The Stranger Next Door

She remembered well how it was here—the way it was in most small towns—news of her return would rush along the gossip grapevine like a fire devouring dry leaves. Passenger-side door open, she placed her bags in the seat and floorboard. With the task complete, she ordered herself to breathe.

Slow, deep breath. She was okay. She would be in the truck and on her way in a minute. This first foray into public was nearly over.

For a second she considered leaving the shopping cart sitting in the middle of the lot, but the manager had been nice to her, and she shouldn’t repay him by leaving the cart where it might hit a parked vehicle or roll out onto the street and cause an accident. Besides, the cart corral was only a few steps away. The clash of metal as she slid the cart into the line of others already in there made her cringe. She wasn’t sure when the fear that someone would attack her would diminish. Learning to be on guard at all times was necessary to survival in prison. Many things had been necessary to survival—things she wanted to forget.

“Murderer!”

Cece turned around to face the woman who shouted at her...a different one from the voice that had called out to her in the store.

This woman wasn’t alone.

Cece’s heart stuttered. Three women and four—no, five—men spread out between Cece and her truck. She didn’t know any of them, but she recognized the clothes they wore. Plain, overly modest, drab in color. Salvation Survivalists. Members of her father’s following. She refused to call it a church. These people had nothing to do with God.

“We shall purge this evil from our midst!” one of the men shouted.

Cece stood perfectly still. If she ran they would only chase her. If she called out for help she would be wasting her time since there was no one to hear her.

The woman who had spoken first drew back her right arm and flung something at Cece. It struck her in the side, making her flinch at the sharp pain, before bouncing onto the asphalt.

Rock?

Memories of rocks being thrown at a helpless woman whispered through her mind.

Another rock flew at her. Hit her shoulder.

She backed up, bumped into the line of carts.

“Stone her for her grievous sin!” one of the men shouted.

Cece turned to run. She had no choice. Stones hit her back, her legs, her shoulder. When one hit her on the head, she bit her lip to prevent crying out.

Before she could take off running, a man blocked her path. Tall, dark hair...dark eyes.

She opened her mouth to scream.

He grabbed her and pulled her behind him.

“Back off,” he growled at the mob. “The police are on the way. Unless one or all of you wants to be arrested, you had better get the hell out of here.”

Cece dared to peek beyond one broad shoulder. The stones had stopped flying but the group still stood there lurking like something from a bad horror movie.

“We’re not finished,” the woman who had spoken first said, her hate-filled gaze on Cece.

The siren in the distance had the group dispersing.

Cece watched as they climbed into two SUVs and sped away. The woman—the one who appeared to be in charge—stared at Cece as they drove away.

The woman’s face didn’t trigger any memories, but she certainly knew Cece.

The idea that they had all come together suggested that the attack against her had been planned. Anger, hurt and frustration twisted inside her.

“You all right?”

Cece looked at the man who had come to her rescue and nodded. She wanted to ask his name. She wanted to ask why he had come to her aid. But she couldn’t seem to put the words together and force them beyond her lips.

The Winchester Police Department cruiser came to a rocking stop a few feet away and Cece was grateful the stranger took the initiative and explained the incident to the officer. By this time Mr. Holland had come out to the parking lot.

“Are you okay?” he asked Cece.

“Yes.” She relaxed the tiniest bit.

The police officer approached her then. “Miss Winters, would you like to come to the station and fill out a report?”

Cece shook her head. “I just want to go home, please.”

Holland turned to the officer. “I think that’s a good idea. She’s had enough excitement for today.”

The officer nodded. “I’ll let Chief Brannigan know you’re home, Miss Winters. He’ll check in on you. Be sure to let us know if you have any more trouble. The chief doesn’t tolerate nonsense like this.”

Cece found the wherewithal to thank him.

“I’ll follow her home. Make sure she gets unloaded without any trouble.”

She stared at the stranger. Why would a man she had never met go out of his way?

“Good idea, Ross,” the officer said. He turned to Cece. “Miss Winters, Mr. Ross lives just down the road from you. He bought the old Wilburn place.”

The Wilburns. She remembered them. “I’m sure I’ll be okay now, Mr. Ross.” She met the stranger’s gaze. “Thank you for your help.”

All she wanted to do was get into her truck and drive away. Before anyone could attempt to change her mind, she rushed to her truck and climbed in. She left without looking back. She made it all the way to the city limits before the tears defeated her. She swiped at her eyes, frustrated and angry...mostly at herself.

She was back, and by God she was not going to be run out of this damned town until she had the truth.

Chapter Two

Deacon Ross stood at the edge of the woods, watching the house. Cecelia Winters had carried in her supplies a couple of bags at a time. She had not purchased all that much. Her funds were limited. He suspected the attorney—Frasier—had made some sort of arrangements before his untimely death.

It seemed that no matter how guilty most folks in the town thought Cecelia was, there were a few who wanted to look out for her best interests. The attorney he could understand—that was his job and he had been an old friend of her grandmother’s. The chief of police and the county sheriff going out of their way to keep her safe infuriated Deacon, but, like the attorney, that was their job.

Chief of Police Brannigan and Sheriff Tanner had taken extraordinary measures to ensure no one learned the date she was coming home. If it had not been for Deacon putting the word out, she would have reappeared in Winchester with no fanfare at all.

He could not allow that to happen.

Fury fired through him. Made him flinch with its intensity.

The murder of her old man wasn’t the only crime Cecelia Winters had committed. Another man, a man who meant a great deal to Deacon, had disappeared around the time of that murder. It had taken years to narrow down the possibilities, but a year ago Deacon had discovered reason to believe Cece was involved. He had been digging into her past and her family since. If it was the last thing he accomplished in this life, he intended to find out what she knew about his friend’s disappearance. As the date for her release from prison neared he had reached an important conclusion: the only way to find the facts he needed was to get close to her.

Eight years, seven months and nineteen days had passed since her arrest and she had not once changed her story. She was innocent, she claimed. She had not killed her father. When her appeals were exhausted, she quietly served out her time. Due to the circumstances surrounding her childhood, the judge had been lenient in his sentencing. The crime that should have earned her twenty years had garnered her only eight.

But the disappearance—probable murder—of Deacon’s partner would be a different story. If she had played any role in his death, he intended to see that she was charged, found guilty and sentenced to the fullest extent allowed for that heartless crime. More of that fury ignited deep in his gut.

Jack Kemp had been a good man. A good man as well as Deacon’s mentor and partner. Deacon blamed himself in part for not being here to provide backup for Jack. But the Bureau had wanted one of them to stay on the case in Gallatin. The investigation there had been on the verge of busting wide open. In the end, half a dozen people had died in Gallatin—all part of the extreme survivalist cult known as Resurrection. Since he disappeared, Jack had not been able to prove it but he’d believed the survivalists in Gallatin were connected to the ones in the Winchester area. The church—more a cult than a church—the Salvation Survivalists, was somehow serving as a liaison between the two branches.

All those years ago, Jack’s investigation had been buried under a mountain of red tape. The powers that be hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that Resurrection’s reach was so wide and deep. The information had been suppressed for years. Deacon wondered if the truth would have ever come to light if he had not pushed so hard for so long. Jack’s family had a right to know what happened to him. Deacon intended to see that he or his body was found and the mystery surrounding his disappearance was solved.

The death of Mason Winters nearly nine years ago had caused the group to close ranks even tighter. In all this time, no one had gotten close to infiltrating the group and several had tried. Despite the Bureau’s attempt to conceal what went wrong with Jack and his investigation, they continued to tap any resource that could be found. Except, in Deacon’s opinion, they were looking in all the wrong places.

Now he had a loose thread at ground zero—Cecelia Winters. He would learn all her secrets as quickly as possible. Time was not on his side. If she knew things, as he suspected she did, someone would tie up that loose end. Soon.

She knew what had really happened. He was certain of it. She was a part of the family Jack had been investigating. She was the only one who had the proper motivation to tell the truth. Her family had turned on her, which gave her every reason to no longer have any loyalty to them. Deacon would find the truth before he was finished here, no matter how long it took and no matter what he had to do to make it happen.

Everything had been set in motion. All he had to do now was watch and take advantage of the opportunities to get close to her. The people in this community who despised her would take care of the rest. Cecelia Winters had no idea how much her father’s followers hated her. She had killed their messiah, their leader. Those who rose to power after his death were even more heinous—particularly her brother Marcus.

Before this was over she would wish a thousand times she had stayed in that hellhole of a prison. She would want to run—to get away from the past that haunted her. But she wasn’t going anywhere until Deacon had what he’d come for.

He turned away from her and walked back through the stretch of woods that separated the place he had bought from the one she had inherited. He’d set up a stand of trees near her house so that he could watch her. Anyone who stumbled upon it would believe it was a hunter’s blind. Hunting season was still a way off but hard-core hunters started prepping early.

When he reached the clearing in front of his house, he hesitated. A truck had pulled into his driveway. A moment or so later, the driver emerged. He crossed the yard and climbed the porch steps.

Sheriff Colt Tanner.

Deacon skirted the rear yard and headed for the back door. He had no idea why Tanner would visit him. Maybe to follow up on the incident in the Ollie’s parking lot. Deacon had given a statement. He didn’t see the need for additional questioning. But the sheriff had been somewhat skeptical of him since his move to the Winchester area. No surprise there. The man had good instincts.

Following the disappearance of his partner, Deacon had been ordered to stay away from the investigation. He had been forced to do his digging quietly and under the radar of his superiors. The decision made no sense to him. He should have been the one ferreting out the facts about Jack. The Bureau had not seen it that way. Too personal, they had argued. Deacon was ordered to leave Winchester and to keep his nose out of the investigation. He had done as he was told—until one year ago. When the case had been closed, his partner legally declared dead.

Deacon had started his own off-the-record investigation. In Winchester, Logan Wilburn had gotten himself murdered and his property had gone on the market. Deacon had bought it sight unseen only because the closest neighbor was the mini farm Cecelia had inherited.

With those steps in place, Deacon had taken a leave of absence from the Bureau and moved here to set up his cover. He had learned who was who, burrowed into the community, and then he had waited. But Colt Tanner had kept a wary eye on him.

He imagined that was what this visit was about, more so than the nasty mob at Ollie’s.

As Deacon moved through the house, a firm knock echoed in the living room, most likely the second one since the sheriff’s arrival. Deacon tossed his hat onto the side table near the door, unlocked and opened it.

“Sheriff,” he said by way of a greeting.

“Ross,” Tanner replied. “You have a few minutes?”

“Sure. Come on in.” Deacon opened the door wide and waited for the other man to step inside.

Tanner paused in the center of the living room and removed his hat. “You’ve done a lot of work around this old place.”

Deacon closed the door and faced him. “Not so much.” He glanced around. “Paint mostly. Some maintenance that had gone by the wayside.”

“Looks good.”

Most of what Deacon had done around the place had been merely a part of building his cover. A necessary phase in establishing credibility. “I’m sure you didn’t drop by to check out my DIY skills. How can I help you, sheriff?”

“First, I want to reiterate how much Chief Brannigan and I appreciate you stepping in to help Miss Winters today.”

Brannigan had already said as much. Deacon was fairly confident this visit wasn’t just so Tanner could pass along his appreciation in person, as well. “It was the neighborly thing to do.”

Tanner held his white hat in his hands. Like the rest of the men in power around here, he sported a cowboy hat, boots and well-worn jeans. Deacon had chosen the same sort of attire, not because he actually considered himself a cowboy but because he wanted to fit in with the majority of the other “good” guys around the Winchester area. When Cecelia looked at him, he wanted her to see an image that reminded her of the sheriff or the chief. Someone she could trust.

Psychology 101. Play the part.

“Those folks were part of her dead daddy’s church,” Tanner said. “The whole group is up in arms. I don’t know what part of the Bible they think makes it a Christian thing to do—going after a woman like that. I spoke to the leader, Marcus Winters, who is also Cece’s brother. He’s assured me there will be no more trouble but I don’t trust him to follow through with that promise.”

Deacon was well aware of who the people were. He was also thoroughly acquainted, if only secondhand, with the older brother. The man had stepped into his dead daddy’s shoes as if he had planned the event. It was possible he and Cecelia had plotted the old man’s murder together. Then again, the fact that Marcus and the younger sister, Sierra, had basically disowned Cecelia seemed to indicate otherwise.

Then there was the wild card, the younger brother, Levi. He had visited his sister in prison on a regular basis but then he had not picked her up when she was released. Had not dropped by since she arrived home.

“I’ll do what I can to keep an eye out around here,” Deacon said. Though he wasn’t convinced the sheriff had paid him this visit to elicit his help in providing backup where the Winters woman was concerned.

“Do you know Cece’s younger brother, Levi?”

The question surprised Deacon. “I know the name,” he admitted. “I don’t actually know him or any other member of her family.” He shrugged. “I suppose I’ve seen him around.”

“Strange,” Tanner said. “About three weeks ago Levi caught me at home and went on and on about how he thought you might represent some threat to his sister. I asked him for details but he seemed reluctant to provide any.”

Well, well. Levi had been watching him. Deacon had thought he’d spotted the man once but he hadn’t been sure. Now he knew. Deacon shook his head. “I can’t imagine where he got an idea like that, sheriff. I don’t know his sister or him, beyond the rumors I’ve heard.”

Tanner shifted his weight ever so slightly. “I took the liberty of running a background search on you, Ross. I hope you don’t mind.”

Deacon chuckled. “’Course not. I have nothing to hide. I’m new in town. You have an obligation to the citizens of your county to look into potential trouble.”

Tanner didn’t comment on his reaction, apparently wasn’t impressed or relieved. “You’re an FBI agent. From Nashville. Not married. No family. What brought you to Winchester?”

“Real estate prices,” Deacon said without hesitation. “Property in the Nashville area is crazy expensive. I was looking for a place to retire.”

The sheriff was far from convinced. “You’re thirty-five years old. Seems kind of young to be planning your retirement.”

Deacon shook his head. “According to my investment counselor you’re never too young to start preparing.”

Tanner nodded. “Well, I guess there’s some truth to that.” He placed his hat on his head. “I suppose you’ll be returning to Nashville eventually, considering that’s where you’re assigned. You must have had a hell of a lot of vacation days accrued.”

Apparently the sheriff wasn’t going to be happy with Deacon’s glossed-over responses. “I requested a leave of absence. I’m not sure if I’ll be returning to field duty.”

Tanner studied him from beneath the brim of that white hat. “Is that right?”

“I hit a wall, sheriff. I’m certain you can understand how that can happen. I’m just not sure of what I want to do moving forward. Peace and quiet, for sure. Beyond that, I can’t say.” That was as close to the truth as he was going. But the basic story was accurate. Accurate enough to get him through this, he hoped.

“Law enforcement can take a toll. I hope you’ll feel free to look me up if you need anything.” Tanner chuckled. “Keep in mind, we’re always on the lookout for experienced lawmen in the sheriff’s department. If you’re interested in coming on board, drop by and we’ll talk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sheriff. Thank you. As for Levi Winters, if he still feels I represent some threat, I’m happy to meet with the two of you and hash out the issue.”

Tanner nodded. “If I find him, I’ll tell him. It’s the strangest thing.”

Deacon braced for whatever the sheriff intended to say next.

“I haven’t been able to find him since that day. According to the warden at the prison no one showed up to give Cece a ride home. I recall that Levi said he would be picking her up. I’m surprised he didn’t. He’s the only one in her family who didn’t turn on her during the trial.”

“Have you spoken to Miss Winters to see if she’s heard from him?”

“I was about to head over there now. A tech from the phone company is coming to turn on the landline. I called in a request as soon as I heard she was being released. I don’t want her out here with no way to call for help. I doubt she has a cell phone yet.”

“The service out here is not that great anyway,” Deacon pointed out.

“All the more reason to go with a landline,” Tanner agreed.

“Hold on, sheriff.” Deacon rounded up a notepad and a pen. He scribbled his cell number on the top sheet, tore it off and passed it to the other man. “This is my cell number—for what it’s worth. If she needs to call someone in the middle of the night, I’m closer than anyone else. I haven’t bothered with a landline. Maybe I should.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, Ross.” Tanner folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

He headed for the door. When he reached for the knob, Deacon added, “I was serious when I said if her brother wants to talk I’m more than willing. Just give me a call.”

“Will do.”

Tanner left and Deacon watched from the window as he loaded into his truck and drove away. The sheriff was friendly enough, but he wasn’t completely satisfied with what he knew or what his instincts were telling him about Deacon. At the moment he had no reason to pursue the issue, but he would be watching and maybe doing a little more digging. Deacon wasn’t concerned. The Bureau would not turn over information regarding an agent to anyone just to satisfy his curiosity. The only aspect of Deacon’s past or present that could in any way be related to his being here was his former partner’s disappearance, which had occurred a long time ago, and Deacon had not even been a part of that investigation.

Everything else he had told the sheriff could be confirmed with his direct supervisor if Tanner decided to push it that far.

Deacon waited a half hour or so, then he made his way back through the woods, a path he knew well now, and watched her house. Tanner had gone inside and the technician from the telephone company had arrived and begun his work. For the next half hour or so the man went through the steps of running a line to the house and doing the necessary installation on the inside. Ten minutes after he left, Tanner did the same. Deacon walked back to his house and got into his truck. He backed out onto the road and drove the short distance to his neighbor’s home.

He parked only a few yards from the porch steps. By the time he reached those steps she had already peeked through the curtain to identify her newest visitor. He pretended not to notice, walked to the door and knocked.

The sound of the locks disengaging and then the creak of the door echoed before her face appeared. “Yes?”

She recognized him; he saw it in her green eyes. Not to mention he doubted she would have opened the door if she hadn’t.

“I’m your neighbor,” he said, choosing to go that route rather than bring up what happened in the parking lot. “Deacon Ross.”

She nodded. “Thank you for doing what you did today. I’m reasonably certain no one else would have.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Miss Winters. I did what needed to be done.”

“I’m grateful.” She glanced beyond him, then managed an uncertain smile. “I put your number on the wall by the phone. I hope I won’t have to call you, but I’ll rest easier knowing there’s someone I can.” She shrugged. “I grew up here but I don’t have any friends or...or family, none that still own me, anyway.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry.” She backed up a couple of steps, opened the door wider. “I guess my manners are rusty. Would you like to come in?”

He had hoped she would make the offer. “Sure.”

He stepped inside and she closed the door, though it was obvious she wasn’t entirely comfortable doing so.

“If you prefer to leave the door open, feel free.”

She looked up, blushed, her cheeks nearly matching her fiery red hair. “Am I that obvious?”

He smiled, forced a load of kindness he in no way felt into the expression. “Afraid so.”

“I’ll work on my presentation.”

“I couldn’t help noticing as I drove up, there’s a couple of places on the roof that need some attention. You’ll probably want to consider getting someone to do some caulking and painting around the windows and doors before winter, too. I’ve been doing a lot of that next door.”

She nodded, her expression more worried than uncertain. “I can probably take care of those things myself.”

“Maybe, but I can help if you’d like. I’m no expert but I’m reasonably handy.”

She bit her lower lip for a second before she responded to his announcement. “I’m afraid this house has gone downhill since I saw it last. My brother—Levi—said he kept an eye on things but I’m not sure how much he would know about home maintenance. And, to be honest, my grandmother always took care of things. She was a firecracker. I might have learned a lot more from her if I hadn’t gone away.” She stared at the floor a moment before meeting his gaze once more. “But I learn quickly. I can probably do most of it myself with some amount of instruction.”