Читать книгу High Speed Holiday - Katy Lee - Страница 11

TWO

The emergency room buzzed with standing room only. Sylvie bypassed it and led Ian up to the front counter. “Good evening, Liz. I’ve got a GSW in the arm. Any way you can get him in? He’s bandaged well and the bullet is out, but he still needs stitches.”

“Anything for you, Chief.” The front-desk nurse pushed a clipboard over to Sylvie.

“Can you also tell me where Jaxon is?”

“Curtain three.”

“Great, you’ll find us waiting in there. Stay close and follow,” she said to Ian.

They passed by the waiting room and a familiar redhead jumped up from her chair and rushed their way. “Sylvie, hold up!”

“Walk with us, Roni,” Sylvie said without halting her steps. Her friend joined them down the hall. “How’s Jaxon?”

“He’s a champ, but what took you so long getting here?”

“Roni, meet Ian. Ian, Roni Spencer.”

“I know who Veronica Spencer is,” Ian said, his voice hard and condemning. Did the man still think Roni tried to kill him? She was watching the track when everything went down. She couldn’t have shot him.

“Have we met?” Roni replied.

“No, we haven’t,” Ian clipped.

“But you know me. Are you a fan?”

“Figures you would think so, but no. I don’t follow racing.”

Sylvie leaned into Ian. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Stone. Watch it.”

“It’s all right, Sylvie,” Roni assured, but her normally bright smile dulled. However, Sylvie quickly noticed a mischievous glint spark up in the woman’s ice-blue eyes. Her friend never got offended, even when the joke was on her. She just angled those ice crystals on the other person and gave it back tenfold. A quick glance Ian’s way, and Sylvie noticed his eye color had the same hue. That’s where she’d seen it. Wade and Roni had the same eyes. Interesting that Ian’s eyes matched the Spencers’. Before Sylvie could speculate further, Roni said, “I’m sure your Ian will smarten up soon enough. It won’t take too long for him to realize what the town revolves around.”

“I assume we’re talking about you again?” Ian shot back.

“Ian!” Sylvie nearly grabbed his injured arm and threw him behind a curtain—any curtain would do. “She was talking about racing. Now knock it off. Roni is not your enemy. And, Roni—” Sylvie leveled her eyes on her friend “—he is not my Ian.”

Roni pursed her lips. “Good, because you could do so much better. He reminds me of all the locusts claiming to be our long-lost baby brother lately. We got another one this week. Now that word is getting out that Luke didn’t die in the car crash, strange men are coming out of the woodwork. Don’t they know we will have them tested?”

“Right,” Ian said with a smirk, “because you can’t let a penny of your money go to a locust.”

“All right, that’s it.” Sylvie made a grab for Ian’s good arm and twisted it up his back. He didn’t fight her as she pushed him toward curtain three. “Get in there before I throw you out the front door and let whoever shot you have another go at it.” That part she whispered, but not softly enough because her son immediately spoke from behind the curtain.

“Shot?” Jaxon said.

Sylvie opened the curtain to shush him. Anxiety she’d held at bay since the accident lifted from her shoulders at the healthy sight of him. She shoved Ian inside and turned back to Roni to see if she’d heard, but her friend only said, “He’s cute, and a worthy opponent, but watch yourself.” Sylvie wanted to set the record straight. She was in no way interested in Ian Stone. In anyone for that matter. But she knew her friend would never stop hoping she would find someone someday, like Roni had found her handsome FBI agent, Ethan Rhodes.

Sylvie yanked the curtain closed with a rattle to the metal rings above. “Sit in that chair and fill this out.” She passed over the clipboard and went to her son’s bedside to hug him, relieved he let her embrace him. After a few moments of assurance that he was alive and well she pulled back and picked up his chart to read. “How you feeling? Anything broken? Has the doctor seen you yet?”

“Leg snapped. I’m getting a boot. Who is he?” Jaxon asked, peering around Sylvie.

“He’s someone I brought in for stitches.”

“Because he got shot?”

“Yes, but’s that’s between us. Don’t go repeating that. I’m keeping him with me until I know more details.” Sylvie turned to see Ian hadn’t even clicked the pen to write his name. “The doctor won’t be able to see you until that’s filled out, Mr. Stone.”

Ian barely looked at the forms. “I told you I didn’t need this. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Just why did you come to Norcastle? Especially if you don’t follow racing.”

“Is it a crime to want to see a mountain town in New England at Christmastime?”

“No, but you don’t fit the profile of a tourist, most know how to dress appropriately for the harsh winters. It snows practically every night up here. Did you even pack a hat and gloves? A scarf? I’d say you’re a California man. Am I right?”

“I’m impressed.”

“I don’t care if you’re impressed.” She nodded at the clipboard. “Just write it.”

Ian stared at the information sheet and clicked the pen. He clicked it again and again. Five more times at a rapid rate before he sent the clipboard clattering to the floor and jumped to his feet. He was out the curtain in an instant.

But he wasn’t faster than Chief Sylvie.

She had an arm wrapped securely around his neck and had him back behind the curtain and in his chair before anyone saw the takedown.

“Man, you thought you were going to escape my mom?” Jaxon said with a wry smile. “I could have told you not to bother. She’s got some moves.”

Ian cleared his throat and mumbled aloud, “‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’” He ran his fingers through his hair to right it back into its unkempt style. He straightened up in his chair. “How about a warning next time, Chief?”

“It wouldn’t change anything. She’d still win.” Jaxon smirked.

“Thanks a lot, kid,” Ian said, chagrined.

“Was that Shakespeare?” Jaxon asked. “That quote about my mom being little but fierce?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“I’ll have to read it.”

“Here.” Ian reached into his pocket and withdrew the MP3 player. “I have the audiobook on here. You can listen to it.”

Sylvie picked the clipboard up and held it out to Ian again. “If this is about money, I already told you not to worry. It’ll get worked out.”

Ian stared at the floor. “It’s not about the money. At least not all of it.”

“Then explain. What was that outburst for?”

He hesitated, but then blurted out, “I can’t read, okay?” His gaze lifted to her.

“Whoa,” Jaxon said, but Sylvie warned her son with a shake of her head before he could say more.

“You should have just said so,” she said to Ian.

“I try to avoid being ridiculed whenever possible.” He looked away. “I have dyslexia. Words and letters make no sense to me. They’re all one big wavy line, moving around the page.”

“We won’t ridicule, right, Jaxon?” Sylvie said.

“No, man. I get enough of that at school to know it stinks.” Jaxon reached for the clipboard. “I can help you fill it out.”

Sylvie’s heart swelled with pride to see her son jump in to help a complete stranger with no judgment. But she did wonder what her son meant by experiencing enough ridicule at school. He hadn’t mentioned anything to her before about it. And it couldn’t be for his academics. The boy excelled in every subject.

Sylvie’s cell beeped with one of her lieutenants calling her. “Excuse me for a second,” she told the boys, but they didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything. The two were laughing about something Ian said was a ridiculous question on the sheet. She walked behind the curtain. “Preston, I’m glad you’re calling. I have a nonresident who’s been shot today. I need to get a report going.”

“A GSW? Drug related?”

Sylvie glanced at the closed curtain. “Possibly. The victim hasn’t given me much to go on, other than blaming it on the Spencers. I’m thinking he’s hard up for money, maybe owes someone. They retaliated by pulling the trigger. Anyway, I have the bullet. I’m bringing it in. I’ll need you to run ballistics.”

“Got it.”

“So, you called me. What do you need?”

“Nothing so full of grandeur. Just that I think I’m right about Smitty and Reggie. I found a business card for an ecologist specializing in salt contamination in Smitty’s desk. You know I think Officer Smith has been instigating the picketers over at the salt shed. He wants Reggie back as chief.” A recent wave of protesters had sprouted up in town, vocalizing their disapproval about the state of the shed that stored the season’s road salt.

“Reggie is retired from the force and doesn’t want to come back. Trust me. I’ll talk to the people over at the shed. I realize they’re worried about contamination of the river, but this is going to have to wait until I get home. Maybe even after Christmas. My son is injured.”

“Is Jaxon all right? I heard that he was going to be okay.”

“He is. But his leg is broken.”

“Should I come down?”

“Thanks, Preston, that’s nice of you to offer, but I need you holding down the fort.”

I should be back in Norcastle in a few hours.”

“What about Smitty and Reggie?”

“Like I said, Reggie is retired and Smitty will be up for retirement this year. I’m not worried that they want my job. They’ve been on the force for over thirty years, and I think I have shown them they can pass the baton. My probation period will be up in two months, and the town council will approve my position as permanent. I need you to stop worrying and just follow my orders.”

Preston huffed. “Right. Hold down the fort. It’s all you think I’m good for. I know others who would disagree.”

The line went dead. Great, another ego she would have to console.

After Christmas.

Sylvie turned on her heel and plowed right into Ian’s wide, very hard chest. The guy did some manual labor for sure.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. His piercing gaze saw too much...and sent a tingle up her spine.

The effect baffled her.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Her voice squeaked.

Her voice never squeaked.

She gave orders like a drill sergeant. Deep, loud, so there was no mistaking the fact that she was in charge. She snatched the clipboard from his hand.

Ian Stone

Construction worker for Sarno Construction

Pasadena, CA.

“Pasadena, huh? I thought money was an issue for you.”

“It’s temporary. I live in a trailer on the construction site my boss is working on. We’re building a development. Homes that I will never sleep one night in. I just build them and move on.”

She eyed him over the clipboard. Maybe Ian Stone was moving on to other ventures. Like setting up shop in Norcastle to sell drugs.

If that was the case, he would quickly learn he’d picked the wrong town to target.

And the wrong cop to dupe.

* * *

“I don’t need a shadow,” Ian stated against Sylvie’s plan for security detail. He pulled on his coat slowly. “I just need a ride back to my apartment.”

She glanced her son’s way. “The doctor wants you to stay the night. Do you mind if I leave for a while to bring Ian to the station? I want to keep an eye on him to make sure no other bullets find their way into him. You okay with me leaving, Jax?”

“No, but since when does that matter?”

“Jaxon, we made a pact. Remember? I accepted the chief position, but only because we understood the sacrifices would be on both of us. A team.”

Jaxon shrugged. “Yeah, I know what we said. It’s just...”

“Just what?”

Jaxon avoided his mother’s questioning gaze. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Just go. I’m tired anyway. I’m just going to go to sleep.”

Sylvie hesitated at her son’s brush-off. Ian thought her frown expressed a bit of sadness about something going on between the two of them. But she quickly snapped back to her stoic self and patted Jaxon’s good leg. Whatever it was wouldn’t be hashed out tonight. “Okay, kiddo, they’re getting a room ready for you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Sylvie turned to Ian. “Stay by me.” She took the lead and Ian gave a single wave to her son.

“Bye, Ian.”

“Take care of my player, kid. It’s my window to the world.”

At the exit they stepped out into the freezing night. Sylvie held an arm up to survey the parking lot. “Looks clear.”

Ian stifled a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She was protecting him?

If nothing else, Ian had to think Sylvie took her job seriously. He had to figure his previous concern to trust her had been unwarranted.

Still his lips remained sealed.

But so did hers. Something weighed on her mind, if her chewed-up lower lip was any indication.

It wasn’t until they made it to the interstate that Sylvie broke the void. “All right, I want to know why you’re in town, and I want the truth. Are you here to sell drugs?”

Now he did laugh. “What? Drugs?”

“I want to help you, Ian. Please let me.”

He sobered. How many times in his life had he hoped to hear those very words? Hearing them now put him in uncharted waters. What would happen if he accepted the offer?

He decided to trust her and find out.

“No drugs. But I am here for my cut.”

“Cut of what? Somebody owe you something?”

The vast blackness of the New Hampshire night shrouded and protected him. His shoulder hurt, but not only from the bullet hole. A memory that predated any surgical procedure to fix the injury caused by an abusive father flowed vivid and clear. No money in the world would ease that pain. “Nobody owes Ian Stone anything. But Luke Spencer has an inheritance coming to him.”

Sylvie slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt on the side of the highway. She jammed the car into Park. “Are you telling me you think you’re the long-lost missing Spencer sibling, Luke Spencer?”

“Not think. Know.”

“You heard Roni. They’ve had a slew of men staking the claim. They will run tests.”

“Already done and passed.”

Sylvie’s dashboard lights illuminated her shocked face to an eerie version of her sweet, good-natured self. “Do you have any idea how much pain Wade and Roni have been through? The possibility of finding their missing brother has been a light at the end of a horrifying tunnel.”

“Meaning they’ll be highly disappointed they get me? That obvious?” He tried to sound indifferent and shrug it off, but deep down it hurt because he knew they would be right. He wasn’t Spencer material. He was an illiterate drifter. Not a racing star like his sister or a United States Army captain like his brother. And he couldn’t forget the grandfather in the CIA. The family was full of overachievers.

“Well, maybe if you had been a little nicer, they would be more accepting,” Sylvie said.

“And maybe if they hadn’t tried to take me out, I would be nicer.”

“I already told you the Spencers are not trying to k—” Sylvie’s words were cut off as headlights from behind neared the cruiser. The car slowed as it came up alongside the driver’s side. Sylvie rolled down her window and waved them by.

An unmistakable silhouette appeared out the car’s window.

“Gun!” Ian yelled and pulled her down with him as a bullet whizzed through the car and smashed out the passenger-side window. The car sped up and screeched away.

“Are you okay?” Sylvie yelled.

“I’m fine. You?”

“Fine.” She jammed her cruiser into Drive. “Hold on. I’m not letting this car out of my sight.” She radioed for backup to be ready for the shooter heading into Norcastle.

“You’ll never catch him,” Ian said as she sped up.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but they don’t hand out chief of police badges to just anyone. I did have to prove my ability, even if some people don’t think I did.” She mumbled the last remark.

“I’m sure you’re a fine cop, but that is a paid assassin up there. When there are millions of dollars on the line, people will pay out big for an experienced hitman to make a problem go away. Those types of professionals generally don’t let themselves get caught.”

“So you’re back to calling out the Spencers as shooters? They would never be involved in anything so devious.”

“Then what about their CIA grandfather? I’m sure he’s got at least a handful of assassins on speed dial.”

Sylvie did a double take. “How do you know about him? That’s top secret information. The Spencers don’t tell anyone about their grandfather’s job.”

“Michael told me himself.” The use of their gramps’s name silenced her. “Michael Ackerman, some head honcho at the CIA, showed up in my hospital room two weeks ago. I went in for surgery on my shoulder for a torn rotator cuff. I woke up to find him sitting in the chair beside the bed. Apparently, he found me just as lacking as you do. It appears with all this shooting, he’s now wishing he’d never found me and is trying to get rid of me. If I were you, I’d think twice about going after one of his hired guns.”

“News flash for you. I’m the chief of police. That means I go, no questions asked.” Sylvie radioed for her officers to be aware that the perpetrator was a possible assassin, and to proceed with caution.

But the woman didn’t heed her own advice. She continued to take to the road like a bolt of lightning.

“Your son’s not the only one who races cars, I see.”

“This is the only kind of racing I do now, but there was a day...” She trailed off and said no more.

The vehicle ahead took the exit off the highway, before reaching Norcastle.

Sylvie banged her steering wheel. “He must’ve figured I would set up a blockade in town.” She took the exit, too.

“So we’re going after him with no backup?”

Sylvie glanced his way. “You’re a smart man, Ian Stone. Or should I call you Luke Spencer? You may have dyslexia, but you can read a situation just fine.”

“It’s Ian, and you’re right. This has insanity written all over it.”