Lenora Worth - Lakeside Peril

Being a private investigator brought him in contact with a lot of interesting people. But this one was different. His gut burned with a hot warning.

“What?” Hunter asked, his hands out.

“I... I need a word with you, Mr. Lawson.”

“Okay.” Hunter motioned to his favorite table on the deck over the Millbrook River. “Step into my office.”

Her expensive-looking boots clicked toward him and in the next instant a dark sedan zoomed by and entered the street side of the parking lot. A window came down. A gun came out.

Hunter saw the gun, glanced at the woman and then did what he had to do. He ran straight for her and tackled her to the ground.

While silenced bullets spewed all around them.

* * *

Chloe tried to find air, tried to see over the brawny shoulder that shielded her face. “Let me up,” she said, struggling.

“Stay still!”

He held her there but shifted, still covering her. She heard a motor revving and tires screeching. The car sped away, dirt and rocks flying in its wake. People came out of the restaurant, shouting and talking, pointing to where Hunter and Chloe lay. She’d barely heard the zing from the silencer, but the people inside must have seen him diving over her.

“Are they gone?”

He lifted himself up to stare down at her, his breath warm on her neck. His eyes a smoky gray that washed her in a questioning darkness. “I think so.”

He sat up and held out his hand to help her do the same. “You okay?”

Chloe wasn’t sure how to answer that. Now that she’d found Hunter Lawson, a slow panic began to set in. What if he recognized her? What if he didn’t even remember her? What if he told her to get lost? And how could she explain to him that someone was trying to kill her?

Taking her quiet for shock, he snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. “Hey, stay with me. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” she said, wishing she’d stayed in Oklahoma. Her friend Bridget Winston had tried to warn her that this was a bad idea. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

And the imprint of him becoming a human shield still on her heart. He was big and strong and smelled as fresh and earthy as the fall air around them. He looked every bit as mysterious and unapproachable as people had tried to tell her. Dark, inky hair hovered over his collar in choppy, rebellious curls. Tanned, muscular arms and jean-clad legs. Battered cowboy boots. Dark aviator shades that he’d lost somewhere when he’d dived for her. And a concealed weapon tucked against the waist of his jeans.

Chloe had heard rumors regarding this man, but none of them quite lived up to seeing him in the flesh. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her jeans, her heart going into overdrive with each breath she took. Could she convince him to help her?

Please, Lord, let him listen to me.

He stood and helped her up. “Care to explain?”

“In private, yes,” she replied.

People stood around everywhere, some with drinks in their hands. Leather moto jackets and tattoos, beat-up boots and graffiti T-shirts. Women clinging to their men, their gazes moving over her with cool curiosity while their attitudes told her to back off.

“Hunter, you all right, man?”

Hunter nodded to the bartender she’d spoken with earlier. He’d warned her, too. Explained to her that Hunter wasn’t a talker. He only came here to sit out on the deck and watch the river roll by.

Well, her arrival had certainly changed all that.

Hunter glanced at her and then turned back to the bartender. “Yeah. Just someone trying to use me for target practice.” He shrugged. “What else is new?”

“Do I need to call the police?” the burly man asked, his disapproving eyes on Chloe. He gave her a look that blamed her for all this action. And he was right.

“I’ll take care of it,” Hunter replied. Then he turned to Chloe and gave her his own harsh glare. “Just as soon as this nice lady explains to me why someone’s shooting at her.”

Reassuring herself that he wouldn’t remember her because they’d never even met, Chloe swallowed back her trepidations and tried to find her footing. She wasn’t giving up now. Not after making the agonizing decision to come across the country to find him. That shooter was proof of what she already knew.

“Can we go somewhere else and talk in private?” she asked.

He glanced at the crowd. The spectators didn’t seem fazed by gunshots. They moved as one back into the restaurant, laughing and talking. “That depends on what we need to talk about.”

“I want to hire you,” she said, blurting it out because she was afraid the shooter would return. Or that Hunter would tell her to get lost.

He guided her to another table that was hidden from the street by a big weathered fence. “Sit here.” Then he walked to the street side of the deck and looked both ways. Satisfied for now, he turned and stalked back to her. “Let’s start with your name.”

Chloe’s heart rate increased. “Chloe Conrad.”

His expression went from interested to intense, rage boiling up in his eyes. “What did you say?”

“Chloe. My name is Chloe.”

“I heard that part,” Hunter replied, standing. Would he leave her here? “Tell me your last name again.”

She gave him a look of resolve. Followed by a look of disappointment. “Conrad,” she said. “Yes, as in Conrad Oil. But I hope that won’t be a problem.”

His frown darkened, a vein throbbed along his jawline. “Conrad Oil. You’d better believe that’s a problem. Sorry, lady, I’m not for hire.”

Then he dropped a ten by his forgotten drink on the other table and stalked out to his waiting bike.

Chloe couldn’t believe he’d just up and walked away without letting her explain. Marching out to the parking lot, she caught up with him before he cranked the big black motorcycle. “Hey!”

He didn’t move. Just stood there with his back to her, his hands on his hips, his head down.

Chloe swallowed and forged on. “It’s about my sister, Laura. Somebody murdered her. And I’m pretty sure they’re after me now.”

* * *

Hunter stared down at Chloe Conrad, every vein in his body running hot with the sure knowledge that he needed to get on his bike, drive away and never look back.

But he couldn’t do that. He had to understand why she’d come here all the way from Oklahoma to find him of all people. Since they’d just been shot at, he could only assume she was telling the truth. “What makes you think your sister was murdered?”

Her eyes became burnished with relief, but her expression filled with caution. “A small-engine plane she was piloting went down a few months ago. The authorities ruled it as pilot error, but Laura was an experienced pilot. I know something isn’t right, but no one will believe me.”

Her words echoed over Hunter and he remembered the sensation of thinking the same thing when his older sister had died in a car crash over three years ago. Something had not been right about the accident. No one had believed him, either.

At least no one from the Conrad family had believed him.

But he’d proven them all wrong.

“I can’t help you,” he said, the agony of the past hitting him in the gut.

“No,” she said, grabbing his arm to keep him from trying to leave again. “Do not walk away from me. I hired a pilot to fly me down here even though I was afraid to get on a plane after what happened to my sister. I’ve been careful and I did my research. You’re supposed to be the best at what you do and I know you’re licensed in both Florida and Oklahoma, but if you treat all your clients the way you’re treating me, you must have a lot of time to sit around staring at the water. Why won’t you listen to me?”