Katy Lee - High Speed Holiday

TANGLED PAST

After Ian Stone discovers he was kidnapped when he was a baby, he journeys to his “family’s” hometown—and is shot at shortly after he arrives. Now he’s convinced the Spencers don’t want their long-lost brother, Luke, to return and claim his inheritance. But local chief of police Sylvie Laurent doesn’t believe his siblings would try to kill him. And the stubborn woman is determined to protect him until she uncovers the truth. At first, Sylvie is skeptical of Ian’s story...but he bears a strong resemblance to the Spencers. And they’ll have to work together to stay ahead of the danger if they want to live to see him reunited with his family at Christmas.

“Did you just arrive in Norcastle?” she asked pointedly. He could tell she was fishing.

“I came in on the bus last night.”

“Were people shooting at you before you came to town?”

“Nope. Is this how you welcome newcomers?”

“Hardly. I’d lose my job for sure. I will find out who did this, Mr. Stone.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I already know who wants me dead.” He grunted as he slipped his arms in a chambray shirt, stained with dirt from many hours on the job.

“Well, do tell. I can’t help you if you’re withholding information.”

“The Spencers.”

Sylvie let out a laugh. Such a loud, robust sound for a little lady. Ian pictured the chief of police issuing orders in the same tone. People would take notice of her, although she’d had his attention long before she opened her mouth to speak.

KATY LEE writes suspenseful romances that thrill and inspire. She believes every story should stir and satisfy the reader—from the edge of their seat. A native New Englander, Katy loves to knit warm, woolly things. She enjoys traveling the side roads and exploring the locals’ hideaways. A homeschooling mom of three competitive swimmers, Katy often writes from the stands while cheering them on. Visit Katy at katyleebooks.com.

High Speed Holiday

Katy Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.

—Genesis 50:20

To my dad, John. I love that you are my biggest fan.

And I love you.

Acknowledgments

I am so grateful for my editors at Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense for their help and insights in making the Roads to Danger series come alive. Thank you, Emily Rodmell, Shana Asaro and Giselle Regus. Your enthusiasm made all the difference.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Was a cop ever really off duty?

Chief of Police Sylvie Laurent didn’t think so. She freed her hands from her wool gloves and pocketed them in her winter police coat.

Then she unclipped her gun holster.

Trouble never waited for her to clock in, and it wasn’t about to start now.

Even when it posed as a good-looking man sporting a golden tan.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore,” she mumbled aloud, heading the stranger’s way. Or, with his bronze skin maybe she should say Cali.

He appeared like a black sheep against a sea of snow white—the snow-covered grounds of Spencer Speedway, as well as the paled complexions of the townspeople he pushed through. It would be months before any of them glowed a golden bronze like that, maybe not ever.

So, who was he? And why was he here?

A group of local children with cotton candy frozen to their cold faces cut in front of her, innocent to the possible threat at the annual Jingle Bell Jam celebration. The Christmas event put on by the Spencer family for longer than Sylvie could remember wasn’t a tourist attraction. It was something the Spencers offered to their employees every year to start off the holiday festivities. That included pretty much everyone in Norcastle, New Hampshire, but it did not include this guy.

A horn from the racetrack blew. Sylvie kept walking, even though she knew she was expected down in the pits. The small 1940s reproduction cars called Legends were set to compete on the track in ten minutes. Sets of snow tires strapped under the carriages of the tiny vehicles would give the crowd some excitement as the teen division of drivers raced to the finish line in the annual Legends snow race. Her son would be among them—and expect her to be on the sidelines.

Duty calls. Sorry, Jaxon.

The stranger’s eyes met hers, chilling her with their hold. There was something about their ice-blue color that was so familiar. With one blink, he took them away and dismissed her.

Bad move, mister.

Sylvie picked up her steps to cut him off, but three teenage boys stepped in front of the guy, blocking her path. Just a few feet from making contact, she ran into one of the boys, knocking something to the ground. A glance down and her plans changed in an instant.

A can of beer lay in the snow.

She picked it up. “Belong to you?” she asked one of the teens, noticing his bulkier-than-normal parka. A closer look at all three boys, the same age as her fourteen-year-old son, and she noticed they were all smugglers today.

Sylvie took her last look at the black sheep’s retreating back and decided he would have to wait.

“Unless you boys want to be cuffed and stuffed in the backseat of my cruiser, I suggest you hand over the alcohol you have in your pockets.”

Bret Dolan, the son of Norcastle’s mayor, flicked his straight, dirty blond bangs from his eyes and lifted a defiant chin to Sylvie.

Like father, like son.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy spouted. “That’s not ours. That was already on the ground. We just have a couple sodas.” The boy lifted a cola out of his pocket. “See?”

Sylvie reached inside her navy blue uniform coat. “Shall I call your parents, Bret, for the show when I search you? I’m game for an audience.” Sylvie took out her cell phone. She checked the bars and saw none, but she didn’t let on about the lack of coverage, which was spotty in these mountains on most days.

On a huff, the Dolan kid reached into his other pocket and withdrew a can of beer. He jammed it over to Sylvie.

“Crack it open and pour it out,” she instructed without touching it.

“Really? You can’t be serious.” Bret’s distaste for the whole event became even more evident as each of the boys followed suit with the same task, their lifted spirits at getting away with something doused right along with the six-pack of beer now on the snow around them.

“I’m very serious. I care for your safety, Bret, even if you don’t see that right now.”

“You don’t care for me. You just hate alcohol because your mother drank herself to death when you got knocked up.”