by Angi Morgan
“Why do you think someone wants to kill me, Mr. Sloane?”
“Brian, please. My daddy’s still Mr. Sloane and is the only one who deserves that title.”
A good-looking cowboy who could charm his way anywhere, she’d bet. It was easy to see the solid, chiseled body just under his T-shirt. Hard not to imagine the strength that came with the square jaw and high cheekbones. Not so fast, Mr. Sloane.
“We haven’t found a reason.”
“We? I thought the police didn’t believe you.”
“A neighbor and my sister-in-law have been helping me.” He leaned his chiseled jaw on his elbow. “Discovering the truth is important to my family. Everybody’s chipped in some research time.”
“Maybe you should start at the beginning?” And maybe she shouldn’t look too much at that million-dollar smile.
“Four months ago, I began trying to find the family of a neighbor and teacher in Aubrey—the town where I live. She died just after my high school graduation in an accident I was blamed for.”
“A second cousin who I never met.”
He nodded. “I started looking just after Jeremy drowned in Cozumel. His death made the news in Fort Worth, so I recognized his name.”
“He was snorkeling. His body had lots of small cuts and scratches. They think he got caught in the coral.” She relived Jeremy’s drowning almost every night and hoped to forgive herself one day. “Over forty people were in the water and no one saw anything.”
His grip on her hand tightened and he nodded as if he understood.
“Mabel, my dad’s friend, researched your family tree. Every name she gave me passed from an accident.” He paused and removed a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Here. Fourteen names. They’re all related to you and all died in the past twenty years. Most out of state.”
He pushed the paper over to her with a long finger, then leaned back in his chair, lacing those fingers together behind his neck. His brows arched high, waiting for her to acknowledge his assumptions.
“The police are right. A list doesn’t prove anything.”
“Don’t you see?” He jumped forward, his hand landing a little too loudly on the tabletop.
Lindsey automatically reached for the mace again, stopping herself when she saw the concern in Brian’s puppy-brown eyes. Wouldn’t it be the perfect ploy for a serial killer to pose as the person trying to stop himself?
Don’t be a ninny.
“I can’t see anything with the exception that there are several people on that list I loved very much.”
“I’m sorry. I know how hard that must be.”
“I don’t see how. Your father’s still alive.” Remembering brought a very fresh pain of responsibility for Jeremy’s accident. Accident. Not murder. She was the one who had taken off instead of snorkeling with him. “I’m sorry, Brian, that was rude.”
“It’s all right. This information is out of the blue from a complete stranger.”
“You aren’t the first to come to me with this type of conspiracy story. One of Jeremy’s friends spread it across FriendshipConnect. But just like all the others, you can’t offer a reason why anyone would want us dead. Nor do you have proof. So...I’m leaving now and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again.”
Lindsey threw her bag over her shoulder and left before the sympathetic cowboy could talk her into staying. Her hand found the pepper spray—just in case. Good-looking or not, he had a look in his eyes that promised he wouldn’t let this story go. What he’d gain from it...what any of them gained from it, she had no idea and would never understand.
She used her shoulder to push through the door. The afternoon heat wasn’t too bad for mid-October. But she was used to much cooler temperatures. Nothing even close to the record-breaking heat wave they’d experienced through the summer in the Dallas–Fort Worth area.
She searched her bottomless pit of a purse until she felt the familiar shape of thick-rimmed sunglasses and pushed them onto her face to block the UV rays. At the next doorway, she ducked under the awning, close to the window, to get out of sight in case Mr. Sloane followed her again.
Someone wanted to murder her? Ridiculous. Right?
It didn’t make sense. Jeremy had drowned. There were forty other people snorkeling on that reef from his boat. Another twenty-seven from a second tour. They’d all been interviewed and no one had seen anything unusual. Nothing except people snorkeling.
They assumed Jeremy went too deep. From the scratches around his ankle, it looked as though he’d gotten caught on the coral. Nothing foul or sinister. Just tragic.
If I’d been there...I could have prevented his death.
The stinging sensation that preluded tears was just behind her eyelids. They were seconds away from shedding, just like most days. She watched a couple walk by, shopping bags looped over their shoulders, hands clasped together, no determination in their stride. Perhaps a fun day off?
Maybe she needed a manicure or a sweater since it was beginning to cool down in the evenings?
No. That was the old Lindsey. The one who would take off, not caring if her supervisor got upset, not caring about the job. There was always another job. Not this time. Now she worked regular hours, at a regular job, with the possibility of advancement. There would always be a demand for cell phones, and she was due to start her shift in an hour.
What was here that didn’t require spending money? Nothing. It was an outdoor strip mall next to the only real shopping for miles. In fact, her store was just around the corner. She’d have to avoid that section or just be early. She could do that—be early for once. Turn over a new leaf. Take that new start Jeremy wanted for her.
“Okay, then.” She left her car parked by Craig’s sandwich shop and walked to her boring job.
Seven boring hours later, she rounded the building to empty storefront parking. The lone exception—her car. Jeremy’s car, really. The other employees had parked closer and all these shops had closed about an hour before. It was a busy street corner. Lots of traffic, well lit, and she still got a creepy feeling crawling up her spine. She couldn’t see anyone. No tall paramedic-psycho-cowboy nearby. She jumped out of her skin when her cell buzzed in her pocket.
Beth.
“Just wanted to make sure you were all right, Lindsey. It seemed like you had a rough day. We all miss him, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry I’m on the verge of crying all the time. There’s no mystery why. I live in his apartment. I drive his car. I’m working in the store he managed. I don’t just have survivor’s guilt because I didn’t drown, I’m living his life.” She stopped and dug the keys from her purse. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry to dump on you like that.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t okay. You at your car now?”
Keys in hand, she was close enough to click a button to unlock, she answered, “Yes, I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
She’d become very used to the little luxuries that had filled her cousin’s life. Having a dependable car with hands-free capability was a must from this point forward.
Relaxation would be hers soon. In twenty minutes, she’d be soaking in a hot bath, bubbles up to her chin and lots of candles on the windowsill. There was little traffic on her route home, but a flashing light and detour sign had her turning on an unfamiliar street. Then again. Where was the button for GPS?
The route between apartment and store was easy, but if she got turned around, she could easily get lost on the south side of Arlington. She hadn’t been in the area very long and she’d never had a good sense of direction. Another mile and she was so turned around it was silly to try to get back without directions.
No signs at the intersection. She stopped on the right shoulder far enough from the corner to let traffic pass by, then put the car in Park and tapped the scre
en. The GPS switched on and she looked up in time to see a car approaching behind her. The road was narrow, but with no other cars around, she powered the window down and waved the car to pass her.
The car didn’t slow. Was it swerving? Still on a collision course with her. She jammed her foot on the gas. The lights blinded her in the mirror as she sped through the red light.
The impact at the rear of the car was an ear-piercing sound. The jolting crash hurt almost as much as the abrupt stop at the fence post across the street. She closed her eyes and choked when the air bag exploded in her face, feeling the burns shoot across her skin like skidding hard on cement.
By the time she could look up, the only lights around her were from the dashboard. She heard the engine rattling and cut off the ignition. Then nothing. She half expected an evil car to be sitting on the road, racing its engine. But nothing.
All alone.
Sore with every move, she searched for her purse and cell phone, then dialed 911 and explained what had happened.
“Rescue assistance is on the way. Do you want me to stay on the line with you?”
“I’m shook up but I think I’m okay.” She reached to disconnect with shaking hands, and that creepy sensation returned. It had sure seemed as if that driver had meant to hit her car. “On second thought, do you mind talking? There aren’t any cars around and I...”
“I’d be glad to stay on the line until the police arrive. The squad car is only a couple of minutes out.”
Her narrow escape had been close.
Too close?
“Did you see the vehicle that hit you?”
“Not really. No.” But it had deliberately swerved onto the shoulder. She was sure of that. “I think there was a black car following me earlier.”
What were the odds of a hit-and-run accident on the very day someone claimed she would be a murder victim?
Should she tell the police about her meeting? What if he actually was the crazy psycho who’d followed? Would they laugh at her like they had Brian? Or was it time to find her own answers? Would anyone believe her except Brian?
“Ma’am? Do you see the police?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She should take charge of her destiny. Take charge. That sounded a lot better than becoming another “accident.”
Chapter Three
“Who wants him?” Brian gave the vitals as they came through the emergency room doors. They pushed the gurney to a room where the victim was quickly assessed as stable and blood drawn for an alcohol level. He was the only victim after running a stop sign and causing a multicar pileup in downtown Fort Worth.
“Don’t go anywhere, Sloane,” his favorite nurse, Meeks, instructed. “After you hand him off, wait for a doctor to stitch up that forehead.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.” He touched the cut and looked at a bloody finger. “Thirty years without stitches and I’m not starting now.”
Cam, his rig partner, had laughed when their patient had lashed out, taken him by surprise and knocked him to the floor. Distracted by a pair of sky-blue eyes and convincing himself there was no way to see them again, the drunk John Doe’s flaying had sent Brian’s forehead into the defibrillator. He hadn’t shared the real reason he’d been caught off guard—just complained about the bumps in the road.
He swiped at a drop of blood, keeping it from falling into his eyes.
Meeks ripped open a package and handed him a sterile dressing. “Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have to wait for the doctor anyway.” Meeks pointed to the chair in the corner and Brian sat, applying the dressing to his gash. “You’re staying. Wow, he reeks of liquor. It’s one of those nights. Someone said it was quiet around here and now we don’t have enough doctors.”
“Meeks! He’s coding,” a voice shouted from across the hall.
He could use the E.R. staff owing him a favor. So he waited with his patient while they were called away. Drunk Driver Doe was still out cold and snoring.
“I’m going to clean some of your blood out of the rig. Back in a few.”
“I really don’t need stitches.” He jumped up and spoke to an empty room. At least empty of anyone who could get him out of here.
The gauze quickly soaked with blood. He hadn’t taken a good look at it and there weren’t any mirrors in the room. So he mentally agreed to wait with Drunk Doe. He looked at the man’s vitals again and leaned on the counter. The chair looked more inviting with every throb in his skull. So he sat again.
Closing his eyes, he was immediately immersed in memories of the night of the fire. He hadn’t thought about it for twelve years and now that was all he could see. Or hear. Or smell. He and his brother, John, had gone over their movements of the night that had changed their lives so often in the past four months that it played in his head like a movie.
“Sorry I took so long, took me a while to get some coffee. Hey, partner, you okay?” Cam asked, his arms full of their gear. “You’re um...dripping.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Brian was on his feet. The bloody gauze was on the floor next to him instead of in his hand. “I must have slept a couple of minutes in spite of all the noise around here.”
“Passed out’s more likely,” Meeks added behind Cam.
“Yeah, man. I was gone close to twenty-five minutes. Dispatch is calling, I have to take this.” Cam left, answering his cell, his voice fading so fast Brian couldn’t hear what he was asked or reporting.
“Sit back down.” Meeks donned gloves and assessed his wound, took his BP and asked him standard memory-loss questions. “I’m finding a doctor for those sutures. You’re most likely concussed and need a scan.”
There was nothing wrong with him except a growing headache—more from all the fuss than injury. But he took it all in stride. If it had been Cam sitting here, he’d have done the same thing. His best efforts to think of another subject led him straight back to his gorgeous bundle of trouble and how to convince her that her life was in danger.
After their first meet, Lindsey Cook thought he was a stalker. He needed to move forward and put the past behind him. Without her. Hadn’t he done everything he could do?
So why did he have a bad feeling in the pit of his gut? Why was he trying so hard to convince himself he’d done everything possible? Memories of the town uproar after he’d claimed the fire had been his fault came pressing back to weigh him down. He’d thought he’d done all he could do then, too.
Claiming responsibility for an accident so his brother could continue in the Navy had been the optimal option at the time. But if they’d just talked about that night instead of being so hardheaded, they wouldn’t have lost twelve years. Hard years neither of them would get back. Years that had set a chain of events into motion. Not only for him and his twin, but for his family, the ranch, the town and all of Lindsey’s family.
If they’d stopped this maniac by forcing the police to discover the truth twelve years ago, how many deaths could have been avoided?
Now he was grateful he’d waited on a doctor. He never wanted to fight with Nurse Meeks. An ironic name for Cindy’s demanding personality. Old enough to be his mom, ornery enough to be a prison guard and still loved by everyone who came through her E.R.
A new intern entered pushing a tray. “Are you Sloane?”
“About time. The patient’s been unconscious since transport—”
“Wait. I’m not here for him. Meeks said you needed some, um, sutures.”
I trust a shaky EMT rookie more than a green first-year med student. “Does Meeks hate me?” If this kid did a terrible job of it, he’d walk out. “Why’d they send you?”
“Everyone else is tied up and they said it would be good practice.” He filled a syringe and got the needle ready to deaden Brian’
s skin.
“Dispatch is ordering you home, buddy,” Cam said.
“Ow. Take it easy.”
Cam laughed. “Call when you’re ready to leave and I’ll see if we can swing by and take you back to your truck.”
“Come on, Cam. Get one of the real doctors.” He kept still while his partner shook his head and covered his laughing hyena mouth. “On second thought, get out. I’ll get my own ride back and convince the old man to let me finish my tour.”
“Paid leave, man. Take it.” Cam patted him on the shoulder and started to leave. “You need to be cleared by a...” He looked the intern over and snickered again. “A real doctor before showing up tomorrow.”
Brian was stuck in more ways than one. The strong odor of booze mixed with antiseptic as the intern irrigated the wound, and kind of made him woozy. The kid spun on the little stool and picked up the needle and suture. Then he spun back with shaking hands, seemingly eager to jab the thing into Brian’s forehead.
“Hoover Dam, kid!” Brian swatted the intern’s fingers away from his head. “Wait for me to deaden up or hand that needle over to me.”
“Sorry. We’re sort of busy, so I was in a hurry. I forgot.”
“Well, go check on a patient or something and come back in a few.”
As soon as the kid left, Brian grabbed the needle and planted himself in front of the counter. Cell phone, flip the camera, instant mirror. He took a look at the deep gash, couldn’t feel anything above his brow and put a couple of clean stitches in the middle.
“Not half-bad,” he said to Drunk Doe. He added some tape and was washing his hands when the door opened. “You can tend to your other patients, Doc. I took care of it. You ready to take this patient off my hands?”
He spun around, expecting the intern, but found those sad blue eyes that had haunted him for weeks.
“Hi. I bet this seems strange to track you down in the middle of the night,” Lindsey Cook said, as if she hadn’t threatened a restraining order that afternoon.
