Liz Johnson - Hazardous Holiday

Zach narrowed his gaze and stared into her pinched features.

“You want to tell me what exactly I came home to?”

TWO

Zach eased Cody into the bottom bunk and pulled the covers under his chin. The little guy had slept through the whole ordeal on the bridge and even through the tense drive back to the town house. But now he let out a loud yawn, and his eyes blinked open.

“Is it nighttime?”

Zach leaned over Cody and shook his head. “Nope. But for now, you should get some rest. Have a good na—” he pulled himself up short “—sleep.”

Cody yawned again and snuggled beneath the red blanket covered in classic Corvettes. “Okay.”

Kristi watched everything from the doorway, and when he sneaked past her, she stayed put, her head never turning away from Cody’s face. It glowed in two low beams, the headlights of a red ’57 Chevy night-light.

After several long seconds, she followed Zach down the stairs toward the kitchen, tripping on his duffel, which he’d dropped by the front door.

This wasn’t a good sign. He never left things lying around, but one quick trip up the stairs with the kid, and he’d already forgotten his usual routine.

“Sorry.” He grabbed the bag and carried it through the kitchen before shoving it into the laundry room, which now housed a metal shelf between the washer and dryer and more types of laundry detergent than a grocery store aisle.

What else had she changed while he’d been gone?

But there were more pressing questions that needed to be answered first.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes unseeing. As if on autopilot, she grabbed a plastic cup, filled it with apple juice and held it out to him.

“I could go for a soda, actually.”

“What?” She jumped at his voice and looked down at the cup in her hand, then back at his face. The blank mask she’d been wearing since the bridge fell away, and an actual smile dropped into place. “I’m sorry. I was thinking...”

“About who might have been trying to push us into the Pacific?”

Her brows locked together, fear flashing through her deep brown eyes, and he suddenly hated himself for being so blunt. But tiptoeing around an issue had never been his forte.

Looking away from her, he grabbed a can from the fridge and popped the top. Tipping it back, he took a swig. And nearly spit it out.

Diet.

Yuck.

Glancing over to see if she’d noticed his near spit take, he watched as she ran her hands over her hair, a wild mass of honey-colored curls that reached well past her shoulders and looked softer than satin. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “Why would someone do that? They were trying to...”

“Kill us. Yes.” Her face paled, and he tried to keep his voice low and gentle. Not easy after a year with a bunch of guys who didn’t do coddling. “And they wanted it to look like an accident.”

She swallowed, the sound filling the otherwise silent kitchen. Pressing a palm to the counter and the other over her stomach, she took several great breaths as the fear in her eyes shifted into something that resembled anger. “My son was in that car.”

The truth hit like a boot to the kidneys. If someone was after him or Kristi, Cody would have been collateral damage, and whoever was inside those vans didn’t care.

If a six-year-old wasn’t safe, none of them were.

Zach took a step toward her, and she matched it in reverse, keeping three feet between them. But she kept her chin up and her eyes open and said nothing.

“That was broad daylight, Kristi. Someone was blatantly targeting us.”

“I know.” Her words carried a subtle tremor that she must have noticed because she paused, straightened her shoulders and tried again. “They were after me.”

His entire body went on high alert, every muscle tensing, every nerve crackling. She sounded so certain, but he needed more details. “Why do you think that?”

Neck and shoulders stiffer than a frozen tarp, she stared right into his eyes. “Because Jackson Cole pointed right at me and said he’d make me pay.”

The floor seemed to disappear beneath him, and he stumbled to a stool at the counter. He pointed at the seat beside him. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

She looked from the spot beside him to the juice in her hand several times before nodding, setting the cup in the sink and then padding around the end of the counter and swiveling onto the stool.

“I’m not even sure where the beginning is.” She stared down at the granite counter.

“Why don’t you try from the day I left?”

Another small nod. “I applied for a job right before you left.”

“With the lawyers. Right. In one of Cody’s emails, you said you got it. Are you still working there?” He’d told her she didn’t have to work, but she’d insisted. She’d gotten to know one of Zach’s neighbors—an elderly woman who lived alone—who was happy to keep an eye on Cody while she was at the office in exchange for Kristi driving her on a couple of errands every week. Kristi had told Zach that she needed to make friends and start a life here. So he hadn’t argued the matter.

“I’ve been with Jessup, Jessup and Holcomb almost as long as you’ve been gone. I’m a part-time receptionist. Just fifteen hours a week. It’s a prestigious firm with a good reputation—but the team isn’t very big. The three partners, two junior lawyers and some paralegals and investigators.”

“And you,” he said.

“Yes, and me.” Her voice petered out, and her gaze locked on something on the far wall. Something that hadn’t been there a year ago.

It looked like a framed drawing, the reds and yellows of a crayon mostly inside the black lines of a muscle car. It must have been colored by Cody, who apparently loved cars. The ones he could stay awake to see anyway.

“So this Jackson Cole guy... He worked with you?”

“No.” Her expression tightened. “He wanted Walt Jessup to defend him. He was—is—a well-connected, well-known drug dealer. And the city finally got the evidence they needed for a trial. Cole thought that Walt was the only one who could get him off the charges.”

“But Walt refused?” It wasn’t really a question. He’d put the pieces together easily enough.

“When Walt turned him down, Cole went nuts. He tore the waiting room apart, turning over chairs and breaking lamps.” She pulled her hands into fists. Zach couldn’t do anything but cup his hand over her arm as a silent reminder that she didn’t have to carry the burden alone. “And just before he left, he pointed at Walt, then at me, and said he’d get even.”

The fear in her voice twisted at his gut. He needed to fix this for her. Now. “When did that happen?”

“About four weeks ago.” She looked into his eyes, hers steady. She was holding it together pretty well, all things considered.

But he didn’t want her to hold it together. He wanted her happy and safe. And Cody healed.

“Is this the first time something like this has happened?”

She frowned. “The first actual attack. But I’ve seen them around. Not those vans exactly, but cars that I don’t know parked on the street, watching us. And one night I came home and there was someone peeking into the windows. He took off before I could get a good look at him.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes. Walt had called them after the waiting room incident. And I called the same detective. Sunny something...” Her voice trailed off, and he easily filled in the blanks.

“She took your statement, but you haven’t heard back from her.”

“Yes.”

Zach let the story tumble over in his mind. Something didn’t sit quite right with what she’d told him. Not that he didn’t believe she was telling the truth. It just wasn’t adding up to what he’d seen on the bridge—an organized attack.