Extreme Pursuit (Chasing Justice #2)

by Alex Kingwell

  Karina came back in, set the flowers on the windowsill. She pulled up a chair and sat next the bed.

  “What did the police say? Are they treating this seriously?” Her father’s trembling hands held hers and when she didn’t respond right away, he said, “Don’t you dare hold back on your dad.” A flash of irritation darkened his eyes, anger eclipsing worry at least for a moment.

  Nicky bit her lip. “They have to take a look at the car before they can say anything. But they did suggest I might have been going too fast.” An outright lie, that was. Another one followed. “They said cars often go off the road in that spot and speeding’s almost always to blame.”

  This seemed to placate him. “You have to be more careful, Nicole.”

  Karina shook her head slowly at her sister, her expression managing to convey both a mild reprimand and total lack of surprise. They talked for a few more minutes, and then Karina sent their father down to the cafeteria for coffee.

  When he had gone, Karina pulled her chair closer. “What is going on, Nicky? What are you not telling us?”

  Nicky took Karina’s shaking hand in hers. “What can I say, I’ve got a lead foot.”

  Karina’s brow furrowed, but she let it go. She was a detail person, and she asked pointed questions about what had happened when the car went in the water. Nicky gave her a shortened version, making it sound like her escape had been a piece of cake.

  “You have to be more careful, Nicole.”

  Nicky bit her lip. Karina and her father seemed to have no trouble believing Nicky was responsible for what had happened. She half-believed it herself. But maybe Cullen’s suspicions weren’t so far-fetched. It was possible somebody had tried to kill her. An icy coldness gripped her, made her shiver.

  What if the same person who’d killed her mother was coming after her? She was the one who supposedly knew something. Even though she didn’t, the killer might think she did. He or she didn’t want to risk keeping her alive.

  Karina said, “Promise to be more careful?”

  Nicky managed a nod. With her father returning at any moment, the high road seemed the best choice. Still, what if she was all wrong, and her sister and father were in danger, too? She grabbed Karina’s hand. “It’s probably a good idea to have your cars checked, just to be on the safe side.” They both parked their cars in garages, but people might still be able to get at them when they parked elsewhere, like at the hospital.

  Karina darkened. “What?”

  She tried to placate her. “Don’t we all go to the same mechanic? What if they were careless about the tires?”

  Karina narrowed her eyes. “Come stay with me in town, or the three of us could stay together at the lake. It’d feel better.”

  And put them in danger? No way. “I’m not sure when they’ll let me go.” She changed the subject before Karina could object. “Is Dad going to be okay?”

  “He’s holding it together, but just barely. He wanted to go back to work, but he can’t. He’s having trouble sleeping. He should probably see a doctor but he won’t hear anything of it. He keeps looking at photographs of Mom.”

  “What about you? How are you feeling?” Her sister spent so much time worrying about her father that sometimes Nicky wondered if she had anything left for herself.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be okay.”

  But a strange sort of light in her eyes, like panic, put the statement in doubt. It was almost as if she knew Nicky hadn’t been responsible for the crash. Squeezing Karina’s hand, she didn’t know what to say to comfort her sister that wouldn’t be a lie and she’d already lied enough today. So she didn’t say anything.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  That afternoon, Cullen loaded Nicky’s small suitcase and three boxes of photos into the trunk of his car and helped her into the passenger seat.

  He said, “Did you pack enough clothes?” Her suitcase looked not much bigger than Marlee’s makeup case.

  “It’s not more than a couple of days, right? I called them at the shelter this morning and told them I’d be back to work in a couple of days.”

  “Let’s hope so.” He put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot of her apartment building.

  She tapped her foot on the floor on the car. She hadn’t said much since they’d left the hospital. Fear seemed a reasonable explanation but he figured she was more upset she’d let him talk her into finding a place for her to lay low.

  Just wait until she found out it was his place.

  They stopped at a store for a prepaid cell phone, then hit the main road east out of town. Half an hour later, after another five miles on a gravel country road, he drove the car up his long lane and stopped at the side of his one-and-a-half-story farmhouse.

  He opened the car door and got out. “You coming?”

  Still sitting, she looked around. “Whose place is this?”

  He dipped his head down and looked inside the car at her. “Mine.”

  “Yours?” She crossed her arms, glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t stay here.”

  Getting back in the car, he sat down, leaving the door open. “Why not?”

  “I can think of a dozen good reasons.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Did you tell your boss?”

  “No.”

  “I knew it. It’s against the rules, isn’t it? You’ll get in trouble.”

  “Not if we keep it quiet.” The idea had occurred to him, but at this point he didn’t give a shit.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rubbing the back of her neck, staring straight ahead, she looked like she had no idea what the answer was.

  “Because I want you to be safe.” Telling her more, such as that she was becoming to mean a lot of him, didn’t seem like a good idea. “It’ll just be for one night. Tomorrow we’ll find you somewhere else.” A flat-out lie, since no other place came to mind.

  She looked at him with those intense brown eyes, thought about it for a moment, then sighed deeply. “One night.” She held up her index finger to reinforce the point.

  Smiling to himself, he got out of the car. As he opened the trunk, she got out of the car, stood with her hands on her hips.

  He said, “Sorry about the manure smell. You get that when you live out here. I don’t mind it—it never gets really strong—but some people do.” Marlee, for one, hated it.

  From her, a chuckle. “It’s fine. I lived near a farm one summer a couple of years back. I think I actually like it. Not pig, but cow’s okay.”

  “A woman after my heart.” Clutching his chest in mock delight, he grabbed the suitcase and walked to the back door. He opened the deadlock, then stepped aside to let her enter.

  Walking into the old kitchen, she glanced at a miter saw mounted on a table in the corner. “Well, this is a surprise.” At his raised eyebrows, she added, “I didn’t have you pegged as a handyman type of guy.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing. I haven’t done much lately. The first thing would have been a new kitchen.”

  “You’re not going to?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. The house had been a sticking point with Marlee; she hated it, too. But now that they had broken up, maybe he would stay. He just hadn’t had time to give it much thought. “I’m still deciding what to do. What it is I want, you know?”

  She nodded. “Why not restore it? I mean, you want something functional, but I think you should try to keep some of the old character.”

  “Definitely. I’d like to preserve as much as I can. Start with a new kitchen and bathroom. It’s just taking a bit longer than I expected to figure it all out.” He took a breath. Stop rambling. What did it matter what she thought of the place? “Anyway, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

  She walked down the hallway into the small living room, took in the old light fixture on the ceiling, the mullioned windows and wood floors. “I love the floors.”

  “Pine, milled by hand. They’re pretty rustic, with all the knots and holes, but I like th
em.”

  She nodded. “How old is it?”

  “A hundred and forty-nine years. My great-great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side built it, but it was sold out of the family when my grandfather died.” He set down the suitcase. “Two years ago it came up for sale and I snapped it up. I couldn’t resist. I think it’s Greek or Gothic revival.”

  “One of those revivals.” A smile curved her lips, transforming her face into the most beautiful he’d ever seen. His heart skipped a couple of beats.

  He gestured to an old leather sofa and a tub chair. “As you can see, I don’t have much furniture. Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. It’s lovely.” She pointed to the sofa. “I can sleep there.”

  “I have an inflatable bed tucked away somewhere. It will be more comfortable. Or you can have my bed.” Even though the house was safe, he didn’t want her sleeping downstairs if he was upstairs.

  “No, not your bed.” She flushed. “I realize you didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t want to make any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  “For somebody who doesn’t like trouble and stress, unfortunately, I’m a bit inclined to cause it.”

  “Stop it. It’s no trouble. What’s today? Tuesday? I’m off until Thursday.” He smiled. “I’ll go get the photos from the car.”

  He brought in the boxes and bags in two trips and left them on the living room floor. Nicole’s suitcase was gone from the hallway and he could hear her upstairs.

  In the kitchen, he made coffee and brought two mugs and a plate of biscuits. When he returned to the living room, Nicole was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, and looking down at an open photo album on her lap. A strand of dark hair fell across her face and she brushed it back, exposing a long and elegant neck. A couple of buttons of her shirt were undone, providing a glimpse of the tops of her breasts spilling out of a lacy white bra.

  A fierce desire gripped him, making every nerve in his body tingle. The urge to touch her, and be touched by her, was agony. Heat flooded his body.

  He walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water.

  She’s here so you can keep her safe. That’s it.

  He just hadn’t considered how much of a temptation being around her all the time would be.

  * * *

  An hour later, Nicky looked through the tall living room windows across the fields surrounding the house. On both sides of the house were unobstructed views of the gently rolling landscape. Her friend Emily, who had some claustrophobia, had once said her dream landscape was open farmland and Nicky could see why. Watching the dairy cattle dawdling in the pasture field, she let herself pretend for a moment all was right with the world.

  Reality came crashing back when Cullen returned with an armload of split wood, which he dumped in a box beside the fireplace in the living room.

  It wasn’t just herself who was in danger. Now Cullen was, too. A tight band wrapped her chest. Why had she let him talk her into this?

  She sat on the sofa while he crumpled up some newspaper. “I’ll just light a little fire, just enough to take the chill off.”

  Nodding, she looked down, held her eyes open wide to try to stop crying. If she started, it was game over.

  Little flames licked at the logs in the grate. Brushing dirt off his hands, Cullen turned around. “I’m just going to throw together some sandwiches. Is tuna on rye all right? Beer?”

  “That’d be great. You want help?”

  He shook his head. “Just relax.”

  A few minutes later, he set the sandwiches and two bottles of beer on the table, then sat down beside her.

  She pointed to a picture she’d found in the oldest album. “That’s my mother’s mother, my grandmother. Apparently she left her husband when my mom was little. She took my mom with her.”

  Cullen leaned over to look at it. “Any idea why?”

  “My Uncle Steve told me once my grandfather was abusive. I’m not sure how he knew, since it was the other side of the family.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen many pictures of him. I had the feeling from what my uncle said my mother didn’t remember much of him.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  She took a bite of the sandwich, washed it down with a swig of beer. “He died about ten years ago. My sister found his obituary online and showed it to me.”

  Another photo showed her mother standing in the side yard of their house at the lake, leaning against a four-foot-high cedar fence, one arm stretched along the top. She was wearing a dress, white or cream with a print of tiny flowers. It was what they would call a shirtdress, short sleeved with a thin belt in the same fabric. She was looking directly at the camera, maybe ready to smile.

  She said, “I remember her wearing that dress.” Was it the last she saw her mother alive, or some other time?

  Cullen examined the picture closely. “When was this taken?” His face had paled.

  She shrugged. “No idea. Why?” The band around her chest tightened again. “Tell me.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was the dress she was found in,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “It was partially decomposed but there was enough left to make me think this is it. It looks like the same pattern, the flowers. They were a mustardy yellow.”

  She sat back, looked down, and held her eyes wide to stop tears.

  Cullen reached over, put his arm around her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  He left his arm there and stroked her forearm. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to lean against him and feel his arms around her. For comfort, nothing more, even though her feelings for him were deepening. But if she did, there would be no turning back. For all she knew, he hadn’t made a final split with the girlfriend.

  Sitting forward, she shifted away slightly on the sofa. She wasn’t ready for this. She felt vulnerable and disconnected from what was going on, as if some sort of defense mechanism had kicked in to keep the terror at bay. It’d started when she’d learned of her mother’s death and intensified after last night’s crash. It was all too unreal, almost as if it wasn’t her sitting here, being comforted by the man with the electric eyes, but someone else. She didn’t have enough control over herself to be responsible for making good decisions.

  After taking in one slow breath, then another, she reached for the photo album and looked at the picture again. “Is it significant in some way, to know what she was wearing?”

  His hand shifted off her arm. “Did she wear it a lot?”

  “I don’t think so. I only saw it on her once, maybe twice. I think it was for special occasions. Dresses weren’t her thing. She was more a jeans and T-shirt type, like me. It is odd, though, that she would wear it to a farm, don’t you think?”

  He pursed his lips. “I agree.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t expecting to go to the farm.” Something flickered deep in her mind, like grass in a field, but she couldn’t grasp it and it was gone.

  An odd look was on his face. “What is it?”

  “It’s frustrating. I keep thinking I remember something, but I can’t grab hold of whatever it is.” She shrugged. “You should ask my dad or my sister about the dress. She might have worn it more often.”

  From the looks of it, many of the pictures in this album had been taken in the last year of her life, because Nicky was in some of them and looked about four or five years old. The subjects varied. Sometimes the pictures were of her sister and herself, but in other cases, her father must have taken them because the girls were with their mother. Only two pictures had the whole family. The candid photos were the best, even though in one Nicky was crying, her mouth open in midwail while Karina laughed in the background.

  Cullen pointed to a picture of her father and her Uncle Steve, standing in the backyard of her father’s house. “Your dad is close to his brother, isn’t he?”

  “Very. They always have been. My father is proud of his little brother, of what he’s accomplished.”


  “Surely your father considers himself successful?”

  “He does, but his brother was always so quiet. I get the feeling it was a bit of a surprise he did so well with his business. Maybe I’m reading more into it than is there, but from what I gather they had a hard time growing up. Their father was an autocrat, not easy to live with, very demanding. He was always pushing the boys to do better, making them compete with each other. My uncle was a football star, a running back, really fast. My father didn’t make the team, although he says he didn’t try very hard.” She chuckled, remembering how her father and uncle had chided each other over Thanksgiving turkey one year.

  She said, “I’ll find you a picture of my grandfather from my father’s side.” She leafed through an album, found a picture near the back. He was sitting in a lawn chair, reading a paper, and looking up with a scowl at the photographer. “He was a dentist. But he lived downstate, so I never had to go to him.” She grimaced. “Thank God for that.”

  “But your father was strict with you, wasn’t he?”

  “I suppose so, but not like his father, and you have to remember my dad was a single parent. It must have been pretty tough for him. I didn’t adjust well when my mother was gone. As I got older, my sister was forced into the role of peacekeeper.”

  He watched her closely, those eyes intent on her, and she thought back to the first time they’d met. That he was helping her was crazy.

  The way he looked at her, intense and serious, was seriously sexy. It made her feel warm and tingly all over her body.

  Cullen said, “Your uncle looks a lot like your father. Do they have similar personalities as well?”

  “They are a lot alike, but my Uncle Steve is quieter, more thoughtful.”

  “How so?”

  “He does a lot of good works. He’s involved in charity, but he does it quietly. He doesn’t seem to want to draw attention to himself. With my father, his relief work is well known, although I suppose it’s because he’s always trying to raise money for the countries he goes to.”