Stranger In His Arms Page 8

  “Hmmm,” she answered noncommittally and glanced away.

  “What’s the matter?” He reached across the crate and lifted her chin with his index finger until their eyes met. “You getting cold feet?”

  She grabbed at the first excuse she could think of. “Not cold feet. Just inexperienced ones. I don’t know how to square dance.”

  He sighed with relief. “That’s easy enough. I’ll teach you.”

  “But—”

  He wrinkled his brow, looking incredibly appealing even when perplexed. “Don’t you want to go?”

  Now was her chance. All she had to do was back out, and she’d be home free, unencumbered by more close contact with the delectable but dangerous law officer. Then she caught the shadow of disappointment that flickered across his face, a reflection of her own reluctance. She wanted to go to the dance with him, even though every ounce of common sense told her it was a stupid thing to do.

  “Sure, I want to go.” Her rebellious lips formed the exact opposite reply from what she’d intended. “I just don’t want to raise your expectations about my dancing.”

  He leaned across again and wiped a smudge of barbecue sauce from her bottom lip with his finger, and his touch sent shivers of delight down her spine. “I didn’t ask you for your dancing ability. I asked you because I like your company.”

  She groaned inwardly. If the man kept saying things like that, she’d never be able to stay away from him.

  As if in answer to her silent prayer, the radio pinned to his shoulder squawked.

  “You’re wanted in Sylva at the sheriff’s office,” the dispatcher’s voice announced. “Forensics has that report you ordered.”

  He keyed his mike and responded, then pushed to his feet. “Guess I’ll have to take the rest of my lunch with me. Shall I pick you up tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  Coward, she scolded herself silently, it’s still not too late to say no.

  “Eight o’clock, then,” he said.

  He stuffed the uneaten portion of his lunch into the basket and disappeared into the crowd. Even if she’d found the backbone to refuse him, he’d disappeared too quickly for her to cancel their date.

  At least that’s what she told herself.

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, she was still having second thoughts. Her only hope for the evening was that Tommy Bennett’s band would play so loudly that conversation would be impossible. If Dylan couldn’t hear her, she wouldn’t have to worry about telling more whoppers or giving herself away.

  Dylan’s knock at the front door indicated her options had run out—unless she feigned sudden illness. But such deception would only add to the lies she’d already told. Gathering her courage and praying to get through the evening without endangering her closely guarded secrets, she answered the door.

  Dylan towered above her beneath the porch light. In fitted jeans, a rust-colored sweater, denim jacket and tooled leather boots, he looked better than any man had a right to. The thought of his arms around her at the dance took her breath away.

  “All set?” he asked.

  Speechless, she nodded, took his proffered hand and accompanied him down the steps to his pickup. He stopped beside the vehicle, pulled her to him so that her back was against his chest, and pointed sky-ward. “Look at that.”

  She turned her gaze to the heavens and drew in a quick breath. “Holy cow!”

  A black velvet canopy of sky arched above them, sprinkled with too many stars to count. High on the mountain, away from the lights of the tiny town, she could see more stars in the soft darkness than she’d ever imagined on a bright city night. Dylan wrapped his arms around her, and she was achingly aware of the contact their bodies made. A shiver of pleasure spiraled down her back.

  “Cold?” When he spoke, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her hair.

  She shook her head. “It’s incredible. I’ve never seen so many stars.”

  As they watched, a falling star arced across the sky and disappeared behind the opposite mountain.

  “Ooooh,” she breathed, the way a spectator reacts at a fireworks display.

  He hugged her closer. “Make a wish.”

  She rejected the wish that popped into her head concerning Dylan. Her intention of keeping him at arm’s length had already been broken. She had to get a grip on herself and her senses. “Wishes are for children.”

  “Then I hope I’m always a kid, because I’ll never give up wishing.” Although she couldn’t see his face, she could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Okay,” she said, breaking the spell, “I wish we could go on to the dance.”

  He dropped his arms and stepped away from her to open the pickup’s door. She felt instantly bereft and wanted to turn back to his embrace.

  He’s a policeman, she reminded herself. You can’t let down your guard.

  Resolutely, she climbed into the truck, fighting the emotions that threatened to expose the facts she needed to keep hidden—if she wanted to stay alive.

  She decided to try psychology on herself, anything to break the hold Dylan Blackburn had on her senses and was gaining on her heart. Making a mental list, she catalogued all his faults. He was too handsome, too polite, too caring. She flopped back in her seat with a sigh of frustration.

  Who was she kidding? Dylan Blackburn didn’t have any faults.

  Except that he worked in law enforcement.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight.” His voice sounded as smooth and soothing as a hot toddy in the stillness of the cab. “Tired?”

  With her pulses pounding and her body coursing with adrenaline from his closeness, she felt anything but tired. But she’d already told him so many lies, what harm was one more tiny fib? She would use fatigue as an excuse to leave the dance early.

  “Exhausted,” she said. “Miss Bessie’s booth was the busiest one at the festival today.”

  He reached over and clasped her hand. His skin felt warm and smooth with just a hint of calluses on his palm, and his grip was strong. “You’ll get your second wind at the dance. The music’s always energizing.”

  Much as she wanted to hold his hand, she pulled away. “I’m not a dancer, remember?”

  He shot her a look as if he already knew all her secrets, and she made an effort not to squirm beneath his scrutiny. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

  She forced a grin. “Wait till I’ve trampled on your toes a few times. That’ll make a believer of you.”

  His probing expression turned torrid. “I look forward to it.”

  She was saved from a reply by their arrival at the school grounds. Like the rest of the festival, the dance was held outdoors. Volunteers had constructed a wooden platform and hung strings of Japanese lanterns across it. On a raised dais at one end, Tommy Bennett and the Mountaineers had already begun their performance, and couples of all ages, from children to the elderly, crowded the dance floor.

  Sissy McGinnis danced with Grover, her stocking feet planted firmly atop his highly polished shoes. Ben Morgan held Miss Bessie as regally as a queen and Millie McGinnis and Gary Patterson, clenched in a tight embrace, were oblivious to all around them.

  Dylan held Jennifer’s arm and steered her through the crowd. As they reached the floor, the band ended one set and started another. A waltz.

  With a molten look that melted her objections, Dylan pulled her onto the floor and into his arms. Her mind kept compelling her to excuse herself and sit this one out, but her heart encouraged her to snuggle deeper into his embrace, to enjoy the pressure of his hand at her waist, the warmth of his cheek against her hair and her own tingling response to the provocative masculine scent of him.

  The music flowed around them, slow and dreamy, and she forgot everything and everyone, as if only the two of them danced beneath the stars in the shadow of the mountain. Entranced, she laid her head against his shoulder.

  “Not yet,” he murmured in her ear.

  “What?” She tried to pull herself from the reve
rie, but the spell was too strong.

  “You haven’t stepped on my toes yet,” he whispered in her ear. “Not once. You know what I think?”

  She tipped back her head and gazed into the smoky brown depths of his eyes.

  “I think, Ms. Jennifer Reid,” he said with a glimmer in his eyes, “that you’re a liar.”

  The word stung like a bucket of ice water, breaking the spell the music had woven. She stumbled—and tromped firmly on his foot.

  “Whoops,” he said with a grin, “I spoke too soon.”

  The music ended, and the crowd applauded, giving Jennifer a chance to collect her scattered thoughts. Dylan steered her off the floor to the refreshment table and handed her a cup of icy apple cider. “We need to talk.”

  The gravity of his expression and the resolute set of his jaw indicated he didn’t mean casual chitchat. For the moment, he’d stopped being Dylan and had reverted to Officer Blackburn. Her stomach flip-flopped at the possible topics he might broach—all bad.

  To hide her concern, she tried to make light of his request. “Sounds serious.”

  “It is.”

  Fear made her short of breath. Had he uncovered her past? And if he had, would he arrest her? She stumbled again as she followed him away from the crowded dance floor to a rustic bench beneath a large sugar maple. He brushed scarlet leaves from the seat, and she sank onto it quickly, afraid her quaking limbs would no longer hold her.

  “What is it?” She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer.

  He propped one boot on the bench and folded his arms across his knee. “Remember this morning when I got that call from the forensics office in Sylva?”

  She nodded, confused at the direction he’d taken. She’d expected accusations and confrontation. She breathed easier now that they weren’t forthcoming.

  “Think back,” he said, “to your accident. Did you see anyone on the road that night?”

  His conversational shift from the forensics report to the accident bewildered her even more. “I’ve already told you. The headlights blinded me. I couldn’t see anyone.”

  “Damn.” He turned and sat beside her. “Ben Morgan wasn’t any help either. I was hoping you would be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Those boys from the university didn’t run you off the road.”

  “What?”

  “George Spivey—he’s the salvager who pulled Miss Bessie’s car out of the ravine—called me yesterday. When I stopped by his garage, he showed me the left front panel of the Mercedes, or what was left of it. Clear as day on the beige exterior were streaks of black paint.”

  “Black?” Panic squeezed her lungs, and once again she found breathing difficult.

  He nodded. “The black paint backs up what the college boys were telling us. Their two trucks are red and burgundy. No black on them anywhere. They didn’t push you off the road. It was a different car or truck. It left its paint on the Mercedes where it hit you.”

  She felt dizzy with fear. Raylene’s mysterious stranger had been driving a black SUV. He could have been the one who had forced her car off the cliff. And if he had hung around long enough afterwards, he’d known that she’d survived.

  And he knew where she was.

  Jennifer fought down the impulse to stand and run. She had to leave Casey’s Cove as soon as possible, but without drawing attention to herself. Gazing past Dylan, she scanned the couples on the dance floor and the surrounding crowd, but saw no one who resembled the big, tough man Raylene had described.

  “I’m really sorry I’m not more help.” She was finally able to force words through lips wooden with fear.

  “Sorry to mix business with pleasure.” He stood and held out his hand. “That’s not why we’re here. Want to trample my feet some more?”

  Even in her frightened state, she couldn’t help responding to his congenial smile. She took his hand and let him lead her back onto the dance floor.

  “You’re a brave man, Officer Blackburn,” she teased.

  He pulled her closer. “If this is hazardous duty, I should request it more often.”

  The band was playing another slow tune, but she couldn’t lose herself in the romance of the music or the deliciousness of Dylan’s embrace this time. All she could think of was escape from Casey’s Cove.

  The sooner, the better.

  With the perception she had noted the first time she met him, Dylan homed in on her change of mood. “You feeling all right?”

  “My busy week is catching up with me. I’m really tired.” She no longer minded telling another lie. After tonight, she’d never see him again. “Maybe I’d better leave now.”

  She refused to look him in the eyes, but she could feel his probing gaze. Whether he believed her no longer mattered. Her greatest concern now was running for her life.

  Again.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  His tone was neutral, and she couldn’t tell if she’d offended him. As hard as she tried to convince herself that his opinion of her didn’t matter, she couldn’t help wondering if he would miss her when she was gone.

  Their walk to his truck was silent, except for the buzz of the crowd and the vibration of the Mountaineers’ music on the night air. She slid onto the front seat without looking at him, and the drive back to the guest house was uninterrupted with talk. She hoped he found the silence companionable because, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She felt more awkward than she had on her first date as a teenager.

  But not less scared.

  With a killer in a black SUV stalking her, she’d never been more frightened in her life.

  When they arrived at her house, Dylan displayed his usual good manners. He opened the truck door for her and escorted her up the porch steps to the front door.

  “I had a wonderful time.” She cringed inwardly at the cliché, but her mind, numbed by fear, couldn’t produce an original comment. All she could think of was getting inside, packing her belongings and planning her escape. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  She reached to open the door, but he pulled her hand from the knob and turned her toward him. With a gentle lift of his fingers, he tilted her chin until she faced him.

  Compassion—and something hotter—glowed in his mahogany-brown eyes.

  “If you need me,” he said, so softly she strained to hear, “you know where to find me.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. Dylan was the best thing that had happened to her in the last five terrifying months. No, in the last several years. But after tonight, she would close this chapter in her life and never see him again. She railed inwardly against the unfairness.

  Before she could react to his advance, Dylan pulled her into his arms and dropped his lips to hers. Abandoning herself to the poignance of a last goodbye, she returned his kiss with a fervor that temporarily drove all other thoughts from her mind. She felt safe in his arms, protected and cherished, and she didn’t wanted to leave his embrace.

  When he lifted his head, his dark eyes glowed with questions. Questions she couldn’t answer. She traced her fingers along the rugged line of his jaw, etching him onto her memory. After tonight, memories were all she would have.

  “Goodbye, Dylan,” she whispered.

  He arched his eyebrows at her choice of farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” she lied. “At the festival.”

  He searched her face once more, as if looking for the truth. With a grieving heart, she turned away to slip inside.

  “Goodnight,” she heard him whisper as she closed and locked the door.

  THE FIRST HINT of dawn lightened the eastern sky when Jennifer slipped from Miss Bessie’s guest house and trudged toward town. Her instinct had been to leave immediately the night before, but she knew she’d have little chance of catching a ride at midnight.

  Her backpack, slung over her shoulder, held all her belongings. If she was lucky, she could sneak out of town without being seen by Dy
lan, and, more importantly, the mysterious stranger who stalked her.

  The beauty and serenity of the surrounding mountains, as well as memories of the friends she had made in Casey’s Cove, filled her with regret. She had hoped to make a home here, not slink away like a thief in the night, never to return.

  After an invigorating hike in the brisk air, she reached the café. Raylene was unlocking the front door, opening for business.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asked.

  Jennifer slipped into her usual booth. “Hot and unleaded, please. I’ll need it to keep me awake. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Raylene returned with a filled mug. Jennifer was the only customer at such an early hour, and the waitress slid into the booth across from her. She eyed Jennifer’s backpack with a knowing look. “Going somewhere?”

  Jennifer sipped her coffee and nodded. “The airport. Know anybody who can give me a lift?”

  “So you saw him, too?”

  “Him?”

  Raylene checked her reflection in the front window and patted a wayward strand of teased hair into place. “The guy in the SUV who has the picture that looks like you. I saw him this morning on my way into work.”

  Almost dropping her coffee cup in surprise, Jennifer peered out the window in alarm. The streets of the cove remained deserted in the early hours of Saturday morning. No signs of a black sport utility vehicle. “Where was he?”

  “Parked at Bottleneck Curve.”

  Jennifer sank low on the bench. “If he stays there, he can see everyone who enters and leaves town.” In desperation, she leaned across the table and grabbed the waitress’s hands. “Can you think of anyone who can drive me to the airport? Smuggle me past him?”

  Raylene thought for a second. “What about Dylan?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Out of the question.”

  With narrowed eyes, the waitress studied her. “You are in trouble, aren’t you, hon?”

  Jennifer avoided her gaze. “Sorry, but I can’t tell you about it. Believe me, though, I haven’t broken any laws.” She hesitated. “At least not any major ones.”