Sometimes he wondered if that was why, as a grown man, he continued to pine hopelessly after her. Because he knew that it was hopeless. Because he knew that Caitlin Scott—no, Caitlin De Angelis—was the one woman in Hamlet he could make a play for and never, ever win.
In the end, it didn’t matter anyway since, a year ago, she went and got herself killed by her own deputy.
To mention Mason Walsh in Hamlet was like pouring gasoline on a bonfire: everything exploded. There were those who were convinced he was innocent, and those who wished for vigilante justice to visit their small town. For the crime of gunning down their beloved sheriff, the ruthless in Hamlet would’ve liked to see him swing.
Thirteen months out from her funeral, Rick still couldn’t believe she was gone. He bypassed her old office whenever he could. He wasn’t the only one, either. Even Sly set up his desk in the old broom closet for the days he needed to make appearances inside the station house. Caitlin’s sheriff’s badge resting poetically on her desk was a shrine left to the fallen woman.
As if, in the silence, Willie’s thoughts had strayed in the same direction as Rick’s, the woman was looking wistfully in the direction of what had once been Caitlin’s office.
Rick cleared his throat. “Hey, Wil, those buzzes from before? What were they about?” he asked, pointedly drawing Willie’s attention away from the closed door. He rather her remember that she was annoyed at him than think about what had happened to her cherished HSD.
“Oh, uh. Right.” She shook her head, leaning back in her desk chair, tucking the binder away. “Well, it wasn’t me calling, actually. It was Natalie.”
Rick kept his features neutral as he stood at rest, hands folded behind his back. He knew it. He knew it. “Really? What did she want?”
“She didn’t tell me. Only called in to report you weren’t answering and she was getting worried. You know, Ricky, I think that she’s gotten a little fond of you.”
He wanted to sigh and just managed not to. Natalie Newton. At twenty-two years old, she was more than twelve years younger than Rick. Before he left for the Marines, there was no way the girl would’ve even been on his radar. Now that they were both working under the Hamlet sheriff, he couldn’t escape her.
Hamlet was a small town, less than two hundred people total. He knew damn well that pickings were slim. Somewhere along the line, she decided that he was the best she could hope for. He was a local who left Hamlet only to return a world-weary man, and Natalie made it no secret that she was interested in Rick.
When she couldn’t snag his attention by going down to Thirsty’s and pestering him to buy her a drink, she came up with a new plan. As the one-year anniversary of Caitlin’s murder slipped by last month, Sly decided it was time to add to their numbers.
Willie transitioned from part-time deputy to full-time secretary. With Sly as the sheriff of Hamlet, that left two deputies to serve under him: Rick and a gangly eighteen-year-old kid called Ethan Oliver. Natalie applied to be the third and was deputized at the end of July.
Since then, Rick did everything he could to keep their relationship professional. He didn’t want to hurt the kid. She was a sweet little thing. Of course, that was the problem right there. He needed someone tough, someone strong, someone he wouldn’t be afraid to hurt. And Natalie, with her porcelain skin and long white blonde hair, reminded him of a doll. Fun to play with, but way too easy to break.
He even tried to get Sly to tell her that it was against policy for two members of the Hamlet Sheriff Department to form a personal relationship outside of work. Besides the fact that that was bull—and since Sly was his best friend, he already had a personal relationship with him—Sly thought it was funny, watching the big former Marine dodging a kid half his size. And if Natalie finally wore him down? Sly was all for it. He wanted Rick to stop mourning a ghost and find a woman that would complete him.
Easy for Sly to say. He’d been in a relationship with Maria De Angelis for almost two years.
Lucky bastard.
Sly wasn’t the only one who wanted to see him settled down. Willie was right there with Sly, giving Rick a little push right toward Natalie.
“I know she’s a little… mmm, aggressive, but she’s a good girl. I know her parents. The Newtons are a good family, too. You could do a lot worse.”
So she was trying to play matchmaker again.
No, thanks. That was the last thing he needed.
“Has Sly reported in yet?” Rick asked.
“Not yet, sug,” Willie said, a glint in her eye that told Rick she knew exactly what he was doing and that, just this once, she’d let him get away with it. “Sheriff said he was planning on stopping in, doing some work if the computers were up and running, but the line went down earlier. When I let him know, he said something about catching a late dinner.”
Which meant he swung by Ophelia. If he heard from Sly tonight, he’d be surprised. Then again, if that outsider found her way to Ophelia—and with the help he gave her, she should—Maria and Sly would have another guest for supper.
It was a running joke that Sly was absolutely devoted to Maria. But Maria? Her true love was her bed and breakfast. She’d take a guest in a heartbeat, even if she already had plans with Sly.
Willie stood up from her desk chair, reaching for the leopard print coat she had resting on the back.
“Now you’ve checked in and Ethan’s taking the late patrol, I’m finally going home to my kids. You can walk me out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rick waited for Willie to shimmy on her coat, pack up her tote, and grab her bag. Once she was ready, they both headed out to the parking lot together.
In the time since he’d parked and gone inside the station house, night had fallen completely on Hamlet. The moon was starting to peek out from behind the line of trees that bordered the street.
“Phew.” Willie shivered. “Is it colder than a witch’s tit out here, or is it just me?”
“It’s October. Gets cold in October.”
“Yeah, well, thank the Lord for automobiles with heat.”
Rick murmured his agreement as he followed her around to the backside of the station house. His truck was parked out front, closer to the entrance, but Willie wanted him to walk her out to his car so that was what he was going to do.
Opening the door to her beat-up, old VW bug for her, Rick stood back so that she could climb inside. Once she had, and she’d turned her car on so that the heat could kick in, she pursed her lips. Rick was sure he saw the smile she tried to hide.
“I almost forgot to tell you. Once he finishes his tour of town, Ethan will head back to watch over the station house. Natalie goes on to relieve him in the morning. Don’t want a breakfast buzz on your day off? Might want to turn your radio back to silent mode again.”
Busted.
She might be giving him a little push, but he knew damn well that if Willie really thought Natalie Newton was a good match for him, it would be one hell of a shove instead.
A begrudging smile split his lips. “Thanks for the head’s up, Willie.”
“Any time, sugar.”
7
Tommy peered intently at his screen.
He usually preferred to drive himself. Apart from needing to feel like he was in control, it was better if Boone rode shotgun in case the bodyguard needed to keep his aim steady at a moment’s notice.
Not today. Now now. At the last rest stop, the closer they got to the blip on the screen they were chasing, the more anxious he got until he snapped at Boone to take the wheel.
He stayed quiet as he watched, focused on making sure that the blip remained motionless. Since Boone couldn’t risk getting pulled over with his arsenal in the trunk, he was forced to toe the speed limit while they traveled down the highway.
Tommy was worried that Grace would keep her head start since they couldn’t close the gap fast enough. Once the blip appeared to have stopped, he urged Boone to go a little faster. He wanted to catch up
to her before she continued in her flight.
Tommy refused to let her get away again. It took him nearly two weeks when she moved last time, no thanks to that nosy bitch who interfered, and Tommy almost lost his mind before he tracked her down in Dayton.
When he did, he spent three nights parked outside of her apartment complex just to assure himself that she was safe—and alone.
He’d hate to think what he’d do if she wasn’t in there alone.
Or if it took one more day to find her. He had blown a million dollar deal and pissed off two Russians when he stood them up to follow a bogus lead. He couldn’t risk Grace slipping out of his grasp again, not so close to the wedding.
Hence the tracker.
As far as he could tell, she took off in her own car and had at least a four-hour jump on him. With the Jaguar’s speed, Tommy made up more than half the time by taking back roads and obliterating the speed limit. Once they got on this last highway, he was forced to slow. Now, with Boone behind the wheel, it seemed like the car was crawling. The closer he was getting to the tracking device, the longer it seemed to take.
The display on his screen mocked him. The tracker was accurate within a few feet, though it wasn’t advanced enough to pinpoint the location exactly. He should’ve been able to use her phone to help find where she was running to, except she must have turned it off because it was useless to him.
No signal.
Running his hand through his perfectly styled blond hair in frustration, Tommy bit back a snarl. Nothing was working the way he wanted it to.
The bug he had Boone attach to her car was Mathers tech, created by an arm of one of his side projects. He wouldn’t trust Grace’s safety or her whereabouts to technology that he didn’t have a hand in creating. The only downside was that his team wasn’t able to churn it out to his exact specifications before she bolted again. So he was left with a tracker that tracked in general terms without telling him exactly where he could find her.
Oh, how his ballerina loved to dance away. It was as if she was endlessly playing hard to get, though they both knew that there would only be one winner of this game.
And Tommy Mathers never lost.
Impatience had him coiled up tight, like a viper prepared to strike. He jabbed his finger at the screen, daring the red dot to move. It didn’t. It had been like that for close to an hour now.
When they were far enough out, he wondered if she’d stopped for the evening, maybe gotten a bite to eat. But that was before he closed in on the location and saw that there was nothing around them for miles but trees and the endless highway.
“The tracker has her location marked in about two hundred feet. Keep an eye out for her. She’s stopped somewhere nearby.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t know where she’s hiding, but it’s got to be out on this road. Witnesses might be a problem.”
“I’ll take care of any problems.”
Tommy nodded. Just what he expected to hear. “Let’s make this quick. We’ll pick her up and carry her off if we have to, but I want Grace back home with me tonight.”
Boone nodded in silent agreement and eased off the gas.
As much as he wanted to snap at Boone to speed up, Tommy understood why the man slowed down instead; it would be easier to search the shoulders that way. And if the drivers behind him thought they were looking for a spot to pull over, it might appear as if Grace was waiting for them to find her.
Tommy tapped his pointer finger on the dash. He had to double-check. According to the Jaguar’s navigation system, the next exit wouldn’t be coming up for at least another mile. If Grace’s car was stopped, it had to be on the side of the road.
But that didn’t mean that she would be there, too. His insides twisted. Something warned him that this pick up wasn’t going to be an easy one.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered. “Where are you, sweetheart?”
Cars sped past. Echoes of honks, the bleat of irate drivers, rang out in intervals as Boone’s driving slowed down to a coast. He stayed in the left lane, ticking off the other travelers, going at his own pace as the pair of them scanned the highway for any sign of Grace or her little grey car.
Tommy split his attention between the road and his phone. The red blip on the screen grew closer and closer until, leaning forward in his seat, he commanded Boone to pull over.
Boone immediately obeyed. Cutting off a soccer mom in her minivan, he crossed over two lanes until he was skirting the shoulder.
Throwing the car door wide open, Tommy leaped out and strode purposely down the empty stretch of road. Once he had walked the length twice, his fury blinding him to just how close some of the speeding cars came to hitting him, he accepted that she wasn’t here—even if his tracker said she was supposed to be.
He pulled his phone out of his suit jacket. Opening the app, he selected one of the options with a stab of his pointer finger. An instant later, a loud, keening wail sounded from the tall grass that edged the shoulder.
Tommy pointed into the greenery with a shaky hand. “There.”
Boone waded into the grass. It only took him a few seconds to find the source of the sound. Bending low, he shoved the willowy blades aside, searching the dirt. When he straightened again, he had the dime-sized tracker nestled in his meaty palm.
Just like Tommy thought. Grace had found the tracker, and she had gotten rid of it. She might have been standing at this point not so long ago, though she certainly wasn’t here now. Where was she?
Where did she go?
Why did she insist on always running from him? She should know by now that he had no intention of stopping the chase until he had her right where she belonged—at his side.
At least there was one thing he knew for sure: the device had failed him.
Tommy gritted his teeth together. “Crush it.”
Boone’s hand folded into a fist. He squeezed. The wail died.
Wiping the mangled pieces of metal and circuitry from his hands, he asked, “What now, sir?”
“Get in the car.”
Boone knew from his tone not to argue. Without a word, he climbed out of the foliage and marched over to the Jaguar. He opened the driver’s side door for Tommy, then folded his big body up and into the passenger seat.
Tommy climbed smoothly into the driver’s seat, pausing long enough to adjust the seat to suit his slender height rather than Boone’s massive bulk, before he slammed his foot on the gas and took off down the highway.
The way he saw it, she either got rid of the bug and kept on going, or she turned around and backtracked. So long as she kept her phone off, he had no idea. The tracker was useless since she discovered and removed it.
Where are you, Grace?
The speedometer cranked up, sixty miles per hour a distant memory as Tommy pushed the Jaguar to go faster. He weaved around cars that seemed to be going at a snail’s pace.
Eighty, ninety, one hundred—
He stopped worrying about what would happen if the cops stopped them. They’d have to catch up to the Jaguar first.
His voice came out calm as he kept his expensive dress shoe tamped down on the gas pedal. “She was here, Boone.”
Boone leaned back in his seat, the only clue that he felt the speed in the way his hand inched up toward the grab bar. “That’s right, sir.”
“We use this spot as a starting point. Get your phone. Find me the nearest hotel, book us a floor. Until I have her with me again, this will be our new base of operations. Anyone wants to see me? They come here.”
Boone already had his phone in his left hand. Tearing his gaze from the dash, he started to pull up his maps app. His military mind was, as always, one step ahead and he proved that when he asked, “What about Henry?”
Tommy’s lips thinned. “I’ll tell my father that this is where Grace has decided to get married. He won’t butt in if he thinks I’m finally getting a wife out of this.”
“The old man won’t be happy if y
ou go back to the city without her,” Boone pointed out.
“I’m not worried about that.” Tommy dared a glance over at his bodyguard, determination a terrifying spark in his dark blue gaze. The speedometer danced passed one twenty. “I don’t plan on it.”
Was that ribbon purple? It looked purple.
God, please let it be purple.
She was so tired, and night had fallen fast. The space between the street lights was so wide, each lamp was a spotlight that broke up the gloom. They were pretty, but kind of pointless; the lamps didn’t really help her see. Grace squinted, saving her poor eyes, then flashed her high beams at the tall, black post.
Leaning toward the windshield, she searched for the ribbon. It was a thick piece wrapped around the middle of the post, tied neatly in an oversized bow. And it was purple.
Yes.
She turned right.
The police officer told her that she wouldn’t be able to miss the bed and breakfast once she made it to Orchard Avenue. She wasn’t so sure about that. It was easy to find landmarks like tree stumps and purple ribbons. What was she supposed to be looking for now? She remembered he said something about a sign.
Okay. Let’s look for a sign.
Grace eased down the road, hoping something would stand out. Years ago, during one of her rare vacations from the dance company, she spent a weekend in Maine. The B&B she relaxed in had looked like a house from the outside, so she didn’t think it was too weird that this was a residential street.
The fact that it was an empty residential street, with a forest of trees creeping up on the few houses that dotted the avenue, made her a bit nervous. Small town, she reminded herself. And the welcome sign out front did say that there were only a hundred and ninety people who lived in Hamlet.
Grace believed it.
Apart from the cop and his cruiser, she hadn’t seen another driver since she left the highway behind. She passed some houses, and the inn toward the front of the town, but no people. She liked to think it was because it was Sunday and not that Lucas De Angelis had sent her to some weird Stepford-like town.
I'll Never Stop (Hamlet Book 4) Page 7