Cold Midnight Page 3

  She needed time, she’d said, completely dry-eyed and stone-faced as she’d spouted her bullshit. She needed time to find her “new identity.” That one still made him wince. Amazing, really, after all this time. She’d wanted a new identity, separate from him, separate from everything they’d shared. As if he’d somehow become a third assailant.

  Not fair. So incredibly not fair.

  Well, he wasn’t going to let her twist him into knots again. Unlike her, he’d dealt with his demons, left them dead and buried shortly after she walked out on him. No way in hell did he plan to get caught up in her drama, or lack of it, again. If she wanted to dry up into an emotionless husk of a woman, that was her problem.

  He did, by God, plan to find out who tried to cripple her so long ago.

  First, though, he needed to focus on the escalating vandalism at the construction site. Someone didn’t want Kylie building that tennis center, and she’d made it clear that sabotage wouldn’t chase her away. So far, the incidents had been directed at stalling the actual work, but it wouldn’t take long for the perp, or perps, to realize that to make an impression they needed to get personal. On top of all that, the sabotage and the bat could be related—probably were related, considering their concurrence. Which raised the possibility that one or both of her attackers from ten years ago were messing with her now.

  He’d already asked for an unmarked car outside her house, especially at night when she was home alone. She’d hate that, but she didn’t have to know. She was most likely safe while at work, considering other people were around and no one had made any overt threats toward her.

  Pushing back from the table, he got up and carried his coffee cup to the sink. He desperately needed a pick-me-up, so he reached for the phone and called his daughter.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  At the sound of Maddy’s voice, his smile felt like it would split his face. “Hey. You’ve got that caller ID thing down, huh?”

  Maddy giggled in her nine-year-old way. “That’s what Mom does. Then sometimes she answers like she doesn’t know who it is. Not when you call, though.”

  He chuckled. “Are you ready for school yet?”

  “I’m eating scrambled eggs. Scott made them, with cheese and bacon.”

  “Hey, save some for me.”

  Chase liked the man who’d married his ex-wife. Scott was totally devoted to Rhonda, and he was good to Maddy. Maybe that made Chase a dork, but he didn’t care. He wanted his ex-wife and daughter to be happy, and Rhonda had decided long ago that he wasn’t up to the task. He hadn’t been able to argue with her, not when he’d married her because he’d knocked her up rather than because he’d fallen for her. And, frankly, a divorce relieved him of the fear that he would become like his father, trapped in a loveless marriage and so angry about it that he brutalized those closest to him.

  When Maddy stopped giggling, he said, “I was thinking we could do some mini-putting next week.”

  “Oh, you know what I want to do?”

  “Hit me,” he said, grinning like a clown. She made his heart so full.

  “There’s this new go-kart place.”

  “Oh, sure. Over on Lakewood. I busted some kids for speeding over there last night.”

  Her laugh was sweet and innocent and the best thing he’d heard in days. “Really?”

  “Yeah, they must have been doing ten, fifteen miles an hour on the track. Way over the limit.”

  “That doesn’t sound very fast.”

  “Trust me, it was way too fast. So I was thinking I’d swing by and give you a ride to school this morning.”

  “Cool.”

  “Think your mom would mind?”

  “She never minds.”

  “Want to check with her for me?”

  While Maddy covered the mouthpiece and carried on a muffled conversation, Chase dumped the contents of his cold coffee into the sink. Everyone should have a kid to call when shit got them down.

  4

  KYLIE, COFFEE CUP GRIPPED IN BOTH HANDS AND the morning newspaper on her lap, sat on the deck and watched the gently rolling waves of the Gulf of Mexico as they slid ashore and retreated. A haze of humidity hung thick over the water, seemed to cling to everything with a cloying determination that made her long for California. Especially now that the bat had turned up.

  She should have stayed there, in LA, safely ensconced in her peaceful world of churning out the best college tennis players she could. Racking up wins and losses and even a few NCAA championships along the way. Nobody watching her or asking leading questions. No one expecting, or even wanting, her to crack open and spill her guts at their feet.

  She couldn’t help but want to run away again. Screw Kendall Falls. Screw the past. Screw . . . everything. She could even leave knowing she’d given rebuilding her life here a shot, and it hadn’t worked. Too much pain, too much emotion, too much . . . Chase Manning. God, that man. He could turn her inside out with a look, something she totally didn’t need right now. They’d both moved on, so why did he have to be in her face now?

  Hearing the glass door behind her slide open, she angled her head back, glad to see her brother, a welcome distraction, stepping outside with a coffee cup in one hand. Quinn was tall—topping out at six-three—and slim, though he worked hard to counter the lankiness with avid workouts that made his arms and legs ropy with muscles.

  “Hey,” he said, dropping onto the weathered, wooden Adirondack chair facing hers. His wavy blond hair—in need of a comb and a haircut—hung in brown eyes that were so dark they were almost black.

  “Hey,” she replied, smiling at his sleepy expression.

  He gave her a crooked smile and stretched his back. “That sofa isn’t long enough for an adult to stretch out on.”

  “You could have let Jane talk you into taking the guest room, and she could have slept on the sofa.”

  “But then she would have won the martyrdom contest.”

  Kylie laughed. She might have had a different mother than Jane and Quinn, but all three had inherited their father’s gene for competition. “You guys really didn’t have to stay last night. Especially both of you. I was fine.”

  Settling back in the chair, Quinn sipped his coffee and grimaced at its heat. “Dr. Jane begs to differ.”

  “Dr. Jane isn’t my therapist.”

  “Want to talk about how that makes you feel?”

  She threw the newspaper at him, and he caught it, grinning. As he unfolded it, his levity faded with a low whistle. “Look at that.”

  She already had. The headline had leapt out at her from the front page: Bat That Ended Mac’s Career Found?

  A file photo of her hoisting the Australian Open trophy in triumph accompanied the story that covered the highlights of yesterday’s find: Construction on McKays’ Tennis Center was on hold while the police awaited test results on the bat. Local experts speculated that it was unlikely that after all this time the bat would yield evidence, such as fingerprints, that could be used to identify her attackers.

  “Maybe you should think about taking a vacation,” Quinn said without lifting his gaze from the paper.

  “What would that accomplish?”

  “I’m just saying, maybe it’d be good for you to get out of town until this stuff blows over. Maybe you and Wade could go somewhere.”

  Kylie shifted at the mention of the doctor who’d treated her knee ten years ago. Shortly after she’d returned to Kendall Falls, they’d gone on their first date. Six weeks later, they went on their last date. “Wade and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  “When did that happen? You and Dr. Bell were like two peas since you moved back.”

  She tried to shrug it off. “The pod was . . . overanalyzed.” Before he could respond or do any overanalyzing himself, she said, “And I’m not going anywhere. Once the case gets solved, we can all put it behind us. It’s been ten years. I, for one, am sick of thinking about it.”

  When Quinn’s eyebrows shot up, she realized she’d
overdone the vehemence, but before she could backpedal, his gaze shifted to the door beyond her shoulder. “You might want to put a lid on the stress. Here comes Dr. Jane.”

  Kylie turned to greet her sister with a sunny smile as she slid open the door. “Good morning, Jane. Did you find the coffee?”

  “You know I don’t drink coffee,” Jane said, wrinkling her perfect nose in distaste. “Aren’t you hot out here? It’s so humid.”

  Jane was already showered and dressed in a pastel yellow dress that hugged the angles of her slim frame. With her delicate stature, pearl jewelry, golden blond hair, dark brown eyes, flowery perfume and high-heeled shoes, Jane was the epitome of priss. Kylie often thought she and her sister couldn’t possibly have been more different. Kylie was all athlete, and Jane was all princess.

  Pushing herself to her feet, Kylie said, “As it turns out, I was just coming inside for a bagel.” With Jane, it was easier to give in than disagree.

  Quinn hopped up. “Me, too.”

  In the kitchen, Kylie separated a bagel and dropped the two halves into the toaster, while her sister hovered in the background and her brother topped off his coffee.

  “What are your plans for the day?” Jane asked.

  “The usual,” Kylie said. “I’ve got my class of third graders in less than an hour.” She’d started the classes shortly after she’d moved back as a way to build an eager audience for the upcoming tennis center. Plus, she loved working with kids. They still knew how to have fun, whereas college students tended to take the game way too seriously.

  “You didn’t cancel your classes today?” Jane cast an exasperated glance at Quinn. “Tell her she should cancel her classes. Better yet, you’re her boss: You can cancel them for her.”

  “Whoa, ho, ho,” Quinn protested with a big belly laugh. “I’m not Kylie’s boss.”

  “You manage the health club, so doesn’t that put you in charge of who runs the tennis classes there?”

  Kylie grinned at her squirming brother. “She’s got a point.”

  He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I plead the fifth.”

  “Quinn, come on,” Jane said. “Stop horsing around and be useful for a change.”

  “And that’s my cue to fly,” he said, and turned to address Kylie. “While you’re eating that bagel, do I have time for a shower?”

  She nodded. “Save me some hot water.”

  He brushed a quick kiss over her cheek. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  “Bailer,” she whispered back.

  He flashed her a grin before he sauntered out of the kitchen.

  At the pantry, Kylie withdrew a jar of peanut butter and a box of teabags. “Isn’t this the kind of tea you like?”

  Jane took the box and reached for the red tea kettle on the stove. “Why don’t you sit? I can make my own tea. When your bagel’s done toasting, I’ll bring it over.”

  Kylie let her hands fall to her sides. Here we go. “Jane.”

  Her sister, filling the kettle with water, glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

  “I appreciate you being here, but, really, you don’t have to take care of me.”

  Jane set the kettle on the stove and twisted on the burner, then leaned against the counter and folded her arms under her breasts. “All right. Since you’re so fine, let’s quit dancing around the issue. Are you prepared for what’s going to happen if it turns out that that bat is the one those boys used on you?”

  Kylie suppressed a sigh. Oh, to have a conversation about the weather.

  Jane was already shaking her head, as if Kylie’s silence were answer enough. “I’m serious about this. You would have never walked into a tennis match without being mentally prepared.”

  Kylie slathered peanut butter on her bagel a bit too vigorously. “This isn’t a tennis match.”

  If it were, she’d know exactly how to respond. But this she had no training for, no point of reference. And, frankly, all she wanted to do was run as fast as she could. Just forget Kendall Falls and her family and the tennis center and Chase Manning, and go back to that safe place in California where no one cared how she felt or what she thought or whether she worked the day after a vital piece of her past resurfaced. Safety in anonymity.

  Realizing that Jane hadn’t tossed out one of her insightful, snappy comebacks, Kylie glanced over and found her sister watching her like a therapist observing a patient trying to wriggle out of a straitjacket. She had a knowing smile on her porcelain-doll face.

  Putting aside the peanut butter-smeared knife, Kylie decided to ignore her. Not that that ever worked.

  Jane hummed a little as she cranked the flame higher under the tea kettle. “I find it . . . interesting who’s involved in solving the case.”

  “It’s not interesting. It’s his job.”

  “Technically, he shouldn’t be involved. It could be considered a conflict of interest because of your past together.”

  “Sort of like psychoanalyzing your sister?”

  Jane’s peach-tinted lips tightened. “All I’m trying to do is help you.”

  Jane meant well, but that didn’t change the fact that Kylie had the childish urge to push her face into the wall. Sisterly love at its best.

  Deliberately loosening the set of her jaw, Kylie started toward the hall, bagel clasped in one hand. “As much as I’m enjoying this session, I’m running late.”

  Jane called after her, “I’d say you’re running right on time.”

  5

  QUINN MCKAY STARED DOWN AT THE SCHEDULES spread across his desk. Two of the personal trainers had already bitched that they should have been posted on the health club’s bulletin board yesterday. He’d promised he’d get them up right after lunch, which was right now, but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. All he could do was worry.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. Christ, why did that fucking bat have to turn up now, after all this time? Damn it, he’d known when Kylie picked that particular parcel of land for the new tennis center that it was a terrible idea. He’d tried to tell her so.

  “Why not there?” she’d asked. “It’s perfect. It’s in our old neighborhood, which, in case you haven’t noticed, looks like hell these days. A new tennis center would give the kids a place where they can be safe.”

  He supposed, too, that she’d wanted to recapture some of her own unjaded happiness from those times.

  “I just think that something on the newer side of town would be more appropriate,” he’d said. “You’d get a better—richer—clientele, and in the winter, there’d be tourist traffic.”

  But again she’d shaken her head. “That’s not the point. The old neighborhood is falling apart. There were beer cans and cigarette butts all over the lot when I toured it. The Bat Cave isn’t what it used to be.”

  He’d chuckled at that. The Bat Cave referred to the abandoned house that had stood on the lot. With concrete walls on the outside and nothing but the wooden frames of walls inside, the house had been a stand-alone cave on two acres of Florida foliage. One of their friends had dubbed it the Bat Cave during a childhood game. Interesting how people’s memories were so different. Where Kylie fondly remembered fun and games at the Bat Cave, Quinn recalled hours of getting drunk, feeling sorry for himself and resenting the hell out of her.

  He’d tried again to dissuade her. “You probably won’t even be able to get the people who own it to sell. They’ve let it sit there for years.”

  “I’ve already had the title search done and contacted the owner. She told me the history of the place and, Quinn, it’s just heartbreaking. She and her husband were living in Chicago and building their dream house on that lot, but then her husband died in a car accident, and she abandoned the project. She didn’t want to finish it or sell it.”

  “Christ, that’s sad,” Quinn said, relieved at the same time. “So it’s going to be a tough sell to get her to part with the land.”

  “It was a tough sell.” Kylie was beaming. “Turns out she’s
a tennis fan. When I told her what I wanted to do with the tennis center, she caved. Pun intended.”

  Quinn had given her his best fake smile and a warm hug. “Congratulations.”

  How ironic that the start of something new and good for her, the tennis center, had flicked the spotlight back on on the darkest part of her life.

  A knock at his office door brought his head up. “Yes?”

  Detective Sam Hawkins walked in, looking as serious as a tornado warning.

  Quinn, his heart racing, could already sense the howling wind whipping into a destructive frenzy. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  Sam fixed him with a cold, dark stare. “We need to talk.”

  ♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

  6

  KYLIE NAILED NOTHING BUT AIR AS SHE SWUNG her racket at the ball.

  “Keep your eye on the ball!”

  She looked across the net at the lanky, dark-haired fourteen-year-old on the other end of the court and laughed. “That’s my line.”

  T.J. Ritchie shook his head in mock disgust. “Not when you’re missing shots I could have gotten with my eyes closed.”

  She gave an apologetic shrug as she slipped a ball out of the pocket of her shorts. They were ninety minutes into a sixty-minute lesson under the hot sun. But she didn’t mind. He was, by far, the most promising kid she worked with. Wiry and well on his way to six feet tall, T.J. had an easy grace that made him unbelievably swift on his feet, a winner at the net or running the baseline. The more time she could get with him, the better.

  Besides, she sensed something troubling him today. He’d been slamming the ball back at her harder than ever.

  “I’m a little off,” she said. Maybe he’d respond that he was, too, opening the door to a conversation.

  “No shit?”

  She fell out of her serving stance and cast him a chastising glance. “Watch your mouth, kid.”

  He bounced from one foot to the other, racket grasped in both hands before him, ready to return her serve and grinning like a fool. “What are you going to do about it? Kick my ass?”

  “Uh, yeah. Ever occur to you that I’ve been taking it easy on you because you’re a kid?” She enjoyed their trash talk, having discovered early on that she could tweak his form by firing him up. Her dad had often done the same to her.