The Smoky Mountain Mist (10 page)

She hung up the phone, her expression carefully still as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet Seth’s. What her features lacked in expressiveness, her blue eyes made up for, blazing with pain and fear.

“What is it?” he asked carefully.

Her throat bobbed with a deep swallow. “That was Antoine Parsons. A motorist on the Great Smoky Mountains Parkway pulled over near Sevierville to take a picture of the mountains and spotted a man’s body lying about twenty feet down an incline. The Sevier County police called the Bitterwood P.D. because of the APB they’d put out on Davis.”

“Is it him?”

“He didn’t have any identification on him, but he does have a few identifying marks. They want me to take a look at the body and see if it’s him.”

“No,” he said flatly.

Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“They can’t ask you to look at a body like that,” he said firmly, remembering how the man in the bushes had looked. His recall of the event had been coming back to him slowly but surely, and what he remembered of the man’s condition only strengthened his resolve. “The man I saw in the bushes was badly beaten. You might not even be able to recognize him—his face was a mess—”

“I don’t think it’s his face they want me to look at,” she said quietly. “He has birthmarks and scars on his body that I’d be able to identify.”

The sudden, entirely inappropriate flood of jealousy burning through his system only made him angrier—at himself, at the police for putting her in such a horrible position and, most of all, at the monster who was wreaking havoc all around her life for what seemed, to Seth, the most ridiculously petty reason he could think of—control of a moderately successful midsize trucking company.

How could the job of running Davenport Trucking be worth five murders and the wholesale destruction of Rachel’s life? It made no sense, but it was the only logical motive Seth had been able to come up with after weeks of pondering the question.

What was he missing?

“If you go, I’m going with you,” he said firmly.

She sent him a look of gratitude. “I’d appreciate that.”

He looked down at his borrowed clothes. “I’d better change.”

“Right.” She waved toward a door to the right. “There’s a bedroom behind that door. You can have it tonight.”

He took his overnight bag into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. As he dressed, he took a moment to call Adam Brand for an update.

The FBI agent sounded harried when he answered. “Not the greatest time, Seth—”

“A lot’s happened.” He outlined the events of the day as economically as he could. “I’m about to go with Rachel to take a look at the body.”

“This is bad.” Brand didn’t sound surprised, Seth noticed.

“But not unexpected?”

There was a brief pause on Brand’s end of the line. “Not entirely.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you know, are you?”

“Not yet. Just keep an eye on Ms. Davenport and let me know everything that happens. I promise I’ll tell you what I know as soon as I have all my ducks in a row on my end.”

“I’m going to tell her I’m working for the FBI.”

“No.”

“I’m not comfortable lying to her.”

“Seth, one of the reasons you’ve been so valuable to us is the fact that you’re a damned good liar. Don’t pretend you’re suddenly a paragon of virtue. Just do what you do well and don’t try to do my part of the job.”

“I’m not going to keep lying to her,” Seth insisted firmly. “I don’t need your permission. I’m just giving you a little warning.”

“You could screw things up badly if you tell her.”

I could screw things up worse if I don’t,
he thought. “I’ll tell her she has to be discreet. She’ll understand. She can be trusted.”

“If it gets around that the FBI is looking into some little stalker case in Bitterwood, Tennessee, it could screw up a very big, ongoing investigation.”

“An investigation into what?”

“I can’t tell you that.” Brand had the decency to sound as if he regretted keeping Seth in the dark, at least. But Seth was losing patience with the skullduggery.

“Good night, Adam.” He used Brand’s first name deliberately. Adam Brand wasn’t his boss, even if he paid the bills, and Seth would be damned if he’d kowtow to the man.

He hung up and tucked his phone in his back pocket. Out in the front room, he found Rachel at the window, her forehead pressed against the windowpane. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned to look at him. She’d been crying, though her eyes were mostly dry now.

Forgetting his promise to keep his distance, he crossed to where she stood, wrapping her up in a fierce hug. She stood stiff for a second before she relaxed in his arms, her cheek against his collarbone. Her arms curled around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Tell me I can do this,” she said.

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to. But he’d seen the desperation in her eyes, the fierce need to be in control.

To be all right.

He released a slow, deep breath. “You can do this.”

She nodded, her expression firming into iron-hard determination. “Let’s go.” She let go of him and walked slowly to the door, leaving him to follow.

Chapter Ten

She’d seen death twice in her life. First at the age of fifteen, when her mother’s madness had led her to suicide. Some details were fuzzy in her memory but not all. Rachel still remembered the stark moment when she’d realized her mother had gone and wasn’t coming back.

More recently, she’d watched her father die, a peaceful drift from slumber to utter stillness, protected from the cruelties of his life’s end by the drugs his doctor had given him to make it easier to let go. They’d dulled his pain and given him a peace in death that his disease had denied him in life.

But until the moment the Sevier County morgue attendant pulled back the sheet on the battered body of Davis Rogers, she’d never seen death resulting from murder.

His face was battered almost beyond recognition, but the hourglass-shaped birthmark on his left biceps and the long white scar on his right knee filled in the blanks for her. It had been nearly seven years since she’d been in any kind of relationship with Davis, but he’d kept fit, the intervening years doing little to change the body she’d once known intimately.

Grief gouged a hole in her heart, and she turned away after nodding to the deputy sheriff who’d accompanied them into the morgue.

Seth stood just behind her, and it seemed as natural as breathing to walk into his arms when he reached out to her. He pulled her close for a moment before leading her out into the corridor, where the air seemed immediately lighter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair.

She wanted to cry, felt it burning its way into her chest, but she let it rise no further. She wasn’t going to fall apart, especially not here in the midst of strangers like the deputy, who watched them both through narrowed eyes.

A few feet down the hallway, Antoine Parsons pushed away from the wall and crossed to where she, Seth and the deputy stood. “Is that the man you saw at Sequoyah House?” he asked Seth.

“Same clothes. Same condition.” Seth moved his hand comfortingly up and down Rachel’s back, but she felt tension gathering in him like a thunderstorm rising up a mountain. “I didn’t think he had much of a chance of making it without help.”

“We’re still working on cause of death.” The deputy, who’d introduced himself as John Mallory, seemed more interested in keeping his eye on Seth than meeting Antoine Parson’s gaze. Seth himself seemed acutely aware of the deputy’s scrutiny, though he tried not to show it.

He’d warned her, she thought. People looked at him differently because of who he was. What he’d been. And maybe if she’d never seen another side of him—the kind man, the brave protector—she’d be inclined to view him the same way.

She had viewed him with suspicion as recently as a few hours ago.

But that had been before he’d kissed her.

Was that all it took? Was that how easily she gave her trust?

She felt herself edging away from him, even as the thoughts roiled through her mind. He let go, let her move away, not looking at her as he did so. His gaze was fixed on John Mallory, his chin high and his mouth set with stubborn pride.

But even though he wasn’t looking at her, she felt as if his defiant stance was meant for her as much as it was meant for the deputy.
This is who I am. This is what I deal with every day. If you can’t handle it...

“I’d like to request formal release of the body into the custody of the Bitterwood Police Department,” Antoine said to Mallory. “Based on eyewitness testimony, we have reason to believe the assault leading to Davis Rogers’s murder took place in the Bitterwood jurisdiction.”

“Not so fast,” Mallory said. “Until the C.O.D. is determined, the location of his death is still at issue.”

“You really want this case?” Antoine argued. “You’re about to have this man’s family and their grief and questions crashing down on you. There’s damned little evidence to go on, thanks to the rain and the removal of the body from the place where he was attacked. You’re buying yourself a damned near unsolvable case, John.”

“And you want it why, Antoine?”

“Because I think it may be connected to an open case in Bitterwood.” Antoine flicked a quick look at Seth.

A slight twitch of Seth’s eyes was his only response.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mallory said after a moment of consideration. “I’ll talk to the sheriff, see if I can’t get him to agree to a joint investigation, based on the testimony and pending the determination of the C.O.D. Then, if the cause of death suggests that the murder took place in the Bitterwood jurisdiction, we’ll hand the whole thing over. Deal?”

Antoine didn’t look happy, but he gave a nod. “I can live with that.”

“Ms. Davenport gave us some information that should help us locate and inform Mr. Rogers’s family of his death, so I’m going to go get the notifications started.” Mallory shot Antoine a wry look. “Unless you’d like to handle that part of the investigation?”

Antoine smiled. “You found the body. You make the notifications.”

Once Deputy Mallory was out of earshot, Antoine turned to Seth. “He really, really doesn’t like you.”

“I have that effect on a lot of people,” Seth replied in a bone-dry tone. “I think in his case, it has more to do with Cleve Calhoun than with me. Cleve sucked Mallory’s cousin into some land deal he’s still holding a grudge about. Can’t say I blame him. He lost a hell of a lot of money.”

“If only he hadn’t been so greedy, he could have avoided it?” Antoine asked. “Isn’t that what you fellows say? Can’t con an honest man?”

Seth slanted a look at Rachel, a hint of a smile curving his lips, though none of the amusement made it into his hard green eyes. “Something like that. I don’t reckon that makes for much of an excuse, though.”

“What happens now?” Rachel asked, finding the tense posturing between Seth and Antoine exhausting.

“Deputy Mallory will contact your friend’s family. They’ll make a formal identification for the record and, meanwhile, we’ll get a warrant to search his room and his vehicle at Sequoyah House. I’ve already had it sealed off and posted a couple of officers at the bed-and-breakfast pending the warrant.”

“Is there anything else we can do to help?”

Antoine looked at Seth. “If you could tell more about what you saw before you got hit on the head, we’d be better off. Maybe you saw the person who did it and you just don’t remember.”

Seth shook his head. “I doubt I’d be alive now if I’d seen who hit me.” He glanced toward the door of the morgue. “Whoever did this doesn’t seem interested in leaving witnesses behind.”

“Witnesses to what?” Antoine asked.

Rachel wondered the same thing. What could Davis have seen that would warrant someone beating him to death? As far as she could tell, he’d come to town for her father’s funeral. At most, he’d have been in Bitterwood for maybe a day before he was murdered.

The only thing he might have witnessed of any significance was what had happened to her at Smoky Joe’s Saloon.

Which had to be the answer, Rachel realized.

“He was with me at Smoky Joe’s Saloon last night,” she said.

“I spoke to Joe Breslin earlier today,” Seth explained as Antoine shot Rachel a curious look. “He told me he saw a man fitting Davis Rogers’s description with Rachel last night at his bar. The man made a pass at Rachel, she rebuffed him and he left, according to Joe.”

“Is that what his phone call was about?” Antoine asked. “The one you played for me?”

Seth looked at Rachel. “If he left before you did, what could he have possibly seen?”

“You think you were drugged.” Antoine also looked at her. “Could Rogers have done it?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“It’s been a few years since you were together,” Seth pointed out. “Maybe someone flashed a little cash at him—”

“He’s a plaintiff’s lawyer in Richmond and has done very well for himself. You saw where he was staying. Sequoyah House isn’t cheap.”

“Maybe he still holds a grudge about your breakup,” Antoine suggested.

“He broke up with me,” she answered bluntly. “I mean, it was mutual—we had both realized by then that we just wanted different things in life. But he was the one who finally made the move to end it. He’s never tried to hurt me. You heard his message.”

Her gut tightened as she realized the final call, the one she’d heard cut off with a thud, truly had been his last. At some point after that call had ended so abruptly, he’d been beaten to death.

Tears rose in her eyes, stinging hot. She blinked them back, but they kept coming, rolling down her cheeks in a sudden, unstoppable flood.

Seth’s hands closed over her shoulders, warm and strong. It would be so easy to lean back against him, let herself melt in his solid heat.

But once she started depending on him, it might be difficult to stop. And he’d already made it clear that he wasn’t in the market for any sort of entanglement.

“I’d like to borrow your phone again,” Antoine said suddenly. “I’d like to record those last messages to you, if that’s okay. Should have done it earlier. I could get a warrant, but this would be faster.”

“Of course.” She handed over her phone.

“I’ll get it back to you as soon as I’m done. If you’d like to come to the station with me, I can record while you wait.”

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” Seth suggested. “Ledbetter’s Café is just around the corner.” He looked up at Antoine. “Want us to bring you something?”

Antoine looked surprised by the offer. “Yeah. Sure. A pulled pork sandwich and some of Maisey’s sweet potato fries.” He pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed Seth a ten, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You really are good at getting people to hand over their hard-earned money, aren’t you, Hammond?”

Seth grinned back. “At least this time, you’ll get a sandwich and fries out of it.”

* * *

A
FTER
THE
TRIP
to the morgue, Rachel didn’t have any appetite, but she let Seth cajole her into an omelet on toast. She managed to eat most of it, even though it seemed to stick in her throat. She sat back finally and watched Seth work his way through a plateful of barbecue ribs and Maisey Ledbetter’s homemade slaw.

He ate with gusto, she noticed, like a man who appreciated a good, hot meal when one came his way. Even now, there was a hungry look about Seth Hammond that made her wonder how many times he’d been uncertain where his next meal would come from.

Seth ordered Antoine’s barbecue plate as they got ready to leave, adding a slice of lemon meringue pie with a few dollars of his own money. At Rachel’s questioning look, he shot her a sheepish grin. “I stole his pie at lunch one day in high school. He never knew who did it, but since I’m in the making-amends business these days—”

“Nice of you.”

“Nice would have been if I hadn’t nicked his pie in the first place.”

Antoine raised an eyebrow at the unexpected slice of pie but thanked them and traded Rachel’s cell phone for the food. He also had some information from the crime scene unit at Rachel’s house. “They went over the place pretty thoroughly, but other than the piece of plastic and the shoe box you found, they couldn’t find anything else of interest.”

“What about the blood?”

“Not human. Animal of some kind, which wouldn’t be hard to come by in a farming community like this.”

She felt a rush of relief. “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re free to go back to your house, but if I were you, I’d change the locks as soon as you can. And put an alarm system in place.”

“I’ll definitely do that.”

“I wish we had the manpower to send patrols by your house regularly, but we’re already stretched pretty thin with a detective on leave and another recently retiring—”

“I understand,” she said quickly, aware she was luckier than most people in her position. She could afford to hire protection if she needed it. Most people couldn’t.

“I’m not going to ignore what’s happening to you.” Antoine’s voice softened with concern. “I know this is the fifth murder connected to whatever’s going on with you, and I won’t avert my eyes and pretend it’s not happening. I’m going to do my damnedest to figure out who’s behind it.”

“We’ve had some thoughts about that,” Seth told him. He glanced at Rachel as if seeking permission to say anything further.

She gave a nod.

“The best I can tell, everything started about nine weeks ago, right?” Seth looked around the bull pen, his expression wary. “Is there someplace a little less open where we can discuss this?”

Antoine seemed surprised by the question, but he led them down the hall to a small room equipped with a table, three chairs and a video camera mounted high in one corner. He showed them the button on the wall that controlled the camera. “It’s off.”

Seth looked at it closely, then took the lone chair on the far side of the table, leaving Rachel and Antoine to sit in the other two. “Sorry if I’m coming across paranoid, but I’m not sure who to trust these days.”

Antoine shot him a wry look. “Tell me about it.”

Rachel frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Are you suggesting there’s someone on the police force involved with what’s happening to Rachel?” Seth asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any particular reason to think so, but I have reservations about the way some things are done around here. I’m just saying I understand Hammond’s caution.”

“I’m wary of anyone with a badge,” Seth said wryly. “Though a lot of that’s my own damned fault.”

“Too bad. We’re having all kinds of trouble with fraud cases these days, the economy being what it is.” Antoine sighed. “There are just too many ways to part good folks from their hard-earned money, and it wouldn’t hurt to have an insider on our side.”

“I’m wondering if money isn’t the driving force behind what’s going on at Davenport Trucking,” Seth said.

Rachel looked at him, surprised. “We’re pretty successful, I’ll grant you, but I’m not sure we’re five murders worth of successful.”

“You’d be surprised how cheaply murder can be bought,” Antoine muttered.

Seth twined his fingers on the table in front of him, the muscles and tendons flexing and unflexing, drawing Rachel’s gaze. A couple of hours ago, those hands had been on her. Touching her. Branding her.