Copper Lake Encounter Read online

  USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Pappano returns to the mysterious and dangerous town of Copper Lake

  Nev Wilson believes in dreams—because hers come true. Her latest nightmares are worrisome enough to draw her to Copper Lake, where a frightening truth awaits. Luckily, she’s under the protection of hunky detective Ty Gadney.

  As the only black cop in town, Ty has faced his share of hardship. When Nev needs his help untangling mysteries of her past, he discovers that hatred and fear are very much alive today. But as they work together, he feels he’s met the woman of his dreams—if her dreams don’t get them both killed.

  “How long will you be here?” Ty asked.

  “I don’t know. My schedule is flexible.” Nev took a long sip of coffee, savoring it. “Does it offend you if people call you police officer instead of detective?”

  “Nah. Either title deserves respect in my opinion.”

  “Is it what you always wanted to do?”

  “Always.” Ty polished off his first cookie, then glanced at his watch. “Man, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a big date tonight, and I can’t be late.”

  “A big one, huh?” Of course he had a date. He was gorgeous. It was Saturday.

  “Yeah, Granddad can’t stand to miss the beginning of a movie.” He flashed that bright smile at her again. “It’s been nice meeting you, Nev Wilson. I’ll see you again.”

  That last seemed a bit presumptuous, but the thought was lost as she watched the back view of him on the way to his car. Snug-fitting jeans, long legs, muscular everything… Sigh.

  Seeing him again would be a benefit.

  But it didn’t change the reason she was here.

  Dear Reader,

  When Scandal in Copper Lake came out a few years ago, a lot of readers wanted to know more about Charlotte, Anamaria Duquesne’s baby sister who disappeared at birth and, until the end of the book, was presumed dead. The fact that she was alive surprised me, too (that happens a lot when I write), so I also began to wonder what had happened to her.

  It took a lot of wondering on my part (that happens a lot, too), though I knew one thing right away: her story would involve Detective Tyler Gadney. I’d had a crush on him since I’d introduced him in another book and really wanted to get to know him better.

  But how to find Charlotte? Get her to Copper Lake? Unravel the mystery of her birth and her life? It took a while, but I’m very pleased with the answers and the journey the characters took to find them. I hope you are, too.

  Marilyn

  Copper Lake Encounter

  Marilyn Pappano

  Books by Marilyn Pappano

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  Copper Lake Secrets #1685

  In the Enemy’s Arms #1712

  Christmas Confidential #1731 “Holiday Protector”

  Copper Lake Confidential #1747

  Copper Lake Encounter #1763

  Silhouette Romantic Suspense

  ^Michael’s Gift #583

  ^Regarding Remy #609

  ^A Man Like Smith #626

  Survive the Night #703

  Discovered: Daddy #746

  ^Convincing Jamey #812

  ^The Taming of Reid Donovan #824

  ^Knight Errant #836

  The Overnight Alibi #848

  Murphy’s Law #901

  ~Cattleman’s Promise #925

  ~The Horseman’s Bride #957

  ~Rogue’s Reform #1003

  Who Do You Love? #1033 “A Little Bit Dangerous”

  My Secret Valentine #1053

  ~The Sheriff’s Surrender #1069

  The Princess and the Mercenary #1130

  ~Lawman’s Redemption #1159

  ~One True Thing #1280

  ~The Bluest Eyes in Texas #1391

  Somebody’s Hero #1427

  More Than a Hero #1453

  One Stormy Night #1471

  Forbidden Stranger #1495

  Intimate Enemy #1529

  Scandal in Copper Lake #1547

  Passion to Die For #1579

  Criminal Deception #1591

  Protector’s Temptation #1625

  Covert Christmas #1627 “Open Season”

  ^Southern Knights

  ~Heartbreak Canyon

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  MARILYN PAPPANO

  has spent most of her life growing into the person she was meant to be, but isn’t there yet. She’s been blessed by family—her husband, their son, his lovely wife and a grandson who is almost certainly the most beautiful and talented baby in the world—and friends, along with a writing career that’s made her one of the luckiest people around. Her passions, besides those already listed, include the pack of wild dogs who make their home in her house, fighting the good fight against the weeds that make up her yard, killing the creepy-crawlies that slither out of those weeds and, of course, anything having to do with books.

  To Debbie Hill Hodge, my idea of the perfect reader—and you’re funny, smart, compassionate and entertaining, too. I hope to meet you in person someday. Many, many thanks for the friendship and support!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  Welcome to my dream.

  I’ve been having it every night for the past twenty-nine days. I’m in a strange place. It could be a neighborhood here in Atlanta, but I don’t think so. It has a small-town feel. I walk down the streets, passing businesses that are closed up tight. I don’t see any people, though I hear them, as if life is going on around me, but instead of me being invisible, in this dream everyone else is.

  On one side of the street is an old-fashioned square. On the other, I see restaurants, a pharmacy, a flower shop, a coffee shop. I smell the rich dark roast and, fainter, the buttery aroma of fresh pastry. I can’t see the names of any of the establishments or enough details to make identifying them possible.

  Now I’m in a riverfront park. There’s a parking lot, playground equipment, a broad asphalt track used by runners. I’m not one of them. I prefer to get my exercise in a shopping mall or a kitchen, which explains why I’m...plump, says my mother. Fat, says my sister. Curvaceous, says my grandmother. Like a woman should be.

  I follow the trail as it leads out of town into the woods that border the river. It starts to rain, a gentle mist that gradually gains intensity, growing into fatter, forceful drops. The sky darkens, but I can’t turn around. Something draws me along the trail, to its end, onto a faint path that sticks close to the river. With each breath I inhale the smells so foreign to me, the city girl: decaying leaves, mud, water, fish. Nature.

  The trail peters out fifteen feet ahead. I stand beside a fallen tree, downed so long ago that it seems impossible it ever could have stood upright. Some of its ghostly branches reach into the slow-moving river; others rise into the night sky like phantom limbs from phantom dead. They beckon me, and I move closer, until lightning flashes, brilliant and blinding, frightening me, making me spin and turn back the way I came.
<
br />   My pace picks up until I’m running as fast as my three-inch heels and tight skirt will allow. I feel something following, something that escaped the fallen tree. The parking lot, the town, is ahead, the people I can’t see, but the thing behind me is closer, ever closer, and suddenly I trip—

  Nevaeh Wilson’s breath caught with such force that her chest and throat ached. Though her eyes were still closed, she laid her arm over them and concentrated on filling her lungs, slowing her heart rate. She hated dreams, especially the repetitive ones. Especially the ones she was actually a part of.

  Most of the dreams were harmless—about friends, acquaintances, occasionally strangers, about falling in love and having babies and gentle, easy deaths, breaking hearts and starting over.

  This dream disturbed her.

  Finally, she removed her arm and glanced around the room. It was comforting in the way old familiar things were. She’d lived most of her life in this room, with her parents down the hall, her sister, Marieka, next door, her mother’s mother across the hall. She’d been ten when she moved into it, not sure she was ready to have a room all to herself. But there’d been no doubt that Marieka was ready. She was tired of having her big sister hanging around all the time. She needed privacy and peace.

  Now here they were, twenty-eight and twenty-seven, still living in their mother’s house with their mother and grandmother and a lifetime of memories.

  Nev checked the clock. Five-fifteen. If she managed to fall back to sleep, the dream might return. Tossing back the covers, she stood, stretched her arms high and then touched the floor before shrugging into her bathrobe and stepping into scuffs.

  The upstairs was dimly lit by a single bulb shining up from the foyer. She tiptoed past Marieka’s room and then went down the steps, avoiding the creaky ones that had always alerted their father to their sneaking about. He’d been gone five years, but the habit was still with her.

  The aroma of coffee led her to the kitchen, where YaYa was sitting on the padded bench of the breakfast nook. Her grandmother was seventy-two and didn’t have much need for sleep. Never had. She could function better on four hours than most people could on double that.

  She didn’t look up from the computer screen as Nev shuffled in. “About time you got up. Your coffee’s ready. Get your cereal and sit down before your mama wakes up.”

  Nev inhaled, and the chicory of her favorite New Orleans roast separated itself on the warm air from YaYa’s Newman’s Own blend. Usually YaYa just fixed her own and then set up the Keurig so all Nev had to do was push a button. Nev didn’t question why she had deviated from morning routine. She just measured out a bowl of cereal, topped it with one-half cup light coconut milk and joined her at the table. “Any news?”

  The first words out of her mouth every morning, and they could keep YaYa talking until Nev had enough caffeine in her to take part in the conversation.

  “Politicians are all crooked, but that’s been true since the beginning of time. Gonna be sunny and humid today.” YaYa snorted. “August in Georgia. That’s not news, either. I got three new followers on Twitter and two new subscribers to my blog. That means I got more on both than Rachelle.”

  She grinned at Nev over the monitor. Who ever would have guessed when she retired from her housekeeping job at the nursing home that she would become the internet maven of Magnolia Street? Nev’s mother, Lima—like the city, not the bean—called her a foolish old woman. Lima didn’t even have an email account. Marieka sought help from YaYa in keeping up with her own social media. Nev was just happy she had a passion in her life.

  YaYa looked down the hall toward the stairs and then said, “Okay, scoot on around. I’ve got something to show you.”

  Nev slid around the U-shaped bench until she and YaYa anchored the U with the laptop open between them. With a few fast clicks of the mouse, YaYa brought up a website, scrolled down and clicked again, and an enlarging photo appeared on the screen. “Does this look familiar?”

  Nev’s nerves tightened, and her stomach tumbled enough to make her set the coffee down. She’d confided her dreams in YaYa, of course, no one else, and her grandmother had assured her that if the dreams had significance, they’d find the town.

  How many hours had YaYa searched the internet? How many pictures of small Southern towns, squares, river parks had she looked through? Each time she’d found something encouraging, she’d shown Nev, and each time Nev had stared at the pictures, willing herself to—

  To recognize or not? The dream scared her. She would prefer to believe the place didn’t exist so then it would go away. But after nearly a month, it was apparent it wasn’t going away. Better to find out its location so she could do whatever she needed to get rid of it, right?

  So far none of the places YaYa had shown her were right. She had so little to work with: a square, a gazebo, a river, a handful of businesses virtually all small towns had. But she kept looking, kept cruising the Net, partly because the digital age fascinated her but mostly because she loved her granddaughter.

  Nev took a deep breath as the photo finished loading, squeezed her eyes shut a moment and then looked. It was the downtown area of a not-too-small town. On the left side of the screen, green grass, flowers and a white gazebo filled an entire city block. On the right side were businesses: a coffee shop, a drugstore, a lawyer’s office, a hot dog shop, a florist, a children’s clothing store and, at the far end, a restaurant. Beyond it was a highway, a narrow strip of land, a bit of grass with playground equipment.

  The photographer had stood at the corner, next to the coffee shop, and taken the shot. Nev had stood at the corner, too. Had walked that sidewalk. Had crossed that highway and passed those kids’ toys.

  Though she’d never been there in her life.

  “You recognize it.” YaYa’s voice was low but triumphant. She nudged Nev’s coffee closer to her. “Take a drink.”

  Nev numbly obeyed, lifting the cup, breathing deeply, drinking deeply. While she stared, YaYa sent more pictures scrolling across the computer screen. A close-up of the war memorials. The gazebo decked out in pastels for Easter. A front view of Ellie’s Deli, the homey kind of place that invited customers to sit for a while on the front porch. An aerial view of the Gullah River making a slow, lazy curve north of town. Antebellum mansions: River’s Edge, The Jasmine, Calloway Plantation, Fair Winds, the Kennedy Place.

  “It’s called Copper Lake.” YaYa folded her hands in her lap. “It’s about halfway between Atlanta and Augusta. It’s where you’ll find the reason for your dream.”

  A knot had formed in Nev’s throat. “I-it’s just a dream. Maybe some place we drove through once. Something I saw on TV. It doesn’t—” Feeling the weight of YaYa’s gaze, she stopped abruptly and inhaled again.

  “Some dreams don’t mean nothing. But one you’ve had every night for—” YaYa glanced at the calendar hanging beside the refrigerator “—twenty-nine nights means something. It is twenty-nine, isn’t it? You had it again last night, didn’t you?”

  Nev nodded.

  “Now you know where, Nevy. All you have to do is find out why.”

  If she had one bit less control, hysteria would be bubbling inside her about now. How freaky would it be, going to a town she’d never seen before and recognizing places around her? Knowing the bumps and cracks in sidewalks she had walked only in dreams? And not pleasant dreams, at that.

  “How do I do that?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, sweet girl. I imagine the answer’s there.” YaYa pointed at the computer screen, where pictures still scrolled: churches, parks, hospital, schools. “You go there, and you’ll find out.”

  * * *

  For as long as he could remember, Tyler Gadney had wanted to be a cop. The dream had kept him out of trouble and working hard through high school and college. It had brought him back home to Copper Lake, where he�
��d been the first black officer hired by the department. A few decades behind other southern cities but light-years ahead of plenty of places.

  He’d gotten Tased for the honor of serving and protecting. He’d been spit on and wrestled with and even shot. This Saturday morning, though, he thought the job would finally kill him. Turning to glare at the prisoner in the backseat, he gritted out, “Remember that right to remain silent? For the love of God, Maggie, would you use it?”

  She stopped wailing long enough to glare back at him. “Come on, Ty, you know me. You arrested me, what, three times? You know I would never make meth in the house where my kids are at!”

  Ignoring the snort from Pete Petrovski, his partner, behind the wheel, Ty scowled again. “I’ve arrested you at least eight times, Maggie, and twice your boyfriends were making meth in the house with your kids there.”

  Mascara ran down her cheeks in streaks, a fine fit to her stringy bleached-blond hair and clothes that smelled as if she’d worn them most of the week. “They’ll take ’em away for sure this time! Ty, you can’t let that happen!”

  He faced forward again and tried to tune out the howls from the backseat. It was a fine show, impressive for someone who hadn’t been treated to the scene plenty of times already. He didn’t feel any sympathy for Maggie Holigan. She’d been given multiple chances to get straight, to be a good mother to her kids, but she’d thrown them all away for men, for drugs, for oblivion.

  He did feel sorry for the two girls, though. It wasn’t easy being a Holigan in this town. If there was a wrong side of the tracks further dividing people who already lived on the wrong side of the tracks, the Holigans were there. Mothers run off, fathers in prison, drugs and booze incapacitating the few who stuck around, looked down on by even the other poor people and no one who cared enough to take the kids in and give them a chance.

  Ty gave a silent prayer of thanks for his grandfather, who’d taken him in when he’d needed someone.

  Her histrionics getting no response didn’t curb Maggie’s tears. In fact, she increased the volume another ten decibels. Pete grimaced and settled his left arm on the door frame. Ty would bet he was holding one finger in his ear. He wouldn’t mind doing the same, though it wasn’t the most dignified way for a police officer to go about his official duties.