mow the lawn, and a cleaning service dusted the furniture twice a week. He’d heard that fresh flowers were added to vases twice a week, too. With this place being the location of one of the most famous murder-suicides in Alabama in the twentieth century, gossip was rife about every aspect of the mansion. Some had even whispered that the ghost of Maggie Wilde still roamed the halls, calling out for her daughters. A few had claimed seeing a blond woman in white standing on the second-floor portico. Southerners did love a good ghost story.
The mansion was the traditional plantation-style home. Giant white columns, three on each side of the long, narrow porch, were so large and sturdy-looking, they appeared to be holding up the entire structure. White rocking chairs gave off the appearance of restful indolence, and blood-red roses creeping up the trellises splashed vivid color against the stark white background of the brick. Moss-draped giant elms and oaks hovered protectively over magnolia, mimosa, and weeping willow trees. In late spring and early summer, the scent of the flowering trees, along with the thick fragrance from the wild honeysuckle in the woods behind the mansion, was almost overwhelming in its sweetness.
A few people still came by on their way to Gulf Shores or Biloxi to take pictures and gawk at one of the most famous mansions in Mobile County. When Zach looked at the massive picturesque structure, he saw something else. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned wavy, honey-gold hair that covered slender, delicate shoulders, eyes the color of new spring grass, and a smile like the first hint of summer after a bitter cold winter. And beneath that beauty, a genuinely sweet and kind spirit. Falling for Savannah had been so damn easy. Even ten years later, not a day went by that he didn’t think about her. And not a day went by that he didn’t curse himself for what he’d done to her.
The radio sputtered and the dispatcher, Hazel Adkins, croaked in her smoker’s voice, “Chief, you coming back to the office anytime soon?”
Zach shook off his memories and grabbed the radio mic. “Headed that way right now. What’s up?”
“Got a call from Reid Garrison, district attorney up in Nashville, Tennessee. Said he needed to talk to you real soon. Sounded kind of urgent-like.”
Zach’s heart stuttered. Savannah worked in the DA’s office in Nashville. Did this have anything to do with her? He mentally shook his head. No. There was no reason the DA would even know about his past relationship with one of his prosecutors. This was probably about a case. Maybe some criminal was headed their way.
“Give me the number and I’ll call him back right now.”
While Hazel rattled off the number, in a small part of Zach’s mind, temptation warred with his good sense. Should he ask about Savannah? As he pounded the number into his cellphone, he knew temptation would win out. Besides, finding out how she was doing was normal. They’d grown up in the same town. In fact, it’d be damn strange if he didn’t mention her. Right?
Five minutes later, Zach ended the call and dropped the phone on the seat beside him. There’d been no need to ask about Savannah. The call had been all about her. Not only was she coming home, the DA wanted him to be aware of some threats that’d been made against her.
Zach checked the rearview mirror and then stepped on the gas pedal, his mind whirring with myriad thoughts. He’d known that by coming back here to live, he’d see her again. The mansion was prime real estate and even in this economy would bring a pretty penny. He’d figured that she and her sisters would return someday and put the place on the market. Now that the day had finally arrived, Zach zeroed in on two major thoughts: It had almost killed him to let her go the first time. How the hell was he going to watch her come back to Midnight for only a short time and not try to convince her to stay forever?
And just how much did she hate him for breaking her heart?
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Savannah flexed her fingers, wincing at their stiffness. The closer she came to Midnight, the tighter her grip on the steering wheel had become. She was still on 65 South, at least two hours from her destination. At this rate, there would be handprint indentations in the leather by the time she drove into the