The Gift
by
Deb Stover
November 2009 -- Dorchester Publishing
© by Deb Stover -- All Rights Reserved.
"A blend of romance and mystery with just the right twist of the paranormal, The Gift by Deb Stover is an intriguing tale, a real page-turner."
~New York Times Bestselling Author, Lisa Jackson
Prologue
Blood. Rivers of it, crashing streams of vivid color erupted from the corners of her mind and flooded her awareness until all she knew was terror.
The shimmering steel blade ripped and retreated again and again. Crimson waves of pain pierced into her. Dripping life's blood...
Death tugged at her, greedy and demanding, dragging her into the victim's world, toward the cold, the dark.
Not yet... She had to see the face. The killer's face.
A voice rose, taunting, but she couldn't see, couldn't understand the muffled words. Then a moment of clarity just before death claimed its victim. Thank God. The monster came closer, hovered over her. His name formed in her mind and she filed it away in the part of her brain that was still sane. Still hers. He laughed as he wiped his bloodied blade and shoved it into his pocket before he walked away. The door squeaked open, clicked shut.
Pressure within her mounted until she thought she would explode. There wasn't room inside her for them both. The pain in her skull was unbearable.
Blinding light flashed. A tunnel formed. The pressure eased and the spirit gradually moved beyond her and into the light.
CHAPTER ONE
Three years later...
Life could be a real bastard sometimes, but Beth Dearborn worked overtime to stay one step ahead of the damage. She'd made the decision that night on Lakeshore Drive to slam-dunk her career as a homicide detective into the toilet and flush. Sobriety was the brass ring now, and so far, she had it firmly in her grasp.
She damned well planned to keep it that way.
However, this assignment worried her. Up until now, her career as a nomadic insurance investigator had proved safe, but this was her first case of possible life insurance fraud. The evidence she'd reviewed from the home office gave her no reason to believe she might encounter any...problems. Still, this was the closest she'd come in over three years to the life she'd left behind.
One day at a time, Dearborn.
A sudden pop, followed by a kick-ass tug on the steering wheel and an ominous thump, thump, thump meant trouble. She aimed her seriously ancient Honda toward the shoulder, braked, and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. "Damn." Less than a mile from Brubaker, Tennessee and she had to get a flat.
"My life story in frigging rubber."
Resigned, she unfolded her nearly six-foot frame from the cramped car and headed for the trunk just as an oversized Dodge pickup rolled to a stop behind her. Shading her eyes, she made out the shape of a straw cowboy hat through the windshield. Oh, great--a good old boy to my rescue.
One thing Beth Dearborn was not was helpless. Lonely, yes. A failure, yes. Helpless, no. These southern gentlemen just couldn't seem to grasp the concept of a woman who didn't require rescuing on a semi-regular basis. With a sigh, she opened her trunk and released her spare tire from its bed beneath the trunk floor. She wrestled it onto the hot pavement, then reached for the jack and lug wrench.
"Afternoon, ma'am," a deep drawl rumbled. "Appears you got some trouble here."
"No trouble at all." Beth rolled the tire toward the rear passenger side and the flat. "Nothing this spare won't fix anyway."
"Here, let me give you a hand with that." He reached down and his large hand covered hers on top of the tire.
Beth's breath came out in a rush of exasperation. Don't piss off the locals before you even get to town, she reminded herself. Of course, for all she knew this guy was just passing through. Still, she mentally counted to ten and glanced sideways at her unwelcome Sir Galahad.
Whoa! Tall, dark and handsome didn't begin to describe her Good Samaritan. He wore a pair of sunglasses beneath the brim of his straw cowboy hat, and the open collar of his chambray shirt revealed just enough tanned chest to give Beth an enticing glimpse of curling black hair.
All right, change of plans. Watching this guy change her tire might be a nice diversion, after all. She stepped back and wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans. "Uh, thanks."
He flashed her a devastating grin and set to work, muscles rippling beneath his rolled-up sleeves. Then he stooped to slide the car's jack into place. She tilted her head to admire the fit of his jeans, worn nearly white in all the right places. Very, very nice.
Since she kept emotional entanglements at a minimum by choice, her sexual encounters were way too few and even farther between. Strictly for fun--no strings. But a girl could look.
"You live around here?" she asked, hoping the small talk might help her recover from that sudden jolt of sexual awareness. Even so, she didn't pick up strangers for one-night stands. She hadn't sunk that low, and she sure as hell wasn't that stupid. Walking a beat on the streets of Chicago before making detective had seen to that.
He glanced back over his shoulder and nodded, then made quick work of releasing the lug nuts on the flat tire. "Got a farm east of town."
Sexy farmer. Beth almost chuckled at herself. He was probably married and had a brood of kids on that farm of his. Besides, she was here on business. Reminded of that, she drew a deep breath and took another step back. Still...worthy eye candy. Her gaze drifted to the ring finger of his left hand. His naked ring finger...
An unwelcome and uncharacteristic warmth--relief?--settled over her, but she shook it off and cleared her throat. Sheesh.
A few minutes later, he had her spare tire in place, lowered the car, removed the jack, and placed the flat in her trunk. Beth thanked him and handed him a bottle of water from her cooler. He removed his sunglasses and dropped them into his shirt pocket, revealing eyes a mesmerizing shade of blue-green.
Holy... "I...I'd better be going," she said, her throat doing a desert imitation.
"Thanks for the drink," he said. "You'll find a garage on the edge of town called Gooch's where you can get your tire fixed or replaced."
"Yeah, thanks." Beth cleared her throat. "Let me pay you for your--"
"No thanks, ma'am." He slammed her trunk. "Drive safely."
An odd expression crossed his face, and for a second she thought he was going to say something else. Instead, he shook his head and replaced his sunglasses. Without another word, he strode back to his truck, climbed inside, started the engine and drove away.
"Whew!" She fanned herself and sank into her car, wondering if all the men in Brubaker were like that one. Somehow she doubted it. All southern jokes aside, if that guy was an example of inbreeding, she was in favor of it.
Back to reality, Dearborn. She dropped the Honda into gear and allowed the sound of passing cars to anchor her back into reality. Eventually, she merged back into the traffic's easy flow. The passing scenery around Brubaker gave Beth the urge to slow down and take in the natural beauty--something she rarely did. All right, something she never did. The Great Smoky Mountains ringed the valley on three sides like purple smudges against the vast sky. Easy to understand why agriculture was big in the area, since everything was green and lush as far as she could see. Rainfall was obviously plentiful, and she crossed numerous brooks and streams on her way into town.
But Beth didn't have time to slow down and admire the scenery, let alone take a cleansing breath of all things. She had a job to do.
After a brief stop at Gooch's Garage, where a slack-jawed yokel promised her a new tire by next week and assured her of the variety in the local gene pool, she headed toward the center of town. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a town square, except in the movies. There was even a clock tower in the center of a picturesque little park. Brubaker, Tennessee proved small-town America was alive and well.
But the sooner she got out of here the better. She parked and exited her car, then stretched the kinks out of her legs and spine. At her height, she needed more room, but she could worry about new wheels later. The engine sputtered and gave a mighty shudder before falling silent, as if reminding her of its advanced age.
"Nice car," she said, patting the hood and crossing her fingers. "Have a good rest." The last thing she needed was to end up stranded here in Bumpkinville. That would mean paying for car repairs and charging a rental to her employer. The flat was more than enough trouble for one day.
She worked cheap, which put her in the good graces of her boss. Avery Mutual was reputable--for an insurance company--but it kept investigators on a short leash and an even shorter budget.
Her mission was simple--make sure claims were legit. She slung the strap of her backpack over one shoulder and retrieved her bag from the trunk. Then she headed toward the old hotel across the square.
The Brubaker Arms was a three-story brick Victorian, complete with turrets and gingerbread. She grimaced. Sweet. Just looking at it gave her a toothache. But Beth didn't care as long as the bed was decent and she had her own bath. She'd hit bottom and was still on the low rung, but not low enough to share the john with strangers.
As she strolled across the quaint little park, she had the feeling of being watched. She looked from side to side, counting several gazes focused solely on her. She chuckled and rolled her eyes toward the brilliant blue sky. These people must be bored stiff to waste their time staring at a gangly newcomer. Of course, if they knew everything about her, they would be even more likely to stare.
Or run for the hills.
This ex-homicide detective and recovering drunk used to relive murders on a routine basis, folks. And thank God she didn't have to do that anymore. Beth barely suppressed a shudder as ominous memories threatened to emerge from the vault she kept sealed at the back of her mind. Carefully, she slammed the door shut again and turned the key.
She was a stranger here, she reminded herself as she crossed the narrow cobblestone street to the hotel. She'd been in the south for almost three years now and was well versed on the significance of being a Yankee in God's country.
Focus on the job, Dearborn.
She was here to either prove or disprove that Lorilee Brubaker-Malone--hometown girl for sure--was alive and well. Somewhere. In this case, the seven-figure policy alone was enough to raise suspicions, but the lack of a body screamed insurance fraud as far as Avery Mutual was concerned.
Beth preferred to think of her mission as a fact-finding mission, but she couldn't deny the bottom line. Insurance companies preferred not to pay claims. She uncovered the facts and left the rest to her employer. What happened afterward was none of her business. She did her job, did it well, and moved on to the next assignment.
Easy. Simple. The way she liked things. The way she liked life....
She pushed open the front door of the hotel and strolled through the lobby. Blanche Dubois and Minnie Pearl would be right at home here.
Beth paused at the front desk and looked around. Waiting. Anytime she entered an old building she had to stop and consider if anyone had ever died a violent death there. And if they had, was their spirit still in residence? She couldn't place herself at risk even if it meant moving to the dumpy motel she'd passed on the edge of town.
Avoidance of spirits who'd died violently had given Beth three peaceful, sober years. Like an unused muscle, her gift–her curse--was wasting away. That was the plan anyway, and so far it seemed to be working. She couldn't be happier. Her cousin Sam insisted that someday she would regret allowing her empathic gift to wilt away.
That'll be the day.
She drew deep, even breaths. Nothing. The place was deserted, apparently by both the living and the dead. Sometimes even she had to admit a pang of loneliness after a lifetime of encountering spirits on a semi-regular basis.
No, don't go there, Dearborn.
After a few minutes, she stopped gnashing her teeth and tapped the bell on the counter, wincing as the metallic ringing echoed off the high ceilings and polished woodwork.
A short, bald man appeared in front of her as if by magic. "May I help you?"
"Elizabeth Dearborn," she said, noting the tiny twitch in the man's jaw at her decidedly Yankee accent. "I have a reservation. Avery Mutual made it."
The man keyed her name into his computer terminal and nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I have it right here, and this here says third party billing." One woolly brow arched almost imperceptibly. "We'll need a credit card for incidentals, of course."
This was always a problem. She hadn’t even qualified for a company credit card. Managing not to groan, she flashed the man the best southern belle smile she could muster, and even batted her lashes for good measure. Scanning his name tag, she said, "I don't do incidentals, Mr. Wilson, so that won't be necessary."
Perspiration popped from every pore on the man's shiny head. Obviously taken aback, he asked, "You don't intend to make any phone calls during your stay, ma'am?"
"The only calls I'll make are for business, and my employer covers those, too." The first thing a drunk loses is her credit. She couldn't rent a car, reserve a hotel room, or even place an order from the J.C. Penney catalog without a credit card. Life as she'd known it had come to a screeching halt, but she was rebounding. Thank God Avery Mutual covered all her expenses. "If you require a cash deposit, we can call Memphis and get one authorized." She batted her lashes again and didn't bother to inform the man she had a company cell phone in her backpack. It was none of his damned business.
He looked at his computer monitor again, his face reddening. "My apologies, ma'am. The reservation does indicate that Avery Mutual will cover everything."
"Good." She smiled and shifted her weight. "This room has a private bath, right?"
"Of course." Mr. Wilson slid a form and a key across the counter. "Sign here, please. Do you require the bellman, Miss Dearborn?"
"Ms. Dearborn." She scribbled her signature on the hotel registration, then returned it to the red-faced man. "I travel light." She reached for the key. "Bellman gets a break."
"Very well, ma'am." He obviously didn't intend to address her by name again. "Enjoy your stay."
Beth turned to leave, then remembered something she would need. "Is there a local directory in my room?"
"Yes, ma'am." If Wilson lifted his chin any higher, he'd be staring at the ceiling. "And just dial the front desk if you require anything."
"No charge for that?" She winked again and held up her hand. "Just kidding, Wilson. Chill."
"Of course, ma'am."
"By the way, do you know a family named Malone?" She waited, knowing damned good and well he knew.
"Ty Malone is well-known in Brubaker, ma'am." Wilson's brow furrowed and his eyes developed a suspicious glint.
"Yeah, that's the name. Tyrone Malone." Of course, Beth already had all the particulars--name, address, birth date, marriage date, number of children--so she was fishing more for reaction than anything. "Man's parents should've been shot for sticking a kid with a rhyming name," she added under her breath, then headed for the staircase with her typical long-legged stride. She'd learned years ago to flaunt her height. In her line of work a woman couldn't think petite, even if she was. And Beth wasn't. "Is the local library close?"
"Just across the square, ma'am."
"Thanks. That's where I'm heading after I unpack. Catch you later, Wilson." She waved and jogged up the stairs, hoping her stay would prove very brief.
On a hunch, she paused at the top of the curved staircase and glanced back at old Wilson. Of course he was on the phone. She knew without overhearing that he was either calling Avery headquarters about her incidentals, or alerting Malone that some "Damn Yankee" was snooping around.
Good. That was precisely why she'd made sure to mention where she was going this afternoon. The sooner all the principal players came out of the woodwork--especially Lorilee herself--the sooner Beth could vacate this backwater.
And leave y'all behind.
#
Ty Malone swung the final bale of hay onto the truck bed and gave the driver a thumbs-up. The engine rumbled to life, and the flatbed took off across the field toward the hay barn.
The whirring blades of Rick Heppel's chopper filled the sky moments before the metal bird rose above the hedgerow to the south. Ty shaded his eyes and watched, wondering what his quirky neighbor was up to now. The Vietnam vet kept mostly to himself unless one of the neighbors hired him to herd stray cattle or drive away deer with his chopper. After hovering for another minute, the helicopter rose higher and headed east.
Ty stretched, his thoughts drifting back to the woman he'd met on the highway earlier. Her tall, athletic build had awakened his hibernating libido with shocking results. Hell, she wasn't even his usual type--petite and blond. She had a head full of dark thick curly hair long enough to drape over a man in the heat of passion.
He groaned inwardly.
It didn't matter anyway. She was probably halfway to North Carolina by now, tormenting some other poor sucker with those eyes. His housekeeper, Pearl, would call them haunting or brooding or something else straight out of one of those gothic novels she loved. Ty wasn't even sure what color the woman's eyes were, but he'd never forget the expression in them when she'd met his gaze.
She'd looked at him with interest. No denying that. But he'd seen something else there he couldn't forget. Something...wounded. Guarded. Like a stray dog who wanted to make friends, but wasn't sure if it would be fed or kicked.
Crying shame for a woman who looked like that to feel insecure about anything. He straightened and scanned the clouds on the horizon. On the other hand, she'd had an edge. He grinned, remembering. On the exterior, she'd come across as tough and aloof. He'd be willing to bet she had no idea her eyes gave away so much. Nor would she like it.
Besides, her problems were none of his damned business. Hell, he didn't even know her name. He'd much rather remember her legs. A man could spend a lot of time dreaming about having those long, lean legs wrapped around him in a clinch of--
Whoa. Down, Malone. He swallowed hard. Sweat trickled down his face, pooling in his collar. Damn. His reaction to the woman was one more bit of proof that he was starting to feel human again. He owed the sexy stranded motorist a debt of gratitude for that, if nothing else. In record time, she'd managed to give him a boner harder than a two-by-four. He had to grin. Amazing, considering how long it had been since--
"Hey, boss, got a phone call." Cecil Montgomery passed Ty the cell phone.
"What happened to the days when we were safe from this crap out here?" With a sigh, Ty brought the phone to his ear, secretly grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, Ty Malone here."
"Mr. Malone, this here's J.D. Wilson from the Brubaker Arms."
What the devil did that old fart want? Probably money for some cause or another. "Yeah?" Hell, it was the middle of the day and they still had another field of alfalfa to haul before it rained. He was already running late from that errand. And helping the mystery lady with her flat.
"Well, sir, a guest just checked in I thought you might want to know about."
"I'm not expecting anyone." Ty wished the man would get down to business. "Why should it concern me?"
"I'm sure I don't know, sir," Wilson continued, "but she asked about you by name."
"And...?" Ty mopped sweat from his forehead and tugged his hat down lower over his eyes. "Who is she?"
The sound of shuffling papers filled the line, then Wilson said, "Name's Elizabeth Dearborn."
"Don't know anybody by that name, Wilson, but thanks any--"
"She's from an insurance company, Mr. Malone."
Ty's blood turned to ice, despite the soaring afternoon temperature. "Avery Mutual?"
"Yes, that's it." Silence stretched between them. "Well, sir, I just thought you might want to know. In case it's important, she did mention she's going to the library this afternoon."
"Yeah, thanks." With a thick knot in his gut, Ty disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Cecil. "I guess Avery Mutual didn't want me to know when they were coming."
"Lorilee's insurance company?" Cecil wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Well, you knew this was gonna happen."
"I suppose." Ty studied his old friend's dark, weathered face. "Sooner or later."
"If you're serious about goin' through with--"
"I am." Ty clenched his teeth and looked across the field.
"What'd Wilson say?"
"Just that a woman checked in who works for Avery Mutual, and she asked about me by name." Ty wished it didn't matter. But it did. Damn.
He stared out across the fields. The Smokies created a bold backdrop to the valley and puffy white clouds dotted the June sky. Even so, rain would come and he had hay to haul. "We'd best get back to work."
"I started haulin' hay when I was nine," Cecil said, rubbing his chin. "That was forty-two years ago...boy."
"You bucking for a raise, Cecil?"
The man shook his head. "I reckon I could use one, but that ain't my point."
"What is?" Ty narrowed his eyes, trying to pay attention to his old friend and mentor, though his thoughts strayed to his conversation with Wilson.
"You get your ass into town and talk to that insurance lady." Cecil propped both fists on his hips. "I can take care of these fields in my sleep, and you dang well know it."
Ty chuckled, though dread oozed through him. He didn't want to face the investigator, but it would be better to end this quickly. "All right, Cecil."
"You're kiddin' me. Ty Malone givin' up without an argument?" Cecil rolled his eyes heavenward and slapped his palm against his chest. "Lord, ain't this a glorious day?"
"Watch it, old man." Ty knew his warning would be greeted with good humor, and Cecil's chuckle confirmed that. "No reason for us to beat around the bush here. We both know why that investigator's here." He swallowed hard. "Damn." That seemed to be his word-of-the-hour.
Cecil's expression softened and he patted Ty's shoulder. "Man's gotta do what he's gotta do."
"Yeah." Ty drew a deep breath and nodded. "All right, you take over and I'll go to town."
Cecil arched a salt-and-pepper brow. "And once this is over, I expect you to get on with your life." He sighed again. "Can't wait forever, son."
Ty closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. Then he met Cecil's sympathetic gaze and said, "All right, I'm going. That's a start."
"Great, I'll just tell the boys it's quittin' time and we'll head to town for a beer."
Ty knew Cecil was kidding, but he didn't have the heart to play along. "Thanks, old man. For everything."
Cecil gave a solemn nod and ambled away, leaving Ty alone with his memories. "Damn." Definitely the word-of-the-hour.
He jerked open the door of his pickup and climbed into the cab. Time to end this nightmare once and for all.
Seven years was a hell of a long time to wait for someone to come home....
|
