Hostage at Hawk's Landing Read online

  “But you don’t believe that’s what happened?” Melissa asked.

  Dex shrugged. “How can I know, when I have no idea where my dad has been or what he’s been doing?”

  “Was he a drinker when he lived at home?”

  Bitterness had driven Dex to banish memories of his father for so long that now he struggled to recall details of life with him. “Not really. He had a beer occasionally, but never more than one. Even when Chrissy first went missing and he was really upset, he didn’t drink. He was determined to find her, and went out for hours and days at a time spearheading search parties. He promised my mother he’d never give up until he found her.”

  Melissa squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Dex. That must have been a horrible time for your family.”

  “It was. But it was even worse when he abandoned us.”

  “He didn’t leave a note or contact your mother afterward?”

  “Not even once,” Dex said.

  An awkward silence stretched between them, his heart aching with the memories.

  “It’s possible the stress caused him to have a psychotic break,” Melissa offered. “Or that your father was so overwhelmed with guilt and grief that he couldn’t face the family.”

  “None of us blamed him,” Dex said. They’d all been too busy blaming themselves.

  Melissa squeezed his hand again. “Maybe not, but he was the father, the patriarch of the family. Most likely he thought it was his job to protect all of you. And when he couldn’t, he felt like he’d failed.”

  The bitterness in Dex’s chest wavered. He could understand those feelings. “Maybe. But he should have stuck around for my mom. Losing Chrissy and then him, I don’t know how she survived and raised us.”

  Melissa offered him a smile. “She sounds like an incredibly strong woman.”

  A myriad of emotions tightened Dex’s throat. “She is.”

  Melissa ran her fingers through her hair. “I always thought I was a good judge of character,” Melissa said softly. “Now I’m questioning myself. What if I only saw good in Smith because that’s what I wanted to see?”

  “He did save your life,” Dex said. “I can understand why you’d want to see the good in him.”

  Her troubled gaze locked with his, tension simmering between them.

  “I probably should have told the detective about this.” Melissa pulled that red bandanna from her pocket and laid it between them on the table. “I found it caught in the corner of the barn door.”

  Dex narrowed his eyes. “I don’t understand. I thought you said it was nothing.”

  “It might be nothing.” Melissa sighed. “But I think it belonged to Jim Smith.”

  Dex stiffened. “If that belongs to Smith, then he was at the vet’s office. Lamar might be right. Smith could have killed Dr. Huckleberry.”

  * * *

  MELISSA WINCED AT the accusation in Dex’s voice. “He wasn’t the one shooting at us,” Melissa said. “It was those other men.”

  “They could be working together,” Dex pointed out.

  “I suppose it’s possible, but I just don’t believe Jim would hurt anyone. There has to be another explanation.”

  “Melissa,” Dex said, his voice hardening. “Maybe you have been fooled by him. If he’s involved like Lamar suspects, and he’s using these homeless men and killing them, he may be responsible for Harry’s disappearance.”

  Melissa tossed the idea around in her head.

  “I’m going to check the medical examiner’s report on my father’s death, too. Smith could have killed him, then made it appear as if he drank himself into an accident.”

  Melissa jerked her gaze up to meet his. She hated the pain she saw there. If there was anything she could do to ease it, she would.

  But believing his theory meant Jim Smith was a cold-blooded, calculating killer.

  She took a deep breath. “If you really think that, then give Detective Lamar the bandanna.”

  Dex stared at the cloth for a moment, indecision playing across his face. Then he stuffed it in his pocket. “Lamar ordered me to stay out of his way, so I’ll have Lucas see if he can lift prints.” He paused. “Do you have anything that belonged to Smith that I can use for comparison?”

  Melissa rubbed her temple. “He was always writing in these little notepads. He may have left one in his room. Although the detective may have taken it. I can look when I go back into the shelter.”

  The waitress arrived with their check, and Melissa reached for her wallet, but Dex shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

  “Dex—”

  “It’s just pizza and a beer,” Dex said.

  Melissa thanked him and gathered her purse, then they walked outside to his SUV. Night had fallen since they’d entered the restaurant, the heat still oppressive. Another night that the shelter was closed meant another night men were without a meal or a bed and a roof over their heads.

  Memories of going to bed hungry and sleeping in an alley that reeked of urine and trash taunted her as Dex drove back to her bungalow.

  “Hopefully the detective will release the shelter tomorrow,” Melissa said. “Then I’ll hunt for that notepad.”

  “Smith’s pad may contain information on his plans,” Dex said.

  “True.” Maybe it had proof that would clear Smith of suspicion. For some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, he felt like a father figure to her. She didn’t want to believe that she’d been wrong about him.

  Or that he was a murderer.

  * * *

  DEX FOLLOWED MELISSA up to the door. “I’ll check inside to make sure it’s secure.”

  “That’s not necessary, Dex,” Melissa said.

  He gritted his teeth. The fact that she kept defending Smith irritated him. If Smith was guilty, he could come after Melissa and try to use her.

  “Humor me,” he said gruffly. “You’ve been shot at several times the last two days. We don’t know if we were just in the wrong place, or if someone is watching you, or us.”

  Fear darted across her face, then she unlocked the door.

  “Do you own this house?” he asked as he followed her into a small foyer with hardwood floors that desperately needing refinishing.

  “No, it’s a rental.” Melissa dropped her purse on an accent table near the door. “I don’t stay in one place long enough to buy.”

  On a sofa table behind the faded blue couch, Dex noticed a photograph of a child he assumed was Melissa standing beside an older man. He was thin and dressed in shabby clothes, and so was the little girl. She had one tiny hand in her father’s and the other wrapped around the handle of a battered little red suitcase. Her big blue eyes looked haunted and incredibly sad.

  “This is you and your father?” he asked.

  Melissa nodded. “Yeah, the cook at the shelter where we were staying took the picture before we left one morning. My dad used to say we were going on another adventure. When I was really little, I believed him. But as I got older, I realized we had to keep moving because we either had no money, or our time at the shelter where we were currently staying had run out.”

  Dex’s gaze met hers. Some people would have felt sorry for themselves, or had a chip on their shoulder. Not Melissa. Her mature acceptance raised his admiration even more.

  He scanned the open living room and kitchen and was surprised to see unpacked boxes standing in the corner. “Did you just move in?”

  “No, I’ve been here almost a year.”

  He studied her. “But you haven’t unpacked?”

  She shrugged. “I move a lot, so why unpack? Besides, I don’t have much anyway.”

  He was so close to his family, and had lived on or near Hawk’s Landing all his life. He couldn’t imagine not having a place to hang his hat and call home.

  She gestured around the room. “Everythi
ng looks fine. No one inside.”

  “Let me check the rest of the house.” Someone could be hiding in a closet.

  She looked wary, but didn’t argue as he examined the windows. They were locked, but the wood was rotting, the locks flimsy. One windowpane was cracked, which would make it easy for someone to break it and get inside.

  A small hall to the side of the kitchen led to a door and a wooden deck that overlooked an overgrown yard. The yard backed up to an alley between streets that looked shady.

  Not a safe area.

  The door lock was rusty. Anyone with a hairpin could break into that damn door. His boots clicked on the floor as he returned to the kitchen and found a hall bathroom and one bedroom. Melissa’s.

  A blue-and-white quilt, which looked as if it had been homemade, covered the iron bed.

  “One of the ladies at the shelter gave me that quilt when I was young,” Melissa said behind him. “It’s the only thing that I’ve kept.”

  His lungs squeezed for air. Melissa had had a rough childhood but had devoted herself to helping others.

  But someone had nearly killed her today.

  He crossed the room and surveyed her windows. Same shabby locks. A quick look in the closet revealed nothing but a row of blouses and jeans. No fancy shoes or dresses.

  A suitcase sat in the doorway of the closet as if waiting for her to leave again.

  “Satisfied?” Melissa asked he walked back to the doorway.

  “You need better window locks, and a dead bolt on the front and back door.”

  “I’ll be fine, Dex.”

  “Do you have a gun?” Dex asked.

  Her eyes widened. “No.”

  “Hang on.” Dex hurried outside and returned a minute later with a rifle. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure I could shoot someone.”

  He gripped her hand and put the rifle into it. “If someone breaks in, you have to defend yourself.”

  Her face paled.

  Dammit, he hated to frighten her, but the thought of leaving her alone was driving him crazy with worry. “Just put it in the closet in case you need it. Please.”

  She bit down on her lip, then nodded and placed the rifle on the top shelf of her closet.

  The strangle marks on her throat taunted him as she faced him again. Anger blended with other emotions he didn’t want to think about or name.

  He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers across her neck. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Dex?”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Emotions flared in her eyes. Fear and...an awareness of the two of them standing close together. He breathed in her sweet scent. Rosewater.

  Heat flared between them.

  Her lips parted on a sigh, and he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face in his big hand and closed his lips over hers.

  He needed to feel her in his arms and remind himself that she’d survived tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  Even as Melissa told herself to pull away from Dex, she leaned into the kiss. His arms slid around her, comforting and strong. His body was hard yet warm, stirring a need in her that had lain dormant since the last time she’d been with him.

  His lips felt tender yet a hot hunger laced his kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the feel of his mouth on hers. He took at the same time he gave, tracing her lips with his tongue until she welcomed him inside.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and groaned. That gruff masculine sound of need aroused her even more. She sighed and raked her hands down his back, and he pulled her hips into the V of his thighs. His hard length nudged her heat, a reminder of the closeness they’d once shared and the emotions being with him had unleashed.

  Once she’d given him her body, he’d had her heart.

  It would be the same again if she allowed herself to succumb to this passion.

  Passion had never been the problem. The passion had always been there, potent and breathing life between them, making it difficult to think about anything but touching and feeling.

  It was committing to more that had nearly made her crumble.

  She wouldn’t crumble this time because she wouldn’t allow it to get that far.

  Still, she didn’t pull away. Lord help her, but she was weak. And it had been so long since anyone had held her.

  He deepened the kiss, their lips and tongues dancing together in a sensual rhythm that belonged only to them, as if they had been made for this. For each other.

  Dex moved against her, pulling her closer to the sofa, and she complied and raked her hands across his back, clinging to the hard muscles and planes of his broad body. He trailed kisses down her neck and throat, and she tilted her head back on a sigh, offering him access to tease her. And he did. His soft tongue lashes along her skin made her tingle all over.

  But just as he reached for the button to her blouse, his phone buzzed. They both startled, then he leaned his head against hers, their ragged breathing echoing in the air between them.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong, to resist the temptation to beg him to forget the phone and make love to her.

  He didn’t answer it right away. He seemed to be struggling just as she was.

  They might be in trouble, have already gone too far.

  The phone buzzed again, a harsh reminder of the fact that he was here because he was working a case involving her.

  Not to declare his love.

  “I’d better get this.”

  She nodded against him and inhaled a sharp breath as he pulled away. Needing distance and space, she rushed to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror didn’t even look like her. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, her eyes flaring with need.

  Her chest heaved for a breath, her body humming with unsated desire. But it was the stark loneliness in her expression that scared her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to be part of a couple, a family, until she’d met Dex years ago. Or how much she could miss someone when they were gone.

  She didn’t want to feel that aching emptiness again.

  A tear slid down her cheek. No, she could not go back to loving and being left behind. That was the story of her life.

  Determined to regain control, she splashed cold water on her face. Dex would leave when he finished investigating. And she would be fine.

  Her heart would remain intact.

  After all, he couldn’t break it if she didn’t give it to him.

  * * *

  DEX SILENTLY CURSED as he watched Melissa retreat into her room. She’d needed comfort tonight, but he’d let his own needs interfere and had nearly gone too far.

  It couldn’t happen again.

  His phone buzzed again. He walked to the window and looked out, then checked the number. Officer Whalen, who worked with Lamar. He quickly connected. “Dexter Hawk.”

  “Detective Lamar asked me to let you know that we’ve released Lend-A-Hand so they can clean up and reopen.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pass that information on to the assistant director.” Melissa would be happy about the news. “Is there anything you can tell me about the evidence Lamar has against Jim Smith?”

  Her exasperated sigh followed. “Mr. Hawk, I’m afraid I can’t share information in an ongoing investigation. Perhaps you should speak to Detective Lamar yourself.”

  Except his friend wasn’t in a sharing mood.

  Melissa reappeared from the bedroom and stepped into the kitchen as if avoiding him. Her look was wary, and she’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

  Yeah, he’d definitely gone too far.

  The officer hung up, and Dex closed the curtain, then shoved his phone in his pocket. “Lamar released the shelter as a crime scene.”

  Relief flooded her face. “Good. I’
ll go over tomorrow and inform the volunteers.”

  Dex cleared his throat. “Melissa, I’ll arrange a crime scene cleanup crew. They’re experts at getting out blood.”

  She winced. “We don’t have a budget to pay for cleaning or repairs,” Melissa said. “The volunteers and I will handle it ourselves.”

  “I’ll foot the bill,” he offered.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Melissa said softly.

  Dex squared his shoulders. “Doesn’t the center take donations?”

  Her gaze met his. “Of course we accept donations.”

  “Well, consider it a donation, then.” He slanted her a grin. “I’ve dug a few bullets from walls in my time. And I’m pretty good with a hammer.”

  She laughed softly. “That doesn’t surprise me. But I know you’re busy with work.”

  He shrugged. Nothing took priority over protecting her. “I need to know what happened to Harry and these other homeless men.”

  “I understand.” She rubbed her neck, drawing his attention back to the fingerprint marks on her throat where she’d nearly been strangled.

  Anger rose inside him again, followed by the temptation to pull her into his arms and kiss those bruises.

  The phone had stopped him before. He had to exert self-control now.

  “I know you’re tired. I’ll leave and let you rest.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll pick you up in the morning and drive you to the center to evaluate the damage.”

  She agreed, and he opened the door. But that picture of her with her father and that damned little red suitcase taunted him. God, he hated to leave her alone in this dump.

  But if he stayed, it would be impossible to keep his hands to himself, so he headed to his SUV.

  Dark clouds hovered above, threatening a storm. Rain might cool things, but tonight the air felt steamy.

  He scanned the neighboring property, his instincts alert. Two guys in hoodies hovered near a dumpster a block away.