by Beverly Long
Even more because Chase Hollister heated her blood like nobody else had for a very long time.
The man was gorgeous, and sex appeal hung tight to his very nice rear end and broad shoulders. She ached to touch him.
The door to the café opened and Sheila Stanton walked in. She made eye contact with Raney and sat at the counter, one empty stool between them.
There was absolutely no reason to not be polite to her. Other than that she’d had her arms wrapped around Chase’s neck. But Raney had been raised to be the bigger person. And Chase had left the grocery store with her, not Sheila. “Hi,” Raney said.
Sheila smiled without showing any teeth. She ordered coffee but didn’t touch it once Summer had poured it. Instead, she turned to look at Raney. “Where’s that handsome husband of yours?”
“Home. Working on the house.”
“Where was it that you two met?”
A skitter of alarm ran through her. She and Chase hadn’t really practiced their story. “We met in St. Louis,” she said. “Mutual friends introduced us.”
“And what is it that you do there?”
She thought of Chase’s comments of how information flowed in a small town. “Adult education,” Raney lied. It was close enough to the truth that if Sheila happened to hear about the help she’d offered to Keith, the story should hold.
Raney opened her purse, pulled out some bills and looked for Summer. She was at the far end of the restaurant, leaning over a booth, wiping down the table. Her shirt had come untucked in the back and Raney could see a couple inches of smooth skin.
Holy hell. What was that? Summer had a bruise the size of a baseball on her lower back. Not fresh but rather the purple and green of an injury that had occurred sometime earlier.
She could feel the pie in her stomach start to roll. She’d had bruises like that after her encounter with Harry Malone. She straightened up when her ribs began their familiar ache.
Almost as if Summer could sense Raney’s inspection, she stood straight, pulling her shirt down self-consciously. She turned and made eye contact with Raney.
There was a plea in Summer’s eyes. For what, Raney had no idea. Please don’t tell anyone what you saw. Please don’t ask me how I got it. Please help me.
Raney quickly checked to see if Sheila had also been looking, but the woman was punching keys on her smartphone. Raney turned on her stool, just slightly, and mouthed the words, “Do you want to talk?”
Summer shook her head. Sharply. Definitively.
Okay, she wasn’t asking for help. Raney had to assume it was one of the other choices. Perhaps Summer had fallen or run into something. Raney knew the possibility of that was slim. The woman had been beaten. But by who?
Her ex-husband? Was that what had sparked Summer’s unfavorable response to the man that first morning that Raney and Chase had eaten breakfast at the Wright Here, Wright Now Café? But surely they’d been separated for some time if the divorce was already finalized. The bruise was old but not that old.
She understood the woman’s reluctance to talk about it. After Harry Malone...well, she’d had to talk about it. The police had been relentless in their questioning. But every damn conversation had been painful, so painful.
When Summer was behind the counter, Raney pushed a twenty in her direction. “Thanks,” she said, not waiting for change. “See you soon.”
When she got back in her SUV, it was sticky hot, the black leather interior almost burning her bare legs. She turned the key, flipped on the air conditioner and put on her sunglasses.
She was halfway home and she still hadn’t decided whether to tell Chase about what she’d seen. What would he say? “Mind your own business”? “We have our own problems”? She didn’t think so. He would encourage Summer to make a police report. But her ex was a cop. What a mess.
She saw a dark car approaching fast from behind. The road was narrow, and up ahead, it was double-striped, indicating a no-passing zone. She slowed, thinking she’d let it squeeze by now. She saw it move to the other lane and figured it would zip past her.
It got parallel and she caught a glimpse inside right before the driver cranked the wheel, making the vehicle swerve sharply toward her.
Raney jerked her own wheel. She felt her front right tire drop off the road, and suddenly she was rolling. She felt her head hit something and suddenly, she felt nothing at all.
Chapter Eight
Chase had sixteen nails left when he heard the rumble of an engine. He looked down and recognized Lloyd Doogan’s old motorcycle. He was going very fast, and when he turned onto the lane leading up to the house, his back tire slid on the loose gravel.
What the hell? Chase was off the roof and down the ladder in seconds.
“You’ve got to come quick,” Lloyd said. He was wringing his hands.
“What’s wrong, Lloyd?” Chase asked.
“Your wife, that woman, she’s hurt.”
Chase felt his chest tighten up. “Raney?” he said. “Raney is hurt?”
“Yes. On the road.”
Chase dropped his nail gun. In two strides he reached Lloyd’s motorcycle. “We’re taking this and I’m driving.”
Less than five minutes later, he’d have known he was close even if Lloyd hadn’t been yanking on his arm. There were three vehicles alongside the road, none of them his SUV, and all empty. He jammed on the brakes, got the bike stopped and was across the road in seconds.
It was a steep ravine and about fifteen feet down, his SUV was wheels up, resting on its driver’s side. Four people, none that he recognized, were standing near the vehicle. One woman was squatting and it looked as if she was trying to talk to Raney.
Who was still inside. Slumped over the steering wheel.
Please let her be alive. Please. Please.
He half slid down the rocky, weed-covered slope. He heard sirens coming closer but he wasn’t waiting. He squatted next to the woman and knocked gently on the window. “Raney,” he said.
“She’s unconscious,” said the woman.
“Raney, sweetheart,” he said.
She opened her eyes, turned her head and gave him a weak smile.
“I guess she was just waiting for you,” the woman said, awe in her voice.
Chase ignored the comment. He looked Raney in the eye. “Hang on,” he said. “Just hang on. Help is coming. We’re going to get this back on its wheels and get you out of there.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut.
Chase pounded his hand on the frame of the SUV. “Stay with me, Raney. Stay with me.”
He turned and saw four men in matching coats. Volunteer firefighters. He recognized one of them. Hank Beaumont had been their senior class president. He was pretty sure the man knew him, too, but fortunately, he wasn’t interested in chatting it up. He was all business, his eyes focused on Raney.
“One person in the vehicle?”
“Yes,” Chase said.
“Do we know the extent of her injuries?”
“No. Listen, we need to get this vehicle righted and get her out of there.”
“Step back,” Hank ordered.
Chase didn’t move. “I’m a cop. St. Louis PD.”
The man’s eyes softened. “I know. I heard you were back in town, Chase. That was my mother-in-law who was behind you checking out at the grocery store. I’m guessing this is your wife, and I’m sorry about that, but it also means that you’re not acting in any official capacity. So stand back and let us do our job.”
Chase moved and shoved his hands in his pockets. Lloyd came up and stood next to him. “She’s not dead,” the man said.
No, she wasn’t. But whoever had caused this accident was a dead man. Chase split his attention—shifting quickly from watching the four firemen right the vehicle to viewing the small crowd that had gathered.
It wasn’t all that unusual for a perpetrator to hang around a scene. Whether it was in celebration or defiance that they could be in plain sight, or maybe some crazy need
for closure, a good cop always watched the people at the scene. Sophisticated police departments caught it on film.
The Ravesville Police Department was neither sophisticated nor timely since they had yet to arrive.
But the SUV was upright and they were opening the driver’s door. Hank had his head inside, talking to Raney.
Chase had waited long enough. He skirted around the small group and approached from the passenger side. Before anyone could stop him, he opened the door and slipped inside.
“Hey,” he said softly.
She was still wearing her seat belt. It was pulled tight and he suspected she’d have some bruising. The air bag had inflated, then deflated, leaving a thick residue behind. It was on her shirt, her cheeks, her nose. He could see a red mark on her forehead, near the hairline on the left side. The skin had not broken but it looked as if she had a lump.
“Mrs. Hollister,” Hank said, still at the door. “I’m going to put a neck collar around you, just as a precaution.”
“Okay,” Raney said. “But I didn’t hurt my neck.”
“You hit your head,” Chase said, working hard to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t want to scare her.
She lifted her fingers to her forehead. “I did?”
Hank reached in and fastened a cervical collar around Raney. It made her look even more delicate, and Chase fought down the anger that was threatening to cloud his ability to think. Focus. He needed to focus.
The firemen transferred her from the SUV to a gurney and an EMT took her vitals. Chase stood close enough that he could hear. Blood pressure, 123 over 77. That was fine. Pulse, 79. Maybe a little fast but that was to be expected. The EMT checked her eyes, her reflexes, asked about pain. Raney asked to sit up and the EMT agreed. Chase let out a breath.
Chase finally heard the sounds of an approaching siren and figured it had to be the responding officer. When the car came into view, it slowed quickly and pulled up close, blocking the road. The door opened and Gary Blake, Summer’s ex, got out.
He walked up to Hank Beaumont, and Chase didn’t see what he’d expected. Cops and firefighters were kindred spirits, especially in a small community. They showed up at all the same events, shared bad jokes and a general dislike for administration. But between Beaumont and Blake there was no friendly recognition, no casual camaraderie. The exchange seemed more forced, as if both men knew they had to do it and just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.
If Raney had a head injury, this had the potential to end badly for a number of reasons. Was she seconds away from blurting out that she was Lorraine Taylor and what had brought her to Ravesville? He hated to put pressure on her but the stakes were too high. “Remember,” Chase whispered, barely moving his lips. “You’re Raney Hollister.”
“I know,” she said, her tone almost sounding amused. “I’m not—”
Blake turned away from the fire chief and stepped toward Raney. He looked bored. “You were the driver,” he said when he got in front of Raney.
Chase couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question.
“I need to see your license,” Blake said.
It pissed Chase off that the man hadn’t even bothered to inquire whether Raney was okay. But Chase kept his thoughts to himself. He and Raney were trying to stay under the radar. Mixing it up with the local police would only hurt those efforts.
Chase had pulled Raney’s purse from the vehicle and now he handed it to her. Raney unzipped it and pulled out her billfold. Without hesitation she handed over her license, the Lorraine Hollister one she’d been given shortly after the wedding ceremony. Chase sent a silent prayer upward. At the time, he’d thought it was unnecessary to go to such extremes. He’d been irritated about waiting around for it. But now it might be what got them out of this.
Blake took it without comment and looked at it quickly. He copied down the number onto the report he was making. He handed it back to Raney. Then he shifted his attention to Chase and narrowed his eyes. “You’re that Hollister kid that everybody’s been talking about.”
That good-for-nothing, troublemaking Hollister kid. The man’s tone said it all.
Chase rubbed his forehead where a raging headache that had started when he’d seen Lloyd’s motorcycle flying down the road and intensified when he’d seen Raney with a cervical collar around her neck was simmering behind his right eyeball. He’d be ninety and the good people of Ravesville would still be talking about him.
“I’ve heard about your brother Bray,” Gary Blake said.
“I imagine you have,” Chase said.
“I’d have been better off if I’d have let him marry Summer Wright.”
Neither Chase nor Raney responded. Blake didn’t seem to notice.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“A car attempted to pass me. They got a little close and I moved over. My tires caught the edge of the road and my car rolled.”
“How fast were you going?”
“The speed limit,” she answered.
“Of course,” Blake said, as if he couldn’t care less. As if he’d formed an opinion and that was that. Raney had been either going too fast and paid the consequences or she was a hell of a poor driver.
Chase doubted it was either. She was simply not used to these roads and the driver had unfortunately picked the narrowest portion of the road to pass.
“Where’s the other vehicle?” Blake asked.
Raney licked her lips. “I don’t think it stopped. Perhaps they didn’t see me lose control.”
Now Blake looked at her. “That seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It certainly wasn’t helpful,” Raney said, not answering the question.
Blake looked at his watch. “Can you describe the other vehicle?”
“Black or dark blue. Some kind of SUV.”
It was subtle but Gary Blake’s jaw muscle jerked just a little. Most people wouldn’t have seen it but Chase was a master interrogator. He always watched for the tell, the movement, the gesture, the nervous habit that said somebody was lying or just about to lie.
When Blake didn’t offer anything up, Chase pushed. “Ring any bells?”
Blake looked bored. “There are a whole lot of black or blue SUVs that go through Ravesville on a given day.”
He supposed that was true.
“Did you see the driver?” Blake asked. He’d put his pen down.
“The driver was wearing some kind of hooded sweatshirt and sunglasses. Had some scraggily facial hair.”
Same small jerk of the jaw. Then Blake ran his pen down the paper. He looked up at Raney. “The fire chief said you bumped your head. Are you going to seek medical treatment?”
“No. I’m fine.”
As far as Chase was concerned, the jury was still out on that one. Raney was doing well with Blake, not fumbling for answers. But head injuries were tricky. People had walked away from accidents fine and hours later, had blood clots and dropped dead.
Blake was only asking because he had to check a box on his report. He did that and then put his pen back in his pocket.
Chase couldn’t decide if he was relieved that the incident wasn’t going to blow their cover out of the water or really, truly pissed that Blake was such a lazy cop. He was acting as if they, as outsiders, were barely worth his time to fill out a report. Nobody was dead. He was still going to get to go home early.
Blake might not be interested in the other driver but Chase was. He intended to find him. His irresponsibility could have killed Raney.
Blake looked at Chase. “Planning on staying long in Ravesville?”
“Just long enough for me to get my mother’s house ready to sell,” he said.
“Brick Doogan was a son of a bitch.”
He and Gary Blake were not going to bond over their common dislike. “Well, he’s dead now.”
Blake laughed, a deep bark of a sound. “Got that right,” he said. He took a couple steps before turning back. “You two have a go
od day,” he said. “I suggest you try going less than the speed limit, Mrs. Hollister.”
* * *
“GOOD JOB,” CHASE MURMURED, as they watched Gary Blake walk away.
She’d just lied to a police officer. Deliberately withheld the truth. “Thank you,” she said. She wasn’t ready to say anything more.
“I know you told the paramedic that you didn’t want to go to the hospital. I want you to reconsider.”
She shook her head. “I’m okay. Really.”
He didn’t look happy. Well, he was likely to be significantly unhappier when he learned the truth. But she didn’t intend to tell him here. She would do it at the house, where they could talk without being overheard.
She watched as the tow truck pulled away. It had Chase’s SUV, which had a big dent in the passenger-side fender and a flat rear tire on that same side, and was taking it into Ravesville. Hank Beaumont came up and stood before them. “You two need a ride home?”
“Thank you,” Chase said. He helped Raney into the backseat of the red SUV. It was a short drive home.
“Pleasure to meet you, Raney,” Hank said. “Good luck with the recovery.”
They were barely inside the house when Chase got on the telephone. She could only hear his side of the conversation but gathered enough to know that he was talking to someone about getting another vehicle. She closed her eyes, rested her head on the pillow and tuned the rest of the conversation out. When the call ended, he came into the living room.
She was lying on the couch, and he took the chair opposite of her. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Isn’t it going to look odd when we suddenly have a different vehicle here?”
He nodded. “We have to take that chance. It’s better than not having wheels if we need to get out of here in a hurry. They’re going to lay a paper trail so that the vehicle looks as if it belonged to Raney Smith who recently became Raney Hollister.”
It was truly frightening how quickly resources could be marshaled to make something look different than it was. It made her wonder if anything in life was real.
And she had done her part to add to the deception. It was time for Chase to know the truth.
