Julie Lindsey - Deadly Cover-Up

She took a moment to absorb the scene around her.

A handsome, attentive man had made her breakfast. He’d made her daughter laugh, and he’d unwittingly made Violet think of things that were impossible. Like a cute little nuclear family of her own. She felt so incredibly stupid. The connection she imagined between herself and Wyatt obviously boiled down to him being the first man who was kind to her following Maggie’s birth and nothing more. He was simply being professional. He was there to do a job, not fulfill Violet’s fantasies. And she needed to get a grip.

Violet pressed a hand discreetly to her tummy, quashing leftover butterflies. “No. Thank you.” She couldn’t allow herself to think impossible things. It wasn’t fair to her or Maggie. And what was wrong with her anyway? Since when was she so eager to have a man in her life? Things were good already. “I think we’ll visit Grandma on our own,” she said. “You can do what you need to do, and we’ll catch up with you later.”

Violet pushed onto her feet and carried her still-full mug and plate to the sink. With her back securely facing the table, she squeezed her eyes shut and pulled herself together. Lots of people made babies laugh. Wyatt wasn’t the first or the last, and she couldn’t get attached to him because of it. Much as she wanted a traditional family for Maggie, the kind with a mommy and a daddy who kissed goodbye and held hands while they watched TV, Wyatt wasn’t that guy.

She opened her eyes and straightened her expression before turning back to the duo making goofy faces at the table. “We should probably get going.”

Wyatt tipped his head in that unsettling way, the one that made her feel as if he could see straight through her. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Yep.” She pushed nervous fingers into the back pockets of her shorts. “We’re fine, and we don’t want to keep you from your work. The sooner we know what really happened to Grandma, the better. If she’s awake when we get to the hospital, I’ll call you so you can come by and talk with her in person.”

His thick black brows knit together. “All right.”

Violet pulled Maggie into her arms and posed her on one hip, then gathered her bottle and Cheerios in the other hand. “Have a good day.”

VOICES OF HAPPY children rang through the speakers inside Violet’s little yellow hatchback. The CD of nursery rhymes lightened her heavy mood as she fought through a fresh bout of worry for her grandma.

Sunlight streamed over the hills to her left, dashing the street in shards of amber and gold light. Puffy white clouds sailed in the brilliant blue dome above. It was a perfect day for a drive, and Violet had desperately needed to clear her head.

Putting some distance between herself and the sexy soldier guarding Grandma’s home was just a bonus. She recalled seeing him pull up in his big black truck, check out the house and shuffle through papers on his dashboard. When he’d climbed out and stood as tall as a house, complete with cowboy hat and boots, her heart had given an irresponsible thud.

“Dumb,” she muttered, taking another look at the rear-facing car seat in back. Maggie didn’t need a daddy any more than Violet needed a boyfriend or husband .

The two of them were doing just fine on their own.

She smiled and returned her eyes to the road ahead. Flyers for the county fair waved and rippled on passing telephone poles, stapled beside missing pet posters and garage sale signs.

A half heartbeat later, her thoughts swept back to the shirtless man making her breakfast. Surely that wasn’t part of his contract.

The gentle hum of an approaching engine edged into Violet’s thoughts, erasing the memory of Wyatt seated beside Maggie at the breakfast table. The sound grew steadily louder, and Violet searched in every direction for the source of the aggressive hum.

Her little hatchback hugged the next curve, dropping low over a hill and into a valley just two miles from the county hospital. She forced her attention back to the road, but her roaming eyes returned to the rearview mirror with a snap.

A battered blue-and-white demolition derby car roared earsplittingly into view behind her as she crested the next hill.

Maggie’s car seat rocked in frustration.

“Thanks a lot,” Violet muttered at the mangled car racing closer in her rearview. She removed her foot from the gas to let the lunatic pass before they reached the next uphill curve and crashed. Violet’s current speed was nearly fifty in a forty-five, and the sharp sway ahead was marked as fifteen miles per hour.

The wrecked car revved closer with an ominous growl. This time, the driver laid on the horn.

Beep!

The seemingly endless blast sent Violet’s heart rate into a sprint. She stuck her hand out the window and waved the guy to go around.

He didn’t.

Instead, the attacking car roared closer until its entire front end was invisible in her mirror. Beeeep! Beeeep!

Maggie stirred, then began to wail at the continued horn blasts and growling engine.

Violet returned her foot to the gas pedal, pressing a little harder than necessary in an effort to put space between the other vehicle and herself. “Sh-sh-sh,” she hushed Maggie, hoping to return her to a gentle sleep.

Maybe she could drive the speed limit as far as the next turnoff, then get away from the road-rager behind her. Or maybe he’d just pass her and move on when she used her signal.

Violet sipped oxygen and concentrated on the narrow two-lane road ahead.

The offending car dropped back a few inches, then charged forward once more, its hood half disappearing in the rearview.

Violet pressed the gas pedal and prayed.

Her death grip on the steering wheel grew painful as her little hatchback floated over the asphalt with a psychopath on its tail. Her fingers were snow-white and sore from lack of circulation.

The fifteen-mile-per-hour curve was coming up fast, and Violet was losing faith in her plan. She had to be able to slow down to take the next turn or pull over, but the beast behind her wouldn’t allow it. She realized with a punch of fear through her chest that this could be the end. She could wreck her car with Maggie strapped helplessly in the back seat. The idea was almost too much for her to bear.

Maggie’s desperate wails echoed through Violet’s heart and ricocheted off the walls of her racing mind until her vision blurred with fear and regret. They were trapped.

Beep!

Violet watched in horror as the assailing car dropped back, then lurched forward one last time. The reduced-speed sign flew past them, and Violet jerked her wheel.

Her little hatchback careered off the side of the road moments before reaching the steep bend and went skidding through the grass and gravel of a tiny church lawn and empty parking lot.

Beside them, the little white church stood alone at the base of the perilous curve.

The demolition derby car barreled onward, flying into the curve at high speeds and squealing its tires and brakes for several long seconds before the dreaded engine noise faded into the distance.

Violet pulled her keys from the ignition, then climbed out on shaky legs and unlatched Maggie from her car seat. Together, they moved to the church steps and sat, embracing and crying for so long Violet thought someone might find them and wonder if she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

Frighteningly, she and Maggie had nearly lost so much more.

Wyatt strode back into the blazing midday sun, adjusting his worn-out Stetson and squinting against the light. A trip to the local bar had proven equally as useless as all his other stops today. Wyatt had ordered a sweet tea for the sake of manners, then asked the motley lineup at the bar what they knew about Mrs. Ames. They’d all pointedly ignored him. Though it had been Wyatt’s experience that small-town folks were occasionally tight-lipped when it came to outsiders, he’d usually had great luck with the men drinking their way through daylight. Local bars were the male equivalent of a beauty parlor for gossip and hearsay. Except not here. The handful of men who had bellied up to a beer and a shot glass at this bar had officially broken the mold. And just like the local diner, hardware store, mechanic and barber, no one had any news to share about Mrs. Ames.