Riley had said to be ready for anything.

As she watched him get out of his truck and make his way to her front door, Savannah pushed aside all thoughts of her dead husband—including the guilt. Riley looked so handsome, so alive, that she couldn’t keep her heart from racing, her palms from sweating.

Savannah smoothed her hand down her sundress, a flutter of nervous anxiety rippling through her. What did he have planned for the day?

He spied her through the window, and his lips curved into a smile that shot a river of warmth through her. And in that moment she knew she was ready.

For anything.

Dear Reader,

This is a month full of greats: great authors, great miniseries…great books. Start off with award-winning Marie Ferrarella’s Racing Against Time, the first in a new miniseries called CAVANAUGH JUSTICE. This family fights for what’s right—and their reward is lasting love.

The miniseries excitement continues with the second of Carla Cassidy’s CHEROKEE CORNERS trilogy. Dead Certain brings the hero and heroine together to solve a terrible crime, but it keeps them together with love. Candace Irvin’s latest features A Dangerous Engagement, and it’s also the first SISTERS IN ARMS title, introducing a group of military women bonded through friendship and destined to find men worthy of their hearts.

Of course, you won’t want to miss our stand-alone books, either. Marilyn Tracy’s A Warrior’s Vow is built around a suspenseful search for a missing child, and it’s there, in the rugged Southwest, that her hero and heroine find each other. Cindy Dees has an irresistible Special Forces officer for a hero in Line of Fire—and he takes aim right at the heroine’s heart. Finally, welcome new author Loreth Anne White, who came to us via our eHarlequin.com Web site. Melting the Ice is her first book—and we’re all eagerly awaiting her next.

Enjoy—and come back next month for more exciting romantic reading, only from Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

Dead Certain
Carla Cassidy

MILLS & BOON

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CARLA CASSIDY

is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books for Silhouette. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from Romantic Times for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

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

Chapter 15

Prologue

She crouched on a wooden support beam beneath the bridge that spanned the Cherokee River. Although it was after midnight, the full moon overhead splashed down a silvery light that danced on the river water below.

Shiny water, she thought. Shiny, treacherous water. For Cherokee Native Americans water was sacred, used for cleansing and purifying. It had been the presence of this river that had led her people to this area of Oklahoma many years before.

For her, the river no longer signified anything but death. Fourteen months ago, in a freak accident, her husband had lost control of his car and slammed through the wooden guard rail of the old bridge. He’d plunged to his death in the river below. At the moment his life had left his body, all will to live had left hers as well.

Every Saturday night when she got off work she came here. She climbed up the wooden support beams until she was high over the river, and stared at the water below.

Beneath the bridge the river was at its most fierce, with speed and depth and powerful whirlpools that rarely spit up a survivor.

If she released her hold on the support beam over her head and leaned forward just a little bit, she would fall. The river would accept her into its depths, and she would be rejoined with the man she loved.

Jimmy, her heart cried. If she just let go and leaned forward, she and her husband would walk hand in hand through the spirit world for eternity.

“Just let go,” a voice whispered in her head. “That’s all you have to do…let go.” But even as the voice whispered seductively in her ear, her hand tightened its grip on the overhead support.

A sob caught in her throat as she realized she couldn’t release her grip on the beam. Her heart desperately wanted to, but she simply couldn’t let go. She didn’t understand. All her hopes, all her dreams had drowned along with Jimmy. She had no reason to live.

Once again she stared down at the river, finding the moonlit water hypnotic. Jimmy. Jimmy. Tension ebbed away from her body as she continued to gaze at the water below. Her grip on the beam loosened as her fingers began to relax their hold. Just let go. Just let go.

At that moment her cell phone jangled from its resting place inside her pocket. Instantly her fingers tightened once again around the support.

Who would be calling her now? It wouldn’t be anyone from the station; they would use her radio. Who else would be calling at this hour of the night? With her free hand she wrestled the cellular from her pocket and answered.

“Get out to Mom and Dad’s place as fast as you can.” The familiar male voice radiated urgency.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Just get here.”

Her brother disconnected the call, and a chill of foreboding chased down her spine. What was going on at her parents’ house at this time of night?

Carefully, Homicide Detective Savannah Tallfeather climbed down the wooden beams beneath the bridge. She would not be joining her husband on this night.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or devastated by the fact that once again she was walking away. She’d have to wait for another time to join her husband in the water she thought of as the river of no return.

Chapter 1

She saw the floodlights before she got to the house. They lit up the night sky as if announcing the arrival of a carnival to the town of Cherokee Corners. Savannah stepped on her gas pedal, knowing it wasn’t carnival lights that strobed the sky over her parents’ ranch house. It was police lights.

What was going on? She groaned, wondering if her parents’ had gotten into one of their legendary fights and some passerby or well-meaning neighbor had called out the entire police force.

Even as the thought flew through her head, she dismissed it as the house came into view. Something had definitely happened, and it wasn’t just a noisy spat between her parents.

Police cars lined the driveway and floodlights hit the house from every angle. Her heart smashed into her rib cage as she saw one of her fellow officers cordoning off the porch with bright-yellow crime-scene tape.

She parked and was out of the car almost before it stopped running. She raced toward the house, vaguely aware that neighbors had begun to gather around the perimeter of the scene.

As a homicide cop she knew the scent of death, knew how the scent permeated the air at a homicide scene. She didn’t smell death as she reached the edge of the yard, but before she could get any closer, she saw her brother, Clay, talking with Chief of Police Glen Cleberg.

She hurried to the two men, instantly aware that her brother was as angry as she’d ever seen him. His handsome, sculptured features were a mask of barely suppressed rage, and his black eyes glittered with a fierceness she’d never seen before.

“I’m the best crime-scene investigator you have, Chief,” he said, his voice deep and filled with urgency. “You’ve got to let me in.”

“Dammit, Clay. I told you no and I mean no.”

“What’s going on?” Savannah asked, looking at her brother. “What’s happened?” Her heart thudded painfully as she turned her gaze to her boss.

“Dad’s been taken to the hospital. He was attacked.” Grim lines bracketed Clay’s mouth as he spoke.

“What do you mean…attacked? Where’s Mom?” Savannah tried not to panic, but something in Clay’s dark eyes and in the fact that Glen didn’t quite meet her gaze filled her with fear. “Where’s Mom?” she repeated.

“Savannah…at the moment we aren’t sure what we’ve got here,” Glen said and stared for a long moment at the house where officers were going in and out as they performed their duties. “Apparently John Newman stopped by here about a half an hour ago. The front door was open and he knocked but nobody answered. He could hear the television on, saw that your parents’ car was in the driveway and so he knocked again.”

He finally looked at her and in his eyes she saw a sadness that frightened her. “When he still didn’t get an answer, he decided to go inside. He found your father in his recliner. It was obvious he’d been hit over the head with something and was in bad shape. He called for help, then went in search of your mother.”

Savannah’s hand flew to her mouth as tears burned her eyes. “Oh, God…is she…is she dead?”

“They can’t find her, Silver Star,” Clay said.

The fact that he’d used her Cherokee name indicated just how upset her brother was. “What do you mean, they can’t find her? She’s got to be here.” Savannah felt as if she’d been thrust into a puzzle and none of the pieces she’d been handed made any sense at all.

“Look, I’ll let you both know what’s going on when we know what’s going on,” Glen said impatiently. “In the meantime I want you both to stay out of the way and let us do what we need to do.” He pointed to Savannah’s car. “Sit there and I’ll have somebody brief you as soon as we have any more information.”

Clay let his feelings be known by cursing soundly beneath his breath as he walked beside Savannah to her car. At that moment another car squealed into the driveway. It was their sister, Breanna, and her new husband, Adam.

Savannah listened as Clay filled them in with the brief information they had learned so far. “What about Dad?” she asked when he’d told them what little he knew.

“From what Glen told me he was alive when they took him out of here by ambulance. But I’m not leaving here until they find out where Mom is.” He frowned and looked at the house. “And they are absolutely destroying vital information by allowing in so many officers.”

“Why don’t we go to the hospital and check on Dad,” Breanna suggested. “You two stay here and call us the minute you hear anything about Mom.”

Savannah touched her sister’s arm. “Call me on my cell and tell me how Dad is doing.”

Breanna nodded, and she and Adam took off. Savannah turned back to the house, her heart still pounding an irregular rhythm. Everything felt surreal—the lights, her fellow officers, the crime-scene tape flapping in the mid-June night breeze. It all felt like a terrible dream.

What could have happened? Who could have hurt her father? Had it been a robbery? If so, then where in God’s name was their mother?

It felt odd to stand on the periphery of a crime scene as a bystander. Even more odd and frightening was the fact that the crime scene was the house where she’d grown up, where her parents lived.

“I can’t just sit around here and do nothing,” Clay said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m going to check the outbuildings.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, needing to do something, anything constructive.

She was grateful nobody tried to stop them as they walked around the house and toward the barn at the back of the property. She had a feeling Clay wouldn’t hesitate to deck anyone who tried to get in their way.

Savannah felt as if she’d jumped off the bridge and entered water so deep it clogged her brain, making rational thought impossible.

Somebody had hurt their father…and their mother was missing. Her brain worked to wrap around the situation but found it impossible to comprehend.

It didn’t take long for them to check the barn, which was used mostly as a storage area for Native American artifacts. Rita Birdsong James worked at the Cherokee Cultural Center at the edge of town and had slowly taken over the barn as a place to keep items for the center.

It was when they were searching the shed that Savannah’s cell phone rang and she answered to hear Breanna at the other end of the line.

“It’s not good, Savannah,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “Dad received several severe blows to the back of his head. The doctor isn’t sure about the possibility of brain damage, and Dad is in a coma. What’s up there? Have they found Mom?”

“No…nothing. They aren’t telling us anything, Bree.” For the first time the full awareness of the gravity of the situation hit Savannah.

Their father was in a coma and their mother was missing. She sank down on a bale of hay, tears suddenly blurring her vision. “Bree, I’m coming to the hospital. There’s nothing I can do here. Glen won’t let us anywhere near the house. Maybe Dad will wake up and be able to tell us what happened.”

“I’ll stay here,” Clay said a moment later after she’d hung up with Breanna and brother and sister were walking back toward the house.

“Come with me to the hospital, Clay. Right now Dad needs us there.” She somehow felt it was important that they all be together, in the same place. She felt as if her family was slipping through her fingers and what she needed was to hang on tightly to them all.

Clay raked a hand through his thick dark hair, uncertainty twisting his handsome features. He stared at the house, tension radiating from him, the same tension that whipped through her. “What in the hell happened here tonight?”

“I don’t know, Clay.” She placed a hand on his muscular forearm. “But it’s obvious we’re out of the loop here at the moment. Come with me to the hospital. Right now we don’t know where Mom is, but we know that Dad needs us.” She was half-afraid that if he remained here he would do something to get himself thrown off the police force.

“All right,” he replied. “I’ll just check in with the chief and I’ll meet you there.”

As Savannah headed for her car, she noticed the crowd of neighbors and the curious had grown despite the fact that it was the middle of the night.

She recognized the Marshalls, her parents’ nearest neighbors. Their house was some distance away, but they both stood by their car, worried expressions on their lined faces. Familiar faces everywhere, and they all seemed to be watching her as she made her way to her car.

She stopped to talk to nobody, having nothing to say, no way to assure anyone of anything. She got into her car and started the engine and that’s when she noticed him…a stranger on the edge of the crowd.

He stood taller than most of the rest of the people, and his gaze was fixed on the house. With a cop’s training, she took in his appearance before backing out of the driveway.

He was good-looking, with dark-brown hair and facial features that radiated intensity. People stood in front of him, making it impossible for her to see his build. A traveler who’d seen the lights and action, she thought as she pulled away from the ranch.

Or a perpetrator watching the aftermath of his actions, her seasoned cop brain thought. She knew it was not unusual for the criminal to watch the unfolding drama, to even become involved in the investigation of the crime they committed.

Surely one of the officers would take names and question the people who had arrived to see what was going on. It was standard procedure.

Besides, she couldn’t think about the investigation. Despite the fact that her years as a homicide detective had seasoned her to maintain a certain amount of emotional distance, her training and experience seemed to have left her the moment she’d pulled up to the house.

As she sped toward the hospital, she desperately sought that emotional distance, but her hands trembled and her chest felt heavy and a sickness she’d never felt before permeated every pore of her body.

Where was her mother? Was her father going to be all right? What on earth had happened? She stepped on the gas pedal, fear consuming her from the inside out.

Riley Frazier stood staring at the house where the bright-yellow tape contrasted with the beige house paint and hunter-green shutters and trim. The sight brought back painful memories of another crime at another house years before. As he stared at the house, snatches of conversation drifted toward him.

“…can’t find Rita.”

“…heard his head was bashed in.”

“…you know they fight a lot…”

He listened with interest as the people around him speculated on what had happened to Rita and Thomas James. He wouldn’t draw any conclusions until he heard the official word on what had happened at the sprawling, attractive ranch house.

It was possible he was here on yet another wild-goose chase. Certainly over the past two years he’d been on many. But when he’d heard the initial report of what was going on from a reporter friend in Cherokee Corners, he’d left his home in Sycamore Ridge and driven like a bat out of hell to get here.

It was possible what he was watching was the investigation of a domestic dispute gone bad, or a botched robbery attempt. It was possible it had nothing to do with what had happened to his parents two years ago.

The overbright floodlights, the swirling cherry police lights and the yellow crime-scene tape brought back nightmarish memories. The sight of his father’s dead body sprawled in the middle of the living room floor still haunted him…along with all the questions the crime had produced.

That’s why he was here, looking for answers to a crime nobody cared about anymore but him. This might be a wild-goose chase, but in the past two years his life had become a series of wild-goose chases.

His information had told him that there were three James siblings, and he suspected he’d driven up in time to see the three huddled together with the chief of police. The man and two women he’d seen had looked like siblings.

All had been of Native American heritage, with rich black hair and finely sculptured features. His source had even given him their names—Clay, Breanna and Savannah—and told him that each of them worked in some aspect of law enforcement.

He’d watched as one of the women and a man had left together. Then had watched as the second woman left. Finally the man he thought was Clay James got into a car and took off as well.

Riley suspected they were probably headed to the hospital where their father had been taken. He waited around until the police began to attempt to disperse the crowd and he saw the police chief leave, then he got into his car and headed into the small city of Cherokee Corners.

The quickest way to find out what had happened at the James ranch was to speak to one of the children. It was too late for any of the details to get into the morning paper, and the police wouldn’t be talking to anyone until they spoke to the family members.

He had a feeling if he wanted information, the hospital would be the place to get it. He didn’t want speculation and rumor. He wanted facts, and he had a feeling the only way to get facts sooner rather than later was to go introduce himself to the James siblings.

The nightmare continued. Savannah sat in the hospital waiting room wondering when they would have some answers, when any of this would make sense.

Clay paced the floor, looking as if he would gladly take off the head of anyone who got in his way. Breanna sat next to Adam, their hands clasped together.

Savannah had been there for almost two hours, and the doctor had yet to come out and speak to them. There had been no word on their mother’s whereabouts and nothing concrete from the investigation itself.

Savannah wished she had somebody’s hand to hold or that she could generate the kind of anger that seemed to be sustaining Clay. Instead she was left with a disquieting numbness.

They weren’t alone in the waiting room. Saturday nights always brought an influx of people to the emergency room in the only hospital in town.

As Dr. Miles Watkins, their family physician, came into the room they converged on him like a single unit. He held up his hands to still their barrage of questions. “I don’t have a lot to tell you,” he said when they all fell quiet.

“Your father has suffered massive trauma to the back of his head. We can’t be sure of the extent of any brain damage at the moment. Our main concern has been to stabilize him. At the moment his vital signs are fair, but he’s currently in a coma. I’ve called in a neurologist from Tulsa. He’ll be here sometime tomorrow. In the meantime my recommendation to all of you is to go home. There’s nothing you can do here.” He sighed wearily, then added. “Go home and pray.”

He’d barely exited the waiting room when the exterior door whooshed open and Glen Cleberg entered. Lines of stress surrounded his mouth, and his hair stood on end, as if it had felt a frustrated hand rake through it more than once. He motioned them to chairs in a corner and joined them there.

“I know you’re all anxious to learn what we’ve uncovered so far.” He frowned, as if dreading what information he had to impart. Every nerve ending in Savannah’s body screamed with tension.

“It looks like a domestic dispute scene that got out of control,” the chief told them.

“That’s crazy,” Clay said, voicing Savannah’s initial response.

“Chief, surely you don’t think our mother could be responsible for Dad’s condition?” Savannah looked at him incredulously.

His frown deepened. “I’m just telling you what the initial investigation points to. There’s no sign of forced entry, no indication that anything has been stolen.”

“How would you know if anything has been stolen?” Breanna asked, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Tomorrow, after the crime-scene investigators get finished, we’ll do a walk-through,” Glen said. “I need you all to tell me if you see something out of place. But, I can tell you right now the only things that appear to be missing are a suitcase from a set in your parents’ closet and some of your mother’s personal items.”

Stunned. His words stunned them all. Savannah could see the shock she felt on her siblings’ faces. The implication was obvious. They believed that Rita had smashed her husband over the head, then packed her bags and run.

“Glen, you know my parents, you know what you’re thinking is impossible,” she said.

He hesitated a moment. “I know what the evidence looks like at the moment,” he replied softly.

“Then let me inside. Let me find the evidence that points to the truth,” Clay exclaimed, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“That’s exactly what I’m not going to let happen,” Glen said, his tone sharp. “Even though the three of you are officers of the law, you will have nothing to do with this investigation.” He held up a hand to still the protests that came at him from three different directions.

“Think about it. I can’t let the family members of a crime do the investigating of the case. A defense attorney would be able to rip a case to shreds under those circumstances.”

Savannah knew he was right, but that didn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. “But what about Mother’s car?” she asked suddenly. “It was there in the driveway…so how did she leave?”

“I don’t have the answers,” he said with obvious frustration. “Look, we’re only a couple of hours into this investigation. We have a lot of work ahead of us. It would help if your father could enlighten us about what happened.”

“Dad’s in a coma,” Clay said, and his voice radiated with the hollowness of a person still in shock. “According to Doc Watkins he isn’t going to be explaining anything anytime soon.”

For the first time since she’d driven up to her parents’ house a stark grief swept over Savannah. She felt almost sick to her stomach as she tried to digest what they knew so far.

The man who had held her when she’d been sick, the man who had taught her how to dance, how to shoot a gun and given her a love for law enforcement was clinging to life by a thread.

Her mother, a proud, beautiful woman who had taught her to honor her Cherokee heritage, the woman whose hands had soothed, whose laughter could light up the night, was missing.

Hold on, Daddy, she cried in her heart. Please hold on, we still need you. Where are you, Mom? What has happened to you?

“Savannah, why don’t you meet me at your folks’ place tomorrow at noon. We’ll do a walk-through then,” Glen said. “I’m putting an all points bulletin out on your mother. We need to find her. We need to talk to her. Take the next couple of days off. Your father is going to need you when he comes out of his coma, and I don’t want any of you mucking around in this investigation.”

“If he thinks I’m staying out of this, he’s crazy,” Clay said the minute Glen had left to go in search of Dr. Watkins.

“Just because we can’t investigate officially doesn’t mean we can’t investigate unofficially,” Breanna said.

“I can’t stand around here and do nothing,” Clay replied. “I’m going to make some phone calls, drive around and see if I can find Mom. Maybe she got hit in the head, too…has wandered off in a daze and doesn’t know who or where she is.”

“You know she didn’t have anything to do with Dad’s injuries,” Savannah said.

“That goes without saying,” her brother replied. He looked toward the windows. “She’s out there somewhere, and she’s in trouble. We’ve got to find her.”

He didn’t wait for any reply but strode out the door and disappeared into the night.

Savannah felt the darkness of the night closing in around her, filling her heart, filling her soul with fear. She turned back to look at her sister. Breanna reached out and grabbed her into a hug that kept the darkness from consuming her.

“Go,” Breanna said as she released her. “Go find Mom. Adam and I will stay here.”

“You’ll call me if there’s any change?” she asked.

“Of course we will,” Adam said as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

Although she was reluctant to leave, Savannah knew there was nothing she could do here. Her father was getting the care he needed.

She left the hospital through the emergency room doors and stopped in her tracks. Parked in a car in the closest parking space to the door was the handsome stranger she’d seen out at her parents’ place.

Who was he? What was he doing here? It had been odd enough to see his strange face among those of the neighbors at the house. Had he been involved in whatever had happened there? Had he come here in a compulsive, sick need to see the grief he’d caused? Was he here to see if her father had come awake and was talking?

A burst of adrenaline chased away grief as she pulled her handgun from her shoulder holster and approached the car. “Show me your hands,” she demanded to the man in the driver seat.

Startled blue eyes widened as he lifted his hands off the steering wheel. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake.” His voice was a deep baritone.

“The only mistake anyone has made around here is yours.” She pulled open the driver door. “Now, get out of the car, put your hands on the roof and spread ’em.”

Chapter 2

Riley Frazier hadn’t reached the age of thirty-four without learning when to balk and when to comply. When a woman who’d just suffered an emotional trauma pointed a gun and began to bark orders, it was definitely a good idea to comply.

He got out of his car, placed his hands on the roof and spread his legs. “There’s a wallet in my back pocket with my identification in it,” he offered.

She frisked him with a professional, light touch, beginning at his ankles. She patted up his legs, then around his waist. Only then did she pluck his wallet from his back pocket.

He remained in place, although there were a million things he wanted to say to her, things he wanted to ask her.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Frazier?” she asked.

He dropped his arms to his sides and turned to face her. In the bright illumination of the parking lot light overhead he got his first good look at her. A rivulet of pleasure swept through him.

Earlier at her parents’ house he’d been too far away to see just how beautiful she was. Long black lashes framed dark eyes. Her hair was jet-black, and the short cut emphasized high cheekbones and sensual lips.

She stared at him expectantly and he frowned, unable to remember her question to him. “I’m sorry…What do you want to know?”

“Your identification says you’re from Sycamore Ridge. What are you doing here in Cherokee Corners and what were you doing out at my parents’ ranch?”

Riley suddenly realized what it looked like…why his presence had prompted her to pull a gun and check him out. “It’s not what you think.”

“And how do you know what I think?” she returned in a cool tone as she handed him back his wallet.

“I know what I’d be thinking if I was in your place,” he replied.

“Riley!”

They both turned at the sound of the young male voice. Scott Moberly hurried toward them, and Riley thought he heard a faint groan come from Savannah.

Scott reached them, half-breathless from his run across the parking lot. “You bothering the local law enforcement, Riley?” Scott asked, a wide grin stretching across his freckled face.

Riley shrugged, and Scott turned his attention to the woman officer as he withdrew a notepad and pen from his pocket. “So, what’s the scoop, Savannah? Is your father dead?”

“Scott!” Riley exclaimed as Savannah’s features twisted with a combination of pain and anger.

“Oh…was that insensitive? Sorry.” Scott sighed miserably. “How about an exclusive, Savannah?”

“I’ll give you an exclusive. All reporters are pond scum.” She turned on her heels and started toward her car.

She’d written him off as a reporter, Riley thought. He fumbled in his wallet and withdrew his business card and a copy of a newspaper clipping.

“Savannah,” he shouted, and ran after her. She didn’t stop walking, didn’t indicate in any way that she had heard him.

He caught up with her at her car. “Savannah…wait.”

She whirled around to face him, her eyes flashing dark fires of anger. “No interview, no scoop…I have nothing to say.”

“Please…I’m not a reporter,” he said quickly. She jumped in surprise as he grabbed her hand and pressed his card and the copy of the clipping into her palm. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

He backed away and watched as she got into her car and drove out of the hospital parking lot. He hoped she’d call. He hoped she’d read the old news clipping, but there were no guarantees. For all he knew she might toss what he’d given her into the trash without even looking at it.

“Did she say anything to you?” Scott asked eagerly as Riley returned to where he stood.

“No, nothing.” He turned and looked at the young man he’d befriended two years earlier. “Thanks for calling me.”

Scott nodded. “As soon as I heard the initial report, I knew you’d want to know.” Scott glanced longingly at the emergency room door.

“Go on, Scott,” Riley said. “Go see if you can get a story, but try to be a bit more sensitive. Anyone you find to talk to about any of this will be in shock…in pain.”

Scott flashed him another quick grin. “Got it.” As he disappeared into the hospital, Riley sat on a nearby bench, not yet ready to make the hour-long drive back to his home in Sycamore Ridge.

The late-June night air was unusually warm, more in keeping with August than June. It had been on a hot August night that his world had been ripped asunder, and for the past two years he’d felt as if his life had been in limbo.

He’d awakened each morning with unanswered questions plaguing his mind and had gone to bed each night with those same questions still begging for answers.

He’d met Scott in the dark days following the event that had shattered his life. The brash young reporter had journalistic dreams of becoming the next Ann Rule and writing bestselling books about compelling crimes.

Initially Riley had found the young man relentless and his questions an irritating breach of good manners and an invasion of Riley’s privacy.

But when the cops had gone away, when the crime-scene investigators had packed up and gone home, Scott had remained. When the neighbors had stopped sending cards of condolence and the flowers on his father’s grave had withered and blown away, Scott was still around, sometimes asking insensitive questions but also offering friendship and support that Riley desperately needed at the time.

The friendship had lasted, although there were times when Scott’s eagerness overwhelmed his tact. And tonight with Savannah had been one of those times.

He turned his head as he heard the hospital door open and Scott walked through. He spied Riley and walked over and sat next to him on the bench.

“What did you find out?” Riley asked.

“Not much,” Scott replied glumly. “Thomas James is still alive, but he’s in a coma. I tried to get some information out of Glen Cleberg, the police chief, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. It’s going to be hell trying to get any information from law enforcement…you know, the brotherhood of cops, the blue wall and all that.”

“I think that’s only a myth when a cop is supposed to be bad or corrupt,” Riley replied.

“Who knows what was going on with Thomas. You know he was chief of police before Glen Cleberg. Maybe somebody had a score to settle with him.”

“And so they banged him over the head and did what with his wife?” Riley asked.

“I don’t know,” Scott admitted. “I’m just speculating here.”

“I thought good reporters weren’t allowed to speculate. I thought they were just supposed to report the facts.”

Scott grinned widely, exposing a chipped front tooth. “Who ever told you I was a good reporter?”

“So, tell me about Savannah James,” Riley asked, changing the subject.

“Her name is actually Savannah Tallfeather. She’s a homicide dick and a widow. About a year ago her husband, Jimmy, crashed into the old bridge over the Cherokee River. The wood was old and rotten and his car went over the edge.”

Riley frowned. There should be a law—only one tragedy in a single lifetime. The fact that she was so young and already had suffered two seemed vastly unfair.

“It’s eerily similar to what happened to your parents, isn’t it?” Scott asked. He wasn’t talking about Jimmy Tallfeather’s untimely death. He was talking about whatever had happened at the James ranch.

“Yes…at least from the snippets of information I’ve heard so far.” Riley sighed and looked upward toward the night sky where the stars were obscured by the bright parking lot lighting. “But I hope it’s not the same.”

He looked back at Scott, but his thoughts were filled with a vision of the lovely Savannah. He knew every agonizing emotion she was experiencing. He knew intimately the sensation of shock, the taste of uncertainty and the scent of your own fear.

He knew the furtive glances of people willing to believe the worst. He knew the isolation of friends drifting away, uncomfortable and somehow afraid. He wouldn’t wish what he’d been through in the past two years on anyone, especially a young woman who’d already been touched by tragedy.

“I hope they find Rita James alive and well. I hope she left for a planned trip hours before her husband was attacked.” Riley held his friend’s gaze intently. “I hope this is nothing like what happened to my parents. But if it is like what happened to my family, then God help them all.”

It was near dawn when sheer exhaustion drove Savannah to bed. She’d been up for over twenty-four hours, and although her head wanted to keep searching for her mother, her body rebelled, forcing her to rest.

The night had been a fruitless search. She and Clay had contacted half the townspeople to see if they knew anything about Rita’s whereabouts.

They had contacted friends, relatives and acquaintances, all to no avail. Savannah had taken a photo of her mother to the bus station while Clay had checked all the rental car companies.

Nothing. It was as if Rita had packed her suitcase, then disappeared off the face of the earth.

Before crawling into bed for a couple hours of sleep, Savannah sat in her living room window and watched the sun peek up over the horizon as if shyly testing its welcome.

Tears burned her eyes. Was her mother seeing the sunrise? Had she left on an unexpected trip and had no idea what had happened at the ranch? Or had whomever hurt Thomas also done something awful to Rita?

Savannah had shed few tears all night, but as she watched the beauty of the sunrise, sobs choked in her throat, racked her body and ripped through her heart.

She’d believed all her tears had been depleted on the day she’d buried her Jimmy, but she’d been wrong. A river of tears escaped from her until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Her alarm awakened her at nine. Gritty-eyed and half-asleep, she stumbled into the bathroom for a quick shower.

As the steamy hot water washed away the last of her grogginess, she mentally steeled herself for what lay ahead of her—the walk-through at the ranch house to see if anything was missing or out of place.

Savannah had been to many crime scenes in the six years she’d been a cop, but she’d never been to a crime scene where her own family members were the victims. And there was no doubt in her mind that her mother was a victim as much as her father was. They just hadn’t figured out yet what her mother was a victim of.

Before leaving her apartment she called Breanna to check in on their father. There had been no change in his condition, and Breanna told her she and Adam were heading home for some much-needed sleep. Clay had no news, either.

In the brilliant sunshine of day the crime-scene tape surrounding the house looked even more horrifying than it had the night before.

Savannah got out of her car and was greeted by Officer Kyle O’Brien, a young man who’d apparently drawn the duty of guarding the house until it was released by the police department.

“The chief is on his way. I’m sorry I can’t let you inside until he gets here.” He looked at her apologetically.

“It’s all right, Kyle.” She forced a smile. “I’ll just wait for him in my car.” She slid back in behind her steering wheel, ignoring the look on Kyle’s face that indicated he wouldn’t have minded a little conversation.

She didn’t feel like talking. She leaned her head against her headrest and closed her eyes as the events of the night before replayed in her mind.

He’d had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her mind filled with an image of the man she’d frisked in the hospital parking lot. Yes, he’d had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, but they hadn’t sparkled; rather, they had been somber and filled with sympathy.

She rummaged in her purse and pulled out the business card he’d handed her the night before. Riley Frazier, Master Builder of Frazier Homes.

She’d heard of Frazier Homes. But why would a homebuilder think she’d want to speak with him? She wasn’t in the market for a new home, and last night had definitely not been the time to approach her. It didn’t make any sense.

At that moment Glen Cleberg arrived on the scene. Savannah shoved the business card back into her purse, then got out of the car to greet her boss.

“How you doing, Savannah?” he asked with uncharacteristic kindness.

When Glen had become chief a year ago, he’d seemed to be afraid that the James siblings wouldn’t honor his authority after serving under their father. He’d been harder on them than on any of the other officers and it had taken several months before they had all adjusted.

“I’m fine…eager to get this over with.”

He frowned. “Maybe I should have had Clay do it…but I was afraid he’d look at the scene professionally rather than as a family member.”

“He probably would have,” Savannah admitted. Clay was consumed by his work as a crime-scene investigator. She suspected if somebody cut him he wouldn’t bleed blood, but would bleed some kind of chemical solution used in his lab to look for clues.

“We tried not to make a mess, but you know some things can’t be helped,” Glen said as he handed her a pair of latex gloves.

“You don’t have to explain that to me.” She pulled on the gloves, surprised by the dread that she felt concerning entering the home where she’d been raised by loving parents.

Glen drew a deep breath. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He unlocked the front door and together they stepped into the large living room.

Savannah drew in a breath as she saw the blood. It stained her father’s chair, dotted the ceiling overhead and had dried on the television screen in front of the chair. She knew enough about blood-spatter evidence to realize her father had received a tremendous blow.

She struggled to find the emotional detachment to get her through this, trying to think of it as an unidentified victim’s blood instead of her father’s.

Fingerprint dust was everywhere and swatches of carpeting had been cut and removed. Her father’s chair faced away from the front door. It would have been easy for anyone to ease into the house and hit him over the head.

“Let me guess, no sign of forced entry,” she said. “My parents kept their door open and unlocked until they went to bed.” Emotion threatened to choke her. She swallowed hard against it. “It would never have entered their minds to be afraid here, to think they should lock up the doors and windows.”

She drew a deep breath and looked around the room carefully. “Nothing seems to be missing in here. If it was a robbery attempt, you’d think they would have taken the stereo or computer equipment.”

Glen didn’t quite meet her gaze, and with a stunning jolt she realized he believed her mother had done this. He wasn’t seriously entertaining the thought that it had been a botched robbery or anything else.

“Glen, I know my parents fought. Everyone knew they fought. They fought loud and often in public. They were both stubborn and passionate, but they were madly in love. You know my mother isn’t capable of something like this.”

His gaze still didn’t meet hers. “Savannah, we can only go where the evidence takes us, and until we find your mother, she’s our top suspect in this case.”

Knowing he thought it and hearing him say it aloud were two different things. She swallowed the vehement protest rising to her lips, aware that whatever she said would make no difference.

From the living room they entered the kitchen, which was neat and clean and showed no evidence that anything or anyone unusual had been in the room. The only thing out of place was a pie that sat on the countertop, along with a knife and a plate. Her father loved his pies, and Rita baked them often for her husband.

The next two bedrooms yielded nothing unusual. Nothing appeared to have been touched or disturbed in any way.

As they entered her parents’ bedroom, a small gasp escaped her lips. Here it was obvious something had happened. The closet door stood agape, and it was evident clothes were missing. The dresser drawers were open, clothing spilling out onto the floor as if somebody had rummaged through them quickly.

She walked to the closet and looked on the floor, where three suitcases in successive sizes had always stood side by side. Now there were only two. The middle size was missing.

She stared at the spot where the suitcase had stood, trying to make sense of its absence, but it made no sense. In all their years of marriage her parents had never taken trips separately.

It would have been extremely out of character for Rita to pack a bag and go anywhere without her husband. Just as it would be extremely out of character for her to harm the man she loved.

Clothes were missing…several sundresses, slacks and summer blouses. Empty hangers hung on the rod and littered the floor, as if items had been forcefully pulled off them. A check of the dresser drawers showed missing lingerie, sleepwear and other personal items.

She became aware of the ticking of the schoolhouse clock that hung on the wall, stared at the beautiful dark-blue floral bedspread that covered the bed.

What had happened here? She looked at Glen, whose face was absolutely devoid of expression. “I don’t care how it looks. I’ll never believe my mother had anything to do with my father’s injuries.”

“But you have to admit, it looks bad.”

Savannah’s heart ached as she acknowledged his words with a curt nod. Yes, it looked bad. It looked very bad. If her father didn’t survive, then her mother would be wanted for murder. Either possibility was devastating.

They finished the walk-through and left the house. She’d hoped to find some sign of an intruder, some clue that somebody else was responsible for her father’s condition. But she’d seen nothing to help prove her mother’s innocence. And where was her mother?

She remained in her car long after Glen had pulled away, trying to piece together possible scenarios that might explain the absence of her mother’s personal items, the missing suitcase. But nothing plausible fit.

So, what happened now? Where did they go from here? She dug into her purse to find her car keys and suddenly remembered that Riley Frazier hadn’t just handed her a business card the night before. He’d handed her something else, as well.

Digging in her purse, she finally found the sheet of paper that had been thrust into her palm by the handsome stranger. She opened it.

It was a photocopy of an old newspaper article that had appeared in the Sycamore Ridge News on August 14, two years ago.

Man Murdered…Wife Missing, the headline read. Savannah’s heartbeat raced as she read the article that detailed a crime chillingly similar to what appeared to have happened in her parents’ house.

The victim’s name was Bill Frazier and the woman missing was his wife, Joanna. According to the article a son, Riley, survived Bill Frazier.

What had happened to Riley’s mother, Joanna? Had she been found and had she been guilty of the murder of his father?

She needed to talk to Riley Frazier. She needed to find out how things had turned out in this case. And she needed to know what it might have to do with her family’s case.

Chapter 3

He’d hoped she would call, but he really hadn’t been expecting her call so soon. Riley sat in the ice cream parlor that was the bottom floor of the Redbud Bed and Breakfast in the center square of Cherokee Corners.

He was early. She’d told him to meet her here at seven, and it was only now just a little after six. But he’d decided to come early. He’d ordered a cup of coffee, taken a chair facing the door and now waited for Savannah Tallfeather to join him.

She hadn’t mentioned the news clipping in her call, only that she’d like to meet with him. He sipped his coffee, watching the people who came and went as he waited.

The ice cream parlor was a popular place. He wondered if it was always so busy or if Saturday nights brought families out for ice cream. Certainly it was ice cream weather—hot and dry like only Oklahoma could be at this time of year.

The front page of the evening edition of the Cherokee Corners newspaper had been filled with the crime that had taken place the night before at the James ranch. Along with the facts that Thomas James was in critical but stable condition and Rita Birdsong James was missing, the article also was a tribute to the couple’s contributions to the city.

Thomas James had served as chief of police for ten years, and before that had been on the force for twenty years. During his career he’d received a variety of awards, and recognitions of honor.

His wife, Rita Birdsong James, was no less visible in the community. A full-blooded Cherokee, she was the driving force behind the Cherokee Cultural Center. Her goal had been to educate through entertainment and re-creations of the Cherokee past and present. Both were described as pillars of the community.

Riley’s parents hadn’t been community icons to anyone but him. His father had been a simple man, a carpenter, and his mother had been a housewife who loved to crochet. In the evenings they had often worked on jigsaw puzzles together.

Two couples, seemingly very different, and yet they both had suffered a similar fate. The pain he felt when he thought of his parents had lessened somewhat with time, but it certainly hadn’t gone away.

The most difficult part was that there had been no closure. Sure, the police had closed the file, branded his mother a murderer on the run. But he knew better. He knew that somewhere the real killer of his father ran free and the fate of his mother had yet to be learned.

He’d just finished his first cup of coffee when Savannah walked in. Her gaze locked with his, and in that instant he felt a connection like none he’d ever felt before.

He saw the confusion, the pain in her eyes, felt it resonate with aching familiarity inside him. He was certain it was the connection of two survivors, of two people whose lives had been turned upside down by violent, senseless crime.

His impulse was to stand and draw her into his arms, hold her tight to take away the chill that he knew wrapped tightly around her heart.

But, of course he didn’t act on his impulse. She was a virtual stranger, and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate her right from the get-go. He stood as she approached his table. “Officer Tallfeather,” he said in greeting.

“Please, make it Savannah,” she said, and waved him back into his chair. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.” She walked over to the counter and greeted the woman working there. The two hugged and spoke for a minute or two, then Savannah returned to the table and sat across from him. “My cousin,” she explained.

Before she could say anything else, her cousin appeared at their table. She placed a coffee mug before Savannah, then filled both Savannah’s and Riley’s cups.

“Alyssa, this is Riley Frazier,” Savannah said. “Riley, my cousin, Alyssa Whitefeather.”

Alyssa’s eyes were as dark and as filled with pain as Savannah’s. “Nice to meet you,” she murmured in a soft, low voice.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Riley replied. “I’m sorry for the pain your family is experiencing right now.”

She nodded, then touched Savannah’s shoulder. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“Thanks, Alyssa,” Savannah said.

Once again Savannah directed her gaze at him as Alyssa left the table. She wrapped her long, slender fingers around the coffee cup as if seeking warmth.

“I read the newspaper article you gave me,” she began.

“I figured you had when you called.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Tell me about it. Tell me about the night it happened.”

Riley leaned back in his chair, for a moment rebelling at the thought of revisiting that horrible night. And yet he’d known she’d want him to tell her about it. He’d known when he’d given her that news clipping that he would have to call up everything about that night.

“Before I tell you what happened to them, let me tell you about my parents…about what kind of people they were.”

“All right,” she agreed.

“They were quiet people and lived an uncomplicated life. My father was a carpenter, my mother a homemaker. He liked to putter in his garden in his spare time and my mother loved to cook and crochet. In the evenings they’d either watch old movies together or work on jigsaw puzzles that they set up on a card table in the living room.”

“You were close to them.” Her voice was as unemotional as her beautiful features, but her eyes spoke volumes, radiating with pain. He just didn’t know if the pain was for him or for herself or perhaps a combination of both.

“I was their only child and yes, I was close to them.” He thought of the nights when his choice had been to go to the local honky-tonk or spend the evening at his parents’ house. He’d often chosen his parents’ company. “They were good people.”

“So, what happened…that night?” The words came from her in hesitation, as if she was sorry to have to ask him such a question.

He raked a hand across his lower jaw and forced himself to go back to that night. “I’d been over to their house that afternoon to show my dad some blueprints of new homes. I had a six-o’clock appointment with clients and so left my folks’ place about five-thirty.”

He paused to take a drink of his coffee and felt himself plunging back in time, pulled back into the nightmare. “It was after eight when the clients left, and I realized I’d left some of the blueprints at my folks’ house, so I drove back there.”

On one of the walls of the restaurant was a beautiful painting of a redbud tree in bloom. He stared at the picture as he continued. “The front door was open, which really wasn’t unusual. I walked into the living room and my father was on the floor in front of his chair. I knew in an instant he was dead.”

Grief, as rich and raw as the moment it had happened, seared through him. He cleared his throat. “I picked up the phone and called for help, then went in search of my mother, certain that I’d find her dead, as well.”

“But she wasn’t there?” Savannah leaned forward, her eyes more alive than before.

“A suitcase was missing, along with some of her clothing, and she immediately was placed at the top of a very short list of suspects.” It was impossible for him to keep the edge of bitterness from his voice as he remembered how he’d fought with the police, begging them to look for another killer. “I was also placed on the top of the list, but only for a brief time.”

“Your appointment was your alibi?” she asked.

He nodded. “That and the fact that when I left my parents’ place that evening both my mom and dad walked me to my car. One of the neighbors was outside and was able to verify that when I left the house my parents were alive and well.”

“That was two years ago. What did you find out about your mother? How does the case stand now?” She flushed, her cinnamon skin turning a deeper shade of red. “I mean, I’m sorry for what happened to your father.”

He smiled, hoping by the gesture he let her know there was nothing to apologize for, that he understood the reason for the questions before she offered any sympathy. His smile faded as he continued to look at her.

“My mother has never been found.” He didn’t mean the words to sound as stark as they had. Her eyes widened with surprise.

“And your father’s case?” she asked softly.

“Is officially closed. The local authorities are certain my mother is responsible and probably fled the country.”

Once again her fingers curled around her mug. “And what do you think?”

This time it was he who leaned forward and held her gaze intently. “I know my mother had nothing to do with my father’s death. I know it with all my heart, with all my soul, and nothing and nobody will ever make me believe otherwise. If there’s anything in this world I’m dead certain of, it’s that.”

He frowned and leaned back in his chair, realizing he’d become loud and had drawn the attention of the other patrons. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“Please, don’t apologize,” she replied. “I feel exactly the same way about my mother.”

There was more life in her eyes now, a flash of determination Riley could easily identify with. “Are they already saying your mother is a suspect?”

“Yeah. At the moment that’s what the evidence points to, and the police will follow the evidence.” She stared down into her coffee cup for a long moment.

He remained silent, giving her time to deal with whatever emotions might be reeling through her. She looked utterly vulnerable with her eyes downcast, displaying the long length of her dark lashes.

She had delicate features, a slender neck and small bones. He’d noticed her scent when she’d first sat down, a fragrance that reminded him of spring days and full-blooming flowers.

How long had it been since he’d noticed the smell of a woman? How long since he’d noticed the curve of a slender neck, the delicacy of feminine hands, the thrust of shapely breasts?

It had been since Patsy. Too long. Something long dormant inside him stirred as he sat watching her, smelling her fresh, feminine scent.

Finally she looked up, her eyes the rich brown of deep chocolate. “What do you think happened to your mother, Riley?”

A sharp shaft of pain drove through him, banishing the momentary warmth that had filled him. “I really don’t know. Over the past twenty-two months I’ve come up with hundreds of possibilities, each one more outrageous than the last. She got hit over the head and is wandering around somewhere with no memory of who she is. She became part of the witness-protection program and had to build a new life for herself.”

He flashed her a wry grin. “Hell, one night I got desperate enough, drunk enough that I checked to make sure there hadn’t been any UFO sightings on the night she disappeared. I thought maybe she’d been sucked up into a spaceship as an example of a human being with a perfect heart and soul.”

To his surprise, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Her skin was warm. “I’m so sorry for you. It must be horrible—the not knowing.” She drew her hand back as if suddenly self-conscious. A fierce determination swept over her features. “But I’m sure my mother is going to turn up anytime now. It’s all just been a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding of some sort.”

He didn’t try to contradict her. He knew how desperately she was clinging to that certainty at the moment. And he hoped she was right. He hoped it all was a terrible misunderstanding and Rita Birdsong James would be found safe and sound and innocent of the charge of attempting to kill her husband.

Savannah took another sip of her coffee, her thoughts racing. Cop thoughts and woman thoughts battled inside her. The crime that had occurred to his family was remarkably similar to what appeared to have happened to hers. Did he have any idea the power of his hypnotic blue eyes?

Was the connection she felt to him that of two people whose lives had been touched by violence, or was she drawn to him because he stirred something inside her that reminded her that she was not just a cop, not just a victim, but a woman as well?

This thought irritated her, and she averted her gaze from him. Brown eyes, that’s what she had loved. Eyes the color of her own, filled with laughter, filled with love, that’s what she had lost.

“Did the police attempt to find your mother?” she asked, grasping at the cop inside her rather than the lonely woman. “Usually when somebody disappears there’s a paper trail of some kind.”

He nodded and she couldn’t help but notice the rich shine of his dark-brown hair beneath the artificial lights overhead. “The authorities checked for activity on their bank account and credit cards, but there has been none in the nearly two years since it happened.”

She shoved her half-empty cup aside. “There’s no way to ignore the similarities in the two incidents,” she said.

“That’s why I thought it was important I make contact with you last night. Scott called me as soon as he heard the first report over his scanner, and that report indicated a man attacked in his living room and his wife missing. Scott thought I’d be interested since it seemed so much like what had happened to my family.”

“But, despite the similarities, it’s possible one has nothing to do with the other,” she added hurriedly. She couldn’t imagine her mother missing for two years. Savannah couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing where her mother was for another two minutes.

“I’d guess that it’s far too early in your investigation to draw any kind of conclusions,” he agreed. “But if you’re interested, I have copies of all the records pertaining to the crime against my parents. I’ve got witness lists, detective notes, everything.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. Family members rarely saw those kinds of things.

“I had a friend on the Sycamore Ridge police force,” he said in answer to her unspoken question. “Anyway, you’re welcome to see anything I have. Of course, nothing I have will help if it’s not the same kind of thing.”

“I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But I really don’t think it would help much.” She didn’t want to believe there was any connection between what had happened to his family and what had happened to hers. After all, his father had died and his mother had never been found.

Suddenly she wanted to be away from him, needed to be away from him. It was almost as if she felt that if she spent too much time here with him, his tragedy would become her own.

“Thank you so much for meeting with me,” she said, and rose from her chair.

“No problem.” He got up, as well. He was taller than she remembered from the night before—tall with broad shoulders and slender hips. It was the physique of a man who worked a job of physical labor. He began to pull his wallet from his back pocket, but she waved her hand.

“Please, the coffee is on me.”

She was grateful he didn’t try to fight her for it. She was far too tired, far too emotionally fragile to fight over something as inconsequential as a dollar cup of coffee.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said as he walked to the door of the shop.

“Thanks for the information,” she replied. Together they stepped outside, where night had fallen and the surrounding stores had closed up for the night. The night brought with it a terrifying sense of loss as she realized that her mother had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours.

“Your father…is he doing all right?”

“He’s hanging in there. He’s a stubborn Irishman with a hard head.”

He quirked a dark brow upward. “Irish, huh? I would have never guessed. You and your sister and brother don’t look Irish.”

“My father always teased that Mom wasn’t happy unless she dominated everything, including the gene pool.” She swallowed hard as a wave of emotion swept over her. “It was nice meeting you, Riley,” she said, and held her hand out to him.

“I wish it had been under different circumstances.” He reached for her hand, but to her surprise instead pulled her into an awkward hug. “I’m so sorry about your family,” he said into her hair. “I hope…I pray that everything turns out okay.” He released her as quickly as he’d hugged her, then murmured a good-night and walked away.

She stood on the sidewalk, shell-shocked, a bundle of exposed nerves and heightened sensations. It had been a very long time since she’d felt the press of a muscular chest against hers, the warmth of strong arms surrounding her. In the instant that he’d hugged her, she’d smelled him, a distinctly woodsy male scent that was quite appealing. Too appealing.

She turned and went back into the ice cream parlor. She joined her cousin Alyssa behind the counter where she was making a fresh pot of coffee. Alyssa finished what she was doing then turned and embraced Savannah. “Is there any news?”

Savannah shook her head. “I spoke with Bree before coming here and there’s no change in Dad’s condition. Clay is trying to get Glen to let him into the house or at least see what the crime scene has gathered so far, but Glen is refusing.”

Alyssa sank down on a stool. “This is what I saw,” she said softly. “I knew something bad was coming…knew somebody was going to be hurt…but I couldn’t tell who…I couldn’t stop it.” Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Melinda, keep an eye on things, okay?” Savannah asked the young woman who worked for Alyssa. Savannah took Alyssa by the arm and pulled her through the doorway that led to Alyssa’s living quarters.

She closed the door behind them, shutting off the sounds from the ice cream parlor and led Alyssa to the cream-colored sofa where they sat side by side. She took Alyssa’s hands in hers and squeezed tightly.

“Alyssa, everyone in the family knows how your visions come to you. We all know that most of the time you can’t figure out exactly what they mean. Nobody blames you for not seeing this coming.”

“I know that, but it’s just so frustrating,” she replied. She pulled her hands from Savannah’s grasp and used one to push a strand of her long dark hair behind an ear. “Over the past two months, I’ve had a single, recurring vision, and it’s been different from any other one I’ve ever had.”

Although Savannah had heard this before, she sat patiently and listened, knowing Alyssa needed to talk about it. “What I’ve experienced over the past two months weren’t even real visions,” Alyssa continued, her eyes dark and worried. “There was never a picture…just a feeling of horrible doom, of enormous grief and emptiness. Is there any news on Aunt Rita?”

“None.”

Alyssa frowned. “I had a new vision this morning…about Aunt Rita.”

Savannah leaned toward her cousin, her heartbeat quickening with hope. Maybe Alyssa’s newest vision could provide a clue of some kind as to where Rita was…what had happened to her. “What? What did you see?”

Alyssa frowned, a delicate furrow appearing across her brow. “It won’t help,” she said as if reading Savannah’s thoughts. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Tell me anyway,” Savannah replied.

“I saw Aunt Rita in bed. She was sleeping peacefully in her own bed, in her own room.” She sighed in frustration. “I told you it wouldn’t help.”

Savannah frowned thoughtfully. “Are you sure it was her own bed?”

“Positive. I saw her beneath the dark-blue floral bedspread that’s on their bed. I saw the Tiffany-style lamp they have on the nightstand. It was her room, Savannah. I told you it wouldn’t help. We both know Aunt Rita isn’t safe and sound and sleeping in her bed at home.”

Savannah reached for her cousin’s hand once again. From the time they had all been children together, the James siblings had known that their favorite cousin had mysterious visions. The visions were as much a part of Alyssa as her long, dark hair and gentle nature.

“But you’ll tell me if you have any more visions of her?” Savannah asked.

“Of course,” Alyssa replied.

“Even if they seem crazy or unimportant?”

Alyssa’s lips curved into a half smile. “Even then.”

“And if you think you see anything that might help find her, you have to promise me you’ll tell Chief Cleberg.”

The half smile fell into a frown. “Glen Cleberg is like nine-tenths of the people in this town. They all think I’m more than a little crazy.”

“I know the chief has given you a hard time before when you’ve tried to help, but you’ve got to promise me you’ll tell him if you see anything that might help us find Mom.”

“I promise,” she agreed. “You know I’ll do whatever I can to help find her. She’s always been like a mother to me.” Tears once again sprang to Alyssa’s eyes, and she and Savannah hugged.

Alyssa’s mother had died when Alyssa was four, and it had been Rita who had stepped in to fill the empty space in the little girl’s life.

“Who is Riley Frazier?” Alyssa asked as Savannah stood.

“A man who had something horrible happen to his parents a couple of years ago. He was offering me his support.”

“Nice-looking man,” Alyssa said, also rising from the sofa.

Savannah shrugged. “I guess.” A vision of Riley streaked through her mind. “I’ve got to get going. I want to stop by the hospital on my way home.”

Alyssa walked with her to the door. “You doing okay?” she asked.

“I’m holding up,” Savannah replied.

Alyssa gazed at her with warm affection. “You were always the strong one, Savannah. I’ve always admired your incredible wealth of strength.”

Alyssa’s words replayed in her head thirty minutes later as she sat by her father’s hospital bed.

The sight of her father lying there, so pale, so lifeless had shocked her. Thomas James was a big man with an even bigger presence. Now, with his head wrapped in bandages and his mouth hanging slack, hooked up to a variety of monitors and machines and with deep, dark circles beneath his eyes, he looked frighteningly old and fragile.

Savannah took his hand in hers. Cold…his hand was so cold. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at him. “Daddy,” she said softly. Did he hear her? Could he hear her? “Daddy, you need to wake up.” She squeezed his hand. “We need you…I need you.”

It was all too much, she thought. Her mother missing, her father in a coma—it was all too much to survive. She released his hand and leaned back in her chair, utterly exhausted both physically and mentally.

Alyssa had been wrong. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t strong at all. She wasn’t strong enough to survive what had become of her life, nor was she strong enough to let go of the bridge support and join her Jimmy in the spirit world.

She felt as if she was caught in some horrible state of limbo, too cowardly to join her husband in death, but equally afraid to contemplate what lay ahead for herself and the people she loved.

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