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THREE
Jude knew he’d told Lacey to stay put. Twice. Yet there she was, creeping toward her front door, just begging to be shot by whoever was driving the black Honda sedan. “Get down.”
He whispered the command for the second time, but she kept on going. He had no choice but to change his course and follow. He’d spent enough years working as a beat cop in New York City to sense danger. Right now it was nipping at his heels just as it had been in the weeks preceding the accident that had almost taken his life.
Accident.
That’s what his supervisor insisted it was. That’s what the police report indicated. It’s not what Jude believed. Someone had tried to kill him two months ago, accelerating toward him as he helped a stranded motorist. There wasn’t a doubt in Jude’s mind that the act had been deliberate. Nor did he doubt that the person would try again.
But next time, Jude would be ready.
The car inched forward, moving as quietly as a car could. Nearly coasting. Lights off. License plate concealed. And instead of moving toward it, Jude was heading up the porch stairs, his need to keep Lacey safe outweighing his need to confront the driver of the car.
It was the same need to protect that had nearly gotten him killed. He’d been on vacation, heading out to a cabin in upstate New York when he’d spotted a woman and two kids standing on the side of the road, steam rising from the hood of their minivan.
He could have passed them like everyone else had, but denying someone help wasn’t something Jude had ever been able to do. He’d pulled up behind the car, gotten out of his vehicle and been run down by a black sedan.
One that looked a lot like the one idling at the end of his driveway.
“Get away from the door. You’re lit up like a Christmas tree.” He hissed the warning as he tugged her out of the light from the door and into the shadowy corner of the porch.
“What’s going on, Jude? Who’s in the car?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Stay here.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk after I deal with my visitor.”
He limped down the porch steps and jogged toward the car, his gun in hand, knowing he and Lacey had already been seen. Maybe, if he were lucky, he’d get a glimpse of the driver anyway. And maybe he wouldn’t get a bullet through the heart while he did it.
The car U-turned, kicking up gravel as it sped away.
Gone.
A missed opportunity.
And Jude knew exactly who to blame.
He gritted his teeth and made his way back up the stairs, slamming his fist on Lacey’s door as he moved into the foyer.
“There’s no need to slam things around.” Lacey stepped inside and closed the door, her shoulders stiff. Jude wasn’t sure if she was scared or angry, and he wasn’t sure he cared.
“Sure there is. I’ve been waiting months to confront the person in that car. Thanks to you, it didn’t happen.”
“Thanks to me? I was trying to save your sorry hide.”
“I didn’t need saving. I needed to get a good look at the car’s driver.” He stalked away before he could say anything worse. Lacey didn’t know what was going on, and she couldn’t be blamed for not understanding.
“I’m sorry, Jude. I just wanted to help.” She touched his arm, her fingers warm through his shirt, searing his skin and cooling his temper.
“There are things going on that you don’t understand, Lacey. For now on, when I tell you to do something, do it.”
He limped back outside, his legs protesting every step, and watched as the retreating car braked at the top of the road. Two months ago, Jude would have sprinted around the side of the house, hopped into his car and sped after the retreating vehicle. Unfortunately, his sprinting days were over.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find the car and its driver.
“I’m going for a drive. You go back in the house, eat your pretzels and then try to get some sleep,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the porch steps.
“There you go again. Trying to order me around.” Lacey shut the front door and hurried after him.
“I’m not trying. I’m doing it.”
“And wasting time while you’re at it. I don’t know who you think is in that car, but if you’re planning to catch up to him, the sooner we follow, the better.”
“We’re not following. I am.”
“My car is right in front of the house, and I’ve got the key.”
She didn’t add that it would make more sense to take her car since it was obviously closer than his. Probably because she knew she didn’t have to. Jude hadn’t made the grade as a homicide detective because he was ruled by his emotions. He’d made it because he was logical and meticulous.
“Fine,” he said. “We’ll take your car.”
“I knew you’d be reasonable.”
“I knew you’d be annoying.”
She laughed, the sound ringing through the night, nudging at Jude’s soul, telling him he needed to lighten up a little, stop taking things so seriously.
Unfortunately, that was hard to do with a killer stalking him.
He walked to Lacey’s car, his limping stride only adding to his frustration. Since the accident, his body no longer felt like his own. His legs were foreign and difficult to move. His back was stiff. Every day was filled with challenges, but what bugged Jude the most was that he couldn’t take off after the bad guys, chase the villains, bring them in and see justice served.
“You’re awfully quiet. You’re not feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” Lacey opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, clearly not caring that Jude was seething with frustration.
“Isn’t that your job?” He shut her door and got in the passenger’s seat.
“To feel sorry for you? Why would I? You’ve got a nice home, a family that loves you. What’s there to be sorry about?”
“Two bum legs and a lost career.” He muttered the response, but knew she was right. He had plenty to be thankful for and not much to be sorry about. Even less once he figured out who was trying to kill him.
“I’ve met a lot of people who thrived with more hardship than that.” She put on her seat belt, adjusted the mirrors, glanced over her shoulder and fiddled with the dashboard buttons until Jude grabbed the key from her hand and shoved it into the ignition. “There. We’re ready.”
“Right.” She gripped the wheel with both hands and drove backward down the driveway and onto the road. The speedometer crept from five to fifteen miles an hour and hovered there until Jude wanted to wrench the steering wheel out from under Lacey’s hands and stomp down hard on the gas pedal.
“I suppose there’s a reason why you’re driving so slow?”
“Slow? The speed limit is posted. Fifteen miles an hour.”
“Fifteen miles an hour if you’re not trying to catch a potential murderer.” Although at this point, it was unlikely they’d come within twenty miles of the guy who’d been behind the wheel of the car they were trying to follow.
“Murderer? You actually think the guy was here to…” Apparently she couldn’t get the words out, but Jude had no problem with them.
“Kill me.”
“What?” She braked hard, pulled to the side of the road and turned to face Jude. “Grayson said you were troubled, but he didn’t say you were paranoid.”
“I’m not.” He knew that wouldn’t be enough information to get Lacey driving again, but wasting time chit-chatting wasn’t high on his list of things to do when a criminal was escaping.
“You know you can’t tell me someone is trying to kill you and expect me to act as though this is just an ordinary early-morning outing, right?”
“You knew it wasn’t an ordinary outing when you offered to drive, and what I expect you to do is drive.”
To Jude’s surprise, she accelerated, pulling onto the road and heading in the direction the sedan had gone. The street was dark, the houses that lined it silent and sleeping. There were plenty of cars parked in driveways and on the side of the road, and Jude scanned each as Lacey drove past. He didn’t expect to find his quarry, but he hoped. That would have to be enough for now.
“If we see the car, we’re going to call the police, right? Let them deal with it.” Lacey’s question filled the silence, reminding Jude that he wasn’t alone in his quest. There was someone else to think about; someone who could easily be hurt.
“If we see the car, you’ll call the police and wait in here until they arrive.” No way would Jude allow Lacey anywhere near the vehicle.
“What about you?”
“I’ll do what I have to do to make sure the person doesn’t drive away before the police arrive.” He scanned the street as he spoke, his hope of finding the car dying a little more with each passing minute. He wanted to find it, prayed he’d find it, but he doubted either would do any good. After all, he’d wanted to walk out of the hospital on two strong, pain-free legs. Instead, he’d been rolled out in a wheelchair. As for praying, Jude had walked too far away from his faith to expect God to answer.
It had only been recently that he’d realized how true that was. Being forced to slow down had given him time to take a long, hard look at his life. He wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. He’d spent eleven years working hard, playing hard, pursuing his passions with the same single-minded zeal with which he’d pursued criminals.
He wanted to believe there was nothing wrong with that, but a quiet voice in his soul kept whispering that he’d taken the wrong path. That his need for independence had cost him the things he’d valued most—faith and family.
He didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Someone wanted him dead. If Jude didn’t find out who that was, he wouldn’t have to worry about the things he’d given up to gain freedom and independence. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything at all.
“We’re probably not going to find the car.” Lacey echoed Jude’s doubts, but that didn’t mean he planned to give up.
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep looking.”
“We could keep looking. Or we could go back to the house.”
“And do what? Hope the guy comes back?”
“Actually, I was hoping we could raid your fridge and find something for breakfast.”
Lacey’s answer made Jude smile. “Is food the only thing you think about?”
“Not usually, but I haven’t had anything to eat in twelve hours.”
“You had pretzels.”
“They don’t count. Or that’s what I’ll be telling myself when I’m gorging on pancakes, sausage, grits and home fries.”
“Sorry to say, I don’t have any of those things in my fridge. Not that I think you could actually eat all that.”
“Point me to a restaurant that’s open all night and I’ll be happy to prove you wrong.” She sounded serious, and Jude was sure he heard her stomach growl.
“There’s an all-night diner a couple of miles down this road. We can stop there.”
“Does that mean we’re done looking for the guy in the black sedan?” She sounded so hopeful, Jude almost felt bad about telling her the truth.
“We’ll keep looking until we get there. If we don’t find him by then, we probably won’t.”
“Too bad.”
It was, because there was no way the driver of the sedan was going to drive away for good. He’d be back, and when he returned there was no guarantee Jude would see him coming. The way Jude saw it, most people never experienced a miracle in their lives. He’d already experienced one in surviving the driver’s first attack. There was no way he could count on another.
All he could do was wait and hope that when the time came, he’d be ready to fight.
FOUR
Lacey didn’t believe in spending a lot of time worrying. It wasted valuable energy that was better spent enjoying other things. Unfortunately, worry was exactly what she was feeling.
Someone wanted Jude dead.
That was what he’d said, and despite initial doubts, Lacey believed him.
She’d worked with enough paranoid clients to know one when she saw one. She didn’t see one when she looked at Jude. She saw instead a man on a mission. One who knew exactly what he was doing and why.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and stared out at the road, praying desperately that she wouldn’t see the car Jude was looking for. If she did, Jude would want her to pull over so that he could confront the driver. Lacey wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.
Sure, Jude had a gun…but who knew what the guy in the car had?
She inched down the street in good old Bess, the Mustang’s loud engine masking any sounds from outside the vehicle. A parade of murderers in black sedans could have been speeding up behind her and she wouldn’t have known it.
“You can relax, Lacey. We’re not going to find him tonight.” Jude’s voice was smooth and deep, the kind that could be filled with promises or with threats and still send shivers along the spine.
“Maybe we should call the police.”
“And tell them what?” He snarled the question as Lacey spotted the all-night diner and pulled into the parking lot.
“There’s no need to snap.”
“I’m not snapping. I’m…” He smoothed his hair and turned to face her, the planes and hollows of his face shadowed, his eyes dark. “Snapping. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I guess if I thought someone wanted me dead, I’d be snapping, too.”
“I already told you, I don’t think it. I know it. I was nearly killed two months ago. It wasn’t an accident. Unfortunately, I don’t have the evidence I need to prove it.”
“You were run down while you were helping a stranded motorist. I’m sure you know how often that happens. The fact that the car accelerated could mean that the person driving it was drunk. It doesn’t necessarily mean he was specifically targeting you.” Lacey made the argument without believing in it. Jude had worked as a homicide detective. She didn’t believe he’d jump to conclusions about what had happened.
“That’s what NYPD said. With no other attacks against me, they had no choice but to call the accident a hit-and-run.”
