On the Chase

by Katie Ruggle

  Lips pursed, he eyed her for several seconds. “You’re not very good at telling jokes.”

  “I’m an excellent joke teller!” Grace huffed.

  “Uh-huh.”

  The door opened behind her. “Grace?” Jules said tentatively. “You okay?”

  As Grace turned toward the store, she realized that her fear had disappeared. Hugh might be one of the most aggravating people she’d ever met, but he’d made her forget for just a moment that her life was a terrifying, out-of-control horror movie.

  She realized that Jules was still waiting for an answer, so Grace gave her a smile. “Sure. Should we go back in?”

  Jules studied her for a long moment. As the seconds ticked by, Grace’s apprehension returned, and she fought the need to scan her surroundings again, looking for Martin or one of his flunkies. Now that she didn’t have the distraction of Hugh teasing her, all she could think about was how it wasn’t safe outside. She needed to get back into the store. As if Jules could read Grace’s thoughts, she held the door open wider, allowing Grace to reenter the thrift store.

  Grace couldn’t resist sneaking a look over her shoulder as she headed through the doorway. The only person on the street was Hugh, watching her with an expression that was a mixture of heat and suspicion and a deep determination that sent a shiver through her.

  Despite the comfort and distraction he’d just given her, she needed to be careful. There would be no falling for a cop—especially not one as annoying and bullheaded and beautiful as Officer Hugh Murdoch.

  Chapter 6

  She needed a job. Desperately.

  It had only been a week. Despite having taken over the cleaning and the cooking and the packing of school lunches, Grace was bored out of her mind. It was her own fault. There was no reason she couldn’t have gone to town—to the library or to one of the touristy shops having closing-for-the-season sales, or even to have lunch at the viner. Part of the deal with Mateo Espina when she’d left California had been trading her Infiniti for another car—a Subaru—so Grace had transportation.

  She just hated the thought of leaving the house. The idea of venturing into the quiet, ghostly town, with its lurking strangers and suspicious cops, made her shudder. Grace knew she had to do something else, though, because she couldn’t wander around the creaky, ancient house any longer without going a little bit crazy. The kids wouldn’t be home from school for a couple of hours, and Jules was working a double shift. Grace had gone from living a fulfilling, happy life to spooking at her own shadow and hiding in a house that wasn’t even hers.

  She couldn’t even mess around on the Internet, since she didn’t have a laptop, and her new phone was a basic-model burner. To find a job, she needed to shake off her paranoia and go to town.

  Now. She took a determined step toward the front door. I should go job hunting now. As she moved toward the door, Martin Jovanovic’s face popped into her head. What if he’d found her new town? What if, as she walked into the library, he grabbed her from behind, just like he’d done at his house in California? He wouldn’t even need to grab her. He could hide in the shadows and shoot her dead. All the possible ways Martin could kill her filled Grace’s mind, and she froze in place, unable to move even an inch closer to the entrance.

  Tomorrow morning, then, she thought, almost running into the living room and plopping down on the couch. There would probably be more business owners around in the morning anyway. She could stop at the library to use one of their computers, have lunch with Jules, and make a whole day of it. That would work much better than trying to squeeze everything in that afternoon.

  Ignoring the rational part of her brain that knew she’d be just as scared of Martin Jovanovic tomorrow, she reached for the remote and clicked on the television. It was small and old and only got a few channels, but watching it was better than peeking out the windows and imagining that she saw Martin Jovanovic hiding in the trees.

  The theme song for a soap opera came on, and she groaned. She’d never watched much daytime TV before, and, after a week of her self-imposed house arrest, she understood why. Most of it was very, very bad. She lifted the remote to change the channel.

  A knock on the door had her jolting from the sofa to her feet in an instant. She hesitated, her heart pounding, not sure if she should run out the back or answer the door. It was probably nothing. After all, Martin Jovanovic wouldn’t knock. He’d just barge in and grab her. Or maybe just shoot her. Or stab her. Or… Okay, she needed to stop.

  The knock came again, a heavy pounding that sounded urgent and serious. She took a step toward the door, but then hesitated. Her car was parked behind the house, out of sight, so whoever was at the door wouldn’t be able to tell that she was at home.

  An advertising jingle rang out from the TV, making her flinch. Fumbling for the remote, she muted the television, hoping it wasn’t too late. Had the visitor heard the TV before she’d silenced it? The knocking had stopped, though. Maybe they were leaving?

  Her nerves calming at the thought, she shifted toward the window, intending to look outside. Before she could take more than a couple of steps, she heard the distinctive squeal of the front door hinges.

  Someone had just broken in.

  Her heart immediately sped up until it was thrumming in her ears. Had she locked the door after the kids had left for the bus stop that morning? Grace knew she had. She remembered the feel of the dead bolt under her fingers as she turned it. Whoever it was must have a key. Maybe it was Jules, home early.

  Even as she had the thought, Grace dismissed it. Why would Jules have knocked first?

  The floor in the entry creaked, reminding Grace of her most urgent issue at the moment: someone was in the house. As quietly as possible, she started backing up. This was not a good room to be trapped in. The only door was the one into the hallway—where the intruder was. The large, central window was solid. The two smaller panes of glass beside it would reluctantly crank out a few inches, but definitely not wide enough to fit her entire body through.

  Why had she hesitated when she’d first heard the knock? If she’d immediately headed for the back door, she’d already be far, far away. Now she was stuck.

  Her gaze ran over the room, searching for hiding spots, but there weren’t any good ones. The closet was too obvious, but it would have to do. Maybe they wouldn’t bother searching.

  As she hurried toward the small closet door, her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. It beat so loudly that it felt as if everyone still left in Monroe could hear the pounding.

  “What are you doing?”

  She whipped around, grabbing the first thing within reach to use as a weapon.

  Hugh looked from her face to her hand with his usual expression of barely contained amusement—a look that aggravated Grace more every time she encountered him. Even the dog standing next to him looked entertained. “The mute button doesn’t work on me. Trust me. Others have tried.”

  There was still so much residual fear flooding through her body that Grace had a hard time understanding what he meant. She followed his gaze to the improvised weapon in her hand and realized that she was pointing the television remote at him. As her panic started to abate, anger took its place, along with a healthy dose of embarrassment.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, allowing her arm to drop back to her side.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he said.

  “What?” It was almost a screech. Grace blamed residual nerves…and the fact that Hugh was truly aggravating. “I live here!”

  “Jules said you were job hunting today.” She opened her mouth, but he spoke again before she could ask how that justified him breaking into her house. “Why didn’t you open the door when I knocked?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You came in because you thought I wasn’t here? What were you going to do? Go through my stuff?”

 
The guilty look that flashed over his face disappeared quickly, but she still caught it. “You were!” Another thought occurred to her, and she almost growled. “How did you get in?”

  His expression of pure innocence just made her suspicions double. “What do you mean? The door was unlocked.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I definitely remember locking—”

  “Hey!” he interrupted, his attention on the TV screen. “Is this the Tattered Hearts where Tatiana realizes that Natasha and Jorge are scheming against her?”

  “What? I don’t know. I’ve never watched this show.”

  “You’ve never seen Tattered Hearts?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the couch. Bemused by the sudden topic shift, she sat. “You are missing out. It’s the best show ever.”

  Hugh plopped his oversized self on the couch right next to Grace, jostling her. He was so big, a wall of heat and muscle and sexiness—whoa. She shut down that thought abruptly. His dog stretched out in front of them, her furry head resting on Grace’s foot, which was comforting and kind of nice. She scowled and briefly considered telling Hugh to leave—although the dog could stay—but Grace was curious why he was so obsessed with this soap. Besides, as annoying as Hugh could be, arguing with him kept her mind off Martin Jovanovic. She honestly didn’t want to be in this big, creaky house alone anymore, especially after having the snot scared out of her, so she settled in to watch.

  “Wait,” she said after a few minutes. “So the guy with the waxed chest—”

  “Jorge.”

  “So Jorge is cheating on the woman with the scary eyebrows—”

  “Tatiana.”

  “Jorge is cheating on Tatiana with the lizard-faced woman?”

  “Natasha.”

  “Why?” Keeping her gaze locked on the television, Grace made a face. “Tatiana is so much hotter, and Natasha is all about the drama. That gets so tiring.”

  “I know.” Hugh sighed. “Jorge’s an idiot.”

  “Yeah. He is.” Although she wanted to talk more about Jorge’s poor life choices, Grace went quiet so she could watch the show. As the soap continued, she found herself leaning forward, fascinated despite herself.

  “Oh. My. God.” Grace clapped a hand over her mouth in shocked glee as a commercial filled the small screen. “Did Tatiana actually tell Jorge about the secret baby?”

  “I know, right? Natasha knew all along, too.” Hugh shook his head and tsked. “Just wait. Javier—”

  “Stop! No spoilers!” Lunging toward him and laughing, Grace clapped a hand over his mouth. As soon as she made contact, she froze. His skin was warm—almost hot—and his cheeks as stubbly as his lips were smooth. Grace stared at him. What was she doing? This was Hugh, a cop who was so suspicious of her that he’d broken into her house to dig through her things. Why was she flirting with him?

  Realizing that she was still touching him, Grace started to yank her arm back, but he caught her hand before she could pull it away. He gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

  “What—”

  “The show’s on,” Hugh interrupted. “Hush, or you’ll miss it.”

  Watching Tattered Hearts was more important than smacking him down for shushing her, so Grace settled against the sofa cushions and tried to ignore the annoying, muscle-bound cop sharing the couch with her. She couldn’t deny how nice it was to have him there, though. It made her feel a little less alone.

  Grace felt herself relaxing for the first time in over a week. With a relieved sigh, she let herself enjoy the warmth of Hugh’s shoulder so close to hers and the comfort of his presence. She got caught up in the drama of Tatiana, Jorge, and Natasha, and forgot about anyone with the name Jovanovic for a little while.

  * * *

  “What are you guys up to?” Grace asked, flipping through one of the recipe books that Tio had picked up for her at the library. The kids had just gotten home from school, and there was tons of time before dinner, but Grace had been at a loss after Hugh had left a few hours earlier. Meal planning gave her something to focus on, something that wasn’t a burly, soap-opera-loving cop.

  Dee paused in her rush to beat the twins to the back door. “We’re going to play footer.”

  “Footer?” Grace echoed.

  “You can play, if you like.” Dee looked at her with hopeful eyes, even as Grace’s chest tightened at the thought of leaving the house.

  She cleared her throat, hoping that her voice would come out sounding normal. “Thanks, but I should do…uh, something in here.” Gesturing at the cookbook, Grace gave her a weak smile.

  Dee studied her for a moment, her expression too serious for a little girl. “That’s okay,” she finally said, patting Grace’s arm before following her brothers outside. Grace stared at the door, feeling like the biggest scaredy-cat alive.

  “Y-you sh-sh-should c-come outside.”

  Grace jumped, twisting in her chair to see Sam. “Oh! You startled me.” She cocked her head, watching him curiously. Usually, he did his best to avoid her, only speaking to her when it was absolutely unavoidable. This was the first time he’d actually initiated conversation.

  He looked at her in a way that was uncomfortably close to how his sister had eyed her, as if they knew exactly what she was scared of. “You sh-should p-play.”

  Grace’s laugh came out sounding strangled. “I don’t even know what footer is, much less how to play it.”

  “It’s a m-m-mix of f-footb-ball and soccer. We d-don’t know the rules, either. W-we j-j-just make them up as w-we g-g-go.”

  That time, her smile was real, although short-lived. She looked down at the cookbook. “I don’t know…” She didn’t want to admit her silly fear that Martin Jovanovic and his flunkies might be hiding in the woods, waiting for her to leave the safety of the house. It was irrational, and she knew it. She shouldn’t be hiding as children tried to coax her to do simple, normal things, but that seemed to be her life now. Thanks, Martin, you asshole.

  “It’s ok-kay.” Her gaze flew to his face. It was like he’d read her thoughts. “If whoever’s af-fter you knows wh-where you l-live, it’s t-t-too l-late anyw-way.”

  She stared at him in horror. If he was trying to encourage her, then he kind of sucked at it.

  “Th-they’re n-not g-g-going to f-find you j-just bec-c-cause you g-go outside.”

  It was her turn to study him as she considered what he’d said. “You’re right.” Shutting the cookbook with a slap, she stood abruptly. Even though he was several feet away, Sam still took a step back, looking alarmed. Grace wondered what had happened to him, what he and his brothers and sisters had gone through that had driven them out of their lives and into hiding. His expression became guarded, and she shook off her thoughts. “I’m going to play sockball or whatever you call it.”

  Her attempt at a bad joke was rewarded by a tiny smile from Sam. “F-footer.”

  “Footer. Right. I’m going to play footer. No, I’m going to rule at footer. Watch out, footer world, because I’m about to dominate!”

  His smile grew, and Grace felt like she’d already won. Taking a deep breath, she shoved all thoughts of Martin Jovanovic from her mind and followed Sam out the door. Screw being scared. It was time to play footer.

  * * *

  “You don’t have to fix breakfast every morning, you know,” Jules said, the last two words muffled by a yawn. Shoving some dark strands of hair out of her eyes, she made a beeline for the coffeepot. “I mean, it’s wonderful to wake up to the smell of sausage and syrup, but I’m starting to feel like a slacker.”

  Grace snorted as she flipped a piece of French toast. “Right. You’re a total slacker. Getting up at five to work your cute little butt off at the diner, and then coming home to take care of your brothers and sister. Plus there are all those things you keep trying to fix with duct tape. You really do live a pampered life.”


  After a halfhearted effort at glaring, Jules gave up with a shrug. “It’s too early to do this battle-of-wits stuff. Give me ten minutes and some coffee, and I’ll think of an awesome comeback to that.”

  With an amused snort, Grace said, “I really don’t mind cooking. It helps keep my mind occupied. In fact, I’m going to go job hunting today. All I do if I sit around is think about…things.”

  “I get it.” Jules really did understand, Grace knew. Although they hadn’t exchanged too many details, Grace was certain their situations were similar. “It might not be the best time to look for jobs in Monroe, though.”

  Grace made a face. “Yeah, I figured that. At least it’ll give me something to do besides watch daytime TV.”

  “I’d offer to ask Megan if you could waitress, but with the diner blowing up and all…”

  Head cocked, Grace studied her.

  “What?” Jules asked.

  Turning back to the French toast, Grace explained. “If you’d told me a week and a half ago that I’d be living with five other people in a small Colorado town, casually talking about a diner exploding, I’d have said you were crazy. My life has gone a bit sideways.”

  Although Jules laughed, she squeezed her eyes closed as if she were in pain. “Tell me about it.”

  The kids thundered into the kitchen, and the conversation turned to washing hands and setting the table and putting out the food.

  “Oh!” Jules exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sam, didn’t the cleaner at the kennel move back to Kansas?”

  He eyed her with his usual wary expression before finally answering. “Y-yeah.”

  Jules turned to beam at Grace. “That might be a job possibility for you.”

  With everyone staring at her, Grace tried to hide her horror at the idea, but she wasn’t sure how well she succeeded. She knew her options were limited in such a small town, especially with her new, sadly skimpy résumé, but cleaning? And not only cleaning, but cleaning a dog kennel at that. She had been hoping to find something more along the lines of sales clerk or barista or…well, pretty much anything that didn’t involve poo. She realized that Jules was waiting for a response and jerked herself out of her self-pitying fog. “Sounds…promising.”