Cold Midnight (11 page)

Oh, that. Long lost bats and bloody T-shirts. Besides Chase Manning, it was all she could think about. A shaft of anxiety caught her off guard. Keeping her eye on the ball was impossible when it was nowhere in sight.

“I’m holding up great.” Her voice cracked, and unable to sit still for another second under that watchful gaze, she set aside her glass and rose to pace behind the chair. Moving helped. As did barriers. She always liked something to hide behind.

Lara’s eyes, a dark velvet brown, traveled her features then dropped to where Kylie had clamped her hands on the chair’s back. “I think you need to sit back down and talk to your mother.”

Kylie stared down at her white-knuckled hands. Talk. Right. She’d rather run a marathon without training. Or try to teach a cranky four-year-old how to serve for twelve hours straight. Or play soccer with a thriving bee hive. Or stand without her knee brace in front of roving, curious eyes.

“Here.”

She glanced up, surprised to see Lara holding out a rocks glass that contained what looked like two shots of amber liquid. She hadn’t even heard her stepmother move. “I don’t—”

“It’s whiskey,” Lara interrupted. “Drink it.”

She accepted the glass with a soft laugh, glad it didn’t have ice cubes that could knock against each other and give away how shaky she really was.

Lara resumed her position on the sofa, legs crossed and hands clasped on her knees, and waited for Kylie to do as she was told.

“Cheers,” Kylie said, toasting her stepmother before swallowing the fiery liquid in one gulp. The burn on the way down into her empty stomach reminded her of Chase’s lips tracking the side of her neck to the top of her shoulder, the heat of his fingers on the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of her T-shirt. He knew how to touch, knew how to stroke, knew exactly how to make her want. Clearly, he knew too much.

Lara started to smile. “Well, I see some color in your cheeks, so Mr. Johnny Walker must be doing his job.”

Kylie squinted her watering eyes and nodded. Yep, it’s Johnny Walker all the way. “Thank you.”

Lara tilted her head to one side, but when Kylie said nothing more, she sat back. “Let me guess: You don’t want to talk about it. Not that I had to guess. Jane filled me in on that part, too.”

“I figured she would.”

“She’s just worried—”

“I know. God, I know.” She looked down into her empty glass. A refill would have been nice.

Lara pursed her neatly lined and lipsticked lips. “I hate to say it, but you’re even more tense than usual. Sit down, look me in the eye and talk to me.” She smiled in a sweet way that had defy-me-and-die undertones. “Please.”

Kylie obeyed, at least on the first and third requests. “I’m not trying to avoid—”

“Yes, you are.”

“But it’s not because—”

“Yes, it is.”

Kylie blew out a sigh and sank back against the chair cushion’s squishy, sink-into-me comfort. “I’m a mess.”

“Yes, you are.”

Kylie met her stepmother’s unperturbed gaze and had to laugh. “So now that that’s settled, can we talk about Paris?”

Lara’s smile turned tight. “No, we cannot.” Sitting forward, she looked Kylie straight in the eye, her gaze warm but imploring. “Is Chase why you and Wade stopped dating?”

It took Kylie a moment to catch up. Number one: She’d never mentioned to Lara that she and Wade Bell stopped seeing each other. Jane must have taken care of that when she’d filled her in on all the other gossip. Number two: She hadn’t thought much at all about Wade since . . . well, crap, since she’d stood next to Chase staring at the “killer” bat.

“It wasn’t because of Chase,” she said. A lie, though. Every time it didn’t work out with a guy, it was because of Chase.

“Do you think you gave Wade a fair chance?” Lara asked. “You went out for such a short time.”

“It was enough to know.”

“But he’s such a nice man, and a doctor.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Lara cocked her head. “Yes, I know you of all people know that. I’m just saying . . .” She trailed off with a shrug. “Handsome, smart, orthopedic doctor with regular hours, a sharp dresser and a full head of hair. What more could a girl want?”

Passion? Connection? Chase? Yes, Dr. Wade Bell had worked the miracle that saved her leg after the attack, and they’d developed a warm friendship in the years afterward that he’d suggested they escalate into romance when she returned from LA. But . . . but damn it, nothing happened when he kissed her.
Nothing
.

Kylie searched for the right words. “We didn’t connect on that level. He was right to break it off.”

“I’m sure that was a difficult decision for him.”

“We dated for six weeks, Mom. It wasn’t that difficult.”

“I got the impression that he waited for you for ten years.”

The idea amazed Kylie, and she laughed. “No, he didn’t. He was married twice. And the idea of dating didn’t even come up until we got together for dinner after I returned.”

“I don’t know. He was very devoted to you before you left for California.”

“I was his patient.”

“A patient he liked very much.”

“Regardless, it’s not going anywhere. We’re friends, period.”

Lara, obviously unsatisfied with that response, got up and crossed to the bar, where she poured a glass of whiskey for herself. Kylie watched her posture-perfect back, trying to figure out what was up. Lara had never been one to push or express disapproval. She let her kids do their thing and offered constructive guidance when she thought it necessary.

When Lara returned to the sofa, she wore a forced smile, further alerting Kylie that something big was bothering her.

Kylie reached out and put her hand on her stepmother’s knee. “What’s on your mind, Mom?”

Lara patted the back of Kylie’s hand then grasped her fingers and squeezed. “Your father would be so happy that you’re home. You know that, right?”

Thrown by the tears in Lara’s eyes, Kylie nodded. “Sure, of course.” She couldn’t stop the spear of guilt, though. She should have returned
before
he died. But no one had known he was sick, and he’d died so unexpectedly . . .

“He always wanted to start a tennis center,” Lara said, “but he didn’t want to do it without you. He also didn’t want to pressure you to return.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure the construction delays are taking a toll on your finances.”

Kylie gave a noncommittal shrug. “Hopefully everything will clear up soon.”

“How long have you got, do you think?”

Kylie didn’t want to go into the specifics—or say that she didn’t have long at all before the bank got antsy and rescinded her credit line. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“He’d want you to keep going on it, not to honor his memory, but because he believed it would make you happy.”

“I plan to, Mom. Where’s this—” She withdrew her hand and glanced away as it hit her. Well, damn. No one, not even her stepmother, expected her to stick around for long. It was official: She had a rep. When adversity mounted the front porch steps, she crept out the back door. Incredible how much that made her feel like a slug. Dirty and slimy and not someone anyone who loved her could count on. Biting back the hurt, she said, “So you think that if Wade and I stayed an item and as long as I had the tennis center, I’d be less likely to leave again.”

Lara’s velvety eyes filled with tears again, and she pressed her lips together for a moment. “I’d understand. We all would. It’s painful for you to—”

“Mom, come on. I’m not going to—”

The front door opening cut her off. “Mom?” Jane called from the foyer. “You here?”

“In here, Janie,” Lara responded, casting Kylie an apologetic glance. “We’ll finish this later.”

Jane strode into the living room, a plastic-wrapped newspaper clasped in one hand like she wanted to hit somebody with it. “You haven’t opened your paper yet today,” Jane said in an accusing tone.

Lara smiled at her youngest daughter. “Hello to you, too, Janie. Paris was wonderful, thanks for asking. How are you?”

Jane ripped the plastic bag off the paper with lethal-looking, manicured nails and held it up. “This is how I am.”

Kylie’s heart dropped straight into her stomach as she read the headline:
Mac’s Brother a Suspect in Attack.

“
This
,” Jane gave the paper an angry shake, “says the police found a T-shirt that belongs to Quinn wrapped around the bat from the construction site.”

Lara took the paper and sank down onto the sofa to read. “That can’t be right,” she murmured.

Jane whirled toward Kylie, dark eyes flashing. “Did you know about this?”

Kylie couldn’t respond as her thought process arrived at the jarring realization of what this would do to Quinn. He already knew about the shirt, but everyone else knowing—and jumping to the conclusion that he was a monster—would devastate him. She needed to get to him, needed to make sure he was okay.

Realizing that Jane waited for an answer, Kylie nodded. “Yes, I knew.”

“But this can’t be right,” Lara said, shaking her head. “The story must be wrong.”

“It’s not wrong, Mom,” Jane said without looking away from Kylie. “Kylie has the details. She just didn’t bother to share them with us.” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “As usual.”

Attitude. Perfect. “They’re running tests on the shirt,” Kylie said. “I’m sure they’ll clear Quinn.”

“But the damage is done,” Jane replied. “He’s already been destroyed in the press. Once again, this family is being dragged through the mud because of poor, pitiful you.”

“Janie!”

Ignoring the shock in her stepmother’s voice and the bitter anger in her sister’s, Kylie crossed to the phone and picked it up. When her hand trembled—damn it—she turned her back to the other two women and started dialing Quinn.

Everything would be fine. All she had to do was talk to him, assure him that nothing had changed, that an old gym shirt didn’t make her think for a second that he’d done anything to her. He’d be fine. They’d be fine together.

“I’ve already tried that,” Jane said. “He’s not answering at home, work or his cell.”

Kylie replaced the phone in its cradle. “Then I’ll go over there.”

“The media’s camped out in front of his house,” Jane said. “And he’s not answering the door. I tried that, too.”

Kylie nodded. No problem. She had a key to his house. “I’ll give it a shot anyway.”

“And you think he’ll open the door to you instead of me because . . .”

“I don’t know,” Kylie said, fighting for an even tone. “Maybe he’s no longer in the shower?”

“You think I didn’t try hard enough, is that it? You think you’re the only one he talks to? Who do you think he talked to while you were on the other side of the country pretending none of us existed?”

“Janie—”

“This isn’t helping Quinn,” Kylie said to Jane, then looked at her stepmother and gave her a gentle smile. “I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Lara nodded, tears glittering in her eyes. “I want to come with you, but maybe it’s best if you . . .”

Kylie grasped Lara’s hand, then decided that wasn’t enough and gave her a tight hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll have him call you.”

17

CHASE STOOD NEXT TO THE EXPLORER PARKED AT
the edge of the site of the future McKays’ Tennis Center, his eyes narrowed against the morning sun. The bustling activity of construction workers had been replaced with the quiet, careful work of a small forensics team combing two acres of dirt for ten-year-old evidence.

Sylvia Jensen, in jeans and an untucked, dirt-smudged, white T-shirt, waved from several yards away and started toward him. Chase waited for her, knowing better than to tread on the land that had been sectioned off by twine to organize the search. There wasn’t much his feet could disturb after construction crews had already worked over the land, knocking down trees and leveling the minor hills and valleys, but he still respected the rules of forensics.

Sylvia, large hoop earrings swinging and sunglasses hooked in the collar of her shirt, stepped over a puddle to join him. As always, he was struck by the absolute beauty of her light hazel eyes against the backdrop of dark chocolate skin.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing concrete, but we have discovered something a bit strange. It appears that someone has been digging around.”

“Digging around?”

“At the back of the site, where the land butts up against the wooded area there,” she said, gesturing at the ragged line of unkempt trees that marked the edge of the property. Chase remembered cutting through that wooded area many a time to meet up with friends at the hollowed-out house they’d called the Bat Cave.

“We’ve found several areas where the soil’s no longer compact,” she said. “Someone’s been digging holes, then filling them back in. Recently.”

“How recently?”

“They broke ground on the project last month, so it could be since then. Can’t tell specifically because of all the rain.”

“Could it be related to the construction? Utilities? Cables?”

“Already checked with the foreman. The positioning is off.”

“So you think someone’s been looking for something?”

“Thought it could be the baseball bat,” she said. “Maybe whoever buried it found out the land was being developed and went to work trying to find it.”

“Or maybe our culprit is looking for something else he buried here in addition to the bat, such as the masks that were worn during the attack.”

“Possible. He also might have already found what he was looking for.”

“Are you saying that you think this is a waste of time?”

“Not at all. I’m just giving you the heads up that we might spend weeks out here and not find anything.”

“Let’s hope that’s not the case,” he said. Kylie had a lot invested, financially and emotionally, and he didn’t want to see her robbed of another dream. “Did you find anything among the evidence you collected near Kylie’s Jeep?”