High Speed Holiday. Katy Lee
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“Nobody owes Ian Stone anything. But Luke Spencer has an inheritance coming to him.”
Sylvie slammed on the brakes, screeching the car to a halt on the side of the highway. She jammed the car into Park. “Are you telling me you think you’re the long-lost missing Spencer sibling, Luke Spencer?”
“Not think. Know.”
“You heard Roni. They’ve had a slew of men staking the claim. They will run tests.”
“Already done and passed.”
Sylvie’s dashboard lights illuminated her shocked face to an eerie version of her sweet, good-natured self. “Do you have any idea how much pain Wade and Roni have been through? The possibility of finding their missing brother has been a light at the end of a horrifying tunnel.”
“Meaning they’ll be highly disappointed they get me? That obvious?” He tried to sound indifferent and shrug it off, but deep down it hurt because he knew they would be right. He wasn’t Spencer material. He was an illiterate drifter. Not a racing star like his sister or a United States Army captain like his brother. And he couldn’t forget the grandfather in the CIA. The family was full of overachievers.
“Well, maybe if you had been a little nicer, they would be more accepting,” Sylvie said.
“And maybe if they hadn’t tried to take me out, I would be nicer.”
“I already told you the Spencers are not trying to k—” Sylvie’s words were cut off as headlights from behind neared the cruiser. The car slowed as it came up alongside the driver’s side. Sylvie rolled down her window and waved them by.
An unmistakable silhouette appeared out the car’s window.
“Gun!” Ian yelled and pulled her down with him as a bullet whizzed through the car and smashed out the passenger-side window. The car sped up and screeched away.
“Are you okay?” Sylvie yelled.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Fine.” She jammed her cruiser into Drive. “Hold on. I’m not letting this car out of my sight.” She radioed for backup to be ready for the shooter heading into Norcastle.
“You’ll never catch him,” Ian said as she sped up.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but they don’t hand out chief of police badges to just anyone. I did have to prove my ability, even if some people don’t think I did.” She mumbled the last remark.
“I’m sure you’re a fine cop, but that is a paid assassin up there. When there are millions of dollars on the line, people will pay out big for an experienced hitman to make a problem go away. Those types of professionals generally don’t let themselves get caught.”
“So you’re back to calling out the Spencers as shooters? They would never be involved in anything so devious.”
“Then what about their CIA grandfather? I’m sure he’s got at least a handful of assassins on speed dial.”
Sylvie did a double take. “How do you know about him? That’s top secret information. The Spencers don’t tell anyone about their grandfather’s job.”
“Michael told me himself.” The use of their gramps’s name silenced her. “Michael Ackerman, some head honcho at the CIA, showed up in my hospital room two weeks ago. I went in for surgery on my shoulder for a torn rotator cuff. I woke up to find him sitting in the chair beside the bed. Apparently, he found me just as lacking as you do. It appears with all this shooting, he’s now wishing he’d never found me and is trying to get rid of me. If I were you, I’d think twice about going after one of his hired guns.”
“News flash for you. I’m the chief of police. That means I go, no questions asked.” Sylvie radioed for her officers to be aware that the perpetrator was a possible assassin, and to proceed with caution.
But the woman didn’t heed her own advice. She continued to take to the road like a bolt of lightning.
“Your son’s not the only one who races cars, I see.”
“This is the only kind of racing I do now, but there was a day...” She trailed off and said no more.
The vehicle ahead took the exit off the highway, before reaching Norcastle.
Sylvie banged her steering wheel. “He must’ve figured I would set up a blockade in town.” She took the exit, too.
“So we’re going after him with no backup?”
Sylvie glanced his way. “You’re a smart man, Ian Stone. Or should I call you Luke Spencer? You may have dyslexia, but you can read a situation just fine.”
“It’s Ian, and you’re right. This has insanity written all over it.”
“Preston, this guy’s heading up to Mount Randolph. How fast can you get a team up there? Charney Road’s about to end. After that, snowmobiles will be needed. He’s in an all-terrain Jeep. He’ll get a lot farther than I will.”
“I’m on it, Chief, but I was already en route to the town line. It could be a while before I get to the garage and load up the sleds.”
“Smitty, are you reading this?” Sylvie asked, hoping Officer Ed Smith was on the transmission.
“10-4. I’m less than a mile away from the garage. You’ll have your sleds in fifteen, little miss.”
“Roger that.”
“Boyfriend?” Ian asked when Sylvie pushed her car’s tires to grab the snow. Her gunman’s taillights were long gone, but not his tire tracks.
“Who? Smitty?”
“You seem...close.”
“Smitty’s old enough to be my father...and filled the role for a lot longer than my real one did. Or at least, he used to.”
“Used to? When did he stop?”
“When I applied for the former chief’s position.”
“Not supportive of his little miss?”
“Just not as supportive as he was for Reggie Porter. Reggie had been on the force for thirty years. He was qualified, but...”
“But?”
“But nothing. I took the test and got the majority of the town council’s vote. End of story. They had their reasons for choosing me, and everyone’s just going to have to get used to it. It’s been two years, almost, and I’m a good cop.”
“Something tells me you’re as stoic as one of Virgil’s duty-bound soldiers in his stories.”
“I see you make good use of your audiobooks.”
“For someone dyslexic they’re an answer to prayer.”
“You pray?”
“Everyone prays. Whether they admit it or not, there comes a moment where everyone calls out for help.”
Sylvie had to agree. She remembered her moment like it was yesterday, even though it was fifteen years ago.
“The Jeep’s off to the right, hidden behind those pines. Your lights just reflected off the red taillights.”
“I see it. Good eye.” Sylvie pulled to the left. “Stay down,” she instructed and radioed her location. Using her door as a shield, she crouched low, her gun drawn and held at the ready.
The cold night wind whipped around her and through the empty tree branches.
“Come out with your hands up!” she commanded.
No response.
Sylvie glanced