Carolina Heat

  Contents

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  CAROLINA HEAT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EXCERPT

  DEAR READERS

  BIO

  OTHER BOOKS

  COPYRIGHT

  Carolina Heat

  She’ll risk her heart…and her life.

  Investigative journalist Annabelle Carlyle is stunned by the personal twist of her latest assignment: her best friend Vanessa is missing. Annabelle goes undercover in the Old South to search for answers. Full of thick accents and a way of life rooted in the past, Charleston is as foreign and strange a place as any Annabelle's visited. And before she finds a single clue, she runs into a sexy man she can't shake.

  Tall, dark and charming, Mark Dering is happy to show the gorgeous Yankee his hometown. He's captivated by the quick witted, quick tempered redhead. But when they're shot at, he realizes she's far more than just another tourist. Soon they're knee deep in a mystery that goes all the way back to the Civil War. For once Annabelle is in over her head. Desperate to find Vanessa, she reluctantly accepts Mark's help. It isn't long before romance blooms right alongside the magnolias.

  The stakes grow higher when a body is discovered. Someone is willing to kill to keep a century old Confederate secret hidden. With her best friend missing and a killer on the loose, it's the worst possible moment for Mark to try and unlock Annabelle's heart. Or is love exactly what her life's been missing?

  CAROLINA HEAT

  Christi Barth

  CHAPTER ONE

  Annabelle Carlyle was convinced this day couldn’t get any worse, if for no other reason than it was closing in on midnight. Sure, it was the kind of thinking that usually came back to bite her, but really, what else could happen? The last two days had been an international travel nightmare: three delayed flights, a dimwitted customs agent at LaGuardia, all topped off by her cab breaking down four blocks from her apartment. Only the thought of a long bubble bath and her four hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets had kept her going.

  But in an automatic gesture Annabelle deeply regretted, she’d turned her cell phone back on in the cab. An urgent voicemail from her boss left her a mere ten minutes to repack—no time to even shower—and head back out to catch the last flight to Charleston. Jack’s voice mail told her almost nothing. Show up. No discussion. It was how most of her assignments began.

  Annabelle pushed through the baggage claim doors and stopped dead as a dense wall of humid air immobilized her. No, it was more like being slowly smothered. The humidity was a wet blanket lying over the entire city of Charleston and it sapped the tiniest dreg of energy she had left.

  Spotting a cab idling in the pick-up lane she hurried forward, wincing as her laptop case banged against her hip. A quick shrug brought the strap back onto her shoulder. It also threw her off-balance enough to slip right off the edge of the curb. Her knees crumpled. Exhaustion dulled her reflexes, so she was on her way to the ground when a well-muscled arm sprinkled with curly black hair shot forward and grabbed her wrists, keeping her upright.

  “Careful there. Guess it’s too late to tell you to watch your step?”

  Annabelle just stared at him for a moment without responding. The gorgeous man had to be several inches over six feet, and every speck of skin she could see was tanned. The way his muscles bulged under the plain white T-shirt told her his amazing physique didn’t come just from weekly visits to a gym. And were those really dimples bracketing his smile?

  “Uh, thanks,” she said belatedly. This behavior was ridiculous. She’d interviewed world leaders, celebrities, but was struck dumb by a stranger in an airport parking lot? Still…it was hard not to notice how well his deep black eyes were offset by his olive complexion and thick, black wavy hair.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. The warmth of his hands seared straight through her skin.

  “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Apparently too tired to walk a straight line, but I’ll live.”

  His dimples deepened. “Good to hear.”

  Belatedly, Annabelle remembered her manners. “Thanks for catching me. The way my day’s gone, I would’ve fallen and broken my wrist.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine. Now I can scratch ‘rescue damsel in distress’ off my to-do list.”

  “Hmmm. When you look at it like that, it’s almost as if I did you a favor,” Annabelle teased.

  “Then I should pay you back. Would you let me buy you a drink?”

  This guy was smooth. And fast. On the other hand, this was the most fun she’d had in days.

  The stranger cocked his head to the side. “Come on, take a chance. I promise—no nefarious schemes. This could be fate. It isn’t every day a gorgeous redhead falls right into my lap.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t even know your name,” she stalled. Because it’d be crazy to say yes to an airport pickup. Wouldn’t it?

  “I’m Mark.”

  “Annabelle.”

  “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, Miss Annabelle.”

  His voice was flat out amazing. The vowels oozed like warm honey from between the consonants. This was her first encounter with such a thick Southern accent, and she was completely enthralled by his slow Charlestonian drawl.

  She realized her hand was still clasped in his, and abruptly pulled free. Annabelle didn’t make a practice of standing in the middle of the street gaping at a man, even if he was unbelievably handsome in a brawny sort of way. As an investigative reporter she was used to meeting people, quickly cataloging her first impressions, and moving on. Being phased by a syrupy accent must be an oddity brought on by the extreme heat. This weather was enough to melt even her composure.

  “At least let me help you with some of those bags while you make up your mind,” he offered.

  Her grip tightened on the strap. That’s what living in New York did to a person. The knee-jerk response to niceness was to worry about safety. Which was actually a little depressing. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m only going to the taxi over there.”

  “Are you willing to share? Because I’m pretty sure it’s the last one left. Our airport doesn’t get much traffic this time of night. Chances are another cab won’t show up before sunrise.”

  Annabelle glanced around. Her luggage had been the last off the carousel, and then she’d wandered fruitlessly for a few minutes trying to find a rental car company still open. She and Mark were alone, with only a single cab in sight.

  “Now that I think of it, everything inside’s closed, so I can’t buy you a drink.” Mark held out a hand in invitation. “Let me buy you a ride into town instead.”

  Annabelle shrugged. Splitting cabs was an everyday occurrence for her in New York. And this way they could keep chatting without her actually committing to a date. “Why not? I’d feel guilty if I stranded you here.”

  Annabelle slid onto the cracked leather seat while he stacked their bags in the trunk, and gave the driver the address of her bed and
breakfast. A quick check in her compact was far from reassuring. Her skin, always pale, was practically translucent from exhaustion. Green eyes were ringed in violet shadows. Her pale blue linen suit was hopelessly wrinkled from the excess travel. The tired, wan face in the mirror was a dozen assignments past worn out, and well on the way to burned out.

  It was one of the many reasons she was more than ready to leave New York—and all it stood for—behind. Professional accolades and world travel were nice, but they didn’t rub your feet and offer a shoulder to lean on after a long day. She yearned for a private life. Or at least a less demanding career which would give her the time to start to build a life.

  Why hadn’t she turned down this last-minute assignment? Annabelle didn’t know why she’d been sent here, and wasn’t in the mood to churn out a fluff story on plantations. What she wanted to do was start the hunt for someplace that could be a true home. As soon as she tracked down Vanessa. She hadn’t heard from her best friend in weeks. This silence wasn’t like her, and Annabelle was getting worried.

  “Ready to go?” Mark slid in beside her.

  “You have no idea. I’ve been fantasizing about getting horizontal.” She leaned her head against the seat with a sigh.

  “Really?” He drew out the word slowly.

  “Really, what?”

  “You’ve known me for five minutes and you’re already fantasizing about me?”

  Heat rushed to her face as her unintentional double meaning registered. “Oh, no. I mean, that certainly wasn’t an invitation.” Now he probably thought she was either a slut, or incredibly rude. This wasn’t going well.

  Mark’s laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. “It’s okay. I’m not that easy.”

  Annabelle twisted to face him, relieved he had a sense of humor. “I’m so sorry. I’ve completely lost the ability to form a coherent sentence that isn’t a come on or an insult. You see, I’ve been awake for two days straight, and three different zones of jet lag caught up to me the moment I stepped off the plane.”

  “Not a problem. In fact, why don’t you sleep on it, and decide tomorrow if you’d like to repeat either the insult or the come on. Your choice.”

  Annabelle surprised herself by giggling. The tall, dark and hot man was both funny and remarkably even-tempered. She could hardly remember the last time she’d flirted, let alone been on a date. His easy smile stirred something in her long dormant.

  The assignment here probably wouldn’t be too taxing. Charleston wasn’t known as a hotbed of intrigue. A little fling might be just what she needed to shake off the boredom and dissatisfaction that had been dogging her steps.

  “It’s a nice offer. Surprisingly nice, since I’ve acted like a complete idiot in the five minutes since we met.” But then her reporter’s instinct kicked in a healthy dose of suspicion. “Why are you so desperate for a date? Are you married? Hoping to squeeze in a little action while you’re in town for a conference?”

  Mark held up both hands in a time-out gesture. “Whoa! Do you always go from zero to sixty in less than a minute?”

  Pretty much. “I don’t like wasting time. And I don’t mince words.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Happen to be a big fan of telling it like it is myself. But you took a mighty big leap from us splitting a cab to labeling me a low-life cheat.”

  Annabelle’s eyes stayed locked on his. “It was more of a question than an accusation. Plan on answering?”

  Mark shoved a hand through his hair. “Not married, not seeing anyone, and I live right here in Charleston. If you need more extensive qualifications, I can pull together a resume and list of references by breakfast.”

  “Point taken. Sorry, I’ll dial back the interrogation.” She dropped her gaze to her lap. “I’m not embarrassed to admit I’ve been burned a few times. It’s possible I overreacted.”

  “Could also be possible you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Mark gently lifted her chin. “Annabelle, you’re a beautiful woman. Refreshingly honest, and it’s obvious you don’t play games. Why assume that desperation is the only reason I want to spend time with you?”

  Relief flooded through her as the cab slowed to an idle in front of a long picket fence. It was all the excuse she needed to duck his question. “This must be my B&B.”

  The back of his knuckles met her cheek in a light caress. “Thanks for sharing the cab. But I’m afraid you can’t escape so easily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can’t let you leave until I know if you’ll meet me tomorrow. I want a chance to take you on a real date, find out what’s going on behind those shimmering green eyes. Hell, I don’t even know your last name, or what you do.”

  It took all of Annabelle’s willpower not to rub against his hand. He had a magic touch. “If I told you now, what we would talk about tomorrow?”

  A wide grin took over his entire face. “Great! It’s a date.”

  She gave a quick head shake. “Not quite. But I am open to the possibility. I’ll take your advice and sleep on it. You know where I’m staying, so come by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fair enough.” He scooted out and retrieved her bags.

  “I’m taking a chance here, Mark. Don’t disappoint me,” she warned.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. But there’s a good chance I’ll dream of you tonight, Miss Annabelle.” His appraising look was more intimate than a touch, so much so that her skin tingled as the cab pulled away. And then her cell phone rang, shattering the moment. With a final wave she checked the caller ID. It was Wanderlust magazine’s editor.

  “This is Ralph Paxton. That you, Carlyle?”

  “Barely. Are you ready to tell me why I had to fly down here on such short notice?” she demanded. Jack’s voice mail said he was transferring her for the duration to Ralph Paxton, the editor of Wanderlust.

  “Need you to do a piece on Charleston for our November issue.”

  Good thing he couldn’t see her eye roll. “On what? You’re a travel magazine; I’m an investigative reporter. Since when does corruption at City Hall or port security make it into Wanderlust’s pages?”

  “No time for details. We’ve been stuck on the tarmac for three hours, and they’re about to let us take off. Charleston, spring, you know the drill for our features reporters.”

  Furious, Annabelle dropped her bags inside the gate so she could pace. “I’ve been gone for three months, Ralph. On top of that, I have a pressing personal issue topping my to-do list. Don’t tell me I flew down here just to write an exclusive about how nice the magnolias smell in May.”

  “Of course not. That’s only your cover story.”

  Now she was confused. “But I am a reporter.”

  “Your cover is a travel writer,” he corrected. “Trust me, it makes a difference. Damn it, the stewardess is giving me the evil eye. Get your bearings, find your way around the city, and I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m back in the office.” He hung up before she could continue her protests. The whole thing made no sense. What on earth would a travel magazine need her to investigate?

  Focused on getting inside and sinking into a soft bed, she turned her ankle on the cobblestone path. Completely frazzled, she seriously contemplated sleeping in the courtyard. Talk about an embarrassing way to meet her hosts. They hurried out to greet her only to find a limp lump with a pile of luggage sprawled at their front gate.

  They politely refrained from comment on her clumsy arrival. Mr. Haley tightened his bathrobe and gathered her belongings while Mrs. Haley helped her inside, with strict orders to rest up on the sofa. Only moments later her beaming hostess handed Annabelle a tall, icy glass festooned with a bushy green sprig.

  “It’s a mint julep, dear. Just the thing to relax you after all your travels. It’ll help you slide right into dreamland.” The tart concoction was Annabelle’s introduction to Southern life. Despite her worries about Vanessa, as the julep helped ease her to sleep, her last thoughts were of the dark-haired, smiling man who’d promised to dre
am of her tonight.

  Annabelle headed down the street, alert for any sights and sounds to use in the introduction to her Charleston article. How hard could it be to throw together a few great descriptions? Between her talkative innkeepers and the weather, the piece was shaping up already. Annabelle jotted on the small notepad she carried everywhere, and then sighed. Even in crisp white shorts and a thin yellow tank she was sweltering. The heat had forced her to confine her heavy red curls into a ruthlessly tight ponytail. She walked slower than usual, out of deference to the uneven cobblestones.

  Earlier this morning, while Annabelle struggled to do justice to a voluminous breakfast of grits, ham, eggs and bacon, Mrs. Haley peppered her with trivia and instructions. “Do be careful out there, Miss Annabelle. If you aren’t used to our streets, it can be all too easy to turn your heel. I’m convinced the British sent over those cobblestones to torture us.”

  Annabelle lifted one eyebrow in surprise. “You imported your streets from England?”

  The older woman gave a ladylike shake of her tightly curled silver head. “Let me give you your first lesson on the history of Charleston. Once South Carolina was established as a colony, England wanted our tobacco and indigo. King George sent over empty trading vessels filled only with little iron balls for ballast.”

  Annabelle interrupted, already leaping to the logical conclusion. “The ballast balls were left here when they loaded all the goods to go to England.”

  Mrs. Haley put a finger on the side of her nose and continued. “The colonists used them as cobblestones to pave most of the city. Very resourceful, if you ask me. Any that you walk on today will be the original stones from the eighteenth century. All the authenticity can, however, make it very treacherous.” She looked down with a smile of approval at Annabelle’s sensible flats.

  So here she was, picking her way slowly and carefully across the uneven streets. Annabelle reached her goal in the next block—five horse-drawn carriages incongruously sharing the side of the road with a city bus. She passed the flower-draped buggies built for two, and stopped in front of a large trolley-like carriage hitched to four horses. A few people were already seated, fanning themselves with hats. Annabelle looked around for a ticket seller. Her eyes fell on the broad back of a man brushing down the horses.