Blood on Copperhead Trail

Chapter Seventeen


Bolen’s gun fired. Doyle went down.

Laney cried out his name and struggled harder against Bolen’s grasp. “He did what you said!”

“Shut up!” Bolen tightened his grip around her neck, squeezing the breath from her.

She pulled at his arm with her uninjured hand, fighting to breathe. Dark spots appeared in her vision, and she stomped desperately at his feet. She couldn’t inflict much damage on his sturdy boots, but he loosened his grip enough for air to flow into her lungs again. The dark places in her vision diminished and she could see once more.

How long had Joy been gone? Was there anyone close enough to their position to hear the gunfire and come to investigate?

Doyle’s voice came from behind a bush a few yards in front of them. “Bolen, there are police all over this mountain. You can’t get out of here. But so far, you haven’t killed anyone who didn’t need killing. It’s a point in your favor.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way!” Bolen dragged Laney closer to the bush, his pistol outstretched, as if he was ready to shoot at the first sign of movement.

“Maybe not. But know this. So far, you’ve killed a serial killer who shot two defenseless girls. You shoot me, it’s cold-blooded murder.”

“You think they’ll let me walk after all of this?”

“No. But you won’t fry.”

“Not good enough.” Bolen had dragged Laney only a couple of feet away from the bush behind which Doyle had disappeared. Another few steps and they’d have him cornered.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Balling her hand into a fist, she shifted her body to the right and slammed her fist into the soft vulnerability of Bolen’s groin.

His grip loosened. Not completely, but enough for her to wriggle free of his grasp. She grabbed his gun hand and swung it wide as he started to fire into the bush again.

The kick of the pistol slammed his fist into her face. She stumbled backward, crashing into the outer wall of the cave. Bolen swung the gun toward her, his eyes full of pain and rage.

Suddenly the bushes exploded next to them, and Doyle tackled Bolen, knocking him to the ground. The older man’s hand hit the ground hard and the pistol skittered free from his grasp, sliding toward the mouth of the cave.

Laney dived for it, sweeping it into the cavern and pushing the door closed. Rolling over, she saw that Doyle had pinned Bolen to the ground and held him there with her pistol pressed against the rogue cop’s neck.

He met her gaze, his green eyes afire with anger. But under the fury she saw something softer, something deeper that made her breath catch in her chest. She sat up and gazed back at him, wondering if he could read her thoughts.

A slow, sexy smile crossed his face, and she realized he could.

* * *

“HIS NAME ISN’T RAY.” Bolen didn’t meet their eyes across the interview-room table. His anger had subsided the moment Doyle had belted his hands behind his back and told him, with a few salty terms that had made Laney’s eyes widen with surprise, that trying to move was a very bad idea. “I guess you’d call it a nom de guerre.”

His battle name, Doyle thought, and made a guess. “I suppose he spelled it R-e-y, then? With an e?”

Bolen lifted his gaze for the first time, a hint of respect gleaming there in his narrowed eyes. “King of all he surveyed,” he murmured.

“What’s his real name?” Doyle asked, half his mind wandering back up the mountain, where they’d left the fallen man’s body while they returned to the police station with Joy. She had arrived within fifteen minutes with reinforcements in the form of Delilah Hammond, Antoine Parsons and a pair of uniformed deputies from the county sheriff’s office. They’d apparently been only a couple of miles from the cave when they’d heard gunfire and headed toward the sound to investigate.

Doyle and his detectives had left the deputies to await the mountain rescue unit. He hadn’t heard anything about the status of the extraction by the time they arrived back at the police station, but he assumed they’d figure out a way to get Rey’s body up the mountain, sooner or later.

“Merritt Cortland.” Bolen answered Doyle’s question. “Not legally Cortland, of course, but that’s who he was.”

Doyle glanced at Delilah Hammond, who sat beside him across from Bolen. She didn’t react visibly, but he knew the name Cortland had to give her a start. Wayne Cortland had tried to kill her only a couple of months earlier—and damned near succeeded.

“Yeah,” Bolen said, reading their expressions. “That Cortland. Merritt was his son.”

Delilah shook her head. “Cortland didn’t have any children.”

Bolen’s smile was a sneer. “None he claimed.”

Doyle shifted in his chair, hiding a wince of pain as the bruises in his rib cage twinged. “Was the kidnapping his idea or yours?”

He saw Bolen considering how to answer.

“The truth will serve you better than lies,” Doyle warned.

Bolen’s lips pressed to a thin line. “Mine. But I wouldn’t have even thought about it if he hadn’t been blackmailing me.”

“With what?” Delilah asked.

He shot her a black look. “He knew I was Rayburn’s man.”

“We had a feeling the corruption didn’t end with him,” Delilah murmured. “How deep does it go?”

Bolen shook his head. “I’m not a snitch.”

Doyle and Delilah exchanged a look. She gave a slight shake of her head, which he read as a suggestion that he move on past the subject of police corruption. They could deal with that problem another day.

“How did Merritt know you were Rayburn’s man?”

“He’d been dogging his father’s business for years, ever since his mama told him who his daddy was,” Bolen answered. “He got a job at the sawmill. Wormed his way into the business without Cortland ever knowing he’d hired his own kid. He made copies of all the keys and snuck around finding out his daddy’s business. He wanted to be the heir to the throne.” Bolen’s teeth bared in another bitter smile. “Got a little impatient.”

Delilah reacted that time, her body shifting forward toward Bolen. “You’re saying Merritt killed his father?”

“You always figured the bombs were an inside job,” Bolen answered, meeting her gaze with a knowing look. “You were right.”


“What about his father’s files?” Doyle asked.

Bolen shrugged. “He said he had made copies of everything he needed. He was planning to take his daddy’s place.”

“And Wayne Cortland never suspected Merritt was his son?” Delilah asked.

“Oh, he knew,” Bolen answered. “Merritt told him. Damn fool was thinking his father would welcome him into the fold and give him his due as his son.”

“But he didn’t.”

Bolen shook his head. “Fired him instead. But it was too late. Merritt had the keys to the kingdom by then.”

And blew it to smithereens, Doyle thought.

“Why kidnap the girls?” Delilah asked. “I assume that’s what you were after, right? Kidnapping the Adderly girls and Janelle Hanvey?”

“Just the Adderly girls,” Bolen answered. “Not Janelle. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What were you going to do with her?” Doyle asked, an image of Janelle’s sweet smile flickering in the back of his mind.

Bolen’s silent stare told him the answer. Rage flared in the center of Doyle’s chest as he remembered the depth of Laney’s fear and pain when they’d found her sister’s unconscious, bleeding body in the trail shelter. He gripped the seat of his chair to keep his hands from balling into fists and slamming his former chief of detectives to the floor.

“What were you after?” Delilah asked. “Ransom?”

“Coercion,” Doyle answered for Bolen. “Right? You wanted to influence Dave Adderly’s county commission vote on whether or not to dissolve the Bitterwood Police Department.”

Once again, Bolen’s gaze held reluctant respect. “Merritt needed the Bitterwood P.D. to stick around.”

“We’re a long way from Travisville, Virginia,” Doyle said, referring to Wayne Cortland’s home base. “What does Bitterwood offer that’s so important to Cortland’s enterprise?”

“It’s like a chain,” Bolen said. “Break a link and everything can fall apart.”

“So there are more links in this chain.”

It wasn’t respect Doyle saw in Bolen’s eyes that time. “Cortland owned these mountains, all the way from Abingdon to Chattanooga. He’d co-opted meth mechanics and militia groups the feds don’t even know about. But keeping them on the chain is a precarious business.”

“And if Bitterwood P.D. fell?”

“There wasn’t any way to be sure the people he had in place were going to be able to get jobs on another force. Or that they’d have the access and influence he needed to keep investigations into his business from going anywhere,” Bolen answered without emotion.

Doyle could tell he hated telling them the truth, but that was the bargain his former chief of detectives had struck. They weren’t going to charge him with murder in the death of Richard Beller in exchange for his confession.

But so far, he hadn’t given up any of the people in the police department he might have been working with.

“How many other departments in the area?” Doyle asked.

“Most of them,” Bolen replied. “But Merritt said his father never was able to penetrate the Ridge County Sheriff’s Department. If they took over our jurisdiction—”

“A link would break,” Delilah finished for him.

Bolen looked at her without answering.

“Did Dave Adderly know who was blackmailing him?” Doyle asked.

Bolen shook his head. “He told me about it, begged me for my help.” To his credit, he looked sickened by his betrayal of his old friend. “We didn’t figure on a sicko like Beller coming along and screwing up our plans. I swear to God, I wouldn’t have let Merritt hurt those girls.”

Doyle didn’t remind him that he’d terrorized one of those girls, throwing her in a dark, cold cave and traumatizing her for a long time yet to come.

“What were you and Merritt planning to do with Laney and me?”

Bolen’s lips pressed to a thin line and he didn’t answer.

“Were you going to try to pin this on me?” Doyle guessed.

Bolen’s gaze whipped up to meet his.

“I had some time to think about it, in the cave,” Doyle continued. “There was no reason to keep me alive when you two ran into me on the mountain. No reason to shoot me with a Taser instead of bullets. You had to have a reason you needed me alive.”

“Merritt said it would kill two birds with one stone,” Bolen mumbled.

“What two birds?”

“He was going to set you up to be the bad seed in the police department. We knew you already suspected there might be someone in the department involved in Joy’s abduction. We knew you weren’t going to let up searching the mountain until you found her. You and Laney Hanvey. You took it personal because of her sister.”

“Everyone took it personally.”

Bolen didn’t argue. “He was going to have you kill Joy and then I was going to kill you. He told me so, after we left the cave.” He leaned forward toward Doyle. “I swear to God, I went back there to stop him, but you reached him first. And then I thought, while y’all were distracted, I’d go in the cave and hunt for that patch that got pulled off of my jacket. I’d already scoured the woods looking for it without any luck.”

“You knew it would tie you to Joy’s abduction.”

“Nobody knew I was involved. I took care not to let Joy see me.”

“She saw you,” Doyle said. “She knew the whole time it was you.”

Bolen looked genuinely stricken.

“What made you think people would believe I would be in on the abduction?” Doyle asked.

“You had a lot to lose if the county shut down the Bitterwood P.D. You just took the job. You’d moved your whole life here.”

“I don’t exactly have a reputation for corruption.”

“Maybe not down there on the beach where you came from, but you’re a Cumberland. Cumberlands are crooks and swindlers. Hell, they’re baby killers. People around here would have found you guilty just by association. No good ever came from a Cumberland in these parts.”

Cumberland had been his mother’s maiden name. Doyle had never known it until her death. She’d never talked about her family or where she’d come from. But his mother had been the most good-hearted, honest-dealing person he’d ever known. Why would Bolen think people would hold Doyle’s mother against him?

Before Doyle could ask another question, a knock on the interview-room door sent a jolt through his nerves, sparking irritation. He shot a look at Delilah and she went to the door, slipping outside. She came back into the room almost immediately and bent to speak into Doyle’s ear.

“Merritt Cortland’s body is gone.”

* * *

THE X-RAYS CONFIRMED Laney’s assessment that her hand was not broken, only badly bruised. The doctor at the urgent-care clinic had a nurse wrap her hand in a compression bandage and suggested ice packs for the swelling and acetaminophen for the pain.

Doyle had called her mother to meet her at the clinic while he went with his detectives to take Bolen in and book him. Alice was still in the clinic’s large waiting area when Laney walked out of the exam area.

But she was not alone.

Doyle rose at the sight of her, his expression hovering somewhere between relief and an emotion she couldn’t quite discern. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her, his cheek pressed tightly against hers, transmitting the unidentified emotion straight to her own nerve center.


Fear. He was afraid.

She looked up into his mossy eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He whispered the answer in her ear.

* * *

LANEY’S FIRST THOUGHT had been for her sister, not for herself. Doyle hadn’t been surprised when she’d grabbed a fistful of his sweater with her uninjured hand and asked, “Is Jannie in danger?”

He’d assured her that they didn’t think she was. “She was always collateral damage, and we have enough evidence against him that going after her won’t change his situation.”

He’d offered to drive Laney home, allowing her mother to go check on Janelle, who’d stayed with the Brandywines while her mother had gone to the clinic to be with Laney. They were five minutes past the Bitterwood city limits before he dropped the rest of the bomb.

“His real name is Merritt Cortland.”

Her gaze snapped up to his face. “As in Wayne Cortland?”

He told her what Bolen had revealed. “He’ll be looking to keep all those links intact.”

“So my job at the Bitterwood P.D. has just begun,” she murmured.

He slanted a look her way. “Looks that way.”

She pressed her lips together, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure I’m the person for the job anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t think I can be objective where you’re concerned.”

He had to keep his eyes on the road as it twisted its way to Barrowville. “Is that good news or bad news?”

“Is that a serious question?” She sounded a little annoyed.

“I guess I mean, are you glad about it? Or does it bother you?”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised by his question, as if it hadn’t occurred to her that he might have doubts about her feelings or intentions. “Glad, I suppose. I mean, I’m a little annoyed by the thought of having to hand over the case to another investigator, but not enough to wish things were different.”

This time he was the one who shot a look her way. “That’s flattering. I guess.”

She grinned at him. “Just drive and I promise, when we get to my place, I’ll flatter the hell out of you.”

She hadn’t been exaggerating. They hadn’t gotten all the way through the front door of her bungalow before she flattened him against the wall, her mouth slanting hard and hungry against his.

“As flattered as I am,” he murmured around her lips, “I need to check this place for possible intruders.” He pushed her away gently and unsheathed his recently recovered weapon while he walked around her house, room to room, until he’d assured himself they were safely alone.

She’d locked the door behind them and was in the kitchen when he finished his safety check, scooping coffee into a filter. “You like your coffee strong or wimpy?”

“Strong,” he answered with a grin.

She poured a carafe of water into the machine and set the empty pot on the burner. Coffee started trickling from the reservoir almost immediately, filling the kitchen with a heavenly smell.

“So,” she murmured as she slid her arms around his waist, “where were we?”

“You know, at the risk of having to turn in my man card, I have to ask your intentions, Ms. Hanvey.”

She arched her eyebrows at him. “My intentions?”

“I mean, beyond the next hour or so,” he added as he saw the wicked glint in her eyes. “I realize you might not have gleaned this from my devil-may-care persona, but I have a soft and fragile heart.”

She turned her head to one side, giving him a suspicious look. “Uh-huh.”

He gave her a serious look that wiped the hint of humor from her expression. “I’ve never been very good at relationships. Probably why I’m still single at my advanced age.”

“Yeah, you’re ancient.”

“I’ve never had a long-term relationship work out. I’ve barely ever had a long-term relationship, period. And you know, I’ve been okay with that so far.”

“Oh.” He could feel her retreating, first emotionally and then physically, taking a step back until her spine hit the kitchen counter.

He caught her face between his hands, making her look at him. “I’m not warning you of anything,” he said firmly. “Except I guess, maybe, I’m warning you that if you’re looking for something temporary, I don’t think I’m your man this time around.”

Her eyebrows notched upward again. “So what, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Forever would be kind of nice. If we could make it work.”

She covered his hands with hers, the nubby texture of her compression bandage tickling his wrist. “That sounds like a challenge, Chief Massey.”

“And you like a challenge?”

She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his ear. “I love a challenge.”

* * * * *

Don’t miss the next two books in award-winning author Paula Graves’s miniseries BITTERWOOD P.D.,

on sale in March and April 2014.

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Keep reading for an excerpt from UNDERCOVER CAPTOR by Cynthia Eden.





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