LITMIR.BIZ

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      He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. “No.”

      “My mother’s maiden name was Tallie Cumberland. Ever heard of her?”

      The stiffness in his back returned, flowing all the way to his hands until they white-knuckled the steering wheel. The dread ran through him like ice in his blood, freezing him as if he were still that little boy from Cherokee Cove who believed every tale his mama told him, especially the scary ones.

      “Don’t even look at a Cumberland,” she’d warned him from the time he was old enough to walk around on his own two feet. “They’re cursed, and they’ll spread their sickness on you.”

      His father hadn’t been superstitious at all, but even he had spoken of the Cumberlands in hushed tones, dire warnings blazing in his eyes.

      “You have heard of her,” Dana said.

      “I’ve heard of the Cumberlands,” he admitted.

      “Doyle says that when he mentioned the name, people reacted as if he’d just said a curse word.”

      “Does he know why?”

      “Not specifically. The most anyone would tell him is that the Cumberlands are nothing but trouble.”

      “Does that sound anything like your mother?” he asked carefully.

      “No.”

      “Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”

      Dana didn’t say anything else until they reached the Bitterwood city limits. Even then, she merely said she’d told Doyle she was going to stay at his house. “He didn’t like it, but I’m older than he is, so I win.”

      Nix smiled, thinking of his own younger brother and how often he’d invoked the older-sibling rule when they were growing up. “Are you sure you feel safe there? Someone was able to get into the house pretty easily.”

      “I’m armed and I’m too wired to sleep,” she answered, slanting a look of raw determination his way. “Bring it on.”

      “I could stick around.”

      “And protect the poor, defenseless girl?”

      “Not what I said.”

      She sighed. “I’m usually not this prickly. It’s been an unsettling night.”

      “I’m serious about sticking around. And not because I don’t think you can take care of yourself. But you said there were two intruders. Couldn’t hurt to have an extra set of ears to listen out for danger.”

      “And it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra firepower,” she admitted. “But it’s a lot to ask.”

      “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

      “So you did.” Her lips curved in a smile that softened her features, making her look far more approachable than she had seemed for most of the drive.

      Far more dangerous, too, he reminded himself.

      The TBI technicians were still there when they arrived, but they were packing up to leave. Laney was outside with them, talking to Brady Moreland. She squinted at the headlights, smiling when she recognized Nix’s truck.

      “Good timing,” she said. “The van will be out of your way in just a minute.”

      “Actually, I’m staying here tonight after all,” Dana told her as she slid out of the cab of the truck. “I ran by to see Doyle and told him I’d keep an eye on the place.”

      “Oh.” Laney looked surprised. “Okay. I need to run home and get some notes for a court case that starts Monday, but I can be back here in a half hour—”

      “You don’t have to stay with me,” Dana said quickly. “Doyle told me you’d probably try but to remind you your big case is important and I’m a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Positive. Go get some rest so you can kick butt in court Monday.”

      After Laney’s taillights disappeared around the bend, Dana turned to look at Nix. “I do appreciate the offer to stay, but—”

      “But you’re a deputy U.S. marshal with a big gun?”

      She patted her purse. “Glock 17.”

      “Nice.” He bent a little closer to her, lowering his voice. “I have a sweet Colt 1911 .45 caliber with a rosewood grip, and if you quit trying to get rid of me, I might let you hold it.”

      A dangerous look glittered in her eyes. “You’re trying to tempt me with an offer to handle your weapon?”

      He nearly swallowed his tongue.

      She smiled the smile of a woman who knew she’d scored a direct hit. “You can stay,” she said almost regally. “We’ll negotiate weapon-handling terms later.”

      She headed up the porch steps and entered her brother’s house, leaving Nix to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into.

      * * *

      DANA GAVE NIX the guest room, taking her brother’s bedroom for herself. As she was trying to figure out what part of the chaos to tackle first, Nix knocked on the door frame. He paused in the doorway, eyeing the mess with a grimace. “Let me help you straighten up.”

      “It’s okay. I can get it.”

      “You should take a shower and clean the blood out of your hair,” he said firmly. “Go ahead. I’ll see how far I can get by the time you’re done.”

      She was too tired and sore to argue. The bruises on her shoulders were beginning to ache, and the blood in her hair was giving off an unpleasant metallic odor she would be happy to get rid of. She took her whole suitcase into the bathroom down the hall, pleased to see that the room conformed to tourist mountain cabin standards by being roomy and, even better, boasting a whirlpool tub with a multisetting handheld showerhead.

      She tried to hurry through her bath, but the soothing pulse of the showerhead’s massage setting against her bruised shoulders was seductive, keeping her in the tub longer than she’d intended. She forced herself out of the hot spray finally, gritting her teeth against the faint chill of the bathroom on her wet skin, and hurried through drying off and dressing.

      But by the time she reached Doyle’s bedroom, Nix had finished most of the cleanup, changing the bedsheets and returning most of the clothes back to their drawers. “There were a few things smudged with fingerprint powder,” he told her as he wiped down the dresser surface with a damp rag. “I put those and the sheets in the clothes basket in the laundry room.”

      “Where’s the laundry room?” she asked, tugging her robe more tightly around her as Nix’s dark-eyed gaze dropped to where the robe lapels gaped open to reveal her thin nightgown.

      His gaze snapped back up to meet hers. “Just off the kitchen.”

      “Ah.”

      “Was the water hot enough?”

      She nodded. “Bathroom’s amazing. What is this place, one of those tourist cabins?”

      “Actually, I think it may be,” Nix answered, giving the chest of drawers a final swipe of the dust rag. “Back about ten years ago, some guy bought up a lot of this land and built a bunch of cabins, hoping to bring more tourism to this area. But it’s just too far off the beaten path, and Bitterwood doesn’t have enough attractions to compete with places like Gatlinburg, Pigeon Forge or Bryson City. So the guy had to sell off a bunch of these cabins for a song just to keep his real-estate business from going belly-up. Doyle probably got a decent deal on the place. Is he buying or renting, do you know?”

      “Buying,” she answered. “He said it wouldn’t look good for the chief of police to rent a place. Might make it seem like he wasn’t planning to stick

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