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Praise for Hannah Alexander’s Novels

“The plot is interesting and the resolution filled with action.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Fair Warning

“Reminiscent of Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones, this intelligent mystery will keep readers engrossed.”

—library journal on Last Resort

“Alexander’s latest installment in the Hideaway series is filled with action, intrigue and fascinating medical situations.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Last Resort

“Filled with intrigue, mystery and well-rounded characters, you won’t want to leave Hideaway. Hannah Alexander knows suspense! This page-turner will keep you up at night unable to put it down.”

—Kristin Billerbeck, bestselling author of Cool, Calm & Adjusted on Last Resort

“Hannah Alexander’s unique ability to combine suspense with romance and faith will have you searching for this author’s entire backlist. Grab these titles while you can and visit this wonderful town called Hideaway—you’ll never want to leave! Each book is top-notch suspense, with just a touch of romance. Last Resort is a must-buy…guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat until you turn the final page!”

—Romance Reviews Today on Last Resort

“Alexander’s skill at meshing spiritual truths with fascinating suspense is captivating. Well-drawn characters help the two separate plots move rapidly toward an exciting conclusion.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Safe Haven

“Hannah Alexander is one of the few authors who has the unique ability to bring tears to your eyes and God’s touch to your heart. Safe Haven is suspense, romance and first-rate entertainment all bound into one neat book.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Safe Haven

“Genuine humor…an interesting cast of characters…a few surprises.”

—Publishers Weekly on Hideaway

“Hideaway is gripping and romantic. It may also have crossover appeal to fans of medical suspense and of such authors as Tess Gerritsen.”

—Library Journal on Hideaway

Grave Risk

A Hideaway Novel

Hannah Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Lorene Cook for her constant support in every way. She keeps us going when life seems to shoot us in every direction at once.

Thanks to Vera Overall for loving and encouraging her son to persevere.

Thanks to Joan Marlow Golan, our champion, and to her excellent staff, who keep us informed, keep us straight and keep us headed in the right direction.

Thanks to our Branson brainstormers, Barbara, Brenda, Lori, Deborah, Sharon, Judy, Marty, Stephanie, Carol, Cyndy, Jill, Sandy and Jeanie, and to our support staff, Lorene and Luvena.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue

Discussion Questions

Chapter One

Fingers marched across Jill Cooper’s cheekbones like the legs of a stalking tarantula. She stiffened, eyes shut tight.

She wanted to retreat from the intrusion or jump up from this table and escape. What horrors lay behind the other doors? What had she allowed herself to be talked into? Moral support was one thing, but this—

“Too rough?”

Jill opened her eyes and looked into the upside-down face of twenty-two-year-old Sheena Marshall. “No.”

Sheena had an uncommonly bright, perky grin that matched her bright, perky voice. All the employees of this spa seemed to be infected with terminal optimism, except for Sheena’s mother, Mary Marshall, who had always been on the opposite end of that spectrum, even when Jill had graduated from high school with her twenty-seven years ago.

Today, Mary’s daughter was actually perkier than usual.

“It’s fine.” Jill wanted to ask when the sheets had last been washed on this massage table, but the question could eventually reach the ears of the owner of this establishment.

Jill was here to provide the owner—her baby sister—moral support for this venture, not to irritate her. Noelle Trask ran a tight ship, and these sheets would be pristine. She would not take kindly to having her employees verbally abused, or even questioned by a client with a few…interesting…hang-ups. Especially if that client just happened to be her bossy older sister.

Who would have thought Noelle, the wild child of Hideaway High, would have matured so well?

In fact, Noelle would be a mother before long.

That meant Jill would be an aunt. She felt her tension ease as she smiled at the thought. Aunt Jill. What a wonderful—

A sharp jab on her chin startled her. “Ouch!”

“It’s okay. Just relax,” Sheena said. “You have a few blemishes here. We can take care of that right—”

“I didn’t come here to have my pimples treated.” Noelle had warned Jill that the young masseuse tended to try to fix anything that wasn’t just right. The young woman obviously had delusions of grandeur and saw herself becoming the makeover queen. Jill refused to be her first experiment.

“I just want a nice, painless massage,” Jill said. Actually, she hadn’t even wanted that.

“Jill Cooper,” came a firm, commanding voice from another cubicle in the large, cedar-lined spa, “you agreed to do this. So do it.”

“I agreed to a massage, not to have my face poked and prodded like a—”

“Settle down and let the girl do her job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jill replied, then muttered under her breath, “Noelle needs to get these walls soundproofed.”

“What’s that?” Edith Potts called again.

“Nothing. Sorry. I’ll be good. I’m having a simply magnificent time.” Could Edith hear the sarcasm?

“That’s my girl.”

Nope. Edith had never understood the subtleties of irony. The lady simply said what she thought.

Sheena returned to her massaging, distracted from her makeover project. “Will wonders never cease. Edith Potts must be the only person in town you can’t boss around.”

Jill scowled up at her, and Sheena smiled back, wagging her blond eyebrows, which had been plucked to the point that she looked permanently surprised.

The twit was right, of course. Jill would do anything for Edith. Eighty-three-year-old Edith Potts, retired principal of Hideaway High, could claim friendship with the majority of Hideaway’s residents as well as a few of the flocks of tourists who escaped to this tiny lakeside village every year.

To Jill, her elderly friend epitomized courage. Since Jill often felt as if she, herself, epitomized the exact opposite, she had always been drawn to Edith’s independent, nurturing spirit. It was Edith who had found a school nurse position for Jill here in Hideaway when tragedy necessitated that Jill would have to return home and stay nearby for the family business.

Once again closing her eyes, Jill tried to give herself over to the relaxation Sheena had promised. “This honey and almond cream smells heavenly.”

“It’s our most popular. We mix it here ourselves.”

“I’d like a jar of that, if it’s for sale.” Still, if she came away with scars on her face from an over-eager masseuse, Jill would hold Edith and Noelle personally responsible.

In spite of her intentions to remain vigilant, her muscles seemed to liquefy of their own volition. She could feel her body merging with the soft sheets on the massage table until she wasn’t sure where the padding ended and her flesh began. Moreover, she didn’t care.

Jill seldom relaxed. She had been accused of being one of the most uptight, untouchable single women in Hideaway and the surrounding area. Most of the townsfolk made such comments out of her earshot—or so they thought—but Edith never hesitated to speak her mind, and neither did Noelle.

As Jill thought about it, she had recently found herself blessed—if that could be the term for it—by associates at work who never minced words with her.

They understood the term for her condition. Thanks to recent popular television shows, who didn’t know what the letters OCD stood for? Yet they wouldn’t let her get away with the typical behavior of someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Blessed…yes. That was it. She was truly blessed by people who loved her in spite—

“Your brows could use a good plucking.” Sheena’s soft voice interrupted Jill’s reverie.

“What?” Jill opened her eyes to see the young woman hovering over her, wielding a pair of tweezers far too close. Now what tortures was she expected to endure for the sake of moral support?

“I want to shape your eyebrows. I can take ten years off your face with a few good jerks.”

Jill’s loose muscles suddenly tightened again. “Look, Sheena Marshall,” she said, keeping her voice low in deference to Edith, “I didn’t come here to be plucked or jerked or tweezed, I just came for a simple massage with this green stuff you smeared all over my face. Are you finished?”

“Not yet. There are just so many things you need to have done. With your great bone structure—”

“Shouldn’t someone be tending to Edith?”

“She knows how to relax, unlike you.”

“Where’d your mother go? I’d be perfectly willing to let her finish this massage so you can see to Edith.” At least Mary would complete the job without trying to do a total makeover in the process.

“She was only scheduled to work this morning,” Sheena said, “and she wasn’t too happy about having to do that.”

Sheena’s mom, Mary Marshall, had reluctantly agreed to come to work at the spa on an as-needed basis until Noelle could determine for sure how many full-time staff members she would require.

Not only was Mary an accomplished massage therapist who had worked for years in surrounding resorts, she was also a cosmetologist, with a good head for business.

Sheena still lived at home, at the age of twenty-two, and seemed content to stay in Hideaway the rest of her life, living with her parents and working here at the spa. Jill felt for the girl, since she, too, had stayed home out of necessity for several years after graduating from high school.

Sheena needed to get out of this place for a while and learn a little more about the world. Mary and Jed were keeping too tight a leash on her.

Jill shifted on the massage table. “I think I heard Noelle come back from her errands a few minutes ago—can’t she see to Edith while you’re finishing here? I hate to think of Edith waiting over there all by herself.”

“I’ll be…fine,” Edith called to her.

With a frown, Jill glanced at Sheena. Edith sounded less peaceful and relaxed than she had moments ago.

“We won’t be much longer,” Sheena assured Jill. “Noelle warned me not to take too long the first time.”

First time? Like this was going to happen again? What did Noelle need with moral support, anyway? Though the business was new, it was doing well.

Was that laughter she heard in the next room?

Jill gave a sigh, forcing herself to relax again. Edith had a sense of humor that had brought healing light to some of the darkest moments in Jill’s life. Let her laugh.

Yet even as Jill listened to that laughter, it didn’t sound quite right….

Sheena’s movements slowed, as if she, too, noticed a change.

That wasn’t laughter. “Edith, you okay in there?” Jill asked. It sounded as if Edith was coughing.

For several long seconds there was no answer, then came a muffled thump.

Jill lunged up from the massage bed and scrambled out, stumbling against the tray table beside her. Bottles and jars crashed to the wooden floor. She swept past Sheena and raced into the hallway, then into the next cubicle, her loose gown billowing around her.

She thrust the door open to find Edith lying on the floor, gnarled hands grasping her throat, eyes bulging with terror. Her face was still half covered with the mask of herbs, and her white hair tufted over the mask in sticky strands. The half of her face that was bare was nearly purple.

“Call for help!” Jill dropped to her knees beside her friend and wiped the green mask of goo from her face with a towel. “Edith, it’s okay. We’re going to take care of you.”

The lady’s fear-stricken gaze caught and held Jill’s, begging for help. Her mouth worked silently.

“Who do I call?” Sheena cried.

“Get Noelle,” Jill said, grasping Edith’s hand. “I think she came back in. If not, call her on her cell. The clinic’s closed today.” In a more populated place, they would call 911. Here in Hideaway, that wasn’t a good option.

As Sheena rushed from the room, Edith’s grasp tightened in Jill’s. “S…c-cool,” she rasped.

“You’re cool? I’ll get a blanket for—”

The hand tightened further. “N-no.” She closed her eyes, and her grip weakened.

“No. Edith! Stay with me. Help is on the way.”

Those eyes opened again. “S…cool…” Her voice barely reached Jill, and her mouth worked as if with great effort. “Re…cords…jet…”

“Edith, just hold on. We’ll take good care of you.”

Edith shook her head, obviously agitated. “Jet…bomber.”

Jet bomber? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Just hold on and concentrate—”

Edith’s hand relaxed from Jill’s grip. Her eyes closed. She stopped breathing.

“No. Edith! Don’t give up now. Edith!”

Chapter Two

Dr. Rex Fairfield seldom felt ill at ease with colleagues, whether they were strangers, friends or even antagonists. He felt perfectly comfortable presiding over large meetings, which was good, considering the requirements of his present career choice.

Today was different, however, as he sat in the tastefully decorated conference room of the Hideaway Clinic, deep in conversation with two other doctors.

His tension didn’t stem from the suspicious glint in Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher’s gaze or from the quiet expectancy in Dr. Cheyenne Gideon’s dark eyes.

“If we can bring the clinic up to code in, say, three weeks, the timing would be perfect for an announcement at Hideaway’s September festival,” he said. “You’ve already done a lot more than I’d have expected.”

“So why all the secrecy?” Dr. Fletcher asked him.

He frowned at her. “Secrecy?”

The statuesque redhead, second in command of this clinic, leaned forward, spreading her hands. “Yeah, the secrecy. The whole town supports what we’re doing here. They want the clinic to become a hospital. The community’s growing, we need these improvements. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.”

“Maybe not everyone wants it,” corrected Dr. Gideon, the clinic director, “but the detractors are few in number, and they aren’t adamant, they just want to have something to complain about.”

“I didn’t ask for complete secrecy,” Rex told them, “I only asked for discretion.”

“You asked us to keep your name out of our discussions with everyone, including our own staff,” Dr. Fletcher reminded him.

He nodded. Aha. That was the reason for the small flicker of wariness he had detected in the demeanor of this tall woman with the commanding presence. “Please understand I’m not calling your staff’s integrity into question, but there is one particular person with whom I’ve had…um…previous experience.” He hesitated, unwilling to share all to these virtual strangers. This was intensely personal.

“I assure you, Rex, that you can trust all of our staff members,” the director said. “I have found them to have the utmost integrity.”

“I wouldn’t dream of calling any of your staff’s integrity into question, Dr. Gideon.”

The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman rolled her eyes. “Please, I asked you to call me Cheyenne. We keep everything very casual around here.” The woman reached up and tucked a strand of her short, shaggy black hair behind her ear. She did, indeed, appear to have some Native American blood in her lineage.

“I’m sorry—Cheyenne.”

“And I’m Karah Lee,” insisted the tall redhead. “Now, are you going to tell us why all the mystery?”

Rex had become acquainted with Cheyenne, the clinic’s founder and director, and he felt confident in the abilities and good conscience of both the clinic’s doctors. But he had never been inclined to share personal confessions with those he did not know extremely well. In fact, he had learned that even with those he thought he knew well, he must be cautious. His faith in his own judgment wasn’t what it used to be. Perhaps that was a good thing, perhaps not.

“May I ask who it is you’re concerned about?” The expression in Cheyenne’s dark brown eyes was direct.

He hesitated, feeling foolish. His request had been impulsive, which was uncharacteristic of him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this situation without looking unprofessional, even silly, to these two serious, obviously dedicated physicians. Karah Lee Fletcher’s frown deepened.

He cleared his throat. “I simply wished to speak with this particular person in private before any—”

There was a clatter beyond the closed conference room door. Someone had come running into the waiting room of the clinic.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” came an urgent, feminine voice—a voice familiar to Rex, even after all these years, and even with the sharp edge of urgency that carried it down the hallway.

Cheyenne frowned at Karah Lee, who rose quickly, opened the door and stuck her head out into the hallway. “Noelle? What are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”

“Oh, thank goodness! I didn’t expect anyone to be here, or I’d have called. Jill and Sheena are doing CPR on Edith Potts at the spa. Not sure what happened. I came to get—”

“She’s unresponsive?” Cheyenne shoved away from the table and came out of her chair, yanking the door open wide.

Through the doorway, Rex caught sight of a beautiful woman with thick brown hair and small, exquisitely feminine features. She would be in her midthirties now. The only thing that marred her beauty were those blue eyes filled with dark concern. She was very obviously pregnant. Jill’s younger sister.

“She stopped breathing,” Noelle said. “Jill is—”

“Karah Lee,” Cheyenne said over her shoulder, “grab the crash cart. Make sure there’s a cric kit on it. We may have to do a cricothyroidotomy.”

“There is a cric kit,” Noelle said. “I checked it myself yesterday.”

“Let’s get it to the spa,” Cheyenne said. Without a backward glance, both doctors followed Noelle from the clinic, pushing a fully loaded crash cart in front of them.

Rex rushed out behind them. It had been three years since his last official stint in an emergency department, but he would be there if he was needed.

And besides, he, too, needed to know what was wrong with dear old Edith Potts.

In frustration and despair, Jill forced her own breath into Edith’s lungs through the protective pocket mask Noelle kept in each massage room, while the young massage therapist pumped rhythmically on Edith’s chest. The soothing background music was a stark contrast to the sound of hard breathing. This spacious room suddenly felt far too confining.

Sheena’s face was red from exertion and anxiety. Though she obviously knew the procedure, it was just as obvious she had never handled an emergency like this before.

“She isn’t responding, Jill. It isn’t working!” The young woman’s blond hair had darkened around her neck with perspiration. “What are we going to do?”

“Stop a second.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not tired, I’m just—”

“Stop, Sheena! I need to check her.”

The masseuse withdrew her trembling hands from their locked position over Edith’s chest.

Jill knelt close to Edith’s mouth and listened for air movement. None. She pressed her fingers against the carotid artery and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Lord, please don’t take Edith!

“Come and do rescue breathing, and I’ll take over the chest compressions,” she told Sheena.

“No, I can do the compressions. I’m not tired.”

“I’m not asking, I’m telling you, trade places with me.”

“Where’s Noelle with that kit? Shouldn’t she—”

“Just do it!” Jill shouted.

The sound of multiple footsteps reached them from the marble-tiled front entryway.

“Noelle?” Jill called to them. “Is that you? Did you get the intubation—”

Cheyenne burst into the room with a crash cart, followed by Noelle and Karah Lee and a bearded man she didn’t recognize—

For a millisecond, Jill glanced at him again. Not a stranger. She knew that face, in spite of the short, salt-and-pepper beard she’d never seen before, and the cropped dark hair, receding hairline and slight creases of maturity around the calm, gray eyes….

Jill knew that man. Very, very well. Or she had known him once.

But there was no time to react, no time to think. “Chey, she’s gone unresponsive—”

“We’ve got it.” Cheyenne ripped the intubation kit open and started giving orders.

Jill gave a quiet sigh as she scrambled out of the way of the doctors and waited for her first orders. If anyone could bring Edith back, these people could do it.

Rex endured the expected sense of déjà vu, unable, for a few seconds, to drag his gaze from Jill Cooper’s face, which was, at this moment, smeared with some kind of green stuff. Several strands of her hair, dark and thick as he remembered it, had fallen from the confines of a floral turban, grazing the tops of her shoulders. Her body was wrapped in a matching green-and-lavender floral gown.

After a very brief double take at the sight of him, she returned her attention to the still figure of her beloved mentor lying on the floor.

He set to work moving a lounger and a magazine rack out of the way to give the rescue team freedom of movement as they worked.

He remembered Edith Potts, even after all this time, and as he worked he said a silent prayer for her. It had been Edith to whom Jill turned for wisdom and for motherly love.

It had been the strong, wise Edith on whom Jill had depended for advice when her younger sister skipped school or decided not to return home after an evening of partying.

The older woman had also been the one to prepare special meals for Rex when he visited Hideaway on those rare weekends of freedom from the hospital. When there wasn’t room at the bed and breakfast, he had stayed at her house. That was before she and Bertie Meyer purchased the bed and breakfast.

“Get a rhythm,” Cheyenne barked, crouching at Edith’s head.

Karah Lee grabbed the paddles from the cart and placed them on Edith’s chest. “Stop CPR.” She then looked at the monitor. “I’ve got it. Is there a pulse?”

“None,” Cheyenne said, also looking at the monitor while feeling for a pulse in the neck. “It’s PEA. Not shock-able.”

Rex slumped. Pulseless electrical activity. Bad news.

“Continue CPR,” Cheyenne said. “I’m going to set up for intubation. Noelle, bag her while I get ready.”

The doctor worked with quick efficiency. Karah Lee stopped compressions long enough for Cheyenne to insert the breathing tube. Simultaneously, Jill established an IV in the patient’s arm, and drew blood, following normal code protocol. The breathing tube was in place in little over half a minute.

Cheyenne had been an ER doc in Columbia, Missouri, and she had obviously not gotten rusty on her skills. Rex couldn’t help being impressed by this precise teamwork.

Cheyenne secured the tube and allowed Noelle to resume bagging. “Breath sounds?”

Karah Lee pressed her stethoscope over the belly first, then moved the bell to the chest. “Good. The tube is in place.”

“Resume compressions. Sheena, I need you to call an airlift for us.”

Sheena looked up at her. “Who do I call? What do I say?”

“I’ll give you the number. Get a pad and pen and write it down.”

The young woman scrambled toward the doorway.

Cheyenne’s voice was calm but firm as she shot orders to the others. Rex took over the job of recording the proceedings on a sheet of notebook paper he found on a table.

He knew he should be observing this scene with professional detachment in order to best evaluate the staff’s strengths and weaknesses. They would need that evaluation later as they applied for hospital designation.

He couldn’t detach. He felt the desperation in this room, could hear it in the quickened breathing of each person. He wanted to reassure Jill that everything would be okay, but she might not welcome any kind of comment from him right now. Every moment they worked over Edith with no response, he was more convinced that she was gone for good. Though he knew Jill was a woman of faith, a word from him would be an intrusion. Lord, please help us. Guide our hands, give us wisdom.

Why had he asked Cheyenne to keep his identity a secret from the staff? He had seldom been more sorry about a decision. His intention had been to reconnect with Jill personally before they met in a cold, professional environment. He wanted to reassure her he wasn’t still the ogre she’d once thought he was.

If they lost Edith, it would break her heart. She didn’t need any additional stress on top of that.

Chapter Three

Fawn Morrison sat behind the counter in the lobby of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, entering numbers from a ledger sheet onto the computer program Blaze Farmer had set up. She loved this part of the job. It was mindless yet engaging enough to keep her from worrying about her plans for the upcoming wedding, her adjustments to college, her preparations for the pig races at the festival.

She was racing her very own pig this year. Why had she agreed to do that, with everything else going on? She was practically the sole planner for Karah Lee’s wedding, and she wasn’t getting a whole lot of help from Karah Lee.

Fawn loved her foster mother, but the woman had no fashion sense, no concept of the amount of time it would take to complete their plans. Furthermore, those plans kept changing.

The front door squeaked open and the old-fashioned bell rang above it. She glanced over her shoulder to see a tall man with broad shoulders and thick, gray-streaked auburn hair step into the lobby. He looked awkward, nervous.

He wasn’t bad-looking, for someone in his forties, at least. Bertie or Edith might threaten to stick him out in the garden to scare away the crows because he was a little on the skinny side. He had a turkey wattle beneath his chin and dark circles under his eyes.

Okay, so he wasn’t that good-looking. He just looked like maybe he had been, once upon a time.

“Be there in a minute,” Bertie called from the dining room at the far side of the lobby.

Fawn started to get up to help the man.

“Why, Bertie Meyer,” the man drawled, his voice deep as the growl of a big dog, “you’re just the person I was hoping to run into. What a welcome sight you are.”

Fawn sat back down.

Eighty-something-year-old Bertie stopped midstride in the broad entryway between the dining room and the lobby. She held an empty waffle plate, and her white apron was stained with strawberry syrup and bacon grease. Her white hair tufted down over her forehead, and her eyes looked like those of a cat caught in headlights.

“Austin?” Bertie’s voice suddenly sounded her age, which didn’t happen often.

“I bet you thought I was gone for good, huh?”

Bertie set her waffle plate on a nearby table and entered the lobby, absently wiping her hands on her apron. “I heard you and your mom had moved to California.”

Fawn frowned. Austin. Where had she heard that name before?

“Mom’s living with Aunt Esther down in Eureka Springs now,” the man said. “I went to California for a few weeks to visit my cousin, but the traffic’s a mess out there. A fella can’t even make a trip to the grocery store without risking his life.”

“Seems to me a real estate agent could make some good money in LA,” Bertie said.

There was a short pause. “Money doesn’t mean as much as I used to think it did.”

Fawn realized she was partially shielded by the greenery that Edith loved to keep on the counter. And she realized she was indulging in one of her worst habits—eavesdropping.

Her best friend Blaze and her foster mother Karah Lee had nagged her so much about it that she’d almost broken the habit. Until now. Right now she couldn’t leave without drawing attention to herself.

Bertie’s passion for hospitality drew more customers here than to any hotel or lodge in a twenty-five-mile radius, but the tone of her voice did not sound welcoming. It sounded wary.

The man walked across the lobby to her. “I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone, Bertie.” His voice softened until Fawn could barely hear what he was saying.

Austin…wasn’t his last name Barlow? Was he the guy who used to be mayor of Hideaway?

“I didn’t think you were,” Bertie said. “I’m just curious, is all.”

“Got a cottage I could rent for a couple of weeks?”

Fawn nearly snorted out loud. This place had been booked solid since early April.

She listened to the murmur of quiet voices for a moment, too low for her to hear and yet just loud enough to frustrate her when she heard a word or two now and then.

Ashamed, but unable to stop herself, Fawn finally scooted her chair back so she could hear a little better.

“Have you heard from Ramsay lately?” Bertie asked.

“Just yesterday. You might not believe this, but he’s living at a boys’ ranch up in northern Missouri. How’s that for payback after all the griping I did about Dane Gideon’s ranch for so many years?”

There was a long silence. Fawn peeked over the counter and saw Bertie’s expression. Fawn knew that look. Bertie had such a tender heart.

Ramsay. Fawn remembered Blaze telling her about him. They’d been friends, or so Blaze had thought. Then it turned out Ramsay was vandalizing the town and allowing his father—Austin—to place the blame on Blaze. Finally Ramsay had flipped out completely and tried to kill Cheyenne because she had done something that made his father mad.

And what was the kid doing at a boys’ ranch? Shouldn’t he be in a place that took psych cases?

“Bertie, I came to apologize,” Austin said in a rush, as if he couldn’t be sure he’d have the nerve to get all the words out. “I thought I’d start with you. I know I have a lot to answer for, and it’s time. Way past time.”

Fawn couldn’t make out Bertie’s response, but she knew that Austin Barlow was forgiven.

Rex Fairfield shoved the heels of his hands against the yielding flesh of Edith Potts’s chest, taking his turn at the grueling task of CPR. He felt the sweat of desperation on his own forehead and heard the despair in Cheyenne’s voice as she continued to call orders to them.

“Where’s that airlift?” Jill asked. “It should be here by now. It’s been—”

“Too long,” Cheyenne said, her voice brittle from the force of tight control. Grief drew lines of tension around her mouth and eyes.

It had been twenty minutes. Rex knew this would be a tough one for all of them. He also knew they had done more than was normal for a code such as this.

“Sheena,” Cheyenne said, “go ahead and—” She frowned, and Rex glanced at Sheena Marshall crouched in the far corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes glassy as she stared at the floor in front of her.

“Noelle,” Cheyenne said, “call the airlift and cancel—”

“No!” Jill’s usually mellow voice broke, ragged with pain. “Please, Chey, just a little longer.”

Rex continued to pump rhythmically.

“It’s been taken out of our hands.” Cheyenne spoke with tender sadness.

Jill shook her head, short jerks of denial as she reached once more for the crash cart. “Atropine is next, isn’t it?”

“We’ve already maxed out the Atropine.” Karah Lee placed a hand on Jill’s shoulder and squeezed, her voice husky with sorrow.

“There’s some left, though. Can’t we just try one more—”

“Honey, it’s time,” Karah Lee said.

“Epi again, then.” Jill’s movements had taken on the frantic tightness of extreme anxiety. “One more dose, Chey. Please, just one…”

“Jill.” Cheyenne caught Jill by the hands. “She’s gone. We knew it was a reach when we saw the rhythm in the first place. We’ve carried this much longer than was warranted already.” She nodded to Karah Lee, who had taken over the recording from Rex. “Time of death, 2:30 p.m., September third.”

“Oh, Edith, no!” Jill’s cry filled the room.

Chapter Four

Fawn watched Bertie return to her work in the dining room, and then saw Austin Barlow’s broad shoulders slump as he reached for the handle of the front door. She suddenly felt sorry for him, though she couldn’t understand why.

The guy was a bigot. He’d accused Blaze of vandalism simply because Blaze was black in a cream white town. The former mayor had complained constantly about Dane Gideon and the boys’ ranch, and according to Blaze, he had even tried to cause trouble for Bertie Meyer.

Bertie didn’t hold grudges, and she’d been kind to Austin after the initial awkwardness. Still, she couldn’t pull a room for rent out of thin air. There was nothing to be had in town.

Fawn remembered a few more things Blaze had said about Austin Barlow. He was a real estate agent, and one time he’d rescued a starving horse from a pasture he had listed, then had taken the animal to Cheyenne’s farm, since he lived in town. When Cheyenne had hired Blaze to take care of the horse, Austin had been angry. The moron had actually expected to use the starving horse as an excuse to see Cheyenne more often.

Had to give the guy credit for originality, but it was still stupid. He must not know much about women.

“I hear you used to be the mayor.” The words slid from Fawn’s mouth before she realized she was going to say anything at all.

Austin turned and glanced around the room, and she could tell he hadn’t even known she was there. That ficus tree made a good eavesdropping blind.

She stood up.

He blinked, the heavy expression in his eyes suddenly lifting. “That’s right.”

“Sorry about your son.”

He nodded. “Thank you. So am I.”

“If you’re looking to stay a couple of weeks, Grace Brennan might sublet her apartment to you. She’s on tour this month.”

He stepped across the hardwood floor to the counter and leaned against it, obviously to get a better look at the instigator of this conversation.

“Grace Brennan’s on the road?” he asked.

“That’s right. She’s got a song that’s a crossover hit, and she and Michael Gold are getting married.”

Austin whistled softly. “When’s the wedding?”

“During the festival on the twenty-fifth of this month. Karah Lee Fletcher’s getting married to Taylor Jackson, too.”

Austin winked at her, his eyes suddenly teasing. “How about you? When do you get married?”

Fawn scowled. Now he was flirting, not taking her seriously. “I just turned eighteen. Why would I be getting married so young?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing you in Hideaway two years ago.”

She decided not to tell him where she was and what she was doing two years ago. She wanted to ask why his own life had gone down the tubes so quickly. But Karah Lee and Blaze were always reminding her that those kinds of questions weren’t polite.

“I came here one step ahead of some goon who wanted to kill me,” she said. “Karah Lee decided to keep me.”

Austin Barlow’s expression didn’t change, which intrigued Fawn. Usually, that announcement led the listener to ask for the whole story.

Fawn decided the winking and teasing were a cover. Austin had other things on his mind. “Why did you come back to Hideaway?” she asked.

“You should know why. You’re the one who’s been eavesdropping.”

“So you want to make amends? For your son’s actions? It’s not like you’re the guilty one.”

Austin scowled.

“Sorry,” Fawn said. “I guess a good father will always feel responsible for whatever his kid does.”

The scowl faded as he studied her more closely.

“Guess I wouldn’t know about that,” she muttered softly.

Austin’s eyes narrowed at her words, then he shook his head. “Guess I wouldn’t, either. But maybe it’s time to make up for a lot of things,” he said, almost as if to himself.

“Are you moving back to Hideaway?” she asked. Blaze wouldn’t be thrilled about that. Dane Gideon wouldn’t be happy, either, though he was too much of a gentleman ever to say anything.

Austin glanced around the lobby, appraising. “I’m not sure where I’ll be moving yet. I need to talk to Cheyenne Allison, Dane Gideon, make a few—”

“That’s Cheyenne Gideon.”

The guy blinked, as if startled. “Of course. I knew that.”

“I heard you had a thing for her,” Fawn said.

He gave a disapproving frown. “For a newcomer, you sure know a lot about me.”

“While you’re making apologies, are you going to apologize to Blaze Farmer?”

He leveled a long, steady look at her. “Have you suddenly decided to become my conscience?”

“I thought you said you’d come here to make amends. Seems to me you need to be making amends to Blaze for quite a few things.”

Austin continued to study her thoughtfully. “Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it?”

His focused attention made her nervous.

Jill sat wiping the massage cream from her face with the turban that had been wrapped around her head. She couldn’t stop staring at Edith’s still form, listening to the soft echo of sobs coming from another room.

Sheena had run out when Cheyenne made the pronouncement, and Noelle had gone to comfort her and cancel clients for the remainder of the day. Apparently Sheena had loved Edith, too.

A quick glance told Jill that Rex Fairfield was still here. She returned her attention to Edith as Karah Lee pulled a sheet over that death mask.

Jill winced. She couldn’t do this. She needed to run away screaming, needed to shake her fist at God and ask what He thought He was doing. She needed to rail at Cheyenne for giving up so easily. These weren’t just impulses, they were compulsions that she had to control.

The real Jill Cooper was a rational human being, a responsible RN, an adult.

Oh, the awful terror that had been in Edith’s eyes…the horrible knowledge of something—but what? What had she been trying to say? Hallucinating, no doubt, but why?

“Jill?” A deep masculine voice broke into her thoughts.

With a start, she looked up, then looked away quickly, refusing to meet Rex’s gaze. Not now. It was just too much. She didn’t want to deal with this—couldn’t deal with it. All she wanted to do was fall to her knees at Edith’s side and weep against her shoulder as she had done so often as a young teenager.

“I’m so sorry,” Rex said. The gentle sympathy in his low baritone voice reawakened memories she couldn’t bear right now.

She nodded. What was this man doing here? What kind of crazy, tilted nightmare was this?

“The timing is awful,” Rex continued. “I would never have done this to you—”

“You haven’t done a thing to me, Rex.” She forced herself, then, to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re doing in Hideaway, but I doubt either of us is hung up on something that happened twenty-two years ago.”

“Some things were left in limbo then,” he said. “We parted without enough explanations, which was unfortunate. I take the blame. Eventually, we’ll need to clear the air. I owe you an—”

“I have other things to do right now, Rex.” Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past him and knelt to help Cheyenne pick up debris.

“I need to go tell Bertie,” Cheyenne said.

“No.” Jill couldn’t allow anyone else to do that. “That should be my job. I’ll need to contact Edith’s family. She has a niece who lives in Springfield, and others—”

“You need some time to recover.” Cheyenne squeezed cellophane wrappers into a tight ball with more force than normal. “Bertie’s—”

“Please, Chey. I need to do this.” Jill touched Cheyenne’s shoulder, then noticed what she should have seen earlier—the silent tears coursing down her director’s face.

“How about you?” Jill asked. “Are you okay?”

Cheyenne nodded.

Jill realized this must be bringing back horrible memories for her. When Cheyenne was an ER doc in Columbia, her younger sister had been brought in via ambulance after an automobile accident. Cheyenne couldn’t resuscitate her, and in the end she’d had to call her own baby sister’s death.

Jill couldn’t imagine how she would have felt had that happened to her with Noelle.

“I’ll go with her, Cheyenne,” Noelle said from the open doorway.

Jill continued to feel Rex’s attention on her, and she finally looked up at him. What she saw in his expression soothed her jumbled emotions.

“I can do this,” Jill repeated, striding from the room. She continued out the front door of the spa, wishing she never had to return to this place.

When would it all end? How many deaths would this tiny village have to endure?

She was halfway across the street when she heard footsteps behind her.

“You don’t need to keep vigil over me,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“I loved her, too, you know,” came a gentle female voice.

Jill softened. Noelle. At this moment she could barely focus on placing one foot in front of the other, but out of habit, she forced herself to gather her strength for her sister.

Noelle rested a hand on Jill’s arm, her touch tentative, as if she half expected it to be shaken off.

Lord, wake me up! This can’t be happening again, Jill prayed.

“Edith was always there for us,” Noelle said as they stepped onto the grass across the street from the town square. “Especially for you.”

Jill nodded. In spite of the oppressive heat, it seemed as if a thick fog had covered the sun. She glanced up to find not a cloud in the blue sky. The sun shone brightly. It just didn’t seem to be reaching her.

“She was my best friend,” Jill said at last.

“I know.”

Edith had taken the place of their mother when she was killed. Edith had played the role of the strong parent when the girls’ father had withdrawn into a world of grief and buried himself in work.

“I went to her for guidance when I couldn’t control you,” Jill continued.

“I’m sorry I made it so hard for you,” Noelle said.

“I’m not saying it was your fault, I’m just saying Edith was my strength.”

“I was old enough to know better.”

“You were acting out because you were frightened. You needed your mother, and I wasn’t her. You needed a father, and he wasn’t able to cope.”

“Stop making excuses for me. Besides, we’re talking about you for once.”

Jill’s steps slowed as she stared out across the surface of Table Rock Lake. As much as she wanted to reassure Noelle that she would be fine, Jill knew Noelle wouldn’t believe her. And it might be a lie. In times of extreme stress, like now, an OCD crisis was always a possibility.

Her steps slowed further as they drew near the bed and breakfast that Edith Potts and Bertie Meyer had purchased and turned into a profitable business. “Oh, Noelle, what’s Bertie going to do now? She still hasn’t recovered from Red’s death. Now Edith.”

Her sister’s trembling hand grasped hers. That tremor reminded Jill that Noelle, too, had just witnessed another horrible death. It brought back their past with such clarity—and they hadn’t had time to recover from all the darkness.

Edith had been a constant in their lives for so many years.

“It isn’t your fault,” Noelle said quietly. “You can’t take responsibility for this.” She paused, then, still more quietly, added, “Especially not for this.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing, I’m just—” Jill frowned, then stopped and looked at her sister, studying the beautiful lines of Noelle’s face. Especially not for this. “What do you mean?”

Noelle didn’t meet her gaze, and Jill felt a tingling of alertness.

Since childhood, Noelle had been gifted with a special intuition that had frightened Jill. Now that they understood it better and realized that this intuition was pure and of God, a simple spiritual gift, it didn’t frighten her as badly as it once had. Still, Jill had learned to take it seriously when Noelle experienced this special knowledge. It wasn’t a conjuring. Noelle would never have sought this gift for herself, and she continued to avoid addressing it whenever possible. For her to make that remark now meant something, Jill knew.

“Are you telling me there could be something else going on—”

“Do you have any idea what Rex Fairfield is doing here?” Noelle asked abruptly.

“I don’t want to talk about him right now. We need to—”

“I can’t go there yet.” Noelle tugged her hand away, and Jill realized she had been holding on too tightly—something she had often done to Noelle. “I’m the reason you broke up with him, aren’t I?” Noelle asked.

“What makes you think I’m the one who broke it off?”

“Whoever did it, I’m the reason,” Noelle said. “I overheard the two of you fighting because you insisted on coming home every weekend. And I know you did that because I kept getting into trouble. If not for me, maybe—”

“I thought you said it wasn’t about you this time,” Jill snapped. “The reason Rex and I didn’t get married is because it wasn’t meant to be, so stop wallowing in guilt.”

“I’m not,” Noelle snapped back. “I’m just telling it like it is.”

Jill stopped and turned to Noelle then, softening her voice. “Honey, if not for you, I might have no sanity left. Because I knew I had to be responsible for you, I was willing to seek help for my compulsions.”

Noelle held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. Something cleared in her expression. She looked down at her hands. “Thanks. Glad I could be of service.”

Jill relaxed slightly at the gentle teasing. “Now, are you going to tell me what you know about Edith’s death?”

“Not yet. I’m sorry, but you understand how it is. I just believe all is not as it seems. We need to be watchful.”

Jill didn’t press for more, badly as she wanted to. What was not as it seemed? And who could be hiding something?