Cold Midnight Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59 - SIX MONTHS LATER

  Praise for the novels of Joyce Lamb

  FOUND WANTING

  “Top-notch suspense . . . Believable characters in an action-packed plot will enthrall readers. Like Tami Hoag and Iris Johansen, Lamb weaves the textures of romance and suspense together in a satisfying read.”—Booklist

  “This wonderfully written story is a must read for any fan of romantic suspense! Joyce Lamb is a master story-teller . . . Don’t miss out on one of the best novels ever written!”—Romance Junkies

  “Fast-paced suspense, full of twists and turns and nonstop action . . . To find out the many other fabulous nuances of this story, you’ll just have to go and grab yourself a copy!”—LoveRomances.com

  CAUGHT IN THE ACT

  “Page-turning suspense and a rewarding romance make for a riveting read.”—Booklist

  “Captures readers’ interest from the opening pages.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Lamb is back with another tale of murder, treachery and intrigue . . . Makes for good suspense reading.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Full of shocking twists and turns . . . A wonderful novel that achieves the perfect balance between the romance and the mystery.”—LoveRomances.com

  RELATIVE STRANGERS

  “Lamb’s debut novel gets off to a fast and furious start . . . Relative Strangers is a rollicking ride full of blazing passion, nonstop suspense and heart-pounding action.”

  —Booklist

  “Intricate, transfixing and very intense, this is one thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Author Joyce Lamb makes an excellent debut with this true page-turner.” —Romantic Times

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  COLD MIDNIGHT

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / August 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Joyce Lamb.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-10883-3

  BERKLEY® SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Mom.

  You’re the absolute best.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to:

  • Mike Becknell and Jim Royals for their cop expertise.

  • Julie Snider, Shari Grace and Jennie Pollock for their help getting the word out.

  • Tim Loehrke for being an awesome photographer.

  • Diane Amos, Joan Goodman, Linda Cutillo, Maggie Hoye, Chantelle Mansfield, Kristann Montague, Karen Feldman McCracken, Chris Clay, Mary Clay, Charlene Gunnells, Ruth Chamberlain, Lisa Kiplinger and Lisa Hitt for brain-storming, reading, commenting and not rolling their eyes at me (much).

  • Grace Morgan for her dogged determination (and Janet Chapman for introducing us).

  • Wendy McCurdy and Allison Brandau for the BEST editing suggestions.

  • And last but not least: All my friends and family who’ve always supported me in what sometimes seemed like an impossible dream. We did it! Woo hoo!

  1

  KENDALL FALLS POLICE DETECTIVE CHASE MANNING steered his SUV into the muddy parking lot of the construction site for McKays’ Tennis Center. He would have preferred to avoid this case like a bad sunburn, but he couldn’t not respond when it involved Kylie McKay, the woman he loved more than life before she walked out on him. As if Mother Nature shared his mood, lightning flashed against the backdrop of ominous dark clouds on the horizon.

  Shoving bad memories out of his brain, he stepped out of the truck to the low rumble of distant thunder. His partner, Sam Hawkins, was talking to a group of four or five construction workers near a mobile home, so Chase headed in that direction.

  The construction site was in the beginning stages of development. Freshly felled trees dotted the sandy dirt landscape. Two yellow, mud-caked earthmovers sat silent, as did a huge dum
p truck filled with tree branches and other debris. A chain-link fence with intermittent KEEP OUT signs surrounded it all.

  His stride faltered when he saw her talking to another construction worker. She nodded at the man, her eyes shielded by sunglasses and her mouth set in a grim line. In red shorts, a white tank top and sneakers, and her long dark hair caught in a ponytail that shed curls around her face, she still looked every bit the professional tennis player: lithe, tan and toned.

  His gaze locked momentarily on the black knee brace that extended from midcalf to midthigh, a harsh reminder of the violent and bloody assault that tore them apart ten years ago.

  When dark rage boiled up inside him, he clenched one fist and looked away to see Sam striding toward him. His partner of five years looked rock solid as always, biceps and thighs bulging in a navy polo shirt and khaki slacks. A prematurely gray crew cut topped his heavy brow, making him look dangerous. Very few people messed with Sam.

  “What have we got?” Chase asked.

  “Maybe it’s best if you let me handle this one.”

  “What have we got?” Chase repeated, his voice hard.

  Sam hooked his thumbs in his belt and rolled his massive shoulders. “Construction worker found a bat.”

  “As in baseball bat?”

  “Kylie ID’d it as the one used to take out her knee.”

  Chase couldn’t respond for a moment. Holy shit. Holy shit. Unable to stop himself, he glanced in her direction. She’d just looked upon the weapon that two unknown assailants had used to shatter her dreams, and yet she chatted with the construction worker as if they discussed nothing more major than the impending storm. Her calm facade eerily mirrored the aftermath of the brutal attack, he realized. But she’d been in shock then, pale and hollow-eyed, disoriented from pain medication and spinning from endless talk of surgeries and physical rehabilitation . . . and no more competitive tennis.

  “Chase.”

  He blinked and looked at his partner. “What?”

  “You sure about this? I can take it from here, you know.”

  “Like hell. This case has been cold for ten years.”

  “Yeah, I know, and you’ve been itching for a reason to open it back up, and now you’ve got it. But there’s a major conflict of interest here.”

  “I’ll be fine, Sam. Kylie and I have been over for a long time.”

  “That was easier to buy when she lived on the other side of the country. She’s back now, and you’ve been wound way too tight ever since.”

  “That’s bullshit—”

  “Just let me handle it, Chase.”

  Chase started to knead the back of his neck, where tension always settled into a giant, throbbing knot. Sam was right. He couldn’t possibly be objective on this. Not when the mere act of looking at her stirred up a maelstrom of contradictory emotions. Anger. Grief. Anger. Resentment. Loss. Christ, the anger, after all this time. “Fine. We’ll play it by ear.”

  Sam rolled his eyes at the vague surrender but said nothing as they walked over to Kylie, where Sam extended his hand. “Hello, Miss McKay. Detective Sam Hawkins, Kendall Falls Police.”

  She clasped his hand and gave him a perfunctory nod. “Detective.”

  Sam gestured toward Chase. “You know my partner.”

  She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable behind the sunglasses. “Chase,” she said, both her tone and expression neutral.

  “Kylie.”

  So incredibly poised, cold even, as if meeting a competitor before a career-changing match. Coach Daddy had trained her well.

  She gestured to the construction worker beside her, a balding man with a deep tan and a small gut pooching out over the waistband of his faded jeans. “This is the foreman,” Kylie said. “Robert Arnold.”

  The men shook hands all around before Sam said to the foreman, “You’re the one who found the bat?”

  Robert nodded. “Dug it up this morning while we were cleaning out the trees. It was wrapped in a dirty T-shirt and a garbage bag. I set it aside for my kid and didn’t think anything of it until one of the other guys said it looked like the one . . .” He trailed off as he shot an apologetic glance at Kylie. “Kind of makes all the other stuff that’s been happening a bit more significant, in my opinion.”

  Her expression remained unchanged, but her shoulders tensed. “I don’t think—”

  “What other stuff?” Chase cut in, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “Nothing that—”

  “Vandalism started about two weeks ago,” Robert said. “Sugar in the gas tanks of the earthmovers. Sabotaged engines. Stolen materials. More annoying than serious, but definitely suspicious.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” Chase directed the question at Kylie.

  “I didn’t see a need. Like Robert said, the incidents were more annoying than serious.”

  “But escalating,” Robert pointed out. “Whoever’s behind it is getting bolder. I don’t—” The ringing cell phone on his belt cut him off. “Excuse me, folks,” he said and stepped away.

  Chase moved in on Kylie, deliberately invading her space. “Someone’s trying to scare you off, and you’re not doing anything about it?”

  “Chase . . .”

  He ignored Sam’s warning tone. Screw the conflict of interest. Kylie was being threatened. “You should have called the police, Ky.”

  “You’re here now.” Cool and solid, not a flicker of emotion.

  “That’s not the point,” Chase said. “Escalating vandalism can quickly turn into violence. You should have—”

  “We need to stay on track here,” Sam said.

  Chase took a breath to check his temper. Figures. Her past had just risen up to take a swing at her, and he was the one on the verge of losing control. Being near her could make him so irrational. “Where is it?” he asked, teeth gritted.

  She gestured with a rock-steady hand toward the off-white trailer that served as the foreman’s office. A metallic blue aluminum baseball bat with red lettering sat propped under one of the shadeless windows. On the dirty yellow tape wrapped around the grip, one word had been scrawled in black marker: KILLER.

  Chase’s stomach flipped. Jesus, that was the bat that demolished her knee to the point where only the fast work of one doctor saved her leg. Saved her life.

  He realized now that she must have locked everything inside her down. No way could she look at that thing and not feel something. So she’d done what she could: kept her eye on the ball with the same laser focus that won her the Australian Open at seventeen, launching her into tennis stardom mere weeks before two barbaric bastards held her down on a deserted path and viciously destroyed her.

  He swallowed as the same old helpless rage welled inside him. He’d been head over heels in love with her, and all he could do after the attack was stand there, powerless and lost and pissed off, while her world imploded. She lost everything that day, in the course of one or two bloody minutes. Her future. Her sense of security. Her innocence. Her very identity.

  When he was feeling rational, he couldn’t blame her for running away from Kendall Falls. She’d landed on center stage, under a glaring spotlight, at the most vulnerable time of her life. It was like being assaulted twice.

  A flash of lightning, closer now, jolted him out of his thoughts, and as he looked away from the bat, he realized Sam watched him with a warning in his gaze. Keep it together, man.

  Chase cleared his throat. No problem. Do the job. “Where are the shirt and bag?”

  “Foreman said he tossed them before he knew what he had,” Sam said.

  “Tossed them where?” Chase asked.

  “Dumpster.” Sam jerked his thumb toward the back of the site.

  “We’ll have to go through it,” Chase said.

  “Is that all you need from me for now?” Kylie asked.

  So stoic and controlled and, God, still so achingly beautiful. When she cocked her head, waiting for his response, he had to swallow against the tightness of his throat
, sure she had no idea what was coming.

  Thunder crashed, and Chase noticed everyone except Kylie glanced up at the furious clouds. Her focus had zeroed in on him and his next words.

  “Construction has to be shut down,” he said. Blunt, to the point. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Nothing in her expression changed, her eye obviously still on the ball. “Completely? Delays have already put us behind schedule.”

  “It’s only temporary, until we can determine that this is indeed the weapon used in your attack.”

  “Of course it’s the weapon. It’s exactly the same. How many bats have you seen with ‘killer’ written on the grip like that?”

  So matter-of-fact and unemotional. How did she do that? But he knew. As her training partner so long ago, he’d helped make her the player she’d been, the woman she seemed to be now. Cool, focused, driven.

  “It still has to be tested,” he said. “Your description of it was common knowledge back then. Someone could have, well, made one based on that.”

  “Like some kind of joke?”

  The crack in her voice hit Chase like a soft blow to the gut, and suddenly he hoped like hell she’d get her game face back and fast. She’d been broken ten years ago, but he’d never seen her broken. He suspected no one had.

  “The whole site is a crime scene,” he said. “It has to be off-limits to everyone but the crime scene investigators.”

  “How long is this going to take?”

  Steady again. He almost let out a sigh of relief. “If we don’t find any evidence on the bat or shirt that connects them to your attack, we’re looking at a day.”

  “And if you do?”

  “We’ll have to search the site for more evidence. Best-case scenario: a couple of weeks.”