Page 6 of Playing With Love

Allyson unclasped her hands, brought them to her face, and scrubbed her hands over her cheeks.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” she defended herself. “I wanted to pretend I’d misunderstood. But I don’t think I misunderstood. I think Mackenzie’s making some kind of drug. And I think they did something to my friend.”

“What does that mean?” I asked when it didn’t appear Allyson was going to elaborate. “Something to your friend?”

“She’s lived there longer than me. Swore she’d live there until she died. She’s like Colleen—totally into the holistic scene. She’s a strict vegan. A naturalist in the sense she uses the designated areas to draw down the sun at least five days a week in the spring, summer, and fall. She says the sun on her skin rejuvenates her. Unless she’s leaving the property, she’s barefoot. She says the dirt and grass nourishes her soul. She participates in the weekly healing circles. Then suddenly with no goodbye, she’s gone. Mackenzie says she got her big break and moved to Nashville. But that doesn’t make sense. She’d never leave, not like that. Even if someone was interested in buying or producing her music, she wouldn’t move. She’d go to Nashville then come home to revive and cleanse her energy.”

“What’s your friend’s name?” Liza softly inquired. “Do you have a cell number for her? Have you tried getting in touch?”

“She doesn’t have a cellphone. She said the electromagnetic radiation causes brain tumors. She only had a voiceover IP in her house and that’s been disconnected.”

I sat back and waited for Liza to get what she needed.

I had enough to convince my bosses we needed to continue to look into Nu Dawn. But Liza had red-tape and bureaucracy to contend with.

“And her name?”

“Bee,” Allyson whispered. “Beatrice Collins.”

Liza’s gaze softened and she gave Allyson a gentle smile. “Thank you for trusting us with that information.”

Allyson nodded.

“How’d you explain your trip to Georgia?”

“What do you mean?” Allyson asked back. “Nu Dawn’s not like a cult or anything. It’s a way of life. We’re allowed to leave.”

Nu Dawn was absolutely a cult—Mackenzie Archer was just smart enough not to hide her operation behind religion. Instead, she’d built a commune under the guise of women empowering women when in reality the only woman she cared about was herself.

CHAPTER THREE

I smelled him before Phoenix tipped his gaze over my head and smiled in recognition.

Ralph Lauren Red.

A scent I associated with sensuality and pleasure. A masculine fragrance that from the moment I’d first smelled it on Tucker had made me clench my thighs. That scent only got better when it mixed with his sweat. It was that knowledge—and the fact that he sat next to me for the better part of thirty minutes while I fought the urge to lean closer and inhale—that had me escaping the police station to avoid this exact encounter.

It wasn’t my proudest exit but for my peace of mind it had been necessary. I hadn’t even stopped my rental when Phoenix and Dalton had pulled into the lot as I was pulling out. Which led to Phoenix phoning me. I’d felt bad lying to my friend, telling him Frank and I didn’t have time to pull back into the lot and talk to him. That was why I’d agreed to meet him and Wren at the hotel bar for dinner.

Which was precisely where I was at—in a hotel bar with Phoenix and his lovely wife sitting across from me, making Tucker’s approach not only a disaster but a painful one.

It wasn’t lost on me the last time I’d seen Tucker—before today, I mean—was in a hotel bar a few months after my divorce was final. This after months of being separated from Arnie. I used those months to see if I was the type of woman who could ever forgive her husband for cheating. I found I wasn’t and not because of the normal reasons women couldn’t get over being cheated on. During that time, I’d come to the conclusion I wasn’t heartbroken, I wasn’t wallowing in the pain of my husband putting his hands, mouth, and other parts besides on another woman. That realization was the nail in the already closed coffin. I didn’t love Arnie. Before the cheating, I’d respected him, I’d admired the work he did. He was a companion to have dinner with, but bottom line we were nothing more than two people who shared a home.

So, no, I couldn’t forgive Arnie and that was before I’d found out the cheating wasn’t a one-time thing; it had been a recurring theme throughout our short-lived marriage.

“Tucker,” Phoenix greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to find Liza.”

Phoenix’s attention ping-ponged between me and Tucker before settling on me. Occupational hazard, or child born into dysfunction and always alert and in tune to his surroundings, or just plain observant, it took Phoenix mere seconds to puzzle it together. Years ago, after a case we worked together, in a moment of drunken weakness I might’ve cried on his shoulder—okay, I totally cried on his shoulder—and told him about a DEA agent I was in love with. I never told Phoenix his name, but he didn’t need a name—he was sharp; he’d sense my unease. Then there was the tiny detail; I’d yet to turn around and greet Tucker.

I gave Phoenix a pleading stare.

Phoenix’s blue eyes softened.

Yep, he’d put the pieces together.

However, Phoenix’s beautiful wife had not.