Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  “They caught me easily. The one without the bat seemed reluctant, like he thought it was a joke at first. He kept saying, ‘I can’t.’ He sounded like he was crying, like he—” She stopped as her voice cracked for the first time.

  Chase curled his right hand into a tight fist. A crack in Kylie McKay’s voice was the equivalent of a screaming sob from any other woman. Instead of responding to it, he tried to nudge her along. “Did you recognize anything about their voices?”

  Shaking her head, she cleared her throat. “Just that they sounded like boys. The leader bullied the other one.”

  Chase’s steps faltered. This was new. “Bullied him how?”

  “He kept yelling at him, calling him names. Pussy and dickweed. He seemed kind of over the top with it, actually. Giddy one minute and mean the next, like he was high.”

  This also was new. He wrote “high” in his notebook and put two question marks next to it. “So the leader was aggressive toward his partner,” he said, more to prod her along than to clarify.

  She nodded. “He threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t hand him the bat.”

  “Wait, I thought the leader had the bat.”

  “He dropped it when he hit me.”

  “He hit you?” That sure as shit wasn’t in the case file, and he had to fight the swell of hot rage that started in his gut and blazed to the top of his head. The attack as he’d understood it from the report had been bad enough, and that had been without punches being thrown.

  “He was trying to subdue me, and I kicked him. In the shin, I think, and it made him angry. It was more of a slap than a punch.”

  She had the unemotional tone down to an art.

  “And after he slapped you?”

  “I started screaming my head off, so he put his hand over my mouth. It smelled like peanut butter and gasoline, like he’d put gas in his car before he had a sandwich.”

  Chase’s stomach turned, and it took all his cop training to stay on track. “And then?”

  “I bit him.”

  He almost smiled. He hoped she’d drawn blood.

  “Dumb move,” she said. “Really dumb, actually. He hit me again, with his fist this time, and I almost blacked out.”

  Bastard. Fucking bastard. And why the hell wasn’t any of this in the file? Had the cops not questioned her closely? “Keep going,” he prodded, his tone as level as hers. Maintaining that tone, and his distance, was getting harder, though.

  “He yelled at the other one to hand him the bat. The weaker one gave it to him, and that’s when I saw it the most clearly. It had ‘killer’ written in big capital letters in black marker on the grip. The one guy was crying by then, and the leader called him a fucking moron and told him to snap out of it and help him.”

  Jesus. “And then?”

  She compressed her lips into a grim line, her jaw tight.

  “I need you to tell me what happened next, Ky.”

  She stopped walking and faced him, pulling her sunglasses off at the same time. Gray blue eyes that flashed with silvery light under the darkening clouds clashed with his. “The weaker one held me down for what seemed like minutes, but it was probably only a second or two before he let me go and ran away. I thought it was over, and just as I started to roll over to crawl away, the leader hit me with the bat. I heard the crunch before I felt the pain, and then it was like my leg had caught on fire. The second time he swung the bat, I lost consciousness.”

  Chase stared into her eyes, floored by the unwavering way she stared back. Sick didn’t begin to describe the greasy feeling in his gut as the images in his head spun out. She’d been alone out there, bleeding and unconscious for who knew how long. Vulnerable and unable to defend herself from further harm.

  “Any other questions?”

  He blinked, surprised at her terse voice, her straight-on gaze. He’d helped train her, had witnessed her father’s coaching, and neither of them had had such ironclad focus or expected it.

  When one eyebrow ticked up, indicating the wane of her patience, he cleared his throat. “Do you remember how you got to the ER?”

  “The police think the one who ran away called 911. I suppose I should be grateful. I could have lost my leg.”

  Or bled to death. His rage returned, and it wasn’t the first time he understood why certain people sought vengeance.

  As the first roll of thunder rumbled in the distance, Kylie slid her sunglasses back into place with a hand that was steadier than Chase’s whole body. When she spoke again, her voice held no tremor, no doubt. “There’s no way my brother had anything to do with that.”

  8

  CHASE TAPPED HIS THUMBS ON THE STEERING wheel while he waited for his partner to finish talking to Quinn McKay. The rain had started, and it flooded down the windshield in torrents. Thunder boomed so violently that the truck shook.

  He couldn’t get the damn ache out of his throat, and he knew exactly what caused it: The woman he fell in love with was gone, probably forever. He couldn’t even reconcile the woman he’d just talked to with the woman he’d made love to for the first time. That Kylie had been open and trusting, easygoing and relaxed. Being that close to her, connecting with her in a way that no one else ever had, had been incredible, mind-blowing. He remembered how good she’d felt around him, so tight and hot and wet, and how he’d climaxed too fast. He’d regretted that, being so greedy for his own release that he hadn’t made it just as memorable for her. Luckily, she’d let him make it up to her later.

  The passenger-side door jerked open, startling him as Sam all but dived into the SUV to escape the slashing rain.

  It took Chase a moment to shake the memories, to refocus on work. “How’d it go with Quinn?” he asked.

  “Didn’t get much.”

  “Not surprising. The game face must be a McKay gene. What’d he say about the shirt?”

  “Said it rained that day, and he got wet. Took it off while he was hanging out at the abandoned house—”

  “The Bat Cave,” Chase said.

  “Right, the Bat Cave. Anyway, says he forgot it when he left.”

  “So whoever buried the bat could have grabbed the shirt when he needed something to clean it up. Can anyone vouch for him leaving the shirt?”

  “Says he was there alone.”

  Of course he was. Chase started the SUV, and the windshield wipers began to flap. As he steered into slow-moving traffic, he asked, “Where did he say he was when Kylie was attacked?”

  “In their parents’ garage getting drunk.”

  Chase’s brain seemed to give a little jerk as he thought about the note he’d made when Kylie mentioned the giddiness of the lead assailant. Could he have been drunk rather than high, as she assumed? “Was he drinking with anyone?”

  “Nope. Says he was all by his lonesome.”

  “Figures.”

  Sam flipped through his own small notebook. “Quinn was in my high school class,” he said as he scanned his notes and absently rubbed at the side of his hand like he had an itch. “Weird to think we all went to the same school.”

  Chase didn’t even remember Sam from high school, probably because Chase was a senior when Sam and Quinn were freshmen. And he had other things on his mind as a senior, such as behaving himself as Kylie’s three-years-older training partner, at least until her dad wouldn’t be inclined to kill him once he found out they’d fallen for each other.

  Chase shook the memories out of his head. Useless to go there now. “You remember anything in particular about Quinn?” he asked.

  “You probably know more about him than I did, considering you were dating his sister.”

  “Tell me anyway. I was biased.”

  “He struck me as one of those angry guys,” Sam said. “Quick to throw a punch.”

  A punch? Chase remembered strong words and attitude, but no punches. “You saw this in person?”

  “A couple times. Nothing major. You have any insight?”

  Chase shrugged. “The McKays were
n’t your typical family.”

  “That’s what happens when you’ve got a star athlete at home, huh? The siblings get resentful.”

  “It wasn’t just that. The family dynamic was . . . off.”

  “Off how?”

  “Most people don’t even know this, but Lara McKay isn’t Kylie’s biological mother.”

  “No kidding? She calls her mom, doesn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but Ky’s real mom died when she was a baby. Her dad, Nolan, remarried fairly quickly, though, so Lara’s the only mother she’s ever known.”

  “So Quinn and Jane are actually Kylie’s half siblings.”

  “A technicality most of the time,” Chase said.

  “But Quinn liked to poke at her about it?”

  “When he was at his surliest, he’d tell her their mom didn’t love her as much as she loved him and Jane. Bullshit, of course. I saw Lara in action, and she loved her stepdaughter just as much as her own kids.”

  “Did Quinn ever get physical with Kylie?”

  “Not that I saw. I mean, I wanted to punch his lights out more than once for the way he talked to her. Kylie shrugged it off, for the most part. I know it hurt her, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Not that she ever indicated, anyway. More often than not, she defended Quinn. Her dad didn’t pay enough attention to him, she’d say. That’s all he wants: attention.”

  “I have to say all this puts a disturbing spin on the shirt,” Sam said.

  Chase reluctantly agreed.

  “So what do you think?” Sam prodded. “You like him for the attack?”

  “What would be the motive?” Chase had his own ideas but wanted to hear Sam’s unbiased opinion first.

  “Jealousy,” Sam said.

  Check.

  “Resentment.”

  Check.

  “Sibling rivalry.”

  Check. Same page, all the way.

  “You want to bring him in?” Sam asked.

  “I think we should wait until the results come back on the shirt. If that blood isn’t Kylie’s, we’ll be at a dead end all over again.”

  Sam nodded. “Works for me.”

  “In the meantime, who else have we got?”

  “According to the case file, cops looked at the usual suspects, mostly competitors, considering the nature of the attack. But they didn’t come up with anything.”

  “They talked to me,” Chase said. And he’d had a hell of a time answering questions when all he could think about was getting back to the hospital. At one point, he’d leapt out of his chair, ready to take the cop’s head off when he suggested Chase might have resented the fact that Kylie was a better tennis player, that maybe his ego couldn’t take it and he’d lashed out.

  “I saw the transcript,” Sam said. “It pissed me off.”

  Chase cast a tight smile at his partner. “Thanks.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t ditch classes that day.”

  “Yeah.” He’d considered doing just that until Kylie chided him into going. Otherwise, he might have been on that trail with her, and maybe none of it would have happened. As it was, she’d said Quinn had promised to run with her, and she’d wanted the time with her brother.

  Which meant that when Quinn backed out on her, he’d known when and where she was going. Shit.

  “Mind if I throw out a bit of advice?” Sam asked.

  “I need some advice?”

  “You’re about to rip the steering wheel out of the dash with your bare hands.”

  Chase relaxed his grip and flexed his fingers. “Okay, sure, give me some advice.”

  “You shouldn’t be on this case, and you know it. You’re too close.”

  “You’re wrong if you think Kylie and I are close,” Chase said. “We couldn’t be further from close.”

  “You know what I mean. The boss would understand, considering. In fact, he’s already asked me to try to talk some sense into you.”

  “He’s afraid to try it himself?”

  “He just figures that as your friend, I’d have a better shot at getting you to see reason.”

  Chase angled his head forward, hearing the pops as taut tendons readjusted. No way was he walking away from this. Not when he might actually get the chance to nail those two fuckers to the wall for what they did to Kylie.

  “I get what you’re saying,” Chase said, “but Kylie and I will be fine.”

  9

  JANE MCKAY CHECKED HER REFLECTION ONE MORE time in the hand mirror from her desk drawer, irritated at her brother’s tardiness. If he didn’t show up soon, she was heading over to Macy’s to check out their one-day shoe sale before her next appointment. Rubbing a smudge of lipstick off her teeth, she wondered again why Quinn insisted they meet at her office instead of at a restaurant or one of their respective homes, but she had a feeling she knew what he wanted to talk about.

  The phone rang, and she glanced at the caller ID display, her heart doing a dance of anticipation when she saw who it was. She took a breath and let it out before snatching up the phone.

  “Hi, Tiger,” she said, pleased at how breathy she’d managed to sound.

  “We should talk.”

  Shoulders slumping at his lack of reaction to her “take me” voice, she leaned back in her black leather chair and swiveled so that she faced the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Kendall Falls’ premier boulevard lined with towering palm trees.

  “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “You know. When Kylie finds out—”

  “You mean ‘if.’ ”

  “What?”

  “If she finds out. Not when.”

  “Either way,” he said, “she’s not going to be happy.”

  “She’s not happy anyway.”

  “Jane.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine, what do you propose we do?”

  “I propose you tell her.”

  “Why should I tell her? What about you?”

  “You’re her sister. It should come from you.”

  Figures. Men were such cowards.

  “Jane, seriously.” He sighed into the phone. “She needs to know. The sooner the better, for all of us.”

  The buzzer that signaled Quinn’s arrival brought her head up. “I have to go.”

  “Wait. Will you meet me later?”

  She smiled in spite of her irritation. “Maybe.”

  “No maybe. I want you.” He paused. “Again.”

  “All right then. I’ll see you later.”

  When she opened the door to the waiting room, Quinn turned from the window.

  “You’re late,” she said before she registered the circles under his eyes and the curved, vertical lines that flanked the grim set of his mouth. Uh-oh.

  She gestured him into her office.

  The soles of Quinn’s shoes squeaked on the pristine, ceramic tile floor as he walked by, and Jane glanced down, noting that their footwear mirrored the sharp contrast in their careers. Her brother wore simple black loafers that had been well used, while Jane strode back to her desk in a brand-new pair of strappy sandals that had probably cost more than Quinn’s monthly car payment.

  Jane settled behind her mahogany desk, satisfied as always by the leathery crunch and crackle of her chair, while Quinn sank into the overstuffed easy chair provided for patients.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet like this,” he said.

  “You’re lucky I had a cancellation this afternoon. So what do you want to talk about that we couldn’t discuss at home or in public?”

  The horizontal lines of anxiety that seemed permanently etched into his forehead tightened like a squeezed accordion. “You know exactly why I’m here. And I didn’t want Kylie to see us. She’d get suspicious.”

  Jane picked up a pen and tapped it against the yellow legal pad awaiting her notes. “Okay, let’s talk. You go first.”

  10

  KYLIE WALKED TO THE HEALTH CLUB’S BACK PARKING lot in the humid, airless afternoon. The sun glared do
wn from a cloudless sky, turning the scattered puddles from the earlier thunderstorm into steaming pools.

  Several hours after the encounter with Chase, she still felt hollowed out and raw, memories so close to the surface that the air surrounding her seemed to vibrate with her own screams for help. The remembered scent of wet earth clung to her senses, and her fingers vividly recalled the squish of mud between them as she’d tried to claw her way away, to safety, before solid aluminum smashed her safe, beautiful world into a million jagged pieces.

  She’d pulled herself back together on the other coast, built a new passion—for coaching and teaching—and pretended the past didn’t exist. It didn’t hurt there, and life was easy. No sisters or brothers or friends hammering at her to open up.

  Talk, talk, talk. That’s all they ever wanted to do here. As if talking could fix everything that had gone wrong. Didn’t they realize that, more than anything, not talking helped? All the bad stuff faded away when she could focus on planning the tennis center. She loved shaping a place where kids who didn’t have rich parents would be able to learn the game and play.

  Like T.J. Ritchie. When she watched him play, she understood exactly why her father had pushed her the way he had, always demanding more, always pressuring her to play harder, play better, play smarter. T.J. had star power, and he improved every day on the court, increasing her anticipation of the moment when he realized he was destined to win. A lot.

  Time with him, time with the tennis center, had made all the other stuff fade into the background, had made it bearable to see the looks of concern—unnecessary concern, damn it—from those she loved. Eventually, she’d figured, the looks would fade, just like the nightmares and physical pain and bitter disappointment of dreams lost.

  Sighing, she thumbed the remote on her key ring to unlock the doors on her royal blue Jeep Liberty. After stowing her racket and bag behind the driver’s seat, she slid behind the wheel and hoped that a relaxing ride home with some fun Sheryl Crow blaring from the speakers would lighten her mood.

  Movement out of the corner of her right eye had her twisting toward it with a gasp as a black-clad figure rushed the passenger side of the Jeep. Before Kylie could draw breath for a scream, something smashed, hard and violent, into the windshield. She jerked back, arms flying up to protect her head, and scooted her butt down in the seat. Hunkered down, eyes tightly closed and heart thudding, she braced for the next blow that would no doubt shower glass all over her. And then he’d be in . . . and he’d . . . he’d . . .