Catching Cara
Dark Horse, Inc: Book 2
Amy J. Hawthorn
Contents
Copyrights
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Works By Amy J. Hawthorn
Copyrights
CATCHING CARA
PUBLISHED JANUARY 2016 BY AMY J. HAWTHORN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
* * *
CATCHING CARA Copyright © 2016 Amy J. Dunn
* * *
Cover art and Formatting by Laideebug Digital
Laideebug Digital is only responsible for the formatting, the content of this work is purely created, owned and supplied by the author.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from author. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. The author does acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The author does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for third-party Websites or their content.
All rights reserved worldwide. This book is licensed for your personal use only. No part of this work may be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any format without express written permission from the author, except for brief quotations embodied in reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
To all the Caras of the world! You rock.
* * *
And to my own little warrior princess. To be so strong, persistent and yet sweet, you awe me.
* * *
Stubborn? Hell yeah! That’s the way we roll.
Three weeks ago…
* * *
Boyd Campbell finished wiping down the sparse motel room, erasing his prints. He threw his laptop and charger on top of his clothes and zipped the duffle closed. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he grabbed his weapons case. A quick onceover assured him the room was empty.
Travel light, move fast, and leave no footprints behind.
The simple lesson served him well over the past few years, so he’d be a fool to ignore it now. He’d laid Preston Hayes’ murder on his crazy uncle’s head. There’d been more than enough evidence to put the good senator away for the rest of his years, but when you added the Senator’s drama at Walker Farms, no one in their right mind would believe his uncle’s raving protests of innocence.
Still, Boyd had a burning need to get the hell out of Riley Creek and Potter County. It was too close to his home, Bourbon County, and those Dark Horse assholes. If he lingered any longer, he’d feel the heat of Rick Evans breathing down his neck. While he’d like to go head-to-head with the prick, it wouldn’t be smart. He couldn’t afford the attention a confrontation would bring.
He opened the door with hem of his shirt and walked into the evening humidity.
Fuck. Me.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Marcus Sutton leaned against the driver’s side door of Boyd’s SUV. He inhaled a long pull of his cigarette before he flicked the butt at Boyd’s feet. “Campbell.”
He met Sutton’s dark, menacing gaze and silently held his ground. What could he say when a ghost from the past appeared on his doorstep?
Only this ghost was no Casper.
“Fine. I see how well you appreciate my favor. We’ll skip the small talk and get down to business. You owe me.” Sutton pinned him in place with eyes so dark, they might as well have been coal.
Ages ago, Boyd had needed safe passage and not many people had the resources or the balls to provide him with the kind of assistance he’d needed in BFE, Afghanistan. He’d known eventually the day would come when the price he paid would be a steep one. Then again, expecting it didn’t make swallowing the pill any less difficult.
Boyd remained silent, waiting.
Cold, dead eyes, bored into him. “Let’s go somewhere and have a chat.”
Chapter One
She flinched as a flash of white light split the sky in two. Gripping the wheel tighter in one hand, she used the other to increase the speed of her windshield wipers before gripping the wheel again. Water roared down from the sky even faster, making the blades nearly worthless, even though they swiped back and forth at warp speed.
Thunder boomed, and she choked back a cry of terror. Her palms grew slick and her heart fluttered against her sternum. Dark spots swam in her vision.
She drew in a deep, stuttered breath and told herself it would be okay. There was nothing to be afraid of. Crazy intense summer storms boiled up in Kentucky all the time. As a perfect example of their fury, this one was wild, dramatic, and violent. She knew that, nine times out of ten, they blew themselves out just as quickly as they appeared.
But it wasn’t the storm itself that scared her so badly. The thunder that came with it turned her normally confident and in control self into a whimpering mess. She hated that more than anything else. After all she’d been through, something as simple as a summer storm shouldn’t still contain the power to cripple her.
Her shoulders ached from the tension of holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip. She focused on slowing her breathing. In through her nose. Out through her mouth.
The cascade of water slamming against her car slowed to an almost manageable rainfall.
She drew in another deep breath. Exhaled. She was fine.
Until gunfire hit her car.
Bang! Bang! Bang bang bang!
No. She was fine. It was hail beating her car to death, not bullets. She was in Kentucky and headed home. She saw the blur of rolling green fields out the window to her left and a forest of madly waving trees out the right. This was not Afghanistan.
She slowed her already crawling car even more and prayed that no one came up too quickly behind her on the country road. I can do this. I’ll be okay. The winding road straightened out in about another mile and a half. She could make it that far then pull over in the little church parking lot.
A blinding flash of blue-white light arced above her. She closed her eyes and flinched. Less than a second later, the world around her exploded as thunder boomed, shaking her car. She opened her eyes just in time to see a tree crash on the road ahead of her.
“Shit!” Adrenaline rushed into her bloodstream, and Cara’s heart jumped into her throat. She jerked the steering wheel to the right as the wet gray and green scenery blurred. The road curved left, and she slammed on her brakes as the asphalt ended. The world around her shook as the frontend of her car dipped. She gritted her teeth, bracing for impact.
A loud thump shook her, and she winced at the sound of spinning tires. She looked up and turned her head to the left and right, trying
to get her bearings.
Dropping her head to the steering wheel, she gave into her terror, releasing a whimper. She didn’t hear the violent storm throwing a tantrum around her, but a war that raged years ago. Gunfire and explosions. Shouts and screams.
One scream in particular stood out from the rest.
Justin.
Frozen in horror as the IED detonated between them—maybe fifty feet away—the distance had felt like miles when she couldn’t get to her friend.
She fought to break free of the flashback. That was a long time ago, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. She hadn’t been able to then, and she sure as hell couldn’t now. She focused on her breathing. She could do this. She’d survived a war. She could make it through a crazy summer storm.
She opened and closed her hands, easing the tension.
The rain softened to a drizzle. Thunder rumbled in the distance but in a low, subdued growl. She could handle that.
She took another deep breath and focused on the here and now. She needed to get out and see about her car. She looked in the backseat and found an old sweatshirt. It’d have to do. She cursed her clothing choices as she stepped out of the car on shaky legs.
What she wouldn’t give to be in a pair of ACU pants or even jeans. But no, she hadn’t wanted to listen to her mother’s harping. What had it gotten her? Stuck in the rain, wearing a flimsy skirt and strappy sandals.
She focused on the mess in front of her and cursed.
After nearly completing the four-hour drive back, she wrecked her car less than thirty minutes from home. She was a mere fifteen miles from the Bourbon County line. She couldn’t say she was surprised. With her track record, she should probably be relieved no one was hurt.
Damn it all. How would she get home? Thanks to a fall and hip surgery, her mother couldn’t drive, and it had been so long since she’d been home that she was virtually a stranger. She had no one to call.
She brushed her damp hair from her face and steadied herself. She’d been in far worse situations. She drew from her past and took another steadying breath. Hell, it might have been ages ago, but she’d spent a year in Afghanistan. She could walk home if she needed to. Of course she was wearing the wrong shoes. She looked down to the lavender polish on her toes. Well, if she were wearing boots, she could have walked, but she couldn’t leave her car.
Knowing it was useless, she felt compelled to at least try to get her car out of the ditch. She got back inside and shifted into reverse and crossed her fingers. She eased her foot onto the gas pedal. The car did a little shimmy and made an ugly sound.
She dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned. Who could she call?
She’d come home to take care of her mother. Now she had a mess of her own.
“Daddy, can we go to Twent and Katie’s today?”
Joe set another plate in the dishwasher and looked at the bar. On one of the stools, his daughter’s little legs swung back and forth. Bright hope shined in her green eyes.
He gave her the exact same answer he’d already given her twice in the past hour. “Not today, pickle. We’ve got work to do. The house is a mess.”
Her long brown curls covered her face when she looked down at the picture she was coloring. He’d fixed her hair into pigtails that morning, but they never seemed to stay in place for the entire day. Even after years of practice, he couldn’t make a damn ponytail or braid like his sister could. When Kylie looked up again, he could see her disappointment. She visibly brightened, a sure sign she had a new idea. “Can we go tomowow? I wanna feed Bonnie and take a wide on Scawlet. Pwease?” Thanks to therapy, his daughter’s speech had improved a great deal, but from time to time, she slipped back into her old habits.
“Sweetheart, it’s please with an l. And we’ll see. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Awww. You always have to work.” She enunciated her words carefully. Funny how her speech improves when she wants brownie points.
“I know, pickle. I wish I had more time to play, but this is just the way it is right now.” When had he become his father? Not a single day went by where he didn’t find himself repeating something one of his parents told him. He’d didn’t know how many times he’d rolled his eyes at their little bits of wisdom, thinking all the while that he’d never do the same when he was a father.
Then again, he never dreamed he would become a single father of a little girl whose entire world rested on his shoulders.
No pressure.
“It’s almost finished raining. How about, when it stops, we take a walk by the creek and then we’ll go get some ice cream before your bath?” A list of chores waited for his attention, but some things were more important than folding a load of laundry.
The sound of cowboy boots banging against the barstool answered his question. She hopped down from the chair and bolted through the house as fast as her feet could carry her. “Yay! I need my bucket! Maybe I can find Fwank!”
He hung the dishtowel on the oven door handle and prayed they didn’t find any animals, wounded or otherwise. His daughter, who wasn’t bigger than a minute, had a heart larger than any adult he’d ever known. She’d gone toe-to-toe with a cousin not too long ago in defense of a snake. Frank, the snake, had been moved to a safe location, but she still worried about it weeks later.
His phone rang at his hip, and he looked to the ceiling in frustration. He longed for the day he could pitch it into pond. When he saw the caller ID, he frowned. Rick Evans wasn’t the kind of man to make random social calls. A call from the head of Dark Horse Inc. likely meant trouble.
Shit.
“Rick. What’s up?” Joe’s belly sunk as Kylie barreled through the house toward him, neon green bucket at the ready.
“I need a favor. Hopefully it won’t take too much of your time. A member of our unit was in a car accident a few minutes ago. No injuries. I’d go myself, but the accident isn’t too far from where you live—just off route ten. They’re on their way home to Bourbon County, and don’t know anyone in the area.”
He envisioned Kylie’s walk to the creek going up in smoke. What kind of spin can I put on this disappointment? “Sure. I’m at home now. I can be there in just a few minutes.”
“Thanks. I owe you,” Rick replied, as if Joe were the one doing him a huge favor.
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity.
“Never. I’ll always be in your debt. Don’t sweat it.” If it hadn’t been for Rick’s nose for trouble and inability to stomach unanswered questions, Kate could have died. His cousin was more like a sister to him, and the thought of what could have happened to her without Trent’s stubborn insistence on protection and Rick’s intervention made him sick. He disconnected and looked down at his daughter. “You wanna go on an adventure? We’re going to go rescue somebody.”
“Yay!” With that, she was off, messy curls trailing in her wake.
Once he buckled her into her booster seat, they were off. Kylie happily sang along with the radio, kicking her legs in time to the music. A song and half later, they neared the stretch of road Rick described. He hoped like hell that Rick had been right and that this was a simple call. He was tired and still had to get Kylie settled.
Whether in uniform or plainclothes, each time he came up on a wreck, especially one where the car had gone off the road, a foreboding sense of déjà vu nauseated him. It’d been four years since he’d become a single father, but time hadn’t helped his memories of that terrible day fade.
He slowed his truck as he came around a sharp curve. The area was heavily shaded, thanks to the rocky hills and thick woods along one side of the road. He came out at the curve’s end and shock sucker-punched him.
Slender, bare legs ended somewhere under a very wet, very short, turquoise skirt. The woman bent over at the waist in the shallow ditch at the road’s edge to look underneath the car’s frontend.
Dwarfed by a baggy gray sweatshirt, she straightened, placed her hands on her hips, and looked down at the car be
fore she turned at the sound of his truck. He waved as he slowed to a stop at the road’s edge. The back window rolled down and, before he could form words to stop her, his daughter called out. “We’we here to wescue you and get ice cweam!”
He shook his head, and the woman smiled. He pulled his truck forward, past the car and off to the side a bit. He removed the keys and stepped out. Heading over to check out the mess, he looked for Rick’s troubled team member. A petite strawberry blond greeted him with a shaky smile.
He extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Joe MacDonald, a friend of Rick’s. I live nearby, so he called me to check on you. Are you with someone or out here on your own?” He’d expected one of Rick’s soldier buddies and had no idea where the mix-up occurred.
“Hello, Cara Gregory. Nice to meet you. I got into this mess all on my own.” Her slightly husky voice sounded a little deeper than he would have expected. It was different, but far from unattractive. He felt the sultry melody deep inside, where it spread a golden glow, infecting him with hunger. Something about her pixie face, spattered with a few tiny freckles, and honeyed hazel eyes made him feel like a lumbering giant. She put her tiny hand in his and took hold with a tight grip that surprised him.
“I’m sorry about the trouble. When the storm rolled through, a branch fell from a tree and landed in front of my car and, well, you can see the result. I pulled the branch off the road and tried to get the car out myself, but the front wheel drive isn’t helping any.” She shrugged and pointed to the car behind her, with its front tires in the ditch, emergency blinkers flashing. She took a deep breath and straightened her slumped shoulders.
He looked back to the branch she’d pointed toward, which lay in the ditch by the road’s edge. It had to have weighed as much a man. Her hands and sweatshirt were wet and soiled as if she’d been working, but the damn thing probably weighed more than she did. Yet she’d moved it herself? Maybe her tired, defeated vibe came from exhaustion.
Catching Cara: Dark Horse, Inc: Book 2 Page 1
