Small-Town Secrets

“Cole, this isn’t a good idea….” Bree murmured, closing her eyes against the seductive feel of his hands on her shoulders.

“I don’t know.” His breath warmed the nape of her neck. “I think it’s a great idea.”

She took a deep breath and moved away before she could give in to the hunger coursing through her veins.

Just then, the faintest of sounds reached her ears. She didn’t react in any way, but Cole still whispered, “What is it?”

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck had started to rise. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“It looks like your private little hideaway isn’t all that private after all,” she said under her breath. “There’s somebody out there.”

Somebody who could have a gun trained on them at this very moment…

Dear Reader,

Valentine’s Day is here, a time for sweet indulgences. RITA Award-winning author Merline Lovelace is happy to oblige as she revisits her popular CODE NAME: DANGER miniseries. In Hot as Ice, a frozen Cold War-era pilot is thawed out by beautiful scientist Diana Remington, who soon finds herself taking her work home with her.

ROMANCING THE CROWN continues with The Princess and the Mercenary, by RITA Award winner Marilyn Pappano. Mercenary Tyler Ramsey reluctantly agrees to guard Princess Anna Sebastiani as she searches for her missing brother, but who will protect Princess Anna’s heart from Tyler? In Linda Randall Wisdom’s Small-Town Secrets, a young widow—and detective—tries to solve a string of murders with the help of a handsome reporter. The long-awaited LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series gets its start with Marie Ferrarella’s Once a Father. A bomb has ripped apart the Club, and only a young boy rescued from the wreckage knows the identity of the bombers. The child’s savior, firefighter Adam Collins, and his doctor, Tracy Walker, have taken the child into protective custody—where they will fight danger from outside and attraction from within. RaeAnne Thayne begins her OUTLAW HARTES series with The Valentine Two-Step. Watch as two matchmaking little girls turn their schemes on their unsuspecting single parents. And in Nancy Morse’s Panther on the Prowl, a temporarily blinded woman seeks shelter—and finds much more—in the arms of a mysterious stranger.

Enjoy them all, and come back next month, because the excitement never ends in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie. J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Small-Town Secrets

Linda Randall Wisdom

LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

first sold to Silhouette Books on her wedding anniversary in 1979 and hasn’t stopped since! She loves looking for the unusual when she comes up with an idea, and only hopes her readers enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

A native Californian, she is married and has two dogs, five parrots and a tortoise, so life is never boring—or quiet—in the Wisdom household. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys going to the movies, reading, making jewelry and fabric painting.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Prologue

“We are the Wildcats, mighty, mighty Wildcats!” The cheers sent a rumble throughout the bleachers and beyond. Trumpets sounded the charge.

“It’s been a hell of a game,” Scott Fitzpatrick remarked, keeping his arm tight around his wife’s waist. He nuzzled her neck. “Hey, sexy, wanna relive your teen years and go behind the bleachers and make out?”

Bree laughed throatily. She pushed him away, but the smile on her lips promised there would be no pushing away later that night. “And get caught like we did the last time? Remember how mortified Sara was when she heard about it? She went on and on, saying how dare we old folks do such things in public? Besides, you don’t want to miss seeing your son make the winning touchdown, do you?”

“Hell, no.” Fitz chuckled, keeping his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

Bree gave him a bump with her hip as they walked past the concession stand. To look at him in his faded jeans and sweatshirt, no one would guess he was a highly respected FBI Special Agent in Charge. With her working as a homicide detective for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, it was said they were the rare pair who made it work in more ways than one.

Bree liked to tease him they were probably the rare instance of local law enforcement and the feds working together extremely well.

After eight years of marriage, the man still made her heart thump the way it had the first time she met him. He complained his hair was graying at a faster rate than he’d like, but she always reminded him that the fire in the furnace burned brightly no matter how much snow was on the roof.

With his son and daughter from a previous marriage, and their own shared son, they made a close-knit family that blended well.

Bree was celebrating the wrap-up of a tough case and was eager to watch her stepson help win the league championship. She’d turned to say something to Fitz when she noticed his gaze focused toward a dark corner. The curse that dropped from his lips would have cost him a five dollar bill in the family Cuss Jar.

“What?”

“Looks like a drug buy going down,” he murmured.

Bree kept a smile on her lips, but her expression had turned all-cop.

“Anyone we know?”

“That kid I said looks like a moron? The one who was hanging around Sara.”

“You’ve called every boy who’s even talked to her a moron.” Bree slid her gaze sideways, now seeing what he did. There was no doubt the boy was handing over a few plastic bags of pills to another boy, who gave him several bills. Damn, not one security officer around.

“Wanna be my backup?” he asked.

“Since this is more my jurisdiction than yours, it’s more like you’d be mine.” She thought of her weapon, nestled comfortably in the small of her back. Since she’d come directly from the station, she refused to leave her weapon in her SUV, even with it locked. “Nobody’s taken anything over state lines, bud.”

“He’s mine.” Fitz moved forward. “Sorry, guys, you’re busted. FBI,” he called out, just as he reached them. “Just stand easy and it will be painless for everyone.”

Bree saw the dark flash of metal before Fitz did. She instantly reached for her weapon.

“Gun!” she shouted, swinging her weapon up. “L.A. Sheriff! Put it down! Put it down now!” she screamed, infusing her voice with authority.

The boy swung around, saw her, and panic filled his face. He looked at Fitz and shot. Bree fired her gun just as the boy shot at her.

She felt the fire enter her chest the same moment she saw Fitz drop to his knees. The stunned look on his face told her he hadn’t fully realized what had just happened.

But she knew. There was too much blood flowing out of him. The bullet must have nicked an artery, because with every heartbeat, more blood gushed. She tried to get to him, but her body failed her. All she could reach was the tip of his finger.

As the world turned dark around her, she heard the screams and the roar of the crowd.

“Touchdown!”

Chapter 1

There was too much blood for one person. It covered her hands and clothing. No one could lose this much blood and survive. She looked down at the man lying lifeless in her arms.

“Fitz!” She sat upright in bed, positive her screams echoed off the walls.

There was no pounding on her door. No demands to know if she was all right. At least the scream remained in her head. This time.

Bree’s fingers trembled as she pushed a damp lock of hair away from her face.

She’d thought the dream had finally left her. It was bad enough, dreaming of Fitz’s death, but having each episode detail it differently only made it worse. In reality she hadn’t held his dying body in her arms. His blood hadn’t covered her hands. When she fell after being shot, only her fingertips had been able to touch him before she lost consciousness.

The dream was her punishment for not being able to save him. From the first time she’d had it, she saw it that way.

Fitz dying in her arms. Fitz never having a chance to say a word to her nor Bree given the chance to say anything to him. No goodbye. No “I love you.”

She pulled her pillow around, holding it tight against her chest as she rocked back and forth. She ignored the voices that screamed inside her head. After all this time, it was getting easier to overlook them.

“Dammit, Fitz, you weren’t supposed to die that night,” she whispered, feeling the anger build up as it had so many other nights. Anger that didn’t exactly override the pain but merely accompanied it. “You were supposed to be here when David graduated from high school. I need you to help keep the boys away from Sara and just watch…” she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling “…just watch Cody grow up.”

She knew she had to be up in three hours, but didn’t bother trying to fall back to sleep. Past experience taught her it would only mean a return to her dream. Instead, she lay back with the pillow nestled in her arms. It was a poor substitute.

“I knew we shouldn’t have moved here. I couldn’t sleep all night because of all the horrible noises I heard,” Sara Fitzpatrick announced in the dramatic tone only a fifteen-year-old girl could adopt. “Either we have ghosts in this house or there’s rats in the wall.”

“Rats?” six-year-old Cody asked, wide-eyed with horror. He swiveled to face his mother. “Big rats like in that movie?”

Bree shot her stepdaughter a silent warning. “According to the inspector who went through the house for me before we moved in, there are no rats in this house,” she said. “You have to remember this is an old house. Old houses make noises.”

“Right,” David muttered, as he spooned raspberry jam onto a slice of toast. “The Addams family would love this wreck.”

“Enough,” Bree said firmly, noting her youngest son’s distress. She cut the omelette she’d made in two and slid half on another plate, placing it in front of Sara.

Sara recoiled as if the plate held a nest of vipers.

“That is loaded with cholesterol and fat!” She pushed the offending plate toward David. He shrugged and picked up his fork.

If time hadn’t been running against her, Bree would have confronted her daughter on her eating habits. Or lack of. She knew she would have to have a long, heartfelt talk with Sara that evening. But now she had to get them all out of the house and off to school. She also couldn’t afford to be late her first day on the job.

She still resented her superior for giving her the choice of either taking a desk job or finding a position in a smaller town. Bree knew the lieutenant had her best interests in mind. He’d told her that enough times. She’d fought it as long as she could, just as she fought the tension that took over anytime she approached the scene of a violent crime.

She felt she would have worked through it if it hadn’t been for that last crime scene. She’d walked into a living room that would have been warm and homey if it hadn’t been for the blood staining the walls and furniture. A man brutally murdered by a former business associate and a wife sitting in the kitchen, silent from the shock of coming home to find her husband dead.

The memories had flooded Bree’s mind so swiftly she’d almost shut down functioning. Lieutenant Carlson took one look at her when she returned to the station and knew what had happened. Twenty-four hours later, she was called into his office and given a choice: take a desk job, or better yet, take a post where she wouldn’t have so much pressure.

Bree hated him for forcing her to make the decision. He knew she wouldn’t like being chained to a desk. He knew her so well that he had already called in favors and found her a detective’s position in Warm Springs, a small inland town northeast of San Diego. His reason for choosing the community was the low crime rate in the area. San Diego was an hour’s drive away for times when the family wanted more sophisticated entertainment, he told her. And Bree should expect him and his wife down there in a few years when he retired.

She resented Lieutenant Carlson for pretty much accepting the position on her behalf.

And the kids resented her for going along with it.

From the day they moved out of their home in Woodland Hills, they’d made sure she knew they weren’t happy with her decision.

Bree bolted down her breakfast and set the plate in the dishwasher. “You don’t think you’ll have any problem finding the high school?” she asked David. “Or the grade school when you go to pick up Cody?”

Instead of the good humor he usually displayed, his expression was almost sullen. “Oh yeah, I’ll have a tough time finding two schools that are all of two blocks apart in a town that’s, what? Three blocks total?” he muttered, taking his own dishes over to the dishwasher. He may have been angry with his stepmother for the move, but he was responsible enough to not ignore his chores.

Bree took whatever small favors she could get. She looked at her stepson and saw her husband in the handsome features that she knew would one day be stamped with his sire’s character. All these months, they’d dealt with anger over Fitz’s death. Then they’d moved from a city they’d lived in all their lives. Abandoned friends, familiar places. She told herself the old cliché about time healing all wounds. She was learning about patience.

Although David never said a word, she knew he had to be hurt and angry that he left behind his football team during his all-important year. And he registered at his present school too late to try out for football. He’d muttered he’d try out for the baseball team and she hoped he would.

She handed Cody’s backpack to him, verified that all three children had lunch money, and herded Cody into her Expedition, with Jinx, her K-9, hopping into the back seat. The German shepherd sat down with his tongue lolling happily in anticipation of the ride.

“If I stayed in my old school I would have Mrs. Allen for my teacher,” Cody said with a sigh. “She lets her class do really neat things. And her class has a hamster and two guinea pigs.”

Bree hurt because she knew Cody hurt. She was aware this move was the hardest on her youngest, who was just beginning first grade. She’d hoped that moving here a couple weeks before the beginning of the school year would help. Instead she’d battled with three kids who constantly complained that their new house wasn’t like their old house and there was no one to hang out with. Since his older brother and sister weren’t interested in doing anything he wanted to do, Cody was on his own most of the time, and suffered the most.

Bree wasn’t worried about Sara and David getting along in school. The two siblings never had a problem making friends. They’d complain about the area, but in time she knew they’d easily fit into a group. It was Cody, quiet and shy, who had difficulty in new situations. Even more so since his father’s death.

“I understand that your teacher here, Miss Lancaster, is very nice,” she said. “I also heard that her class does a lot of neat things. They take a lot of field trips. Maybe she has a hamster in her room, too.”

“Not like Harry Hamster,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

He still didn’t look convinced things were great by the time Bree stopped the vehicle in front of the sprawling building that housed classrooms for kindergarten through the sixth grade.

“Do you remember where your classroom is? Would you like me to walk in with you?” she asked.

He looked out the window at the kids milling about. When he turned back to her, his small face was set in a determined look she wryly recalled seeing on her own at times. His rusty-colored hair had been combed before they left the house, but it was already unruly. She tamped down the urge to smooth it back with her hand.

“I’m not a little kid, Mom,” he replied with little-boy dignity. “I go to room 108.”

She didn’t dare sniff, much less cry, the way she had on Cody’s first day in kindergarten. It would mortify him.

“Don’t forget that David will pick you up after school,” Bree reminded him.

“Don’t talk to strangers. If anyone tries to talk to me, run to a teacher and tell ’em,” he recited. “Or yell really loud. And stand by the front door of the school until I see David.”

Bree swallowed the lump in her throat. And swallowed the need to hug him tightly and kiss him. Which he would only rebuff for fear that his classmates would see her display of affection.

She settled on a basic mom statement. “Be good.”

For all of Cody’s bravado, he was still exceedingly slow in opening the door and climbing out of the SUV. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he paused long enough to turn and offer a brave smile and wave.

Bree waited until Cody was safely inside the building. Then it was her turn, and she headed for the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.

“Hope you’re ready, fella,” she told her K-9 partner as she parked in the department’s parking lot. She paused long enough to loop his chain collar around his neck, complete with a deputy’s shield attached to it.

Since detectives weren’t required to wear a uniform, she had chosen coffee-colored linen pants and a matching vest, paired with a cream-colored, short-sleeved blouse. Her detective’s shield was clipped to her waistband, and her weapon, settled in a holster against the small of her back, was hidden by the three-quarter-length-sleeve, coffee-colored linen jacket. For easy care, she kept her bright auburn hair layered in short waves, tucked behind her ears. Jinx walked regally at her side.

“Good morning, Detective Fitzpatrick.” The office receptionist greeted her with a small smile. The nameplate pinned on her chest revealed her name to be Irene. Like the deputies in the station, she wore a navy polo shirt and khaki pants. “I’ll let Sheriff Holloway know you’re here.” She eyed Jinx warily, as if she wasn’t sure Bree’s four-footed partner was safe. “We’ve never had a dog here before.”

“Jinx is a full-fledged sheriff’s deputy,” Bree reminded her.

“Detective Fitzpatrick?”

Bree turned and faced her superior. He, too, was dressed in a navy polo shirt, and his khaki pants had a razor-sharp crease. His dark brown boots were so highly polished she imagined he could use the surface as a mirror. She’d say Roy Holloway was a man who valued his image. She’d even say he was good-looking, with his broad smile, his blue eyes holding a touch of humor. She doubted he was a pushover, though. He looked like he had what it took to keep his people in line. He held out his hand.

“Sheriff Holloway.” She smiled as she put her hand in his. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet the last time I was here. I understand you and your family were on vacation then.”

“Relaxing at my favorite fishing hole,” he admitted. His eyes dropped to the dog sitting by her side, and again he grinned. “I’m not used to seeing a deputy with four legs.”

She grinned back. “He would have been perfect if I could have trained him to drive.”

Roy chuckled. “Come on back to my office and we’ll talk.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the building.

Bree murmured a command to Jinx, who moved smoothly alongside her. As they walked toward the sheriff’s office, she noticed that the men seated at desks were watching her with undisguised interest.

“Have a chair,” Roy invited, as he settled behind his desk.

Bree took the one opposite, with Jinx sitting sedately on his haunches beside her.

“I’m going to be up front with you,” her boss said crisply, all-business now. “I didn’t think we needed another detective. This county is growing, but I wasn’t thinking of adding anyone to the force just yet.”

“Token female detective?” she said lightly.

“Probably. They’ve gotten on the politically correct bandwagon with a vengeance lately,” he admitted. “I’ll be honest with you, Fitzpatrick—I’m not one for surprises. I like to know what’s going on in my department. I like to do my own hiring.”

“I had no idea,” Bree said honestly.

“You’ve got some heavy hitters in your corner, however.” He glanced at the file folder lying open on his desk. “A kennel has been set up near the parking lot for the dog.” He fixed her with a piercing stare. “It’s your job to keep it clean.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

Lieutenant Carlson had said she would be better off in a small town, where she wouldn’t be up against the kinds of violent cases she’d handled in L.A. He hadn’t said anything about her new boss not being entirely happy with her arrival there. Still, he was friendlier than most would be in this situation.

“Since you’ve already got the training, I’ll just throw you into the shark pool,” he told her. “Fine by you?”

“The only way to do it,” she replied.

Roy nodded. “But let me tell you. You screw up and I come down hard. I don’t care if you do have a dog that can eat me for breakfast.” He warily eyed the German shepherd. “Literally.”

“Jinx hasn’t bitten an officer in, oh, at least a month,” she said, matching his tone.

He chuckled. “How’d a deputy K-9 end up with a name like Jinx?”

“He comes from a distinguished line of police dogs,” she replied. “His sire is Ace, as in Ace of Spades. His dam is Allie, as in Poker Alice. The litter Jinx was in was born on Friday the thirteenth. Each puppy received a similar name. The breeder’s twisted logic.”

“And he left L.A. when you did.”

“It happens a lot. When you work with a dog as your partner, you develop as close a relationship as you do with a human partner. In many ways, closer.”

Roy’s eyes tracked her every feature. “Then you’ll understand that we’re a close unit here, Detective. We’ve all worked together a long time.”

“And new people have to prove their worth before they can hope to be accepted,” she stated, finishing his thought. “I understand that. I believe in pulling my weight.”

“Good.” He stood up. “I’ll show you your desk.”

Bree didn’t say a word when she was led to a battered desk stuck in a corner. Roy rattled off names as he passed each desk. She nodded and offered each deputy a brief smile. She wasn’t surprised to receive speculative looks in return.

It was a good thing she hadn’t expected an open-armed welcome.

Jinx lay down next to her desk and rested his chin on his paws. She idly scratched the top of his head.

“It’s only the first day, boy,” she murmured.

“Tell me, oh powerful one, do you plan to do anything useful today or just sit there and look cute?”

Tipped back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, Cole Becker looked up at his assistant. This was his favorite position when he needed to proofread the advertisements for that week.

When his uncle died, leaving him the newspaper, Cole took it over. He became not only the owner of the Warm Springs Bulletin, but reporter and staff photographer. He wore many hats in the office.

“I am doing something useful.” He gestured to the sheaf of papers he held in one hand. “I’m making sure Whitman’s name is spelled correctly. I don’t think he’d be so amiable if it happened again.”