Cold Midnight

by Joyce Lamb

  Her heart fluttered, but she remained impassive. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because when I want something, I go for it.”

  “You mean, when you can’t get what you want, you go for what you consider the next best thing.”

  He had the sense to wince. “I’m sorry, Jane. I truly am. Please let me come in so we can talk.”

  She hesitated, suddenly aware that she’d kept him standing on her porch with his flowers long enough to compel neighbors to part their blinds and snoop. She stepped back. “Fine.”

  He brushed by her, and she shored up her defenses before his spicy scent could invade. When she’d first met him, she’d thought it weird that he wore something as old-fashioned as Old Spice. Now, she found her stomach muscles clenching and her eyes drifting closed just at the thought of that crisp, clean scent.

  She closed the door and turned, surprised when she all but walked into his chest. Only the flowers—tea roses, she realized—separated them.

  “I have something to say, Jane.”

  She looked up into his face and had to fight the urge to start crying. She’d really thought she’d found Mr. Right in him.

  “Say it and go,” she said. “I’ve got things to do.”

  He stepped toward her, backing her against the door. “I made a mistake,” he said, his voice deep and gruff, as though emotion lurked just beyond his handsome exterior. “I’m sorry, more sorry than you can imagine. Do you want to know why?”

  She felt her cheeks flushing but said nothing.

  “Because,” he said, “I never felt closer to anyone than the way I felt close to you. I hate myself for messing that up.”

  She met his eyes, felt her own widen at the glimpse of moisture in his.

  “I hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me some day,” he said. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling at his sincerity. Earnest? Uh, yeah. Earnest as hell. But maybe she could deal with what had happened if it meant she got what she wanted. Him. “I just have one question,” she said.

  He cocked his head, a smile tempting his lips, as though he sensed he was on the cusp of winning her back. “What is it?”

  “Do you have a microphone in your ear so someone can coach you or did you just spend hours rehearsing that speech?”

  His smile widened into a grin. “Coach, no. Rehearsal, yes.” He held out the flowers. “And the roses, all three dozen, were completely my idea.”

  She took the flowers, held them to her nose and breathed in their tealike scent. Then she tossed them over his shoulder onto her new carpet, uncaring about water and dirt and other possible stains, and launched herself into his arms.

  54

  KYLIE WOKE SLOWLY, AWARE THAT SHE WAS ALONE in the bed and that the section of sheet beside her was cool. She took a few moments to bury her face in Chase’s pillow. Just breathing in his coconut scent made her feel safe and loved . . . and, wow, tingly and kinda lusty.

  Sitting up, she pushed hair out of her face and glanced at the clock: 3:14 P.M. Her stomach growled, complaining that lunch was overdue.

  She went into the bathroom for a quick shower, needing the reviving force of cool water streaming over her body. She hoped, with a thrill of anticipation, that Chase would join her. But she soaped up twice and washed and conditioned her hair with no appearance by a ready-for-some-loving man. Sheesh, she must have exhausted him.

  Eager to see what he was up to, she dressed in khaki shorts and an orange polo then wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. The house was silent, as if she were the only one there. She got confirmation when she found a folded note sporting “read me” in Chase’s scribbly handwriting on the breakfast bar next to a cell phone.

  She plucked up the note and unfolded it. It’s official: Quinn’s in the clear! Had to go to work but will call ASAP. In the meantime, hit redial on the cell phone for a surprise. Love you! Chase.

  Smiling, and with tears stinging in her eyes, she sat on one of the breakfast bar stools and let out the biggest sigh of relief she’d ever exhaled. Thank you, God.

  Still smiling, and feeling as though a happy dance was in order, she picked up the cell phone and pushed the redial button. After three rings, a familiar voice said, “Hello?”

  Kylie straightened up off the stool, her heart leaping. “T.J.?”

  “Hey!” he said.

  “Oh my God, where are you? What are you doing? How are you?”

  His wonderful, boyish chuckle echoed in her ear. “You might want to pace yourself.”

  She had to laugh. That was advice she’d given him more than once on the court. “Okay, let’s start with how are you?”

  “I’m pretty good.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “I have my own room at the Coopers’. Well, it’s really Terry’s room. Terry went to college a couple of years ago, and he’s spending the summer in Brazil for some school thing. Mrs. Cooper—she keeps asking me to call her Annette, but it seems weird—she really misses him. Oh, and they have a dog, Sandy, who sleeps with me. Isn’t that cool?”

  She couldn’t respond for a moment, stunned at the amount of information he’d shared in one energetic gush. This was not the same sullen, mad-at-the-world T.J. she’d last seen. “Wow.”

  “Mr. Cooper—Tom—he’s a really good tennis player. I wipe the court with him every time we play, which makes him nuts, but he never gets mad. He seems to kind of like it. I don’t get that.” He paused. “So how are you?”

  She started to laugh until tears gathered on her lashes and spilled over.

  55

  CHASE STOOD AT THE FRONT DESK OF THE MEDICAL records department at Kendall Falls General while a young Hispanic woman with glossy black hair, black-framed eyeglasses, perfect olive skin and unnaturally white teeth finished up her phone call about a sick Labrador. When Monica Giraldo, according to the hospital ID hanging around her neck, hung up, she gave him an apologetic smile that stretched full, lipstick-free lips. “Sorry about that. I’ve been playing phone tag with the vet all day. What can I help you with?”

  Chase showed her his badge. “Detective Chase Manning with the Kendall Falls PD. I’m looking to get a list of patients treated in the ER on a particular night ten years ago.”

  She pushed her glasses back on her head. “I’m sorry, but none of that would be in the database. We weren’t electronic then.”

  “What about paper records?”

  “Paper records from that far back are kept at a storage facility in Tampa.”

  Tampa. Damn. He’d hoped he’d be able to dive into the records himself if no one else could do it. He wouldn’t be getting any quick and easy answers now. “But they’d be organized by date?”

  “Should be. Sometimes things get mixed up, but yeah.” She grabbed a notepad and pencil. “If you give me the date you’re looking for, I can have someone up there compile a list of patient names. Once we get the appropriate permissions, of course.”

  “Could they look at specific injuries?”

  She began to chew the eraser end of the pencil as she considered that. “Like what?”

  “Hand injuries. Across the knuckles and perhaps this area.” He clenched his hand and ran his finger over the fleshy part of his palm. “It’d be a significant injury . . .” He trailed off as he stared down at his fist, his finger rubbing back and forth over that particular spot. Sam’s nervous gesture . . .

  “Detective?”

  Chase looked up, but his brain had started chasing its tail. Sam? No way. No fucking way.

  Monica tapped the pencil against the cleft in her chin. “What date do you want checked?”

  Chase struggled to focus. “Uh, let’s go ahead and do three days’ worth, if that’s not too much trouble.”

  She winked. “Won’t be any trouble for me.”

  He gave her the dates then asked, “How soon before I can get the list?”

  “Could be a week.”

  Chase withdrew a business c
ard. “Can we put a rush on it? Maybe have it e-mailed to the address on here?”

  “I’d have to talk to my supervisor. She’s pretty good about doing what she can, though.”

  “She can call me, if she wants. I’d be happy to explain the situation to her.”

  A few minutes later, as he pushed out the door into the corridor, his brain resumed its tail-chasing.

  Sam couldn’t be the guy. He had no motive. He didn’t know Mark Hanson. Or, at least, he said he didn’t know Hanson. He could have lied about that. They were in the same graduating class after all.

  But Sam, with all his bulky muscles, certainly didn’t match Kylie’s description of her assailants . . . except that was ten years ago. Sam might have been a skinny kid back then. Chase had no idea. Quinn, also a rail-thin boy back then, had bulked up just as much, though.

  But, no, wait, just wait. Think it through. Don’t jump to conclusions. This was Sam.

  In the elevator, Chase poked the LOBBY button.

  The key here was Benny Kirkland. Kirkland tried to get T.J. to smash Kylie’s windshield. Kirkland tried to rape and kill Kylie at the safe house. So, okay, maybe Sam hired him. He’d have access to Kirkland’s files. Maybe he’d arrested Kirkland in the past or used him as a snitch or just looked him up through the department’s system.

  But Sam killed Kirkland. Why would he kill a man he’d hired?

  To keep him quiet, Chase thought, cupping his hand over the back of his neck and squeezing at the insistent knot growing there.

  Or maybe Sam had wanted Kirkland to murder Kylie and got pissed when he failed to get the job done. But why kill her? That made no sense. Chase could see trying to run her out of town, considering all the evidence had been found at the site of her tennis project. If she’d left town, she probably would have abandoned the project, leaving the evidence buried. Killing her, though, ran the risk of guaranteeing the project got done, to honor her memory.

  A chill at the thought staggered up his spine, and he shuddered as the elevator doors opened into the lobby. He needed to keep thinking, not stall on the horror of losing Kylie.

  Okay, what else?

  All that stuff about Quinn’s finances had turned out not to be true. He’d assumed the information was outdated, but Sam could have lied. Chase hadn’t seen any of the supporting paperwork.

  And the first safe house . . . Sam could have made up the bit about Kirkland having stayed there himself. Chase had hardly been able to believe that incredible coincidence, but it came from Sam. And he trusted Sam.

  Shit. Shit.

  He trusted Sam.

  So much that he’d let him arrange the safe house in Naples. Where Kylie was right now. Alone. Sure, there were two security guards outside, but Sam would know exactly how to disarm them. And he knew Chase wasn’t there right now. If Sam showed up, Kylie wouldn’t think anything of welcoming him in.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  As Chase passed from the frigid air of the hospital’s lobby into the humid heat of the afternoon, he thumb-dialed the number of the cell phone he’d left for Kylie, already jogging for his SUV.

  She answered, to his relief, just as a mower, damn it, powered up on the hospital lawn. Plugging his free ear with the tip of one finger, he said, “It’s me. Give me a second. I have to get in the truck so I can hear you.”

  He fumbled his keys with a shaking hand but managed to hit the remote unlock button. Once he got in and slammed the door on the noise, he said, “That’s better.”

  Kylie’s laugh, seeming so intimate in his ear, sent a chill of a different kind up his back. He loved that sound. The thought of losing that, losing her, made his stomach clench into a rock.

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Doing some research at the hospital.” He plugged the key into the ignition. “Listen, I . . . well, this is going to come out of left field, but I . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. He could barely get the damn words out. Sam? “I have a new suspect. It’s . . . Sam.”

  “Sam . . . your partner Sam?” She sounded as shocked as he felt.

  “I’m getting a list of patients treated in the ER the same night as your attack. Sylvia thinks the guy who killed Mark Hanson needed stitches in his hand. And Sam has a scar in the right spot.” Jesus, it sounded so lame now that he’d said it out loud. Could he be that desperate for a suspect other than Quinn?

  His racing pulse started to slow. Okay, he thought, this is wrong. It’s not Sam. Sam’s a cop. His friend. No way could it be Sam.

  He took a calming breath. “Look, I’ll know for sure when I get the patient list from the hospital. I just . . . if he shows up there . . .”

  “What should I do?”

  “Maybe I’m way off. God, Ky, I don’t know. But I think it’d be best if you got one of the guards to come inside and stay with you until I get there.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m on my way. Twenty minutes unless there’s a ton of traffic.”

  “Don’t worry, Chase. I’ll be fine.”

  He swallowed hard and said a little prayer that she was right. “See you soon. I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she replied, a warm smile in her voice.

  After hitting the button to disconnect the call, he let his shoulders slump and hung his head to rub at his eyes. It’s not Sam. Couldn’t be. But he’d feel a hell of a lot better once he saw the patient list for confirmation. Either way, he needed to call the lead security guard at the house and put the guys on high alert.

  “Chase.”

  He jerked his head up and met the dark brown eyes reflected in the rearview mirror.

  Aw, fuck.

  “Give me the phone and put your hands on the steering wheel.”

  Chase complied. He didn’t have to see the Glock to know Sam had it aimed at the back of his seat.

  “Don’t you know you’re supposed to check the back before you get in the car?”

  He’d been so distracted by warning Kylie, and that damn noisy lawn mower . . .

  “What’s going on, Sam? Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”

  Sam’s smile went nowhere near his eyes. It looked as dead as Kylie’s game face. “You shouldn’t have told her.”

  “I didn’t tell her anything she can use. All I told her was I had a suspicion. My suspicions about Quinn were wrong. This one can be, too.”

  “Nice try.”

  “Come on, you heard me tell her I wasn’t sure.”

  “This is what we’re going to do,” Sam said as he stashed Chase’s cell in his pants pocket then leaned his weight against the back of the seat and reached around Chase’s chest to the gun in the holster under his left arm. “I know you’ve got one strapped to your ankle, too. Make even a suggestion of a move toward it, and you’re dead.”

  Chase nodded his understanding.

  “Take out your cuffs and secure one to your right wrist.”

  Chase did as he was told, his brain churning out scenarios and discarding them just as quickly. Sam knew his moves. Partners for five years grew to know each other as well as respective spouses.

  “Now get into the passenger seat,” Sam said, “loop the free cuff through the handle there by the windshield and secure your other wrist.”

  Chase scooted over, maneuvering his long legs over the center console into the other seat. He threaded the manacle through the curved plastic handle where the windshield met the side pillar of the truck’s frame, which was designed to help passengers pull themselves up and into the tall truck, and fumbled to zip-click the free cuff around his left wrist.

  “Other drivers are going to see me handcuffed and know something’s up,” he said.

  “That’s why we’re driving to Naples with the red light on the roof. They’ll just assume you’re my prisoner. Which you are.”

  “This isn’t going to work, Sam.”

  “Shut up and don’t do anything stupid.”

  While Sam got out of the back, Chase tested the sturdiness
of the passenger-assist handle. It gave as he tugged, but it appeared to be bolted onto the truck’s frame rather than glued on, so breaking it off quickly seemed unlikely.

  Sam opened the passenger door and removed Chase’s ankle piece, then secured Chase’s ankles with nylon restraints they normally used on combative suspects. “Don’t want you kicking me while I’m driving,” Sam said. “That’d be just like you to try to cause an accident and sacrifice yourself to save your one true love.”

  “Don’t do this, Sam, please. Kylie’s innocent. She doesn’t deserve to . . .” He couldn’t say it.

  “Die?” Sam supplied with a tight quirk to his mouth. “Maybe I think she deserved to die ten years ago. Ever consider that?”

  “But why? What did she ever do to you?”

  They both froze as Chase’s phone, muffled in Sam’s pocket, began to ring. Ignoring it, Sam slammed the door shut. As his partner trotted around to the driver’s side, stashing his gun in his under-arm holster, Chase tested the mobility of his legs. He’d be able to snap the restraints with brute strength, but if he did it now, Sam would slap something stronger on him.

  Sam stopped in the back for Chase’s portable police light, which he secured on the Explorer’s roof, before he got into the driver’s seat. As he cranked the engine, he said, “Just sit there and be quiet and we won’t have a problem.”

  “You’re going to kill both of us whatever I do.”

  “True, but it’ll be easier for Kylie if you behave.” Sam shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “If you know what I mean.”

  “What? If I don’t behave, you’re going to torture her before you kill her? Is that really who you are, Sam?”

  Sam looked at him fully, his dark eyes black. “You don’t know me. You’ve never known me. So shut the fuck up and be glad this parking lot is too public for me to kill you right here and now. If you behave, I won’t make you watch what I do to your girlfriend.”

  Chase jerked at the cuffs that were binding his wrists. Couldn’t help it.

  “Give it up,” Sam said, voice surprisingly soothing. “You’re not going anywhere.”