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Small towns were all alike. Similar talk had lived on in Cotton Grove. Hard for a kid who heard what people said behind his mother’s back.
Pritchard sniffed. “Of course, all that changed when they found her body.”
“Did the motel manager know anything about what happened today?” Dawson asked.
“He saw a guy who matched Everett’s description. Red hair and a scar on his right cheek. Hard to miss. Highway Patrol’s on the lookout for him. I’ll keep you posted.”
Dawson disconnected and pocketed his phone as he returned to the booth.
“That was the police, wasn’t it?” Lillie wrapped her arms defensively across her chest. “Did they find anything at the motel?”
“A photograph of a guy named Billy Everett was tucked in the Bible. Red hair. Scar on his right cheek. Do you know him?”
She shook her head.
“Pritchard thought there had been a scuffle.”
Lillie shrugged. “Granger’s face was bloodied, but I got the impression someone had searched the room.”
She thought for a moment. Her face clouded. “You were there when I arrived.”
Dawson pointed a finger back at his own chest. “You think I messed up the place?”
“You didn’t tell Pritchard about the motel room.” She held his gaze. “Granger had your BOQ phone number in his pocket. You didn’t reveal that either.”
“And you failed to mention the key.”
“Which belongs to me.” Once again, she held out her hand.
Disregarding her request, Dawson stared into her pretty eyes. “Granger knew he had been set up. The case was open and shut, as you mentioned, only because they had a fall guy, a transient construction worker who came to town when he needed money. A guy who didn’t have resources to defend himself.”
“The court appointed an attorney.”
Dawson laughed ruefully. “A lawyer who should have retired years earlier. You probably didn’t follow the local news when you were a kid. Not long after the trial, the lawyer was diagnosed with dementia and was placed in a nursing home where he died a bit too soon thereafter.”
“If you grew up in Cotton Grove, why were you interested in a murder that took place in Freemont?”
Her question caught Dawson off guard. He looked down at his mug, weighing his response. “I planned on making the army a career. My local library carried the Freemont papers as well as information about Fort Rickman.”
Lillie shook her head. “My mother’s death had nothing to do with the military. What aren’t you telling me?”
He ignored her question. “I still don’t understand why Granger would return to Freemont and jeopardize his new-found freedom?”
“He wanted to clear his name, to make good on the past. At least that’s what he told me over the phone. He said he’d made mistakes. He’d abandoned someone and wanted to make it up to him.”
A muscle in Dawson’s neck twitched. “Him?”
“His son.”
Inwardly, Dawson groaned. “A son was never mentioned in the news reports. Maybe Granger was lying to get on your good side.”
“It’s possible.” Her bravado faltered. She rubbed her forehead. “Actually, I don’t know what to believe. I boxed up all the memories of long ago, hoping I could hide the past. Granger’s death forces everything out into the open.”
Maybe Lillie understood how he felt growing up as the kid without a dad. Dawson had put the snippets of gossip together. Some people never forgot the drifter who had left his mother pregnant. No name on his birth certificate meant legally Dawson didn’t have a father. It didn’t mean he didn’t know who his father was.
Just as Lillie had indicated, Granger’s death forced everything into the open. It was time for the truth.
“You said Granger mentioned having a son.” Dawson let out a lungful of pent-up air. “He was talking about me. Granger Ford was my dad.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because I buried the past just like you did.”
“I don’t believe you.” She grabbed her purse and slid from the booth.
He stood and reached for her wrist. “Don’t leave, Lillie.”
She jerked free of his hold. “You used me to get information.”
“I did no such thing.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Throwing it on the table, he turned to find the two truckers glaring at him.
The waitress came around the counter. “Is there a problem?”
“The lady’s not feeling well.”
Dawson hurried after Lillie, but when he stepped outside, all he could see were the taillights of her Honda Civic racing away in the distance.
Climbing behind the wheel of his own car, Dawson pulled out of the lot and backtracked along the winding road. The temperature had warmed somewhat, and a thick fog rose from the wet earth, clouding his view of the roadway.
Lillie said the past had found her. It had found Dawson as well, but the past wasn’t the issue. The present was the problem. For a father who never claimed him as his son, Granger’s death was liable to change Dawson’s life forever—and not for the better.
* * *
Lillie drove too fast along the narrow road, wanting to get away from Dawson Timmons. If not for the key, which he still had, she never would have stopped at the diner.
He had hidden the truth from the Freemont police and from her, pretending he had her best interest at heart. All the while, he was gathering information about his father.
She didn’t understand anything, including her mixed feelings about the determined CID agent whose eyes were rimmed with sorrow. On one hand, she didn’t want to reveal anything to him, then she found herself opening up and saying more than she should.
Coming around the bend, she slowed her speed. Headlights approached, faster than the limit allowed on the twisted back road. She pulled her Honda to the right, hoping to give the speeding vehicle more room.
The glare blinded her for an instant. When her vision cleared, she saw an SUV had crossed the line and was headed straight for her.
Her heart stopped.
She turned the wheel and swerved off the road, narrowly missing a head-on collision.
Her car hit the shoulder and skidded in the wet grass. She lifted her foot from the accelerator and pumped the brakes. Keeping the wheels in line took all her strength.
The engine died, and the Honda rolled to a stop. Heart in her throat, she gasped for air and glanced in her rearview mirror.
A tingle of ice ran down her spine. The SUV that had almost run her off the road had turned around and was racing toward her.
Lord, protect me.
She turned the key in the ignition, relieved when the engine purred back to life, but when she accelerated, the wheels dug into the rain-soft earth. The tires spun over and over again.
“Oh, God, please.”
In a flash of motion, the large sport-utility vehicle passed by and then braked to a stop just ahead of where she was stuck in the mud.
A door slammed.
A figure cut through the fog.
Opening her door, she sprang into the wet night and started to run.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Her heart thumped a warning.
She pushed forward.
Another set of headlights cut through the darkness.
The man behind her swore. He skidded to a halt and ran back to his car.
She flailed her arms, needing to flag down the approaching motorist. The vehicle stopped and someone stepped onto the pavement. A big, burly blond.
Lillie might have made a mistake.
The man who ran her off the road was someone to fear, but the man walking toward her might be as well. How could she trust a man whose father had killed her mother long ago?
FOUR
Dawson saw Lillie spotlighted in the headlights. Fear strained her face. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the fleeing man and then back at Dawson. She hesitated, as if unsure whether to approach him.
“Lillie.” He softened his voice and opened his arms to reassure her. “I’m not a threat. You’re safe with me.”
Her eyes filled with confusion. Then, as if the fog had lifted, she stepped into his embrace.
Her trembling body molded to him. He drew her closer, touched by her need. As strong as she tried to appear, beneath the facade was a woman who longed to trust someone. Hopefully, to trust him.
Her head nestled into his shoulder. Tears streamed from her eyes as if an emotional dam had given way. Dawson drew her to himself, a desire to keep her safe surging within him. The warmth of her closeness and the silky softness of her hair sent confusing signals to his heart.
He had never experienced anything like this dealing with other investigations. Usually he remained uninvolved and in control, but at the moment, his professional side was playing Russian roulette with his emotions.
His eyes watched the light-colored SUV—maybe an Expedition or Suburban—drive off, wheels screeching in the night as the taillights were enveloped by the fog. The license plate was obscured, but he saw a reflective army decal on the rear bumper. As fast as the maniac was driving, Dawson wouldn’t be able to catch up to him, so he kept his arms around Lillie.
“Shhhhh,” he soothed, smelling the heady scent of her perfume, a floral mix that made him think of springtime and sunshine—so the opposite of the dark night and heavy fog that surrounded them now. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Except someone wanted to do her harm. Someone who had gunned down Granger because of what he had uncovered. The killer probably thought the ex-con had passed information on to Lillie, information the killer—or killers—didn’t want revealed.
Anger bubbled up within Dawson. He wanted to slam his fist into the gut of anyone who tried to hurt Lillie. He had to keep her safe, not just because she worked on post and had a very important boss, but because his own father had put her in danger.
She pulled back and turned her puffy but pretty face toward him. “I...I’m sorry. Usually I’m not this emotional.”
“Fear has a way of changing everything, Lillie.” He wanted to reassure her. “You were scared. Once the danger passes, the natural response is to release emotion. Tears can be cathartic.”
She tried to smile as she wiped her eyes.
He dug his right hand in his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, which he held out to her.
“Thanks.” She patted the cloth against her cheeks and sniffed again as she attempted to laugh. “I feel silly.”
“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward her car. “Let’s see if we can get you back on the road. Tell me exactly what happened.”
“The SUV came around the curve too fast. I swerved to avoid a collision.”
“The same guy who chased after you?”
She nodded. “When he made a U-turn, I knew he was coming for me. If...if you hadn’t stopped...”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Both of them realized how vulnerable she had been on the back road in the early-morning hours with the heavy veil of fog closing in around her.
“Did you see his face?”
She shook her head. “All I could think about was getting away.”
Dawson hadn’t recognized the man or his vehicle and would be hard-pressed to provide a description other than a large SUV, either white or beige. He hadn’t been able to read the license plate, and the only thing he had seen was the decal.
Keeping his arm around Lillie, he guided her to a safe spot just a short distance from her Honda. Sliding behind the wheel, Dawson started the ignition and eased down on the accelerator, giving the engine enough gas to move the car forward and free of the trough the wheels had dug earlier.
After steering onto the blacktop, he put the gear in Park and opened the door. “Looks like you’re good to go. What time do you have to be at your office?”
“Eight o’clock, but I’m usually there by seven-thirty.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to change before I head to post.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“I hate to hold you up.”
“Not a problem.”
“Thank you.” She attempted to smile.
“I won’t let you out of my sight.”
The drive to her house was uneventful, and soon both cars were parked in her driveway. Ignoring the front entrance, still draped with crime-scene tape, they walked around the house and entered through the kitchen.
Lillie made a pot of coffee, which Dawson sipped as he looked around her living area. The house was nicely furnished with a contemporary couch and love seat and a mix of antique wooden pieces, including an oak sideboard and carved bookshelves.
The inlaid wood and the fine lines of the detailed ornamentation verified the pieces were works of art, which Dawson admired. Ironic that, since Lillie didn’t have a family history of her own, she decorated with treasures from someone else’s past.
Side tables topped with marble—exquisite rock that added beauty to the room—sat on each side of the couch. A few knickknacks were scattered about, and two framed photographs rested atop the mantel. One showed a beautiful woman with a small child in her arms.
Glancing closer, Dawson recognized Lillie’s sweet face and curly honey-brown hair. The other picture was of an older couple. An adolescent Lillie stood with her arms around both of them. Probably the McKinneys, the foster parents with the big hearts and willingness to open their home to a small child who had no one.
Dawson instantly knew he liked both of them. His gaze returned to the other photo. Although the picture had faded, he could see the resemblance between Lillie and the woman holding her, no doubt Irene Beaumont.
Had his father killed her? Dawson’s gut tightened. Turning away from the mantel, he headed for the kitchen and refilled his mug.
Outside, the fog had lifted, and as he sipped the coffee, the sun colored the horizon.
“I need to apologize for my actions at the diner.”
Dawson turned at the sound of Lillie’s voice. She had combed her hair and changed into a stylish dress that hugged her curves and made his breath jam in his throat.
“I...I was only thinking of myself and my job and what’s happening at Fort Rickman.” Her pretty eyes were filled with compassion. “Your father died this morning. I’m...I’m sorry.”
He placed his mug in the sink. “I never knew him. Never talked to him until he called a few nights ago. He...he wanted to meet.”
Dawson pulled in a breath. “My father had rejected me all my life, so I rejected him. Only now—” He shrugged, unable to find the words to express the way he felt.
She took a step closer. “Granger wanted to make it up to you. He didn’t want his son to be ashamed of him.”
Since the trial, Dawson had blocked his father out of his life. He hadn’t talked about him or acknowledged him or allowed him into his heart. It was easier to deny him than to accept who his father had been—a convict, a criminal, a killer.
“I went into law enforcement to right the wrongs my father had committed. Now I find out he may not have been the man I thought he was. That’s hard to get my mind around.”
Dawson glanced out the window, wondering what the new day would bring. If he had made a mistake about his father, maybe there were other things he needed to reconsider, but he couldn’t share his feelings with Lillie. Not now. Not when they were involved in a murder investigation. Even if the victim was his dad.
* * *
As Lillie watched the confusion play over Dawson’s face, the memories from her own childhood bubbled up within her. “After my mother disappeared, I cried myself to sleep night after night. More than anything, I wanted a normal life, someone to love me, to tuck me in when I went to bed and help me get dressed in the morning.”
She pulled in a fragile breath. “I was fortunate the McKinneys took me in. They were patient and loving, but at four years old, I wanted my own mother to wrap me in her arms.”
With a rueful smile, she added, “Sometimes I think I never stopped mourning her loss, and as much as I wanted to block out everything that had happened, I feared the McKinneys would be taken from me as well.”
Understanding mellowed Dawson’s gaze and made her question why she told him things she had never told anyone else. She reached for her purse, trying to shield herself from what she saw in Dawson’s eyes.
“I can’t be late for work.”
He grabbed her hand. “Lillie.”
She stopped and looked up, her breath stalled by his closeness.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She tried to smile. “Life can be a tough place for kids, but I...I shouldn’t have mentioned my own problems, Dawson. You have enough of your own.”
“You don’t have to hide anything from me.” His voice was gentle, like the morning mist.
As much as she wanted to believe him, she had spent her whole life covering up the pain of being a child left behind. She couldn’t admit the way she really felt to anyone. Especially not to a man whose crystal-blue eyes could see into her heart.
She dug her keys out of her purse and tilted her head, trying to lighten her tone and her expression. “I don’t want to keep General Cameron waiting.”
Dawson nodded and followed her outside. “You lead. I’ll take up the rear.”
“Once we get to post, I’ll be fine.”
He opened her car door. “I’ll follow you to your office.”
She climbed behind the wheel. He closed the door and gazed through the car window. “Lock your doors,” he mouthed.
So like a cop, but she complied with his request, feeling oddly relieved that someone was concerned about her well-being. Dawson was probably just doing his job. No reason for her to jump to any other conclusion, which she continued to tell herself as they entered Fort Rickman and drove toward post headquarters.
Lillie parked close to the building and met up with him on the sidewalk. “Thank you.”
His hand touched her back. “I’ll follow you inside.”
Her cheeks flushed as they hurried along the walkway and climbed the steps. Dawson held the door for her, and her heels clicked along the tile floor.
She stopped in front of the elevator.
“Let’s take the stairs,” he suggested.
The elevator door opened and she stepped inside. “This will be faster.”
He hesitated before joining her. As the door closed, Lillie could tell something was wrong. Dawson’s face paled. He licked his lips and clenched his fist until the doors opened on the second floor.
She stepped onto the landing. “I take it you don’t like elevators.”
“Actually, the problem is confined spaces.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” She pointed him toward the general’s suite, located at the far end of the hallway.
Dawson studied the long corridor, probably assessing her safety. Leaving him to do his job, she entered the office and nodded to the general’s aide.
“Morning, Mark.”
Medium height with broad shoulders and a military haircut, Captain Mark Banks stood near her desk, holding a phone to his ear. Hopefully he hadn’t retrieved the message concerning Dawson.
“I was worried, Lillie.” He held her gaze longer than necessary.
As much as the aide wanted to be part of her life, Lillie had rejected his advances. She didn’t need a relationship with someone with whom she shared an office or worked with on a daily basis.
“The CID called.” His brow creased with concern. “They said you were involved in a shooting.”
Dawson had evidently completed his hallway security check because, at that moment, he entered the outer office and glanced from Lillie to the general’s aide.
Mark squared his shoulders. “You’re from the CID?”
“That’s right. Special Agent Dawson Timmons.” He flashed his identification.
“Lillie’s not in trouble, is she?” the aide asked.
“Of course not.” She let out a frustrated sigh. Suddenly her life had gotten complicated. “A man was shot. He died. No one knows why he chose my front porch.”
As if doubting her overly simplistic explanation, the aide puffed out his chest. “Surely Mr. Timmons has some idea of what happened.”
Ignoring the aide’s sarcasm, Dawson nodded. “We’re working with the Freemont police. At this point, nothing significant has come to light.”
Lillie had hoped coming to work today would ease her anxiety. Standing between two men playing a game of one-upmanship made her wish she had called in sick.
The best way to rectify the situation was to send Dawson on his way. “Thank you, Agent Timmons, for all your help. I’ll be fine from now on.”
He glanced at his watch. “I want to update General Cameron on what happened. I’ll stick around until he arrives.”
Mark raised his brow. “I thought you didn’t have additional information?”
What was it about men? They were always in competition.
Edging away from Mark, she rounded her desk and dropped her purse in the bottom drawer. “The general’s tied up this morning, Dawson, but I can pencil you in later.”
At that moment, the outer door opened and General Cameron stepped into the office. Mark and Dawson came to attention.
Lillie smiled. “Good morning, sir.”
In his early fifties with a square face and receding hairline, the general nodded to the two men and then softened his stern expression as he turned to Lillie. “The staff duty officer called me at home and told me there had been a shooting at your house. You’re all right?”
“I was never in danger, besides...” She extended her hand toward Dawson. “Special Agent Timmons arrived shortly after the shooting. He followed me to post to ensure I arrived safely.”
The general extended his hand. “Thank you for helping Lillie.”
Dawson accepted the handshake. “The Freemont police are handling the investigation, sir. I’ll be working with them.”
“Any leads?”
“Not at this time.”
“Keep me abreast of the situation.”
“Will do, sir.”
The general nodded to his aide. “Morning, Mark.” He then headed through another door that led to his inner office suite.
Lillie pulled out her desk chair. Before she sat down, the outer door opened again, and Karl Nelson hustled into the office. Forty-something and slightly out of breath, the head of Nelson Construction smacked of small-town wealth in his hand-tailored suit, starched white shirt and red tie.
“I’m early for my appointment with the general, Lillie.” Five-ten and wearing twenty extra pounds, Karl approached her desk. “I heard about the shooting. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Nelson, but I wish I could say the same for Granger Ford.”
Karl harrumphed. “The man was a murderer. He never should have been released from prison. In my opinion, he received his due.”
Dawson flinched. “I beg to differ, sir.”
Lillie’s stomach tightened. If only Dawson could shrug off the comment and not let the contractor get under his skin.
“What’s that?” Karl turned, as if only now realizing the CID agent was in the room.
“Granger Ford was recently released from prison, Mr. Nelson, because of new DNA testing that proved the trial was a mockery of justice.”
So much for hoping everyone would get along. Glancing from Dawson to Nelson, Lillie felt like a drop of water on a hot iron.
Dawson pointed his finger at the contractor. “People in this town stood by and allowed an innocent man to go to jail.”
Nelson’s eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, the door to the inner office suite opened.
General Cameron stood in the doorway, his hand outstretched. “Glad you stopped by early, Karl. We’ll have more time to go over the plans for the new museum.”
The construction company owner shrugged off his displeasure with Dawson, returned the handshake and followed the general into his inner office.
Once the door closed behind them, Lillie looked at Dawson, willing him to understand she needed to get to work. “You’d better go.”
Digging in his pocket, he pulled out Granger’s key and dropped it into her hand. “I’ll stop by later this afternoon and follow you home after work.”