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      Chapter Three

      Dana’s brother was a big guy, tall and well built, as their father had been, but lying in the hospital bed, with his leg propped up and encased in a thick white cast, he seemed shockingly vulnerable and young. His eyes were closed when she and Nix entered his room, but they fluttered open when she pulled up a chair next to his bed.

      He smiled a loopy smile and flailed one arm toward her. “Hey there.”

      She smiled. “Hey yourself.”

      “Is it morning?” He turned his head toward the window. The curtains were closed, blocking his view of the world outside.

      “No, it’s just a little after ten. We had to talk our way in past the nurses.”

      He rubbed his hand over his eyes as if to clear out the sleep. He peered at Nix, who stood quietly near the end of the bed. He gave a nod. “Nix.”

      Nix’s lips hinted at a smile. “Chief.”

      Doyle’s brow furrowed suddenly as he turned his groggy gaze back to his sister. “How big a mess did they make at my house?”

      “Not too bad,” she told him, purposefully glossing over the truth to keep him from worrying. She had stopped downstairs in the women’s bathroom to change out of her bloodstained shirt into a fresh blouse, but she hadn’t been able to comb all of the blood out of her hair, opting to pull her auburn hair back into a ponytail to hide the worst of it. The tug of the elastic on the grazed skin of her scalp wasn’t exactly pleasant, but she’d live.

      “Laney’s there still?”

      “Yes. She’s going to stay until the evidence technicians get through with their investigation.”

      “You got the TBI out at this time of night?”

      Nix’s lips twitched again. “I might have emphasized the fact that you’re the chief of police and that there have been previous attempts on your life.”

      “What were they looking for?” Dana asked.

      Doyle’s gaze swung back to her. “Certainly not money.”

      She smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

      “I don’t keep any case files at home,” he added. “Although—”

      “Although what?” she prodded when he didn’t continue.

      Doyle glanced toward Nix, not answering.

      “I have a phone call to make,” Nix murmured, leaving the room almost as quietly as he’d entered it.

      Dana pulled her chair a little closer, laying her hand on her brother’s arm. “What didn’t you want Detective Nix to hear?”

      “It’s nothing, really. I don’t suppose there was any reason to try to keep it secret from him or anyone. It’s just—I’ve come across some strange information recently, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”

      “What kind of strange information?”

      Doyle’s focus tightened, and for the first time since Dana had entered the hospital room, he seemed to be fully awake. “Remember a few months ago when I arrested my chief of detectives for kidnapping a local girl?”

      “Not exactly the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget,” she said drily.

      He smiled weakly. “No, I suppose not. Anyway, during the interrogation, Bolen said something that struck me as odd when he was explaining why they’d kidnapped the girl.”

      “I thought you said it was all about putting pressure on the girl’s father to keep the Bitterwood P.D. alive and kicking.”

      “It was,” Doyle said with a nod. “But I didn’t tell you the rest of it.”

      “There’s more?”

      “A little more. See, there was a point, right before Laney and I managed to turn the tables on Bolen and his boss, that I realized they had deliberately set out to get me up there on the mountain with the missing girl.”

      Dana hadn’t heard this part of the story before. “I thought you just sort of walked into the whole mess.”

      “Not exactly. At the beginning, Craig Bolen had only agreed to go along with his boss’s plan because he thought they could let the girl go free when it was over. But when it became clear that she might have seen or heard too much, they knew they couldn’t let her live. So they needed a scapegoat.”

      “You don’t mean you were supposed to be the scapegoat.”

      Doyle shrugged, grimacing a little, as if the movement pained him. “I was new in town. I had a vested interest in keeping the police department going.”

      “That’s ridiculous. Who’s going to buy a story like that?”

      “That’s what I asked Bolen.” Doyle covered her hand where it lay on the edge of his bed. “That’s when Bolen said something strange. He told me I was a Cumberland, and everybody in Bitterwood knows the Cumberlands are crooks and swindlers and baby-killers. He said no good ever came from a Cumberland in these parts.”

      Dana frowned. “Mom’s maiden name was Cumberland.”

      “I know.”

      “She never talked much about her past.” Dana looked thoughtfully at her brother. “But we knew she came from somewhere around here, didn’t we? That’s why she and Dad were here when they had their accident.”

      “Yes. So I’ve been doing a little asking around. And while I don’t put a whole lot of stock in much of what Craig Bolen has to say these days, he was right about one thing.” Doyle’s brow furrowed as his troubled gaze met hers. “People around here seem ready to believe the Cumberlands are capable of just about anything bad.”

      * * *

      NIX CHECKED HIS WATCH, wondering how much longer Dana Massey intended to stay in the room with her brother. He’d already worked a full day and his night hadn’t exactly been uneventful. He could use some sleep.

      But if he was honest with himself, his growing impatience had less to do with going home and getting some shut-eye and more about getting another eyeful of Dana Massey’s long legs, shapely figure and intelligent green eyes.

      She is not the woman for you, he reminded himself, closing his gritty eyes against the harsh artificial light in the otherwise empty waiting room. And not just because she’s leaving town in a few days.

      He wasn’t sure that such a woman existed, for that matter. He’d gone thirty-six years without finding a woman who would put up with his cynicism or his emotional reserve. It had been easier to live with that knowledge when he was full-time military, because war was hell on marriages. He’d seen the corrosive effects of long tours of duty, the stress on families trying to stoke the home fires when any moment could bring devastating news from a world away.

      But