Cold Midnight (7 page)

“I saw the transcript,” Sam said. “It pissed me off.”

Chase cast a tight smile at his partner. “Thanks.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t ditch classes that day.”

“Yeah.” He’d considered doing just that until Kylie chided him into going. Otherwise, he might have been on that trail with her, and maybe none of it would have happened. As it was, she’d said Quinn had promised to run with her, and she’d wanted the time with her brother.

Which meant that when Quinn backed out on her, he’d known when and where she was going. Shit.

“Mind if I throw out a bit of advice?” Sam asked.

“I need some advice?”

“You’re about to rip the steering wheel out of the dash with your bare hands.”

Chase relaxed his grip and flexed his fingers. “Okay, sure, give me some advice.”

“You shouldn’t be on this case, and you know it. You’re too close.”

“You’re wrong if you think Kylie and I are close,” Chase said. “We couldn’t be further from close.”

“You know what I mean. The boss would understand, considering. In fact, he’s already asked me to try to talk some sense into you.”

“He’s afraid to try it himself?”

“He just figures that as your friend, I’d have a better shot at getting you to see reason.”

Chase angled his head forward, hearing the pops as taut tendons readjusted. No way was he walking away from this. Not when he might actually get the chance to nail those two fuckers to the wall for what they did to Kylie.

“I get what you’re saying,” Chase said, “but Kylie and I will be fine.”

9

JANE MCKAY CHECKED HER REFLECTION ONE MORE
time in the hand mirror from her desk drawer, irritated at her brother’s tardiness. If he didn’t show up soon, she was heading over to Macy’s to check out their one-day shoe sale before her next appointment. Rubbing a smudge of lipstick off her teeth, she wondered again why Quinn insisted they meet at her office instead of at a restaurant or one of their respective homes, but she had a feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about.

The phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID display, her heart doing a dance of anticipation when she saw who it was. She took a breath and let it out before snatching up the phone.

“Hi, Tiger,” she said, pleased at how breathy she’d managed to sound.

“We should talk.”

Shoulders slumping at his lack of reaction to her “take me” voice, she leaned back in her black leather chair and swiveled so that she faced the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Kendall Falls’ premier boulevard lined with towering palm trees.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

“You know. When Kylie finds out—”

“You mean ‘if.’ ”

“What?”

“
If
she finds out. Not when.”

“Either way,” he said, “she’s not going to be happy.”

“She’s not happy anyway.”

“Jane.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine, what do you propose we do?”

“I propose you tell her.”

“Why should I tell her? What about you?”

“You’re her sister. It should come from you.”

Figures. Men were such cowards.

“Jane, seriously.” He sighed into the phone. “She needs to know. The sooner the better, for all of us.”

The buzzer that signaled Quinn’s arrival brought her head up. “I have to go.”

“Wait. Will you meet me later?”

She smiled in spite of her irritation. “Maybe.”

“No maybe. I want you.” He paused. “Again.”

“All right then. I’ll see you later.”

When she opened the door to the waiting room, Quinn turned from the window.

“You’re late,” she said before she registered the circles under his eyes and the curved, vertical lines that flanked the grim set of his mouth. Uh-oh.

She gestured him into her office.

The soles of Quinn’s shoes squeaked on the pristine, ceramic tile floor as he walked by, and Jane glanced down, noting that their footwear mirrored the sharp contrast in their careers. Her brother wore simple black loafers that had been well used, while Jane strode back to her desk in a brand-new pair of strappy sandals that had probably cost more than Quinn’s monthly car payment.

Jane settled behind her mahogany desk, satisfied as always by the leathery crunch and crackle of her chair, while Quinn sank into the overstuffed easy chair provided for patients.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet like this,” he said.

“You’re lucky I had a cancellation this afternoon. So what do you want to talk about that we couldn’t discuss at home or in public?”

The horizontal lines of anxiety that seemed permanently etched into his forehead tightened like a squeezed accordion. “You know exactly why I’m here. And I didn’t want Kylie to see us. She’d get suspicious.”

Jane picked up a pen and tapped it against the yellow legal pad awaiting her notes. “Okay, let’s talk. You go first.”

10

KYLIE WALKED TO THE HEALTH CLUB’S BACK PARK
ING lot in the humid, airless afternoon. The sun glared down from a cloudless sky, turning the scattered puddles from the earlier thunderstorm into steaming pools.

Several hours after the encounter with Chase, she still felt hollowed out and raw, memories so close to the surface that the air surrounding her seemed to vibrate with her own screams for help. The remembered scent of wet earth clung to her senses, and her fingers vividly recalled the squish of mud between them as she’d tried to claw her way away, to safety, before solid aluminum smashed her safe, beautiful world into a million jagged pieces.

She’d pulled herself back together on the other coast, built a new passion—for coaching and teaching—and pretended the past didn’t exist. It didn’t hurt there, and life was easy. No sisters or brothers or friends hammering at her to open up.

Talk, talk, talk. That’s all they ever wanted to do here. As if talking could fix everything that had gone wrong. Didn’t they realize that, more than anything,
not
talking helped? All the bad stuff faded away when she could focus on planning the tennis center. She loved shaping a place where kids who didn’t have rich parents would be able to learn the game and play.

Like T.J. Ritchie. When she watched him play, she understood exactly why her father had pushed her the way he had, always demanding more, always pressuring her to play harder, play better, play smarter. T.J. had star power, and he improved every day on the court, increasing her anticipation of the moment when he realized he was destined to win. A lot.

Time with him, time with the tennis center, had made all the other stuff fade into the background, had made it bearable to see the looks of concern—
unnecessary
concern, damn it—from those she loved. Eventually, she’d figured, the looks would fade, just like the nightmares and physical pain and bitter disappointment of dreams lost.

Sighing, she thumbed the remote on her key ring to unlock the doors on her royal blue Jeep Liberty. After stowing her racket and bag behind the driver’s seat, she slid behind the wheel and hoped that a relaxing ride home with some fun Sheryl Crow blaring from the speakers would lighten her mood.

Movement out of the corner of her right eye had her twisting toward it with a gasp as a black-clad figure rushed the passenger side of the Jeep. Before Kylie could draw breath for a scream, something smashed, hard and violent, into the windshield. She jerked back, arms flying up to protect her head, and scooted her butt down in the seat. Hunkered down, eyes tightly closed and heart thudding, she braced for the next blow that would no doubt shower glass all over her. And then he’d be in . . . and he’d . . . he’d . . .

It took her several terrified moments to grasp that the only sound in the Jeep was her own harsh breathing. Outside, tree leaves rustled in the wind and a distant motorcycle engine roared to life.

She opened her eyes and looked around just in time to catch a glimpse of a slim, all-in-black shape disappearing into the wooded area at the back of the parking lot.

Hands shaking, she dug for her cell phone to call 911, taking in the cracks that spread across the windshield like spider-webbed fault lines. Safety glass, she realized. But, holy God, it took a massive blow to bow it inward like that.

Her stomach jittered, and she fumbled with the door handle, suddenly frantic to get out. It took both hands to get the door open.

Eye on the ball, McKay. Focus. Eye on the ball.

As if that would help.

Outside, she stood on trembling legs, hanging onto the Jeep’s door for support. She felt dizzy, outside herself.

“Nine-one-one emergency.”

The voice focused her. “I . . . uh . . . I’m in the back parking lot of Kendall Falls Health Club. A man just smashed my windshield and ran away.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Are you certain he ran away? He could still harm you.”

“Yes. I saw him.”

“I’m dispatching police officers to your location right now. Who am I speaking to?”

“Kylie McKay.”

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt, Kylie?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can you describe the person? I’ll alert police to search for him.”

“I just had a glimpse. He wore black. That’s all I saw. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Kylie. The police will be there soon. Are you alone?”

“I can . . . I can go inside. My brother—” She broke off, choking up at the thought of facing Quinn right now, shaky and freaked out.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll let the officers know where you are. Can you hang on for a moment?”

“Yes.” She waited for what seemed like an eternity, and as her equilibrium began to return, she cursed herself for being such a coward. How the hell did closed eyes protect her from an attack, for God’s sake? She should have locked the Jeep instead of cowering. Should have laid on the horn. Should have grabbed her cell phone and dialed 911 right then. Should have done
something
.

She’d vowed never to be caught unprepared again, and what did she do at the first sign of a threat? Act like a scared rabbit: If I don’t see you, you won’t see me. Fool.
Stupid
fool.

Right that minute, she should have been walking back into the safety of the health club instead of standing there like a quivering mass of gelatin, waiting for the windshield-smasher to come back and take a swing at
her
this time.

Pressing trembling fingers to her lips, she started to pace toward the front of the Jeep. She just needed a minute to get it together, and then she’d seek out Quinn.

Eye on the ball. Focus. Breathe.

She’d just turned to pace back the other way when a gruff voice assaulted her ear. “Kylie, it’s Chase. Where are you?”

She stopped in midstep. Chase? He must have heard the chatter about her 911 call on his police radio and asked the operator to transfer her to his cell. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead. She couldn’t think. “Uh, I’m by my car—”

“Go inside. Do you hear me? I’m on my way, but I want you to go inside.”

She nodded without speaking, her stomach surging again at his urgent tone. Oh God, oh God.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“Go.
Right now
.”

The infuriated, demanding growl brought her head up. “Okay. I’m—”

She broke off as she saw what lay on the pavement on the passenger side of the Jeep.

A blue aluminum baseball bat.

11

KYLIE ROSE FROM WHERE SHE SAT ON THE CURB AS
Chase’s Explorer tore into the parking lot, a red light flashing on its roof. Tires squealed the SUV to a stop, and an instant later, two car doors slammed. While Sam did a wide circle around the Jeep, surveying the damage, Chase strode to Kylie’s side and shocked her by taking her arm a bit too aggressively.

“Are you okay?” He looked her over as if he expected to find gaping wounds.

She couldn’t respond at first, thrown by the intensity of his inspection as much as the pressure of his fingers around her upper arm. She hadn’t felt his touch in years, and all the blood in her brain seemed to rush to the point of contact, swirling the scent of his tropical sunscreen through her head. Oh, God, it was staggering.

“Kylie?”

The alarm in his voice snapped her back, and she took a quick step away from him, forcing him to release her. Breathe, breathe. “I’m fine. My Jeep, on the other hand . . .”

His narrowed eyes took in the vandalism. “Damn.”

Kylie said nothing, her mind’s eye focusing again on the thing on the ground on the other side of the Jeep. The smashed windshield was bad enough, but the bat.
That
bat, just like the one . . .

Sam joined them, his features tense. “Kylie.”

“Detective.” She tried to smile at him as she chafed her arms with the palms of her hands. It wasn’t cold out, but she’d started to shiver.

“Notice how she did what I told her to do and waited inside,” Chase grumbled.

His anger, apparently at
her
, caught her by surprise, but before she could respond, Sam said, “Are you okay? You’re awfully pale.”

Concern. God, she hated concern. It made her feel so weak. Taking a breath, she held it for a moment—steady, steady—and let it out. “I’m okay. Shaken, of course.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Sam said.

Chase paced over to the Jeep to check it out, looking pissed and tense in faded jeans and a tucked-in navy polo shirt that emphasized the ridged plane of his abdomen. His fists clenched at his sides, bulging the muscles in his biceps and cording the veins in his forearms. Just looking at him, taking in the flush of his anger, the energy in his stride as he stalked around the Jeep, sharp gaze scanning first the pavement and then the trees at the back of the parking lot—everything about him made her heart hitch and stutter into a higher gear. The distraction helped break the choke hold that fear had on her throat . . . until he glanced over at her, his eyes spitting fire.