My Wildest Dream: Whisper Lake #2

by Barbara Freethy

  He smiled as a weight slipped off his shoulders. "You'd come with me?"

  "I would."

  "Well, I'm not going to LA. You were right. I knew in the first five minutes that the job wasn't for me, but I felt I owed it to everyone to hear them out, and to give the offer fair consideration. I can't go back to the life I had before. It doesn't exist anymore. I always knew there was an expiration date on being a professional skier. It's not the job anyone does forever. There's always a second act. And being a cop is mine. Maybe it's not an adrenaline rush every single second, but when I risk my life now, it's usually to help someone else."

  "And you do it fearlessly. I knew you weren't taking the job," she said, a triumphant light in her eyes.

  "Did you also know that I love you, too? That I fell for you when I found you crawling through my bushes?"

  "You were irritated with me that first night."

  "And then incredibly impressed." He paused. "I can be a cop anywhere, Chelsea. I can't imagine not seeing you every day. The last two days almost killed me."

  "You didn't call, and you barely texted."

  "I thought if I did, I'd jump on the next plane back. I want you to know that I will follow you wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do."

  "That's very generous."

  "No, it's selfish. I just want to be with you."

  "And I want to be with you. We both chased our dreams and then those dreams were shattered. We reinvented ourselves and found a way to dream again. But music isn't my wildest dream anymore—you are."

  "You're my dream, too. But I think the music is important to you. It's part of you. It's how you see the world."

  "You're right. But if I go back to music, it will be on my terms. I won't be singing for the charts or the label or the money; I'll be singing for myself."

  "Good for you."

  "I can base myself in Whisper Lake. I like teaching music, but maybe I won't work toward being a full-time teacher. I could use the time to write songs and record them. I could build a studio in Whisper Lake. I actually have quite a bit of money tucked away. It felt like blood money for a while. But now it feels like a way to fund my second act, and the money can give us freedom for whatever we need."

  He grinned. "As much as I'd like you to be my sugar mama, I actually have some money stashed away, too. My father was a very good agent for a very long time."

  "Is he going to be upset with your decision? Did you already tell him?"

  "I did tell him before I left. He said he wasn't surprised. Apparently, he figured out before I did that I was in love with you. He did make a pitch for getting you to LA, but I told him that it wasn't just about love; it was about being a cop, a job I also care deeply about. Anyway, he'll figure something else out. And I think getting a place of our own with a recording studio would be just about as awesome as anything could be."

  She smiled. "Then, would you kiss me already? Because it has been a really long time."

  He laughed, his feet finally moving, as he gathered her in his arms and kissed her with all the love flowing out of his heart. There were no more barriers between them, no secrets, no walls. There was nothing but trust and honesty. He didn't think he'd ever been happier in his life.

  They didn't break apart until the door opened, and Lizzie cleared her throat. "Uh, hello? What's going on? Because I need to know."

  "Do you want to tell her?" he asked Chelsea with a smile.

  "Brodie and I are in love," she said.

  "I already knew that. But who's going where? Are you both staying in Whisper Lake? Are you headed to LA or out on a music tour?" Lizzie asked.

  "We're staying in Whisper Lake," Chelsea answered. "I'll work on my music from there."

  "And if she needs to tour," he put in. "We'll make that happen. Because your sister needs to sing now that she's found her voice again."

  "I'm so happy you got your voice back, Chelsea," Lizzie said, tears gathering in her eyes. "And that you and Brodie found love. But, selfishly, I'm even happier that you're not leaving Whisper Lake." She opened her arms. "I want to hug you both."

  They exchanged a group hug and then Lizzie said, "I'm going back to the party. Are you two coming?"

  "One second," he promised.

  "Sure," Lizzie said with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "I won't time you."

  As the door shut, he turned back to Chelsea. "One more kiss?"

  "I want a lot more than one," she said, moving into his embrace. She looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with love and desire.

  "Then let me kiss you for the rest of your life," he said.

  "I'd like nothing more."

  * * *

  # # #

  I hope you enjoyed Chelsea and Brodie's story in MY WILDEST DREAM. The next book in the Whisper Lake series, CAN’T FIGHT THE MOONLIGHT will be coming in the spring of 2020.

  SIGN UP HERE if you'd like to get an alert when the next book in the series is available for preorder.

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  I’d also love for you to check out my new romantic suspense series! Continue reading for an excerpt from the first book in my FBI SERIES: PERILOUS TRUST.

  EXCERPT - PERILOUS TRUST

  PROLOGUE

  "Sophie, I'm sorry." It wasn't the best start to the worst message he would ever have to leave, but it had to be done. He'd spent the last six hours creating a trail that would hopefully lead away from his daughter. He'd left New York City hours ago and was now driving along lonely, rural, winding roads in northern New Jersey, the beautiful scenery barely registering in his brain as he escaped from his life.

  His left hand tightened on the steering wheel as he cleared his throat and tried to find the right words. "I've made a mistake—more than one. I thought I could stay out of the mud, but it turns out that I'm covered in it. I don't have time to explain, but—" He stopped abruptly as the beep from her voicemail cut him off.

  He punched in her number again, knowing she wouldn't answer. It was two o'clock on a Wednesday, and she'd be teaching a class in archaeology at NYU, probably getting her students ready to go on one of the summer digs starting next month. Ever since she was a little girl, Sophie had been fascinated with history, with the past, with finding answers to century-old questions. Now she taught during the school year and went on digs in the summer—the perfect combination.

  It had been worth it—giving Sophie everything she wanted. Hadn't it?

  He glanced back at the phone. With Sophie's schedule, he doubted she'd get the messages for a few more hours. Maybe by then he'd be somewhere safe and they could actually talk. But if that didn’t happen…he had to tell her what to do. He couldn't wait another second. He couldn't keep pretending everything would be all right. He'd been preparing for weeks…just in case. He now had to execute the plan.

  Her voicemail encouraged him to leave another message.

  "Remember how much your mom loved spring cleaning and how we hated to get rid of the things we loved—like my beer bottle collection? Remember our secret stash? Well, I've left you something there. But in order to get it, you'll need to find the key that's hidden away at your favorite place in the world."

  He was being cryptic, but he couldn't risk the information being heard by the wrong person. Hopefully, only Sophie would be able to figure out what he was talking about. While she might wonder why he was sending her so far away, he needed to get her out of town as quickly as possible. That would buy her time.

  "Get the key and follow my instructions," he continued. "I know you'll have a million questions about this message. You'll try to call me, and I won't answer. You'll wonder why I didn't talk to you before now. You'll think twice about doing what I'm asking you to do, but you can't do that, Sophie. Above all, you have to be safe. You have to live a long life. It may not be the life you planned, but it can still be happy. So, no questions, no s
econd thoughts, no wondering if there is another way. You can't trust anyone. Not the police and definitely not the Bureau—no one. Whoever you think might be my friend or yours—isn't." The phone cut off again.

  "Dammit," he swore, seeing a vehicle appear on the road behind him. It could be just another motorist, but as the car picked up speed, he realized that his sins were gaining on him fast. He hadn't been smart enough. He hadn't done enough to make a clean exit.

  He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, his small sedan almost trembling with the speed required to get away. He'd once been an incredible driver, able to avoid almost any tail, but so many of his skills had broken down in recent years, he could barely remember the person he used to be. He had many regrets, but if he lost his life on this road, maybe no one would ever really know why. Maybe that was a good thing.

  He called Sophie again. "If I can find a way out of this, I will. In the meantime, do exactly what I told you. I want you to know how proud I am," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "Everything I did—the choices I made—were to make our lives better, especially your life. I feel sick at the heartache you may have to go through. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. You have always been my everything. If something happens to me, don't try to find out who is responsible. Don't go to my house. Don't go to your apartment. Don't trust anyone, especially not those you think are my friends."

  He should give her a name, but then she might think that was the only person to avoid, and there were more…more than he knew…

  "Just run," he continued. "Get rid of your phone as soon as you finish listening to these messages, so they can't track you. I'm sorry again, Sophie. I hope you can make a new life for yourself, and I pray one day you'll be able to forgive—"

  The phone flew out of his hand as his car was rammed from behind. He pushed the pedal all the way to the floor, but the vehicle behind him had more power. He swerved around another turn, down a straightaway, to a harder curve. He saw the narrow bridge ahead as his car took another hit.

  He yanked the wheel, trying to regain control, but the car skidded across the concrete. He was headed straight for the guardrail. He had some impossible hope he might clear the water and land on the other side of the pond, but that would take a miracle.

  The last thing he deserved was a miracle.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Her second-year university students were restless and as eager as she was for the academic year to be over. It was the first of June, and with the unusually hot weather, Sophie Parker could see their gazes straying to the windows as she spoke, the lure of summer interesting them far more than the study questions for the final exam they would take next week. She couldn't blame them.

  Six weeks from now, she'd be out of the classroom, too, taking eight of these students on an archaeological dig in Egypt. They would finally get a chance not just to read about history but to experience it, to feel the heavy, haunting atmosphere at a century-old site, to dig for something real, something from the past, something that could change what they knew of history.

  Discovery was an addicting thrill—one she'd never been able to shake. Unfortunately, she had to limit the thrilling moments to the summer months. The rest of the year, she was a professor at NYU, where she shared her passion with her college students.

  Glancing over at the clock, she realized it was one minute to four. Time to free them for the weekend.

  "That's it," she said. "I'll see you for our final exam next Wednesday. If you have questions, you can email me, or come by my office hours on Monday from ten to noon. Good luck with your studying."

  As the class ended, she answered a few questions about the exam, then gathered her things together. She was about to leave when a man in a dark suit entered the room. He was in his fifties and had short, pepper-gray hair and dark eyes. He walked toward her with a deliberate, purposeful step, the expression on his face intensely serious.

  Peter Hunt was an FBI agent, and one of her father's best friends. He'd gone to Yale with her dad. He'd been in her parents' wedding. He'd been Uncle Peter to her for as long as she could remember. And he had never, ever, visited her at work.

  A chill ran through her.

  Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

  Following Peter into the classroom was Karen Leigh—a tall, stylish blonde in her late-thirties, wearing a navy-blue pencil skirt and cream-colored silky blouse. Despite the hot weather, Karen looked impeccably cool.

  She'd met Karen once when she'd stopped in at her dad's office. He'd told her how much he respected Karen's instincts, which was why he'd made her assistant special agent in charge of the organized crime division, of which he was the head. The fact that both Peter and Karen had come to see her did not bode well.

  She tried to stay calm, not jump to conclusions, breathe, but her chest was tight, and she couldn't get any air into her lungs.

  "Sophie," Peter said, his dark eyes somber. "I'm afraid we have terrible news."

  "I'm sorry, Sophie," Karen added, compassion in her gaze.

  "Sorry about what?" She didn't really want an answer, because she knew that whatever they were going to say would not be good. "Where's my dad? Has something happened to him?"

  "He was in an accident," Peter said gently. "A car accident. He didn't make it, Sophie."

  "What?" she gasped, putting a hand to her heart. "What do you mean—he didn't make it?"

  "Your father drove through a guardrail and flipped his car into a pond. He died at the scene." Peter delivered the statement in a slow, purposeful manner. "I'm truly sorry, Sophie. This is not the kind of news I ever wanted to give you."

  She immediately started shaking her head in denial. "There must be some mistake. My father is not dead. He can't be dead. He's healthy. He runs every day. He's going to barbecue ribs for me this weekend—his famous pork ribs. We're getting together on Sunday to watch the Yankees. We're going to talk about my trip to Egypt next month." She blew out a breath. "Oh, God!" Her legs felt suddenly weak as she realized none of those things were going to happen.

  Peter grabbed her arm and led her to the chair by her desk.

  She practically fell into her seat.

  He squatted down in front of her and looked into her eyes. "Breathe, Sophie."

  "Tell me it's not true." She silently implored him to say it was some awful joke, but she could see the pain in his gaze.

  "I wish I could. I really do. Alan was a good friend. I can't believe he's gone, and I know how difficult this is going to be for you. The two of you became so close after your mom died."

  Burning tears pressed at her eyes. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to throw up. His words reminded her of the last time she'd heard horrible news. But her mom had been sick for years. They'd said their good-byes more than once. She'd known the end was coming, and it had been a blessing, because her mom had been suffering.

  But this? This sudden end to her dad's vibrant life was impossible to accept. It had been him and her against the world since she was sixteen.

  "Where did it happen? The accident? Was it here in the city?" she asked.

  "No, it was a few hours away—in northern New Jersey," he replied, as he stood up.

  "What? What was he doing way over there?" she asked, even more confused. "Did it have to do with a case?"

  "To be honest, we're not sure why he was in that location," Karen interjected. "We're trying to figure that out. When did you last speak to your dad?"

  She had to think for a minute. "Two days ago—Monday night. We haven't seen each other in a few weeks, and he asked me to come by on Sunday. I didn't actually commit to going to his barbecue, because I have finals next week, and I need to finish writing the test this weekend." She drew in another tight breath. "You're sure there's not a mistake?"

  "I'm sure," Peter said. "There's no mistake."

  "Was there another car involved? Were other people hurt?"

  "We're not sure if another vehicle was involved."
>
  His answer confused her more. "My father just drove off the side of the road? That doesn't make sense."

  "It appears he was driving at a high rate of speed."

  "What time did it happen?"

  "Around two o'clock this afternoon."

  Two hours ago. Her dad had died two hours ago, and she hadn't known, hadn't felt anything change. How could that be?

  "Where is my father now? I want to see him."

  "He's at the medical examiner's office in New Jersey, and you can't see him yet, Sophie," Peter said. "Not until they're done with the examination."

  She looked at him in confusion. "They're doing an autopsy?"

  "Yes. We need to know if Alan had a medical emergency, or if there were any substances impairing his judgment," Peter replied.

  "My father did not take drugs. He was in great health. He barely drank. You know that." Anger ran through her. How could Peter speak so clinically about her father?

  "It's protocol," he said. "We're also working with the New Jersey police to determine whether another vehicle might have caused the incident and left the scene."

  "Who found him?"

  "There was a 911 call from a hiker. He saw the accident from a good distance away, so he couldn’t render aid, but the police arrived within minutes. It appears that Alan was killed on impact, Sophie. He didn't suffer."

  "But you don't know that for sure, because no one was there for at least a few minutes." The thought of her father knowing he was trapped and dying made her sick to her stomach.

  "Sophie," Karen said, bringing her focus back to the conversation. "I know you're devastated by this news. We all are. But I need to ask you a few questions."