lover, let alone the murderer. He could be the jealous ex or a man Karen hadn’t even heard of. After all, before yesterday, it had been sixteen years since she’d even seen Liz.
So why was he driving so fast? And what had he been doing in the hotel ballroom? Had he already talked to the police? Wouldn’t that be something if he’d told them everything and here she was chasing down his license number for nothing.
She turned on the radio, needing a little calming country-and-western music right now. A few cheating hearts, a lot of boot scooting and some down-home, baby-done-took-my-truck-and-my-dog heartache. An old Hank Williams tune filled the car. That was more like it.
Unfortunately, even cranked-up country wasn’t going to help. Liz had been murdered and Karen was chasing a man she thought was a killer. At the heart of it, Karen knew she felt as though she’d failed Liz. She should have done something, especially last night after she got that message from Liz on her answering m-chine.
Sure, Karen Sutton, Ms. Lovelorn, the last person who should be dispensing advice on love and relationships. What did she know about either?
But she had good sense, she argued, feeling the need to defend herself as she wheeled around another corner. There could be something said for a woman with good sense. At least her mother had always said so.
Right. If her mother could see her now! No amount of good sense could explain why she was chasing a possible killer. Nor could any of her rational arguments convince her she wasn’t in danger. She’d never been this close to murder before. She didn’t like the feeling.
But that’s why she had to try to get the man’s license number.
So where was he? Maybe she’d lost him. Maybe he’d turned off. Or maybe he’d seen her following him and doubled back to get behind her—
She glanced in her rearview mirror. A car. She caught only a flash of color as it disappeared around a corner but it didn’t look large nor new nor dark-colored. But someone was definitely behind her! Was there any way he could have changed vehicles?
Just on the brink of paralyzed fear, she rounded another switchback in the road and spotted the large, dark car still moving ahead of her. She exhaled, an undaunted Karen back at the wheel. Hallelujah.
Ahead the road turned onto the main four-lane highway into Missoula. All she had to do was get close enough to see his license plate. If she waited, he’d be in the increased traffic and she’d lose him.
She floored the gas pedal and felt the car pick up speed. Just a little farther. Just a little faster. She could see the back of the car now, the man’s head silhouetted inside, but still she couldn’t make out the plates as he sped ahead of her. But she did notice a large dent in the car’s left rear fender. Other cars wove in and out of the lanes. If she could just stay with him—
Something behind her caught her eye. Her gaze shot to the rearview mirror, then down at her speedometer—Oh, no—then back again at the flashing red-and-blue lights behind her. Her foot automatically came up off the accelerator.
No, not now! Not when I’m this close!
She stubbornly jammed her foot back down as she ignored the flashing lights in her mirror. She saw the dark-colored sedan accelerate and pass a truck several cars ahead of her.
She pulled into the passing lane, eyes focused on the sedan. The sound of a siren screamed over the roar of her car’s engine and flashing blue and red ricocheted off her rear window as she searched the traffic ahead for the sedan.
She glanced back to find the cop right behind her. But ahead, the sedan had disappeared in the traffic. She’d lost him. Unlike the cop.
Reluctantly, she let her foot up off the accelerator and began to slow.
JACK WASN’T SURE what he’d expected. Hell, after the way the first morning of his supposed vacation had gone, why did he expect anything to go as planned?
He certainly hadn’t expected his Girl Next Door to speed. But he had definitely expected her to slow down and pull over when he flashed his lights and siren at her.
And she had. Eventually. Taking her own sweet time. By the time she had, he was ready to call backup to stop her. Backup on the Girl Next Door. What was wrong with this picture?
Then when she’d finally stopped by a strip mall, he could have sworn he caught her glaring at him in her rearview mirror. He wasn’t great at lip-reading but he knew whatever she’d mouthed wasn’t very ladylike.
All things total, this didn’t exactly fit his first impression of her. This woman was starting to cause him concern.
As he pulled in behind her Honda, his lights still flashing, he cut the siren and sat watching her cautiously. Just when he thought nothing she could do would surprise him, she began to beat her fist on the steering wheel.
Then her eyes met his in her rearview mirror again. No mistaking it. The woman was glaring angrily at him. He shook his head. This was not the way to react to being pulled over by a cop. He ought to know.
His radio crackled. “I got that name on the phone number you gave me, Jack. Listed to Liz Jones.”
He wondered what his Girl Next Door was doing with the murdered woman’s phone number. It kept getting more and more curious by the moment.
“Run me a plate, would you?” He read the numbers off the license on the Honda in front of him and waited.
“Karen Anne Sutton.”
He wrote down her address and phone number, then he opened his door and cautiously walked toward her car.
She rolled down her window with the same kind of anger he’d seen in her rearview mirror.
“Goin’ a little fast, weren’t you?” he asked.
“Do you realize what you’ve just done?” she demanded.
“Pulled you over for speeding?” Jack stared at her. Her eyes weren’t brown. But a combination of blues and greens flecked with gold. Hazel, he supposed, but at the moment, they were more blue. An electric blue that hurled flaming arrows. At least he’d gotten the freckles right. A sprinkling of them ran across the high cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, standing out against her pale skin. The freckles picked up the golden brown of her hair, which had now pretty much escaped from the ponytail. Even disheveled she looked good. Wholesome. Just not quite so innocent as he’d first thought.
“Speeding?” she cried.
“Speeding and failing to slow down and pull over after an officer of the law both flashed his lights and siren for you to do so,” he added.
“I wasn’t speeding,” she snapped. “I was chasing a killer. Well, a possible killer.”
“I guess I didn’t see the distinction,” he said carefully. “I thought cops chased possible killers. May I see your driver’s license and car registration, please?”
She made no move for her purse. “I was trying to get his license-plate number. He was driving a larger, newer model, dark-colored sedan with a dented left rear fender. Well? Aren’t you going to do something?”
He
