To Catch a Thief Read online

  What would you do for your family?

  When Carolina Castillo’s once vivacious mother becomes ill, she gives up her singing dreams and comes home to Savannah. She’d do anything for her Mamá, even work at Fitzgerald House for the family she should have been part of. She’d even steal.

  Carolina’s decisions make perfect sense until she comes up against the immovable rock that is gorgeous FBI agent Sage Cornell. The honorable cop sees the world in black-and-white. He would never understand the difficult choices she’s had to make, the secrets she’s been forced to keep close. And he could never love a woman like her. Or could he?

  She settled close enough to feel the heat of his body and catch his delicious scent...

  Carolina’s mouth watered, and not for the dessert in front of them.

  Sage flipped open the box and grinned. A dimple blinked beside his mouth. “There’s ice cream, too.”

  She wanted to be smart, to eat the dessert and send him away.

  “This is incredible,” he murmured around a forkful of brownie. Then his gaze locked on hers and she froze. “Carolina,” he whispered, easing her face closer.

  The scent of chocolate surrounded her. His breath carried the coolness of the ice cream. Close enough to kiss.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked.

  She hesitated, then whispered, “No.”

  Because being in Sage’s arms, she wanted more. She wanted everything.

  Dear Reader,

  When I first dreamed up the Fitzgerald House series, there were four sisters. Unfortunately, I cut sister number three out of Southern Comforts.

  But the idea of four sisters stuck with me. You might not know that Beau Oliver, the Fitzgeralds’ father, was a con man. So when the chance to write a sixth Fitzgerald House book came along, so did Carolina, secret half sister to the Fitzgeralds.

  From Carolina’s perspective, the Fitzgeralds are not perfect. They had everything she didn’t growing up. And just as her singing career is taking off, she returns to Tybee Island to care for her dying mother. And without telling the Fitzgeralds who she is to them, she takes a job in Abby’s newly opened restaurant.

  Sage Cornell, an FBI agent, lives and breathes honor. It’s woven into the fabric of his life. He’s injured during a drug raid and while recovering, he is literally knocked off his feet by Carolina. Their immediate attraction is mutual. But as he falls for her, he must wrestle with his love and her actions, which don’t meet his honor code.

  I love hearing from readers. Let me know what you think of the book. Reviews are the lifeblood of writers!

  You can contact me at nandixon.com. Sign up for my newsletter to keep up with my book releases. Or find me on Facebook at Facebook.com/nandixonauthor. If you’d like to see the pictures that inspire each book, check out Pinterest.com/nandixonauthor.

  Enjoy Savannah!

  Nan Dixon

  NAN DIXON

  To Catch a Thief

  Nan Dixon spent her formative years as an actress, singer, dancer and golfer. But the need to eat had her studying accounting in college. Unfortunately, being a successful financial executive didn’t feed her passion to perform. When the company she worked for was purchased, Nan got the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity to pursue a writing career. She’s an award-winning author who lives in the Midwest, is active in her local RWA chapter and on the board of a dance company. She has five children, three sons-in-law, two granddaughters, a grandson and one neurotic cat.

  Books by Nan Dixon

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  Fitzgerald House

  Southern Comforts

  A Savannah Christmas Wish

  Through a Magnolia Filter

  The Other Twin

  Undercover with the Heiress

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

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  To Mom and Dad always.

  To my fabulous family, thank you for your love and support. And to the bright stars of my life, Lily, Harper and Isaac. I love watching you grow.

  Thank you, Harlequin Superromance, for taking a chance on me. I love how you have shaped the Fitzgerald House series. You have taught me so much. Tears stream down my face as I type this. Thanks ring out to Piya Campana, Megan Long, Victoria Curran, Deirdre McCluskey and the rest of the team who bring my books to my readers. And I can’t forget to thank my hardworking, marvelous agent, Laura Bradford.

  It takes so many people to craft a story. My critique group, Ann Hinnenkamp, Leanne Farella, Neroli Lacey and Kathryn Kohorst, challenge me to always dig a little deeper. And my Golden Heart sisters keep me sane—Dreamweavers, Lucky 13s, Starcatchers and the Unsinkables. And my writing community—MFW, you’re the best. Prosecco for all!

  And last—to my sisters, Mo, Sue and Trish, and our fantastic trip to Savannah, which started this journey.

  Contents

  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

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM FALLING FOR THE BROTHER BY TARA TAYLOR QUINN

  CHAPTER ONE

  CAROLINA INHALED, CLOSED her eyes and poured her heart into the last eight measures of music. “Baby, baby, I’m in love with you.”

  She held the note, riding the vowel. Let it crescendo with the piano.

  Applause thundered through the room. People in the back stood.

  Raising both arms, she finished with a flourish.

  The adulation washed over her. Tonight was her best performance—ever. Each note, each phrase, had emerged exactly how she’d imagined and practiced.

  Perfect timing. Her business manager, Gar, sat near the stage, two record producers at the table with him. Gar gave her a thumbs-up, making her smile.

  “Good night. You’ve been a great audience.” She waved and left the stage.

  In the wings, she grabbed her water, glugging down half the bottle. Then she snatched a towel and wiped under her arms. Good Lord, she hoped the audience hadn’t noticed the sweat. Between the stage lights, August in Nashville and the bar’s half-hearted air-conditioning, she’d worried she would drown in a puddle of perspiration.

  “Incredible! You got a standing O!” Ella, her accompanist, pushed into the small backstage and hugged her.

  “I’m soaking wet,” Carolina complained. But she hugged Ella right back.

  “Stars don’t sweat, they glow.” Ella pulled away, grinning. “Now, say thank you.”

  “Thank you?”

  “I pretended to straighten sheet music so I could eavesdrop on Doofus and the record producers. They loved your voice. Loved you.”

  “Don’t call Gar a doofus.” Carolina bit her lip to contain her grin and sneaked a peek at the audience through the wings. “They really loved it?”

  “Oh, honey, yes. And Gar is a doofus.” Ella pulled a water bottle from her bag. “He’s lucky to have you as his talent.”

  “He did get the producers here tonight.” Carolina head
ed to the closet that served as her dressing room. Or maybe it was a dressing room that doubled as a closet. “I was nervous. Thanks for covering when I missed my cue.”

  “No problem.” Ella settled on a barstool tucked back with the buckets and mops. “You have to take me with you when you rocket to the top of the charts.”

  “If I have anything to say, we’ll do this together.” She’d never worked with a pianist as talented as Ella. When Carolina first moved to Nashville, they’d found each other through a roommate ad. Now Ella was her best friend.

  While Carolina wiped off her makeup, she turned on her phone. Three missed calls. All from Mamá. Shoot. After rehearsing this afternoon, she hadn’t turned her phone back on.

  Now what? Her mother had returned from a cruise a few days ago, but they’d talked since then.

  She checked the time. It was close to midnight. Back home in Tybee it would be one in the morning. She opened her voice mail, but saw no new messages. She sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Ella asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She checked whether her mother had left a text, but Mamá never did. She preferred conversations. “I need to call my mother.”

  She waited as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Carolina!” Mamá wailed. “Thank God.”

  The water in her stomach churned. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s back,” her mother sobbed. “It’s back.”

  Carolina swallowed. No. “What’s back?”

  But she knew. Her fingers squeezed the phone.

  “The cancer. The maldito cancer.”

  Mamá’s sobbing gulps had tears filling Carolina’s eyes. She bit her lip. No. No. No. “What happened?”

  Ella’s fingers pressed into Carolina’s shoulder. She leaned into her friend’s strength.

  “Dr. Laster says I’m dying. The cancer is killing me.”

  “Breast cancer? Again?”

  “In my head,” her mother wailed. “The tumors are in my head.”

  Her mother’s breast cancer had metastasized.

  Carolina’s joy slid away. She whispered, “Mamá.”

  “I need you,” she whimpered. “Come home. I don’t have much time left. I need my baby with me.”

  “Of course. Yes.” Her mind whirled. “I’ll... I’ll come home.”

  She wanted to ask more questions about the diagnosis, but couldn’t force words past the lump in her throat. She choked out, “I’ll get home as soon as I can.”

  “Hurry.”

  Ella handed her a tissue. At Carolina’s confused look, Ella blotted Carolina’s wet face.

  “I’ll... I’ll...leave tomorrow.” There was so much to do. “Get some sleep, Mamá.”

  “How can I? I have no one. If only your father...”

  “Mamá, think positive.” She couldn’t let her mother dwell on the past or on the wrongs Rosa Castillo felt the world had dealt to her. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  After teary goodbyes, she dropped her phone on the makeup table. There was so much to do, but her heavy body wouldn’t move.

  “I’m sorry.” Ella hugged her. “I’ll...help you pack, do whatever needs doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Great show.” Gar pushed into the tiny room.

  “You need to knock,” Ella snapped. “What if we’d been changing?”

  “Who cares?” Gar waved Ella’s anger aside. “Why the hell are you crying? Someone die?”

  Ella gasped. “Carolina’s mother is sick.”

  “She’s always sick.” Gar’s diamond ring flashed as he waved his hand. “We’ve got a meeting with the execs who were here tonight. They loved you. I need both of you. They want to hear a different set.”

  “They’re interested in me?” Carolina covered her mouth.

  “Of course they are. Great performance.”

  “Thank you.” But Carolina couldn’t push any enthusiasm into her voice. Her mother’s cancer was back.

  Gar nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon at two.”

  “I... I can’t.” Her ribs squeezed against her tortured stomach. “I have to go back to Tybee.”

  “What?” Gar shouted.

  “I have to go home for my mother.”

  “You can’t leave.” He jabbed his thumb toward the stage. “They’re looking for a new artist. They have an open slot they can fill in a heartbeat but they gave you an audition. You can’t leave.”

  “My mother’s cancer is back. Can you explain that to them.” She pushed her hair off her face. “I’ll... I’ll let you know when I can get back to Nashville, but I have to go home.”

  “Damn it, Carolina.” He leaned over, his face inches from hers. “I put too much energy into getting them to come listen. They won’t wait. You can’t do this to me.”

  “To you?” She pulled away. “It’s my mother!”

  “What was wrong the last time she begged you to come home?” His jaw clenched so tight the bone stuck out. “And the time before that? You’re a yoyo, always bouncing home at your mother’s demand.”

  Was her mother crying wolf? She’d done it before. The last time had been on the anniversary of Daddy’s death. She’d been lonely. “This is different. This is cancer and it’s spreading.”

  “Call her.” Gar shoved her phone at her. “Tell her this is your big break.”

  Ella gnawed on her knuckle.

  Carolina snatched her phone from Gar, but instead of dialing she shoved it in her purse. “I’m sorry. I’m going home.”

  “This was your big break and you blew it.” Gar jerked the door open. “Find yourself a new manager.”

  * * *

  CAROLINA OPENED THE window as she drove down the causeway. Pungent marsh air filled the car. It was so humid, she could almost drink it in.

  She was home.

  A container ship headed through the channel on her left, bound for the port of Savannah. On her right, water and reeds filled the flat landscape. River channels twisted through the marshlands.

  She checked the time. Five o’clock. She should have met the record people at two. If she’d stayed in Nashville, would the label have signed her?

  Instead she was heading to Tybee Island, Georgia. What if Gar was right? What if her mother was faking—again? Carolina might have blown her best chance at getting a label to back her career.

  She couldn’t think that way. Time to call Mamá.

  “I’m almost there,” she said when her mother picked up.

  “I don’t understand why you didn’t leave last night,” her mother complained.

  “I had to pack.” And sleep. And cancel her other singing engagements, but she’d done that while driving. “I’ve been on the road for almost ten hours.”

  “You’ll have to let yourself in. I’m at the mall, but I’ll leave now.”

  Her mother was shopping? “Mall?”

  Mamá hung up.

  Carolina gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles ached. Each month she sent money to her mother. She’d eaten a lot of peanut butter and oatmeal so she could help her mother cover her expenses.

  Maybe Mamá was at the grocery store? No. She’d said the mall. That meant she was in Savannah.

  With her lips pinched together, Carolina slowed for the turn into the neighborhood and her grandparents’ home where she’d grown up.

  Poppy had run a charter fishing boat out of Tybee. When she was little, she’d loved sitting on her grandfather’s lap as the wind tangled her hair and they flew across the waves. He’d smelled of salt, sunshine and fish. Love.

  The white shells on the drive crunched under her Ford Focus’s tires. She stared at the yellow house on its white stilts. Two drives flanked the central staircase and led under the house to carports.

  The trim on the windows, steps and ra
iling needed a fresh coat of white paint. So did the porch. The two-story house wasn’t big, but her mother didn’t need more space. And Carolina had always loved the small widow’s walk off the attic. As a child, the house had looked like sunshine. At least she’d convinced her mother to put up vinyl siding so the yellow looked fresh.

  Sighing, she pulled into the right-hand drive, but couldn’t park her car completely under the overhang because boxes filled the parking space.

  After unloading her bags, she headed up the steps. In the screened-in porch, she found the spare key hidden in a small case under Poppy’s rocking chair.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the key and pushed open the door. A wave of cold from the air-conditioning hit her first, making the skin on her arms pebble. But then the sterile furniture her mother had bought to replace her grandparents’ warm sofas and chairs chilled her heart. Gone were the blues of the ocean and yellows of the sun. Mamá had replaced everything with black, gray and metal.

  She hauled her cases to her bedroom. Even here, her mother had taken out the colorful quilt Yaya had made for her. Now a black comforter covered her bed. Carolina couldn’t hold in another shiver. “Oh, Mamá.”

  She opened her suitcase but couldn’t dredge up the energy to unpack.

  Down in the kitchen, she made a cup of calming tea, a box she’d bought the last time she’d visited. Then she turned up the temperature so she didn’t freeze. She tried to sit in a gray chair in the living room, but her legs stuck to the cold leather.

  It was hotter than a skillet outside, but she headed to Poppy’s porch rocking chair. She flipped on the ceiling fan and waited, cuddling her mug.

  A half hour slipped away. Her tea cooled. She sipped and rocked, her life on hold, waiting for her mother. Always waiting. Her eyes closed.

  There was a crunch of tires on the drive and she jerked awake.

  Her mother pulled up in a new car. A BMW? How could her mother afford a new car on a legal assistant’s wages? Carolina’s eight-year-old Focus looked out of place next to the sleek foreign vehicle.

  “Carolina,” her mother called as she climbed out. “Help me!”