by Vella Day
Hart To Hart
Montana Promises
Book 4
Vella Day
HART TO HART
Copyright © 2015 by Vella Day
All Romance Ebooks Edition
www.velladay.com
[email protected]
Cover Art by Sloan Winters
Edited by Rebecca Cartee and Carol Adcock-Bezzo
Published in the United States of America
E-book ISBN: 978-1-941835-05-0
Print Edition ISBN: 978-1-941835-06-7
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Other Books by the Author
About the Author
Prologue
Darkness wrapped itself around Ellie Hart like a thin blanket, only tonight it brought little comfort. As she hurried to her car in Old Alexandria, Virginia, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. If she hadn’t left the art gallery to pick up more punch cups, she wouldn’t have had to park so far away upon returning.
Brr. She tugged her wrap tighter across her chest to fend off the brisk November air. Wearing the bejeweled shawl instead of her fall coat had seemed like a good idea earlier in the day. Now? Not so much.
Ellie picked up the pace, but she wasn’t able to go as fast as she wished. High heels weren’t made for speed. The heavy footsteps about a half block behind her didn’t worry her—at least, they didn’t at first—but the street was too quiet tonight, and the thudding of the heavy heels echoed off the tall buildings.
What was up with the lack of pedestrians? It was ten on a Friday night. People in the Washington, D.C. suburbs were always about—but they weren’t now for some reason. She chanced a glance behind her. Instead of some creepy man, two young girls stepped out of a bar and headed in her direction. Oh, well. Her imagination must be in overdrive.
Just keep going. Clutching her purse tight against her chest, she spotted her car in the next block. Yes! As she neared, that strange sensation of being watched crept up her spine again. She shook it off and dug her hand into her purse for her keys. It must be the residual unease from the strange phone calls she’d been receiving this past week. Heavy breathers were the worst.
She unlocked her car with the remote then stepped into the street to edge her way to the driver’s side. Only then did she notice another Gerbera daisy hooked under the windshield wiper. She plucked it from under the rubber strip, hoping for a note this time, but didn’t see one. Damn.
Had her ex-boyfriend, Brian, put it there hoping for a reconciliation? Or had it been Hilton, her co-owner of the gallery? Yeah, it must have been him—to thank her for the success of tonight’s showing. But when had he placed it? When she’d dashed out to pick up more cups, the flower hadn’t been there. Strange.
It didn’t matter. On instinct, she brought the flower to her nose, but it didn’t have much of a scent—at least, not enough to make a dent over the exhaust fumes. She slipped inside the car then locked the doors. Her hand actually shook so much she had to inhale to get the key in the lock. Damn. What was her problem? Too many late nights and too much caffeine? The stress this past month had been rather intense. Or was it that she’d agreed to teach an art class two nights a week when she really couldn’t spare the time?
She started the engine and let it idle for a moment to warm up. The space in front of her was free, so she pulled forward—or rather, she tried to pull forward. It was as if she was driving through thick sand. Kerplunk. Thud. Kerplunk. Thud. Shit. She must have a flat. Ellie dropped her head back against the seat and groaned. She absolutely didn’t need this. Not tonight.
She pushed open the door and jumped out. The streetlights provided enough illumination to show both front tires had been slashed. “Are you kidding me? Freaking gangs.”
This couldn’t have come at a worse time. She was supposed to leave early tomorrow morning for a weeks’ vacation to visit her daughter in Montana. Now, she’d have to postpone the trip a day or two to get the tires replaced. The added expense of changing the flight was the last straw. Ellie ran her hands through her short hair and tugged hard, trying to calm down. She failed.
She supposed she could call Brian to give her a lift home, but it might not be safe to leave her vehicle here overnight. Shit. She fished out the number for roadside assistance and slipped back into the car to stay warm. Once she gave the information, she locked the doors again and waited. With each minute that passed, her anger built. Who had left the flower? And why? And what ass saw fit to damage her car? Damn, she couldn’t buy a break.
Chapter One
“Mom, I’m so happy you finally made it,” Charlotte said, giving Ellie a hug at baggage claim.
“Thanks, sweetie. Good to see you, too.” It had been too long between visits.
Charlotte ran her hands down Ellie’s arms. “Not to be rude, but you don’t look so good. You’re shaking; you look like death warmed over. What’s wrong?”
Ellie chuckled. Had she been that blunt at twenty-three? “Way to sugarcoat it. I know I brought you up to speak your mind, but be kind. I’m just tired, that’s all. I would have been in a lot better shape if some thugs hadn’t slashed my tires.” She wouldn’t have told Charlotte about the incident had Ellie not needed to delay her flight by two days. Ugh.
“I get it. Do the cops know who did it?”
She hadn’t reported it. “No. Things like that happen all the time in our area.” Ellie checked the baggage claim belt and spotted her pink suitcase. When she grabbed it off the conveyor belt, Charlotte slipped it out of her hand. Ellie didn’t argue. She was that tired.
“What you need is to rest this week,” her daughter said.
“That and a hot cup of coffee.”
“Coffee I can do.”
The trip from Montana’s Kalispell airport to Charlotte’s cute one-bedroom bungalow was pretty, especially with the view of the mountains in the distance. Her daughter was smart enough not to grill her about what was going on in Ellie’s life—yet.
“You can stay in my bedroom. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Charlotte headed toward the hallway with Ellie’s case.
“You’ll do no such thing. I get up a lot in the middle of the night and don’t want to disturb you.” Of late, she’d been unable to shut off her brain. Between making the Davies-Hart Gallery a success, breaking up with Brian, and starting the classes, she was worn out. Sle
ep came in spurts.
They argued a bit, but in the end, Ellie won.
“Fine. I’ll make some coffee.”
Ellie smiled. “Now you’re talking.”
Charlotte fixed a pot and poured both of them cups. As soon as the first sip hit her stomach, the caffeine from the rich brew soaked into her veins. “Ah, I think I’ll live.”
Charlotte picked up her cup from the kitchen counter. “Let’s sit in the living room. I want to hear what’s going on with you.”
Here it comes. Ellie followed her daughter. While the space was small, the living room was cozy with vibrant, rich colors, yet practical at the same time. Her daughter took after her artistically, which was why Charlotte now worked for an interior designer. “You’ve done a fantastic job with this place.”
“Thanks. It’s been fun.”
Ellie plopped down on the sofa while Charlotte sat on the art deco style, lime green chair across from her. She set her drink on the coffee table. “So what has you so stressed out? And don’t say it’s the tire-slashing event.”
“It’s a long story.” Ellie sipped more of her brew then began with her break up with Brian Lovett.
Her daughter’s eyes widened. “You’ve been dating someone and didn’t tell me?”
Charlotte’s indignation caused her to laugh. “Yes. You okay with that? I might be old and fat, but I’m not dead.” She was only forty-five.
“You’re not fat. You’re…well-seasoned with curves.”
Ellie groaned. Her ego was taking one hit after another. “Continuing with my story—I’d been dating Brian about a month, and things were going well, when Hilton suggested I offer an adult art class at the gallery a couple evenings a week. He believed it might bring in prospective buyers and possibly artists.”
“How’s that working out? Having a co-owner?”
“It’s fine, but I’ll get back to Hilton in a moment. The class began taking more and more of my time and I wasn’t able to spend as much of it with Brian as I would have liked. The gallery is my livelihood and I had to put it first. He disagreed.”
Charlotte leaned back. “If Brian were smart, he would have taken your class just to spend more time with you.”
She smiled. “I actually suggested it, but he said his artistic side had never developed. He’s a stock broker.”
“Ah. I take it Brian broke up with you because of the neglect?”
That hurt. She and her ex, Vic, had split because he’d neglected both her and Charlotte. Vic never put up a fuss, claiming she was better off without him since his line of work was too dangerous. “I actually dropped him.”
Her brows rose. “Are you okay with that now?”
“Yes and no. I like having someone in my life, but I’m not convinced Brian is the one.”
“It sounds like you made a wise decision then.”
When had her daughter grown up? “I like to think so. Then about a week later, I was feeling a little guilty and perhaps a bit sad about it, when a note suddenly appeared on my desk at work that said to meet him at the park that afternoon at twelve. It specifically stated where to meet—it was at our usual bench. But the note wasn’t signed.”
“You went, didn’t you?”
Ellie nodded. “But I wished I hadn’t. When I arrived at our park bench, Brian wasn’t there. About five minutes later, a little girl about six came up to me with a half dozen pink Gerbera daisies. She said they were from a man and that he was sorry he couldn’t be there.”
Charlotte picked up her coffee. “That was sweet of him and probably cost him an arm and a leg given the time of year.”
Ellie hadn’t thought about the availability of those flowers in November. “It might have been, except when I called to thank Brian for the flowers, he said he hadn’t sent them, nor had he written the note.”
Her daughter frowned. “Then who did?”
Ellie shrugged. “I have no idea. I thought, perhaps, one of the students in my class had sent them. I teach six men and four women. One of them, Cal, has had a crush on me for a while. He has talent, but he’s not ready to have his work exhibited, yet he doesn’t see it that way. He’s asked me out a few times, but he’s too intense for me.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, I casually mentioned the park incident to the group, but no one fessed up.”
Charlotte sipped her coffee, looking lovely and mature. Ellie should have visited sooner, but the gallery was beginning to do well and she hadn’t wanted to take the time off.
“Did you ask Hilton if he sent them?”
Hilton Davies, her gallery partner, had contributed the lion’s share of the start-up money. Because of his backing, Ellie had agreed to be the face of the business—and do most of the legwork. “Even though I was a bit embarrassed, I told him. He seemed rather upset.”
“Upset because another man sent you flowers or because this mystery man didn’t show up?”
“I’m not sure. Hilton is a widower and thinks the two of us could have something special. I’m not convinced. He’s a friend. A good one. But that’s all.”
“Ouch. Has he been persistent?”
“On and off. He’s smart enough to back off when he can tell I’m stressed.”
Charlotte looked off, her face unreadable. “Back to the tires. Didn’t you say the night your tires were slashed, there was a Gerbera daisy on the windshield?” Ellie nodded. “Could this be some kind of stalker?”
Ellie laughed. “No.”
“Mo-om. Think about it. An unsigned note, a mystery man, a random flower, slashed tires. Really? From the guilty look on your face, there’s more. Spill.”
Vic always said she was an open book and that she was a terrible liar.
Ellie held up her hand. Her daughter was smart. “It’s nothing really, but I’ll tell you so I can get some peace. A couple of weeks after the park incident, I began getting phone calls at night where the person would call but say nothing.”
“A heavy breather?” Ellie nodded. “Why didn’t you call him back?”
“I tried, but I got a recording saying the number was not in service. I know that wasn’t possible, but it happened. This person is clever. I told Hilton about it and he said to go to the police.”
“Thank God someone has sense. What did they say? Were they able to trace the call?”
Being grilled by her little girl wasn’t pleasant. “I didn’t go. I felt silly. Besides, what could they do?” Charlotte grunted, acting as if Ellie was too stupid to live. Hell, maybe she was. Denial had a way of distorting things.
“Arrest him? Or give him a stern warning?”
Ellie shrugged. “The phone calls stopped after that, and I thought everything was good. Then about two weeks ago, I found flowers by my apartment door.”
“Gerbera daisies again?”
“Yes. I would have dismissed my unknown admirer until the emails and texts started.”
“Emails and texts? My God, Mom. You act as if this is an everyday occurrence. If that had happened to me, I’d have gone to the police. What were you thinking?” Charlotte’s mouth opened and her brows pinched. Her daughter looked so much like Vic that emotion swamped her.
“I guess I wasn’t. The emails were from an unknown sender. The messages were innocuous enough. Things like, ‘Did you enjoy Reynold’s Restaurant?’ Or ‘Nice day for a run, I see.’”
“I’m guessing you had been to that restaurant and gone jogging?”
“Yes.”
“Mom. You have to go to the police. Someone is stalking you.”
Ellie blew out a long breath. “I was in denial for a long time, but don’t worry. I finally came to my senses and hired a private investigator, but all he was able to tell me was that the person who sent the emails had been at a certain cybercafé at a particular time.”
“Did he figure out the person’s name?”
“No.”
“Dad would have looked at the video feed.”
A quick shiver tripped up Ellie’s spine. Vic would have said it jus
t like that. “Since when did you become an expert on your father’s behavior?” He had never been around when she was growing up, and the resentment built until the two stopped talking years before Ellie’s divorce.
Charlotte shrugged and glanced away. “We reconnected after the fire.” Charlotte leaned forward. “He’s changed, Mom.”
Ellie didn’t want to hear it. “Don’t let him fool you.”
“You should give him a chance. When he left the FBI, he was a broken man, but a good one.”
God, she didn’t need this. “I’ve moved on.” At least she thought she had, until the notes and flowers started.
The light in her daughter’s eyes dimmed. “Fine. Do you have any idea who might be doing all of this, assuming it’s one person?”
“I don’t interact with that many people. I can’t imagine it being Hilton. He has no motive and nothing to gain from scaring me.”
“And Brian?”
“He’s my first choice, but if he wants me back, his method sucks. And then there’s Cal, my kind of creepy artist.”
“Mom.” Charlotte lowered her gaze. “You have to call Dad now. If you don’t, I will.”
Chapter Two
It had taken a year, but Vic Hart had finally settled into Rock Hard, Montana, and was enjoying life. Leaving Washington, D.C. and the fast-pace of the FBI had been hard at first, but he’d seen the writing on the wall. With the distinctive burn on his neck and jaw from the fire, going undercover had become impossible. That meant he’d have to either push papers for the Bureau for the rest of his life or quit. He chose the latter. The good news was that he’d actually made friends in Rock Hard during his time there, making the transition to the small town life easier.
Once the FBI team, along with the Rock Hard Police Department, brought down the terrorist cell, Vic had returned to D.C. where his social life went from bad to worse. He’d tried connecting with his ex-wife, El, but she’d returned only one of his calls and that was to decline his dinner invitation. When he suggested coffee instead, she said she was busy and that she was seeing someone. He recognized the brush off for what it was. After what he’d been through, he didn’t need any more emotional hits, so he backed off.