Allison Brennan - See No Evil

No answer. Maybe she’d already left, but then he’d pass her eventually. Her classy Volvo would be easy to spot on the quiet Sunday-morning roads.

Julia loved her house and its ocean view soothed her soul. The road in front of her house had the opposite effect. It was the road Matt died on. She’d almost sold her house after his death, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. This house was more than just a place to sleep, it was a symbol of her independence from her family and the Chandler name. It was her refuge. Matt had told her he saw her happiness etched in the fine woodwork she had herself lovingly restored.

So she kept the house and drove down the winding stretch like an old woman, slow and cautious. There were five other driveways off the road before it merged with a street leading to Highway 1.

Passing Mrs. Hutchinson’s driveway, in her rearview mirror Julia saw a large black pickup truck pull out behind her. For a split second she thought it was Connor, then remembered his truck was dark blue, not black.

Mrs. Hutchinson’s son must have gotten a new vehicle. He came by to check on her several times a week. Julia was about to wave in the rearview mirror, but the truck was now tailgating. She frowned, pressed the gas pedal down a hair more. Her heart suddenly started beating faster as she neared the spot where she’d gone off the cliff and slammed into the tree six years ago, killing Matt.

The truck was inches from her bumper. Julia didn’t recognize the driver and couldn’t make out details other than he had dark hair.

Hands clutching the wheel, Julia sped up. The truck bumped her hard. She swerved, compensated, and then he hit her again, even harder. Her head hit the steering wheel, her seat belt locked into place.

She could only think about survival as her tormenter sped from behind and pulled his truck parallel to her Volvo.

She braked as fast as she dared, hoping to let him pass, but he turned his truck into her car, though not enough to force her into the gully on the right. Had she not been braking, the impact could have forced her out of control and the drop on the left was precarious.

She’d gone off that rocky precipice before.

She was still half a mile from the main road, where traffic was steady. On this cliffside stretch, cars were rare. Her quiet, small neighborhood used to make Julia feel safe.

Her heart pounded as the truck sped up, then turned and stopped. She swerved right to avoid hitting him and her right tire dropped hard into the gully, fishtailing her car. The sudden impact caused her air bags to explode.

She was a sitting duck here in the car. She coughed, could barely breathe. The chemicals from the airbag burned her throat and lungs.

She reached into her purse and fumbled for her gun, mentally thanking Connor for listing all the places she was vulnerable outside her house. This morning she’d packed her gun in her purse as a precaution. She’d never thought she’d need it.

She released the seat belt and opened the car door. The fresh air began to clear her lungs. She squatted behind the door. Her assailant was out of his car, about to walk around the front and toward her. What was in his hand? A gun? A knife?

Before she could get a better look at the guy, he ran back to the truck, jumped in, and floored it. Down the road.

Julia watched the black truck sideswipe a dark blue truck heading up the hill. Connor! He swerved and began to turn to go after the black truck.

A part of her wanted him to come comfort her. Julia was shaking, her gun-the gun she’d only fired on the range once a month-tight in her grip. She wanted Connor to hold her, tell her she was safe.

But the rational part wanted him to go after the jerk who ran her off the road.

She stood and waved at Connor to go after the truck. He paused, then completed the three-point turn and followed her attacker.

Her act of bravery was over. She walked away from the car, wiping her face to rid her skin of the stinging powder from the air bag. She found a spot ten feet behind the car where she could sit on a large, relatively flat rock in the gully. She sat, leaned against the crumbling, uncomfortable cliff, and closed her eyes.

Connor didn’t feel comfortable leaving Julia alone and unprotected, but he had to trust she was okay when she waved for him to give chase. Unfortunately, he lost sight of the black truck once he hit Highway 1. Connor looked both ways and couldn’t tell which way he’d gone.

Shit.

He dialed 911 and called in the description of the truck, sans license. Lot of good that did-black Ford 150s were a dime a dozen, and unless he got pulled over for driving without plates Connor didn’t hold out much hope they’d get him today. Maybe the evidence at the accident scene would turn up something valuable.

As he talked to dispatch, he turned around, tires squealing, and hightailed it back to where he’d left Julia.

If anyone touched her, he would…what was he thinking? She wasn’t his to protect. Still, he couldn’t forget his gut feeling when he feared she’d been hurt.

He relayed their location and hung up after the dispatcher said a patrol was less than five minutes away.

Julia was leaning against the cliff behind her car, gun in hand. When she saw Connor’s truck pull up, she visibly relaxed.

He rushed to her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but tears streamed down her face. “You didn’t get him?”

“No. There were no plates on his car either.”

“I noticed.”

“I called nine-one-one,” Connor said. “With any luck, someone will spot him. What happened?”

“I passed Mrs. Hutchinson’s driveway and he drove out behind me. I thought he was her son, but he followed closely, then rammed my car twice. He forced me off the road, got out-”

Julia looked up at Connor, her green eyes bright with tears, a bruise already forming on her forehead. “I grabbed my gun. I didn’t know what else to do.”

He gathered her into his arms. She held on to his neck tightly, her body shaking with fear, relief, and sobs. They sat in the gully. She buried her face in his neck, her breath hot in his ear, her tears wet on his face.

Connor remembered their kiss all those years ago. He’d kissed a lot of women, but he’d never forgotten kissing Julia Chandler. He couldn’t forget her lips, her taste, her scent. Now, Connor wrapped his hands at the base of her head, her hair soft and silky entwined in his rough fingers. Pulling her head away from the nook in his neck, he gazed at her beautiful face.

Connor pulled her lips to his and kissed her hard, hating himself for wanting her, hating himself for being unable to hate her. He should, but she was too damn gorgeous. She made his head spin.

Dear Lord, she tasted like heaven.

Julia gasped when Connor kissed her, then her lips parted and she responded with an unexpected need for him. The light kiss the other day had whetted her appetite for more, had made years of guilt and anger wash away. She’d never been able to forget how good it felt to be held by Connor Kincaid, but even that exquisite memory was faulty. Being in his arms now, having his piercing eyes focus solely on her, was even better than she’d remembered.

“Oh God, Julia,” he murmured as his hot kisses moved from her swollen lips to her neck. She quivered beneath his hands. With one hand she grabbed his collar-length hair, her other clasped in his. He kissed her neck and she arched back, wanting him to continue down, to give the same attention to her body as he had to her lips.

When his hand squeezed her breast through the thin material of her filmy sundress she gasped, and then his lips found hers again and she felt the hardness in his lap.

There were sirens in the back of her mind. She sat up, looked over the edge of the gully just as Connor took her hand and pulled her up. A police car came into view and she brushed the dirt and gravel from her dress.