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Excerpt
She thought he looked familiar, but couldn’t be sure. He was tall, dark, bearded.What if he was one of the men trying to kill her?Adrenaline surged through her, and she pummeled and kicked, mindless in her rage. When he suddenly released her, she fell hard.
In Angel Ridge, Tennessee, not much goes on around town in the winter. After Christmas, folks usually hunker down and wait for spring to come to the Smoky Mountains. But given recent events, which included a bombing and newspaper publisher Jenny Thompson’s disappearance, people in town are understandably on edge. Now Jenny’s in hiding on a nearby mountain, waiting for trouble to catch up with her and none too sure it hasn’t, when reclusive mountain man Cord Goins comes to her rescue. Stuck between a beginning and an ending, both she and Cord feel powerless to control the dangerous situation they’ve found themselves in, along with the unexpected consequences of falling in love.
Deborah Grace Staley lives in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains in a circa 1867 farmhouse. She is hard at work on the next book in the award-winning Angel Ridge series.
Jenny Thompson
stood outside the door to Ferguson’s Diner, looking in. She knocked on the
locked door without much hope that anyone would be inside. Nearly every citizen
of Angel Ridge would be at church on a Sunday morning; everyone but her. She’d
been up all night working on an investigative report blowing the top off the
crime ring behind the recent break-ins that had occurred in Angel Ridge.
Dixie Ferguson
emerged from the kitchen, giving her a wave, then came and unlocked the door.
"Jenny! Get yourself in here, girl!”
Jenny smiled
and walked into the warm, inviting old-fashioned diner complete with
checkerboard tile, green vinyl booths, and a lunch counter. "I’m surprised to
see you, Dixie. I thought you’d be in church.”
"And yet
you’re here knocking on my door.”
"I had a
craving for chocolate ice cream.”
"Never let a
good lunch get between a woman and her chocolate.”
Jenny laughed.
"Everything okay, Dixie? You look tired.”
Dixie picked
up a mug and sipped her coffee. "I could say the same about you, not that you
don’t cover it well with that fabulous pantsuit.” She held up her cup. "Can I
get you some?”
"Yes, thanks.”
She could use a break and the chat with a good friend.
"Susan had a
rough night,” Dixie said as she poured.
The mayor’s
wife, Susan Houston, was Dixie’s best friend. She’d just been diagnosed with
breast cancer. "I’m sorry to hear that Susan’s not doing well.”
Dixie sat at
the stool next to Jenny’s. "I know they say what doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger, but I’m not so sure. The chemo is brutal.”
They both
drank their coffee in silence for a moment. How could something so awful happen
to such a young, vital woman with children to raise?
"So what are
you blaming your restless night on?”
"Work.”
Dixie shook
her head and, amused, Jenny couldn’t help noticing her friend’s hair which was
short, spiked and some shade of red not found in nature, but on Dixie, it
worked.
"You know what
they say, all work and no play...”
"I know, but I
found out a long time ago that I don’t have time for the games men play.
Anything beyond a couple of dates and they start giving you hell about working
too much, but when they work too much, that’s a different matter all together.
I don’t need anyone trying to run my life but me.”
Dixie held up
her coffee cup in a salute. "Amen to that, but it does get lonely.”
"I wouldn’t
know. Too busy,” Jenny joked, but the old familiar ache in the region of her
heart called her a liar.
"You have to
go to bed sometime and not that I’d know, but I hear there’s something to be
said for a long, warm, hard body to snuggle up to.”
Jenny fell
into what she did best—putting up a wall with humor. She smiled. "Do tell...”
and sipped her coffee.
Dixie sighed.
"I would like to try it once, just to say I did.”
"Have someone
in mind?”
"I wish.”
The two
friends laughed. "So, you must be on the trail of a hot story.” Dixie
commented.
"Mmm,” Jenny nodded.
Dixie clapped
and rubbed her hands together. "I love a good exposé. Tell me.”
Jenny thought
about that for a minute. There were certain aspects of the story that were out
there for anyone to find if they cared to dig. Other information, however, she
would turn over to the authorities. A lot of people were going to prison
because of what she’d found. "Turns out that Candi’s mother lived here twenty-some
years ago. Came down from the mountain, pretty as a picture, and had every man
in town with a heartbeat falling at her feet, single and married alike.”
Dixie’s
eyebrows rose. "I’m listening.”
"You can
imagine how the little church ladies in town felt about her.”
"Mmm-hmm.”
"Unable to
find a job here, she resorted to working at a gentleman’s club in Vonore.”
"A what?”
Dixie exclaimed.
"A private
club, tucked away out on some dirt road, where there was all manner of illegal
activity going on.”
"Such as?”
"Gambling,
drinking, loan sharking, drugs, you name it. Oh, and exotic dancers just to add
a little spice.”
"Hold on.”
Dixie held up a hand and sat straighter. "Are you saying that sweet little
Candi Heart’s momma was an exotic dancer?”
"Well, let’s
just say she was a scantily clad performerwho sang and did a passable imitation of Marilyn Monroe.”
"And the men
in Angel Ridge...”
"Had front row
seats.”
"Scandalous!”
"Indeed, that
is until Candi’s momma turned up dead, floating in a back water cove just
outside of town.”
"You mean
murdered?” Dixie exclaimed.
"Well,
officially she drowned, but given the kind she was involved with, I’m inclined
to speculate.”
"So what
happened to these criminals running the place? Are they still around? Is that
who’s been causing trouble for Candi?”
"I suspect so.
The club closed not long after Candi’s momma died, but you know how these
organizations work. There had to be someone on the outside with money paying
these locals involved to run the operation. My guess is that some of them are
still around and working at it under the table. Who knows, could be some of the
businesses here in town are fronts for illegal activity.”
"No way.”
Jenny
shrugged. After she published her piece, she’d turn it all over to the attorney
general’s office in Knoxville and let them sort it all out. She should probably
get out of town for a few days. She’d been missing her sister, Frannie. Maybe
she’d pay her a visit.
"Well, I need
to get going.” She stood and lifted her purse to her shoulder.
"Let me get
you that ice cream.”
"Thanks.”
Dixie fixed
her treat and handed it over. Jenny juggled to get her wallet out of her purse.
"Stop now.
It’s on me. Let me get the door for you.”
"Thanks,”
Jenny said.
As she walked
down the sidewalk back toward The
Chronicle, she swirled her tongue along the point where her ice cream cone
met the creamy chocolate that crowned it. Sweets were her weakness, chocolate
in particular, in any form. She’d earned the treat after the all-nighter she’d
pulled at the paper, not that she needed an excuse. She was a firm believer in
living by her own terms, and that meant she had chocolate if she wanted
chocolate—no guilt.
The sidewalks
were deserted with everyone still in church, but services would be over soon.
Jenny pushed her sunglasses up on her head as she stepped out of the warm
autumn sunshine into the darkened alley that ran parallel to Main Street, the
only major thoroughfare in downtown Angel Ridge. This side of the street housedThe Angel Ridge Chronicle and the older
businesses in town, such as Wallace’s Grocery, McKay Bank and Trust, and the
Apothecary Shoppe. The slower pace of the quaint little East Tennessee town had
appealed to her when she’d moved here three years ago after living in Nashville
where she’d worked as an investigative reporter at The Tennessean.
She rotated
the cone as she swiped her tongue across the chocolaty treat. It had taken her
all of a month to get bored. She’d managed, but she had to admit she’d missed
the thrill of breaking big stories. Thanks to Candi Heart, she’d gotten her
feet wet again. Given what she’d found, she wondered if she’d been crazy to get
involved, but only for a half second. Reveal the truth, and the rest will work
itself out—that was her journalistic credo. She hoped that held true for the
crime ring she’d uncovered, but seasoned instincts told her that an
organization this established and this large wouldn’t go down swiftly or
quietly. It’s the reason she hadn’t hit "send” on the email that would place
the story on the wire nationwide by morning. She wanted to proof it once more and
have a little more time to think. This was a life-changing story; the biggest
she’d ever had.
She shook her
head and bit into the cone. Three years in this town and she’d gone soft. She’d
send the story as soon as she got back to her desk.
She’d just
tossed the rest of her cone into a garbage can when an explosion rocked the
shops lining the alley. Jenny lost her balance and fell. Covering her head, she
crawled behind the garbage can as a shower of shrapnel rained down.
When the
ground stopped shaking and debris quit falling from the sky, Jenny chanced a
look around her. Her winter white Donna Karan pantsuit was ruined, her Manolo
Blahniks were missing a heel, and her ears were ringing. Other than that, she
was fine, though her heart beat so hard and fast, she felt like it would burst.
She managed to
stand on her broken shoes and walked between the buildings toward Town Square.
Good Lord Almighty, it looked like a war zone. People spilling out of the two
churches on either end of Main Street were shouting and running in all
directions. A man crouched next to an unconscious woman while others knelt in
the grass holding their heads. She heard Dixie say, "What happened?” and
someone answer, "There’s been an explosion at the newspaper.”
She wobbled on
her damaged pumps, ready to run out to confirm or refute what she’d just heard
when something stopped her—something that froze in her gut and had her easing
back into the shelter of the alley. Someone
had blown up the newspaper.
Bud DeFoe, who
ran the hardware, said, "First they break into Candi Heart’s new shop, and then
not two days later, they blow up our newspaper!”
"Where’s
Jenny?” she heard Dixie say.
"Do you think
she was inside?”
"I don’t know.
She was just with me at the diner, but she’s had time to get back to the paper.
Oh Lord—”
"Why would
someone want to blow up the newspaper?” Bud asked.
Why indeed?
She’d been made. The long inactive crime syndicate that Candi Heart’s arrival
in town had stirred up meant to keep her from publishing her exposé. They’d
destroyed her newspaper thinking her inside to shut her up—permanently. She
retreated back into the alley completely, then made her way quickly to the
sheriff’s office, thankfully unnoticed, what with all the commotion of people
running in all directions and emergency personnel arriving.
As soon as she
entered the back of the courthouse, she walked through the deserted rear
offices straight to the jailhouse, which, as usual, was also empty. She pulled
the heavy metal door closed that separated it from the front offices, slid to
the floor and dug in her pocket for her phone. Jenny dialed the sheriff’s
personal cell number.
Grady Wallace
had been sheriff in Angel Ridge since long before she’d bought the paper. She
wouldn’t call him a close personal friend. The best relationship she could hope
for between the press and local law enforcement was cordial, and he was at
least that—most of the time. He’d even agreed to work with her on this
investigation, but she felt sure that was because he was more than a little
interested in Candi.
There’d been a
time when Jenny had thought that perhaps he might be attracted to her. As she’d
told Dixie, she was not interested in a relationship, and certainly not with an
officer of the law. Turns out he’d been powerless to resist this woman of
mystery who had them all neck deep in this trouble.
"Wallace.”
"Grady? It’s
Jenny Thompson.”
"Jenny? Thank
God you’re all right! What the hell’s going on? Woody just called and said there
was an explosion at the newspaper.”
"Well, that
seems to be the consensus. I didn’t stick around to investigate. Aren’t you in
town?”
"I was on the
riverbank with Doc Prescott. I’m on my way back. Where are you?”
"Hiding out at
the jail.”
"Good call.
I’ll be there soon.”
The call
disconnected. Jenny sat on the floor, cross-legged, and waited. What should she
do next? Jenny stood when she heard the handle turning in the metal door and saw
Dixie’s face framed in its small window.
"Thank God
you’re all right. I came over to get Grady, but when I looked back here, I saw
you crouched on the floor. Are you okay?”
"I’m fine, but
my shoes are ruined.”
Dixie looked
at the missing heel on her pump. "Well that is a shame,” she commiserated, "but
thank goodness you’re all right. Were you inside the paper when the explosion
happened?”
"No. I hadn’t
made it back yet.”
"Well thank
the Lord for that. Where’s Grady?”
"On his way.
He was fishing.”
"Just like a
man to never be around when you need him. Here,” she took Jenny’s hand and helped
her to a side door that led to a room with a table and several chairs. "You
need to sit. You’ve had a shock. Can I get you anything?”
Jenny shook
her head, but then took Dixie’s hand. "Yes. Would you stay?”
Dixie sat
immediately and squeezed Jenny’s hand with both of hers. "Of course.” After a
moment had passed, Dixie asked, "Do you think this has something to do with
that investigation you were telling me about?”
Jenny’s heart
sank. She’d been thinking the same thing, but hadn’t wanted to put words to the
thoughts. So, she just nodded.
Dixie put a
hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as she considered the possible implications.
Jenny wanted to laugh. She’d never seen Dixie speechless. It had to be a first.
"How can you
sit there and smile like that? This is awful. Just awful!” Dixie said.
Oh well. It
lasted all of about ten seconds before she found her tongue again. "I was just
thinking I’d never known you to run out of something to say.”
"You’re right
about that, hon, but this is a unique situation, to say the least.”
"Jenny?”
"In here,
Grady,” Dixie said, standing.
"You okay?”
Grady asked as he rushed into the room. His glance slid over Jenny, as if
checking her for signs of injury.
She figured a
smart-ass reply along the lines of the one she’d given Dixie was in order, so
she said, "My pantsuit is ruined.”
Grady
chuckled. "I’d say that’s the least of your worries about now.”
Dixie and
Jenny exchanged a look.
"Men just
don’t get it,” Dixie said.
"What are you
doing here, Dix?”
"Looking for you,”
she said pointedly with a hand on her hip.
"You can’t
expect me to have known what was going to happen when I left to go fishing this
morning.”
"If you’d been
in church where you should have been, you would have at least been close by
when the town needed you.”
Ignoring that,
he turned to Jenny and asked, "What happened?”
"You know as
much as I do. There was an explosion at the newspaper.”
"Were you
there?”
"No. I mean, I
was there all night and part of the morning, but I had stepped out to go to the
diner.”
"Did you
notice any suspicious activity, anyone in town who didn’t belong?”
"No. Nothing.”
He pushed her
hair back. "There’s blood coming out of your ear.”
Jenny touched
the spot and looked at the blood on her fingers. "Must have ruptured an eardrum.
I was in the alley when the explosion happened.”
"We’ll get Doc
Prescott to look at you.” He rubbed the small scar on his chin. "Guess you
stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
"I knew the
risks when I started this. Your butt’s on the line, too, you know.”
"Comes with
the badge. You know you can’t go back into town.”
Jenny nodded.
"That’s why I came here.”
"What are you
going to do?” Dixie asked Grady.
"I called the
Tennessee Bureau of Investigation Office in Knoxville. They’re on their way.”
"What do they
know?” Jenny asked.
"Everything. I
called them after we talked yesterday, so they know what we’re dealing with
here.”
"I don’t like
the sound of this,” Dixie said.
Neither did
Jenny. She ran a hand through her hair, letting it all sink in.
"Had you gone
to print with your story?”
"No. It would
have already been out on the wire for distribution at midnight if I hadn’t
wanted to proof it one more time.”
"It’s probably
not a bad thing. I guess it’s lost now.”
Jenny didn’t
comment. She may have lost the paper, but she backed all her files up on a USB
drive she carried in her purse, and she also uploaded a copy of everything to a
dummy email file account on the Internet. She wasn’t about to risk everything to
see every last one of the criminals responsible go scot-free. She turned,
frowning. Where was her purse? Damn it.
"What’s
wrong?” Grady asked.
"I lost my
purse in the alley after the explosion.”
"I’ll radio
Woody and ask him to get it,” he offered. "After the TBI gets here, I’ll have
to get back to the...”
His words
trailed off. Right. How did one put words to something like this? Jenny had
spent most of her adult life reporting scenes and incidents like this, but
never would she have thought she’d have to ascribe meaning to something so
horrific, so unspeakable, to her own life.
Their eyes
met, and Grady surprised Jenny by reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "You
did the right thing, Jenny.”
She nodded and
drew in a shaky breath. "I know.”
They both knew
what this meant. Years of training and familiarity with police procedure made
it clear. She’d delved whole-heartedly into what had started as just another
mystery to solve, a story to expose to the light of truth. But this time, there
could be a heavy price to pay. Her freedom.
"Dixie, can
you stay with her while I go attempt to establish some semblance of order and
secure the crime scene?”
"Of course.
Go.”
Sometime
later, the TBI officers arrived. They swore Dixie to silence and informed Jenny
of what would happen now. She watched and listened like an observer hovering
above the scene.
Ms. Thompson, thank you for your service to
your community. Because of your sacrifice, a crime syndicate that has operated
in the south for more than fifty years trafficking prostitutes, drugs, liquor,
and stolen goods will be eliminated.
If you so choose, the U.S. Marshal
Service will take your application for admittance into the Federal Witness Security
Program. While your application is being processed, you will be taken into
protective custody. The explosion was really a Godsend. People will assume you
were there. When you don’t show up in town, they’ll also assume you died in the
explosion. In the interim, we’ll get you to a temporary safe house. After you
testify, you’ll be relocated to a permanent location and given a new identity.
Jenny Thompson will cease to exist.