Cold Midnight (30 page)

Pain burst in her jaw, and she went still, black spots bleeding across her vision.

As she lay there, stunned and tasting blood, he trapped her hands above her head and leaned over her, his breath hot on her face. Eerie eyes, glassy and unfocused, pupils huge, squinted at her from beneath sweaty blond hair.

Oh, God, he’s
high
.

“You can identify me,” he said, calm now, deadly. “Now I have to kill you.”

44

Chase slammed on the brakes, stopping with a screech of tires several feet into the intersection. Throwing the SUV into reverse and checking the rearview mirror, he backed up a few feet. “Thanks. I didn’t see it change.”

“No shit. I don’t know why you didn’t just stay at the safe house with Kylie. I could have handled talking to Mrs. Hanson on my own.”

“Kylie will be happier with me gone. She doesn’t want me there.”

Sam snorted. “Right.”

Chase couldn’t help but think about the last time he’d seen her—red-eyed from weeping but staring at him with that infuriating expressionless expression. He’d thought he’d had her, thought he’d reached her in a way that no one else had. But just when it seemed he’d broken through her defenses, wham, she’d pulled back and left him dangling in the wind. They almost had it. They
could
have had it all. And, damn it, he hadn’t handled the disappointment well at all.

Gripping the steering wheel, he swallowed against the ache in his throat. “I hurt her, Sam. Deliberately. She rejected me, so I hurt her back. And then I walked out on her like a total dick.”

Sam studied him for a long, silent moment. “You guys are never going to get it together, so why do you keep trying?”

Chase glanced at him with a rueful, sad smile. “I love her, man. This Quinn thing has fucked up everything. And what was that business from Mrs. Hanson about Jane?”

Sam shrugged. “Sounds like something worth pursuing, in my opinion. Two siblings ganging up on another. It happens.”

Chase studied his partner for a moment. The guy didn’t even seem engaged in the conversation, as if he didn’t give a crap one way or the other whether this case got solved. But, hell, Chase had no one else to bounce his ideas off of. “Do you think Mark Hanson could have gone after Kylie to gain favor with Jane? It was no secret back then that Jane resented Kylie as much as Quinn did.” But then he shook his head. “But, damn it, it doesn’t make sense. Yeah, the three of them didn’t get along all that great, but they were teenagers. Just because there was angst doesn’t mean it had to lead to violence. And if Mark
was
one of the attackers, who was the other one and how the hell did Mark end up with his head bashed in?”

“Want to hear my theory?” Sam asked.

Finally. “Yes. My head’s spinning.”

“Quinn wanted to take his sister down. He got Mark to help, telling him that would impress Jane. Afterward, Quinn feared Mark would rat him out and killed him. Buried the bat and the body separately on the grounds of the Bat Cave and thought that was that. Fast-forward ten years, and his prodigal sister comes home with plans to build on the site where the evidence is buried. He freaks and does everything he can to keep it from being found.”

“What about Jane?” Chase asked. “Does she know?”

“Could go either way. Maybe she was in on it, maybe not. We’d have to question her.”

Chase nodded. Sam made good points. Chase didn’t like them, but they were still valid. But, damn, Kylie was irked enough by his focus on Quinn. Once he turned his attention to Jane—

“I know I’ve said it before, but I think you should back off on this case,” Sam said. “You’re not objective. And Kylie’d be happier. Hell, you’d both be happier.”

“She’d still probably consider it guilt by association as long as I’m part of the police department investigating her family. No matter what I do, she’ll find an excuse to push me away.”

Sam sighed. “Then do whatever the fuck you want to do and quit bitching about it.”

Chase cast a quick, surprised glance at him. “What’s up with you? You’ve been off lately.”

Sam rubbed at his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Sam, come on. I need you focused, and you’re—”

“Tina left me. She took the boys.”

Chase stared at him, stunned as Sam lowered his head and stared down at his fidgeting hands. “What happened? I mean, Jesus, Sam, I’m sorry. When? Where did she go?”

Sam gave an almost undetectable shrug. “A couple of weeks ago. They’re staying with her parents in Orlando.”

“A couple of
weeks
?” Jesus, no wonder the guy hadn’t been himself. And Chase had been so wrapped up in his own drama that he hadn’t noticed his friend was hurting. Way to go, bonehead. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought she’d be back by now.”

“What happened?”

“I messed up. I messed up, and she left me.”

Ah, hell. That didn’t sound good. Chase didn’t know what to say to that. Had Sam cheated? He couldn’t imagine. His partner seemed so devoted to his wife and kids that Chase had admired, and envied, him at times.

“She’ll come back,” Sam said suddenly, adding a nod of conviction and shaking his hands apart as though to rid them of nerves. “She has to. She can’t keep my kids away from me.”

Chase sensed an undertone of despair in the words, and then Sam glanced at him, a sheen of something—tears?—in his eyes.

Chase shifted in the seat and grabbed his cell phone off his belt to call Kylie. He already knew what he’d say: I’m sorry I was such a dick.

 

 

KYLIE, BREATHING HARD AND TRYING NOT TO
panic—focus, focus, focus—waited, trapped by the weight of her attacker and unable to move.

She was going to die. Like this, right now, right here, and her first regret had silky dark hair and piercing green eyes. She’d wasted so much time, so much . . . everything. Chase loved her, and all she’d ever done was push him away and hurt him. What was wrong with her? She was the biggest, blindest, most stubborn idiot on the planet to run away from love, especially with Chase Manning. She should have run
toward
it, toward
him
. As fast as she possibly could. Now it was too late.

Her attacker changed his grip and shifted to grind a growing erection against her hip. “Before I kill you,” he hissed near her ear, “what do you say we have us some fun?”

Her heart stopped—oh, God, oh, God—but she forced herself to stay still, not daring to breathe, biding her time for the perfect moment to fight back. She had to do this right. He’d already proved he was stronger and faster. To survive, she’d have to outwit him.

“You’re going to scream when I come,” he breathed, his nose in her hair.

Her muscles twitched, and when he released one of her wrists and started to fumble with the button on her jeans, stark, raving fear took control and she began to fight him blindly, biting, scratching, hitting, until he reeled back and partly off her, letting her remaining wrist go and raising his hands to protect himself. She shoved and pushed, grunting with the effort, until she could roll over onto her stomach. Just as she lurched to her feet, the cell phone on the dining room table began to chirp again, making her attacker roll to his knees and twist toward the sound, strange blue eyes wide with surprise.

Kylie dove for the phone on its second ring.

He rammed into her from behind, and they both skidded across the top of the table, crumpling the newspaper and smearing through the police officer’s congealing blood, and tumbled to the floor. The attacker landed on top of her, hammering the air out of her lungs.

She fumbled the phone and, paralyzed and gasping for breath, watched it smash against the wall and break apart in the middle of its third peal.

Damn it!

Before she could gulp in air or even begin to struggle, her assailant hauled her to her feet and dragged her, kicking and squirming, into the living room, where he slammed her back against the wall hard enough for black and red spots to splotch her vision. Bracing a bloodied forearm against her throat, he leaned hard into her until everything began to gray.

“You’d better behave or you’re dead right now. I’ll fuck you dead. I don’t give a shit. You’ll still be warm and wet.”

Terror spiked right into her brain. She couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t . . . “I’ll behave,” she choked out, fighting the spreading dark. “Please, I’ll behave.”

He eased back, his grin spreading, turning lecherous as he squeezed her right breast through her bra. “That’s my girl. Relax, it’s going to be the best you’ve ever—”

Sudden, frantic pounding on the front door jerked his head around.

“Kylie!”

Chase. Thank God!

Kylie brought her knee up with lethal aim and nailed the son of a bitch right in the dick. Howling in pain, he dropped back from her and to his knees, hands cupped around his crotch as his face faded from bright red to dead white. “Bitch!” Spittle flew from his lips.

She edged sideways along the wall, focused entirely on Chase shouting her name, not ten feet away on the other side of the front door. But the intruder blocked her way, and as she tried to slip by him, he lurched to his feet, yelping in pain, and lunged at her.

 

 

CHASE JAMMED THE KEY INTO THE LOCK AND
drove his shoulder against the front door. Kylie’s scream, followed by a loud thud and silence, rang in his ears. “Police! Open up!”

Behind him, Sam frantically called for backup.

The door flew open, and he and Sam roared through it in tandem, guns drawn.

Chase’s heart stopped when he saw Kylie on her back on the floor, unmoving, her head turned away from them. Blood was all over her. White noise began to roar in his ears.

A crash from the kitchen snapped Chase’s head around and sent Sam tearing in that direction. “I’m going after him,” Sam yelled.

“Wait for backup!”

“Check the house!” Sam shouted back.

An instant later, Sam thundered, “Shit!” And slammed out the back door.

Chase raced through the house, gun braced in a badly shaking hand as he quickly searched for intruders, every second feeling like an eternity. His need to get back to Kylie was desperate, mind-numbing, but he had to make sure the house was clear, that no one remained who would sneak up on him. But, God,
Kylie
.

He found Steve Burnett in the dining area, more blood everywhere. The man was dead, and Chase moved on without letting himself feel anything. There wasn’t time. Not yet, not when Kylie was in the other room, unconscious and bleeding.

Satisfied the house was empty, he ran back to the living room, shoving his gun into his holster, and knelt beside her. Jesus, so much blood, all over her, and her shirt . . . he remembered seeing it in tatters on the floor somewhere. The motherfucking son of a bitch bastard had ripped it right off her.

Hands shaking, he pressed two fingers to the side of her smooth, pale neck. A pulse, please God, I need a pulse. Please.

Yes, there it was. Strong and steady. His shoulders sagged, and he let out a choked sound of relief. “Thank you.”

She stirred, eyes fluttering. “What . . .”

He smoothed his hand over her hairline, stroked her brow, her cheek, to reassure her. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

He scanned her body, ran his hands over her, looking for the source of all the blood. Had she been shot? Stabbed? What? When he found no wounds, he realized the blood wasn’t hers. It was
on
her, as though she had rolled around in it, but it wasn’t hers.

And then her blue gray eyes opened fully, and even dazed they had never looked so stunning to him. His heart swelled, huge and hot, right into his throat. Relief had never felt so overwhelming. “Hey,” he said softly, and smiled.

“Hey,” she breathed, then turned her head toward the dining area. “There’s a police officer . . .”

That was when Chase saw the dark red blood soaking the beige carpet under her head. His heart knocked hard against his ribs. Oh,
shit
.

She tried to sit up. “He’s . . . I think he’s . . .”

He pressed her shoulder down, shaking again. She’s bleeding. Kylie was
bleeding
. “You gotta stay still, baby. Ambulance is on its way.”

“But the officer . . .”

He lowered his forehead to hers, closed his eyes as he held their clasped hands against his pounding heart. He heard the sirens in the distance. Hurry, hurry.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her damp skin. “It’s going to be okay.”

His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID window without letting Kylie go. Sam. Relieved, he flipped open the phone with one hand. “Please tell me you got him.”

Sam was out of breath. “I got him. The fucker’s dead.”

45

CHASE COACHED HIMSELF TO KEEP BREATHING AS
he paced the width of the tiny, windowless hospital room then about-faced and strode the four steps back. Small and airless, the room was filled to the brim with a bed, a brown vinyl chair with a nicked-up wooden frame and a corner workstation stocked with simple medical supplies. The sharp odor of disinfectant scented the close space.

His black soles scuffed the white tile floor each time he pivoted, but he kept going, needing an outlet for the rage building inside him. He had to keep telling himself that Kylie was okay. She’d struck her head on the coffee table, and the resulting wound had bled like a bitch, but it was small, no stitches required. The ER doctor had ordered a head CT scan to check for more significant injury but said it was just a precaution.

He glanced at her, his stomach lurching all over again at the absolute whiteness of her still face. She looked small and vulnerable on the bed in the white hospital gown, an IV line snaking out of the back of her right hand. A clamp on her right index finger kept track of her pulse, its steady beat echoed by a monitor next to the bed. He told himself that the darkness of her hair made her look paler than she was, but that didn’t stop him from grinding his teeth, especially when he focused on the fist-size smear of purple along her jaw.