Loving the Chase (Heart of the Storm #1) (5 page)

“You’re quiet, Mom,” came Eli’s voice from the doorway, where he stood leaning against the door jamb. “You have an opinion?”

“Me?” Lou said, swiveling around in her chair to see him. “This isn’t about me, baby.” She turned back around to fix Zach with a look and a wink. “Unless I get to be the grand dame in this flick like Miss Ellie in
Dallas
?”

“Then who would I be?” Gran asked, hitting a button on her chair that jerked her back about a foot. “Damn chair,” she muttered.

Zach couldn’t suppress a grin, so he looked down at his lukewarm chili.

“Honestly, my loves,” Lou continued, ignoring Gran’s grumbling. “This is something you all have to work out. I don’t know if it’s the right thing or not, but my gut reaction is curiosity. I don’t see what a ride-along would hurt.”

“And I’m guessing they wouldn’t be with us twenty-four-seven,” Simon said. “I mean,
we
don’t even know when we’re going out.”

Zach hadn’t even thought about that, and he pointed at his brother. “Good point, and a question to ask.”

“Good to see you’re on top of things, Zach,” Eli said, digging keys from his jeans pocket. “As usual.”

Zach narrowed his eyes at him. “Jesus, do you just wake up pissed off? I mean, doesn’t it ever wear you out?”

“Every day,” Eli said, walking forward to hug their mother. “I’m out of here, Mom. Early day tomorrow. Supper was perfect as always.” She hugged his arms as they came around her, reaching up to pat his shoulder.

Zach watched him, the great Elijah Chase, martyr of everything he deemed vital, ruler of his own universe. Nothing he did was ever good enough for Eli. In fact, the whole world seemed to be one big giant disappointment.

“You know, there are more and more of us out there every year. Every month, even,” Zach said, rising to his feet slowly. “The Boudreaus would jump on this. And don’t think Infinity isn’t smart enough to hit them next.”

Eli sighed and shook his head. “That’s because Harlan and Jonah Boudreau are money-grubbing glory whores. That old Cajun would do anything for a buck.” He made his way to Gran and hugged her gently.

“That old Cajun is one of the best tornado spotters in the country, son,” Lou said, turning in her chair. “You do what you do because of Harlan and your father.”

“He’s dangerous,” Eli shot back, visibly pulling back as if remembering who he was talking to. “He’s unpredictable, and Jonah’s getting just as bad. He’s only in it for the thrill.”

“Don’t be so quick to break off the rock you stand on,” Gran said with a nod. “You might need his experience one day.”

It was one of the few things the women agreed on, and an old argument that Eli knew better than to start around either of them, so he held a hand up to ward it off. “I know, I know. I’m just saying that I for one wouldn’t throw my hat into something that the Boudreaus would jump on. But hey, you want to be the big dog?” Eli pointed at Zach as he turned and sauntered out.

In typical fashion, Eli still hadn’t answered or given his okay. He’d just thrown it up into the wind to float around there.

“Harlan and his boys are just trying to make a name in this business,” Lou said after they’d heard the front door shut. “Same as you. Y’all need to lighten up.”

“It’s how they go about it,” Zach said, rubbing his eyes. “Eli’s right on that. Harlan is old school, and I like him, I won’t lie. But he lets Jonah run with too much rope now. He’s a vulture, and Jack’s just a little lap dog doing their bidding.”

“He’s not a vulture,” Hannah piped in, not looking up. “He’s just driven. Why is it being a vulture when it’s Jonah, and
ambitious
when it’s you?” she asked, meeting Zach’s gaze.

He let his look bore into hers. “Seriously?” he nearly whispered.

Jonah and Hannah had a history. But when that history included Jonah getting another girl pregnant right after high school and having to get married, Hannah’s consistent defense of him through the years was wearing.

“So, when does this ride-along come about?” Hannah asked, changing the subject.

Zach turned his gaze to Simon. “I guess that’d be up to the weatherman.”

“There’s a good cell building, a couple of days out, if it sticks together,” Simon said, pulling his napkin out of his perfectly pressed button-down shirt to wipe his mouth. “Just have to wait and see.”

“How twisted is it that we hope for things most people dread?” Hannah said.

Lou shook her head. “Not the devastation, sweetheart,” she said, pushing to her feet. She grabbed her bowl and Simon’s before he could object. “We’ve never hoped for that. No one deserves that. But storms have a purpose, just like everything else. They nurture and sometimes they right a balance. Sometimes God has to knock a few things around to make things new and clean again.”

“Well,” Simon said, getting up as well. “I need to get to work so I’ll know if we need to build an ark.” He looked at Zach. “
The Chase
, huh?”

“That’s what they told me.”

Simon nodded. “Clever. Dad would like that, I think.”

Zach looked back at Gran, meeting eyes that were narrowed on him as she nodded slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, more to himself than to Simon. “Clever.”

Chapter Four

T
he house was too quiet; the air too still. Or maybe her thoughts were just too loud.

Maddi sat on the front-porch swing with her feet tucked up beside her, just in case anything crawly and nocturnal was having a stroll. At least there was noise out there. Crickets chirping. A train in the distance. The occasional car traveling down the highway half a mile up.

She’d tried watching TV when she couldn’t sleep, but it was just annoying. She tried reading and couldn’t stay with it. She needed life around her, not quiet, and at two o’clock in the morning, life was a little scarce.

The only thing not quiet was her mind.

Zach Chase. Damn it.
Never in a million years did she think that after seven years, that chapter of her life would circle back again like a rerun. Not that it was. At all.

“You’re so full of shit,” Maddi muttered, raking back her hair with her fingers.

All she’d been able to think about since he’d left the damn office was Zach. The way he’d looked at her, the memories that ran through his eyes, the hit to the gut she’d felt when he talked about his family—they were once
her
family. She thought she had put all that behind her and stopped missing them, but hearing their names poked at her like a cattle prod.

All day, Maddi’s mind had been taking trips. Back to their young love, their older love, the day he proposed, the day they were supposed to—

And there she would stop. Because she’d put that day in a box and buried it deep a long time ago. Nothing good would ever come of digging it back out again. She picked up her phone and checked the time. 2:34 a.m. Sigh. Scrolling over, she tapped the weather icon and checked the forecast.

Storms coming in the next few days. Storms. Zach. Storms. The two went hand in hand.
So remember the stairwell with Blakely
, she prompted herself. That’s where she had to stay. That particular storm would keep her head straight.

Zach stared at the ceiling most of the night. That wasn’t abnormal—his mind typically fought shutting down at night—but this was different. They had a chance, for once. A chance to really do something with what was basically handed to them at birth. An opportunity to really make their passions into a true business if they would just listen to him. And Eli was treating it like a snake oil salesman had darkened their door.

What would their dad have done if he were still alive, and presented with this?

Josiah Chase had been all about the chase. Back when he and his best friend Harlan Boudreau were chasing storms around in a beat-up pickup truck. They were naturals—they didn’t have fancy equipment or computers or radar. They had their instincts, like Zach. They chased based on their gut and street smarts and probably a little stupidity and bravado mixed in. They met Louella Bennett at a drugstore soda counter and chased her, too, until she let Josiah catch her. With her photography bug, their little team expanded to three, and what was originally just a hobby became something more. Something that could help people—something they could all learn from. Something they could teach their children.

Zach was only nineteen when his dad met his match. A category EF4 tornado, nearly a mile wide, made a jig Josiah didn’t account for, and he missed a dodge. His need to be as close as possible cost him his life. Eli, at twenty-three, had been on that run with him, in the truck bed taking readings with a handheld wind gauge before his dad screamed at him to get down and threw the truck in reverse. It had been too late, and the funnel pitched the truck, throwing Eli yards away into a ditch. He’d watched the truck get smashed like a Tonka toy with his dad inside, and survived with just a nasty cut on his face and two broken fingers.

It’s what made Eli the ass he could be. Zach knew that, and when he wasn’t pissed off at him, he understood it. That day had changed a lot of things. Their mom retired, stopped taking pictures, and took up quilting, as if the camera had some part in killing him. Gran was devastated, him being her only child, and she turned everything into a Josiah shrine. Suddenly, he was perfect, and she threw money at the same endeavors that she refused to accept when he was alive.

Zach felt like he was the only one who understood it. What their dad had done. Yes, it was horrible, and he’d gone out doing what he’d always warned them not to do. Get too close. But he understood it. The buzz, the rush, the physical pull of such a magnificent monster when it’s so close it’s looking at you. Taunting you. Breathing on you.

He kept those thoughts to himself, but he often wondered if he was cut from the same crazy.

Maddi had said he was.

Maddi.
What were the damn odds that a phone call from a television network would have brought her back across his path. Maddi, with her judging, accusatory eyes. Eyes that still fucking had the power to take his breath away, all these years later. As he lay there with one leg swung out on top of the covers, alone, unable to sleep and with no warm body to calm his busy brain, Zach couldn’t help but think about her.

There was never any doubt that she was the one. She was the love of his life—until she wasn’t.

He never had a shortage of women now, but none of them came home with him to his little house in the trees. None of them sat in his living room, laughing or talking or watching movies or reading books. None of them lay by the fireplace. Or cooked in his kitchen. None of them graced his bed.

Zach’s interludes were entirely off-site. His home was his sanctuary. He’d built it from the ground up, solid and thick and unyielding. The one place it felt safe to be him.

Staring at the red 2:34 on his bedside clock, he sighed in disgust and got up. Looking inside the glow of his refrigerator did little to help. Everything in there required effort and preparation, and he just wanted something quick.

He grabbed a lone apple hiding in a drawer and a bottle of water and closed the fridge, knowing where he was going. He turned on his dad’s old ham radio next to his recliner and let the chatter commence as he settled in with his apple and stretched out. Even at almost three o’clock in the morning, someone was always talking, and it was the one thing that settled Zach’s buzzing thoughts. Harlan Boudreau was there as usual, arguing with the other old farts about the upcoming weather.

Zach smiled.

It was coming. The biggest, darkest, thickest, loudest tornado Zach had ever seen. Daring him the way he always dared its cousins. Zach knew he was asleep. It was as real as standing outside himself and telling himself to get the hell up, but as usual he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even pull in a deep breath; it was like the monster was sucking all the pressure from the air and shoving it into his chest.

Debris flew all around him, sticks and limbs and shingles and pieces of buildings bounced off him without apparent consequence, but the air—the air was almost too much to bear. His heart raced, struggling for oxygen, struggling to force his limbs to move—to get him out of harm’s way. But all he could do was stand there, paralyzed, watching it swallow up the world in front of him until—Maddi screamed his name.

Zach sat up with a jolt, sucking in air like it was a golden commodity. Covered in sweat, chest heaving, he kicked angrily at the footrest of the recliner and sank back down.

“Shit,” he muttered, wiping at his face and raking his fingers through soaked hair.

The radio squawked with chatter to his right, and he grabbed his now room-temperature water bottle, sucking down what was left.

“Never gets old,” he said in a whisper, closing his eyes against the pounding headache and the memory of the dream. “Never gets fucking old.” He’d had that same dream for so many years, he should be able to fast-forward and rewind at this point.

Zach never quite understood it, although his mother always had her crazy theories. She had crazy theories about a lot of things, but dreams were kind of her forte. She’d say it was all the fear he never felt when out in the field, manifested into a dream. Maybe so, but adding in Maddi was too much. Her face had been twisted in fear, her dress ripped, arms and legs bleeding—her scream piercing his heart. Very much like it would have been seven years earlier, had he been there when the tornado hit their apartment. But he wasn’t. He’d gotten cut off and couldn’t get back, and Maddi had been buried in the rubble, safe under two massive bookshelves that he had built for her. They had miraculously fallen to form a protective A-frame over her, even as the floor caved in.

Zach’s gaze went automatically to the big walnut bookshelves across the room, the ones with the scratches and gouges along the top that he refused to sand out and repair. One had a corner completely broken off. They were reminders. He reached for the nail he wore around his neck, under his clothes, every day. That was, too.

The doorbell ringing jarred his not-quite-recovered brain, and his crawl out of the recliner nearly landed him on the floor.

“Jesus,” he grumbled as he opened the door without looking. He didn’t need to. Only a handful of people came out to his house, and if for once it was a band of serial killers, they’d end his headache for him.

“No, just Simon,” his brother said, walking past him into the room. “But I appreciate the upgrade.”

Zach squinted against the light and shut the door, turning to check the clock above the sofa he rarely used.

“It’s six in the morning,” he said.

“Six fourteen to be exact,” Simon said. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie was loose, and he wasn’t quite pulling off the dapper image he had going the night before, but even with all that, he was still perky.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zach asked.

Simon turned around. “With me? You look like shit, little brother.”

“Thanks,” Zach mumbled, pushing against his skull with one hand as he made his way to the kitchen to make himself some eggs. Eggs cured everything. But once again, a simple bag of powdered donuts would probably cure it just as well without the effort.

“Too much of a good thing last night?”

Zach shook his head minutely. “Can’t even give you a good story,” he said. “Just didn’t sleep—until I did. And then it sucked.”

“Looks like you took a shower with your clothes on,” Simon said, giving him a once-over.

Zach glanced down at his soaked clothes. “Was there a reason for all this joy, or you just had nothing better to do?”

Simon shrugged. “Just got off work. Thought I’d come have coffee with my brother—”

“Wrong brother,” Zach said. “You know I don’t do coffee.”

“Okay,” Simon conceded, landing on a barstool. “Besides that being the reason you’re so messed up—let’s talk about this show you want to do.”

Zach leaned against the kitchen counter and locked eyes with his older brother. Simon was different than Eli. Where Elijah was commanding, direct, and instant everything, Simon was more introspective. He’d brew on something for a while, do the research, weigh the pros and cons before making a decision. Evidently he’d been brewing all night.

“Shoot,” Zach said.

“They have their own vehicle, or would they be in the car with us?”

“Both,” Zach said. “They’d have to have some in-car footage, and outside, so they’d likely have one person in the lead car.”