Appalachian Prey (Lavender Mountain Book 1; Appalachian Magic) Read online

  “You all right in there?” a female voice drawled.

  Lilah stiffened. “I’m fine,” she said in a mind-your-own-business tone.

  “Don’t sound fine to me.”

  Lilah waited. Whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t leaving and wasn’t entering the neighboring stall. Just what she needed. Why couldn’t a girl get a clean break when she needed to beat a hasty exit? Sighing, she pushed open the door and strode to the washbasin, determined to ignore the nosy stranger. From the corner of her eye, she took her in—a tall rangy woman, wearing a brown uniform and a badge.

  “Quite a scene out there,” the woman commented drily.

  Lilah splashed her face and rinsed her mouth out.

  “I think Harlan’s worried about you.”

  “Told ya I was fine.” She jerked a paper towel from the dispenser and dried her face and hands before throwing it in the bin.

  “You with child?” the woman asked.

  Lilah snatched the keys from her pocketbook and marched to the door. Another minute and she would be out of this stifling place.

  “Is it Harlan’s?”

  The nerve. Lilah’s eyes snapped to meet the intruder’s. She wore no makeup and her auburn hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail. Still, it was easy to see she was a beauty in a tomboyish, no-frills kind of way with a peaches-and-cream complexion and large hazel eyes.

  “None of your business...” Lilah glanced at the nameplate pinned below her badge. “Officer Smithers.”

  “We’re all good buddies working here. Family, even. So is it his?”

  Lilah pushed past the woman but Jolene Smithers stepped in front of her.

  “Following in your sister’s footsteps? Guess I should give you some credit, though. At least you managed to finish high school before populating our county with more Tedders.”

  The hell? It may have been years since she’d lived in Lavender Mountain, but Smithers’s lip curl of disgust when she said Tedders slashed through time. Once again, Lilah was young and facing the taunts of schoolchildren or braving the slights of classmates who never came to her birthday parties. No parent wanted their child hanging out with the likes of Lilah and her family.

  “Get out of my way,” she said coldly.

  “I’m betting it isn’t. Good thing we have paternity tests these days. Keeps riffraff like you from tying down a decent man who—no doubt—will insist on doing the right thing. Either marriage or child support for the next eighteen years.”

  Jolene’s words splattered like acid on Lilah’s heart. That much was true. Harlan would insist on doing right by her. But what kind of life would that be—knowing she’d unwittingly trapped him into marriage? He couldn’t know the truth.

  “And what about his career?” Jolene continued. “He’d be the laughing stock of this county, running for sheriff after a shotgun wedding to a Tedder.”

  She’d had enough. Lilah went around Jolene and flung open the restroom’s door before delivering her parting shot as she stepped into the lobby. “It’s not his baby. Okay? You happy now?”

  Whipping her head back around, she faced a tall uniformed column of stubborn human male.

  Harlan.

  His feet were planted less than six feet from the doorway and his face was set like carved granite.

  How much had he heard? He couldn’t have missed her saying the baby wasn’t his. Lilah lowered her head and walked quickly to the door. She’d come by to tell him she was pregnant with his child, but maybe it was best this way.

  So why was she near tears? If he had ever loved her, that love hadn’t been enough to erase the stigma of her name. Believing she was pregnant by another man, so quickly after their own affair had ended, would be proof to him that she was fickle and unworthy.

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, THE GEORGIA sun beat down like a whip on his face. “Lilah. Stop.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she froze. He stepped in front of her and gazed at her pale face. Now that he had her attention, he hadn’t a clue what to say.

  “Sorry you heard the news that way,” she said flatly. “Didn’t want you to wonder if it was yours, though—just in case we ran into each other in the future or you heard something.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. This didn’t feel right.

  “Positive.”

  Anger churned his gut. There hadn’t been anyone else for him since he’d cut off ties with Lilah. How had she moved on so quickly? “Who?” he ground out past numb lips.

  Her brows raised and she regarded him blankly.

  “Who’s the father?”

  “Oh. You don’t know him. He’s not from around here.”

  She was lying. He was—almost—sure of it.

  “Is the baby mine or not? I deserve the truth.”

  She hesitated. “You deserve a life with a woman you love. You deserve to be sheriff.”

  “Is that what this is about? Let me decide what I want.”

  “Do you love me?” she asked abruptly.

  His mind drew a blank. Love? He cared for her...mightily cared. But love? “I... I’m...”

  Her lips trembled, and she pinched them together. “Whatever happened between us is long over. I have to figure things out on my own.”

  “You shouldn’t have to face this alone. What about this...this other man?” His mind whirled at the possibility she was telling the truth. “Will he marry you? Or at least support you?”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “The days of shotgun weddings ’round these parts are long over. Plenty of women have been single moms. I can do the same.”

  A memory pierced him—her dad at the Foxy Lady bar/motel, hunting down Ed after getting word that Darla was with child. By all witness accounts, Chauncey had stormed into the dive, red-faced and waving a shotgun, searching for the hapless culprit who’d deflowered his eldest daughter. Seeing Ed shirk into the corner, Chauncey had approached and grabbed a fistful of Ed’s camouflage jacket. “Congratulations, you’re getting married,” he’d announced.

  Harlan ran a finger over the collar rim of his stiff uniform shirt. Those days of forced marriages weren’t entirely over. Chauncey Tedder would be mighty displeased about this situation if he were still alive. He cleared his throat. “But you don’t have to raise a child alone if he—”

  “Just go back to work, Harlan. This is my problem, not yours.” She darted around him, but not quickly enough for him to miss the tears brimming in her eyes.

  “Are you going to be okay driving home?” he asked. Damn it, he still cared about her even though he shouldn’t.

  She didn’t bother responding. Instead, she climbed in her car and backed out of the parking space a tad too carelessly. She whipped out of the lot and accelerated onto the highway. Within a minute, the car disappeared in the distance.

  It was as if Lilah couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

  “She gone?” Jolene was suddenly beside him.

  “Looks that way.”

  “It’s for the best, Harlan.” She ran a hand along his arm. “Time you moved on. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

  He frowned and moved out of her reach. This wasn’t Jolene’s first hint she wanted something more than friendship.

  “Plenty of other fish in the sea.” She smiled and practically batted her eyes.

  But he had zero interest in his comely coworker. Instead of a tall redhead, his interest was decidedly marked in favor of a certain petite blonde. One who clearly was over him and might even be pregnant with another man’s baby.

  So why was he so upset? Hadn’t that been what he wanted all along—a clean break with Lilah? But he walked away from Jolene and headed back to work weighted with a heaviness that made him feel suddenly ten years older.

  Chapter Four

  Harlan considered himself lucky. Today would be so bus
y that thoughts of Lilah would be temporarily relegated to the back burner. Last night had been a tough and fitful sleep—was the baby his or not and why should he care?—but after numerous cups of coffee, he now had enough stamina to get through the day’s scheduled raid.

  He and five other officers surrounded the abandoned older home. Kudzu crept over the windows like a living, breathing veil. So convenient for anyone hiding illegal drugs. One would expect to see broken windows and doors in a vacated building, but for all its age and the superficial facade of neglect, the front door was bolted shut with a steel chain and padlock and it lacked signs of forced entry anywhere.

  Not only that but also dozens of large footsteps had tamped down the overgrown grass and weeds surrounding the house. They’d been there when he and the team had arrived.

  He had a good feeling about this one.

  Remote homes sprinkled Appalachia, but this place on top of Booze Mountain took the cake. It had taken them a good half an hour of driving up increasingly narrow and bumpy dirt roads to get here.

  Sammy Armstrong sidled over and gave him a broad wink. “How’s your girlfriend doing?”

  Harlan gritted his teeth. If it had been someone other than his old childhood friend teasing him, he would have busted his chops. “Fine,” he spat, not inviting further conversation.

  Sammy nudged him. “Lilah’s more than fine. A real looker. A man could do worse.”

  J.D. pulled into the lot and exited the cruiser, patting his uniform shirt pocket. “I got the subpoena. Let’s do this.”

  Alvin Lee, a fellow officer, marched up the sagging porch steps with a pair of giant bolt cutters.

  Harlan idly swatted at a skeeter that buzzed near his ear and swiped his arm across his sweaty forehead. The heat was brutal, even up here in the mountains.

  The chain crashed onto the wooden porch with a clatter nearly as loud as a shotgun blast. Alvin kicked in the door, and Harlan followed him inside the abandoned home.

  The stench of stale food pervaded—a toxic mixture of fried bologna and venison. In the center of the main room, the scratched surface of a long table was littered with boxes, string and packing tape. It looked like an assembly line set up. Easy to guess the sort of merchandise packaged here.

  He glanced around the mostly ruined interior, and his spirits sank. It looked deserted. Not even a single marijuana plant in sight. So much for his intuition.

  Three other officers entered via the back door, and J.D. strolled into the room, thumbs tucked into his belt. “Find any drugs?” he asked hopefully.

  Harlan swiped a finger on the fine layer of white powder on the table. Much too white for mere dust. “Probably cocaine residue,” he answered, brushing off the powder on his pant legs. “Afraid that’s going to be the extent of our find.”

  “Damn it. Not again.” J.D. stalked off to the adjacent kitchen. “Comb the area for leftover receipts, matches—anything left behind that might give us some clue who’s been here.”

  Sammy slammed his fist into his open palm. “What is this? Almost a half dozen raids now in the last year? They’re always a step ahead of us.” He huffed in frustration. “It’s like they know we’re coming.”

  Dread settled in Harlan’s gut as he assimilated the words. He didn’t want to believe it. They were a small team, and he’d grown up with most of them on the mountain. They were his friends, his colleagues, the people he trusted in dangerous situations.

  But the lure of easy money could mess with a person’s mind. He’d seen it before. A younger officer, Caleb, had fallen into that trap last year. First, it was turning a blind eye on minor offenses like illegal poker games. Then it progressed to fixing tickets for family and friends. Word spread until it reached a point where everyone believed they could offer a little money in return for a favor, muddying boundaries. Even if he’d wanted to stop taking bribes, Caleb had confessed that if he hadn’t taken them, someone would have squealed.

  Someone always squealed. You could count on that. It held true for inmates as well as the officers who were supposed to enforce the law.

  In the end, Caleb had been fired.

  Harlan tapped a finger against his lips. Caleb still dated Marla, one of the two dispatchers on the day shift. Did Marla pump him with information on their scheduled raids? Mentally, he made a note to check on that.

  J.D.’s cell phone rang, and he tossed it on the kitchen counter. “Answer that while I help Alvin search the back bedroom.”

  Harlan picked it up. “Sampson here,” he said, opening a drawer and searching its sparse contents as Marla breathlessly reported the latest news.

  Another shooting. Another victim dead.

  An icy finger of fear shimmied down his spine. Lilah—and their baby—might be in danger.

  * * *

  LILAH RUBBED HER swollen eyes, then riffled through the stack of bills that had collected in her mailbox during her absence. Absentmindedly going up the stairs, she almost ran smack into Luke McCoy at the bottom of the apartment stairwell.

  “Whoa there, missy,” he said with a laugh. “We missed you while you were gone.” She glanced up, and his easy grin melted away. “You all right?”

  Lilah gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. Need a friend? We could talk over breakfast and coffee.”

  Sure, but she hated to encourage the guy. He’d been asking her out for weeks now, and if she went out with him, he’d make a big deal of it.

  “No, really. It was a rough night, but I’m okay.”

  “Missing your family, I bet,” he said knowingly. “Ms. Cranston told me you went home for your father’s funeral and stayed awhile to take care of the estate and stuff.”

  She made a mental note to be more circumspect with her elderly neighbor. “Right,” she agreed, clutching at the excuse.

  A brown-and-white cop cruiser whipped into a nearby parking spot, and she idly watched as a man got out. He locked the door and turned, rapidly making his way toward them. It couldn’t be. A familiar shock of brown hair, a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes... Yes, it was Harlan. What was he doing here? And dressed in his uniform, too?

  “I think breakfast is just what you need,” Luke continued, unaware of Harlan approaching from behind. “Let me take you out.”

  Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “No, thank you.”

  “Ah, come on—”

  “The lady said no,” Harlan snapped.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  His jaw tightened. “We have business to discuss.”

  Luke held up a hand and shuffled backward. “I’ll leave you two alone then.”

  Well, at least he might not pester her for dates anymore. So at least something good would come of this unexpected meeting with Harlan.

  “Is that him?” Harlan asked stiffly.

  “What? Oh, you mean... Never mind, it’s still none of your business.”

  “Seemed pretty spineless to me,” Harlan observed. “He cut out pretty quick when I came.”

  “You practically ordered him to leave,” she argued. “Besides—”

  “Yoo-hoo, officer!” They looked up the stairs, where Ms. Cranston stood in her housecoat. “That was quick. I just called five minutes ago.”

  “Ma’am, I’m not—”

  “I got to puzzling on that stranger hanging around here last night, and the more I thought on it, the more scared I got on account of—”

  “Stranger?” Harlan took the stairs two at a time and withdrew a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “When? What did he look like?”

  Lilah followed him, trying to quell the butterflies of alarm in her stomach.

  “He was medium height, a little on the thin side and dressed all in black. Kept walking back and forth in that hallway there.” She pointed to the hall where Lilah’
s apartment was.

  “Did he wear a black ski mask?” Lilah asked, holding her breath.

  “No. If he had, I’d a called the police right away.”

  “Could you describe his face or hair?” Harlan asked.

  Ms. Cranston shook her head. “He stayed in the shadows.”

  Harlan sighed and returned the notepad to his shirt pocket.

  “Thing is,” Ms. Cranston continued, “another feller came ’round this morning dressed all in black. I leaned out my window and yelled, ‘Hey, whatcha doin’?’ He took off running to the parking lot without even turning around to see who was talking.”

  “Did you get a look at the car make and model, or a tag?”

  “It was a big dark blue car,” she said. “Sorry, I don’t know models and such as that.”

  Harlan nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He took Lilah’s arm and motioned for the stairs.

  “Hope you catch him,” Ms. Cranston called to their backs. “I don’t cotton to strangers roaming around here. Up to no good, I bet.”

  “We’re going to your apartment, and you’re going to pack your things,” Harlan said in his no-nonsense voice. “We’ll talk on the way to Lavender Mountain.”

  * * *

  “WON’T BE ANY safer there,” she muttered. Inside her apartment, she whirled to face him. “You can’t just show up and start ordering me around.”

  His face was as set as she’d ever seen it. “Have a seat.”

  Something was wrong. Bad wrong. Her jellied legs no longer felt strong enough to support her weight, and she sank into the nearest chair, clasping her hands in her lap. “What’s happened?”

  Harlan ran a hand through his hair and sank to his knees beside her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin and inhale the scent of his woodsy aftershave. “There’s no easy way to break this, darlin’.”

  Who was in trouble or hurt this time? Jimmy? He’d returned to his tour in Afghanistan last week, and Lord knew that he’d been placed in dangerous missions time and again—

  “It’s Darla,” he said gently, placing a large rough hand over hers and squeezing. “She’s been murdered.”

  No. No, not her sister. “I just saw her yesterday,” she mumbled. How stupid. As if that meant Darla couldn’t possibly be dead. Lilah shook off the useless denial. “How...”