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  “You’ll call me if you change your mind.” His fingers tenderly strummed across her back. “It’s not a question, Emmy,” he said when she just hummed.

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  His lips grazed her eyelids, and the lemony perfume of her hair, the scent of her heated skin, the feel of her delightful butt in his lap thickened his blood.

  Since Friday, she’d slept curled against him, reaching out to him when he shifted aside a fraction. Finding consolation in the closeness, he supposed. While it was inviting to let his hands explore every fold of her smooth skin, the whimpers of her nightmares meant he’d merely kept her safe in his embrace. After hearing what Joe had planned for her on that seedy bed in his rundown trailer, he let her take the lead in intimacy. Despite that, when one hand glided to the back of his neck, and the tip of her finger traced the seam of his lips, his boxers tightened with the awareness she still craved him as much as he craved her.

  Her lips parted, and a husky groan rumbled from a place deep inside him. His lips closed over hers and drew her into a slow, tender kiss. Their mouths were a perfect fit. He scraped his teeth along the delicious column of her neck, and a thousand volts of electricity sizzled through his veins as her low moan shivered against his skin.

  Ryan rose from the chair, lifting Emily with him, and took two long strides to the bed, settling her onto the disheveled sheets they left less than an hour ago. Kicking off his boots and losing his jeans, he peeled the scanty garments off her body. Slow and tender as the kisses they shared, he entered her, his gaze dropping into the meadows of her cornflower eyes. In the unspoken language of lovemaking, he let her know this time was all about her. When Emily’s body tensed and his name shuddered from her lips, the pleasure pulsing through her entire being no doubt erased everything else from her mind.

  Two hours and a pot of coffee later, he left Emily, doubting he could ever keep away from this gorgeous, feisty, and headstrong woman or that he even wished to. He’d fallen in love with Emily, and the words he thought would never cross his lips had slipped out in an unguarded moment.

  As he slid behind the wheel of his Range Rover, a snarky voice rose from the depths of his soul, and for one beat of his heart, he wondered if he was good enough for this amazing woman.

  At ten-fifteen that morning, Ryan traveled the short distance to the courthouse.

  Tom Henley’s arraignment had been scheduled for eleven o’clock, and he was eager to hear if the judge considered Tom a flight risk and held him in jail or if he’d grant bail.

  Not only had the police busted a notorious local dogfighting ring, but in the larger context of the raid, they’d exposed Joe’s property as a distribution point that would flood the surrounding rural areas with heroin and other illegal substances. Even though the raid at Maynard’s farm had been the thunderstorm on the ground, it was the arrest of the distinguished CPA Tom Henley that rotated through Oak Creek like a funnel cloud.

  Tom had been cuffed and hauled off to jail.

  Though Oak Creek wasn’t that tiny anymore, it was the type of town folks described as tranquil, sleepy, and historical. The place where one could step back in time and soak up small-town traditions, but Friday night’s police raid had cracked the foundation of this charming southern town wide open, leaking a putrid stench of greed and corruption.

  Caught in the center of a long-kept secret, the news of Tom’s money-laundering role in the sleazy drug business spread with the speed of a tornado. At the breakfast table over bacon and eggs and at offices, barbershops, and coffeehouses all across town, Tom’s fate was the main topic of gossip. Suspicion ran rampant. Everyone had a theory why Tom had crossed the line to the dark side, though no one knew for sure. Ryan had never cared for the pompous fellow, but Tom was an outstanding accountant, and Ryan knew firsthand since he’d been his client.

  Being at the wrong place at the wrong time had made Ryan a witness to the biggest drug seizure in Oak County. He’d testify in Henley’s trial… hell, he wanted to testify against that pretentious son of a bitch.

  As swiftly as the news of Henley’s, Maynard’s, and a guy known as Little C’s arrests had blazed through town, a false sense of security settled over Oak Creek once more.

  Inside the Justice Center, Ryan located the courtroom and walked into the subdued chatter of spectators. Local and major affiliate newspaper reporters crowded the room. He’d expected it. Still, Oak Creek had been plunged beyond the local spotlight, and the attention this perturbing news garnered seemed surreal.

  As the number of reporters confirmed, Tom’s engagement in the drug and money-laundering operations was a dramatic development and an aspiring news reporter’s wet dream.

  Ryan let his gaze drift across the room as he picked a seat on the last row of wooden benches. Besides the newshounds, he recognized a few familiar townsfolk. Yep, the circus had rolled into town.

  In front of him, two gangly fellows slouched in their seats, their voices held to a whisper. Regardless of the background noise, Ryan unintentionally picked up a few fragments of their discussion. Students, most likely criminal justice, these real-life proceedings about to start with Henley’s imminent arraignment provided a much greater lecture than any textbook studies could. Without a doubt, this was a compelling case to follow.

  Behind the rectangular oak table at the front of the room, Henley’s lawyer appeared busy poring over a file. What could he be so intently looking for as he waited for the proceedings to start? The fellow was unreadable. Calm and dissociated, he leafed through sheets of notes, unimpressed by the crowd behind him. It wasn’t long before a uniformed law enforcement officer escorted Tom into the courtroom.

  Holy cow, how three days in jail had altered the CPA’s appearance. Ryan nearly didn’t recognize him. Gray skin against the orange jumpsuit made the man look sickly, and his mousy brown hair—stripped of the daily use of pomade—clung in dull strands to his scalp. Far from his smart image mere days ago, Tom looked even slighter than his five-foot plus a few inches implied.

  As the electrical current of anticipation zapped through the courtroom, Ryan thought of Emily and her tremendous spunk and moxie, speculating how she would emotionally handle being a witness in Joe’s trial. It would ultimately come to that, and he was sure she’d find the wherewithal to send the bastard to jail with her testimony.

  The chatter ended suddenly when the bailiff raised her voice and announced the judge’s entrance. Feet shuffled as the chamber door opened, and everyone stood.

  Proceedings started promptly. Tom Henley and his attorney pushed to their feet, their facial expressions as animated as wax figures. The judge explained the charges, and his attorney responded with, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  Contempt coiled in Ryan’s gut, but he cautioned himself; even Tom was innocent until found guilty, though Ryan knew different. He’d been at the site of the crime and had captured the man’s involvement with his camera. Ryan was one-thousand percent positive his pictures, along with his witness statement, would assist the prosecution in getting the maximum prison time for Tom. He almost felt something like pity for the accountant.

  To Ryan, the entire court session was dry and seemed rehearsed. He guessed the procedures were much the same in all instances, no matter the extent of the crime. Surprise registered with a low-pitched gasp when the judge awarded bail and set the full cash bond at $100,000. Just like that, the hearing was over, and the police officer led Tom out of the room.

  Drawing the key fob from his jeans pocket, Ryan passed through the automated glass doors of the courthouse. In the parking lot, someone bumped into him, causing him to stumble.

  “Hey, watch it!” Ryan said, twisting around. Instinct immediately flashed bad news.

  A dude, thin and wiry, his black eyes shifty, crowded his space. Whoa! No accident. Clad in all black, the stranger sported several tattoos on his shaved skull, scrawny neck, and left side of his face. Gang tattoos? Ryan knew little about that sort of thing, and although there
had been no known groups of thugs in their small town, anything was possible. Coal-black eyes glinted and flicked ominously in a pockmarked face.

  Had this guy been inside the courthouse? Ryan didn’t think so. He would have stuck out like a raven among a flock of sparrows. With Ryan’s mind on the indictment and not paying attention to others leaving the building with him, Tattoo Face had turned up out of nowhere.

  “Eh, shutterbug, piece of advice—keep your trap shut.” The guy had the audacity to wink. “Know what I mean?”

  He disappeared before Ryan got around to react, but not before he saw the coldness in the man’s dark, flickering eyes.

  What the hell? Irritation spread like poison ivy, leaving Ryan baffled by the guy’s remarks. The muscles in his face tightened with anger. This dude had not smacked into him by mistake. Oh no, it was a clear warning concerning his testimony in Henley’s impending trial. Ryan’s witness statement would back up the prosecutor’s charges brought against Henley, and the photographs he’d taken would cement the case. Isn’t that what he’d thought less than two minutes ago? Awareness prickled his neck. This was an attempt to silence him—to keep him from testifying when Henley stood trial.

  Ryan scanned the parking lot, but Tattoo Face had vanished.

  Jesus, it wouldn’t have been difficult to identify Ryan as the guy who’d nearly blown the police raid. Damn the news outlets who’d named him and Emily in the same sentence with Joe and Tom. They’d put them in harm’s way unnecessarily. Ryan unlocked the Rover, puzzling over who the hell the tatted dude was and how he’d known Ryan would show up at court this morning.

  Did it matter? Nope, but the strange encounter was beyond weird. Christ, Tom Henley didn’t even have a trial date yet. No two ways about it; when the prosecution called on him, he’d do his damnedest to help send Henley to a government-paid bed-and-breakfast. Emily flashed through his mind. Should he tell her? She’d testify in her own case against Joe Maynard, and sharing this incident with her would just scare her all over again.

  No, the threat was directed at him—no sense worrying her when she’s just starting to feel back to herself. This was about Ryan and his case, so no, he wouldn’t bother Emily with it.

  Chapter 2

  One final snip with the pruning shears, and Emily stepped back to appraise her handy work. Face bright pink and her neck sweaty from tackling the scruffy rosebushes growing along the foundation of her home, she marveled at the resilience of the red beauties still clinging to their prickly stems. With the back of her hand, she swiped a strand of hair from her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt in its trail.

  Since Ryan went to follow Tom’s arraignment this morning, she’d puttered around the yard, busying her hands and mind. Dried-up annuals in large planters on the front porch needed plucking, and the rose bushes were long overdue for a trim. Remarkable how wonderful it felt to be outside in her yard, yanking weeds and doing fall gardening chores in the late September sun.

  Emily squinted, and her gaze drifted from the roses to the porch. Maybe tomorrow, she’d drive to the garden center to spruce up the porch with colorful mums and asters.

  My home, she reflected, and for the first time since learning she’d inherited her aunt’s farmhouse, she felt at peace. Emily smiled. The old house required a makeover badly, and soon she’d contact restoration contractors to obtain estimates and decide whose rehab vision best matched her own.

  From the top of her driveway, the purr of an engine carried on the soft breeze. What? She’d expected her friend, Keira, to show up around five o’clock, but it couldn’t be five already, could it? Turning toward the sound, Emily shielded her eyes and grinned when she looked at the Volkswagen Beetle rolling down her driveway.

  Bentley recognized the sound of the engine and trudged from around the corner of the house with his tail swooshing. The second Keira stepped out of the car and scooted the driver’s seat forward, two medium brown mutts leaped out in a knotted mess. Excited to be loose from the restraints of the yellow sardine can, their muscular bodies loped and bounced toward Emily, joined by Bentley. Like trained bloodhounds, they’d picked up a scent of the small treats tucked away in the pocket of Emily’s shorts.

  “Hey, Emily!” Keira’s voice cut through the dogs’ noise.

  Emily waved as she lifted her eyebrows in an amused smile. As sure as her little bug was sunflower yellow, a Mossy Oak shirt and tight-fitting jeans stretched across her friend’s curvaceous figure, a pair of riding boots completing the outfit. Only Keira could pull off this outdoorsy gear and look feminine and sexy.

  Funny, her friend didn’t give a flip about fashion. As if proving the point, she’d shown up to her photoshoot with Ryan—a fundraiser for Barkville Rescue—in this exact get-up. He’d winced, teasingly calling her the queen of country glitz. Paying no attention to his taunt, Keira smirked, curled her arms around her hounds, and adjusted their matching camouflage bandannas. Just as the shutter clicked, she beamed a smile and flipped Ryan both middle fingers, but in the end, he’d captured her uncomplicated essence in a stunning set of photos.

  “Keira!”

  “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?” Keira rushed forward and squeezed Emily into a solid hug. Strands of strawberry curls framed her face and touched her shoulders, having escaped the simple ponytail clasp.

  “If I was any better, I’d be doing hand flips,” Emily blurted from under Keira’s bear hug, her voice sounding muffled. “Hey, you’re squeezing me to death.” Emily peeled herself from the tight embrace with a lopsided grin, knowing just how deeply her friend cared.

  Keira tipped her head to the side and peeked at Emily with a questioning look that pierced through the fragility of Emily’s statement.

  Emily sighed, knowing her friend’s BS indicator was like a needle moving on a highly sensitive metal detector when hitting pay dirt. She and this dynamic woman had become besties after Emily had rushed to Oak Creek to bury her aunt. Next to Ryan, Keira was the only other person Emily traded her innermost secrets with. Except staking out Joe’s property. That little tidbit she’d kept all to herself. When the news of the drug bust and Emily’s abduction hit the airwaves, Keira had reached out to her friend right away, but now was the first time they’d seen each other since then.

  “I’m fine.” Emily peeled back her loose-fitting garden gloves and stretched out her forearms, displaying the bandages above her hands. “Except these.”

  “Ow, Emmy!” Keira pulled a face, sucking air through clenched teeth. “Girl, you’re one lovely sight—pruning roses with your wrists dressed in bandages and that swanky aircast on your foot.” Her jade green eyes reflected concern as they met Emily’s.

  “Oh, Keira, you’re such a mother hen. It’s okay. The cuts are covered and healing just fine,” Emily reassured her friend, but the ropes had cut deep. “Except this maddening itch that’s driving me nuts. It feels a hundred times worse than poison ivy,” she said, scrubbing her wrists together to find relief. “The leg, well… I thought I had reinjured it, but it feels better today. Plus, who wants to stay inside on a lovely day like this?” Raising her face to the sky, she filled her lungs with the scent of the sun-drenched air. “Who knows how much longer it will last?”

  Keira inhaled and nodded. “Yep, good point.”

  After a bit, letting the dogs enjoy a run on the grounds, Emily and Keira went inside. They settled on the broad sofa in the outdated family room with a large pepperoni pizza they’d had delivered between them. The dogs were sprawled out on the floor, petered out after their energetic game of chase. Bentley’s eyes rolled back into his head, his back paws twitched. Keira’s dogs, Boomer and Diesel, were spread out on their bellies, their eyes glued to the steaming hot pie. Once again, Emily was thankful for her friend, who she’d bonded with from the moment they’d met when Emily was in the hospital. Bless her—from toiletries and magazines to two sets of clothes, Keira had thought of everything an indisposed woman would need. Emily had to smile at the t-shirts and shorts that had b
een a size too large on her slender frame. For all their outward differences, Emily’s cool blonde hair and blue eyes stood in opposition to the green-eyed strawberry blonde. Emily thought of Keira as the sister she didn’t have.

  Tilting her head, Emily mused between nibbles of hot, tasty pizza, “Gosh, I can’t believe it’s only been a month and a half since we met at Millie’s funeral for the first time. Somehow it seems like we’ve known each other forever.”

  “Maybe we’ve met in another lifetime?” Not expecting an answer in return, Keira groaned and closed her eyes for a second. “Mm-hmm, this is so good, I could weep.” Her eyes settled on Emily’s face once again. “Okay, girl, wanna talk? I’m burning to find out what happened Friday night, but more than that, I’m curious how you and Ryan got snarled up in this clusterfuck.” Ready to hear Emily’s account of the events, Keira scooted her butt deep into the cushions, drew up her legs, letting her boot-clad feet hang off the edge of the sofa, and shot Emily an expectant look.

  For a snippet of time, Emily considered whether she was ready to recall and describe the nightmare of the stakeout. Dusk settled, and the silence lengthened as neither woman said anything. Emily was sure her friend wouldn’t criticize her mistakes, yet revealing what she’d kept to herself felt a little like a confession.

  Emily lifted her chin and looked directly at her friend as the words rushed out, keeping nothing back. From the pivotal discovery of Aunt Millie investigating a dogfighting ring—which Keira already knew about—to spying on Joe’s property and her abduction, leaving out no detail.

  “Keira… Joe’s rickety barn was busier than Grand Central Station. You wouldn’t believe the ridiculous number of cars, SUVs, and pickups that moved in and lined up. They were packed with caged dogs… fighting dogs!”

  “Dear God.” Keira closed her eyes, sorrow pinching her face.

  “Our strategy was tight. At least that’s what Ryan and I thought. We’d just observe from a distance, and if something turned up—drugs or dogfights—we’d notify the police. You know?” A hint of self-doubt wobbled in Emily’s voice, and she guessed Keira sensed it, too. “But the barn door light was awfully poor for Ryan to pick up a clear shot from a distance with his camera, so he slipped from the car and shoved through rows and rows of tall corn to get closer. Ryan had no clue the slimy bastard attacked me until he came back to the Rover with the evidence we needed and found me missing. He knew right away that something was wrong when I wasn’t there waiting for him.”