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A woman in hiding and a man on a mission in the Smoky Mountains
Detective Chris Downing doesn’t know much about his neighbor. In the rural town of Destiny, Tennessee, Julie Webb lives a life of seclusion, rarely even offering a smile or wave. Only when Chris hears her frantic screams one night does he gain a glimpse into the life of a woman in hiding, and in saving her life, he is forced to kill her attacker. But Julie’s troubles are only beginning to unravel. When Chris learns the identity of Julie’s attacker, questions of trust are raised and suspicions run high. Together they will uncover the motives of a killer...and the undeniable attraction between them.
Tennessee SWAT
Inhaling deeply, she selfishly enjoyed another tantalizing breath warmed by Chris’s skin, perfumed by his masculine scent. Then she pushed herself back to sitting, forcing him to move back and drop his arms.
He studied her intently, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You do know that I’m going to protect you, right? You seem...scared, or maybe worried.”
Unable to stop herself, she caressed his face. Her heart nearly stopped when he rubbed his cheek against her hand. Oh, how she wished her life were different, that she had met this man in another place, another time.
He smiled, a warm, gentle smile she felt all the way to her toes.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Julie,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
“Thank you,” she whispered back. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and hers suddenly went dry. She automatically leaned toward him. Her hands went to his shirt, smoothing the fabric.
A shudder went through him and she looked up, her eyes locking with his. The open hunger on his face made her breath catch. And then he was leaning toward her slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, to pull away, to say no.
But she didn’t.
Mountain Witness
Lena Diaz
www.millsandboon.co.uk
LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A former Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in mystery and suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com.
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Thank you, Allison Lyons and Nalini Akolekar.
For my family...George, Sean and Jennifer. I love you so much.
And in loving memory to the family member who has passed
over the rainbow. I’ll always love you, Sparky.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Extract
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
Blood, there was so much blood. Julie stood over him, one hand braced on the bed’s footboard, the other still holding the gun. The blood soaked his shirt, seeping between his fingers as he clutched at the bullet hole in his side. Air wheezed between his teeth, his startlingly blue eyes blazing with hatred through the openings in the ski mask. The same eyes that had once stared at her with such love that they’d stolen her breath away.
Right before he’d said, “I do.”
Julie Webb shook her head, blinking away the memories, wishing she could put the past behind her just as easily. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she sat in the driveway, the thin pale line on her ring finger the only tangible reminder of the diamond that had once sat there.
Stop it. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s time to move on.
Unfortunately, with most of her assets frozen while the courts did their thing back in Nashville, moving on meant hiding out in the tiny—aka affordable—rural town of Destiny, Tennessee. And with the limited rentals available in Blount County, she’d chosen the lesser of evils, the one place with some land around it—an old farmhouse that had sat vacant for so long that the owner had been desperate to rent it. Desperate equaled cheap. And that was the only reason that Julie had taken it. Well, that and the fact that Destiny was a good three hours from Nashville. She wasn’t likely to run into anyone she knew in the local grocery store.
The sound of a horn honking had her looking in her rearview mirror, reminding her why she was in her car to begin with. The moving truck sat idling in the gravel road that ran past the expansive front yard, waiting for her to back out so it could back in. After two days of living out of a suitcase and sleeping on the floor, having a couch and a bed again was going to feel like heaven.
She put the car in Reverse, hesitating when she noticed that her only neighbor had come out onto his front porch. Long, unpaved road, dead end, surrounded by acres of trees and pastures, and she still had a neighbor to contend with. A handsome, sex-on-a-stick kind of guy to boot. Which was going to make ignoring him difficult, but not impossible. She’d had her own sex-on-a-stick kind of man before. And look what it had gotten her.
He flashed her a friendly smile and waved just as he’d done every time he’d seen her in the past two days. And once again, she pretended not to notice. She backed out of the driveway.
Rhythmic beeping sounded from the truck as it took the place of her car, stopping just inches from the porch that ran along the front of the white clapboard house. It was a much smaller, one-story clone of the place next door. There weren’t any fences on either property, so she wasn’t sure where his acreage ended and hers began. But clearly he had a lot more land than her rental. The mowed part of his yard extended for a good quarter of a mile to the end of their street.
She didn’t care, didn’t want to know anything about him. The only way to survive this temporary exile was to keep to herself and make sure that none of her acquaintances figured out where she was. Which meant not associating with the hunk next door or anyone else who might recognize her name or her face, in case any of the news stories had made it out this far. She fervently hoped they hadn’t.
The movers had the ramp set up by the time she’d walked up the long gravel driveway. It would allow them to cart the boxes and furniture directly to the top of the porch without having to navigate the steps. That meant everything should go quickly, especially since she didn’t have much for them to unload—just the bare essentials and a few things she’d refused to leave in storage.
She risked a quick look toward the house next door. The friendly man was gone. A twinge of guilt shot through her for having ignored him. He was probably a perfectly nice guy and deserved to be treated better. But her life was extremely complicated right now. By ignoring him, by not letting him get involved in any way in her problems, she was doing him a favor.
“Ma’am, where do you want this?” one of the movers asked, holding up a box.
Apparently, the thick black letters on the side that spelled “kitchen” weren’t enough of a hint.
She jogged up the steps. But, before going inside, she hesitated and looked over her shoulder at the thick woods on the other side of the road. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck.
“Ma’am?” the mover holding the box called out. He lifted the box a few inches, as if to remind her he was still holding it.
“Sorry, this way.” She headed inside, but couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had settled over her.
Chapter Two
Chris shaded his eyes against the early afternoon sun and watched through an upstairs window as the curvy brunette led one of the movers into the house next door. He didn’t know why he bothered waving every time he saw her. Her standard response was to turn away and pretend that she hadn’t seen him. He’d gotten the message the first time—she wanted nothing to do with him. Too bad the good manners his mama had instilled in him, courtesy of a well-worn switch off a weeping willow tree or his daddy’s belt, wouldn’t allow him to ignore her the way she ignored him.
He leaned against the wall of the corner guest bedroom, noting the car that his neighbor had parked on the road. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a BMW. Most of the people he knew had four-wheel drives. Come winter, that light little car would slide around like a hockey puck on the icy back roads. Then again, maybe she didn’t plan on sticking around that long. Summer was just getting started.
A distant rumble had him looking up the road to see a caravan of trucks headed toward his house, right on time to start his annual beginning of summer cookout. The shiny red Jeep in front was well ahead of the other vehicles, barreling down the road at a rate of speed that probably would have gotten the driver thrown in jail if he wasn’t a cop himself, with half the Destiny, Tennessee, police department following behind him.
Dirt and gravel spewed out from beneath the Jeep’s tires as it slowed just enough to turn into his driveway without flipping over. The driver, Chris’s best friend, Dillon Gray, jumped out while the car was still rocking. He hurried to the passenger side to lift out his very pregnant wife, Ashley. Chris grinned and headed downstairs.
He’d just reached the front room when the screen door flew open and Ashley jogged inside, her hands holding her round belly as if to support it. The door swung closed, its springs squeaking in protest at the abuse.
“Hi, Chris.” She raced past the stairs into the back hallway and slammed the bathroom door.
The screen door opened again and Chris’s haggard-looking friend stepped inside.
“Sorry about that.” Dillon waved toward the bathroom. “Ashley was desperate. She had me doing ninety on the interstate.”
Chris clapped him on the back. “How’s the pregnancy going?”
Dillon let out a shaky breath and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not sure I can survive two more months of this.”
A toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. And soon the sound of bare feet slip-slapping on the wooden floor had both of them turning to see Dillon’s wife heading toward them. Her sandals dangled from one hand as she stopped beside Chris.
“Sorry about the bare feet. They’re so swollen the shoes were cutting off my circulation.” She motioned toward Dillon. “Let me guess. He’s complaining about all the suffering he’s going through, right? He keeps forgetting that I’m the one birthing a watermelon.” The smile on her face softened her words as she yanked on Chris’s shirt so he’d lean down. She planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m taking good care of him.”
He raised a brow. “Him? You’re having a boy?”
“No, silly. I mean, yes, we might be. Or it might be a girl. We’re waiting until the birth to be surprised about the gender. I meant Dillon. I’ll make sure he survives fatherhood.”
Dillon plopped down in one of the recliners facing the big-screen TV mounted on the far wall. “It’s not fatherhood that I’m worried about. It’s the pregnancy, and childbirth.” He placed a hand on his flat stomach. “Every time she throws up, I throw up. Last week, I swear I had a contraction.”
Ashley clucked her tongue as she perched on the arm of his chair. “Sympathy pains.” She grinned up at Chris. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Chris burst out laughing.
Dillon shot him a glare that should have set his hair on fire.
“Did you remember to bring the steaks?” Chris headed toward the abused screen door, assuming the food was in the Jeep.
“The chief has them,” Dillon said. “I didn’t feel well enough to go to the store so I called him to do it, instead.” He pressed his hand to his stomach again and groaned as his head fell back against the chair.
Ashley rolled her eyes and plopped down onto his lap. In spite of how green Dillon looked, he immediately hugged her close and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Dillon started to gently massage his wife’s shoulders and she kissed the side of his neck. Chris had never seen two people more in love or more meant for each other. Then again, they’d only been married for close to a year. They were still newlyweds.
“Where do you want all of this stuff?” someone called from outside.
Chris turned away from the two lovebirds and looked through the screen door.
“Those two are enough to make you sick, aren’t they?” fellow SWAT officer and detective Max Remington, holding a large cooler, teased from the porch.
“Hey, Max.” Ashley waved over Dillon’s shoulder.
“Hey, Ash.” Max dipped his head toward the cooler and glanced at Chris. “This beer and ice ain’t getting any lighter. Where do you want it?”
“Around back, on the deck, well away from the grill. It’s hot and ready.”
Max carried the cooler back down the steps. Twenty minutes later, Destiny PD’s entire five-man-and-one-woman SWAT team was on the large back deck, plus Chief William Thornton, his wife, Claire, Ashley, their 911 operator—Nancy—and a handful of other support staff.
Steaks sizzled on the double-decker grill, which was Max’s domain. On one side of him, SWAT officers Colby Vale and Randy Carter chatted about the best places to fish. On Max’s other side a young female police intern helped load foil-wrapped potatoes and corncobs onto another section of the grill.
“Two weeks.” Dillon grabbed a beer from the cooler at Chris’s feet.
Since Dillon was watching Ashley talk to SWAT Officer Donna Waters a few feet away, Chris wasn’t sure what he meant. “Two weeks until what?”
Dillon used his bottle to indicate the pretty young intern who was earning college credits for helping out at the Destiny police department over the summer.
“I give her and Max’s fledgling relationship two more weeks, at the most,” Dillon said. “They have absolutely nothing in common and she’s young enough to be his...niece...or something.”
Chris shrugged and snagged himself a beer from the cooler. The rest of the team laughed and talked in small groups on the massive deck. The chief and his wife were the only ones not smiling. They were too intent on discussing the best placement of the desserts on the table at the far end. Chris grinned, always amused to see the soft side of his crotchety boss whenever his wife of forty-plus years was around. He hoped someday that he’d be lucky enough to be married that long, and be just as happy. But so far he hadn’t met the right woman. Given Destiny’s small size, he just might have to move to another town to expand the dating pool.
The sound of an engine turning over had him stepping closer to the railing. The moving truck headed down the driveway next door, then continued up the road. His new neighbor stood in the grass beside her front porch, watching it go. Unless she was deaf, she had to hear the noise in his backyard. Was she going to ignore all of them?
He waited, watching. As if feeling the force of his gaze upon her, she turned. Their eyes locked and held. Then she whirled around and raced up her porch steps, the screen door slamming as she hurried inside.
“What’s her name?”
Chris didn’t turn at the sound of Dillon’s voice. His friend braced his hands on the railing beside him.
“I have no idea,” Chris answered. “She’s been here two days and she hasn’t even acknowledged that I exist.”
Dillon whistled low. “That’s a first for you. Must be losing your touch.”
He slanted his friend a look. “Yeah, well. At least I’m not puking my guts up every time someone says fried gizzards.”
Dillon’s eyes widened and his face went pale. A second later he clapped his hand over his mouth and ran inside the house.
Judging from the way Ashley was suddenly glaring at Chris, she’d obviously noticed Dillon’s rapid retreat. She put her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”
“I might have mentioned ‘fried gizzards.’”
She threw her hands in the air and shook her head in exasperation. Then she ran inside after her husband.
Chris winced at the accusatory looks some of the others gave him. He shouldn’t have done that. He knew that Dillon’s sympathy morning sickness could be triggered by certain foods, or even the mention of them. But teasing Dillon was just too easy—and way too fun—to resist.
He supposed he’d have to apologize later.
But right now there was something else bothering him, a puzzle he was trying to work through. He turned back toward his mysterious new neighbor’s house, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. There’d been something about her that was bothering him, the way she’d twisted her hands together as she’d stared down the road, the look in her eyes when she’d met his gaze.
And then it clicked.
He knew exactly what he’d seen.
Fear.
Chapter Three
Judging by the empty beer bottles and bags of trash sitting on his deck, Chris reckoned the annual summer-opening bash for his SWAT unit had been a success. Everyone had seemed to have a good time, even Dillon, once he’d gotten over being mad. They’d probably still be partying if the mosquitoes and gnats hadn’t invaded after the sun went down.
He probably should have invited everyone to go indoors. But he’d been too preoccupied to even think of that earlier. He’d spent most of the cookout worrying about a woman he’d never met, who’d made it crystal clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.
After another glance at the house next door, he cursed and forced himself to look away. He grabbed two bags of trash in one hand and a bag of recyclables in the other. Then he headed down the deck steps and around the side yard toward the garage. He slowed as he neared the front. Behind the dark blue BMW next door was a silver Ford Taurus that hadn’t been there earlier.
He shook his head. It was none of his business who the woman next door invited over. Judging by the plates on the Taurus, it was from out of town. Maybe some of her friends were helping her unpack and set up the place. Again, none of his concern.
Rounding to the front of his house, he keyed a code into the electronic keypad to open the garage door. After stowing the trash and recyclables in the appropriate bins, he closed the door again and took the front porch steps two at a time. If he hurried, he just might catch the start of a baseball game on TV.
A few minutes later, he was sitting in his favorite recliner with a beer and a bowl of popcorn on the side table. He was looking forward to a relaxing few hours vegging out before going to bed early, even though it was Saturday.
Come dawn, he had a date with a tractor and a Bush Hog and over an acre of brush to clear for Cooper, a neighbor laid up in the hospital. After that, he had his own chores to see to, including repairing some fencing to keep cows from wandering into his yard again from the farm behind his house. Sunday definitely wasn’t going to be a day of rest for him. And he’d still have to catch the Sunday evening service at First Baptist or his mom would hear about it and start praying for his soul.
A piercing shriek sounded from outside, then abruptly cut off. Chris jumped up from his chair, grabbed his pistol from the coffee table. Standing stock-still, he listened for the sound again. Had a screech owl flown over the house? Maybe one of the baseball fans on TV had made the noise. Maybe. But he didn’t think so. The volume on the television hadn’t been turned up very loud. He pressed the mute button on the remote. Still nothing. Everything was silent. So what had he heard?
As if pulled by an unseen force, his gaze went to the window on the east side of the great room. The front of his home was about ten feet closer to the road than his neighbor’s. He had a clear view of her porch, dimly lit by a single yellow bulb now that the sun had gone down. Everything looked as it had earlier when he’d dealt with the trash. Two cars were still parked in her driveway. There was no sign of any people anywhere. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in his gut and the memory of the fear he’d seen in her eyes.
Cursing himself for a fool, he headed toward the screen door, gun in hand. His neighbor was probably going to think he was an idiot for checking on her. But he had to see for himself that she was okay. He shoved the pistol into his waistband at the small of his back. No sense in scaring her with his gun out. After jogging down the porch steps, he strode across the lawn to her house.
The sound of breaking glass made him pause before he reached the bottom step. An angry male voice sounded from inside. Chris whirled around, changing direction. He went to the side of the porch, where he wouldn’t be visible from the front door, then hauled himself up and over the railing. Crouching down, he edged to the first window, then peeked inside.
The layout of the house was basically a one-story version of his own. He’d been in it dozens of times helping out old man Hutchinson before his family moved him to an assisted-living facility. The front door opened into the great room. The kitchen was to the left, through an archway. Both homes had a hallway that ran across the back, with two bedrooms and a bath. The only true difference was the size and the fact that Chris’s home had a staircase hugging the wall on the right.
Boxes were stacked neatly across the left end of his neighbor’s great room. A couch and two chairs sat in a grouping on the right. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall, lean man, his face a mask of anger as he said something to the woman across from him. Pieces of a broken drinking glass scattered the floor. But what captured Chris’s attention the most was what the man was holding in his right hand—a butcher knife.