Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set

by Addison Fox, Cindy Dees, Justine Davis

  But the dog didn’t appear soothed, and the low, warning growl continued. Then the dog looked up at his people.

  “We got it, boy,” Quinn said to him. “Stand down. For now.”

  The dog quieted. Sat. As if he’d understood perfectly. But he kept those dark eyes on the woman nearing them now. What the hell was that about?

  He backed away as the mayor approached, giving the woman a chance to assure herself that her daughter was all right. Ms. Alexander gave the dog a wary look, although he was still sitting immobile. But then she turned to Ashley and enveloped her in a clearly heartfelt hug.

  The two had a muted conversation, out of which Brady could only hear phrases. “…so worried…you were just confused…don’t worry…the car…you could have died.”

  And a moment later Ashley was pointing to him.

  “This is Deputy Crenshaw, Mother. He and Mr. Foxworth—” she gestured at Quinn “—saved my life.”

  The woman frowned for an instant, but it vanished quickly. “I owe you both a debt of gratitude.”

  “My job, ma’am,” Brady said.

  “Yes. Well.” She glanced at Quinn, and the frown reappeared for an instant. But then she waved Brady to one side, asking to speak to him privately.

  “What actually happened, Deputy Crenshaw?”

  He gave her what would be a matter of public record anyway and kept his speculation to himself.

  “But…where was this?”

  “About three miles east on the highway, just before the Snowridge turnoff.”

  The woman looked mystified. “But she was only going to the market. Barely a block away.”

  He frowned. “She told me she was on her way to Snowridge to pick up something for you.”

  “She…did that two days ago.” She gave a sharp shake of her head.

  “Could she have gotten turned around? Easy to do if you’re not familiar with the area.”

  The mayor shook her head again. “She grew up here.”

  Brady’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember if he’d ever encountered Ashley Jordan before. Not that he remembered, but he would have graduated the local high school before she’d even started, so that wasn’t surprising.

  “Please, tell me how it happened.”

  But by the time he was finished, Ashley’s mother was again shaking her head, slowly this time, and to his surprise, there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes. And he chided himself for forgetting this wasn’t the mayor he was dealing with at the moment, it was Ashley’s mother.

  “I was praying this day would never come,” she said, almost brokenly. “It’s her father all over again.”

  “Her father?”

  Ms. Alexander shook her head as if to clear it. “I must ask you to keep this confidential.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ashley…has been having trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Mentally. It started six months ago, but it’s gotten worse. She was heading for a total breakdown.”

  “That’s…extreme.” And it did not compute, did not fit with what he’d seen today. Surely a woman who could deal so well with what had happened out there couldn’t have such a tenuous hold on sanity?

  “She lost her job,” her mother was saying. “Then her apartment, because there were…incidents. A couple of small fires and water overflows, that kind of thing. She’s become very forgetful.”

  Okay, that was pretty serious. “What was her job?”

  “She was working at one of the resorts over in Snowridge.” She gave him a sad smile. “A friend of mine is a partner there, but I couldn’t ask him to keep her on when she made so many mistakes. I finally brought her here to live with me, so I could see to her safety.” She shook her head again and sounded wrenchingly heartbroken. “She’s seeing a psychiatrist, but there hasn’t been much progress. If anything, it’s all gotten worse, because she’s developed anger issues.”

  “Anger at who?”

  “The doctor. Me. Anyone trying to help her, actually.”

  This was sounding incredibly grim, but Brady was still having trouble reconciling all this with the woman he’d seen today.

  “Tell me about the snow tires,” he said abruptly.

  Ms. Alexander blinked. “What?”

  “Where did you have them installed?”

  She frowned. “But… I haven’t. Yet. That’s why we agreed she would stay in town after the snow.”

  “Your daughter said it was done yesterday.”

  She stared at him. Then realization dawned in her eyes. Eyes that were, he noted, brown, far from Ashley’s vivid green.

  “Is that…what happened? She skidded because of no snow tires?”

  “I think it was a large factor, yes. So whoever told you they’d installed them, they have some explaining to do. Tell me who it was…”

  His voice trailed away as tears welled up and over now. Great. Now you’ve got the mayor crying.

  “Clearly she’s become a danger not only to herself now,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Deputy, I told her I planned to have snow tires put on, not that I already had. But she so often hears what she wants to hear. Or what she hears gets changed by the time it gets to her brain. The doctor has a technical word for it, but…”

  He drew in a deep breath. Let go of his first perceptions of Ashley Jordan, since clearly they were wrong. Or perhaps it was only because of the high-stress situation that she’d reacted so calmly. Or maybe she was so mentally detached she hadn’t realized what danger she was in. It was hard to believe, but obviously something was very wrong.

  He watched them both, Ashley without at least any visible qualm, get into the car. They left at a much more sedate pace, her mother apparently calmer now that she knew her daughter was all right.

  “Nan Alexander, went back to her maiden name after being widowed two decades ago, current age fifty-one, second term as mayor. That sound right?”

  Brady blinked as Hayley Foxworth quoted all this to him from her phone as soon as the car with Ms. Alexander and her daughter were out of sight.

  “I guess,” he said as he fiddled with his keys. “She was on the city council when I started ten years ago. Didn’t know about the name change, although I knew she was a widow.” Something occurred to him. “Ashley’s father?”

  “Andrew Jordan.” So she wasn’t married. Not that it mattered. Or maybe she just followed her mother’s lead and went back to her maiden name. Or never changed it. Or—“He committed suicide when Ashley was eight.”

  Damn. That sucked. “I didn’t know that part, either,” he muttered. No wonder her mother was so worried.

  “Can screw a person up, I would think,” Quinn said.

  “Twenty years later?” he asked, rather rhetorically.

  “Or maybe all along,” Hayley said gently.

  “There is that,” Brady said. He couldn’t share what her mother had told him in confidence, so he said only, “Her mother is concerned about her…state of mind.”

  “And the snow tires?” Quinn asked.

  He could share that much, he supposed. “Mother says she only told her she was going to have them put on, not that she already had.”

  “Hmm. Could be a simple misunderstanding. Unless she makes a habit of it.”

  He didn’t speak but saw that Quinn understood that was an answer in itself.

  It was tragic, sad, poignant and several other things.

  What it was not was his business. Not any longer.

  CHAPTER 6

  Two days later, Brady cleared the scene of a reported vandalism—after convincing the resident that his neighbor putting snow from shoveling his walk in a pile that spilled over onto his property was not, by definition, vandalism—and gave the disposition to dispatch. The voice that came back held amusement, and Brady suspected she ha
d known all along it was a nothing call. But in return he got cleared for lunch, and while he was conveniently here in town so he could grab something decent. And warm, like maybe a bowl of chili at Benny’s.

  On the way there, he passed the Hemlock city hall, a rather stark, modern building just a couple of blocks from the sheriff’s office. And that made him wonder if the mayor was back at work or at home caring for her daughter. Alexander had never seemed the soft, mothering type to him, but what did he know? His own incredibly gentle, loving mother could turn into a wildcat if someone she loved was threatened. Maybe Mayor Alexander was just the opposite.

  He made the turn off Mountain View and headed toward Benny’s. He should call his mom; it had been nearly a week since he’d spoken to her. Although she was so busy these days—

  His thoughts were derailed when he caught a glimpse of the tow yard down at the end of the street. He could see a silver sedan sitting just inside the gate, the driver’s window missing.

  How was she? She could be really hurting today. The second day after a jolt like that was often the worst.

  He made a sudden, impulsive decision, even though he’d been reminding himself for forty-eight hours now this—she—was not his problem. Still, a follow-up couldn’t hurt. It was just good PR, and Sheriff Carter was all about good PR. Not that they were in a place that needed it; these mountains generally—his complainant just now aside—bred a tough, hardy lot, and since they only called for help when they really needed it, they tended to respect it when it showed up.

  He knew where the mayor’s home was. They all knew, because if a call came in from there, it was immediately high priority. Such were the politics of public service. He wondered if perhaps they’d been called out there since Ashley had moved in and he just hadn’t heard about it. He tended to tune out the gripes and complaints about such things, since whining didn’t change anything. But maybe he’d check when he got back to the station this afternoon. Just to satisfy his curiosity.

  When he reached the large, imposing house at the end of Hemlock Hill Drive, he thought not for the first time that it looked like it belonged in the Swiss Alps rather than the mountains of Washington State. He remembered the modest, much smaller house that had once been pointed out to him as where the mayor used to live, before she became mayor. He wondered now if that was the house Ashley had grown up in. The house where her father had committed suicide one dark night, with his child just down the hall.

  He knew this because he had looked up the report in the archives. That had taken some doing, since it had been twenty years ago and those files had not been computerized. Sheriff Carter wasn’t fast on the uptake, nor did they have the money for all the latest and greatest or the manpower to maintain it, so they had only input the last ten years or so into the system. He’d almost given up the hunt when he’d realized half the files were out of chronological order, but his stubborn had kicked in and he’d kept looking.

  Once he’d read the report, he almost wished he hadn’t. How do you do that to people you supposedly love? If you can’t take any more, fine, but damn, to blow your brains out with your eight-year-old daughter only a few yards away? It had been hard enough when his own dad had died after a long fight with cancer—he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Ashley to know her father had left her by choice. True, the man’s psychiatrist had laid out a diagnosis of various mental issues, but still, to an eight-year-old…

  When he got to the door, he almost turned around and left, but again that stubborn kicked in. He’d just check on her and leave. An official visit. Well within his purview as the responding officer, as it were.

  When she answered the door, he was sure he probably gaped at her. She looked weary, haggard and much worse than she had after the crash. Her hair was tangled, she wore a sweatshirt so big it came almost to her knees and her eyes, those eyes that had been so vividly green and alive that day, looked…vacant. It took her a moment or two to recognize him, even after he’d reminded her of his name. Her reactions were slow, much slower than they had been that day, and he wondered just how strong those pain pills they’d given her were. He looked at her eyes again, noted the size of her pupils. Could be, he thought. So maybe this was just someone reacting to a temporary medication.

  Or not.

  Something was nagging at his memory as she hesitantly answered him; yes, she was sore, sorry she didn’t remember much, and was it you who pulled me out?

  Yes, she had to be on some strong drugs, he thought. And he’d heard a roughness in her voice that made him wonder if she’d been crying.

  And then it hit him, what had been tugging at him. Right now she reminded him of Liz. The onetime fiancée who not only couldn’t handle his job, but had come to hate him for it. The slightest difficulty had seemed too much for her fragile nature, real difficulty reduced her to near hysterics, and she blamed him for all of it. Or as his mother suspected, blamed him for not letting her manipulate him with her tantrums. Either way, it had actually been a relief when she’d left him for some slick sales type and had moved back east.

  There was no way in hell he wanted to deal with a woman like that again, even for work, if he didn’t absolutely have to. That helped him shove this right into the slot it belonged in, which was labeled not in my job description. Ashley was obviously alive, if not in good shape, but how she chose to deal with her situation was up to her. If he thought he was going crazy, he might self-medicate, too.

  “I just wanted to be sure you were all right,” he said briskly, professionally.

  “As you can see, I’m alive.” Her mouth twisted sourly. “Not well, but alive.”

  “Have you seen your own doctor?” Not your job, Crenshaw. “An accident like that can rattle you,” he finished neutrally.

  “I was…rattled long before that,” she said, so sadly it wrenched at his new determination to stay clear. “Don’t worry about me, Deputy Crenshaw. There’s nothing you can do about what’s wrong with me.”

  An out. Take it and run, idiot.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he said instead.

  She looked up at him, her eyes looking suddenly bright, not because she was any more there than she had been, but with the gleam of tears. “I’m going insane. Just like my father. Goodbye, Deputy Crenshaw. Thank you for…everything.”

  And then he was staring at a closed door.

  I’m going insane. Just like my father.

  Was it true? Her mother thought so, and he knew mental illness sometimes seemed to run in families, but that was about where his knowledge ended. His job was to deal with the fallout, not the causes.

  He walked back to his unit, got in and sat there in the SUV for a moment. With an effort he put it—and her—out of his mind and went back to work. One shoplifter in custody, a nightmare of traffic control while a semi that had misjudged a turn tried to get out of town without taking half the streetlights down, two stray dogs taken home and he was done. He signed out, got back in the unit—which he always drove, since you were never really off-duty in a place like Eagle County, where they were stretched so thin—and headed for home.

  He stopped at his lookout on the way. He got out of the unit and climbed up to the boulder he usually sat on here. It was his favorite place, this cliff-side vantage point only a mile out of town that had an amazing view of his beloved mountains. It was different at all times of the day and all seasons, whether it was with the sun painting the night sky as it rose, the clouds barreling over the top and down in a storm, or just a quiet day where the massive bulk of them cut a jagged line across the sky. Today, on a severe clear Northwest day, wearing their full winter coat of snow, they looked almost unreal, they were so staggeringly beautiful.

  Right now he needed the wonder this place gave him. Needed the peace, the solidity. Because he needed to figure out why the hell he always seemed to be drawn to people who needed rescuing. Or who needed it,
but didn’t want it. Or who needed it, but he couldn’t do it.

  Hero complex, Crenshaw? Is that what her shrink would call it?

  He was staring out over the mountains when he heard a bark. Odd—he usually had this place to himself; there was an official lookout a couple of miles farther down the road, where it was easier to park and there was a marker labeling the peaks you were looking at. He didn’t need any labels, he knew them all by name, not just these but everything from Hood to Adams to Rainier to Baker.

  The bark came again, this time sounding oddly familiar. He laughed at the idea of telling one bark from another, but stopped when he looked around and saw an indeed familiar dog running right at him. Cutter.

  He slid down from the boulder, having to dodge a spot where the snow had piled up beside it. The dog greeted him with dancing delight, as if he were a long-lost friend. It made him smile despite his mood.

  “Well, hi there, my furry friend,” he said and bent to stroke the dog’s head as Quinn and Hayley walked more sedately toward him. Holding hands, he noted, feeling a pang.

  They halted beside him, but they were looking out at the mountains. And then Quinn shifted his gaze to Brady.

  “Looks like a good place to find it.”

  Brady drew back slightly. “Find what?”

  “Peace.”

  And it came back to him, the certainty he’d had that this was a man who understood. A man who saw the need for it, who had been on that search himself. Brady’s glance flicked to a smiling Hayley, then back to Quinn. “Second only to where you found it.”

  Quinn’s smile could carry no other label than that of a satisfied man. “Yes.”

  “What made you stop here? People usually head down to the official lookout.”

  Quinn lifted a brow as Hayley laughed, a light, loving, beautiful thing. “You answered your own question.” So they preferred the solitude, too.

  “And,” Quinn added, “we discovered we’re picky about who we share our anniversary with.”

  Brady blinked. “That’s why you’re here? It’s your anniversary?”