Smoky Mountain Setup (13 page)

He had to look up to meet her gaze. His smile widened. “Lord, you must be Olivia. Seth described you over the phone.” The twinkle in Rafe Hunter’s eye made her wonder if the nickname “Bombshell Barbie” had come up. She tried not to take it as anything but a compliment, but she tired of everyone focusing on the fact that she was tall, blonde and on the curvy side. She was also smart, resourceful and dangerous.

Then again, being underestimated could often work in her favor.

“How far is the guesthouse from here?” she asked as she followed him to a back room in the music hall. The cramped little space was clearly his office; he dug through the lap drawer of the desk and retrieved a key.

“Not far,” he said with a smile, nodding for her to follow him back to the main hall, where a four-piece bluegrass band was warming up for their first set. Rafe motioned for her to wait a moment while he crossed to speak with the mandolin player. They exchanged a few words and laughter before Rafe returned to Olivia. “Sorry about that—new act, and there’s a record-label scout in the audience tonight. They’re as nervous as pigs at a barbecue joint.” Rafe laughed at his own joke. “I like to put ’em at ease. They play better if they’re laughing.”

They stepped out into the chilly twilight air. Overhead, stars and a waxing moon glowed through wisps of clouds visible above the trees. “Y’all get a lot of snow over there in Tennessee?” he asked conversationally as they walked toward the side of the music hall, not far from where she’d parked the Tahoe.

“Enough,” she answered, his friendly mountain twang coaxing her own Sand Mountain drawl out to play.

He led her around the building and waved his hand at what the music hall’s bright facade had hidden. About twenty yards behind the music hall stood a lovely two-story wood cabin, glowing with warm light from within. “That’s where my wife, Janeane, and I live. And right behind that house is the guesthouse. We built it for Janeane’s mama, thinking she’d come live with us after Janeane’s daddy died. But Donna fell in love with the funeral director and eloped about four weeks later.” Rafe laughed, apparently finding the story hilarious.

“That was fast,” Olivia commented.

“Well, that’s Donna. Fast and brash. It’s a big part of her charm.” Rafe stopped walking and turned to her, handing her the key he’d brought with them. “Just head on down the flagstone walk past the house and you’ll see the place. Janeane knows you’re arriving, but be sure to pop your head in the back door and let her know you’re here so she won’t go for her shotgun.” He walked back toward the music hall, laughing.

Olivia started for the Tahoe, but Landry met her halfway, carrying their suitcases in both hands, the shoulder strap of the duffel bag full of their supplies draped across his body.

She relieved him of one of the suitcases. “That was Rafe Hunter.”

“I figured.” He looked past her at the wood cabin. “Is that it?”

“No, that’s Mr. Hunter’s place. He said the guesthouse is behind their house, down this flagstone path.” Nodding for him to follow, she walked down the dark path, animal awareness prickling the hairs at the back of her neck. How much of her unease could be attributed to the danger lurking around them and how much to the prospect of several days alone with Cade Landry in a scenic mountain cabin, she couldn’t say.

The guesthouse came into view as they passed the back corner of the Hunters’ cabin, a small, pretty one-story cabin decorated with the slow-melting remains of the earlier snowstorm. Boxwood shrubs flanked the steps up to the porch, giving the log cabin the appearance of a quaint country cottage.

“Cute,” Landry commented.

Olivia slanted a look at him.

He met her gaze, smiling. But his smile faded in an instant, and his eyes widened as he looked at something behind her.

She heard the unmistakable clatter of the fore-end of a pump-action shotgun sliding back, ready to fire.

“State your business.” The voice behind them was female, mountain-accented and deadly.

Dropping the suitcase to the ground beside her, Olivia lifted her hands and slowly turned to face the small, silver-haired woman pointing a shotgun at her chest.

Swallowing the instant flood of terror that came with facing a shotgun barrel, Olivia forced her voice through her tightened throat. “Janeane Hunter, I presume?”

Chapter Thirteen

“I told her to poke her head in the back door and tell you she’d arrived.” What Landry assumed was Rafe Hunter’s plaintive voice was audible over the phone Janeane Hunter held to one ear. The shotgun remained in her other hand, though she’d dropped the barrel until it pointed toward their legs instead of their midsections. Landry wondered if they could make a run for it before Janeane Hunter could whip the barrel up and give the fore-end a pump. After another look at her sharp-eyed gaze, he decided it would be folly to try.

Janeane made a face at the phone. “That might’ve got her shot for sure, you old fool.”

“I would have knocked,” Olivia offered helpfully.

Janeane flashed her a pointed look, and Olivia pressed her mouth to a thin line. Landry quelled the urge to laugh, despite the jittery adrenaline flooding his system.

“Did she show you any ID?” Janeane asked.

“No, but hell, she looked like what Seth described, and there can’t be too many that do,” Rafe said. Landry couldn’t argue with his logic. Rafe was right. There weren’t many women in the Smokies, or anywhere else, like Olivia Sharp.

“Well,” Janeane said doubtfully, “if you’re sure.”

“Let the kids go, hon. I’ve got to run. A new set is starting.”

Janeane hung up the phone and engaged the safety on the shotgun before she set it down in the corner by the fridge. “Sorry about that. Been having some home invasions in these parts recently. Damn meth heads.” She extended her hand. “Janeane Hunter.”

“Olivia.” Olivia shook the woman’s hand. “This is my friend Jack.” Jackson was Landry’s middle name, and Quinn had suggested using that name instead of Cade, since it was a little less uncommon.

“You work with Seth?”

Landry could tell from the woman’s smile that she liked her niece’s husband. He was a little surprised, given the man’s rather colorful history.

“I do,” Olivia said with a smile.

“He’s an interesting character,” Janeane said drily. “But good people, deep down.
Loves our Rachel, and he’s real good to her. Have you seen pictures of the new baby?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said with a laugh. “Beautiful like her mama.”

Janeane beamed. “I think so, too.” She caught herself up, her smile turning a little sheepish. “Here I’ve held you at gunpoint and now I’m talking your ear off about my little grandniece. You folks must be tired. You hungry? I could have Rafe send something from the music-hall kitchen down to the cabin.”

“Actually,” Olivia said, “I think we’re going to head back to the music hall after we unpack. I’ve heard good things about the food and the entertainment.”

“Well, you know I agree,” Janeane said with a bright smile as she walked them to the door. “I’ve got to get this month’s books done tonight or I’d join you.” She remained on the back porch, watching while they walked to the guest cabin a few yards away.

Inside, the small cabin was clean and casually furnished with a cozy leather sofa and a pair of matching armchairs filling the front room. They explored the rest of the cabin, finding a small but complete kitchen in the back and two bedrooms, each with its own full bath, on either side of a narrow central hallway.

Unlike Olivia’s cabin, which had been originally built as a tourist rental cabin and was outfitted with the sort of luxuries vacationers preferred, the Hunters’ guest cabin was simpler, designed for everyday living. The bedrooms were reasonably large, but there was no hot tub on a back porch or roomy claw-foot tub in the bathrooms, just a simple toilet, tub and sink. Landry washed up, unpacked his bags and met Olivia in the front room a half hour later.

“Were you serious about going to the music hall?” he asked, noticing she’d changed out of her travel clothes into a pair of tweed trousers and a slim-fitting sweater the color of the Gulf of Mexico in the summer, a brilliant blue green reflected in her bright eyes.

“I thought it might be nice to get out and eat something besides a protein bar or a can of soup. Seth says the music’s really good if you like bluegrass, and I know you do—”

“What if someone spots us?”

“You can wear that farm-supply cap I packed for you. You haven’t shaved in a couple of days, and a beard always makes you look a little different. And here.” She reached down and picked up a tweed newsboy cap and a pair of steel-rim glasses he hadn’t noticed sitting on the coffee table nearby. She set the cap on her head, covering most of her short blond hair, and donned the glasses. “I’ll wear these instead of contacts. My own mother wouldn’t recognize me.”

“If you don’t want to be noticed, you probably shouldn’t wear that sweater,” he said with a wave of his hand.

She grinned so brightly at him as she took a step closer, he felt certain his heart skipped a couple of beats. “You like?”

“I love. But you’ll turn every head in the place if you wear that.”

She sighed. “I can keep my jacket over it. I don’t want to change because it’s cashmere and it’s so soft.”

He reached out and touched her shoulder, letting his fingers trail down her arm. She was right. The cashmere was as soft as a kitten’s fur and warm from her body heat. The urge to let his fingers continue exploring the warm, soft curves of her cashmere-clad body was nearly impossible to resist.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah.”

Those azure eyes locked with his for a long, electric moment before she looked away. “I know it’s a little bit of a risk, but I’m getting cabin fever already and we just got here.” Her lips curved up in the corners. “And I bet it’s been a long time since you just went out and had some fun, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea.”

Her smile faded. “I guess I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think—”

He caught her cheeks between his palms, making her look at him. “It’s okay. I’m glad you don’t dwell on it. It helps me feel more normal, and it’s been a really long time since I’ve felt that way.”

“I know what you mean.” She covered his hands with hers, holding them in place against her cheeks. “Let’s just do this. Let’s go, eat some good food, listen to some good music and pretend like we’re both normal for a little while. What do you say?”

Impulsively, he gave her a quick, fierce hug and let her go. “Just point me to that cap and we’ll get out of here.”

* * *

S
ETH
HAD
TOLD
Olivia the truth. The food at the Song Valley Music Hall wasn’t fancy or complex, but it was delicious, fresh and prepared with care by someone who clearly knew his way around a country kitchen. The music didn’t disappoint, either; the band Rafe Hunter had booked for the evening was young but wildly talented, doling out an inventive blend of bluegrass, country, rockabilly and blues that kept the patrons clapping.

After a trip to the bathroom a little after nine, Olivia returned to find the waitstaff clearing out a space in the center of the restaurant. Circling around the buzz of activity, she found Landry at their table, chatting with Rafe. Both men stood at her approach, the courtly gesture making her smile.

“What’s going on?” she asked, nodding at the hustling waiters hauling tables away from the center of the room.

“Dancing, darlin’,” Rafe drawled, winking at Landry as he wandered away to talk to a couple of patrons nearby.

“Dancing, darlin’,” Landry repeated, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

She let him draw her onto the dance floor as the band fired up a brisk two-step.

“If I’d known about this place when we were both in Richmond, I would have suggested a weekend trip to check it out,” he murmured in her ear a few minutes later as they swayed to a bluesy arrangement of “The Tennessee Waltz.”

“Do you ever wish—” She stopped herself.

“Do I ever wish what?” he prodded when she didn’t continue.

“It’s stupid. Never mind.”

He leaned back to look at her, his green eyes warm and soft in the mellow light of the dance hall. “No, tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you ever wish you could go back to the day of the warehouse explosion and do things differently?”

“Of course. All the time.”

“What would you have done differently?”

“I would have questioned the order to go in, for one thing. I should have questioned it then, but I thought maybe someone had seen something inside the warehouse, some move by the bombers to take out hostages—”

“I know. I mean, I don’t know what that moment was like, because I can’t remember it. But I can imagine it. I think my reaction would have been the same as yours. Maybe it was. I wish I remembered.”

“I’m glad you don’t.” His plaintive murmur made her heart hurt. “I’m glad you don’t remember any of that moment. I wish I didn’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She touched his cheek, enjoying the sensual scrape of his beard stubble against her palm. “You did what you were told.”

“How many people’s lives have been ended at the hands of someone who was just doing what he was told?” His eyes darkened to a murky forest green, his expression etched with regret. “I should’ve made a better choice without being told.”

She dropped her hands to his shoulders and squeezed, trying to contain a sudden rush of anger for the hell he’d clearly gone through since that horrible day in Richmond. The lives lost, the careers damaged, the nightmares, the second-guessing and the ravening sense of guilt—none of it ever should have happened.

But it had. Neither of them could change a damn thing about that fact.

She kept her voice low, well aware of the crowd around them, but what she was going to say needed to be said. For her sake as well as Landry’s. “Look, I know what it’s like to have regrets. I get trying to figure out what you could have done differently—God knows I’ve pored through the notes on that case for two years now, trying to figure out what could have been done to stop any of it from happening. That’s natural. But
you
didn’t strap a bomb to your body and take innocent people hostage.
I
didn’t hit the detonator in a room full of civilians and FBI agents. That’s on those BRI bastards, not us.”

“Can we get out of here?” he asked, his gaze sliding away from her face to take in the crowded music hall.

“Of course.”

They called for the check, paid and tipped the server and headed out into the cold night after saying a quick good-night to Rafe on their way out.

After the doors of the music hall closed on the noise behind them, only the hiss of their frosty breaths in the night air and the thump of their shoes on the flagstones broke the frigid silence until they reached the guest cabin. Olivia unlocked the door, let them in and locked up behind them.

“Thanks,” Landry said as he shrugged off his coat.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go out.”

He turned quickly toward her. “No. I enjoyed it. I did. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sit in a crowded restaurant with a beautiful woman, eating good food and listening to good music.”

“I shouldn’t have brought up Richmond.”

He touched her cheek, his fingers cold against her skin. “It won’t go away if we don’t talk about it. It might be worse if we don’t.”

Taking his hand, she led him over to the sofa. She pulled him down beside her, turning to face him. “You want to talk about Richmond?”

“No. But I think I need to.”

* * *

I
T
HAD
BEEN
a pretty day, he remembered. Bright blue sky and mild temperatures as fall edged toward winter. The scene was so clear in his head—the sprawling warehouse south of Richmond, gleaming a creamy bone white in the midday sun, the black-clad SWAT team surrounding all the exits while the negotiation team held a tense standoff with the bombers.

“I go over and over that day in my mind. We’d been there less than two hours.” He met Olivia’s gentle, direct gaze. “That’s nowhere near the longest we’ve waited for a hostage negotiation to produce results. I don’t remember being tired or impatient. I just remember worrying that nothing we were doing that day was going to stop someone from dying.”

Her expression was so serious, so intense, her brow furrowed as if she was trying to wring a memory from somewhere deep inside her forgetful brain. “Was there any indication that the bombers were about to make a move? I’ve read the incident-report files, but maybe you’ve remembered something since then you didn’t remember at the time?”

“There was nothing. It was quiet. Eerily so. When we first got there, I could hear hostages talking and crying. But after a while, even that stopped. It was like they were resting. Holding their breaths for something to happen.” He managed a faint smile. “You know that feeling.”

She nodded. “The incident report said we got the order to move by radio, but the other teams said they heard no such order.”

“I know. I’m not sure how it happened. Believe me, I’ve relived those moments a thousand times, trying to figure out how it could have happened.”

“Do you remember changing the frequency at any point?”

He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“Were you in possession of your radio the whole time?”

Frowning, he replayed the moments before the radio order. He and Olivia had been on the east side of the warehouse, along with the other two agents on their team, Len Davis and Kevin Darnell. Both Davis and Darnell had died in the bomb blast. Olivia had suffered a concussion when debris had knocked her backward into a wall.

Landry’s injuries had been minor scratches from shrapnel. Even though he’d been in the lead, by some fluke of fortune, he and Olivia had just moved behind a large air-conditioning unit, which took the brunt of the blast, sparing them more serious injury.

Davis and Darnell, who’d gone in the opposite direction as they started to spread out, had been hit with a blast of metal shrapnel that had killed them instantly.

Landry would never be free of those images, watching the split-second, senseless deaths of two good men. But he was damn glad Olivia had been spared that particular memory.

“Any chance someone else could have changed the radio frequency?” Olivia prodded.