Someone wants her family secrets buried

He’s her only chance to survive

Andrea Wheaton thought her parents’ tragic deaths were accidental—until she’s attacked during a burglary at their home. Now she’s also being targeted. Her ex-sweetheart Sheriff Deputy Bryce Caldwell insists on protecting her, though she refuses to trust him again. But with a killer closing in, can she and Bryce uncover her family’s secrets before it’s too late for them both?

CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense stories and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking and camping—almost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.

Also By Carol J. Post

Love Inspired Suspense

Midnight Shadows

Motive for Murder

Out for Justice

Shattered Haven

Hidden Identity

Mistletoe Justice

Buried Memories

Reunited by Danger

Fatal Recall

Lethal Legacy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Lethal Legacy

Carol J. Post

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08598-4

LETHAL LEGACY

© 2018 Carol J. Post

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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The lights in Andi’s house went out, leaving only the glow of the fire.

Bryce reached for Andi, tension spiking through him. “Stay here.”

He pulled his flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on. There were no storms in the area. He’d stepped from his car under a clear sky, an almost half-moon casting its soft glow over the landscape. No reason for the power to go out.

“What happened?” Andi’s voice was paper-thin, with an underlying quiver.

“I’m going to look out and see if there’s light in my direction.”

Bryce darted down the hall to the master bedroom. When he swept aside the curtains, his uneasiness ratcheted up several notches. A soft glow shone through the trees: his own porch light. His power was on.

So what happened to Andi’s?

Out front, glass shattered, followed by an almost simultaneous scream. He dropped the curtains into place and ran from the room, panic pounding at his heels. At the end of the hall, flames engulfed the love seat that separated the living room from the dining area.

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed returning to Murphy, North Carolina. A number of years ago, while visiting the area, my husband and I went in with four other family members and bought a dilapidated old cabin on twelve acres. While at the building supply store, we told them about our project, and the guy asked if we knew about the gold. We talked to some people, one of whom was a retired geologist who lived across the street at the time. Sure enough, turns out thar’s gold in them thar hills! We found where mining had happened at one end of the property and also on the geologist’s land. There’s still gold, but it’s about one thousand feet down, buried in a vein of quartz.

I hope you’ve enjoyed Bryce and Andrea’s story. I love reunion stories, and this one was a lot of fun to write. Both Andrea and Bryce had acquired a lot of baggage over the years and had to work hard to learn to trust again.

I hope you’ll come back in December to reconnect with some of your favorite Murphy residents in the third and final book in the series.

Love in Christ,

Carol J. Post

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed;

for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee;

yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee

with the right hand of my righteousness.

—Isaiah 41:10

Writing is a solitary activity,

but a lot of support goes into writing

and publishing a book. A huge thank-you to my “team”:

My sister, Kim Wolff,

for all your help with my Murphy research.

The rest of my family for your unending encouragement.

My critique partners, Karen Fleming and Sabrina Jarema, for making my stories the best they can be.

My beta reader/proofreader, Martha “Mom” Post,

for catching the things the rest of us miss.

My amazing editor, Dina Davis,

and lovely agent, Nalini Akolekar, for all your hard work.

And my wonderful husband, Chris,

for thirty-seven amazing years.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Trees lined both sides of the gravel drive. Their half-bare limbs framed the old house at its end and lent a spooky edge to the air of abandonment that hung over the property. A branch dangled from an oak, curled leaves barely visible against the moonlit sky.

Andrea Wheaton slowed her Escalade to a crawl. It didn’t help. The long screech against the roof set her teeth on edge and sent a shiver down her spine.

At the end of the drive, she released a sigh as childhood memories bombarded her. The old Wheaton place projected a rustic hominess that had always called to her. It didn’t hold a candle to their place in Atlanta, with its soaring columns and manicured grounds, but she’d always loved it. It had represented freedom, the one place she could let down her guard and simply be Andi.

Now it was hers. Six days later, and she was still reeling from the news.

She retrieved her small suitcase from the back seat and carried it to a porch covered with a three-inch-deep blanket of dead leaves. A swing hung from one end, and two Adirondack rockers sat side by side in the center. Judging from the layer of debris on each, neither the swing nor the rockers had been used for some time.

She laid the bag down and then pulled a wooden key chain from her purse. It was cut into the shape of North Carolina, the word Murphy burned onto its face. For twelve years, the key had lain in the bottom of her jewelry box, untouched. Partly because she’d been busy, first with college, and then with marriage and job responsibilities. Partly because she’d wanted to avoid the neighbors on both sides.

One she’d never cared for. The other she’d cared for too much.

When she slid the key into the lock, it turned without resistance. She frowned. Had her father forgotten to lock the dead bolt? A quick check of the doorknob told her it was unlocked, too.

A wave of uneasiness swept over her, and she shook it off. This wasn’t the city. This was Murphy, North Carolina, where neighbors helped one another out and it wasn’t uncommon to see a car parked in front of the Daily Grind downtown, keys still in the ignition.

She opened the door and swiped the double switch inside. Light flooded the porch and living room. When she stepped over the threshold, a sense of grief cut a wide swath through her heart. This had been her and her father’s retreat, the opportunity for them to escape the incessant demands of her mother.

Less than a week ago, she’d been sitting at the huge table in her aunt and uncle’s lodge near Asheville, enjoying turkey dinner, her parents across from her. Now they were gone. After leaving the lodge, they’d apparently taken a curve too fast and plunged down an embankment to their deaths. Driving fast wasn’t in her dad’s nature. Neither was carelessness.

But neither was moodiness. Or brooding. Or several other behaviors she’d seen over the past months. Lately, her fun-loving father had become someone else entirely.

Something had been bothering him. Now she’d never know what.

After locking the door, she lowered her carry-on and extended the handle. The wheels rumbled against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the first bedroom. It had always been hers. When her grandparents were alive, the second one had been her dad’s. He’d long since taken the master bedroom and reallocated the middle one as an office.

She laid the bag on her bed and transferred the contents to the chest of drawers. She hadn’t brought much. The purpose of the trip was to scout out the place, see how much it had deteriorated over the past twelve years and decide what to do with it.

The decision about the Atlanta place was a no-brainer. As marketing director for a large sporting goods manufacturer, she spent more hours at work than at home. Her two-bedroom condo was plenty of house for her. She’d already contacted a Realtor, and her parents’ seven-thousand-square-foot spread was going on the market next week.

This one was harder to let go. It had been in her dad’s family for three generations. Four, if she counted her own.

After shutting the last drawer, she picked up her toiletry case and headed for the bathroom. As she stepped into the hall, something moved in her peripheral vision. She snapped her gaze in that direction.

A huge man barreled toward her. Except for two eyeholes, a knit mask hid his face. He slammed into her, knocking her hard against the wall. Her head hit the doorjamb. Pain shot through her temple and stars exploded across her vision.

Another figure ran past, this one much smaller. As retreating footsteps grew softer, blackness encroached. She gripped the jamb, willing herself to remain conscious, but strength drained from her limbs. She slid to the floor, landing on her hands and knees.

The front door creaked open but didn’t slam shut. They’d left it ajar. She needed to secure the house. And she needed to call the police. The front door seemed miles away. The bedroom was just across the hall, and her purse was on the bed. If she could crawl there...

She moved her right knee forward, followed by her right hand. The darkness spread, seeping in from all sides. The walls tipped ninety degrees, and the cold floor met her right side.

She lifted one lead-filled arm, trying to grasp the last threads of consciousness.

Her hand fell.

And even that small circle of light faded and disappeared.

* * *

Bryce Caldwell flipped on the cruiser’s right signal and made his turn onto Ranger Road. As he accelerated up the steep incline, his headlights spilled over the tombstones dotting the landscape. The street cut right through Ranger United Methodist’s cemetery.

He rounded a series of curves, following Ranger as it snaked its way upward. His gaze shifted left, the same as it always did. Since night had fallen some time ago, there was nothing to see. But that didn’t stop him from looking. He’d been doing it as long as he could remember.

Many years ago, his reasons had been romantic. Now they were entirely practical. His neighbor spent most of his time in Atlanta and had asked him to keep an eye on the place.

Bryce tapped the brakes. Lights were on at the old house, and a vehicle was parked out front. There wasn’t enough light to identify the make, but it was too large to be Dennis Wheaton’s Mercedes.

He pulled into his own driveway a couple hundred yards down. As he approached his house, a black face nudged aside the vertical blinds hanging at the living room window. Cooper greeted him with a single bark. The dog would have to wait a few minutes longer. Since lights were on next door, the visitor was likely there with Wheaton’s knowledge and permission. But it would take only a few minutes to check.

He turned around and retraced his route. As he crept up the drive next door, his jaw tightened. The front door was wide-open, and no one was outside. He stopped behind the vehicle, a newer Cadillac Escalade, and stepped from the cruiser.

“Hello?”

Silence met his call. He moved past the SUV, and a chilly gust swept through, sending the leaves at his feet into a frantic dance. When he stepped onto the porch, he called again. Still silence. Who would leave the front door open and not be somewhere nearby?

“Hello?” Now he was at the doorway, half in and half out. “Anybody home?”

A moan came from the hallway. His senses shot to full alert, and he drew his weapon. When he stepped into the hall, a woman was working her way onto her hands and knees. Strawberry blond hair had fallen forward to hide her face.

He rushed toward her, still scanning the area. He wasn’t about to let down his guard.

“Are you alone?”

She lifted her head. Blue eyes met his, sending a jolt all the way to his toes. Andi. Years fell away, each one a punch to his gut. She’d left just before he started college, after he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. And she’d managed to stay away for twelve long years.

Her gaze slid from his face, down his uniform and back up again. Instead of recognition, her eyes held confusion. “Did I call? I didn’t think I...” She sat back, one leg curled beneath her, the other in front. “I tried, but...” She fell silent, shaking her head.

He knelt in front of her. “Tell me what happened.”

“Someone was inside, knocked me into the doorjamb.” She pressed a palm to her left temple. “I hit my head.”

Her assailant must have run out the front, leaving the door wide-open. Bryce slid his pistol back into its holster. “He’s probably gone, but we need to call it in.”

The furrows between her brows deepened. “Who are you?”

Bryce Caldwell. It was right on the tip of his tongue. But considering how they’d parted, he’d better save specifics for later. “I’m with Cherokee County, but I’m not on duty. I just happened to be driving by. We’ll get this reported officially. Then you need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

“I’m fine.” She gripped the bedroom doorjamb and pulled herself to her feet. Even holding on, she swayed. If she thought standing would convince him she didn’t need medical attention, she was sadly mistaken.

“You probably have a concussion. You need to be seen.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got too much to do to spend several hours in a hospital emergency room.”

He frowned. If she let go of that wall, she’d be flat on her face. But it was no use arguing. She’d developed a stubborn streak that hadn’t been there before.

“Let me at least get you to the couch. You need to sit before you fall down.”

When she took the hand he offered, he led her into the living room, where the sofa, love seat and recliner formed a U-shape around a stone fireplace. He and Andi had spent countless winter weekends sitting on that hearth, roasting s’mores.

After he’d seated her on the love seat, he pulled out his phone. One bar. He wasn’t surprised. He always lost service at the bridge shortly before turning onto Ranger, and then didn’t pick it up again until somewhere between the Wheaton property and his own.

Without touching the open door, he stepped onto the porch for a clearer signal. When he introduced himself to the dispatcher, he smiled at the sharp intake of air behind him.

He wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him. Even if she hadn’t conked her head, it wouldn’t have been easy. Through his teen years, he’d been tall and lanky and had worn his hair on the long side. Now it could almost be classified as a buzz cut. Though he was still six-two, he’d packed on fifty pounds of muscle since his teenage years.

Once finished with dispatch, he sat on the couch opposite her. “Do you know who accosted you?”

“No. They were both wearing ski masks.”

“Both?”

“After the larger guy hit me, another one ran out behind him.”

He nodded. The confusion she’d displayed earlier had left, and stiffness had settled in, leaving the air thick with tension. Maybe she’d stay long enough for him to try to rebuild some bridges. Probably not. He didn’t even know why she’d come. But it wasn’t important. There were more pressing matters.

Bryce glanced around the room. “Any idea what they were after?”

Nothing appeared disturbed. Of course, the house had never held the usual items that attracted thieves. Other than a telescope that had been top-of-the-line twenty years ago, there wasn’t any equipment, electronic or otherwise. As far as he knew, the Wheatons had never had TVs or computers.

That wasn’t why they came to Murphy. Weekends here were for family time, outdoor activities, hanging with friends. Usually it was just Andi and her dad. Bryce had met Andi’s mother twice and hadn’t been impressed either time. She’d seemed cold and hard. And quite haughty.

Fortunately, Andi took after her father.

She shrugged. “Probably the usual things. Cash, jewelry, anything that can be pawned quickly. Empty houses make easy targets.”

She pushed herself to her feet. When he hurried to help her, she waved away his hand. She seemed steadier than when she’d let him lead her into the room. She also knew who he was.

She moved away from him, arms extended for balance. “I think I walked in on them before they got very far. Nothing’s disturbed here or in my room. I haven’t checked the others.”

He followed her down the hall. “Your dad didn’t come with you?”

The glance she cast over her shoulder was brief, but the pain on her face shot straight to his heart.

“My dad—”

Her words ended in a gasp. She’d stopped at an open doorway and stood staring into the room, mouth agape.

“What is it?” He rushed up next to her and stifled his own gasp.

It was Dennis Wheaton’s office. Someone had trashed it.

Every book had been pulled from the shelves. The empty bookcase lay on top. Desk drawers added to the mess, their contents strewn about, the drawers themselves upside down on the mound. The telescope that had occupied the corner of the room lay on its side. The closet had been ransacked, too. Years’ worth of Christmas decorations lay in a heap, the empty boxes tossed aside.

Andi slumped against the doorjamb, and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. Twelve years ago, she’d have appreciated it. Not now.

“This was uncalled for.” She swept one arm toward the mess. “They obviously weren’t happy to find nothing more valuable than an old telescope.”

Bryce frowned. She was probably right. What house in the twenty-first century didn’t have an array of televisions, laptops, iPads and game consoles?

He looked around the office and shook his head. Hobby room would have been a more appropriate name. The space had never held Dennis’s accounting, financial-planning or business books. Instead, the items that littered the floor bore titles such as Astronomy 101, The Elegant Universe and Earth, Space and Beyond, along with numerous art-related books.

Art had been Andi’s passion, astronomy all of theirs. Many nights, her dad had set up the telescope on the back deck, and the three of them had studied the sky. Stargazing had been one of many activities he’d shared with Dennis Wheaton. Andi’s dad was the father he’d never had.

Well, he had a father. Bryce just hadn’t seen him often enough for it to count. On those rare occasions when the old man did pop in, the visits had done more harm than good. If it weren’t for Dennis Wheaton’s influence, Bryce’s life would have taken a different turn.

“I need to call your dad.”

She looked at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You can’t. He was killed in a car accident on Thanksgiving Day.”

His breath whooshed out and he slumped against the wall. A sense of emptiness swept through him, as cold and dark as space itself. “How?”

“I don’t know. He missed a curve and drove off a cliff.”

Bryce slid down the wall until he came to a seated position against it. Dennis Wheaton was gone. He couldn’t be. This had to be a bad dream.

But it was real, just like the woman standing in front of him, looking as broken as he felt.

He shook his head. “That’s why he didn’t come.”

“What?”

Sirens sounded in the distance. The police would be there shortly. He crossed his arms, trying to stave off a sudden chill.

“Your dad was here the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving. The next day, he called and said he wanted to meet with me that weekend. When he didn’t show up, I figured he’d gotten busy.”

Andi righted the desk chair and lowered herself into it. “Did he say why he wanted to meet?”

“Just that he wanted to talk with me. He sounded like a man ready to unload a heavy burden. I asked him if everything was okay. He said, ‘It will be soon.’”

Her eyebrows lifted and her jaw dropped as the color drained from her face.

“Andi?” He rose to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Living with my mother wasn’t easy, but he always seemed to not let her criticism bother him. For the past few months, though, things were different.”

“Different how?”

“Something had been weighing him down. He seemed preoccupied, even depressed. I tried to talk to him, but he kept denying anything was wrong.” She crossed her arms over her stomach. “The signs were there, and I didn’t recognize them.”

“What signs? What are you talking about?”

“Depression, withdrawal. Losing interest in activities he’d always enjoyed, like coming up here.” She lifted her head, and her gaze locked with his. “The comment he made to you—that everything was going to be okay soon. It’s all clear now. I should have seen it.”

Now he knew where her thoughts had gone. And how much sense they made. Maybe Dennis had called him to talk about his struggles, guy-to-guy, not wanting to unload on Andi, then hadn’t been able to hold out any longer. Or maybe he’d gotten involved in something he regretted and wanted to clear his conscience but hadn’t had what it took to face the consequences.

No, not Dennis. He had too much integrity. And he loved life too much.

Andi’s brows drew together, and her eyes filled with pain. “When I add it all together, I’m afraid my dad drove off that mountain intentionally. And he took my mother with him.”

TWO

Andrea tipped back her head and stared into the endless expanse. Stars were strewn across the sky from horizon to horizon, like rhinestones against black velvet. She tightened her hands around the steaming mug of herbal tea, soaking in the heat.

She’d gotten enough accomplished today to feel good about sitting on the back deck and doing nothing. She’d given the place a deep cleaning and put everything back in its proper place. Then she’d made a list of repairs to be done, whether she sold the house or kept it. Most important, she’d had a handyman replace the broken pane in the living room window. It was how the assailants had gained access. Though the missing piece of glass was obvious in the daylight, she hadn’t noticed it last night.

She’d hoped her cleaning would uncover some clue about what had been going on in her dad’s life. The only thing she’d found raised more questions than it answered. It was a simple two-line poem, scrawled on a sheet of yellow paper torn from a legal pad—“When a secret is too heavy to keep, it’s always best to bury it deep.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was the secret what he’d wanted to talk to Bryce about? Was the weight of what he’d carried so heavy he’d felt he had no way out?

She sipped the tea, relishing the heat as it traveled down her throat. The temperature had dipped as soon as the sun went down. But there was something soothing about sitting under the stars, holding the hot cup, with peaceful silence all around her.

There was a party going on right next door. Bryce and his two best friends had had a cookout and were now watching a movie. He’d invited her, even assured her she wouldn’t be the only woman. One of his friends was married, the other engaged. She’d passed.

When he’d told the dispatcher his name last night, she’d almost fallen off the couch. She’d known if she spent much time at the Murphy place, she’d eventually run into him. But she hadn’t thought it would be so soon. And she hadn’t planned to greet him in a fog, on her hands and knees.

And she hadn’t expected him to look like he did, all buff and mature. Though common sense told her he would’ve changed, she’d somehow held on to the image of the smiling teenager she’d fallen in love with at age fourteen.

Last night, he hadn’t been smiling. And he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He’d radiated confidence, maturity and a sense of power that was mesmerizing, standing above her, a pistol at his hip.

What was it about a man in uniform that women found so irresistible? Whatever it was, Bryce definitely did the Cherokee County garb justice.

Andrea swallowed the last of her tea and held the empty cup, drawing the heat from the porcelain. A wind gust swept along the back of the house, and a shiver shook her shoulders.

She stood to go back inside, then hesitated. Had she seen a glow deep in her woods? She waited for several more moments.

There, near the left-hand edge of her property. Or maybe it was coming from the Langman place and wasn’t even in her woods.

The glow moved rightward in an erratic path, as if someone was walking with a flashlight. Whoever was prowling the woods was definitely on her property now. Was it the men who’d been in the house last night, coming back to finish their search?

She pulled her phone from her rear pocket and stared at the screen. If she called the police, it would take a unit twenty minutes to arrive. If the prowler was still there, he’d take off as soon as he heard sirens.

There was another option. Bryce had said to call if she needed anything. He was right next door. And he was law enforcement. Based on what he’d told her, so was one of his friends. They could be there in less than a minute, both armed.

She went back in to retrieve the business card Bryce had left on the rolltop desk and punched the number into her phone. The decision was a no-brainer. Looked like she was going to meet Bryce’s friend after all. If she had cell service.

Though the phone showed one bar, the call wouldn’t connect. She returned to the deck and squinted into the woods. The light was still there. When she checked the phone, the screen showed “dialing.”

“Come on, connect already.”

She moved across the back of the house toward Bryce’s property. If the signal didn’t get strong enough soon, she might as well go knock on his door.

She’d just reached the corner of her house when she heard the first ring. Bryce answered two rings later. There was no background noise on his end of the line. He’d either paused the movie or left the room. She told him the reason for her call. His next words were obviously not for her.

“Grab your weapon. The neighbor I told you about has another prowler.”

The neighbor I told you about? What did he tell them?

Probably that someone had broken into the house next door. Even if he’d said more, what did it matter? Tomorrow she was heading back to Atlanta to be ready for Saturday’s funeral. She had no intention of hanging out with Bryce and his friends, even if she kept the place and used it as an occasional retreat.

She disconnected the call, then made her way to the back door. She’d stay locked inside until Bryce and his friend arrived.

When she swung the screen door open, the outer edge dropped a half inch. The hinges needed longer screws. Something else that would have to be done.

The property wasn’t in total disrepair, but since her dad had inherited the place, he’d done the bare minimum to keep it from crumbling to the ground. That was easier than listening to her mother carry on about how he was spending their hard-earned money on something he should have unloaded long ago.

Andrea frowned. Their hard-earned money was a misnomer, since her mother hadn’t done the actual earning. With a father who was a senior partner in a huge personal-injury law firm, Margaret Cunningham-Wheaton had grown up spending money without having to worry about where it came from. And her family had made sure she could continue the habit. Going to college and falling in love with an accounting major hadn’t been in anybody’s plans.

Andrea paced the floor while she waited. Her one-minute estimate was overly optimistic. One minute stretched into two, then three and eventually ten. What were they doing, waiting till the movie was over?

When someone finally knocked on the back door, she flipped the exterior light on and looked out the dining room window. Instead of two men on her deck, three were lined up side by side. She swung open the door.

Bryce and a man she didn’t know kept a tight grip on the one in the center. Although she hadn’t recognized Bryce, Matt Langman, her other neighbor, was easily identifiable.

His face had aged, more than it should have in the past twelve years. He’d lived a rough life. According to her father, he spent half his time in jail and the other half hatching up new ways to get into trouble. There was likely plenty of drug use involved, too.

But a lot hadn’t changed. He still wore his hair in the same shaggy style and maintained that signature air of indifference. The cockiness hadn’t lessened one iota. He was too thin to be the one who’d slammed her into the doorjamb. But the accomplice could have been Matt. Their sizes were similar.

“What are you doing on my property?”

“Being held against my will by your boyfriend and his goon.” His eyes narrowed in the same malicious glare he’d always given her.

She crossed her arms. She’d never done anything to him, had hardly spoken to him over the years. But he’d always hated her. He despised her for her privileged upbringing and the fact that Bryce’s relationship with her and her father had ended his friendship with Matt.

But the bad blood went back further than that. Three generations, actually. Their great-grandfathers had been in business together and ended up with some irresolvable differences. Her great-grandfather had bought Matt’s out at a price the Wheaton clan insisted was generous and the Langman clan swore was highway robbery. The Langmans were still holding a grudge.

“What were you doing on my property?”

He tried to jerk away, but Bryce and his friend tightened their hold. “Going for a walk.”

“At nine thirty at night?”

He lifted his chin. “Cherokee County doesn’t have a curfew.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re trespassing.”

“Not if there aren’t any signs.”

Maybe he had her there. Before heading back to Atlanta, she’d stop by Tractor Supply and pick up a couple, along with a handheld staple gun. “I’ll have that remedied tomorrow.” Whatever Matt’s reasons, he was up to no good. “In the meantime, I’m giving you verbal warning. Stay off my property, or I’ll have you arrested.”

“It’s not yours. It’s your dad’s.”

“Since my dad’s dead, it’s mine.”

For a brief moment, the cockiness fell away and his eyes widened. “Are you going to live here?”

“I haven’t decided what I’m doing with the place yet.”

His lips curled back in a sneer. “You need to take that snooty car of yours and go back to your fancy place in Atlanta. You don’t belong here.”

Fire sparked inside and spread. Before she could formulate a response, Bryce gave him a shake.

“That’s not for you to decide. You heard what Andi said. If you step foot on this property again, I’ll arrest you myself.”

Matt opened his mouth but then apparently thought better of it. Instead, he shook off the hands that held him and sauntered toward the trees separating their two properties.

Before leaving the circle of light emanating from the deck, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Even with the shadows, the hatred Andrea saw there sent a chill down her spine.

When listing the pros and cons of keeping the property, Matt definitely belonged on the con side. She wasn’t about to let him push her around. But having to deal with an antagonistic neighbor needed to be a consideration in her decision. Especially when her safety was at stake.

As for Bryce, she hadn’t decided whether his presence was a pro or a con.

* * *

“Stay.”

Bryce extended his arm, palm angled toward Cooper. “You can’t go with me this time.”

He moved down the porch steps, leaving behind a pouting dog, then headed across the yard under a steel-gray sky. A cold front was moving their direction. It probably wouldn’t bring snow. Murphy saw snow only a handful of times each year. November was a little early.

Today Andrea was returning to Atlanta. She’d finished the funeral arrangements before coming to Murphy but still had a lot of paperwork to get through in the Wheatons’ Atlanta house.

Tomorrow he’d make the two-hour drive himself. No way was he going to pass up the opportunity to pay his final respects to the man who’d made more difference in his life than anyone else on the planet.

He stepped onto the trail that separated his property from Andi’s. He’d see if Andi needed help with anything before she headed out. After the funeral tomorrow, he had no idea when he’d see her again. If ever.

Disappointment settled over him. Two days hadn’t been enough time to iron out everything that was wrong between them. He wasn’t sure what changes he’d expected in so short a time, but they hadn’t happened.

When he reached her yard, movement drew his attention to the right. He looked that way as Andi disappeared into the woods. Where was she going?

He jogged along the side of her house and to the back. The small yard sloped down toward woods that stretched all the way to a creek at the rear edge of the ten acres. Ahead, patches of red flashed between almost bare trees. He followed, now knowing her destination.

When he reached her, she stood outside a small circular stone wall. Four posts held up a weathered roof. The crank that had at one time wound the rope to raise the bucket had frozen up years ago. He’d been there with her before. Many times.

She glanced over one shoulder before turning back to stare into the dark depths. “This was one of his favorite places.” Her tone held wistfulness. “He used to say that most wells collect wishes, but this one collects burdens. Anytime something was bothering me, we would pretend to ball it up and throw it into the well.”

The sadness radiating from her was almost palpable. But there was something else, too. She seemed tormented in more than a grieving sense. Her turmoil wove a path straight to his heart.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she tensed. He dropped his arm. Would he ever be able to offer comfort as a friend and have her accept it?

“I’m sorry.” So much more than two words could convey. He was sorry for the way her life had been turned upside down, sorry for the grief she felt and sorry that he’d killed any chance of a friendship with one stupid decision.

And friendship was all he hoped for. Dennis had told him about Andi’s divorce, but other than a brief reference to her husband cheating on her, he hadn’t given any details. All Bryce knew was she’d taken it hard. And she had walls around her heart a mile thick.

Dennis hadn’t had to tell him the last part. He’d felt them for the past two days. And he didn’t have what it took to break them down. A few months ago, maybe. Before he’d expended every bit of emotional energy he had on a relationship, only to have it crash and burn in the end.

A rain-scented gust whipped through, sending a shower of dried leaves down around them. Andi turned away from the well. “If I want to make my trip on dry roads, I’d better get going.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m already loaded and locked up. I just wanted to come out here before I left.”

He fell into step beside her. “Any idea when you’ll be back?”

“Not for a while.”

They crossed the small yard, then continued along the side of the house. A piece of fascia on the gable end had worked its way loose, and the wood siding needed a fresh finish. If Andi wanted to sell the place, she’d need to have some work done. Or maybe she’d keep it as a weekend getaway.

Not likely. If she’d “gotten away” anytime over the past twelve years, it hadn’t been to Murphy.

He stopped in the driveway to stand next to the Escalade. “Until you decide whether to sell, I’m happy to continue keeping an eye on things. I’m sure it’ll take time to settle the estate.”

“Settling the estate will be the easy part.” She leaned against the SUV, her brows dipping to form creases above her nose. “My dad added me to all their assets just two months ago. I didn’t question it at the time. He’s always been a planner. My parents have had wills as long as I can remember. But maybe this was more than good planning. Maybe he was putting his affairs in order for a reason.”

She opened the driver’s door and slid into the seat, shoulders hunched. “I should have asked him some questions.”

“You tried. He wouldn’t talk.”

“He was going to talk to you.”

“Then apparently changed his mind.”

She nodded. “He buried it deep.”

He lifted a brow.

“Last night, I picked up a book he had sitting on his nightstand. A piece of paper was sticking out of it. He’d written, ‘When a secret is too heavy to keep, it’s always best to bury it deep.’”

He frowned. “That secret is probably what he was going to talk to me about.”

“Instead, he decided to stuff it down and hold it inside. Whatever his secret was, he took it with him when he drove off the mountain.” She put the key into the ignition and cranked the engine.

He stepped back, ready to close her door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Actually, he probably wouldn’t. He’d be there, but so would half of Atlanta. He’d never been to their home church, but according to Andi, it was huge. As well connected as they’d been, it would be packed.

He’d never been crazy about big churches. Actually, he’d never been crazy about church, period. Not that he was a stranger. His mom and grandparents were what some called “Chreasters”—they attended on Christmas and Easter.

Andi’s family had gone every Sunday, even while in Murphy. The church here was different from what they were used to, with a congregation of less than a hundred that met in a small building off the four-lane highway.

Bryce had usually gone with them. At that time, he’d needed it. He’d had lots of mischievousness to atone for. Now he was a law-abiding citizen, serving the people of Cherokee County. At thirty years old, his good deeds far outweighed the bad he’d done as an adolescent and young teen.

He closed Andi’s door, then watched her head up the drive. If she kept the property, she’d have to visit occasionally, even with him checking on the place. It wouldn’t make sense to keep up the taxes, insurance and utilities otherwise.

Of course, she could afford it. For the Wheaton family, money had never been an issue. Between her parents’ wealth and what her husband made, Mrs. Wheaton had never had to work. Bryce’s own mother had held a nine-to-five job in a local insurance company.

While Andi had lived in the Wheaton mansion in an exclusive Atlanta neighborhood, he and his mom had stayed with his grandparents. And during Andi’s vacations to places like Switzerland, Ireland and Paris, his family had visited relatives or camped at Deep Creek.

But Andi had never let the difference in social status get in the way of their relationship. Ultimately, he had. He’d let his own insecurities push him into throwing away something special and had regretted it ever since.

He wasn’t holding out unrealistic hopes of reclaiming what they’d had so long ago. There was too much water under the bridge. They were both different people now.

But if she had plans to keep the property, he hoped they could develop an amicable friendship.

Judging from her coolness toward him, maybe even that was out of reach.

* * *

The large canopy cast a shadow over those sitting beneath. Andrea occupied a chair in the front row, back straight and stiff and hands clutched in her lap. An aunt and uncle sat on either side of her. More relatives occupied the dozen or so other chairs, and numerous mourners hovered around in a loosely packed semicircle. Metal framework suspended two caskets over freshly dug graves, the pastor standing between. The sun shone from a cloudless blue sky, and nearby, squirrels chased one another up a tree.

Andrea released a sigh. The perfection of the weather mocked her own dark mood. The sad, angry skies she’d driven home under yesterday would have been more appropriate.

The pastor finished reading the twenty-third Psalm, and Andrea’s uncle squeezed her shoulder. He’d kept his arm over the back of her chair, offering silent gestures of comfort. She appreciated it but didn’t need it. She’d managed to sit stoically throughout the entire funeral and graveside service. She’d do her grieving in private.

After a final prayer, Andrea stood, pulling her coat more tightly around her. Yesterday’s rain had brought colder temperatures, and she was having difficulty shaking the chill. As she stepped into the sunshine, a man in a suit made his way through the crowd toward her. His hairline had receded, and the salt had overtaken the pepper, but other than that, he looked the same as he had twelve years ago. He’d pastored the church all through her teenage years.

“Pastor Pierce.” She shook his hand, a wave of guilt passing through her. Did he know she hadn’t darkened the door of a church since she left for college?

It wasn’t that she had anything against attending. Her mother had always stressed the importance of regularly attending church. But it had to be the right kind of church—large, impressive, full of quality people. It was good for the image, she’d said. With the advice always came the admonition to not get carried away with the emotionalism that went on in some of the smaller country churches, where people were poor and uneducated. Large or small, it hadn’t mattered to Andrea. Since reaching adulthood, too many other things in her life had qualified as important.

She offered him a weak smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” He wrapped her hand in both of his. “You and your family are in my prayers. May the Lord comfort you during this difficult time.”

After accepting dozens more handshakes and hugs, Andrea made her way to one of the two limos that had transported her and the other immediate family members from the church to the cemetery. She’d take the ride back to the church and attend the dinner the hospitality committee had prepared for the family and close friends. Then she’d get to be alone. She’d survived the past nine days. She could get through the next two hours.

Her aunt Louise reached her as the limo driver opened the door. Andrea paused for the hug she knew her aunt needed. When finished, her aunt shook her head.

“I still can’t believe they’re gone.” Fresh tears gathered on her lower lashes. “When we watched your mom get behind the wheel in our driveway, we never imagined that would be the last time we’d see either of them alive.”

“My mom was driving?” There had to be a mistake. Her mom never drove if her dad was with her.

“After you left, Dennis started feeling ill. Although the offer seemed a little begrudging, your mom said she’d drive them home. Margaret has never been crazy about driving.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t help but think that if your dad had been the one behind the wheel, we wouldn’t be here today.”

Andrea sank into the seat, her feet still planted outside the car. Her mind spun, leaving her feeling light-headed.

Her father hadn’t been driving. Her mother had. Whatever had been weighing on her father’s mind for the past several months, he hadn’t decided to take his own life.

Her aunt climbed into the car, unaware of the bombshell she’d just dropped. The news eliminated the possibility of suicide but raised a whole slew of unanswered questions. If Andrea’s dad was unlikely to take a curve too fast, her mom was even more so. They’d always ribbed her about being a turtle.

Besides, the area was familiar to both of them. They were a mile from the lodge, on a winding road they’d traveled dozens of times. The brakes had to have failed. Monday, she was going to ask to have the car checked, if that wasn’t already part of the investigation.

For the next hour, Andrea engaged in polite conversation and forced down food she had no desire to eat. After a socially acceptable amount of time, she said her farewells, climbed into the Escalade and pulled out of the parking lot. Since leaving home that morning, she’d looked forward to the end of the day’s activities, when she could again be alone with her grief.

But now that she was headed there, home was the last place she wanted to be. Maybe she should do some more sorting at her parents’ house. Keeping busy would be good for her. Throwing herself into activity had always been her default.

She cruised through an intersection on a yellow light and swiveled her head to the right. A few blocks down was a café, one of those cute places decorated with flowers and lace that served lunch on antique china. Her mom loved it.

Andrea hated it.

Nothing against the café. It was lunches with her mom in general. No matter how they started out, eventually they evolved into battles, with Andrea on the losing side every time. Her mom was the queen of unwanted advice, usually given in the form of some pithy proverb. She was also the queen of criticism.

Andrea drew in a constricted breath. As a child, she’d gone to desperate lengths to please her mother. As a teenager, she’d clung to every word of praise from her father while still trying to gain her mother’s approval. As an adult, she’d given up.

She flipped on her signal and got into the left-turn lane. As her route took her within a block of Neurology and Neurosurgical Associates, the familiar tightness returned. At two o’clock in the afternoon, her ex was either there or at the hospital.

Or home enjoying her replacement.

Her divorce had been another sore spot between her and her mother. While Andrea had been reeling with betrayal, her mother’s focus had been on how it was going to affect her relationship with her friends, since the Morrisons were one of the elite families of Atlanta and Phil’s mother was one of her closest friends. She’d insisted that Andrea should have tried harder.

Maybe she should have. If she hadn’t been so focused on climbing the corporate ladder, maybe she’d have noticed the warning signs in time to save her marriage.

Then she’d have fallen short of her mother’s expectations some other way. Her dreams of mending that relationship had never materialized. Now it was too late.

She slammed her hand against the steering wheel, palm open. She’d expected the agonizing grief over losing her father. He’d been the center of her world her entire life.

What she hadn’t expected was the guilt she felt over the poor relationship she’d always had with her mother. No matter what distractions she’d attempted, she hadn’t been able to run from it.

Maybe activity wasn’t what she needed. Maybe she needed the opposite. Time to decompress and let the frayed edges of her heart begin to heal.

She knew the perfect place to do it.

Everything in Atlanta reminded her of her mother or her ex, but Murphy connected her with her father. By tonight, she could be there, tucked away in the house that had been her refuge since she was old enough to appreciate the need for escape.

She was supposed to return to work on Monday. But she still had another six weeks of vacation time banked. She frowned. That in itself was a pretty good commentary on her life.

She hit the brakes and headed toward downtown. If she was going to be gone for an indefinite amount of time, she had some work to do. After being out a week and a half, her desk would be a mess. But she’d get everything whipped into shape by the end of the day, and any loose ends she couldn’t tie up, she’d deal with remotely.

When she stepped from the building hours later, it was dusk. She laid her laptop case on the passenger seat. She’d use public internet until she decided whether to have it installed at the house.

For the next few weeks, she’d be right next door to Bryce. But she’d deal with that, too. She was a mature adult, not a love-struck teenager. Back then, Bryce had promised to love her with a love as big as the sky, always and forever. And she’d believed it. At the time, the words were cheesy. In hindsight, they were meaningless. In the intervening years, she’d learned there was no such thing as always and forever.

Thirty minutes after arriving home, she was ready to hit the road. She did enough traveling on business to know how to pack quickly. She tossed the two small bags into the back seat of the Escalade.

As she drove north on 75, then took the 575 ramp, the weight that had been pressing down on her lifted. Taking additional time off had been a good idea. So had getting out of Atlanta. She wasn’t running away; she was just... Okay, maybe she was.

But it was about time. She’d never run from anything. She was always forging ahead, accepting the next challenge, whether in school or work or life in general. Now she was just tired.

She made the left turn onto 60 and arched her back, working out some of the stiffness. It was the final leg of her trip. Mineral Bluff was a short distance ahead. Then she’d make her right onto Spur 60, which would take her across the state line. Ten minutes after that, she’d be lugging her bags inside and preparing for what she hoped would be a good night’s sleep.

As she tapped the brakes for the first curve, headlights shone in her rearview mirror. The vehicle drew closer, and she squinted, waiting for the driver to dim his lights. He didn’t. Soon he was on her tail. She rounded the curve and accelerated. The other driver did the same, maintaining a distance of one car length. Judging from the height of the headlights and distance between them, the other vehicle was a larger pickup truck.

Her heart pounded and her palms grew slick against the wheel. She was driving fifteen miles over the speed limit and approaching another curve.

She tapped her brakes and the gap closed. A second later, a bump from behind thrust her vehicle forward. Her tires squealed and she struggled to keep the SUV on the road.

Coming out of the curve, she straightened the wheel but didn’t loosen her grip. If she could hang on until after the last curve, she could pull out her phone and call 911.

She floored the pedal, but the distance she gained quickly evaporated. The vehicle behind her slammed into her, snapping her head backward against the seat. She pressed the brake, but the truck pushed her into the next curve. After a prolonged squeal, her tires gave up their traction and the Escalade slid sideways. She bounced several times, her head snapping side to side.

Then the world started a slow spin. Her seat belt tightened against her legs and the airbag slammed into her. Pain shot through her face and one arm. A high-pitched scream filled the car. A terrifying moment passed before she realized it was hers.

The SUV came to rest at a sharp sideways angle. She pushed the airbag out of the way, her seat belt the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the passenger side of the vehicle.

She looked around in the darkness. Had her attacker fled, or was he making his way down the slope to finish what he’d started?

She wasn’t going to wait to find out. After a quick check for broken bones, she pulled the handle and gave the door a hard shove. Small bits of window glass tumbled downward, but the door didn’t budge. Using her shoulder didn’t work, either.

After killing the headlights, she stared into the night. No one was approaching. The darkness wasn’t complete, but it was close. She needed to get out of the vehicle. And she needed to call for help.

With her feet pressed into the floorboard and one hand gripping the wheel, she released the belt and eased into the passenger seat. She wasn’t getting out that way, either. Her SUV rested against a large tree. It was what had kept her from continuing her tumble all the way to the bottom of the slope.

Where was her purse? She turned on the map lights, then crawled between the bucket seats. Both her purse and laptop were lying on the rear floorboard.

Her hands shook as she fished out her phone. After punching in the numbers, she pressed the phone to her ear.

As she relayed what had happened, she reached over the console to turn off the lights. She’d be safer sitting in the dark. With mobile locate, emergency personnel would find her. To make their job a little easier, she’d click on the headlights once she heard sirens.

When the dispatcher asked, she passed on the ambulance. She’d be sore tomorrow. But nothing was broken or dislocated. The airbag had even protected her from the shattered glass. She’d be free to leave after the police report. She’d take a cab to Murphy, and tomorrow morning, a wrecker would retrieve her car and tow it to a shop.

Meanwhile, she had time to think.

Why had someone gone after her? Was it a case of road rage? Maybe she’d cut someone off without realizing it, and they’d followed her from the interstate, irrational anger building with every passing mile.

If she had, she hadn’t noticed. And who would wait more than an hour to react to someone cutting them off in traffic?

Another scenario was more likely. But it was one she didn’t want to consider—that the attack might be personal.

A little more than a week ago, her parents had tumbled down a mountain to their deaths.

Tonight, she’d missed a curve, too, with a little help. Had her parents’ brakes failed? Or had they gotten the same kind of nudge?

As much as she didn’t want to think about it, the question wouldn’t leave her alone.

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