The Secret of Cherokee Cove. Paula Graves

again, hoping he didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions. “I booked a room at a motel in a town north of here. Quaint name—Purgatory.”

      “That’s a bit of a drive.”

      A bit of a drive? Purgatory was maybe ten minutes away by car. A commute that short in Atlanta, where she lived and worked, was something to be deeply coveted.

      Thinking of the short drive from Purgatory reminded her that her car was parked across the street. The Chevy featured soft seats and a working heater. But before she could suggest they take her car, Nix had already cranked the truck and swung it out of its parking place.

      “You didn’t see anything on the drive here?” Nix asked her.

      “No, but I was already in town by seven.” She’d waffled over the gift she’d picked out for her brother and his new bride on the drive from Atlanta and had decided to do some last-minute shopping in Bitterwood. But, of course, most of the town’s quaint little shops had closed down at five. “Thought I’d do some last-minute shopping, but nothing was open.”

      “Everything closes at five around here.”

      “Everything?”

      “Well, there are some joints here and there where you can paint the town red until you can’t see straight. But I don’t think they’re selling what you were wanting to buy.”

      Like most of the other people she’d met since arriving in town, Walker Nix had a hard-edged mountain accent, though his was tempered a bit, as if he’d spent some time away from the hills. He wasn’t handsome, exactly, but she rather liked the flat planes and hard angles of his features. He had olive skin and dark hair worn very short on the sides and only a little longer on top. Military-style, she guessed. Probably had some armed-forces service in his background—marine corps, or maybe army. Infantry, not rear echelon. The man had jumped right to action at the first sign of trouble.

      Once they left the small town center, artificial lighting nearly disappeared, save for the occasional residences spaced every few hundred yards along the winding two-lane road. So the sudden bright beams of light that split the darkness around a blind curve caught them both by surprise. Nix hit the brakes, the sudden deceleration slamming Dana hard against the restraint belt crossing her chest. The brakes squealed, but the truck shimmied to a stop a dozen yards short of the large black truck that lay on its side in the middle of the road, its headlights slicing through the darkness.

      No, God, no. She stared at the wreck with a knot in her gut. Not Doyle, too.

      Before Dana could unlatch her seat belt, Nix had jerked the truck in Park and jumped out, running toward the wreck. She joined him, cursing the high heels that kept getting caught in the uneven, rutted pavement. Terror sucked the air right out of her lungs as she faltered to a stop in front of the vehicle.

      The beam of Nix’s flashlight scanned across the bloodied features of her brother Doyle.

      Oh, God, please no.

      Her brother’s eyes opened, squinting against the flashlight beam. She felt her knees wobble and grabbed the first thing she could wrap her hand around—Nix’s arm. “Doyle?”

      Her brother’s gaze met hers, and he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “About time you got here. I’m an hour late for my own engagement party, and nobody thinks to come looking for me?”

      She nearly drooped with relief, dropping her hand from Nix’s arm. Doyle sounded as if he was in pain, but his sense of humor was still in play. That had to be a good sign, right?

      “How bad are you hurt?” Nix asked, shining the light toward the floor of the cab. Dana could see that one of Doyle’s legs was broken. Grimacing, she looked back at his face, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from.

      “Broken leg,” Doyle growled. “My head is bleeding, but I haven’t lost consciousness, so I don’t think it’s bad. My seat belt saved me from going through the window.”

      “Where’s your cell phone?” Dana asked as Nix backed away to call in the accident.

      “Somewhere on the floorboard. I tried to get it but...” He waved at his broken leg. “I decided I wasn’t about to bleed out and could wait for help to find me. Although I have to admit, I was about to get desperate enough to risk wiggling around again to find the phone.”

      “Rescue’s on the way, Chief.” Nix walked back over to the wreck. “What did you hit?”

      “The bridge abutment.” Doyle waved his right hand backward, groaning as the movement apparently shifted his broken leg.

      “Be still, idiot.” Dana softened her words with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.

      He looked up at her. “Call Laney, will you?” he asked. “She’s probably worried.”

      “Okay.” Dana stepped away and pulled out her cell phone, dialing Laney’s number.

      Laney answered on the first ring. “Dana?”

      “He’s been in an accident, but he’s alive and making jokes.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nix bend in to hear whatever Doyle was saying. Gritting her teeth against the flare of curiosity, she gave Laney a quick rundown of Doyle’s injuries. “Rescue’s on the way.”

      “Why couldn’t he call?” Laney asked, sounding suspicious, as if she thought Dana wasn’t telling her the whole truth.

      “His cell phone fell on the floor, and with his broken leg, he couldn’t stand the pain of trying to reach it.”

      “I want to talk to him,” Laney said. “Please?”

      Dana knew if she’d been in Laney’s shoes, she’d have demanded the same thing. She took the phone over to her brother.

      Nix backed out, not meeting her gaze, giving her room to hand over the phone to Doyle. “Laney wants to talk to you,” she told him.

      As Doyle reassured Laney that he’d live, Dana crossed to Nix, who was shining his flashlight on the road behind the wreck. “What are you looking for?”

      He didn’t answer, turning the light back toward the truck lying on its side.

      “I’m a federal agent,” she said quietly. “And I’m Doyle’s sister.”

      “You’re on vacation, and he’s my boss.”

      “What did he tell you while I was calling Laney?”

      “He just went over what he remembers of the accident.”

      Such a dodge, she thought. “Which was what?”

      Nix’s dark eyes turned toward her, gleaming darkly in the reflection of the flashlight beam off the cracked windshield. “He hit the bridge abutment.”

      “I heard that much.” She took the flashlight from his hand and aimed the beam toward the bridge visible about thirty yards behind the wreck. It was a truss bridge, not particularly long, but the land fell away precipitously beyond the nearest edge, and a quick hike down the road revealed why. The bridge stood over a deep gorge, at least a thirty-foot drop, with a narrow ribbon of water reflecting starlight below.

      If Doyle had missed the abutment and gone over the edge into the gorge...

      She shuddered and walked back toward the truck, stopping midway as a sudden thought occurred to her.

      “Detective Nix, what’s the name of this bridge?” She turned the flashlight toward him, centering the beam on his face so she could read his expression.

      He squinted, angling his face away from the light. “Purgatory Bridge.”

      Dana’s heart dipped. She turned slowly and ran the flashlight beam over the delicate ironwork of the bridge, blinking back a sudden burn of tears. She’d crossed this bridge earlier on her way into town. Passed over it without a thought.

      Never