Cain muttered under his breath and stepped onto the porch. Holly patted Sophie’s hand as she stepped past her and whispered, “You go, girl,” under her breath.
Sophie accepted her car keys from Holly.
“Thanks, again.”
“Don’t mention it.” Holly skipped down the steps and climbed in the passenger seat of her brother’s car.
Cain put his hands on his hips. “If it wasn’t so deserted out here—”
“Cain.” She waited until they made eye contact and she knew she had his undivided attention. “This is my
home.
The only one I have. Please don’t try to make me scared to be in it. I’ll be fine. Now, go.” She gestured him off the porch.
“Are you coming into town tomorrow?”
“You bet. You and I have work to do. We have to try and locate my father before the sheriff discovers he’s missing in action, so to speak.”
Cain frowned again. “I wouldn’t count on us beating the sheriff.”
Sophie swung her shoulders back. “I know you just met me. But in case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Cain Garrison, I don’t scare easily. I don’t back down. And I am determined to find out what happened to my dad. The way I figure it, you can spend the morning on your computer, seeing if you can prove this house belongs to me and whatever else you can find. As for me—”
She glanced behind her. “The jerk came here looking for something. My gut says he didn’t find it. But I will. There’s got to be something in this place that will help us find the answers we need.”
Sophie turned back to Cain. “What’s that old cliché? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Well, I’m furious, Cain. I’m going to find out the truth—no matter where it leads.”
Cain grinned, a slow, lazy, tantalizing grin and Sophie all but melted into the floorboards.
“You’re a mass of contradictions, Sophie. You’re young. Naive in some ways. Fragile.” He held his hand up to stop her protests. “Yet you remind me of that complimentary term used for southern women who are soft and cuddly on the outside but iron inside. I think they call them steel magnolias, don’t they?” He tweaked the bottom of her chin. “Okay, you win. I’ll do one quick turn around the outside of the house to make sure everything’s locked up tight and then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It was the wee small hours of the morning when Cain returned to the cottage. Headlights off and driving as noiselessly as possible, he eased his car up the dirt road. He stopped about a hundred yards from the house and turned off the engine. His eyes strained to scan the yard leading into the woods. When he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, he turned his attention to the house.
A single light shone from a back window. He knew from having been inside earlier that it was coming from one of the bedrooms. He couldn’t believe Sophie was still up. She had to be exhausted after the day she’d had. He sat in silence, patiently waiting for the light to go out. Thirty minutes later it did.
With a sigh of relief, Cain adjusted a pillow against a window and tried to stretch his legs out in the passenger well. He knew he was in for a long, uncomfortable night. But if the mountain wouldn’t come to him, then he’d have to go to the mountain. Sometimes he wished the Lord would take away his damsels-in-distress Achilles’ heel. Then again, he glanced back at the darkened house. Sometimes he was glad He didn’t.
SIX
T
ap. Tap. Tap.
Cain awoke with a start. What? Where? He must have drifted off. The sun shone brightly in his face and he threw up a hand to shield his eyes.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound was louder this time.
He turned his head. A figure blocked out the sun, the solid dark outline surrounded by sunlight preventing him from identifying the person outside his car window. Swiftly, Cain sat up, stifling a groan at the pain that shot up his leg when he pulled it beneath him. He tried to shake off the sleepy fog enveloping his mind like a warm blanket.
He wasn’t so lethargic, however, that he’d act foolishly. One hand surreptitiously slid his gun out from beneath his seat as he pushed the button to open his window with the other.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Garrison? And you’d better have a pretty good explanation.”
Sophie’s stern voice oozed over his senses. The warmth from last night had been replaced by controlled but undisguised anger. She stood with both hands fisted on her hips. Yep, she was preparing for a fight, all right. He just didn’t know if he was awake enough to provide one.
“Sophie? Is that you?” He slid his weapon beneath his belt, snug against his back. Sophie stepped back as he swung the car door open and stepped outside.
Acting disoriented and sleepy, which really wasn’t such a tough act since it was probably the first sleep he’d had in the past 48 hours, he staggered a step toward her. He made a show of glancing at her, then at her house and finally back to her.
“I could have sworn I was sitting outside Daisy Lee’s house. I’ve been following her all week from one secret liaison to another. Boy, her husband’s going to be mad that I made the wrong turn and missed where she disappeared to this time.” He held his breath while he waited for her reaction.
Sophie blinked. His explanation wasn’t what she’d expected and she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Was he serious? Did he really end up here by mistake? He did seem a bit disoriented and lethargic. Or was he just hoping she’d be stupid enough to swallow that explanation? Before she could make up her mind, he stepped into her personal space. He stood only inches from her. His body straightened to his full six-foot-two height, an energy and alertness quickly replacing any misconceptions she might have had about his lethargy. His head and shoulders loomed over her, blocking out the sun so there was nothing obstructing the cold, hard features glaring down at her.
“Why do you think I’m out here, darlin’?” His voice was so cold it could drip ice chips. “Couldn’t be because I’m trying to protect one of the most stubborn women I’ve ever met, now could it?”
She drew in a breath and opened her mouth to protest but before she could utter a sound, he said, “What will it take to convince you that the things that have happened to you in the past two weeks are not a coincidence or the result of a bad dream? Every bone in my body wants to shake you silly until you understand this isn’t a game. Lucky for you, shaking women is not one of my character traits. I have other methods for handling obstinate females.” He leaned closer, his breath fanning her hair. “Want a lesson?”
Sophie’s pulse raced and her own breath came in short, shallow gasps. She stumbled backward trying to break this hypnotic hold he seemed to have on her.
But he anticipated her and moved forward with her until only a feather could slip between them. His eyes locked with hers. His lips pulled back in a snarl. “What do I have to do to make you understand? You’re in danger. Real let’s-kill-your-dad, run-you-down-with-a-car and ransack-your-home danger. Get it?”
He waited a second for his words to sink in and then he stepped back. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face. He sighed and softened his tone. “Sophie, I like you. My sister likes you. We’d like to get to know you better. Neither one of us wants to attend your funeral.”
He knew from the sudden pallor in her face that his words had hit home.
Anger seeped out of her body like a deflated balloon. She stared at him as confusion, fear and then something else—determination—flashed through her eyes. “Well, why are we standing out here? We have work to do. Come inside. Have some breakfast. The sooner we get started the better.”
Cain stood in the kitchen doorway and took another look around the cottage. She must have worked all night. No one would ever know this place had been ransacked less than twenty-four hours ago. Yesterday, he’d helped her clean up the bulk of the mess but had still left her in a sea of clutter, pictures askew, broken frames. Not anymore.
He ended up in the living room and marveled at the warm and welcoming ambiance. The blue-and-green plaid sofa with its overstuffed pillows held center stage in the middle of the room and faced the fireplace. Two solid chairs, one green, one blue, rested on either side. Pictures had been rehung. Plants rearranged. Even the broken window, temporarily repaired with cardboard and duct tape, now sported a bright yellow patch of cloth to hide the repair.
“Would you like another cup?” Sophie stood next to him, the coffeepot in her hand. She smiled at how quickly he’d cleaned his plate but didn’t comment.
“No, but thanks.” He gestured to his empty plate. “When you said breakfast I thought maybe cereal or a bagel. Those eggs, bacon and home fries beat both my mom’s and Holly’s in a heartbeat.”
A blush of pleasure tinged her face and he had to stifle the urge to reach out and trace his finger over the flush on her cheeks. She kept creeping under his skin—and he would keep pushing her out. Period.
“Breakfast is—was—is—Dad’s favorite meal of the day.” A cloud of sadness drifted over her face. Without another word, she turned and carried the coffeepot back to the counter.
Cain followed and placed his plate and cup in the sink.
“You’re limping.” Her gaze caught his and challenged him. “Worse today than yesterday.”
He found it almost impossible to look away from the empathy and concern he saw in those beautiful green eyes. Not emerald, which could be sharp and cold. No, Sophie’s eyes reminded him of a sea-green tropical ocean. Promising fun. Refreshment for the body and spirit. Yet, filled with hidden coves and secret treasures.
Snap out of it. What’s the matter with you? Who cares what color her eyes are or what secrets they hide? Is that keeping it professional?
He drew a deep breath and stared down at his leg. “Between our skid across Main Street and a night cramped in the passenger well of my car, my leg’s taken a beating. But it’ll be fine.”
“Can I get you something for the pain?”
“No, but thanks.”
She chewed her lower lip and a worried expression flash across her face. Even with all her misgivings about him, she still had the sweetest heart, worrying about his leg, not knowing whether to push the issue of pain meds or let it drop. Sweet. Thoughtful. Caring.
Okay, enough. Cain closed his eyes.
Dear Lord, You’ve put this young woman in my path. Please let me guide and protect her. Chase away the human flaws and weaknesses that burden me. Don’t let me ever forget what happened with Lucy, Lord. Let me never, ever forget.
“Cain?”
He opened his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Small frown lines spread across her forehead and peaked right between her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I was just saying a quick morning prayer. I think we’re going to need all the help we can get with this case.” He clasped her elbow and steered her back toward the kitchen table. “Let’s get to work.”
When they were seated, Sophie asked, “So what’s the first step? Are you going to do a title search on this house and prove it’s mine?”
Her eagerness and anticipation brought a smile to his face. “No.” Cain leaned back in his seat. “We’ll let the sheriff save us the time and trouble on that one.” She’d never make it as a detective. Ninety-five percent of his job was to hurry up and wait. Sometimes the tedium became downright boring. No, Sophie couldn’t tolerate sitting still for any length of time, let alone being cooped in a car on a stakeout or behind a desk doing mountains of paperwork.
“I’m hoping the sheriff spends his time finding out that this house belongs to my mother before he turns his attention to locating my dad.” Her voice grew soft, almost inaudible. “If he finds out Dad’s missing—or worse, that his identity isn’t what it should be—he just might think I don’t have a right to be here. He wouldn’t throw me out of my own home, would he?” She chewed on a fingernail and made an obvious effort not to squirm in her seat while she waited for Cain to reply.
“Don’t worry about it, Sophie. If the sheriff asks you to leave, I’m sure it will be temporary until we get the answers to some of these questions. My parents have a five-bedroom home right off Main Street. The place stands empty most of the time, now that Holly and I have a place of our own. I’m certain they’d love to have you. You’ve met my dad. He’s the town pharmacist. Mom owns the hair and nail salon right next door.”
Move into town? Live with strangers?
Sophie’s blood drained to her toes. Her legs trembled. She knew if she tried to stand she’d land flat on the ground in a hurry.
She didn’t want to move into town. She certainly didn’t want to move in with strangers. There was a world of difference between being friendly when you sold a piece of art to a person and actually sharing the same roof. She knew her social skills were good. She could discuss current events and carry on lively conversations with the best of them. But making friends—sharing personal thoughts and feelings—letting people get close—she’d never had the opportunity to do that before and the thought terrified her.
“Do you think that will happen?” Sophie’s voice was a mere whisper. “Do you think the sheriff will throw me out of my home?”
Her eyes shone with terror. Her paleness made Cain wonder if she was about to be sick.
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “It’ll be okay, Sophie. No matter what happens, I promise it will be okay.”
Sophie nodded. She cleared her throat, seemed to gather her resolve again and asked, “So we’re letting the sheriff do the research on the title. What’s our next move?”
Our next move, indeed.
Cain didn’t have one.
The Charlottesville police department had already done a thorough investigation into Anthony Clarkston and the road was a dead end. The man didn’t exist. His identification papers were as phony as Sophie’s. Cain was a good investigator. But he had no idea how to locate a man who was smart enough not to leave a paper trail. He hesitated to make the next statement but knew he must.
“We start searching each state morgue for unidentified male bodies.”
She paled more, if that were possible, and simply nodded. “Good. I need to know—either way. Not knowing is torture. Can I help? I can make telephone calls or look things up on the internet or send emails. Whatever clerical stuff you need, I’m your gal.”