Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  T.J. rolled his eyes. “So, just now, when you whiffed on that ball, that was your way of taking it easy on me, huh?”

  “You were looking winded.”

  “Yeah, right. More like you were winded.”

  She loved how easy and relaxed he was with her. “You are so not ready for what I’ve got.”

  “Yeah? Show me.”

  She tossed the ball up, but instead of firing it across the net, she caught it and arched her brows at him. “Sure you’re ready? ’Cause I’ve been holding back.”

  “I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  “I think you’re trying to psych me out.”

  “Ah, so you have been listening.”

  “Half of the game is mental. Blah, blah, blah. Are you going to serve or what?”

  “Blah, blah, blah? That’s what my age-old wisdom is to you?”

  “Emphasis on the ‘age-old’ part.”

  She hammered the ball past him before he’d finished laughing at his own joke.

  “Hey! I wasn’t ready.”

  She slipped another ball out of her pocket. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

  He dropped into his ready posture, eyes slits. Competitive to a fault. “Let’s see you do it again when I’m not distracted by your yapping.”

  He sounded just like Chase, and for a moment, she let herself miss the days they’d spent together on the court, training for the next big match. He’d made drills fun. Teasing and flirting and, with perspiration gleaming on his arms and too-long hair flopping on his forehead with every shot, he’d looked . . . so . . . so . . . breathtaking. It had never occurred to her that he could so easily replace what they had. And it still hurt. God, it hurt.

  Shaking off the memories, she called, “One more and we’re done. Match point, Ace.”

  She powered a serve at T.J.’s feet, pouring every ounce of past hurt into it. He managed a weak return that she slammed back so swiftly it bounced right past him.

  She chuckled at his eye-blinking shock. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’ll get there.”

  His shoulders drooping, he strolled to the side of the court to retrieve his water bottle. Before she could regret putting him away so easily, she remembered that he wasn’t given to pouting when he lost. Something big was on his mind.

  Uncapping her own water bottle, she waited for him to join her by the tall, chain-link fence that enclosed the four tennis courts behind the Kendall Falls Health Club. They were the only players at the moment, thanks to the almost-daily thunderstorm brewing in the distance.

  “What’s with the long face?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He shrugged with one shoulder, then said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” Shoving his hand into the front pocket of his shorts, he withdrew a wad of damp bills. “I know it’s not what I owe.”

  Kylie looked from the money to his sweat-streaked face, but he avoided her gaze.

  When she made no move to accept the cash, he thrust it at her, his pink cheeks reddening. “I know my mom hasn’t been paying.”

  Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. The boy had major mother issues, and as far as Kylie could tell, not one of them was his fault. “That’s between your mom and the club.”

  “Well, it’s between the club and me now.” When still she hesitated, he scowled. “I’m not a charity case.”

  She released an indelicate snort. “Of course you’re not. You’re my friend, and I play tennis with my friends because I like to, not because they pay me.”

  The suggestion of a smile touched his eyes, and he pocketed the money. Angling his chin to indicate something over her shoulder, he said, “That guy’s been watching us awhile.”

  She glanced around to see Chase Manning sitting casually in the metal risers next to the courts. An unexpected shiver ran through her, and she shook it off. Don’t be an idiot.

  “Do you know him?” T.J. asked.

  She forced a smile at the teen. “Yes.”

  “Looks like a cop.”

  The distaste in his tone surprised her. “You don’t like cops?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t think about them one way or another.” He swallowed some water and recapped his bottle. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “You bet.”

  He gestured at the ball-littered court. “I’ll clean up before I go.”

  “Thanks.”

  As T.J. retrieved the hopper and began collecting tennis balls, Kylie slid her racket into its case, conscious of Chase’s steady gaze on her. The fit of the brace on her knee felt more snug than usual, and she resisted the urge to adjust it. She couldn’t help the self-consciousness. The scars underneath represented everything that had gone wrong with her life back then, with them.

  Easing through the gate, she took advantage of her sun-shaded eyes to study him as she approached. He had changed so much over the years. He wasn’t “cute” anymore, not like when he’d been her training partner. He’d been boyish then, and quick to smile only for her, and tease. Now, his jaw seemed made of granite, untempered by the nearly black hair that the wind feathered over his forehead.

  She paused at the bottom riser of the bleachers and took off her sunglasses, determined to show him, and herself, that she didn’t feel the need to hide behind them.

  Chase’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t touch his emerald-hard eyes. “Looked to me like you were a little hard on the kid.”

  The deep pitch of his voice washed over her like a caress, so sensual that she imagined his lips near her ear, his warm breath against her sensitized skin. Her pulse kicked into a higher gear, and she swallowed against the tightening in her throat.

  And what the hell did he mean by that anyway? Training was about challenge. He knew that better than anyone. He’d challenged her all over the court, until she was ready to drop from exhaustion, and still he’d pushed her. He’d been like that making love, too, when they’d finally taken that step, never fully satisfied until she was so sated she could barely move.

  Gazing at him now, unsure of how she should respond to his comment, she watched his smile become knowing, as though he knew exactly where her head had gone.

  Heat flushed into her face, and she set her teeth. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You were always merciless on the court, but I figured you’d mellowed by now.”

  “So you’re here to critique the way I give lessons?”

  “That forehand is still a killer. The kid never saw it coming.”

  “The ‘kid’s’ name is T.J. Ritchie. And, as you well know, he’ll be a top-notch player because of the way I challenge him.”

  A muscle in his temple contracted. “Not as good as you, though, is he? You just made sure he knew that.”

  She wished she’d left her damn sunglasses on. Then she could have looked away and he wouldn’t have known, but now she had no choice but to hold his gaze and not blink. The ebb and flow of his anger washed over her like a gulf wave eroding the beach, and she wondered why, after so many years, he still held so tightly to it. She wasn’t the one who’d gotten someone pregnant mere days after they’d split. Hell, maybe it hadn’t even been days. Maybe he’d knocked that girl up before she left.

  Okay, she could deal with this. Eye on the ball.

  “You stopped by for a reason?” she asked, pleased at her neutral tone.

  His expression didn’t change as he rose and stepped over the first row of bleacher benches, agile as a cat with none of the cuddly attributes. When he stood beside her, taller by at least six inches with shoulders twice as broad, he pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and flipped it open with professional precision. Game on.

  “The bat didn’t yield any evidence,” he said. “Looks like it was wiped clean before it was buried.”

  The knot in her stomach muscles loosened. Maybe she could avoid the media nightmare after all. Everyone could stop asking her if she was okay. She could get on with the tennis center, with rebuil
ding her life in Kendall Falls. Everyone could move on . . .

  Except Chase’s manner didn’t say, “It’s over. The case is cold again.” He couldn’t have looked more serious if he’d been aiming a gun at her, his finger on the trigger.

  His features softened, anger yielding to the expression a cop made when he was about to tell you a loved one had just died in a car accident. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  Every cell in her body went on high alert, and she squared her shoulders, raised her chin. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He glanced down at his notes for a moment, and when he raised his gaze, his brow furrowed. “The crime scene guys found the shirt your foreman mentioned. Looks like it was used to clean the bat before both were wrapped in a garbage bag and buried. The bag protected them from the elements.”

  “Lucky break,” she said, not feeling lucky at all. Trapped was more like it. Imprisoned by the past with no hope of escape.

  Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “Our forensics team found blood on the shirt. If you could stop by the lab later to provide a blood sample, they can determine if it’s yours.”

  “Okay.” She heard herself say it, heard her own voice, clear and steady and strong, while inside, she wanted to scream. What good would it do to know if the blood on that shirt belonged to her? They had no fingerprints, no DNA from the attackers. It wasn’t like they had to prove she was at the scene of the crime. She started to say that when she realized Chase watched her with an intense focus that made her heart skip. He wasn’t done with what he’d come to share. And whatever it was, it was bad.

  She felt sick for a moment, dizzy. If she hadn’t been a trained athlete, taught to run to the net to take control of the game, she might have decided to sit down after all.

  Instead, she met the intensity of his green eyes and gave him her game face. Nothing shakes me. Go ahead, aim at my head and see what happens. “Just tell me.”

  “The shirt . . . it’s a gym shirt from Kendall Falls High. It belonged to your brother.”

  7

  CHASE WANTED TO LOOK AWAY, BUT LIKE A RUBBERNECKER at the scene of a horrific accident, he kept his gaze on Kylie, waiting for her to buckle. She couldn’t possibly not react to this news.

  He thought of how she’d looked when he’d arrived. A fine film of healthy perspiration had glistened on her arms and legs, toned muscles flexing as she fired tennis balls at the kid like rockets. She’d chided and teased and taunted the boy with such affection, and just like that, she was there, the girl he’d fallen for so many years ago. Right there.

  With someone else.

  Ladies and gentlemen, meet Chase Manning, jealous of a damn kid.

  How stupid and immature could he get? But she did it to him. Kylie. The woman who ripped his heart out and stomped all over it all the way to the other side of the country. As if she couldn’t get far enough away from him.

  “How do you know the shirt is Quinn’s?” she asked, her steady voice breaking into his thoughts.

  He focused on her, on her blue gray eyes so level on his. She hadn’t even flinched at what he’d said about the shirt. She’d absorbed it, thought about it and come back with a logical question. No shock brimmed in those steel eyes. No denial. No anxiety. No nothing. What the fuck?

  Shaking his head, he consulted his notes even though he didn’t need to. He did need, however, to remind himself that he was there as a cop, not a jilted lover.

  “His initials are on the label,” he said. “There was only one Q.M. at Kendall Falls High back then. Maybe ever.”

  “So I suppose this means construction stays shut down,” she said. Even, steady, unshakeable. Incredible.

  He cleared his throat. “Until we can do a search for more evidence, yes.”

  “I’ve probably got a week of wiggle room financially. That’s it.”

  “I can’t promise we can get it done in a week. It’s a large area to cover, but we’ll work as fast as we can.”

  She nodded, not a smidge of slippage in her expression. “Okay then. Is that all?”

  He almost gaped at her. Is that all? For a moment, he thought she hadn’t gotten it, that maybe he should spell out what finding Quinn’s shirt meant. But, no, even the queen of denial couldn’t dodge the facts.

  “No, that’s not all,” he said. “I have some questions about Quinn.”

  “You should probably talk to him, then. Last time I saw him, he was in his office.”

  “My partner is talking to him now.”

  “Then what do you need from me?”

  “Do you remember where Quinn was at the time of your attack?”

  “I assume he was home. At least, he was when I left for my workout.” Ruthless control. Not even an eye-twitch of emotion.

  “Did you talk to him before you went?” Chase asked.

  “This is a waste of time.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Yes, I talked to him. He was supposed to go running with me but changed his mind at the last minute.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do. You two didn’t have the best relationship, as I recall. Did you have a fight?”

  “As I’m sure you can imagine, everything that happened that day before I went running is somewhat of a blur.”

  “Then let’s talk about what happened after you went running.”

  Her eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments before she clamped down on the flare of alarm. “I went over that with the police back then. I’m sure they kept notes.”

  He ignored the sarcasm. “I need you to go over it with me now. I’m new to the case.”

  She clenched her jaw so hard he should have heard teeth grinding. “What are you trying to do here?”

  “My job.”

  “You were there.”

  His confusion must have shown on his face, because she repeated it. “You were there, with me, afterward. I shouldn’t have to tell you about it.”

  Oh. He swallowed hard, remembering in high-definition sitting by her bedside when she woke from that first, emergency surgery. She’d been so beautifully out of it, disoriented from the pain medication as she groped for his hand with a loopy smile, telling him she liked the way he smelled. Like coconuts, she’d said. Rough and hard on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. Like you.

  He wasn’t feeling so soft and sweet on the inside at the moment. More like the middle of a compost heap. “I’m not talking about the aftermath,” he said tightly.

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re still bent out of shape that I wouldn’t open up to you about it back then, so you’re using your job as an excuse to force it out of me now. Is that it?”

  “If that’s the way you want to look at it. Either way, you need to tell me. From the beginning. In detail.”

  She didn’t respond for a long moment, as though debating her options. But he already knew she wouldn’t walk away. He’d issued a challenge that her competitive spirit, her drive to prove that she was A-OK, wouldn’t allow her to rebuff.

  Finally, she gestured toward the empty, paved track that circled the health club. “Can we walk?”

  He nodded and fell in step beside her, catching her scent on a shift in the wind. Cocoa butter and vanilla. It sparked a memory of being sprawled on the beach with her. The water had lapped at the sand near their bare feet. They’d been relaxed and happy, curling easily against each other. He hadn’t felt like that, like he’d been home, since. The very next day, while he sat in English class at Kendall Falls Community College, two fuckwads took her down with a blue aluminum baseball bat.

  She didn’t speak until they’d reached the first curve in the track, until the change in direction and the approaching thunderheads provided a cooling breeze. “You already know the basics. I was out for a run. Usual time. Usual place, on the path through the wooded area behind the Bat Cave.”

  He remembered that path like it led through his own back yard. They’d run it together a million time
s. He’d run it a million times since, catching himself still looking for clues, stopping sometimes to catch his breath at the spot. He remembered vividly what the area looked like after the attack—the plants, dead leaves and pine needles inside the circle of yellow crime-scene tape trampled flat and spattered with blood. Kylie’s blood.

  His own blood had ended up on the trunk of a nearby tree, which he’d mindlessly hammered with his fists the day she’d walked away from him.

  He glanced sideways as she put her sunglasses on, despite the growing darkness of impending rain. Tension bled off her like waves of heat, and his need to hear, in her words, what happened wavered. But he had to do his job.

  “Ky?”

  Her chin inched up, and her shoulders squared. An ingrained response. “There were two of them,” she said. “Both slim and wiry. Most likely teenage boys.”

  “Wearing?”

  “Blue jeans. Both of them. Ratty, with holes in the knees. The one . . . the leader wore a black T-shirt with some kind of red band insignia on it. Aerosmith, I think. The other one had on a gray T-shirt that had ‘XXL’ on the front, like a generic gym shirt.” She glanced quickly at him. “Not a Kendall Falls High shirt. Those are red and white.”

  He acknowledged that with a nod. “Neither was wearing the shirt we found with the bat. What else?”

  “Black ski masks. That was my first clue that I was in trouble. Funny, really. You’d think my first clue would have been the bat. The one in the black shirt was slapping it against his palm like . . .”

  Chase waited her out like a cop was supposed to.

  “When I turned to run the other way,” she continued, voice still strong, “the second guy was behind me, blocking me. I ran off the path, into the woods, but it was muddy and slippery. Maybe if I’d stayed on the path, I could have outrun them. I probably could have gotten past the second guy. He was smaller than the first, weaker.”

  Amazing, Chase thought. Monday-morning quarterbacking her own attack.