Appalachian Abduction. Debbie Herbert
hurt to pick her brain. “What do you know?” he asked sharply.
“Me?” She threw up her hands and cackled. “I’m just an old woman who’s been around too many years to remember, and can sense people’s energy.”
He was reading too much into the old lady’s ramblings. Wouldn’t have even bothered coming to her shop, but Lilah swore that Miss Glory was the only one who helped her get through a difficult pregnancy and then again helped with her colicky baby.
Charlotte backed away to the door, suspicion hardening her classical features. “Who am I in danger from?” she asked sharply.
“That’s not for me to say. But I suspect you know the answer to your own question.”
Charlotte nodded and continued edging to the door.
He wasn’t going to let her run again. James plopped down a couple twenties on the counter. “Will that cover everything?”
Miss Glory nodded and leaned in, her breath a whisper against his ear. “Watch after her. She needs help whether she likes it or not.”
James shook his head. “I’m no one’s protector,” he grumbled. He had his own demons to fight. His tour of duty overseas had left him unwilling to get involved in others’ problems, beyond what was required as an officer. Lilah often fussed that he’d become too withdrawn. But whatever—all he wanted was to perform his duties and be left alone.
Charlotte gasped suddenly and flung herself against the side wall, away from the shop door. A couple of mason jars filled with herbs crashed to the floor. The scent of something earthy, like loam in a newly plowed field, wafted upward.
“What is it?” Instinctively, his right hand went to his sidearm and he surveyed the scene outside. On Main Street, a sleek black sedan accelerated and turned out of sight from the town square.
“Are they gone?” Charlotte asked past stiff lips.
“Whoever was in that vehicle? Yes. What’s this all about?”
Charlotte lifted her chin and carefully picked her way through the strewn herbs and glass shards. “Sorry, Miss Glory. I’ll pay, of course. Where’s your broom? I’ll sweep up the mess.”
Glory shooed her off, then bent over and whispered something in Charlotte’s ear before addressing them both. “I’ll take care of this. You go on, now, and do what you have to do.”
Charlotte rummaged through the backpack and dug out a wad of bills. She lifted a hand at the sight of Glory’s open mouth. “Take it. I insist. And thanks for your help.”
James grabbed a jug of tea and followed Charlotte outside. He took her arm. “What really brings you to Lavender Mountain?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn as hell?” Charlotte grumbled. She climbed into James’s truck, slowly swinging her injured leg into the cab, and then eased back onto the leather seat with a sigh. She wouldn’t admit it for a month’s salary, but running from his office had been a mistake. Her first instinct, born from years of busting street gangs and drug rings, was to flee until she’d formed a plan and was ready to strike.
James got in beside her and slammed his door shut. “Start talking.”
“You’re taking me back to my truck, right? I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“That wasn’t the deal. What’s your game?”
She opened her mouth, and he started the engine. “Don’t lie,” he said. “You’re not running from some ex.”
She had no choice. Once he ran the gun paperwork, he’d know. “I’m an undercover cop. Atlanta PD Special Crimes Unit.”
He shot her an assessing glance, then pulled the truck away from the station and into town. “What are you doing ninety miles from the big city? Anything going on around here, we should be part of the investigation. Atlanta’s urban area may sprawl for miles, but this is still our jurisdiction.”
He might have her cornered, but she didn’t have to tell him the whole truth. “I don’t suppose you’d accept the proposition that the less you know, the better?”
James snorted.
“Right. Okay, I’m investigating a missing girl and have reason to believe she’s being held in the Falling Rock community.”
His brow furrowed. “Why? Give me details.”
“How can I be sure you’re trustworthy? Well, not necessarily you,” she amended. “But what about your boss and coworkers? Any of them could compromise—”
“I trust the sheriff explicitly,” he ground out. “Harlan Sampson is as honest as they come, and I’m not saying that because he’s my brother-in-law. I’ve known him all my life. We’ve been friends since third grade.”
“That’s fine for you, but it doesn’t assure me. Far as my research shows, the previous sheriff is doing time for twenty years of covering up moonshine and murders.”
“And Harlan has been working for over a year now to clean up the force,” James said with a scowl.
“Are you sure he’s finished? Most criminals don’t work in a vacuum.”
“Two officers were fired. That’s out of an office with a dozen employees. I have complete faith in the ones remaining.”
“But you’ve only worked with them six months.” She’d done a cursory background search on every officer.
He shot her a glance, eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve done your homework,” he noted, driving away from the downtown area and starting the drive up a winding mountain road.
“I know you’ve done a couple tours in Afghanistan. Army Special Forces.”
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage,” he said coolly. “I know nothing about you. Yet.”
“No doubt you’ll check the gun paperwork and confirm my story. I’d do the same in your position.”
“So why did you break into my cabin? Couldn’t you survey the Falling Rock area more directly?”
Typical cop. A rookie one, no less. “That’s the difference between working undercover versus running routine patrols and answering callouts. Direct isn’t best in my line of work. I picked your cabin because it’s within walking distance of where I can get a behind-the-scenes view of most of the Falling Rock houses.”
“What do you expect to find? Are you hoping by some miracle that the missing girl is going to step outside? I don’t foresee that happening.”
Charlotte squirmed. Put that way, it did sound like a lame plan. But then, he didn’t know all the particulars. He didn’t know that she was investigating a ring, and as such, she hoped to observe vehicles pulling into backyards to hide the drivers’ comings and goings. Even license plate numbers would provide worthwhile leads to pursue. So let him think she was foolish. The less she revealed, the less interference and lower possibility of word getting back to the traffickers that she was closing in on their operation.
“Don’t make this hard,” James warned. “Either voluntarily give us the information so we can help find this missing girl, or drag your feet until we force the information out of your supervisors. Your choice.”
Damn it. If he contacted Atlanta, she’d be ordered—again—to stop searching. And that was the best-case scenario. Worst case, it was entirely possible she’d lose her job. But she’d weighed the risks from the start, and the decision had been easy. Jenny was her best friend’s daughter. If she didn’t try her best, how could she live with that knowledge? How would she be able to face her best friend for the rest of her days? She