TRACE EVIDENCE (27 page)

Within minutes a squad car had arrived. Jason Sheller and his partner Charlie Zeller walked in. "What have we got here?" He looked at Terry, then looked at Clay and Tamara. "You two okay?"

"Fine. Just get this piece of varmint out of here. Book him for vandalism, criminal mischief and attempted murder. Tamara and I will be down at the station later to make a full statement."

The minute the officers and Terry were gone, Clay looked at Tamara. "I told you to run."

"I wasn't about to run and leave you here with him." She stepped closer to him and touched his chest. "We need to get this cleaned up," she said.

"And this…" He touched her cheek, grateful to see that it had finally stopped bleeding and the wound didn't look too deep.

"I've got some peroxide. Why don't you go into the kitchen and I'll be right in."

Clay nodded. Now that the drama was over, he could tell her about them finding his mother. Then he'd be on his way and that would be the end of their story.

* * *

As Tamara got the peroxide and cotton balls from the bathroom cabinet, she tried not to think of that moment when Clay had told Terry that a Native warrior didn't allow anyone to talk about a Native princess. Considering the man he professed to be, the words had seemed incongruent.

She took a moment and cleaned her cheek, pleased to see that the blow had been a glancing one and the wound was little more than a scratch.

Now that she had a moment to think, she wondered why Clay had come when he had. Certainly she'd wished and hoped that he'd come here and tell her he'd realized he couldn't live without her. But she knew that was just the fantasy of a broken heart.

She returned to the kitchen where he sat at her small table. He'd already taken off his torn shirt and she tried to steel herself against the sight of his beautiful chest, now sporting a long, bloody wound.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he assured her.

"It looks terrible." She dropped to her knees before him and began to swipe off the blood.

"Tamara, we found my mom."

Her gaze flew from his chest to his face. "What?"

The joy of his words shone from his eyes. "We found her alive and well and being held in Jacob Kincaid's basement."

"Oh, Clay!" Unmindful of the blood on his chest, she reached up and hugged him, tears of happiness splashing on her cheeks.

She released him and got back to work. It had been too heady for that moment, being in his arms.

As she began cleaning the wound again, he explained to her about finding his mother and Kincaid's confession. "You helped so much, Tamara," he said when she'd finished cleaning him up.

"Me? How did I help?" She recapped the bottle of peroxide, then remained standing near the table.

"The nature of the beast. That's what made me sure Mom was in Kincaid's house. He was a collector. It was in his nature to covet things. It wasn't a big leap to realize he also might covet beautiful women."

He stood. "And that same philosophy held true with Terry Black. We should have looked at him more closely. It was in his nature to enjoy bullying … creating terror."

"I think something about the serial murders set him off," she said. "He was jealous that those murders were getting so much attention." It was so hard, to stand there and not want him. It wasn't just a physical want … it was the need to love him, to be loved by him, the need to have his children and build a life. A stupid, foolish need that would never come to pass.

"Thank you, Clay," she said and headed into the living room. As much as she needed him to stay, she wanted him to go. "He would have killed me if you hadn't shown up when you did."

He'd followed her into the living room, but instead of heading for the front door he sat on the sofa. "When I peeked into the window and saw you backed against the wall by him I swear my heart stopped." He patted the sofa next to him. "Sit with me."

She hesitated a moment. She sank onto the sofa, keeping as much distance as possible between them.

He frowned and rubbed a hand across his forehead, then looked at her for a long moment without speaking. "Long ago I chose the path that I intended to walk," he finally said. "And until I met you I thought I was happy with the choices I'd made. You were right about one thing. I have taken childhood pains and carried them into my adult life, allowed them to dictate the choices I made."

He broke eye contact with her and instead stared down at the coffee table in front of him. "When I was driving my mother back home, she had a talk with me." He looked back at her again. "Remember when I told you that I'd always felt as if the cultural center was another sibling?"

She nodded, unsure where this conversation was leading but wanting to hear whatever it was he felt compelled to share with her.

"It consumed my mother and I don't think she had a clue how many problems it caused me in school. Anyway, on the drive home she told me she was sorry, that she wished she'd been more of a mother and less of a Cherokee if that's what I needed from her."

Again he returned his gaze to the coffee table. "Her words were meant to soothe, but what they did was make me feel small and I realized that I'd been punishing her with my childish rebellion for years. The path I've been walking doesn't feel right anymore."

This time when he looked at her, his eyes were filled with an emotion that accelerated the beat of her heart. "I'm not sure where I'm going, what new path I'll choose, but I know one thing for certain. I want you walking beside me."

He rose abruptly, grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Tamara, I can't promise you that I'll become the man in that sketch you drew. I can't promise you that I'll spend all my spare time at the cultural center. What I can promise you is that I'll keep my mind and my heart open, that I'll work on loving the part of myself that I've rejected for so long. I can promise you that I love you with every fiber of my being. Can that be enough?"

Tears half-blinded her as she reached for him. "I can't imagine not walking the path of life with you, Clay. It's enough. It's more than enough."

His lips met hers in a searing kiss. He was promising everything that he could be, promising the opening of his heart to what was important to her.

"I love you, Tamara," he said as the kiss ended.

"And I love you," she replied as a joy almost too intense to bear winged through her.

He looked around the destroyed room. "You can't stay here. I guess you'll have to come home with me."

"I guess so," she said.

"And you can forget about sleeping in the spare room. I want you beside me every night for the rest of my life." His eyes blazed with his love for her and she knew she'd found her warrior … the man who'd stolen her heart and would hold it captive forever.

Epilogue

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A
lyssa Whitefeather sat on a lounge chair on the James's back patio. She sipped her iced tea and reveled in the feeling of all being well.

Uncle Thomas reigned king over the barbecue grill where meat sizzled and spat. Aunt Rita was busy rearranging the rest of the food on the tables, greeting guests and doting on the men who were newcomers in their family.

Adam and Breanna sat with Maggie at a nearby table, their laughter a joyous sound riding the light breeze of the perfect August day. Breanna's tummy was beginning to show the signs of her pregnancy and Alyssa knew she'd been placed on desk duty at the police station.

Savannah
and Riley had married the day before in a quiet ceremony with family only.
Savannah
wore the beautiful smile of a new bride as she and her husband helped Rita with the food.

Clay and Tamara stood near Thomas at the grill, Clay teasing his father about his grilling skills. Alyssa had never seen Clay look so relaxed, so happy.

It was a joyous gathering … a celebration of old love and new, of happiness. It was the celebration of a family reunited.

The serial killer was still out there, but there was no talk of those crimes today. Rita had been returned to her family and Tamara's tormentor was in jail and the conversation was pleasant and happy.

Alyssa took another sip of her tea and that's when it happened. Blindness overtook her in an instant and she heard a faint whimper escape her lips. Then she was seeing not the party, not her beloved relatives, but a man … a handsome man with black hair and ice blue eyes.

It was night and he was walking toward her, a sexy smile riding his sensual lips. Suddenly he was being stabbed … over and over again and Alyssa wasn't just a spectator to what was happening. She was a participant. She was the one stabbing him, driving the knife into his chest and she heard screaming and realized that she was making the noise, screaming in victory.

She opened her eyes, shocked to find herself still in the lounge chair, laughter ringing in the air. Her glass of iced tea was no longer in her hand but had dropped to the ground.

Thankfully, nobody had noticed that she'd been out … momentarily unconscious … lost in a horrific vision. The sound of merriment now sounded too shrill as an icy chill claimed her soul. She knew now that evil forces still surrounded Cherokee Corners and that somehow, someway, she was a part of that evil.

* * * * *