KENTUCKY
WOMAN
As an infant, Ellie Stuart is adopted by a poor, but loving couple in Harlan, Kentucky. When she’s sixteen, they die in an accident, leaving her completely alone in the world. In college, she searches for her biological parents with the help of a law student, Quinn Parker.
But as she gets close to finding them, an assassin tries to kill her.
When they finally discover why - it may be too late - and Ellie and Quinn have to run for their lives.
KENTUCKY
WOMAN
A suspense thriller.
MIKE BROGAN
Lighthouse
Also by Mike Brogan
Business to Kill For
Dead Air
Madison’s Avenue
G8
This books is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016
By Mike Brogan
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-0-9846173-9-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015959783
Printed in the United States of America
Published in the United States by Lighthouse Publishing
Cover design: Vong Lee
First Edition
For my Kentucky pals.
Your sun will always shine bright.
Contents
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
Thirty Two
Thirty Three
Thirty Four
Thirty Five
Thirty Six
Thirty Seven
Thirty Eight
Thirty Nine
Forty
Forty One
Forty Two
Forty Three
Forty Four
Forty Five
Forty Six
Forty Seven
Forty Eight
Forty Nine
Fifty
Fifty One
Fifty Two
Fifty Three
Fifty Four
Fifty Five
Fifty Six
Fifty Seven
Fifty Eight
Fifty Nine
Sixty
Sixty One
Sixty Two
Sixty Three
Sixty Four
Sixty Five
Sixty Six
Sixty Seven
Sixty Eight
Sixty Nine
Seventy
Seventy One
Seventy Two
Seventy Three
Seventy Four
Seventy Five
Seventy Six
Seventy Seven
Seventy Eight
Seventy Nine
Eighty
About the Author
Acknowledgments
To all my Kentucky friends, classmates and pals for putting up with this Yankee transplant during my early formative years and teaching me southern hospitality.
To experts Thomas A Lyons III, MD, and Robert Gussin, MD for their medical advice. To genetic specialists at Family Tree DNA and Accurate DNA Testing Laboratories for their genetics guidance. To various Kentucky attorneys for their legal counsel.
To my writing colleagues for keeping me on track. To Rebecca Lyles for her eagle-eyed editorial expertise. To my International Thriller Writers colleagues for their helpful suggestions.
And finally, to my family for their usual generous patience with the novelist in residence.
ONE
LOUISVILLE
403 Brownlee Street
“Wimp …!” Elle Steward growled to herself as she rested her forehead on her Organic Chemistry textbook.
She was too exhausted to study more.
Eight straight hours of analyzing acid-based formulations had turned her brain to liquid silicone, a.k.a. silly putty. The problem was she had to study more. Tomorrow’s exam determined whether she got into the University of Louisville Medical School.
She lifted her bedroom window and the cool breeze swept in, refreshing her a bit. She lay back on her bed to rest her eyes, but her eyelids soon grew heavy and she sensed them falling. Maybe a quick nap. She started counting sheep, but soon was counting ex-boyfriends. Within seconds, she drifted off.
Noise!
Elle bolted awake in her pitch-dark room. She definitely heard a noise.
She listened.
Silence.
Something moved. Her roommate? No, Jenny was in Lexington.
Elle sat up, looked around, saw no one.
The window curtain fluttered. Did the breeze knock over the family picture on the dresser?
She turned toward the noise – as hands gripped her neck from behind, cutting off her scream. She tried to pull his hands away, but couldn’t.
Elle knew she was blacking out … knew her brain was shutting down … knew the last thing she might see in life was the gold metal band around her attacker’s ponytail.
TWO
LOUISVILLE
703 Brownlee Street
Ellie Ann Stuart stared at eighty-four-year-old Celeste, who stared at her empty plate. Ellie worried that Celeste stared a lot, and forgot a lot, and lost interest a lot.
“Would you like more toast?” Ellie asked.
“Where is my toast?”
“You ate it, Celeste. Want some more?”
“No, thank you, Annabelle.”
Sometimes Celeste called her Annabelle, the bacon slicer at Kroger. And sometimes she called her, Karl, the mailman.
Ellie loved Celeste Barclay, but hated what Alzheimer’s was doing to her mind. Each month the disease deleted more of her memory, dialed down the dimmer switch on her brain. There was no cure. All Ellie could do was keep her nourished, and comfort her when she seemed afraid or confused.
Ellie check her watch. Time for school. She looked in the hall mirror. As usual, her sleep hair made her look like the Bride of Frankenstein. She blinked and saw her eyes were bloodshot from studying late again, obscuring the fact that one eye was slightly bluer than the other. Her pale skin suggested too many hours indoors, hunched over textbooks.
The doorbell rang. Sarah Barnes, the next-door neighbor, walked in right on time. Sarah, a Godsend, cared for Celeste when Ellie attended classes at nearby University of Louisville.
“She’s just finishing breakfast,” Ellie said.
“Good. See you around noon?”
“Right.” Ellie turned to leave.
“Ellie …?”
“Yeah?”
Sarah looked concerned. “Be extra careful today!”
“As always …”
“Extra extra careful!”
Sarah sounded serious. Ellie waited for her to explain.
Sarah flipped open the Courier Journal newspaper and pointed to a headline.
FEMALE U OF L STUDENT ATTACKED IN HOME!
&nb
sp; Ellie was shocked to read the attack took place on Ellie’s street, just blocks away.
Sarah shocked her even more when she said … “The girl’s name was Elle Steward. Elle … not Ellie, like you … and also S T E W A R D, not your spelling, S T U A R T.”
An icy chill shot through Ellie’s body. She was speechless.
“So be extra careful, hon.” Sarah patted her arm.
“I will,” Ellie said, still stunned by the girl’s similar name.
She grabbed her backpack and coffee mug and walked outside. She placed the mug in the handlebar holder of her old beat-up Schwinn Roadmaster and pedaled her way down the street toward the U of L campus.
The morning sun was warm and the sweet scent of lilac and peonies reminded her of back home in Harlan. She couldn’t wait to visit after exams.
Ellie pumped harder as she approached the steep hill she called Mount Cardiac. Despite her loud huffing, she heard a truck start up. Then she saw it ahead … a dark blue van on the other side of the street, pulling away from the curb, driving in her direction.
Speeding …
Right at her for Chrissakes!
She jumped the bike up over the curb and raced toward the protection of some trees.
Her front tire hit a root and she flew up over her handlebars, slammed against the tree, scraped her cheek and landed between the tree and the sidewalk.
The van screeched to a stop on the other side of the tree. The driver stared at her. He looked unapologetic, disappointed, like maybe it wasn’t an accident, like maybe he was considering another run at her.
A huge Allied Moving Lines truck turned onto the street.
The van driver saw it too, and sped away.
What the hell just happened? Did the driver loose control – or was he some macho road-rage psycho jerk trying to scare the hell out of me? If so, he succeeded.
Or … did the guy actually try to hit me? That made no sense.
She touched her cheek and came away with tiny splotches of blood. Getting up, she brushed herself off. Her ancient Schwinn had a few more dents, but was rideable the last block to campus.
The far more serious crime was her empty coffee mug. Without coffee, she had no personality. She pedaled down to the corner Starbucks, and even though her budget couldn’t absorb such an extravagant expenditure, she bought their cheapest, smallest latte.
Then she got back on the Schwinn and pumped off toward campus.
Huntoon Harris stuffed a wad of Mail Pouch tobacco behind his lower lip as he sat in his van, watching Ellie Stuart walk out of Starbucks and bike off toward the U of L campus.
She’d reacted much faster than he’d anticipated. He should have attacked her from behind.
So, she’d won this battle.
He’d win the war.
Harris made a phone call, reported in, then hung up.
He checked her class schedule printout on his passenger seat. He knew exactly where she’d be, and when. He shoved a full clip into his Glock 19.
Then he tightened the gold band on his ponytail.
THREE
Ellie parked her wobbly Schwinn at the University of Louisville’s Student Center, then wobbled herself toward its entrance. She felt leg pain from hitting the oak tree and knew she looked as bad as she felt.
But at least the campus looked beautiful this spring morning. She smelled the crisp, clean air and saw sunshine glinting gold off the top of Unitas Tower and the nearby Red Barn building. Home Sweet U of L. She loved being here.
Sipping her Starbucks Café Latte, she limped toward the door. Beside her, she sensed a tall male student hurrying toward the same door.
He suddenly tripped, went airborne and bumped her elbow, spilling coffee down her jeans, but braced his fall on the steps.
“Oh, crap!” he said, “I’m so sorry.”
She looked at her second empty coffee cup of the morning. “It’s okay, these jeans are ancient.”
“I’m an ass! I wasn’t even looking. And my bum knee sorta gave out.” His face was beet red.
“It’s okay, really.”
She recognized the tall, handsome upperclassman with light green eyes. He was the former co-captain of the U of L football team and an all-Big East Conference player. She’d seen photos of him catching touchdown passes in the Louisville Cardinal school paper.
“The least I can do is buy you another coffee and pay your dry cleaning bill.”
“Dry cleaning would disintegrate these jeans,” she said, remembering she paid a dollar-fifty for them at Sam’s Second Hand Shoppe. “But coffee sounds great.”
Inside, he bought two coffees, handed her one and they sat at a corner table.
“Quinn Parker,” he said, offering his hand.
She smiled and shook it. “Ellie Stuart.”
“Again, Ellie, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s really okay.”
She sipped her coffee fast, before the coffee demons slapped it out of her hand again. It tasted delicious. “So, Quinn, what are you studying?”
“Law. I’m second year here at Brandeis Law.” He looked down at her clothes. “Damn, I’ve committed a felony!”
“What felony?”
“Aggravated assault of a U of L sweatshirt.”
She smiled. “You have the right to an attorney! But don’t worry about the coffee stains. They’ll wash out.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“So, Ellie, what’s your major?”
“English. Pre-law. Do you like Brandeis Law?”
“Love it. The professors are terrific. If you’re interested, I could show you around the law school sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
“Ellie, y’all got a deep southern Kentucky accent!”
“Y’all got right good ears. Quinn.” And right good everything else, she couldn’t help but notice. His broad shoulders, tall muscular build, thick brown hair and nice, easy smile were all a little overwhelming in the Big Man on Campus.
“Where’s home, Ellie?”
She hesitated. Once he knew her background, he’d vanish like water on sand. But what the hell, she was who she was. If he had a problem with it, so be it.
“I’m from way down in hill country.”
“Where in hill country?”
“Harlan.”
He smiled. “I hear the hills are mighty steep down there, Miss Ellie.”
“Yep.”
“Just how steep are they?”
“Why Mr. Quinn, those hills be so steep you gotta look out the chimney to see the cows coming home.”
They both laughed at the ancient joke, then his smile vanished. “Jeez, your face!”
“What?”
“I scraped that too!”
“No. A guy in a van did it. He damned near hit me while I was riding my bike this morning.”
Concern flashed in Quinn’s eyes. “Was it intentional?”
She paused. “I think so. He drove at me like he was trying to frighten me … or worse.”
“And …?”
“He scared the crap out of me!”
Quinn smiled. “A stalker?”
“No. A jerk!”
“You should report it to the police.”
“I will after class.”
They sipped their coffee.
“So Harlan, huh.”
“Yep. I love it.”
“You visiting your folks after exams?”
She paused. “No.”
She hesitated again, then decided to explain. “Actually, Quinn, I was adopted by the Stuarts as an infant. They were the best parents in the world. But a drunk boater slammed into their rowboat, killing them when I was sixteen.” Her chest tightened as she remembered the night at Lake Cumberland when she identified their broken, bruised bodies. Painful images branded onto her memory forever.
“I’m sorry, Ellie.”
She nodded and sipped more coffee. “Since then, I’ve tried to find my birth parents, but have
n’t had any luck.”
He nodded and seemed sympathetic.
“Just two days ago, I phoned the Harlan Courthouse and asked a clerk to check for a record of my adoption. While he was looking, the line went dead. I’ll try again after exams.”
He nodded. “You might be able to file a petition to get some information. I’ll ask my law professor and - ”
“How’s my Quinny?” a woman said behind them.
Ellie turned and saw a tall stunning blonde walking toward them. The blonde smiled at Quinn, kissed him on the cheek, then stared at Ellie’s stained, dirty clothes as though she’d crawled from a sewer.
“I’m fine, except that I spilled coffee all over Ellie Stuart’s jeans here. Ellie, meet Jennifer DuBois.”
They shook hands.
Jennifer looked down at Ellie’s jeans. “Well at least, they’re old!”
“They’re Jurassic Period,” Ellie said, smiling, but noticing that Jennifer’s designer slacks and silk blouse probably cost as much as Ellie’s annual clothing budget.
Jennifer put her arm around Quinn’s neck. “Quinny, we have to leave now or we’ll be late for my rehearsal.”
“Tell me again, why do I need to rehearse if you’re the debutante being introduced into society?”
“So you can learn how to walk.”
“I learned when I was one.”
“Yes, but you have to walk just right for this.”
“I’m a terrific walker! Shuffling, strutting, prancing, knuckle-dragging, you name it!”
Ellie laughed and Jennifer shot her a hard look.
“Come on, Quinny! We’ll be late!”
“Okay.” He shrugged and stood up. “Ellie, I’ll get back to you on that legal question. Do you have a phone number?”
She wrote her cell number on a napkin and handed it to him.
Jennifer looked like she wanted to incinerate the napkin. She pulled Quinn from his seat and they hurried away.
Ellie watched them walk outside. Jennifer was stunning, elegant, poised and obviously came from money. They were a beautiful couple. The kind she’d seen in fashion magazines. A world she’d never experienced … and probably never would.
Ellie checked her watch. One minute to class. She hurried out of the Student Center as a red Porsche sped by, Jennifer driving, Quinn in the passenger seat.
Kentucky Woman Page 1
