Paula Graves - The Legend of Smuggler's Cave

She touched the door and found that it wasn’t latched. It swung open slowly and silently—thank God she’d oiled the hinges recently. It used to creak like crazy.

A tall dark-clad figure stood silhouetted by the faint moonlight coming through Logan’s window. He had his back to her, allowing her to spare a quick glance toward the bed to reassure herself that Logan was still there, his face turned toward his pillow and his little chest rising slowly and steadily.

“Freeze—police!”

The dark silhouette whirled not toward her but toward Logan’s bed.

She couldn’t fire at him, not with her son so close, so she shoved the gun in her jacket pocket and ran, hitting the intruder solidly. They both bounced off the bed and hit the floor.

“Mama!” Logan’s soft, frightened wail tore at Briar’s heart, but she couldn’t let go of the man punching and kicking at her in an attempt to escape.

He eluded her grasp and started toward the door. She scrambled up after him, tackling him as he darted into the hall.

Suddenly, strong, cruel fingers bit into her arm at the same time she was yanked back by her hair, allowing the man she’d brought down to scurry out of reach.

She grabbed the Glock from her jacket and twisted around, shoving the barrel at her captor. “Let me go!”

He dropped her with a hard shove, slamming her back into the floor. Her head hit the hardwood with a jarring thud, and for a second the whole world seemed to explode into colorful confetti.

Then her vision cleared, and she swung the Glock in a semicircle, looking for any sign of the intruders.

The front door was open, barely visible from her position on the hallway floor. She pushed to her feet, wincing at the pain in her shoulder, and edged her way into the living room.

She took a quick peek outside. There was no sound of a motor, but she thought she made out the rustle of leaves in the woods just beyond her property. Even with a three-quarter moon in the sky, she couldn’t detect any movement in the gloom of the woods, just the fading rustles of the two intruders running away.

She shoved the door closed and engaged the lock, her heart pounding and her head aching.

“Mama!” Logan’s wail drew her back to the hallway. Pocketing her weapon, she pulled out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight app, shining it into the darkness.

Logan stood in the middle of the hall, his blue T-shirt riding up his little round belly and his pajama pants sagging to reveal his big-boy underwear.

She ran and scooped him up, pressing her face against his little chest, breathing in the beautiful smell of sleepy little boy. “Mama’s right here,” she assured him, patting his back in soothing circles.

Mama’s got you.

* * *

HE SHOULD HAVE known Doyle Massey would be at the hospital. The Bitterwood chief of police seemed to show up everywhere Dalton Hale went these days, like a particularly hard-to-kill weed in a flower garden. And, as luck would have it, tonight the sister was there, as well, her auburn hair, green eyes and prominent cheekbones a persistent, visible reminder of what a mess his own life had become in the last month.

Dalton had finally reached the point, however, where the sight of Doyle and Dana Massey didn’t send him into a seething rage. At least, not on the outside. He was still boiling a little inside, but he set that emotion aside and entered the Maryville Mercy Hospital waiting room with his head high and his own green eyes clear and focused.

He bumped gazes with Laney Hanvey, who sat next to Massey. She was about to marry the chief, which had strained their formerly collegial relationship, but she was still the friendliest face in the room. She murmured something to her fiancé and crossed the room to meet him.

“Is something wrong?” she asked quietly.

He realized she didn’t know he was there for the same reason she was. “Not on my end of things. I’m here to talk to the victim.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Jenny Franklin is still undergoing tests.”

“I meant the widow. The Blackwood woman.” He realized, as Laney’s expression darkened, that he sounded cold and officious. Not the sort of man he’d ever been, not before now. He’d been the prosecutor who went the extra mile, tried to get to know the people for whom he sought justice. He still received Christmas cards from people he’d helped. He never used to call people things like victim or the widow.

He was doing a lot of things now that he’d never done before.

“Her name is Briar,” Laney said quietly. “Do you have to do this tonight?”

“Was she injured?”

“Just roughed up a little. Didn’t even let the paramedics check her.”

Dalton looked past Laney until his gaze snagged on the dark-haired woman sitting with a small boy sleeping in her arms. She sat apart from the others, though most of them threw concerned glances toward her now and then.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” He nodded toward the woman with the child.

Laney followed his gaze. “Yes. You know the police already have her statement, right? She’s a cop herself. She was thorough.”

That was news to him, actually. “I thought she was a dispatcher.”

“She graduated from the academy back in December, and a slot opened on the police force last week, so she finally got her badge.”

Laney was answering all his questions with details, he realized, because she wanted to keep him from bothering Briar Blackwood. And hell, maybe if he were in her position, he’d be doing the same. He hadn’t exactly covered himself with glory over the past few weeks as he’d dealt with finding out his whole bloody life had been a lie.

Matter of fact, he’d been a complete ass about it.

“I just want to ask her a few questions about the break-in.” He intentionally added a gentle tone to his voice, though he was feeling anything but gentle at the moment.

Laney’s eyes narrowed again, as if she saw through the pretense. But after a moment, her expression cleared. “I’ll introduce you.”

He’d have preferred to approach the woman alone, away from all her friends, but he couldn’t exactly make any demands, could he? It wasn’t as if she were the culprit here.

At least, not that he could prove.

He followed Laney across the waiting room floor, ignoring the watchful gazes of the others, though he did spare the slightest glance at Dana Massey, as if his eyes couldn’t resist one more quick look to make sure he hadn’t been mistaken about the resemblance.

No, still there, the faint but unmistakable traits that had convinced her, on the day of their first meeting, that he was the long-lost half brother she’d only recently learned about.

He dragged his gaze forward, grinding his teeth.

“Briar?”

The dark-haired woman looked up at Laney, then let her gaze slide slowly to Dalton’s face, her clear gray eyes darkening with recognition. So she already knew who he was. Probably not good news, given the tumble his reputation had taken around the Bitterwood Police Department in the past few weeks.

“Mrs. Blackwood, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the break-in this evening,” he said, not waiting for the unnecessary introduction.

Beside him, Laney released a soft sigh. “Briar, this is assistant county prosecutor Dalton Hale.”

“I know who he is,” she said quietly, still holding his gaze. “I’ve given a statement to the Bitterwood Police Department. Detective Nix is the lead detective.” She nodded toward the dark-haired man sitting next to Dana Massey. Walker Nix. Bitterwood detective and Dana’s significant other. Nix stared back at him, as if daring him to cause a ruckus.

In Briar’s lap the dark-haired little boy stirred and made a low mewling noise that sounded like a puppy whining. He tightened his little arms around his mother’s neck, clinging like a monkey as she rubbed his back and murmured soothing nonsense to him until he settled down.