I was available…” She shrugged. “Here I am.”

Sadie was surly, she was not happy to be here…and still there was something about her that made Truman want to smile. “Working lunch today?”

“Not if I can help it. Sorry if I was rude,” she added, turning around slowly to return to the coffee shop.

Truman took the five from his pocket and rolled it up tight between his fingers. “Sadie?”

She obediently turned around, and he stepped forward to drop the bill down the front of her too-big uniform. If his aim was even halfway decent, it would get caught in her bra. “Have a nice day.”

Sadie sputtered and went in after the five, but by the time she had it in her hand Truman was behind the wheel and backing out of the parking lot.

Things could not possibly get any worse. All she wanted was a nap. Half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. Jennifer leaned over the bed. “I am not cleaning up that mess,” she whined.

Sadie didn’t bother to argue with her cousin. Arguing with Jennifer was always a waste of breath. No matter how logical the argument, Jen refused to lose. “I thought this was your regular job,” Sadie said as she left the bed.

“Yeah, but I have to draw the line somewhere,” Jennifer whined. “Room 119 is a mess.”

“You already said that,” Sadie grumbled.

“And it stinks.”

Jennifer was an apparent afterthought, eight years younger than Sadie, a full eleven years younger than her brother, Johnny. Lillian had always claimed that she’d been too old when she’d had Jennifer. She hadn’t had the energy to handle a difficult child. From the outside it had always looked to Sadie as if it had become easier for Lillian and Jimmy to let Jennifer have her way than to discipline the brat.

At the moment, Sadie couldn’t even remember what it was like to be twenty-two. And she had never been spoiled the way Jennifer had.

Johnny was the only Banks son, the eldest, the responsible one. He was a real-estate bigwig in Dallas, and made it to Garth only slightly more often than Sadie did. Jennifer was the baby, pretty and pampered, coddled by the entire family. Why should she leave? She had it made here. Sadie was still the oddball, caught in the middle and never quite feeling like she was part of the family, even though they had all done their best to make her feel like one of them.

“You’ll do it?” Jennifer practically wailed.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Sadie said. At least she had traded in her pink waitress uniform for something more palatable—jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Of course, over this she added an apron with several pockets, deep pockets that held cleansers, plastic bags and rags for wiping down counters and desktops. Not exactly her dream outfit.

“You’ll help, right?” she asked, just as Jennifer turned in the opposite direction.

“No way,” Jen yelled. “That room stinks.”

“Great. It stinks.” Sadie glanced across the parking lot to the busy Lillian’s Café. A county patrol car was parked near the door. Truman’s? Surely not. There were other places in Garth to eat lunch. Not many, but a few.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he’d been flirting with her this morning. Ha. Even if he had been, it was a waste of time. He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. She took some small measure of comfort in knowing that she could kick his ass, if she wanted to.

Not quite fourteen years ago she’d offered her virginity to Truman, and he’d turned her down. In retrospect, she’d been a kid and he probably hadn’t wanted to go to jail, but still…he shouldn’t have laughed. The rejection had been humiliating enough, but for him to laugh at her when she’d been so in love and decidedly serious about seducing him, that was just wrong.

She wasn’t sixteen any more, and she wasn’t a lost little girl clinging to what she thought was love. But the truth of the matter was, she still found Truman just a little bit too attractive. Her childish infatuation had died a long time ago, but she still had a soft spot for the guy. The last thing she needed was to get involved with a man from Garth. She’d never escape. She’d be effectively and completely sucked in. Instead of quick trips where she stayed a couple of hours, tops, she’d be forced to remain here for days at a time.

Like now.

Best to avoid Truman as much as possible, Sadie decided stoically. Aunt Lillian would just have to find someone else to take the morning shift if Mary Beth called in sick again. Sadie was desperate. If she had to spill coffee on some poor unsuspecting customer to get out of waitress duty, so be it.

Even better, she’d hire a new waitress ASAP.

The cart laden with towels, toilet paper and cleaning supplies was still parked outside room 119. Sadie knocked, shouted, and then used her key to open the door. The room was, as Jennifer had said, a mess. The covers on the bed had been torn off, drawers were opened and one was even on the floor. A bottle of wine had been emptied…all over the floor and the bed. Crackers had been crushed and scattered, too, and so had what looked to be cubes of cheese.

And Jen hadn’t been kidding when she said it smelled. Oh, what was that? The cheese? Sadie leaned over the bed and sniffed at a cube. Yikes, that was part of it.

She snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Trash can in one hand, she walked around the room picking up offensive garbage. Food, mostly, along with the occasional wrapper or empty bottle. She couldn’t believe that there were people out there who didn’t pick up after themselves in the most basic way. What slobs.

A bottle of spray cleaner and a soft rag worked wonders on the nasty surfaces. Still, there was only so much a good scrubbing could do. She stripped off the sheets, being very careful that only the latex gloves came into contact with the linens. Yikes. No matter how bad her life got from here on out, she could always be assured that there were women out there who had it worse.

Linens stripped, Sadie snagged her trash can once again. As she neared the bathroom, the smell that had hit her as she’d walked into the room got worse. Holding her breath, she leaned over a small trash can just outside the bathroom, expecting to find a stack of nasty diapers. Nothing.

A knock on the open door made Sadie jump and turn. She squinted. A shadow filled the doorway, cutting off the sunlight. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow.

Truman leaned against the door jamb and grinned. “A woman of many talents,” he teased.

Sadie walked toward the door. She was in no mood…“What are you doing here?”

Truman stepped back as she exited 119. Fresh air had never smelled so sweet.

“I thought I saw you head into this room,” Truman said.

“Please tell me you’re not stalking me,” she responded casually, not looking him in the eye.

“Of course not. That would be illegal.”

She’d had enough. “Truman McCain, what the hell do you want?”

Most men would take the hint and retreat. Sadie had gotten very good at telling a man to back off with nothing more than a look. Most of them didn’t just back off, they slunk away with their gaze pinned to their shoes. But not Truman. He held his ground. His smile didn’t go away. Not completely. “Dinner,” he finally said.

A date. He was actually asking her out on a date. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope. I never kid about such serious matters.”

Sadie didn’t beat around the bush, not anymore. She didn’t give lame excuses, she didn’t worry about hurting any man’s feelings. Did they have feelings? She thought not.

“You want to feed me?” she said sharply. “Fine. But I am not sleeping with you. Not now, not ever. So if this is your slick country-boy way of trying to worm your way into my bed, forget it. You had your shot, and you blew it.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Truman didn’t seem at all offended or dismayed. “I thought we could have dinner and catch up. That’s all.” He leaned slightly toward her. “I don’t want to sleep with you, either, Sadie. You’re a lousy waitress, and you smell like something nasty I stepped in down by Ted Felton’s farm last week.” His smile never wavered. “Literally. Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up.”

Oh, she was going to regret this. Quickly, she reasoned that if she was out for a few hours, she couldn’t watch the desk, field phone calls, or dish up grits and coffee. Besides, deep inside she was not entirely opposed to dinner with Truman.

“Seven-thirty,” she said.

Business done, she turned and walked away from Truman McCain. No, that was not a little bubble of excitement in her chest. There was nothing to get excited about. They’d eat, she’d ask questions about what had happened to him in the past eleven years—like she didn’t already know—and if Truman did dare to make a move she’d put him in his place so fast he wouldn’t know what hit him.

Sadie was actually smiling when she opened the bathroom door, but the smile didn’t last. The stench hit her so hard she reeled back a split second before she realized what she was seeing in the bathtub.

She backed away from the half-open door, her eyes on the body in the tub. A part of her mind logically catalogued the details. Male. Naked. Definitely dead, probably for hours. She didn’t recognize him, but then…would she, even if she knew who the man had once been? The face was distorted, and the neck…what was left of it…was…oh…

Another part of her mind screamed silently. Run.

After a few seconds, Sadie listened to that command. She turned and ran to the door. Truman wasn’t even halfway across the parking lot.

“McCain!” she shouted.

He stopped and turned, a half grin on his face. “You didn’t change your mind already, did you?” His smile faded, and he walked toward her with that slight limp that still surprised her, even though she knew what had happened. “What’s wrong?”

Sadie moved back, clearing the doorway so Truman could step into the room. “You need to call somebody,” she said softly. “There’s a dead man in the bathtub.”

His eyes snapped in that direction, and he moved past her. “Stay here,” he ordered in a soft voice.

As if she had to be told. She’d seen enough, thank you very much.

A glance was all Truman needed. He backed away, took Sadie’s arm, and led her outside. Grabbing the two-way radio that hung from his belt, he alerted dispatch of the situation. That done, he looked down at her without a smile, without even a speck of that McCain charm.

“Did you disturb anything?”

“Hell, Truman, I cleaned the room. All but the bathroom. I disturbed just about everything.”

He muttered the word that was very much on Sadie’s mind, a word that would have shocked Aunt Lillian out of her orthopedic shoes.

“I didn’t vacuum,” Sadie said. “And all the garbage I collected is in one bag.”

“Good.”

“Did you recognize him?” Sadie asked, curiosity pushing aside her early revulsion.

“No, but then I didn’t take a really close look.”

“I understand completely,” Sadie said honestly. Already she heard approaching sirens.

People didn’t get murdered in Garth, and from what little she’d seen she was pretty sure the man in room 119’s bathtub had not committed suicide. He’d been murdered, in a very ugly way.

Truman leaned slightly forward as the first patrol car pulled wildly into the parking lot. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered.

“What?” she snapped.

“Sadie Mae Harlow, don’t leave town.”

Chapter 2

After stripping out of the outfit she’d been wearing when she’d found the body and then showering vigorously, Sadie had gladly changed into clothing she was more comfortable in. A pair of black pants that had a little stretch in them, sturdy boots, a leather jacket and a shoulder holster, where her pistol now rested. After what she’d seen today, she needed her weapon close.

She was still tempted to head down to the bank and insist on seeing Hearn. Two days was a ridiculous amount of time to wait to see a loan officer at a small town bank. There had been a framed photo of the man hanging in the outer office, where Sadie had done battle with the receptionist. Hearn was sixtyish, with a full head of gray hair and pale-blue eyes. Not bad looking for an older man, but he had that cocky smile that men who consider themselves better than everyone else can’t seem to wipe from their faces, no matter how hard they try. He was a VP, or some such, which didn’t mean much in such a small bank. He couldn’t possibly be booked until Thursday afternoon.

Besides, she needed something to take her mind off finding the body. She’d seen a lot of bad stuff, working for the PI agency in Birmingham and then for Benning, but she’d never run across a body that had been stewing for hours. She would never forget that smell, or the complete and utter deadness of the man in the tub. There had been no life left, not even a hint that he had been a living breathing man not so long ago. She shuddered and pushed the feeling aside. She couldn’t afford weakness of any kind, not in her profession.

She still had no idea who the man in Room 119 might be. Conrad Hudson, who had checked the man in late last night, had already left for the day when the body was discovered. The sheriff had sent a deputy—not Truman, but some horribly young and enthusiastic boy—to Conrad’s house to speak with him, but no one was home. Since Conrad spent every spare moment fishing, he was probably on the lake somewhere. He’d be found. Eventually.

The name in the register was a suspicious ‘Joe Smith,’ and the man had paid for the room in cash.

Drugs, probably, Sadie reasoned. A drug deal had gone bad and Smith, or whoever he was, had been murdered because of it. She would have to have a talk with Lillian about renting her rooms to just anyone who came along. Lillian was so naive, she probably never considered that anything illegal might go on at her motel. It was a family place, a simple motel that had seen good years and lean. Once a bad element moved in, it would be tough to save the Yellow Rose Motel.

Truman had taken a brief statement from Sadie at the scene and he’d taken control of the evidence, basically keeping everyone out until the proper team arrived to catalog everything. The Alabama Bureau of Investigation would be called in, since neither the city of Garth nor the county had the resources to investigate a murder. Those investigators would want to question her soon, but while she waited she might as well see about getting the reason for her trip out of the way.

Maybe Hearn would agree to allow Sadie to repay her aunt’s loan without letting Lillian know. It would take Sadie a few days to get her hands on that much cash, but it could be done.

“Sadie!” Jennifer ran up the stairs, shouting as she entered the living quarters.

Sadie stepped into the hallway. “What’s wrong now?” There was always a crisis of some sort around here. As long as it wasn’t another body…

“The ABI investigator, he wants to talk to you,” Jennifer said breathlessly.

“He’s here?”

Jen nodded. “And he does not look very happy.”

Sadie headed for the stairs. “Murder isn’t happy business.”

“Yeah, but he looks really pissed.”

“He probably got called in off the golf course.” Sadie pushed into the lobby, to find that it was quite crowded. Truman stood back a ways, positioned near the door, and a red-eyed Aunt Lillian sat in a rickety chair near the front desk. She’d been upset when Sadie had gone upstairs to dress, but now she was obviously shaken.

The man standing between Sadie and Truman eyed her suspiciously. “I was working a cold case, actually. I don’t golf.”

Sadie saw no reason to respond.

“Investigator Wilson Evans.” The stocky brown-haired man didn’t offer his hand.

“Sadie Harlow.” Instinctively, she looked toward Truman, who remained stony-faced as he fixed his gaze on her.

“We’ve identified the victim,” Evans said, his voice even and cool.

“That’s good.”

In the moment of silence that followed Sadie’s response, she automatically looked to Truman McCain. For a reason she refused to explore, she was glad he’d stayed.

“Aren’t you curious?” Evans looked Sadie up and down with suspicious eyes. She suspected he was sharper than he looked.

Aunt Lillian’s breath hitched and she made an odd noise that caught in her throat, as if she stifled a cry.

“Not really,” Sadie said honestly. “I don’t know many people in Garth anymore, and I seriously doubt…”

“Do you know Aidan Hearn?”

The mention of the banker’s name startled Sadie so much she blinked hard and leaned slightly back. “Hearn? Not really. Was that…” She tried to envision the possibility that the smiling man in the photo at the bank and the grotesque thing she’d found might be one and the same.

“I understand you made a bit of a scene in his office yesterday afternoon.”

Sadie’s eyes cut to Truman again. He didn’t smile, he didn’t offer silent comfort. At the moment he looked as cold as Evans. “I would hardly call it a scene,” she answered.

The detective flipped open his notebook and read from the small page. “You called him a tyrant…”

“He wasn’t there,” Sadie explained.

Evans didn’t so much as slow down. “And you intimated that if he didn’t see you immediately, he’d be sorry.”

“I had an appointment for Thursday.”

“You called his secretary a bimbo…”

“She is,” Sadie said beneath her breath.

“And on your way out of the room you kicked over a small trash can.”

“It had been a long day and the trash can was empty. Mostly.”

Evans flipped the notebook shut. “Do you have an uncontrollable temper, Miss Harlow?”

“Of course not!” she shouted.

Truman crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, a little, and suddenly Sadie was eleven again, out of place and alone and feeling as if the world was conspiring against her.

“It’s my fault,” Lillian said softly.

All eyes turned her way. “What?” Sadie asked.

“I sent her there to speak to Mr. Hearn. He refused to even listen to my pleas, and I was afraid I’d lose the motel and the café if I didn’t get an extension on the loan. I called Sadie because I couldn’t think of another way.” Lillian lifted her head and looked squarely at Evans. “Sadie might lose her temper, and she might kick over a garbage can or say something she doesn’t mean on occasion. That mouth of hers has gotten her into trouble all her life.”

“Aunt Lillian…” Sadie began. This kind of “help” wasn’t going to help matters at all.

“But she would never hurt a living soul.”

Lillian had no idea how many living souls her niece had hurt. But they had all been bad guys who deserved what they got, and Sadie had never killed anyone in cold blood. Actually, she’d never killed anyone, not even bad guys. But she had wounded more than her share…

It took only a few minutes for Evans to take Sadie’s statement, while Lillian and Truman looked on. It was an oddly informal interview, allowable due to the unusual circumstances. From a certain vantage point in the office, Sadie could look through the window and see the investigators and deputies gathered around room 119. They used crime-scene tape to cordon off the area, and it wasn’t long before an ambulance arrived. They wouldn’t be allowed to move the body until Evans gave the okay, but they were ready. And curious.

Sadie moved to the counter where Conrad would’ve been standing last night. The door to 119 was clearly visible.

“Conrad must’ve seen whoever went into that room with Hearn,” Sadie said. “There’s a street lamp almost directly overhead.”

“We’ve got deputies and ABI agents searching for him,” Evans snapped.

Sadie’s stomach roiled, a little. She had learned always to listen to that gut reaction. “I think maybe you’d better find him quick. I have a feeling that whoever murdered Hearn won’t hesitate to take out anyone they think might be a witness.”

She recognized the new surge of emotion as outrage. Maybe she couldn’t wait to get out of Garth all over again. But by God, it just wasn’t right for people to get murdered here.

Sadie in tight black pants, her hair combed and her cheeks flushed pink, painted an entirely different picture than the tired woman in the ill-fitting pink uniform who’d made such a poor waitress that very morning.

Truman really did want to believe that Lillian was right and Sadie didn’t have it in her to murder anyone. But she did have a temper, and to be honest he didn’t know her anymore. She’d left home a girl and come home a woman, and who knows what had happened to her during the years in-between?

When he’d told Sadie not to leave town, he’d been—at least in part—jesting. When Evans delivered the same order, he wasn’t kidding at all. And Sadie knew it. A local man was dead, killed the same night she’d arrived in town for the specific purpose of seeing Hearn and convincing him to extend her aunt’s loan.

Since she’d cleaned the room, she had a very plausible reason for any of her own fingerprints that were found on the door knob. Not that there would be many fingerprints lifted from any other surface. Sadie—who had been wearing gloves to clean—had scrubbed every surface in the motel room.

She hadn’t touched the bathroom, though, and that was a good sign. And the discovery of the body had obviously disturbed her. Either that, or she had turned into a great actress.

She had definitely turned into a beautiful woman. Sadie wasn’t traditionally pretty, like her cousin. But she was the kind of woman who would always make heads turn, and he was certain that when she walked into a room men between the ages of fifteen and ninety muttered a drawn-out, appreciative damn.

His study of Sadie was interrupted by occasional bouts of hysteria from Lillian Banks. She’d lose it for a moment, then rein herself in and settle into silence. Was that fear in her eyes? Or plain old horror at knowing that a man had been killed in her motel and her niece was—for the moment at least—a suspect.

Logic aside, he didn’t think Sadie was guilty. Not of murdering Hearn, at least. But one thing was clear.

Women like Sadie Harlow weren’t content to stay in a place like Garth. She was here to help her family, but as soon as she was able she’d be gone.

“Be back by ten,” Jennifer said as she plopped down on the end of Sadie’s bed. “I’m supposed to work the front desk since Conrad still hasn’t shown up, but I have plans. I figured since you’re here you can do me a favor and fill in for me.”

Sadie didn’t argue that what she really needed was a good night’s sleep, or that it was entirely possible Conrad would show up late. It wouldn’t be the first time, from what she heard. “It’s Tuesday,” she said as she applied a bit of mascara. “What sort of plans could you possibly have?”

“Just…plans.”

Sadie sighed. She’d probably be home by nine. Still, it galled her a little that her flighty cousin had such an active social life, while she had none. Thirty wasn’t all that old. Why did she feel ancient?

No, she wouldn’t be thirty for two more weeks. Would she officially become a spinster over a cake with too many candles? Sitting alone in her small apartment, with her girlie things around her and the television on and… What was she thinking? The day’s excitement had addled her brain. Since a social life usually included men in some form or another, she was definitely better off without one. Bring on the spinsterhood.

Not that she wanted to look like a spinster…

It was strange, to be getting ready for her first date in ages when just this afternoon she’d stumbled across a dead body. Jen had commented on the tragedy and the smell, and then she’d shuddered and changed the subject. Unpleasant things did not deter Jennifer Banks. She ignored them completely so they barely slowed her down.

“I’ll be home before ten,” Sadie promised, wondering if she could even stay awake that long.

“Nice dress,” Jennifer said, relieved and smiling once again. “It looks expensive.”

“It is,” Sadie said. The classic little black dress was her favorite. True, it made concealing her revolver a problem, but in this instance she’d deal with the discomfort of a thigh holster.

“If it was a couple sizes smaller, I might ask if I could borrow it.”

Sadie sighed, but did not growl or even turn to glare at her skinny cousin.

“Can I borrow those earrings sometime?” Jennifer asked, leaning to the side to get a better look at the diamond studs.

“Not on your life.”

In the mirror, Sadie watched as Jen stuck out her tongue. Some things never changed.

Sadie applied a little bit of hairspray to her curling dark hair, and then she dabbed some perfume behind her ears, just in case any of the day’s excitement had left a lingering odor that hadn’t scrubbed out in the shower. Eggs and grits, cheese, ammonia…and other things she’d rather not think of right now.

“You’re going to give poor old Truman a heart attack.”

“Why’s that?” Sadie asked absently.

“You look great, that’s why,” Jennifer said. “Makeup, sexy dress, perfume. The whole works. Trust me, no one around here looks like this. Are you guys, you know…”

“No,” Sadie said forcefully. “We’re just friends. There is no ‘you know.’ I’m not getting dressed up for Truman,” she added in a sensible voice. “I’m dressing for myself. I like to look nice now and then.” She’d had enough of bubble-gum-pink uniforms and maid’s aprons for one day.

“Yeah, right,” Jennifer said, a wicked smile on her face and in her voice. When Sadie stepped into her black heels, Jennifer whistled. “You can’t tell me you’re wearing those monsters for yourself. They look great, but that heel is a killer. Those shoes,” Jennifer said with a wag of her fingers, “say, Take me Truman, take me now. Why don’t you just go naked and save yourself all this trouble? Ten o’clock, Sadie. I swear, if you’re not home by ten, I’ll…I’ll…”

“Send the sheriff after us?”

“Not a bad idea.”

Sadie walked across the room. Okay, so she hadn’t worn these heels in ages. They were not comfortable, not at all. But they did look great, she knew that. Maybe she wasn’t tiny like Jennifer, but she was tall, and she had long legs and decent breasts, and when she put some effort into it she could look good.

Not for Truman, she insisted silently, but for herself. Her first full day in Garth had been a kicker, and she needed to turn her mind in a new direction. Just for tonight. Tomorrow she’d be back to being desk clerk, maid and waitress. But not for long. Hearn must’ve been involved in something nasty to get killed the way he had. Evans would find the evidence and the murderer, and he’d send Sadie on her way with an insincere apology.

Sadie didn’t belong here any more now that she had at the age of eleven.

Sadie was overdressed for Bob’s Steak and Fixin’s, but then she was probably overdressed for anything this side of Birmingham. Since Truman had worn jeans and a nice cotton button-up shirt, she was definitely overdressed for him. She’d done this to get back at him, he imagined, to repay him for telling her not to leave town or for sticking her tip in her bra.

Truman tried not to let on that he was at all affected by the red lips, the black dress, the long legs or the way she walked in those heels. When had Sadie Harlow gotten so gorgeous? She’d always been cute, his best friend’s little cousin who had a crush on him. Back in those days she’d had a tendency to show up wherever he and Johnny happened to be. He hadn’t minded her tagging along now and then, not the way Johnny had. He’d always thought she was kinda sweet. But he’d been caught up in the high-school-jock thing and she’d seemed so young. Plus she’d never had this effect on him. And if she had, Johnny would have killed him.

It was a cruel form of punishment, he imagined. Sadie’s way of waving a red flag in his face. Look what you could have had. Look what you’ll never have. Look, but do not touch. He should have accepted his mother’s invitation to go home for a nice, safe dinner of chicken and dumplings and left Sadie alone.

His motives had been honorable. She was exhausted and needed a couple of hours away from the motel. A friendly meal and conversation, that’s all he’d had in mind when he’d suggested dinner. Really.

He hadn’t known she’d stumble across a dead body minutes after grudgingly accepting his invitation. And he definitely hadn’t expected this. He was on edge, wound so tight every muscle in his body had tensed. He looked at Sadie sitting there, all dolled up and grown up, and all he could think about was getting her naked. It had been a long time since he’d wanted any woman this way.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” she asked. “Having dinner together doesn’t seem at all ethical, given the circumstances.”

“Why not? I’m not investigating the murder.”

“We’re just old friends sharing a meal, and the fact that we found a dead man a few hours ago means nothing,” she said.

“Yeah.”

She played with the food on her plate, and her eyes scanned the restaurant almost casually. Almost.

Truman gladly studied the full red lips, the curve of her cheek, the fire in her eyes. Yeah, naked would be good. “So, how long have you been a PI?”

Sadie didn’t drop her fork, but her head snapped around. She glared at him, dark eyes flashing. He’d managed to surprise her. Good.

“You’ve been poking around in my life? You said you didn’t have anything to do with investigating the murder.”

“Actually, I did a quick search on you this morning, after breakfast and before you found that body.”

Sadie pursed her lips and lifted her chin. She wasn’t the same little girl who’d followed him and Johnny around. She’d gotten tough.

“Lillian likes to tell everyone that I’m a receptionist in Birmingham.”

“I know. Where’s the gun?” he asked.

She did her best to look innocent.

“I know you have a permit. This afternoon you were wearing it under your jacket, neatly concealed. Where is it now?”

She didn’t bother to deny that she was carrying. “In a place where you’ll never have the chance to find it.”

He grinned. Yeah, he liked her tough. He liked her all grown-up. “So, how did you end up a PI? Seems like nasty work for a pretty girl.”

Sadie smiled. “I’m not pretty, I’m not a girl, and the work is only occasionally nasty.”

Truman wasn’t looking for a fight, so he didn’t bother to argue about the pretty thing. Surely Sadie knew how gorgeous she was. Pretty women, they always knew. “Okay. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

She relaxed a little, and leaned forward. “I fell into it. I was supposed to get married, but it didn’t work out. I was tired of knocking around college without knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and I needed a way to pay the bills.” She smiled. “I found a job working as a receptionist for a small PI agency. Strictly temporary, of course.” Something in her smile changed, turned more genuine. “I’d been there three months when a displeased client came barging in with a gun in his hand. He used me as a shield, and I spent the better part of an afternoon wondering if I was about to die.”

Nothing to smile about. “And you didn’t quit then and there?”

Sadie shook her head. “You know me, Truman. I got mad, and I decided I was never going to be helpless again. My boss, Larry Myrick, saw that I got training. Basic self-defense first, then firearms, knife-work, karate. I liked it. I got good. And Larry offered me a job as an investigator.”

“Why have I never heard any of this?”

“Because Aunt Lillian thinks my chosen career is scandalous.” Her eyebrows danced. “Chasing bad guys is not at all ladylike.”

“You’re still working for Myrick?” He knew she wasn’t, but he did wonder how she’d answer. The Benning Agency was miles away from a small PI office in Birmingham. Literally and figuratively.

She shook her head. “No. I was recruited by a larger agency a few years back.”

That out of the way, they passed the time eating and talking about Johnny and his kids, Jennifer and her troubles, and Aunt Lillian’s restaurant. When Sadie asked, Truman told her about his older brother Kennedy and Kennedy’s three boys. They avoided all talk of the body Sadie had found that afternoon.

As their waitress placed dessert on the table, cheesecake and coffee, an awkward silence fell. They’d run out of safe things to talk about.

“So,” Sadie said, flicking a fork at the strawberry topping on her cheesecake. “How’s your knee?”

Truman’s jaw tightened. A tiny muscle in his eyelid twitched. Talk about a mood killer. Murder was a more pleasant subject. He didn’t talk about the old injury, not anymore. No one mentioned the limp, not even on those damp mornings when he couldn’t hide the pain. No one asked him about the old days. And he didn’t much like thinking about what might have been. What a waste of time that was.

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice low.

Sadie wasn’t going to take fine for an answer, she wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “What bullshit,” she said succinctly.

“Language, Sadie Mae.”

“Don’t try to change the subject by calling me Sadie Mae and getting me all riled up. It won’t work this time.”

He looked her in the eye. He hadn’t done that often, this evening. “You want to know how my knee is? Hamburger. My freakin’ knee is hamburger. I can’t run, climbing stairs is a bitch and some mornings it hurts like hell just to get out of bed.” She wanted to know, he might as well tell her everything. “I’m a thirty-three-year-old gimp whose glory days came and went before he was twenty-five. A divorced gimp, whose wife left because when she married him she had her sights set on the money and fame that came with being married to a professional quarterback. A small-town deputy wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. She wanted Joe Montana and ended up with a gimpy Barney Fife. That’s how my damn knee is.”

Sadie didn’t look away, as he’d suspected she might. She didn’t glance down and break the hold his eyes had on hers and start mumbling about something safe, like the weather. “I knew it wasn’t fine,” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about my knee,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about myself at all. Your life is much more interesting than mine.”

She dumped a pack of sugar into her coffee and stirred absently. With a tilt of her head and a sigh, she looked a little bit like the girl he remembered. Not so tough, after all. “Let’s change the subject,” she said softly.

“Gladly.”

“What do you know about Aidan Hearn? Was he into anything dirty, like drugs or money laundering?”

“We can’t be having this conversation, Sadie.”

“I’m not asking about anything that might’ve come up in the investigation. I’m interested in gossip, that’s all. I could ask anyone else in town.”

“But you’re asking me.”

“You’re here,” she said softly, and the way her mouth wrapped around the words… Yeah, she was definitely messing with his head.

“Far as I know, Hearn was clean as a whistle. No drugs, no money laundering.” He almost snorted. Had she forgotten what Garth was like? “I have heard rumors over the years that he was a bit of a ladies’ man, but…”

“I thought he was married.”

“He is.”

Sadie’s eyes positively sparkled. “Why did Evans even bother talking to me? The wife, a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend…if Hearn wasn’t into something dirty, then the murder was personal.”

“You’re probably right.”

“So…”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this,” Truman interrupted.

She looked him in the eye, smiled and shrugged. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

Why did he know in his gut that this woman was trouble? That she found or created trouble wherever she went? She settled back in her chair for a moment and again let her gaze travel about the room. This time her mind was definitely elsewhere. More trouble.

He insisted on paying for dinner, and while Sadie argued, she eventually backed off. A rarity for her, he imagined.

“How about a short drive before I take you back to the motel?” he asked as he opened the door of his pickup truck for her.

“I don’t know,” she said, stepping onto the runner, pulling her great legs into the truck. “It’s been a long day.”

“I have a quick errand to run. Won’t take but a few minutes,” he promised.

“Okay.”

Miranda Lake. How many babies had been conceived in cars parked along the edge of the lake? Plenty, Sadie suspected. In Garth and the surrounding area, there was an unnatural number of baby girls named Miranda born every year.

“What are we doing here?” she asked suspiciously. She’d specifically told Truman she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him, and even if she were…she was a little old to get lucky in a pickup truck.

“Nightly patrol,” he said. “I’m off duty, but since I live close by I usually make a nightly drive through. There are half a dozen or so spots where the teenagers park, and every night I hit one or two of them. Keeps the kiddies on their toes.” He turned a corner, and sure enough, there were four cars parked in the gravel lot that looked over Miranda Lake. He pulled into a parking space of his own, smiled at Sadie and told her he’d be right back then stepped out of the truck. Almost immediately, three engines came to life. Truman smiled and waved at the teenagers who made their escape, and walked toward the one remaining car. The occupants were obviously too engrossed to know they’d been caught.

Sadie watched Truman walk away. Yeah, maybe there was a little bit of a hitch in his step, but he was far from a gimp. That ex-wife of his was a real bitch, to leave him when he needed her most, to run out when he was already hurting. She’d never met the woman, but she had seen pictures. Even then, from a mere photograph, Sadie had known the woman Truman married right out of college wasn’t good enough for him. Then again, maybe she would have thought the same about any woman Truman married.

Why did Truman stay in Garth? Sure, his mother was here, and he had old friends in town, but… She had always known Truman McCain was meant for greater things, that he was meant for greater places than Garth, Alabama. She hated to think that he might be hiding here, staying because it was safe, because he would always be a hero to the locals for getting out and making it big; even if his escape and his fame hadn’t lasted.

He leaned down and tapped on a steamed-up window. After a moment where all was still and quiet, the window rolled down. Truman said a few soft words, and the engine revved to life. He stepped back, and the last car made a quick getaway.

After the kids were gone, Truman headed back to the pickup where Sadie waited.

“What a job,” she said with a grin.

“When the mayor found out his daughter had been coming out here with her new boyfriend, we had to step up patrols.” He settled into the driver’s seat and looked out over the water. “It is a beautiful place,” he added softly.

“You said you live close by,” Sadie said.

Truman rested his arm on the steering wheel and pointed to the other side of the lake. “I have a cabin over there. Small, but nice, and it looks out over the water. What else does a man need?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

Sadie rested her head on the seat and stared out over the water. Moonlight sparkled there, gentle waves lapped. “Did you ever wonder if the story was true?” she asked, her voice soft to match the mood and the night.

“What story?”

“About Miranda Fairchild and Samuel Garth.”

“The ghosts,” Truman deadpanned. “Some old tale about a couple of ancient people who killed themselves. I don’t know what it is chicks like about that story.”

Sadie sighed. “You never got laid out here, did you?”

“I got laid out here plenty, and I never had to resort to ghost stories to get what I wanted.”

Of course he hadn’t. Gorgeous football hero with a killer smile, all Truman had to do was grin, and he got whatever he wanted. It was so unfair.

“It’s a beautiful story.” Heavens, she was tired. But this was nice, resting her head against the seat, looking out over the water, talking to Truman.

“Okay, convince me. What happened, exactly?” Truman prodded.

Sadie took her eyes from the moonlit water, for a moment. No, he wasn’t teasing her. At least, he looked serious. Maybe it was a fanciful story, more legend than fact, but there was something mesmerizing about the tale. At least, there once had been. Living with Spencer had killed most of Sadie’s fanciful notions about love and happily ever after. There was no forever. A man would always get tired of a woman. He’d get bored and go elsewhere looking for love, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy.

Reality was harsh. No wonder a touch of fantasy, a tale of romance, seemed so attractive at the moment.

“When Samuel was called to the war with those nasty Yankees, he and Miranda wanted to get married.” Not a wise choice, in Sadie’s estimation, but she tried to push away her own bad experience and just enjoy the story. “They wanted to be together before he left, but Miranda’s father said she was too young. She was sixteen. Samuel was a couple of years older. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. Since her father refused to allow them to marry, Miranda swore she’d wait for Samuel. She said she’d wait forever, if she had to.”

Truman shook his head in disbelief, and Sadie returned her gaze to the water. “So Samuel went to war,” she said softly. “You know how it was. They all thought the unpleasantness with the Yankees would last weeks. Months, maybe. But Samuel was gone for years. When word came that he’d died in battle, Miranda very calmly left her house, walked to the lake, and drowned herself.”

“Stupid,” Truman muttered.

“You do not have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Only the one.”

Sadie sighed, holding in a laugh. “You’re hopeless.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anyway,” Sadie continued, determined to finish. “Grieving and desolate, Miranda drowned. A year to the day later, Samuel comes home expecting to find his love waiting for him. He hadn’t been killed in battle after all.”

“Obviously.”

Sadie cleared her throat to chastise him for interrupting. “When he discovers what happened to Miranda he walks to the lake, swims out as far as he can, and then goes under, never to be seen again.”

“He killed himself, just like she did. I still say that’s not…”

“Would you hush,” Sadie said, laughing lightly. “You’re ruining the story.”

“Excuse me,” he said insincerely.

“After that night, it was said that sometimes when there was a full moon people would see them in the lake and on the shore, making love at last, together forever.”

Forever. Nice idea. Too bad it was a crock.

“And this ridiculous story actually gets people laid.” Truman shook his head.

“Oh, you know that tale as well as I do.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to hear you tell it.” He smiled softly. “So, who told it to you?”

Sadie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Jason Davenport. Prom night, thirteen years ago.”

“Jason Davenport?”

Jason Davenport. Running back for the high-school football team. First baseman for the baseball team. Black hair, green eyes, and oh, he had a really great voice. She could still hear him telling that story to her, reminding her that there wouldn’t always be a tomorrow, that they’d better take what they wanted tonight. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t even know you dated that guy.”

“Just a couple of times. Then he dumped me.” The fuzzy memories faded. As soon as Jason realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, he’d quit calling. Jerk. She should have learned her lesson then.

“He’s still around, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s some kind of artist or something,” Truman said grudgingly. “You actually…” he stopped, choked on the word.

“It’s ancient history,” Sadie said, not wanting to answer him either way. Oh, it was so quiet out here! Quiet and beautiful, peaceful in a way she had forgotten. Gentle wind lapped at the water and ruffled the leaves of trees surrounding the lake. If the breeze hit the trees just right, it sounded as if a woman moaned. Soft. Happy. Miranda. Sadie took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the lake.

Okay, so Garth wasn’t a complete loss. It had Aunt Lillian’s biscuits, Miranda Lake and Truman. Individually they weren’t much, but when you put them all together…maybe it was a nice place to be, for a while.

Chapter 3

She hadn’t slept this deeply in months. Years, maybe! Sadie sighed and fought the awareness that crept upon her. She didn’t want to wake up. She needed more of this dreamless sleep. The quiet. The warmth. The rest for her bone-weary body and agitated mind.

A soft spring wind ruffled the leaves of a tree, water lapped. Truman shifted his body and dropped a hand into her hair. His thigh was her pillow, and there was a little spot of drool, right there on the denim that was stretched over that thigh.

“Oh, crap,” Sadie muttered, immediately awake and shooting up into a semi-sitting position. Her fingers rubbed against the wet spot on Truman’s thigh, trying to erase the evidence. All her efforts managed to do was wake Truman.

For a moment he smiled at her, then he realized where they were and his smile faded. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Exactly.” Sadie straightened the strap of her bra. Everything she wore was twisted and misshapen at the moment. “What time is it?”

Truman checked his watch, hitting a button on the side to light the face. He squinted, blinked twice. “Four-thirty.”

Almost instinctively, she reached out and slapped Truman on the arm. “Why did you let me sleep in your pickup truck until four-thirty? Jennifer will have the whole town out looking for us. I was supposed to be home by ten.”

“Ten?” Truman shook his head. “You’re thirty years old, for God’s sake. Why did you have to be home by ten?”

“Almost thirty,” she corrected. “And I said I’d be home by ten so Jennifer could go out.” It really wasn’t a disaster. Jen would survive. Sadie ran her fingers through her hair. So much for her careful attempts at styling the mop. It was going every which a way, as it usually did in the morning. “Go, go,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Truman started the engine and put the truck in Reverse, yawning and then working a crick out of his neck. A very fine neck, she had to admit. Sadie stared at him. So, this was what Truman McCain looked like in the morning. Rumpled. Sexy as hell. It just wasn’t fair.

“Why did you let me sleep?” she asked, trying for anger but delivering sheer frustration.

“You were exhausted. I figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.” Truman steered the truck down the narrow drive that would take them back to the main road, headlights dancing in the morning dark.

“A few minutes?”

He grinned, the rat. “Then I fell asleep. Long day. Sorry.”

Sadie ran her fingers through her hair again, trying to tame the curls. Four-thirty. Almost time for Mary Beth and Aunt Lillian and Bowie to get to work. No one else would be out at this hour of the morning but for a few fishermen whose minds were on bait and boats and elusive bass. She could sneak up to her room and no one would ever be the wiser, except for Jennifer. And Jen could be persuaded to keep her mouth shut. Blackmail between cousins was a wonderful thing.

Truman glanced over and down and grinned sleepily. “Found it.”

“What?”

“You said I wouldn’t.”

Sadie realized he was staring at her mostly bare leg and her thigh holster. She yanked her skirt down to cover the leather and the pistol housed there. “Drop me off at the side door of the lobby.”

“Where no one can see you from the street?” Truman teased.

“Exactly.” She shot him an accusing glance. “And stop smiling! This isn’t funny.”

“Sure it is,” he said half-heartedly.

“I should’ve met you at the restaurant,” Sadie said beneath her breath. “I have my own car. I could have gone straight home when dinner was finished and this never would’ve happened.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Truman asked, his Southern accent deepening as he teased her.

It wasn’t a long trip from Miranda Lake to the Yellow Rose Motel. Seven minutes, tops. Ten at what passed as rush hour in the small town. There was no traffic this early in the morning, but Truman insisted on driving the speed limit, which was ridiculously slow. Finally, Sadie saw the motel sign. Home, for the time being. The neon sign for Lillian’s Café wasn’t lit up yet. That meant Lillian wasn’t in. Good. Sadie figured she had about two minutes to make it to the safety of her room without being seen.

Truman pulled into the parking lot, and Sadie’s heart sank. There sat a patrol car, lights flashing. A young deputy leaned against the fender, taking notes and nodding his head, while Jennifer spoke and gestured wildly with her hands. Either someone else had gotten themselves killed at the Yellow Rose or Jennifer had actually called the sheriff’s office to report her cousin missing.

Instead of driving to the side door as Sadie as asked—which would have been a waste of time, given the circumstances—Truman pulled his truck alongside the patrol car and rolled down his window.

“Bryce,” he said with a nod of his head. “What’s up?”

Bryce, who even though he was at least six feet tall looked to be about twelve years old, snapped his notebook shut. “I was just telling Jennifer that I couldn’t fill out a missing persons report on her cousin just yet.” He leaned down a little bit farther, set his eyes on Sadie, and grinned. “You must be Sadie Mae.” He glanced at Jennifer. “I told you if your cousin was with Truman she’d be just fine.”

Jennifer crossed her arms and glared at Sadie through the windshield, a picture of pouting petulance in her tight jeans and cropped shirt that showed off her belly button and the shiny silver ring that sparkled there. Sadie stared at the piercing for a moment. Didn’t it hurt?

Truman waggled his fingers at the young deputy. “I think you can turn off your lights now. The emergency is over.”

The kid reached into his patrol car and shut off the flashing lights, but not before accidentally giving the sirens a quick wail.

So much for a quick, quiet return home. Sadie threw open her door and stepped into the parking lot. Immediately, Truman killed the engine and followed suit.

She stood and looked at him over the hood of his truck. “You really don’t have to escort me to the door,” she said dryly.

He continued to walk around the truck, limping more than usual. Sleeping in the truck couldn’t be good for his knee. Dammit, she refused, absolutely refused, to worry about his knee like she cared about him and whether or not he hurt.

“It was fun,” he said. “We’ll have to do it again.”

Sadie shook her head. No way. This one evening had been bad enough, and there would be no repeat performance.

Jennifer stalked toward her. “How could you do this to me? I was worried sick. Ten. You said ten!”

“Sorry,” Sadie said, anxious to make her getaway before anyone else saw her.

“Sorry,” Jennifer said, once again crossing her arms across her chest. “That hardly seems sufficient.”

Bryce and Truman both laughed.

Sadie stared at Truman, at his sleepy blue eyes that had an unexpected crinkle at the corner. “What’s so funny?”

“You don’t know how many nights we went out looking for your little cousin before she turned eighteen.”

“That was different,” Jennifer said, blushing a bright red. “Sadie’s old enough to know better!”

Jennifer’s eyes dropped slightly, and her mouth pursed in obvious disapproval. Unable to help herself, Sadie followed those eyes. Right next to the little slobber spot on Truman’s jeans was a smudge of red lipstick. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she said softly.

Jennifer shook her head like a wearied parent and raised her accusing eyes to Sadie. She continued to shake her head. “You’re missing an earring.”

Both hands flew up to check earlobes. Sure enough, the left lobe was bare. “I can’t believe I lost one of those diamond studs.”

“I’m pretty sure you had them both when we left the restaurant,” Truman said calmly. “It’s probably in the truck.”

“You can look for it later,” Sadie said, backing up a step toward the hotel. “No rush.” The earrings had cost her a small fortune, a gift to herself when she’d gotten her last raise, but no amount of money was worth prolonging this torture.

But Bryce was already leaning into the driver’s side of the truck, dutifully checking the seat cushions. He found the earring in a matter of seconds. “Here it is,” he said, coming up with something in his hand. “Half of it, anyway.”

The good half, Sadie saw as the young deputy offered her the diamond on the palm of his hand.

“It was wedged there in the cushion of the, uh, driver’s seat.”

The earring had probably come loose while she’d slept with her head in Truman’s lap. Jennifer and Bryce obviously thought other things had been going on, in the, uh, driver’s seat.

“Thank you.” Sadie saw no reason to offer explanations. Anything she said would just sound like a pathetic excuse at this point.

Truman came toward her, favoring his right leg, smiling like this was all so very amusing. He looked freshly tumbled, warm and sleepy and…happy. If she looked anything like this, no wonder Bryce grinned like an idiot and Jen frowned and shook her head.

“It was great,” Truman said softly, but plenty loud enough for the others to hear.

“Nothing was great,” Sadie insisted. “There was no great.”

“How about Friday?” he asked, his voice a touch lower than before.

“Not on your life,” she whispered.

A car door slammed. Mary Beth had arrived at the coffee shop. The waitress glanced at the commotion in the parking lot, smiled and headed for the front door with her key in hand. Bowie was right beside her. They whispered and giggled as they entered the café.

Sadie sighed. Had she actually thought her return home might be quiet and uneventful?

“There you are!” A familiar voice called from behind. Sadie closed her eyes as Aunt Lillian approached. “I don’t need you for breakfast today,” the woman continued. “But I will need you for lunch.”

“Sure,” Sadie said without turning to look at her aunt.

“Would you two like breakfast? We’ll be open in a few minutes.”

Sadie looked her aunt in the eye, and saw that in spite of her casual voice and smile she’d been crying. Still or again? A murder taking place so close by obviously had shaken her.

“I’m starving,” Truman said.

“I’m not hungry,” Sadie countered. “Not at all.”

Lillian stopped and laid a hand on Sadie’s arm and another on Truman’s. “You two make such a cute couple,” she said with a wan smile.

“Thank you,” Truman said.

“We do not!” Sadie insisted.

The older woman moved on, unperturbed.

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