Playing Dead in Dixie Read online

  "Did you go there often?"

  Her smile faltered. "Not as often as we wanted. We didn't have a lot of money, and my father wasn't exactly the thrifty type. We only got to go to places like Wildwood when one of his wild schemes somehow managed to pay off. That was rare."

  Wes reached out and touched her hand. "I'm sorry."

  She slid her hand from his, softening her retreat with a faint smile. "Sometimes there was enough money for caramel corn and funnel cakes afterwards as we walked along the boardwalk. Even my mom had fun, and my mom hardly ever had fun. I think maybe it was because she got to walk hand in hand with Papa for an hour or two. He always bought her a cherry water ice to eat because he knew it was her favorite."

  He cocked his head, considering. "You know, I figured you for a tumbleweed, always rolling along to the next dot on the map. But maybe you have roots after all."

  Her smile faded. "When you grow up in South Jersey, some things stick. Like leeches. But I don't have roots there. Not anymore."

  He didn't quite believe her. She spoke with deep fondness of the world she left behind, whether she realized it or not. It resonated, the flip side of the hollow ring of pain he heard in her voice whenever she talked about home.

  Maybe, deep down, she wanted to put down roots, find a place to call home again. Which meant that he'd better think long and hard about pursuing his growing attraction to her.

  It might not be as temporary as he'd thought.

  Carly finished half her sandwich, wrapping up the other half and putting it back in the bag. "Thanks for supper. Would you like to take the other half for your Dad? I can put it in the mini-fridge in the break room."

  "I'm sure he'd appreciate it." Wes wasn't sure of any such thing, but he was touched by her thoughtfulness. "Here, I'll take it for you. Go ahead and get back to the books. We aren't going to be able to stay here all night."

  He took their trash with him, dropping it in the waste can in the break room before he put the remainder of her sandwich in the half-size refrigerator near the coffeemaker.

  As he started back across the narrow hallway to Floyd's office, he heard a soft, scraping sound coming from the front of the store. He stopped in his tracks, listening. The sound was faint but unmistakable.

  Someone was unlocking the front door of the store.

  MAYBE YOU HAVE ROOTS AFTER ALL.

  Carly laid the ledger on the desk, Wes's words still lingering in her ears. Tears burned behind her eyes. Life at home hadn't always been tenement houses and charity-bin clothes. Some of the times had been happy. Rare but good.

  Worth remembering.

  Hearing Wes coming across the hall, she dashed away the tears pooling on her lower lids and picked up the ledger again.

  Before she could open it, Wes came into the office, moving quickly but quietly, and closed the door behind him. As Carly opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head sharply and lifted his finger to his lips.

  "Someone's coming through the front door," he said softly.

  Carly's heart seized with alarm. "A burglar?"

  "Someone with a key."

  Carly grabbed the ledger on the desk in front of her and put it back in the drawer. Fortunately, she'd been working on them one at a time, so she didn't have to sort through several ledgers to be sure she had put them back in order. She locked the drawer, her trembling fingers making her fumble a little. "Grab our drink cups. We need to be in the break room." She followed Wes quickly out of the office.

  He took the keys from her shaking hands and locked the door behind them. His hand firm against her back, he pushed her into the break room just as they heard footsteps nearing the hallway.

  Heart pounding, Carly gazed up at Wes, who stood so close she could see the tiny smile lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. Outside the footsteps came closer.

  "Work with me," Wes whispered, just before he grabbed her, pinning her against the wall with his body. His mouth descended to cover hers, stealing her breath.

  Sparkles of colored light raced across her vision. The sound of the approaching footsteps faded to nothing, drowned out by the roar of her pulse pounding in her ears. He lifted his hands to her face, his fingertips tracing her hairline before diving into her hair and tangling there. He tipped her head back, deepened the kiss until their tongues danced against each other, exploring, tasting, entwining. Smoky dark. Tangy sweet.

  When he pulled away from her suddenly, she heard a soft, keening noise. It took a second to realize the sound came from her own throat.

  A second after that, she realized they had an audience.

  Sherry Clayton and an older woman stood in the break room doorway, staring at them in wide-eyed shock.

  Chapter Ten

  "I thought Mrs. Mayfield was going to faint." Carly chuckled at the memory. "That was quick thinking, Chief Wes."

  "All I could come up with in a pinch." He smiled, but his heart wasn't entirely in it. His body was still buzzing from that kiss. That sizzling, heart-stopping kiss.

  Why couldn't he stop thinking about the kiss?

  It wasn't like he hadn't kissed her before. That night in the cab of his truck, when he'd kissed her for the first time—it had been pretty damned great. But this one had been like wildfire scorching through him. Engulfing him with desire as big and inescapable as a tidal wave of flame, devouring everything in its path.

  Almost thirty minutes had passed since he'd kissed Carly up against the break room wall, thirty minutes of explanations and small talk with Sherry and her mother, soothing ruffled feathers and allaying suspicious minds.

  How he'd been able to gather his wits long enough to talk coherently, he hadn't a clue, for through it all, he felt as if his entire body was aflame, branded by Carly's touch, her taste, the feel of her breath against his skin, the music of her voice in his ear.

  He was in so much trouble.

  "By tomorrow morning, everyone in Bangor's going to know you were kissing that smart-mouthed Yankee girl in the back of your uncle's store," Carly said with a chuckle. "Your reputation will be ruined."

  "Yours may be ruined. Mine is made." Wes forced a grin. "At least we got lucky about Monday night."

  As they were taking their leave from the hardware store, Sherry had mentioned to Wes that on Monday afternoon she was going to see a Savannah lawyer Wes had recommended to her. "I still have a few loose ends to tie up. Of my divorce."

  He'd seen the comment for what it was, a thinly-veiled reminder that Carly wasn't the only available woman in town. Sherry wasn't exactly the most subtle woman in Bangor. Never had been.

  But at least they didn't have to worry about arranging for Carly to close on Monday.

  "Do you buy Sherry's excuse that she saw the light in the back? I'm not sure you can see the light in the back from the front, can you?" Carly asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe." Wes parked in front of his aunt's house and cut the engine.

  "Well, I don't suppose it really matters, does it? Unless you think she might go back there tonight and tamper with the evidence?" She opened the passenger door.

  "I doubt it."

  Carly got out of the truck. When he didn't get out with her, she opened the passenger door and looked up at him. "Aren't you coming in?"

  He felt a tug of desire deep in his belly. It took an effort to shake his head. "I think I need to check in on J.B. before I go home."

  Her expression remained neutral, but disappointment darkened her eyes. "Of course. Tell him I said hello, okay?"

  "I will."

  She nodded, still gazing up at him from outside the truck. Suddenly, she pulled herself back into the cab and slid across the seat until she was inches away from him. "Thank you for believing me about all this. I know it can't be easy for you. She pressed her warm lips to his cheek, her voice a whisper in his ear. "It means a lot to me."

  He closed his eyes, his heart tight in his chest. Deep down, he knew he was probably making the biggest mistake of his life by putting his trust in a
woman like Carly.

  But she made him want to believe.

  Her heat slipped away from him with a soft rustle of denim against upholstery, leaving him feeling shaky and cold. He opened her eyes and found her gazing up at him from outside the door again.

  "I wish I were somebody else," she murmured.

  So do I, he thought as she closed the car door and headed slowly up the cobblestone walk.

  But she wasn't someone else. Neither was he. And if he didn't get a grip on his runaway heart, they were both in worlds of trouble.

  BY FIVE 'TIL EIGHT ON Monday night, Carly's eyes were beginning to glaze over. She'd been going through the hardware store's files for almost two hours, making an inventory list of vendors and checking against the invoice files. Once that was done, she'd start looking for . . . well, she wasn't really sure what she was looking for, specifically.

  There were a lot of different ways to embezzle money from a company.

  Maybe a dummy corporation, set up for the express purpose of billing the store for non-existent products or services. Or duplicate invoices from a legitimate company. Perhaps a sales rep at an existing company was working with Sherry or whoever was pulling the scam.

  One thing she knew. If the scam was as elaborate as setting up a shell or submitting duplicate invoices, Sherry Clayton was almost certainly the embezzler. She was the only one besides Floyd with the necessary access to the files.

  As Carly picked up the next invoice, her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten any dinner yet. Wes had come by the hardware just before closing, leaving her a sandwich and some chips from Charlie's diner.

  He couldn't stay. He was due at the Strickland's house at five-thirty to stay with Shannon and make sure she had anything she needed. "I'll call around eight to check on you," he'd promised.

  She glanced at the clock. Five after eight.

  But the phone hadn't rung yet.

  Her stomach growled again. She laid down the invoice she'd been perusing and went into the break room to get her dinner from the mini-fridge, surprised that she was hungry at all.

  After Wes had left her alone that afternoon, a strange sense of apprehension had descended, leaving her edgy and jumpy. Maybe it was the cloak-and-dagger aspect of what she was doing, sneaking around, spying and prying. It was a lot of effort to make for people she'd be leaving behind in a week or two, wasn't it?

  She should have listened to her instincts. It was crazy to get involved in the business affairs of people she hardly knew.

  Especially behind their backs.

  She opened the fridge and retrieved the barbecue sandwich Wes had left her, snagging a can of Coke as she closed the refrigerator. Turning off the light, she started back across the hall to Floyd's office, trying to tamp down a growing sense of foreboding.

  Something didn't feel right. Wes wasn't the kind of guy who'd promise to call and then flake out on her.

  Had something happened to Shannon? Had her back gone out on her again? Or maybe she was in labor—

  Carly shook her head. Wes would have called her to let her know what was going on.

  Tired of speculating, she picked up the phone and started punching in the Stricklands' number, lifting the receiver to her ear. She waited for Wes to answer.

  But nothing happened. There was no ring on the other end. No busy signal, either.

  She tapped the disconnect button a couple of times and listened for a dial tone.

  Nothing.

  As she tapped the button again, the light in the office flickered off and darkness swallowed the office. The low level hum of electricity moving through the walls died away to nothing, plunging Carly into a black void.

  Fear skittered through her as she tried to find her bearings. She felt in the darkness for the phone, taking care to replace the receiver in its cradle as quietly as possible. Holding her breath, she listened.

  The ensuing silence was thick. Smothering. Her heart stuttered in her chest, thudded like thunder in her ears. A growing terror bloomed in the center of her chest and radiated out, bitter and malignant.

  Manning.

  He'd found her somehow, tracked her down to Bangor. She'd tried to be careful, faking her death, lying to everyone in Bangor so they wouldn't know who she really was. But she hadn't been able to lie to Floyd. And all it would have taken was one incautious moment, an inadvertent slip of the tongue to the wrong person at the wrong time. That's all a man like Dominick Manning would need to put the puzzle pieces together.

  How long had he been nearby, waiting, watching for the chance to catch her alone? To trap her in here, cut the phone line and the power so she couldn't call for help—

  She clenched her jaw. No. Not Manning. Sneaking around, waiting patiently for the perfect time to strike—that wasn't Dom's style. He was a "stick the Magnum .357 in your face and pull the trigger" kind of guy.

  So it wasn't Dominick Manning. She took a couple of deep breaths, tamping down her rising panic. It was just a blackout.

  That also took out the phone?

  She needed light. Candles. A flashlight—

  Of course. A flashlight. Out in the store, there was half an aisle chock full of flashlights. There were even batteries to go in them, too.

  Time to do a little shopping.

  Relieved to have something constructive to do, she groped her way to the door leading out of Floyd's office into the hallway. Outside the windowless confines of the office, she saw a faint line of flickering yellow light at the end of the hallway, in the vicinity of the stockroom door.

  Then she heard the sound. A faint crackling, coming from the stockroom door. Faint, faraway, but growing louder.

  She tried to mold the sound into something she could explain away, like a passing car or a stray cat picking through the dumpster out back. She almost convinced herself she was letting her imagination run away with her good sense.

  Until she smelled the smoke.

  THE ANSWERING MACHINE NEVER picked up. The phone kept ringing and ringing, setting the hairs on the back of Wes's neck twitching.

  It was the third time he'd tried the store number since eight o'clock, with the same results. He could see Carly deciding not to answer the phone, in case it was someone else calling. But the answering machine should be picking up.

  Something was wrong.

  He glanced over at Shannon Burgess, who was finally feeling well enough to escape the confines of the bedroom. She sat on the sofa nearby, reading a book his cousin Beth had brought her earlier in the day.

  "You think you're okay to be here by yourself for a few minutes?" he asked.

  She looked up. "Of course. Where you going, to check on Nate?" He could tell by her expression that she knew exactly who he was going to check on, and it wasn't her old bloodhound.

  "Something like that." He forced a smile as he grabbed his keys off the mantle, hoping his anxiety wasn't showing. He started toward the door, then took a quick detour to move the telephone to the side table next to Shannon, so she could reach it easily. "I should be back within an hour. My cell phone is programmed into the phone. Just hit star-three if you need me."

  She looked at him curiously, but he didn't give her time to ask any questions, hurrying out to his truck.

  The dashboard clock read eight-thirty as he pulled out of his uncle's driveway. Night had fallen completely, blotting out the cool blue of dusk. The truck's headlights were the only relief from the inky blackness, save for a scattering of lights from houses dotting the two-mile stretch of road from his uncle's house to the center of town.

  He pulled out his cell phone and tried the hardware store's phone number again. Still no answer. He punched the end button and muttered a low curse.

  Why wasn't Carly answering?

  Phone trouble wasn't unheard of around these parts, of course. But the weather was calm and balmy, and there had been no construction or repair crews out during the day who might have messed with the lines. And he wasn't getting a fast busy signal, wh
ich might indicate a problem with the line.

  Carly just wasn't answering the phone.

  He pulled off Petty Creek Road onto Main Street four blocks from the hardware store. Here, tall street lights lined the road, casting golden circles along the darkened sidewalks and illuminated the faces of the businesses shuttered for the night.

  It took a moment for Wes to realize that the glow shimmering ahead in the distance wasn't the light from a street lamp. As it flickered and grew, a haze began to form across the street, and the first acrid whiff of smoke filtered through the truck's air conditioning system, burning Wes's nose.

  The hardware store was on fire.

  CARLY'S LUNGS HAD BEGUN to burn, despite the water-soaked cotton vest she'd wrapped around her nose and mouth when she realized the back of the store was on fire. Her first instinct had been to run, and she followed it, dashing outside and down the street to the pay phone outside Charlie's Diner.

  But even as she dialed 911, she realized Manning couldn't be behind the blaze at the hardware store. If he'd wanted her dead, he'd have blocked all the exits to make sure she couldn't escape the blaze.

  No, whoever had set the fire was trying to burn down the store, not kill anyone. After all, only Wes knew she was still at the store.

  She'd alerted the 911 operator of the fire and hung up the phone to avoid any questions she didn't know how to answer. Digging for more change, she'd put a call into the Strickland house, but the line was busy. Probably Wes checking in on her to see how her file search was going.

  That's when she'd realized all the files were still in the office, in the path of the fire.

  It had been stupid to go back inside. She knew it. But if she didn't rescue the store's files, she'd never be able to prove someone was embezzling money from Floyd and Bonnie.

  And if investigators determined that arson had caused the fire—and Carly was certain it had—Floyd and Bonnie might be suspected of deliberately setting the fire to get rid of a failing business. Even if they weren't charged with a crime, no insurance company would ever pay their claim.