Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  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.

  When he strode over to rejoin her and Sam, he stopped too close and glared down at her from his cringe-inducing height. “Tell me what happened.”

  He was so close she felt she couldn’t draw a decent breath. Why was he trying so hard to intimidate her? “He came out of nowhere, hit the windshield and ran away.”

  “Wearing?”

  “Black.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Black pants, black shirt, black hat . . . or ski mask, I guess. Black gloves.”

  “Gloves?”

  “Yes, he had on gloves. It didn’t register at first, but he was definitely wearing gloves. I can’t even tell you if he was black or white.”

  “Build?”

  “Tall and thin.”

  “How do you know it was a guy?”

  “I assumed, I guess, because he was strong enough to break the windshield.”

  “Any ideas who would want to scare you?”

  “No.”

  “Anything else suspicious happen lately? Other than the sabotage at the construction site.”

  “No.”

  “Weird phone calls? Hang ups? E-mails?” He fired the questions at her so quickly they seemed to whirl around her.

  “No.”

  “Have you had a falling out with anyone since you returned?” He leaned closer, as though trying to blast the truth out of her with his laser vision.

  “No,” she said steadily. Breathe, breathe.

  When he turned to squint up at the stucco walls of the health club, she felt as though the air-conditioning had just kicked
in on a steaming hot day. As her shoulders relaxed and she managed a full breath, the spinning sensation in her head leveled.

  “This place have security cameras aimed at the parking lots?” Chase asked.

  Sam shifted to peer at the building, too. “Looks like there’s one at the east corner. I don’t see any others.”

  “Quinn would know about that,” Kylie said.

  “Is he here?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, in his office.”

  “I’ll check with him,” Sam said, and took off.

  As soon as they were alone, Chase rounded on Kylie. “Why didn’t you go inside like I told you to do?” he demanded.

  “If whoever did this wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity.”

  “Which brings up another point. Why the hell are you parking in a back lot that’s virtually empty?”

  “Safety has never been a problem here.”

  He took a jerky step toward her and made a furious gesture at her SUV. “You don’t call that a problem?”

  This time, she couldn’t check her urge to take a step back, and the heel of her tennis shoe caught on the curb. Chase’s hand shot out, wrapping hard and firm around her upper arm to keep her from stumbling.

  “Careful,” he said.

  The timbre of his voice had shifted lower, and suddenly they were standing close enough that his cool breath feathered over her cheek. Before she could fortify her guard, his heat invaded her space, enveloped her, and she stilled, overwhelmed by the desire to lean against his strength.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he lifted his free hand to tuck stray hair from her ponytail behind her ear.

  The gesture, so tender and caring, completely disarmed her. She could have melted right against him, let his strong arms enfold her. So easy and what a relief to—

  “Ky,” he said.

  The sigh in his voice had the same effect as if he’d placed a chisel on the crack in her defenses and tapped with a hammer. Alarmed, she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, and the bare skin of her arm started to burn where his long fingers almost completely encircled it.

  “Let go,” she said.

  Her cheeks heated at how she’d sounded. Like she was choking. Oh, God, she was so close to losing it. Right in front of him. But that . . . thing, it was just like the one that shattered her dreams. And someone, some twisted bastard, was using it against her. Why? Why the hell . . . why? And Chase . . . God, Chase, was right here. Watching her every move, her every expression and reaction, analyzing and scrutinizing. What the hell was he looking for anyway?

  Chase dropped his hand to his side, and the tight muscles in his face visibly relaxed. “I’m not trying to upset you, Ky.”

  He used the even, conciliatory tone of a cop dealing with a hostile witness, and it hit her like a slap that he was trying to manage her. As she snapped her spine straight, she bit back the urge to snipe at him. It wouldn’t accomplish anything but make her feel bitchy. And none of this was his fault. He was just there to do his job.

  “So what do we do now?” she asked. “Do you have to gather evidence before I call someone to come fix my windshield or what?”

  His expression gave nothing away as he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call in the crime scene unit.”

  12

  QUINN JOGGED TOWARD KYLIE, WHO STOOD ON the sidewalk facing her SUV, arms wrapped around her middle as though chilled. An official-looking black woman with glossy, close-cropped hair and gold hoop earrings snapped pictures of Kylie’s Liberty from all angles. Chase Manning, down on one knee at the head of the truck, scribbled on what looked like a sandwich-size Ziploc bag. Several other small Ziplocs littered the asphalt around him.

  Quinn’s stomach seized at the sight of the truck’s windshield. Sam had told him what had happened, but knowing didn’t blunt the shock of seeing.

  “Hey,” he called to Kylie when he was still several feet away. She could be so jumpy, and he didn’t want to startle her.

  She turned to greet him with a smile he recognized as plastered on only because he’d seen her give that same smile to the well-wishers at their father’s funeral. Not too big as to look fake, not too small as to look forced. Christ, she was so good at it that it scared him sometimes.

  When he spotted the aluminum bat on the ground, his gut flipped. He hadn’t quite believed Sam, but there it was, the sun shooting blinding blue sparks off it.

  Kylie’s voice broke through his shock. “They’re gathering evidence.” She indicated the woman with the camera. “That’s Sylvia Jensen, a forensics expert.”

  He glanced sharply at his sister. She sounded as though they were at a party, for Christ’s sake—hey, that’s my buddy Sylvia over there; you’d like her—when a normal person would have been huddled on the curb shaking her ass off. Hell, he was shaking, and he hadn’t been attacked.

  Guilt added to the queasiness in his stomach. He should have gotten his butt out here as soon as Sam told him, but the detective had had a bunch of questions about the video surveillance, and then Quinn had had to set him up with the equipment so Sam could find what he was looking for. Meanwhile, his sister had stood in the hot sun with who knows what kind of crap circling in her head.

  He gently grasped her elbow, felt tension instantly infuse her already rigid muscles. She didn’t pull away, though, and he didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. “Why don’t you come in while they finish up?” he said. “It’s too hot out here.”

  She relented without a word, and he led her inside and down the cool hallway to his office without speaking. While she sat in the lone, metal-framed visitor’s chair, he popped open the mini fridge in the corner and retrieved a bottle of water. After twisting off the cap, he handed her the bottle, glad when she drank without being prodded.

  He hated that he had no idea what to say. He hadn’t known what to say for years and berated himself for not dogging her more. But she’d been so far away, physically and emotionally, that he hadn’t known where to start. Letting her work it out on her own had been easier. He’d had his own issues to focus on, after all.

  “You might want to think about replacing this chair,” she said. “It feels rickety.”

  His throat closed. Leave it to Kylie to focus on something that had nothing to do with the blue aluminum symbol for her shattered sense of identity.

  “Funny word,” she murmured. “Rickety.”

  “Kylie—”

  “Unless that’s the idea. Most of the people who use this chair are probably employees in trouble. You wouldn’t want them to be too comfortable while you rip into them.”

  “Kylie, come on. Don’t you want—”

  “Can we just sit here and not say anything? Just for a few minutes?”

  Quinn sighed. Agreeing to be quiet, for her sake, was easy. It always had been.

  13

  WHILE FORENSICS EXPERT SYLVIA JENSEN FINISHED cataloging the evidence, Chase went looking for Kylie. He hadn’t been to the fitness center before, but he’d heard about its state-of-the-art equipment and Olympic-size swimming pool. He would have joined if the monthly fee had been slightly less than astronomical, but the place clearly targeted rich retirees and the Fortune 500 executives whose vacation homes dotted Kendall Falls’ beaches.

  Not for the first time, he felt a nudge of admiration for Kylie’s choice of location for her own facility. She planned to cater to the less-well-to-do portion of the population on the other side of town, something few entrepreneurs in the area ever did.

  Chase stopped a young woman wearing the health club’s uniform of white polo shirt and navy shorts. “Can you tell me where I might find Kylie McKay?”

  She gave him a big, flirtatious smile as she gestured down the hall. “Just saw her in Quinn’s office, on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hey,” she called after him. “I’m a personal trainer. If, you know, you ever want a one-on-one workout.”

  He waved over his shoulder without a
cknowledging her wink. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

  A few strides later, he spotted an office door bearing a plaque that read QUINN MCKAY, MANAGER. Through the half-open door, he saw Kylie sitting with her unbraced leg crossed over the other, her focus intense as she peeled the label off an empty water bottle. The flush that had stained her cheeks while they’d argued was gone, and she’d tidied up the curls that had earlier escaped her ponytail. The Tennis Pony, she’d called it way back when, because that’s how she wore her hair when she played.

  With concentration creasing her forehead, she looked older. And tired. Jesus, she looked tired.

  He lightly rapped on the door before stepping into the tiny office that held a simple desk and the two occupied chairs.

  “Are you done already?” Quinn asked, elbows on the desk, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

  “Just about. Sylvia’s bagging up the last of the evidence.”

  He glanced at Kylie and found her watching him with the calm, quiet look of someone who’d popped a Xanax. If he hadn’t known her so well, he would have assumed she had. But Kylie McKay didn’t do tranquilizers. She chanted shit in her head, like “eye on the ball” and “breathe.” Mind over matter, that was her motto.

  Looking away, he leaned against the wall to wait for Sam. He’d asked her everything he could about the incident, and the bat through the windshield sounded like a scare tactic. The perp had had the perfect chance to harm her—defenseless woman alone in a deserted parking lot—but he’d attacked only the Jeep and immediately fled into the woods. Chase figured someone didn’t want her building the tennis center. Sabotage hadn’t worked, so the perp had tried a more personal approach, just as Chase had feared.

  Hearing familiar footsteps, he glanced out into the hall to see his partner striding their way. “Hey,” Sam said with a nod.