Bang!

Amber awoke with a start at the loud noise and was suddenly struggling to breathe as Dex threw himself on top of her, his gaze darting around the room.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, as she tried to extricate herself from beneath him, very aware that her nightshirt had ridden up to her belly and that Dex had apparently shed all of his clothes during the night except for his boxers.

He glanced down at her as if only just now seeing her, then rolled off her. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. What was that noise?”

“Gunshot.”

She stared at him in shock. “Are you sure it wasn’t thunder?” As if in response to her question, thunder boomed overhead and another incredible wave of rain began pouring in earnest.

“That sound came from inside the house.”

Arresting

Developments

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 won a 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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Contents

Cover

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Dex looked out the cockpit window of his Cessna Corvalis at the vast wasteland of the Everglades racing below him at 190 knots. The monotony of sand-colored saw grass went on for miles, broken only by occasional muddy canals and vast islands of mangled cypress, their roots sticking out of the brackish water like giant knobby knees. If the Glades were anything like the marshes back home in Saint Augustine, he didn’t know how anyone could stand the rotten-egg stink of rotting vegetation enough to want to visit for very long, let alone live there.

“I don’t get it, Jake.” He held his cell phone to his ear while he looked out the windows. “You worked your butt off to convince me to front the money to create Lassiter and Young Private Investigations. But just a few months after leaving everyone you know—including me—and setting up shop in Naples, you’re ready to close the doors. For what—this swamp full of smelly plants and more alligators per capita than people? Can’t you get Faye to move instead of you moving to Mystic Glades?”

He maneuvered the stick and dipped the wing, veering from his flight plan for a bird’s-eye view of the town that had been at the center of their recent investigation but was now going to be his friend’s new home. Unless Dex could talk him out of it.

“Hold it,” Jake said. “What do you mean ‘this’ swamp? Aren’t you still in north Florida?”

“I was. But then you called last week to tell me that you and the former target of our first and only case were an item and that you were quitting. I left my billion-dollar enterprise on the brink of ruin with people I barely trust so I could talk you out of this foolishness.”

Jake snorted. “Don’t give me that. Lassiter Enterprises runs so smoothly no one will even notice that you’re gone. More than likely, you’re using me as an excuse to hide from the latest girlfriend you dumped. Who is it this time? That intellectual property rights attorney you introduced me to last Christmas? Didn’t you date her for several months? I thought you two were getting serious. Veronica something-or-other?”

“You wound me deeply to imply that I would use our friendship as an excuse to avoid my commitment issues.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the name of the woman you’re running from this time?”

“Mallory. I think she wants to kill me.”

“They usually do. Dex? Exactly where are you?”

He tapped the touch screen of the GPS navigation system. “Good question. My state-of-the-art airplane isn’t acting so state-of-the-art right now. It’s blinking like a caution light on steroids.” The screen went dark. “What the...?” He rapped the glass with his fist.

“Tell me you aren’t flying over Mystic Glades,” Jake said.

Dex looked out the side window. “As a matter of fact, I think I am. And it doesn’t look any better from up here than I thought it would. I count fifteen, maybe twenty ramshackle wooden buildings down one long dirt road. Looks like something out of the Old West, or a ghost town, or both. Where are the houses? Where are the cars? Heck, where’s the town? Is that all there is?”

“It’s bigger than it looks. There are side roads hidden under the tree canopies. It’s fairly spread out. And most of the townspeople use canoes or ATVs to get around more than they use cars. But I’m pretty sure I’ve told you most of that already. Do you even remember our last call? The one where I said I was getting married?”

“I remember that part. It was right before you said ‘I quit.’” He pressed the stick, nosing the plane lower while pulling up on the throttle to reduce air speed for another circle. “This place is in the middle of nowhere—as in no bars, no nightclubs, probably no satellite service. How are you going to keep up with football season out here? I-75 or Alligator Alley or whatever the locals call it is the closest thing resembling civilization, but that’s miles away. Tell me what it is about this place that you find so appealing, ’cause I’m sure not seeing it.”

“I didn’t catch everything you said. The cell service near Mystic Glades is unpredictable at best. But I can tell you the town has a way of growing on you. About me getting married—I may have...”

The phone went silent. Dex pulled it back to look at it. The call still showed active. He put the phone back to his ear. “Jake?”

“Still here. Can you hear me?”

“I can now. Hang on a sec.” He thumped the instrument panel again, but it remained dark, useless. Thankfully, it was a clear summer day with good visibility. But he was going to raise hell with the manufacturer when he got home. The plane was just a few months out of its shiny new wrapping and still had that new-plane smell. It shouldn’t have had any issues, let alone a full instrumentation meltdown. He shook his head in disgust. Maybe he should get into the airplane manufacturing business instead of high finance and investing in other people’s ventures. He could teach those yahoos a thing or two about quality standards.

“Dex?”

“Yeah. You said something about getting engaged?”

“Uh, about that. We decided on a very short engagement. We’re already married.”

Dex noisily tapped the side of the phone. “This thing must be messing up again because it sounded like you said you already got hitched. Without inviting me to the ceremony. Which means you can kiss the shamelessly extravagant gift I would have gotten you goodbye. Wait...when did you get married?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We did the deed yesterday. We’re in the Bahamas for the next two weeks. Freddie—Faye’s friend, the one who owns Callahan’s Watering Hole—gave us the trip as a wedding present.”

Dex shook his head and sent the plane into a turn, heading in what he believed was a southwesterly direction toward Naples Municipal Airport. He’d rather head straight home to Saint Augustine, but he couldn’t risk flying that far with a dead instrument panel. “Looks like this was a wasted trip.”

“Sorry, man. I had no idea you’d fly out there without telling me first.”

“Honestly, I didn’t, either. But when I complained about you quitting our little business experiment, my assistant encouraged me to surprise you. He insisted it would be good for me to get away. And I figured I might be able to talk you out of a big mistake. Guess I should have come sooner.”

“Marrying Faye wasn’t a mistake,” Jake bit out, sounding aggravated.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I will graciously admit defeat. I guess I have to welcome Faye into the family now. Maybe I’ll even buy you two a present after all.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a softie.”

“When we get back, I’ll call you and we’ll decide what to do about the company. You could always try to make a go of it without me. Just drop ‘Young’ from the name.”

“Without my former-police-detective partner there’d be no point. Who’d want to hire an ex-navy pilot turned financier to hunt down a cheating husband or find a missing person?”

“I couldn’t have solved Faye’s case without your help. You’re not too shabby as an amateur sleuth.”

“Yeah. I can search the internet and make phone calls with the best of them.”

“Actually, most of the time that’s exactly what detectives do—research and interview witnesses.” A woman’s voice sounded in the background. Jake murmured something to her, then cleared his throat. “I’ve, ah, got to go.”

“Wait. Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“All kidding aside. Are you sure about this? About Faye? You haven’t known her very long, and half that time you were taking turns pointing guns at each other. I just... I want to know that you’re going to be okay.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Dex?”

“I don’t even know what that word means.”

Jake laughed. “Well, you don’t have to worry. I may not have planned this, but Faye’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I love her. She’s my whole world.”

The certainty in his friend’s voice went a long way toward reassuring Dex. Maybe Faye was what Jake needed to heal him from the mistakes of his past. God knows he’d had his share of tragedy and was long overdue for some happiness.

“Then I look forward to meeting her. Enjoy your honeymoon.” The call cut out as Jake was saying goodbye. Dex shook his head again and put the phone away as he tried to judge his altitude. Lower than he was comfortable with. He was about to edge the nose up to climb higher when he noticed a young woman in a canoe.

Her dark brown hair hung in waves to the middle of her back. Even from the cockpit he could see the long, shapely tanned legs that paired nicely with a curvy body wearing only a skimpy yellow tank top and khaki shorts. He whistled low in admiration. She looked better than anything he’d seen in months. He just wished he could make out the details of her face to see if it matched the rest of the sexy package.

On impulse, he waved at her, but she didn’t wave back. She might not have seen him waving, but more likely she probably thought he was an idiot. He couldn’t blame her for that. He was about to increase air speed when a thick mist seemed to come from out of nowhere and wrapped around the plane like a shroud. He tapped the instrument panel again, hoping he could at least get an altimeter reading. Nothing. He was flying blind.

A scraping noise sounded against the bottom of the plane. He cursed and put it into a climb. The mist suddenly cleared. An enormous cypress tree stood dead ahead, its moss-covered branches reaching out like giant claws.

He banked hard left while throttling up. The branches made a sickening scraping noise against the underbelly of his Cessna, but she did her job, clearing the deadly tree. He laughed with relief and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. That was close—too close.

A dull thump sounded from the engine. An alarming shudder ran through the fuselage, making the springs in his seat rattle. Instead of the familiar, reassuring dull roar of the twin turbocharged power plant, all he heard now was the sound of air rushing past the windows. He watched in stunned disbelief as the single propeller began to slow.

The engine had just died.

He immediately tried a restart with no luck. At such a low altitude there wasn’t much room to recover. The controls were sluggish. He fought to keep the plane on an even keel and catch some lift beneath the wings while continuing the restart attempt. But it was a losing battle with the engine refusing to catch. He flipped the button on his headset to make the one call he’d hoped never to have to make, and never had made in all his years of flying fighter jets in the navy.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Naples Municipal, this is Bravo Two Seven One Charlie Baker, a Cessna TTX with total engine failure attempting a forced landing in the Everglades. Last known location approximately two nautical miles southeast of Mystic Glades. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.”

No answer. Not even static.

* * *

AMBER FOUGHT DOWN her panic and paddled her canoe toward shore. The pilot in that fancy little green-and-white plane had waved at her. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he’d recognized her. Maybe he was the friendly type. It wasn’t like there was an airport in Mystic Glades, so he was probably just a stranger passing overhead. She’d hidden out here for over two years without anyone finding her. There was no reason to fear the worst now.

Tell that to her shaking hands.

She reached the shore and realized she could no longer hear the plane’s engine. The noise had stopped suddenly instead of fading away. A sickening feeling shot through her stomach. She hopped out of the canoe and ran around a clump of trees to look up at the sky in the direction where the plane had gone. It was a small spec now, probably more than a mile away. As she watched, the wings dipped back and forth and the plane dropped alarmingly low. Then it lifted, as if it were gliding and had caught a rush of air, before tilting crazily and disappearing behind a line of trees.

She clenched her hands together, waiting for the plane to rise above the trees again. Come on, come on. A full minute passed. Nothing. No plane. No sounds but the usual insects and frogs that created a constant low buzz that rarely ever stopped. He couldn’t have crashed. There would have been smoke, wouldn’t there? But if he hadn’t crashed, she’d have seen the plane again.

Maybe he was one of the drug runners who used the Everglades as their own private highway to ferry their poison from city to city. But usually they used boats to get through the canals. And the plane she’d seen couldn’t land on the water. It was sleek and expensive looking, like a minijet with a propeller—without a pontoon in sight.

She started forward, then stopped. No. Don’t try to help him. People who can afford planes like that don’t just disappear. Someone will notice that he’s missing. They’ll send a search party. At the most, he’ll be out here a couple of hours while they figure out how to reach the crash site.

If he’d even survived the crash.

Outsiders would need guides through the swamp. Guides meant hiring locals, most likely from Mystic Glades, which meant soon the place would be crawling with people who would recognize her.

She ran to the canoe. Grasping the sides, she put one foot on the bottom, ready to shove off with the other.

What if he survived the crash? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s hurt so badly that he needs immediate care?

She couldn’t help him. That wasn’t something she did anymore. She’d learned that lesson the most painful way possible. A familiar stab of grief and guilt threatened to overwhelm her. But she ruthlessly locked those useless emotions away.

Okay, assume he’s not hurt. He can find his own way to Mystic Glades. But he could just as easily wander into the swamp and get lost. He could stumble into a nest of alligators or step on a snake. The Glades might be beautiful but they were dangerous, teeming with wildlife, emphasis on wild. Only those who understood its dangers—and respected them—could avoid them and thrive out here.

He’s not your responsibility.

But he’s still a human being.

Her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know he was there. She had to at least check on him.

She stepped out of the canoe and tugged it up onto a muddy rise beneath some trees. Too bad he’d gone down in one of the areas unreachable by boat. She had a good, long hike ahead of her. She grabbed her walking stick, double-checked that her hunting knife was sheathed at her waist and then headed out. She hoped she wasn’t making a horrible mistake. But, then again, no mistake could be worse than the one she’d already made.

Chapter Two

Dex drew a shaky breath. He was still breathing— definitely a plus. His heart was still beating, adrenaline making it pound so hard it seemed to be slamming against his rib cage. And the plane wasn’t on fire—yet. Two more pluses. But the big minus was that he was hanging upside down, strapped to what was left of his seat, with jet fuel dripping down the ruined fuselage onto his shirt. And he was pretty sure he’d cut his right leg, since sharp pain shot up his calf every time he tried to maneuver his foot out of the tangled mass of metal above him.

His main concern was the jet fuel. The noxious smell made it difficult to breathe. But more worrisome was that if any of the fuel made contact with the hot engine, he was going to go up like a human torch. He had to get out of the plane and out of his fuel-soaked shirt.

Without taking off his seat belt, he couldn’t reach his trapped leg to free it. But he didn’t want to unclip the belt and fall to the ground. No telling what damage that might do to his leg or what he might land on. He tilted his head up—or down, depending on how he looked at it—to see what was beneath him.

The plane had gone sideways and then turned over as it went down. A massive tree had peeled the top back like a can of tuna before dumping him and the Cessna onto the ground below. He supposed he should be grateful to that tree, since it had slowed his descent and saved him from diving nose first into the mud. The thick, now-broken branches had cushioned the fall and were now suspending the cockpit a few feet above the mud. All in all it was a miracle that he’d survived.

The muddy grass a few feet beneath his head appeared to be clear of debris. If he could work his leg free he could drop down without doing too much more damage. He used his free leg to kick at the metal trapping his right foot. Once, twice, three times. Another sharp pain in his calf was the price of freedom as the metal snapped and broke away. He pulled his knees up to his chest, put his left hand over his head to protect himself, then released his seat belt. He dropped and rolled, coming to rest on his backside.

He hurriedly shed his shirt and tossed it toward the plane as he shoved himself to his feet. After a quick look around to assess his surroundings, which basically consisted of cypress trees and saw grass, he clopped through the semi-firm ground to the one body of water he could see—a large puddle. Whenever it rained he imagined this whole area would probably be underwater. Right now it was a mixture of soft dirt and soggy bog. He dropped to his knees and sniffed the water to make sure it wasn’t jet fuel. The putrid smell wasn’t pleasant but at least it was biological, not man-made.

Hating the necessity of it, he cupped the water and used it to scrub his arms and chest and as much of his back as he could reach, ridding himself of the dangerous jet fuel that had coated his torso. Then he sat and yanked his pant leg up to see what, if anything, he could do about his injuries. Blood smeared his skin, but after washing it away he wasn’t all that worried. The bleeding had mostly stopped and the cuts didn’t look too deep. Except for one small puncture wound, mostly his leg had just been scraped, no worse than skinning a knee.

He dropped his pant leg into place. Now that he was out of danger of being roasted alive, time for his second priority. Getting the heck out of Dodge. He pulled his cell phone out of the clip on his waistband and sent up a silent prayer that the phone wasn’t broken as he typed his pass code to unlock it. But a few minutes later, after turning in every direction, holding the phone up above his head, then down toward the ground, the screen still showed the same thing.

Zero bars. No service. Useless.

He shoved it in the holder. Might as well face what he’d so far been avoiding. He drew his gaze up to his plane and groaned. Even though he’d known it was beyond being salvaged from what he’d glimpsed while hanging from the pilot’s seat, seeing the whole thing now was devastating.

The fixed landing gear pointed up at the sky. One wing was completely sheared off. He didn’t see it anywhere. The other, still attached, was snared in a pile of broken branches. The tail had snapped off and had landed in the mud behind the fuselage. He shook his head in disgust. Not because of the money this would cost him. He could easily absorb the loss. But to see a piece of beautiful machinery destroyed like that was akin to a Monet being wadded up and tossed in the trash. It was a damn shame, a waste.

He shaded his eyes and looked up at the sky, a beautiful, bright blue unmarred by clouds, with no sign of the mysterious mist that had engulfed the plane right before the engine died. Even if his Mayday call hadn’t gone through, that sky would still soon be dotted with other planes, or helicopters, searching the marsh for him. Because even though he was often lazy about filing flight plans, his assistant religiously checked behind him and would have insured the plan was submitted.

Yes, instead of heading straight to the Naples airport and then driving from there to Mystic Glades, he’d made a slight detour to get an aerial view of Mystic Glades first. But that had only taken him a few miles out of his planned flight path. As long as the transponder in his plane was working, a rescue crew would be able to zero in on his location.

Transponder. Was it working? It was part of the instrument panel that had gone on the fritz. But the system had built-in redundancies to insure it could survive most crashes and send out a signal if it received a ping from a transmitter, like the kind a rescue plane would send. He studied the wreckage, looking for any telltale signs of smoke. There were none. After waiting a few more minutes, he decided to chance a closer look. It should be safe, as long as he kept an eye out for any warning signs of an impending fire—and stayed away from the jet fuel.

He worked his way to the cockpit, approaching from the far side this time since it seemed fuel-free there. The instrument panel was a disaster. No way to tell if the transponder was working or not. If it wasn’t, that was more of an inconvenience than a concern. It wasn’t like he was in an uninhabited area. Mystic Glades couldn’t be more than two, three miles away.

Of course, the trick was making sure he headed in the right direction. But he could use the sun to figure out which way to go. Navigating by sun or stars was a rusty skill, but one that had been ingrained in him during his pilot training in the navy. Still, there was no point in risking getting lost if a rescue effort was under way. Which, based on the anticipated arrival time in his flight plan, should be soon.

Knowing the National Transportation Safety Board would immediately take possession of the plane and site for their investigation into the cause of the crash, he figured he might as well take advantage of his time alone to do some of his own investigating.

Getting to the engine compartment wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated, since the access panels had been peeled back like the top of the plane. Since the plane was upside down, he ducked down and looked for anything obvious. Most of the engine was intact. Only a few parts had been ripped away or crushed on impact. Everything looked normal.

Except for the electrical tape.

What the...? There were two long pieces of tape, or rather, one long piece that had been burned in two. He pulled out his cell phone and took some pictures, then zoomed the screen. Wait, no, that couldn’t be. He shoved the phone in its holder.

Bracing himself on a twisted piece of metal, he followed the piece of tape. One end was attached to the edge of the engine compartment. The other was wrapped around a bundle of wires—a crucial bundle that provided power to instrument panels, including the transponder and the engine. Someone had pulled those wires free of their normal harness and used the tape to hold them in place. Which pretty much guaranteed that during flight, with the heat and vibration from the engine, the tape would fail. The wires would have dropped down onto the hot manifold. If the heat seared through their protective coating, that would have caused a catastrophic failure. Judging by the burn spots on the wires, that’s exactly what had happened.

Since electrical tape wasn’t standard equipment in any engine compartment, especially a brand-new plane, he could only reach one logical conclusion.

Someone had tried to kill him.

* * *

AMBER CROUCHED BEHIND a large fern that protected her from the sharp ends of a massive saw palmetto, totally mesmerized by the way the sun slanted off the golden skin of the impressive male specimen thirty feet away. She didn’t know why he’d taken off his shirt, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. The way his muscles rippled beneath his skin as he walked was fascinating, and an amusing contrast to his dark blue dress pants and expensive-looking but thoroughly ruined dress shoes. Since his footprints were the only ones she’d found after she’d reached the plane crash site, he must be the pilot. And the lack of bodies in and around the plane reassured her that no one else had been onboard. No one had died.

But based on how he was limping, she wasn’t sure that would hold true for long.

His right leg seemed to be the one that he was favoring. From the rips in his pants, she assumed he’d been hurt during the crash and wasn’t just suffering from some kind of disability. Unfortunately, the smears of mud on his back and chest meant that he may have washed himself in one of the brackish pools of water near the plane. If he’d done the same to his injuries, he might have introduced some nasty bacteria into his system. People who got lost in the Glades tended to succumb to exposure or infection just as often as other causes. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he might become one of those statistics.

So far he was heading in the right direction, toward Mystic Glades. As long as he continued that way, he’d reach town before nightfall. Her former townspeople might not exactly welcome strangers, but they would never turn away someone in need. Whoever was running The Moon these days would have some kind of medicine or potion to treat him. Or maybe Freddie would drive him to the nearest hospital in her ancient Cadillac, assuming the thing was still running. Either way, the pilot would get the help he needed. There was no reason for Amber to let him see her. All she had to do was keep following him, and somehow steer him if he went off course.

* * *

SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.

Normally, Dex would have called out to whoever was hiding in the bushes, padding after him in the mud, keeping a good thirty or forty feet back, from what he could figure. But that was before he’d realized someone was trying to kill him. Knowing that had changed his perspective a hundred-eighty degrees.

He couldn’t imagine his nemesis—whoever that might be—calculating the exact location where he might be when the wires in his Cessna burned through. There were too many variables for that. But it hadn’t exactly been a secret at the office that he was flying to Naples, and that he was going to then drive up to Mystic Glades. Maybe whoever wanted him six feet under had planted someone near Mystic Glades to finish him off if their plan failed and he didn’t crash. Or, in this case, if he did crash and the impact didn’t kill him.

A faint crackling noise sounded behind him, like a twig breaking in half. He pretended not to notice and kept going. He needed to wait until he was near a larger clump of trees instead of just the small groupings he was passing now as he slogged through the marshy grasses. Then he’d catch his pursuer.

Just thinking about someone hiding out here like a coward to attack him was pissing him off. That and this awful heat. He wiped sweat from his brow, surprised to find his hand wet enough to shake off droplets. When had it gotten this hot? Yeah, it was probably around noon, but still, the cooling marsh breezes had been comfortable an hour ago when he’d started on this trek. Now it was as if someone had turned the sun up twenty degrees and was trying to cook him.

His shirt. That had to be it. Without his shirt to protect him from the sun, he was baking out here. Maybe he should sit in the shade for a few minutes and cool off. No, not with someone following him. He had to take care of that problem first. Then he’d sit and cool off.

A group of trees about thirty feet ahead looked like the perfect place to catch his follower unaware. The trees suddenly wavered and shifted. What the...? He stopped, wiped more sweat from his brow and shook his head. He blinked a few times until the trees stopped dancing around. The heat. It had to be the heat. He idly leaned down and rubbed the growing ache in his right leg, then wobbled forward.

He reached the trees and ducked behind the largest one and then crouched down to wait. He pulled out his cell phone, ready to snap a picture when his pursuer came into view, figuring that if he lost this upcoming battle at least there’d be a picture of his attacker for police to find later. It would be a small victory to hold on to as he breathed his last breath. For some reason, that seemed funny—in addition to being pathetic—and he almost laughed out loud, just barely keeping it together, reminding himself he couldn’t risk alerting his prey.

His prey? Right. When had he ever been a hunter? This time he couldn’t contain his laughter. He clamped his hand over his mouth but changed his mind when he started to lose his balance. He grabbed a low-hanging branch on the tree beside him and kept his phone in his right hand, poised to snap his all-important picture.

Good grief, it was hotter than Hades. His friend Jake was a fool to want to live here.

Half-dried mud crunched like sand beneath someone’s feet. Dex leaped out from behind the tree, snapping pictures.

No one was there.

He shifted and heard the crunching sound again. He looked down, wiggled his toes in his shoes. Crunch. Wiggle. Crunch. Wait. Was that him making that noise?

A shadow shifted beside him. He whirled around, snapping pictures as he fell to the ground. The shadow became a beautiful woman standing over him, her face mirroring concern. As she reached out a delicate-looking hand, he snapped another picture, then let his hands fall to his sides. All his strength had strangely drained away.

Her blessedly cool hand touched his brow. It felt so good he pushed his head against her palm.

“You’re burning up,” she said.

He blinked until he could focus on her face. His breath caught. “Canoe Girl! I waved at you.” He frowned and waggled his finger. “You didn’t wave back.”

“I...must not have seen you. Sorry.”

“No worries. I’m Dex. But you can just call me Dex.”

“O...kay. Dex. Let’s take a look at that leg of yours.”

He grinned up at her. “Honey, you can look at anything you want.”

She rolled her eyes and moved to his right leg. He lifted his head to watch, but it felt so heavy he dropped it back down.

“Ouch.” He rubbed his head, wondering why it suddenly hurt.

Cool air rushed against his heated skin as she pulled his pant leg up.

“Hey, Canoe Girl. What’s your name?”

“Canoe Girl works.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m guessing you didn’t have these red lines going up and down your calf before the crash.”

“Nope.” He dropped his phone and used both hands to lift his heavy head to look at her. “I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?”

She nodded. “Could be. If not treated right away.” She looked past him. “No one in Mystic Glades knows how to treat something like this, unless things have changed.”

“Unless things have changed? You don’t live there, Canoe Girl?”

“Um, no.” She pushed his pant leg down.

“But you’re familiar with it. You used to live there?”

She shot him a look. He should have known what that look meant, but her face went out of focus and he closed his eyes.

“Do you have any medicine in your plane?” she asked.

“Nope. Fresh out. Where do you live, beautiful?”

“That must be one bad fever.” She brushed her hands on her shorts and stood. “We’ve got to get you to Mystic Glades. Someone there will take you to the hospital. Come on.” She held her hand out to him.

He frowned, not at all pleased. “Do I have to get up? It’s kind of comfy down here. It would be even more comfy if you lay down with me.”

“No, thanks. We need to get moving. Come on.” She grasped his hand.

He sighed heavily and tugged his hand out of hers. “I’ll do it by myself. You’re a tiny little thing. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He rolled over and forced himself up on his knees. A pair of surprisingly strong arms grabbed him around his waist and helped him stand. He staggered and she pulled his right arm around her shoulders, keeping her other arm around his waist.

Impressed, he smiled down at her and patted the top of her head. “You’re stronger than you look, little one.”

“And you don’t smell anywhere near as good as you look. So let’s get this over with.”

He let out a crack of laughter. “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before. My apologies. I think it’s eau de jet fuel mixed with eau de swamp water.”

She didn’t respond. All in all, his little rescuer didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor. Too bad. Making a woman smile, seeing joy light up her eyes, was one of his greatest pleasures. Especially when they were making love.

The infernal heat seemed worse now. And the growing stiffness in his leg was making walking more and more of a chore. Even with Canoe Girl’s help, his steps were growing slower and slower. He stumbled and grabbed a tree for support.

“You can do it,” she urged, pulling him back from the tree.

“Actually, I’m not sure that I can. How much farther do we have to go?”

“A hundred yards, give or take.”

He squinted at the wavering shapes in front of him then gave her an admonishing look. “You’re teasing me. I don’t see any buildings. It must be farther than that to Mystic Glades.”

“It’s a hundred yards to my canoe. Make it there and I can take you the rest of the way to town.”

A wave of dizziness had him grabbing another tree. “I don’t...think I can...make it that far.”

“Sure you can. What are you, six-two? You’re a big, strong guy. Just put one foot in front of the other. Close your eyes if it makes it easier.”

He took a shaky step. “I don’t suppose you have a four-wheeler hidden behind a tree somewhere closer than the canoe?”

“I’m fresh out of four-wheelers today.”

“Bummer. I would have liked to ride a four-wheeler, especially with a pretty girl. Everything’s better with a pretty girl.” He winked and tried to grin, but the effort required more energy than he had left. “So...tired.” He fell to his knees and surrendered to the darkness.

Chapter Three

Amber groaned and sank to her knees beside the handsome stranger with the corny yet kind of endearing sense of humor. Eau de jet fuel? If she hadn’t been so worried about his fever she might have laughed at that. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

Now that he was unconscious, how was she supposed to help him? Even though her canoe was a short jog away, it might as well have been miles. There was no way she could drag him that far. And even though he certainly wasn’t packing any extra pounds, all those scrumptious-looking muscles had to amount to a lot of weight.

She pressed her hand to his forehead again and grimaced. He was like a furnace. If she didn’t get his fever down soon he might have a seizure. And those red lines on his leg meant he had blood poisoning. That was probably what was causing the fever. That kind of infection could easily kill him no matter how big and strong he was.

She pulled his phone out of her pocket. When he’d dropped it earlier, she’d picked it up, planning on erasing the pictures he’d taken of her before returning the phone to him. But right now she just wanted to see if she could call for help, even though odds were high there wasn’t any reception out here. When she’d made the swamp her home, she’d had a cell phone but had quickly learned that it was useless in about 99 percent of the Glades. She did know a few spots that got reliable reception, but they were much deeper into the swamp, too far away to be of use right now.

She pressed the main button and it asked her for her password. Shoot. She should have asked him for the code while he was delirious with fever and still conscious. He might have told her without a second thought. The service bars showed No Service anyway, so there was really no point. Making a call had been a long shot.

She shoved it into her pocket.

So, what now? Getting him to the canoe would take hours, assuming she could roll him there, which was the only way she could think of moving him. But she didn’t think he had hours, not with that kind of fever. She had to bring it down. But how? Medicine, even if she could bring herself to try to doctor someone again, would take too long to make—and that was only if she could find the right plants. What she really needed was a bag of ice, something not exactly around every corner out here.

Wait. She might not have ice, but she had access to the next best thing. A spring. There were a handful of them scattered throughout the Glades, feeding ice-cold fresh water into the marsh from deep underground aquifers. And there were a few close by, one of them much closer than her canoe. It was worth a try. But how to get him there?

Her gaze dropped to his belt. Yes. That might work. She unbuckled it and worked it free, rolling him to pull it from underneath him. Then she strapped it around his chest below his arms and fastened it on the last hole. His chest was wide and muscular. It didn’t give her much play in the belt, but it gave her enough to be able to slip her hands beneath his back and grasp the belt. She was just short enough that this might work.

Bracing her legs wide apart, she heaved backward. He slid easier than she’d expected on the soft mud and she almost fell on her rear end. Through a series of trial and error she finally found the best angle and managed to get him moving at a decent clip. She pulled him around the group of trees toward the spring, which was only thirty feet behind her, hidden in another group of trees. The muscles in her arms burned and her back was aching by the time she’d gotten him just ten feet from their original location.

She had to stop and take deep breaths, letting her shaking muscles rest before she started up again. Any hope that she might be able to use this method to get him to the canoe died a quick death. It would be a miracle if she could just get him to the freshwater. Someone had died once because of her actions. She was determined not to let her inaction be the cause of this man’s death. Giving up wasn’t an option. She had to keep going.

Fifteen minutes later she finally had him beside the spring, next to a shallow spot where she could sit and hold him without him slipping in too far and drowning. She emptied his pockets of his wallet and keys, leaving them up on the bank. After shucking his shoes and her boots, along with her knife, she took a bracing breath, then slid into the spring.

She gasped and pressed her hands against her breasts, her teeth already chattering even though she was barely covered by the water as she sat down. Shivering violently, she grabbed the belt around Dex and tugged, hard.

He slipped easily over the soft side and she had to grab his head to keep it above water as his body rolled over. She caught his face against her chest, mortified when his hands came up around her and he pressed his face harder into the valley between her breasts. His eyes, however, were still closed, which was the only reason she didn’t slap him.

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she reminded herself as she grabbed his shoulders and pushed up with her knees to flip him onto his back.

His body settled against hers in the V of her legs and she wrapped her hands under his armpits and around his chest, holding him tightly so he didn’t slide beneath the water. She lay back against the edge of the bank, her teeth chattering so hard they clicked against each other. But it didn’t take long for the incredible heat of his body to begin transferring to her.

He was still so alarmingly hot that she was actually sweating where his head rested against her breasts, in spite of the chill bumps on the rest of her skin. She cupped the cold water and dribbled it on his hair and his face, getting as much of him wet as possible. She continued putting cold water on his hair, his forehead, his neck, all while trying to monitor both of their temperatures. If she ended up with hypothermia, they’d both be in trouble.

She clung to him, freely plastering her body against his to warm herself while keeping him covered in the cold water. All the while she continued to rub the water into his scalp and on his skin.

When her hands and feet started going numb and she started feeling drowsy, she knew she had to get out of the spring. But he was still warm. Not as burning hot as before, thank goodness, but far too warm to be out of danger. She edged out of the water, pulling on the belt to tug him with her. She sat cross-legged on the bank, her skin covered with goose bumps. She managed to pull him half out of the water, keeping her hands locked under the belt to keep him from sliding back in. His rear end and legs were still in the water. Hopefully, that would be enough to continue bringing his fever down while she warmed up for a few minutes in the sun.

When the feeling had returned to her extremities and she was no longer shaking, she slid into the water with him, submerging all of him except his head and going through the same routine all over again.

She repeated the process for what had to be over an hour before he finally began to show real signs of improvement. Instead of the ruddy, red complexion that showed he was in the grips of the fever, the color drained away and he became more pale. When his skin pebbled with goose bumps, he moaned and tried to twist away from her.

She ruthlessly held on to him, determined to make sure his fever was gone before she’d let him out of the water. Unable to let him go for fear he’d drown, she pressed her cheek against the side of his face to see how hot he was. Still warmer than he should be, but so much better than before that it barely counted.

He suddenly jerked away from her and rolled over, pressing her down into the water. She just managed to grab a lungful of air before she went under. He followed her down, his body on top of hers, his eyes—a startling green—were open and staring at her in confusion as he held his breath and held her down.

His hands grabbed her waist and he pulled back, suddenly lifting her out of the water against his chest as he smoothly stepped up on the bank. She clung to his shoulders, amazed he was so strong after seeming so weak earlier. Water cascaded off both of them as he dropped to the ground with her still in his arms. Whether by design or accident—she wasn’t sure—he’d managed to position her so that she was straddling him. And from the widening of his eyes and the sudden movement of him beneath her, he wasn’t unaffected by the intimacy of their position.

“Let me go.” She smacked at his hands and shoved his chest.

He blinked, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Canoe Girl. I thought you were a dream.”

“More like a nightmare,” she grumbled. “Let me go.”

“I like you right where you are.”

So did she. And that was the problem. The spring had done a good job of washing away the stench of the bog he’d bathed in earlier. And up close like this, just inches from his face, she couldn’t deny just how devastatingly handsome he was. Add to that how long it had been since she’d even seen a good-looking man, much less done anything else, and it was almost impossible to resist the urge to wiggle against his growing erection beneath her.

Good grief. Maybe she was the one with the fever now. He was a stranger. An incredibly hot one, even when he wasn’t running a temperature, but still a stranger.

He frowned. “Why are you all wet?”

She choked at his unintended double entendre and coughed to cover her embarrassment.

“We’re, ah, both wet. From the spring.” She waved her hand toward the water behind them. “You had a fever and I put you in the cold water to bring it down. Now, if you’ll please—”

“If you insist.” He yanked her against his chest and brought his mouth down on hers.

She was so startled she didn’t immediately pull back. And by the time she thought to do so, he was kissing her senseless and her brain shut down. She slid her hands up his bare chest and around his neck, pressing herself against him as she opened her mouth for his searching tongue. He groaned and fell back against the bank, pulling her with him, deepening the kiss.

A sinfully long time later they broke apart, each of them gasping for breath.

He framed her face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He laughed and they reached for each other again.

Kissing him was insane. Crazy. Stupid. And wonderful. She’d never, ever been kissed like this before. Every tug of his lips on hers, every swirl of his tongue inside her mouth sent an answering pull straight to her belly.

Stop. This isn’t just crazy, it’s wrong. He’s probably still delirious. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

She whimpered, hating her conscience but knowing it was right. If the roles were reversed, she’d be appalled and feel that he’d taken advantage of her.

Shoving against his chest, she broke the kiss and sat back. “We have to stop. This isn’t—”

His eyes closed and he collapsed onto his back.

“—right,” she finished, then frowned. “Dex?” She shook him. “Dex?” When he didn’t respond, she scrambled off his lap and checked his breathing. He was breathing deeply, evenly. His pulse was strong. But he was definitely unconscious.

Alarmed, she pulled his right pant leg up again and drew a sharp breath. “Oh, no.” The red streaks were worse, much worse. And they extended well past his knee now.

She shook him. “Dex, wake up. Come on. Dex.”

He moaned, as if in pain, but his eyes stayed shut.

Amber sat back, chewing her bottom lip. There was only one thing she knew that might help him, a potion she could make by mixing mud and two specific plants together into a poultice to draw out the poison. But what if she remembered wrong? What if she did more harm than good?

He moaned again, his handsome face scrunching up in a grimace.

If she didn’t help him, he’d die. Of that she was sure. The poultice was his only hope.

Please help me remember how to mix it right.

She shoved to her feet, grabbed her knife from the pile of belongings on the bank and took off running.

Chapter Four

Dex twisted against the sheets, fighting through the darkness.

A delicate face leaned over him, her long, brown hair forming a curtain, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Sleep, Dex. Don’t worry. I’ll watch over you. You’re getting better.”

He reached for her. “Don’t go, Canoe Girl.” But she faded away like a ghost.

He cursed and tried to roll over, but every movement was painful. His entire body ached, as if he was back in college and had been in a drunken fraternity fistfight—and had lost.

A cool cloth stroked his arms, his forehead, driving back the awful heat that seemed to constantly surround him. Voices he didn’t recognize whispered close by. Footsteps echoed and a door slammed. A glass was held to his lips. He drank greedily and the cool water soothed his parched throat.

Canoe Girl leaned over him again. No, she was sitting this time, raising her arms, then lowering them, over and over, her muscles bunching with strain. She raised her hands, pulling something up into the air. Water dripped from it onto his pants. An oar? Why was she holding an oar? She moved it to the other side and dipped down again.

And then she was on her knees in front of him, her cool fingers brushing against his brow. That worried frown a constant twin to the look of concern in her eyes. Sad eyes. So, so sad.

She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “Don’t tell them about me, Dex. Please. Don’t tell.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

He thrashed against the sheets, seeking relief from the heat. Hot. He was always so hot. He couldn’t remember not being hot.

The darkness called to him again and he gratefully surrendered.

* * *

DEX OPENED HIS EYES, blinking at the light.

“Well it’s about time you decided to rejoin the living. I was beginning to think the doc was wrong.”

He turned his head on the pillow to see a woman nearly as brawny as him, probably well over twice his age, with falsely bright red hair, sitting in a ladder-back chair beside the bed. He looked around the room but she was the only one there. “Where am I?”

“Callahan’s Watering Hole, in the extra bedroom in my apartment upstairs. I’m Freddie Callahan.”

“From Mystic Glades?”

“Either I’m famous and didn’t know it or our buddy Jake told you about me.”

He frowned. “How would you know that I know Jake?”

“I saw your last name on your ID, in your wallet. Figured it was too much of a coincidence for you to be named Lassiter and not be from Lassiter and Young Private Investigations. Called Jake—which was a pain since I had to leave town to get reception—and sure enough, he vouched for you.”

He started to scoot up in the bed but stopped when he realized he was naked beneath the sheet. He yanked it higher before sitting up. The room was small, with only the narrow bed, a dresser and a single window. A collection of shot glasses and empty whiskey bottles sat on a shelf along the far wall. And a pair of open doors beneath them revealed a closet and a small bathroom. He tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but his mind was a haze of confusing images and impressions.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t—”

“Remember what happened?” Freddie patted his hand. “No worries. We pretty much pieced everything together with Jake’s help after I called him. You crashed your plane into the Glades. The airplane folks done packed up what was left of it onto some fancy barge and took it with them to Naples for some kind of investigation. You got an infection and have been unconscious for a while. I had Doc Holliday come out and check on you to make sure you were coming along okay. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Doc Holliday?”

Her mouth cracked open in a gap-toothed grin. “I’ve called him that for so long that I don’t remember his real name anymore. He’s a city slicker, comes out to the Glades when we have an emergency. He wanted to take you back to town, but Jake and I told him you were family and I kept you here in Mystic Glades. Jake said he’d call your people in Saint Augustine and tell them where you were. Ain’t nobody been by to check on you yet, though, which just proves we made the right decision keeping you here.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a crisp nod, as if to let him know she wasn’t impressed with his family’s lack of concern. Of course, she had no way of knowing that the only reason his family would come was if they thought he was already dead and they stood a chance of getting their hands on his money.

A pounding started in his temple as he tried to think back to what had happened. Electrical tape. He’d found it in the engine compartment. Maybe it was a good thing that no one had shown up looking for him in Mystic Glades. Without knowing who’d tampered with his plane, he wasn’t sure whom he could trust.

Images of the crash and its aftermath filtered through his mind: cutting his leg, waking to find himself in a freezing cold spring, a beautiful young woman helping him out of a canoe and onto the bank.

“Don’t tell them about me, Dex. Please. Don’t tell.”

He scrubbed the stubble on his face and searched the corners of the room again, part of him hoping she’d be there even though he knew she wouldn’t be.

Freddie’s expression turned introspective as she studied him. “You’re looking for the woman who helped you, aren’t you? The one you call Canoe Girl?”

Canoe Girl. He squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered it all now. She’d put some kind of foul-smelling mud on his leg—to draw out the poison, she’d told him. And when he’d alternated between the fever and bone-rattling chills, she’d built a fire and sat with him all night, leaving only to bring him water and some kind of surprisingly delicious stew.

Every hour, without fail, she’d changed the dressing on his leg. And when he’d needed a moment of privacy and, to his shame, was unable to get up on his own, she’d helped him stand and limp to a clump of bushes. When he was done, she’d escorted him to their little campfire.

She’d entertained him with stories about the Everglades and made him laugh when she spoke about her childhood. He’d told her about flying and about later building his empire, only to become bored and start the PI firm with Jake Young for fun.

When the sun came up he’d awakened to find her curled against him beside the dying campfire. In awe of the beautiful creature, he’d tightened his arms, only to find her blinking at him in surprise and slipping out of his grasp. Far too soon, she’d deemed him strong enough to leave and had helped him limp to her canoe.

After taking him to the woods at the edge of town, she’d helped him sit on a fallen log and crouched down in front of him.

“We’re just a few feet from the main road,” she whispered. She pulled a whistle out of her pocket. “When I blow this, someone will come help you.” She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him close. “Don’t tell them about me, Dex. Please. Don’t tell. Make up some kind of story to explain how you got here, but never tell anyone that you saw me. It’s important.”

The fear in her voice had him clutching both of her shoulders and pulling her back so he could look her in the eyes. “What’s going on? Who are you afraid of?”

“It’s...complicated. Please. Just promise me.”

“Okay. Yes, I promise. But tell me why you’re afraid. I’m sure that I can help—”

She pressed her fingers against his lips to stop him. “No one can help me.” Her mouth quirked up in a rare smile. “Not even a sexy navy pilot turned billionaire financier private investigator.” She stood and backed away, then put the whistle to her lips.

The shrill sound shattered the morning, sending birds shrieking and rising from the trees around them.

“Remember your promise.” She turned and disappeared into the woods.

Dex shook his head to clear his thoughts. Freddie sat across from him, still waiting for his answer. A feeling of impending doom settled over him. If he’d kept his promise, then how did this woman know about Canoe Girl?

“My memory is still a bit...foggy,” he said evasively. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days. Doc said you wouldn’t have made it if Amber hadn’t helped you with that concoction she put on your leg. But still, it was touch and go.”

“Amber?”

“Amber Callahan. My niece, the one you called Canoe Girl when you were delirious. Pretending you don’t know who I’m talking about isn’t going to change the fact that you talked quite a bit about her.”

He fisted his hands in the sheets, guilt and shame settling on top of him like a heavy weight. Canoe Girl—Amber—had saved his life. And, in return, all she’d asked was that he not tell anyone about her. He’d betrayed her, whether he’d meant to or not.

“They’re searching for her. Now that we know she’s nearby, Holder and the others won’t stop until they find her trail and bring her back.”

His stomach twisted into a hard knot. “She doesn’t want to be found.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

He frowned. For an aunt, she didn’t seem all that worried about her niece’s welfare. “Then why is this Holder person searching for her? It’s her right to be left alone if that’s what she wants. If he thinks she needs rescuing, believe me, she’s quite capable of taking care of herself. She’s pretty amazing in that department.”

She gave him a peculiar look, as if she thought he’d lost his mind. “Mr. Lassiter, Deputy Holder isn’t leading a rescue party. He’s leading a posse. Amber is a murderer.”

Chapter Five

Amber ducked down behind a trash can against the back of Callahan’s Watering Hole and waited for the newest group of men to get out of their cars and go inside. The foot traffic in and out of the bar all morning had been incredible, not to mention several suits in a limo a few minutes ago. Half the town and strangers she’d never seen before must have been inside at one time or another. And she didn’t have to guess why. They were looking for her, had been for three days now, carrying rifles and shotguns as if they were afraid she’d attack them. The resentment that shot through her was like a physical pain, making her double over. These people had been her friends, her family. At one time they’d have done anything for her. Now they just wanted to put her away.

She could have been safe and sound at home deep in the Glades by now, but she couldn’t stop worrying about Dex. She’d watched from a perch in a tree overhead to insure that her plan had worked—that someone heard her whistle and came to help him. And since the first person on the scene was someone she’d never met, she couldn’t just assume he had good intentions as far as Dex was concerned. He could have been a thief or some such. So she’d scampered down the tree and followed him to make sure Dex didn’t need her. Then she’d safely made it to her canoe and headed out. But she wasn’t comfortable with the things that she’d heard when she spied on the crash site and listened to the men gathering up the plane. So she’d gone back to check on him and had made a habit of checking on him every day. Once he was well and awake and able to fend for himself, she’d quit her vigil. But not before then.

The men she’d been waiting to pass finally went inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind them. Amber waited another couple of minutes, peeking out to see if anyone else was approaching and listening for sounds from inside the bar to tell her if anyone was about to leave. Then she hurried around the trash can and raced up the rickety wooden staircase attached to the back of the building that was supposed to be a fire escape but was so rarely used that it had fallen into disrepair. The way the boards sagged as she stepped on each one had her holding her breath the first day she’d snuck up them, but now she knew they were more solid than they seemed and she no longer held her breath as she hurried up to the landing.

The door was unlocked, as always. That was one thing she could be thankful for, that the residents of Mystic Glades rarely locked their doors. She pulled the door open a fraction to peer down the long upstairs hallway with doors opening off either side. With all the people downstairs in the business part of the building, she hadn’t expected her aunt to be up here in her private quarters and wasn’t disappointed. The hall was empty.

She headed straight to the guest room where Dex was staying. If he was still suffering from his fever she would sit with him as she had the past few days and use a cool cloth to soothe him. She wished she could speak to the doctor who came every evening and ask him if Dex was going to be okay. But with everyone searching for her, that wasn’t in the realm of possibilities.

She carefully eased the door open and hurried inside, shutting it behind her and flipping the lock. Movement to her right had her whirling around. A body slammed into her, tackling her to the floor. She landed hard, her elbows and head thumping against the wooden floor a split second before the person who’d attacked her landed on top of her. She grimaced at the pain that shot through her then blinked in surprise to see the very green, shocked gaze of Dex looking down at her. A very naked Dex, plastered to every inch of her body. And like when she’d ended up in his lap out in the swamp, his body immediately responded to their closeness and began to harden against her belly.

He cursed and rolled off her, grabbing her wrists and yanking her to her feet.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper as he pulled her to the bed.

She tried to focus on the unexpected anger in his voice, but she couldn’t resist a quick look down. The parts of his body that had been hidden from her when she’d been nursing him to health were now fully revealed. And she wasn’t disappointed in the least. The rest of him was just as...impressive...as his naked chest had been.

He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around his hips. If they’d been in the swamp, he’d have made some flirty, corny comment. But the teasing flirtation she’d come to expect from him in their brief time together was replaced by a sullen, angry, serious stranger.

Her shoulders slumped. “You know.”

“That you’re wanted for murder? Yeah, hard to miss that topic around here. About that—I want you to know that I didn’t tell them about you on purpose.”

She waved her hand. “No worries. You were delirious. It’s not your fault.”

“How would you know I was delirious?”

She swallowed and shrugged. “A...ah, guess. I knew you still had the fever when I left you. And, since Deputy Holder headed up that posse after me so fast, they obviously knew about me. And I trust you—I know you meant it when you said you wouldn’t tell. Again, no worries. Not your fault.” She tugged her arm out of his hold. “It was a mistake. I’ll go. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

He blocked her way. “Not so fast. There are things...we need to talk.”

“No, I need to get out of here before someone catches me.”

“If you’re that worried, why’d you come here in the first place?”

She blinked as if remembering something, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “You dropped this earlier. I kept it at first to try to erase the pictures of me. But there’s no point in that anymore. So...here you go.” She handed it to him and he tossed it onto the bed.

“I don’t think you risked everything to come here to return a phone. What’s the real reason that you’re here?”

She blew out a long breath. “Guilt, I guess. I was worried that I’d left you unprotected. You’re obviously able to care for yourself now, so my job is done. Time to go.”

“Turn around.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m the only one naked in this room. Either you take your clothes off and we’ll be naked together, or you turn around while I get dressed.”

She hesitated, half wondering if he was serious.

“That was a joke, Amber. Turn around.”

She sighed and turned around, listening to the sounds of drawers opening and the whisper of fabric against skin.

“Okay, you can turn around.”

When she did, she was surprised to see him wearing dark gray dress slacks and a burgundy dress shirt tucked in, with a charcoal-gray-and-maroon-striped silk tie. The only thing missing was a suit jacket and he’d look at home in any boardroom. Pity. She liked him better half-covered in mud and jet fuel. He’d been a lot more fun and a lot less serious.

“Nice clothes. I can’t imagine anyone around here having a suit you could borrow, though.”

“They’re my clothes. My assistant brought them.”

“Your assistant. Okay. Well, you’re obviously doing fine and you have...an assistant watching after you now, so I’ll just be on my way.” She scampered around him and ran to the door. But he was surprisingly fast for someone who’d just woken from a near-coma after several days and he braced his hand against the door, keeping her from being able to open it.

“Damn it, Amber. We need to talk.”

The sound of voices outside the door and footsteps clomping up the wooden stairs had him breaking off. Amber’s eyes widened in dismay. She turned in a circle, surveying the tiny room for a place to hide. The tiny bathroom or the closet. She chose the closet.

“Wait.” Dex grabbed her arm in an unbreakable hold.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Please,” she whispered, as she tried to pry his hand off her forearm. “Let me go. I’m just going to hide in the closet.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not.” He half turned toward the door. “Come in,” he called out.

Amber gasped in shock as the door opened. Her aunt gaped at her in surprise, then moved aside to let the group of men behind her into the room. The first two men, wearing suits much like Dex’s, were strangers to her. But the last man to enter the room was not. She’d seen him two years ago, the day she’d run into the Glades.

The look of surprise on his face was quickly replaced with a look of reproach as he pulled out his handcuffs.

“Miss Callahan.” Collier County Deputy Scott Holder pulled her away from Dex and turned her around. “You’re under arrest for the murder of your grandfather, William Callahan.”

Amber stiffened her spine while he locked the handcuffs around her wrists. Her face flamed hot as she endured the pat down with the others watching, except for Dex and one of the men in a suit who were currently deep in conversation by the window, completely ignoring her. She noted that he didn’t seem surprised by the appearance of a Collier County sheriff’s deputy at his door, either.

Holder took her knife and sheath from her belt. Then he escorted Amber to the door with her hands cuffed behind her back, past the admonishing look from her aunt. Dex never once looked her way.

* * *

“WELL, THIS SEEMS FAMILIAR.” Deputy Holder leaned back in his desk chair in the squad room beside Dex as another officer escorted Amber into an interview room.

“Because of Faye Star?” Dex asked, noting that Amber made a point of not looking at him even though she passed less than a yard away from him.

He nodded. “Your PI partner, Jake Young, had Faye in here accused of murder just a couple of months ago. Déjà vu.” He cast him a sideways glance. “Let me guess. You think Miss Callahan is innocent?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. But I certainly wasn’t going to harbor a fugitive once I found out there was an outstanding warrant for her arrest. That’s why I had Freddie call you to come over, so I could tell you what I knew. It was only dumb luck that she was there when you arrived.”

“You’re supposedly worried about making sure she doesn’t run from the law. And yet you’re offering your own lawyer to defend her.” He nodded at Garreth Jackson as he passed them and went into the interview room.

“She saved my life. I figure the least I can do is make sure she gets a good attorney. Garreth was a criminal defense lawyer before he turned to business law. He can at least advise her until I can bring in someone else.”

Holder snorted. “Sounds to me like you’re going to a lot of trouble—and expense—for someone you aren’t sure is innocent.”

“Like I said. She saved my life. I can’t put a price on that. Whatever she needs, I intend to provide it. What about you? Do you think she’s guilty?”

The interview room door closed and Holder flipped the file open on top of his desk. “Seems pretty cut-and-dried. Her grandfather was the founder of Mystic Glades. He lived in a mansion, of sorts, several miles outside the town proper, with only one other person—Amber Callahan. She was known more or less as the town healer, for lack of a better term. If someone was sick or broke a bone, they went to Amber instead of taking the long drive to Naples. She was the only one with her grandfather the night he died, admitted as much the next morning when she called the police to report his death.”

“Her aunt said the old man had been poisoned?”

“Poisoned? Not exactly, but close. He was sick with the flu or something similar and she gave him one of her potions to supposedly help him sleep better. But the potion was laced with peanut oil, something he was highly allergic to. Coroner said his throat closed up and he died of anaphylactic shock. Amber knew about his allergies. Everyone did. And since she was the one who brought groceries and did all the cooking, it’s kind of hard to say anyone else brought the peanut oil into the house.”

“Did you actually find a bottle of peanut oil?”

He flipped the few pages in the folder and shook his head. “Nope. She must have disposed of it. But the CSU team tested the glass beside his bedside table and found peanut oil residue.”

“What did she have to gain by killing him?”

“Plenty. Since he founded Mystic Glades, he pretty much owned the town and leased most of the property to others. Very few of the residents actually own the land or the buildings on them. He was quite wealthy in his own right—old money that’s been in his family for generations.”

“And Amber is the only heir?”

“Her and her aunt Fredericka. But Amber got the lion’s share.”

“Is the estate still in escrow?”

He tapped one of the pages. “No, but it might as well be. As soon as Miss Callahan was charged, the courts put holds on both her accounts and her grandfather’s accounts. She can’t touch a penny without going to court to release the funds.”

“Which of course she wouldn’t do if she’s worried about being arrested for murder.”

“Exactly.”

Dex blew out a long breath. “I just can’t picture her purposely killing her grandfather even if she did want his money. She seems so—”

“Sweet? Nice?”

“I was thinking intelligent, actually. How old was her grandfather?”

“I see where you’re going.” He thumbed through the report, then flipped to the beginning and ran his finger down a paragraph. “Let’s see. Amber was twenty-two, her grandfather was just shy of eighty at the time. He wasn’t in the best of health, either, even without having the flu at the time he died. You’re thinking she could have just waited and inherited.”

“Seems like the logical thing to do. Does that report say why she might have needed the money? Had she planned on leaving Mystic Glades?”

He closed the file. “The report doesn’t really say much more than what I told you. Everything I’ve said was available through old media reports or word of mouth in Mystic, so I haven’t given away any secrets. But the rest of the file is confidential and I can only release it to her attorney.”

“Fair enough. I’m curious about one thing, as long as it’s not one of those secrets you mentioned.”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“You said the grandfather lived in a mansion. What happened to it?”

“The court apportioned some of the estate for the house’s upkeep and appointed a trustee to look after the house. And before you ask, no, I can’t share the trustee’s name because I don’t know if that’s common knowledge.”

Dex raised a brow. “I imagine it takes a lot of money to maintain a large house, especially in an environment like the Everglades. That trustee probably has access to a very generous bank account.”

Holder shrugged. “Your words. Not mine.”

“I know what it costs to maintain a large estate. I don’t guess I really need your answer to that question. It does, however, make me wonder if the trustee could be culpable in the murder.”

“In a normal murder case, I might agree with you. But in this one, there’s one fact you can’t explain away.”

“Which is?”

“Amber herself, in the interview the morning her grandfather was found dead, admitted she was the only other person in the house. She said no one else had been there for weeks. Kind of hard to argue that someone else might have killed the old man when she swore no one else had been there.”

Dex was inclined to agree with him, but somehow saying that out loud would have made him feel like a traitor to the woman who had worked so hard to save him. He owed her the benefit of the doubt and was determined to keep an open mind.

The door to the interview room popped open and Garreth stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He stopped in front of the desk. “Miss Callahan has decided to retain my services until I can help her interview and hire a criminal case attorney. I’ll need a copy of the original police report.”

Holder held the folder up. “I figured you might. Keep it. I’ll print myself a new copy.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Dex. “Assuming you still plan to foot the bill—”

“I do.”

“Excellent. Then the calls I made in the interview room weren’t a complete waste of time. I started the ball rolling to arrange bail. Now we just have to wait for a judge to call us back.”

Holder shook his head. “Not going to happen on a Saturday. Miss Callahan will have to cool her heels in jail until Monday, and even then, I highly doubt a judge will grant her bail. She’s a proven flight risk.”

Dex exchanged an amused look with his lawyer. “I think you underestimate Garreth’s abilities, Detective.”

Holder shrugged. “Maybe. I doubt it. I guess we’ll see. But I—” The phone on his desk rang. When he saw the number on the display, he shot Garreth a frown and took the call.

Garreth gave him a smug look and turned to Dex again. “When you’re done here, Miss Callahan has requested to speak with you.”

Dex immediately stood but Holder signaled him to wait.

When he hung up the phone, he shook his head. “I can’t believe what I just heard.” He filled them in on the details.

Dex laughed and clapped Garreth on the shoulder. “You’ve still got it, my friend.”

“I suppose this means your answer is yes, to both conditions?” Holder asked, not sounding happy at all.

“Are you kidding? This is the coolest thing to happen to me in ages. I’m all in.”

“This is ridiculous,” Holder muttered as he shoved out of his chair. “But I don’t guess I have a choice. Hold up your right hand, and repeat after me.”

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