Officer in Pursuit

By Ranae Rose

Secrets are what Kerry has lived and breathed for the past three years, and those secrets may kill her, if she’s not careful. Her new life in a coastal North Carolina paradise is haunted by her past and ruled by her number one goal: to not be noticed. Even if that means denying her attraction to Officer Grey Morgan, who’s set his sights on her beyond any doubts and despite all odds.

Grey has spent his summer in pursuit of Kerry, but what he doesn’t know is that nothing with her is as it seems and loving her comes with a price.

What she doesn’t know is that there’s no risk he won’t take, and no way he’ll let her fight her demons alone.

Book 3 in the Lock and Key Series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ranae Rose
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310856082

Ranae Rose

Hi, I’m Ranae, author of 30+ romance novels and novellas. My works include the Inked in the Steel City Series, Lock and Key Series, South Island PD Series and more. I began writing romance in 2011 in my early twenties, and the romance book community has been a source of joy ever since.I live in the South with a husband who’s even better than any of the heroes I’ve written, two kids, two cats who think they run the show and a dog who tolerates us all. In my free time, I’m a voracious reader, avid cook, and possibly the world’s most enthusiastic amateur urban gardener.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Kerry jumped when her phone chimed. The text message notification broke the spell of her house’s silence, reminding her that the magic of being behind locked doors was imperfect.

She held her breath, swiped a finger across the screen without reading the message preview, frozen in her curled position on the couch. Like peeling off a Band-Aid, this was something best done as quickly as possible. The sooner she got rid of this anxiety – a reaction so deeply ingrained it was automatic – the better.

Warm weekend coming up, the message read, everyone wants to hit the beach. Wear something sexy for once – Grey is coming.

The message was from Sasha. Kerry was too relieved to feel anything else, even exasperation.

Okay, let me know where and when we’re meeting, she replied.

I mean it about wearing something sexy. It’s almost October – this might be your last chance this year to show off in a bikini.

Kerry didn’t do bikinis, and didn’t bother replying. Sasha knew, and this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation.

Her phone chimed again. Wanna go shopping?

No.

You know, there’s such thing as playing too hard to get.

I’m not playing. And I’m not wearing a bikini. Just drop it.

Sorry, can’t. As a true friend, it would be wrong for me to let you keep wearing tankinis. You have the body of a gymnast! Why work out constantly if you’re not going to show it off?

No. Just no.

A few silent seconds slipped by, and Kerry kept her eyes on her phone, watching to see whether it would light up with another stubborn reply from Sasha. It was stupid, but every time her phone rang or chimed, she was afraid she’d find a message from him – or worse, answer and hear his voice.

When another text came through, it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Sasha. It was Grey.

Heat blazed a trail across the bridge of her nose, unfolding like butterfly wings across her cheeks. Sasha’s messages haunted her thoughts.

Yes, she knew Grey was attracted to her – despite her dowdy tankini – but that didn’t mean she was going to start sashaying around like Sasha and seduce him on the beach. She might fantasize about Officer Grey Morgan, who looked so hot in uniform, but that was as far as she dared to take it.

You up for the beach this weekend?

She read and re-read Grey’s message, as if some hidden meaning might present itself.

Yes. Sasha just invited me.

Great. I’ll be there. Wanna get breakfast first?

Is everyone going? She typed it before letting herself think, and was immediately hit with a sense of regret. What was the alternative – that he’d just asked her on a date and she’d been too dense to realize it?

I could invite them. If you want.

Her heart actually skipped a beat as her finger hovered over the screen. She wasn’t meant for this: flirting on the phone or – God forbid – in real life. For some reason, Grey didn’t seem to realize that.

Still, she indulged in a quick mental rundown of all the things she liked about him: his amazing body – a buffet of suntanned muscles – and dark eyes that always sought out hers, his fun personality. He was so unbelievably easy to be around – when she was with him, it felt like the Earth’s gravity hardly touched her. That was the clincher, the thing that really made her like him. Unfortunately, it was also the thing that made them totally incompatible.

Not that she was looking for a guy, period, but Grey was the last person who’d be happy with someone like her. Fun wasn’t exactly her middle name, and she was self-aware enough to realize that.

Breakfast sounds good. She hit send before she could tack something stupid onto the end, then regretted it. He probably thought she was trying to be coy, or cold. She wasn’t sure which one was worse.

Okay. Nine o’clock at that café on Seaside Ave. The one with the shark cookies.

You mean Sea Glass Café? The place was popular, mostly because it was one of just two cafés in the small town of Cypress. It also served iced sugar cookies shaped like sharks, which were a big draw for kids, and apparently Grey.

Yeah. See you there.

He didn’t say whether he planned to invite anyone else.

Kerry didn’t ask, either – didn’t have the chance to – because the sound of a vehicle in her driveway immobilized her where she sat in the center of the couch, one foot wedged between two cushions.

The motor hummed the way motors did when a car was barely moving, creeping to a halt. The soft pops and snaps of stray stones being crushed came from outside the Cape Cod she rented just beyond town limits, and the small sounds echoed like gunfire in her mind. She could see the vehicle in her mind’s eye – a three ton steel predator cutting through the night, headlights searching for her shape beyond the veil of her living room curtains.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, the beat throbbing in her temples, giving her a headache. She looked back down at her phone, forgetting all about Sasha and Grey’s texts. What about the call before that – the one from the unknown 606 number?

606. Eastern Kentucky. A call from what had once been home. Maybe, just maybe, a call from him.

If he’d managed to discover her phone number, he might know other things about her, like where she lived. And if he’d found that out, he’d show up on her doorstep, she had no doubt.

Was that him now? The thought latched onto her, biting with brutal staying power.

The phone slid out of her hands, hit the floor with a bang. The battery fell out, and the plastic case flew free, failing to keep its promises to protect the phone. Instantly, her heart rate spiked, rattling her pulse points with painful percussion as a coppery taste filled her mouth.

She scrambled for the pieces, glad for an excuse to stay low to the floor, away from the windows. Frantic, familiar thoughts chased their way through her mind. What if it was him – what if he broke in somehow before she could get her phone back together, or before the police arrived, even if she did manage to call 911?

Should she get her gun – the one she kept under her bed?

No. Her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t even put her phone back together. If she tried to fire a weapon, she’d probably shoot herself or send a bullet flying into a neighbor’s home. The realization dawned on her like a cold sun, and she had to choke back a groan.

She broke a nail on the crappy phone case, dropped the phone again. Maybe she’d broken it. If so, there was no way she could call for help. She didn’t have a landline. She hadn’t wanted one, because home phone numbers could be looked up so easily. Having just a cell phone had seemed safer. But had her precautions been enough?

The purr of an auto engine had turned her peaceful evening into a waking nightmare. As she struggled with the scattered pieces of her phone, a sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her. She knew this feeling from her dreams, the ones she woke up from drenched in sweat. She couldn’t call for help. All she needed now to completely turn the scenario into one of her nightmares was for the lights to stop working.

The thought filled her with genuine terror. At the moment, an electrical failure seemed possible, even likely despite the fact that she was up to date on her utility bills and the house’s wiring had been redone just four years ago.

She thought again of the Glock 17 beneath her bed, the one she’d sacrificed nearly two weeks of pay to buy three years – a lifetime – ago, even though she hadn’t been able to afford it. The gun store owner had tried to talk her into something else, something small and pink and girly she could put in her purse. She’d walked out with the Glock and a stash of hollow point ammunition.

Now she knew: she wasn’t prepared to use a weapon, no matter how reliable it was. She was too broken, even after all this time. Suddenly, her years of metamorphosis seemed more like years of scraping by. Surviving. Never really changing.

She was aware that it was pathetic, but her panic left her little emotion to spare on that fact.

The snap of her battery being wedged back into her phone echoed through the whole house, and then there were the agonizing seconds of waiting for it to restart, blaring the little jingle some faraway marketing department had mandated, as if she didn’t know what kind of phone she used.

Finally, it was ready, the screen glowing with a snapshot of the sun rising over the Atlantic Ocean. She punched in a 9 and was so relieved to find that the phone worked that she probably would’ve collapsed, if she hadn’t already been on the floor.

She was about to hit 1 for the second time when reality caught up with her.

What the hell was she doing – calling 911 because a car was turning around in her driveway?

She lowered the phone.

Making her way to the window was like forcing herself to wade through a sea of half-dry cement, but she did it anyway, made herself lift up the corner of a curtain and peek out.

A sedan was pulling away from the curb on her side of the road, colorless and generic in the night. The red of its taillights burnt in her field of vision, and she barely registered a Virginia license plate.

Just a lost tourist. Plenty of Virginians vacationed on the North Carolina coast. She told herself that over and over as she sank back down onto the floor, breathing a sigh of tentative relief.

Riley County 911. Where is the location of your emergency?

A voice rose from inside Kerry’s tightly-curled fist, and a new type of horror dawned on her.

I misdialed, she said, pressing the phone to her cheek. I’m so sorry. I misdialed.

Her voice was staccato, all breath and breathless at the same time. She hung up quickly, embarrassed that anyone had heard her speak that way, even if it was just an anonymous 911 dispatcher.

Her mouth was still filled with the metallic taste of adrenaline, and she could feel her heartbeat radiating through every fiber of her being, a physical manifestation of what a fool she’d been. This wasn’t the first time something ordinary had plunged her into an unjustified panic, but it was the first time she’d dialed 911 by accident. She’d thought she was getting better, finally growing into her role as an autonomous, independent woman. But then…

Well, the past few months had shaken her up. She’d watched her best friends rub shoulders with death at the hands of men they’d never known, men whose paths they’d stumbled across by association. If they couldn’t be safe, how could she – a woman who had every reason to look over her shoulder – ever be?

It was a question she dwelled on as she retreated to her bedroom, locking the knob behind herself and then securing the sliding bolt she’d picked up at the local hardware store. Her single bed beckoned her, a lonely symbol of her independence. As soon as she sank down onto the quilt, her phone rang.

It startled her, and so did the name displayed on the screen. Grey. Was he really calling – now of all times?

She let it ring again twice, hoarding those few seconds in an attempt to pull herself together. When she answered the call, her voice sounded better than it had during her accidental 911 call.

Which wasn’t saying much.

Hello?

Kerry. Is everything all right?

Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?

You didn’t answer my text. I thought maybe—

No. Everything’s okay. After her idiotic 911 call, she didn’t need the added embarrassment of remembering why Grey might think an unanswered text was an indicator of trouble.

She didn’t mention the missed call, either – to anyone else, it would probably seem harmless.

Okay. If you say so. Have you been running?

No. She consciously tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the diamond lap pattern of her quilt, angular blue and white shapes repeating over and over. She ran her fingertips over the age-softened cotton and instantly felt far away, drawn out of her coastal Carolina home by an uneasy nostalgia.

The quilt had been made by her grandmother and was one of very few things Kerry had brought along when she’d left home, when she’d fled to the coast and started a new life. She wasn’t particularly attached to the thing, but she’d been dead broke at the time and had brought it as a matter of practicality, unable to afford simple things like a new bed set.

You sound like you have.

It must be the connection. The lie rolled off the tip of her tongue, a self-protective mechanism. No way was she telling Grey about what an ass she’d just made out of herself.

All right. I don’t mean to be a bother. After everything, though… I was worried. Thought maybe you could use someone to talk to.

Oh, she’d talked to Grey all right. On that nightmarish day, the one when she’d walked away from Wisteria, covered in ash. He’d been the one to guide her away from the house, hold her hand and drive her home. She was grateful for the kindness he’d shown her, but also deeply embarrassed, in the same way she would’ve been if she’d knocked back a bottle of wine and then blabbed all her deepest secrets to someone.

Horror had acted as a truth serum. She’d cried in front of him, had stood in his presence, emotionally eviscerated by not being able to save her best friend from what had seemed like certain death. And she’d come so, so close to telling him everything.

She’d never told anyone before – still hadn’t.

Now, every time she saw him, her reaction was to clamp her mouth tightly shut, her lips sealed by the uncomfortable feeling that she’d gone too far – said too much. Grey didn’t deserve to have all her crazy dumped into his lap. She was better than that – or at least, she could fake it when she was around other people.

No one had to know about her late night 911 freak outs.

Kerry? He sounded a million miles away.

Yeah?

You haven’t said anything in about a century. The only reason I knew you were still on the line was because I could hear you breathing. You sure you’re all right?

I’m sure. I just spaced out. It’s late, and I’m tired.

I won’t keep you on the phone then. See you Sunday.

Is that when we’re all going to the beach?

It’s gotta be – I have work Saturday, and so do Henry and Liam.

Okay. I’ll see you then.

Nine o’clock. Sea Glass.

Right.

And Kerry?

What?

It’s going to be okay. They’re gone now – the Levinsons, I mean. They’re not going to hurt anyone else.

I know. A twinge of guilt fired through Kerry. Grey obviously thought she’d been mentally scarred by the past summer and the Levinson Brothers’ reign of terror. And maybe she had been. But that wasn’t what this was about. She couldn’t blame her faults on those two psychopaths, no matter how twisted they’d been.

Grey was just saying goodbye when a noise echoed through the house – Kerry’s small, locked-up world. She made a sound deep in her throat, drew a ragged breath she knew Grey heard.

What is it? His voice was different now. Not his usual easygoing tone – demanding. Concerned.

There’s someone knocking on my door. She tried to sound like her heart wasn’t beating hard enough to bruise her ribs from the inside out. She wouldn’t drop the phone this time – she wouldn’t.

Are you expecting anyone?

No. It’s the middle of the night. Okay, so it was only ten o’clock, but it was dark. Who went around knocking unexpectedly on people’s doors at 10 pm in Cypress?

If it’d been daylight, she would’ve consoled herself with thoughts of cookie-selling Girl Scouts or a kid going door to door looking to earn money mowing lawns. Hell, even a religious crusader would’ve been a relief. But with the sun tucked away and the moon shining stark and silver down on her little rural neighborhood, all she could think about were ax murderers and burglars, prison escapees. Or worse: him.

Don’t answer if it’s someone you don’t know. For all his talk about everything being okay, Grey sure sounded on edge. That made Kerry feel a little less crazy, but it certainly didn’t dispel her fear.

I won’t.

I’ll stay on the phone with you if you want to go see who it is.

I— She what? She didn’t want to go to the door, even to look. But… My closest neighbor is pushing 80. His wife passed away last year. Something might be wrong – I’d better check, just in case it’s him.

If she didn’t see who was knocking, she’d never stop wondering, would be left to imagine the worst.

I’ll stay on the line.

She didn’t argue, was incapable of pretending to be tough and turning him down. The sound of his voice was a comfort, and gave her the courage to unlock her bedroom door and make her way across the living room. It was a small space, but crossing it took forever.

When she reached the door, she hesitated. Reaching out to actually touch it felt like sticking her foot out over the edge of her mattress had when she’d been young: like she was putting herself at risk. Like something might reach out of the darkness and grab her.

Of course, nothing did. And when she rocked up onto her tiptoes, straining to get at eye level with the peep hole, the sight on the other side was anything but scary.

It’s Jeremy!

Jeremy?

Yes. He’s in uniform, and his squad car is in my driveway.

That’s weird.

Yeah. I’d better see what he wants. Thank you for staying on the phone with me.

Any time. Let me know what Jeremy says.

Okay. See you Sunday.

She had trouble turning the doorknob, thanks to her sweaty palms. Eventually she got it though, and opened the door to face the only officer of the Riley County Sheriff’s Department she knew on a first name basis. She was so relieved to see a familiar, benevolent face that she could’ve hugged him.

Kerry. He flashed her a tight smile, meeting her eyes before his gaze darted beyond her, into her house. Everything all right? Dispatcher got a 911 call from this address.

Instantly, her cheeks were on fire. Everything’s fine. I accidentally dialed 911, like an idiot. I thought I explained to the dispatcher. Sorry.

The dispatcher said she could hardly keep you on the phone for five seconds. Said you sounded distressed. Thought somebody had better stop by and check in, just in case.

Well, I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I hope you’re having a slow night – I feel bad.

He shrugged. Matter of fact, it has been a slow night. Just like it should be. He flashed her a grin – an expression she’d seldom seen on his face. I reckon things are back to normal around here and I can go back to meddling in people’s domestic disputes and tracking down kids who don’t get home by curfew.

After this summer, that must be a relief.

You’re telling me. I booked so much overtime I’m expecting the Guinness Book of World Records to come knocking on my door any day now.

Since you’re not too busy, can I get you something to drink – water or coffee?

I appreciate it, but my daughter got me one of those giant travel mugs last Christmas. It was supposed to be a joke, but I’ve been using it ever since. Got half a pot of coffee out in the cruiser.

Okay. Sorry again about the false alarm.

We’ve had a lot of those over the past few months. People around here are still feeling cautious, and that’s a good thing. I’m just glad everything’s all right.

Kerry relocked the door and retreated to the window, where she watched the cruiser’s taillights until they were nothing more than ruby red pinpricks at the end of the road. She turned away before they could disappear.

Cautious. That was one way to put it. Afraid was another way, but Kerry couldn’t blame other people for feeling that way. She could, however, blame herself.

She was supposed to be stronger than this. It was what she’d been working all these years for. She wasn’t supposed to be living in fear anymore. Problem was, she didn’t know how to stop.

She felt better now that she’d spoken to Jeremy, though – the presence of another human being had put her fears into perspective. Everything was fine. The problem was with her, not with this night or this town, or even the anonymous car that had turned around in her driveway.

She pulled out her phone to text Grey, like she’d said she would. As she brought up their message history, she realized that she’d never clarified whether or not their breakfast on Sunday morning would be just the two of them.

A part of her hoped it would be. The rest of her was still tingling with the pins and needles her adrenaline rush had left behind. Still, beyond the haze of useless energy, she could feel the beginnings of regret. Even if she had breakfast alone with Grey at the Sea Glass Café, it would be a farce, a borrowed hour from someone else’s life. There would never be anything substantial between them, only pointless fantasies and borrowed time.

The hard reality of that fact left her feeling profoundly alone – which she was. Alone with her secrets, her fragile sense of safety. Deep down, she always would be.

CHAPTER 2

Grey dunked a sugar cookie shark into his coffee, plunging it in to the dorsal fin. The royal icing sent an oily sheen spiraling over the coffee’s surface, a dark brew so black it was like liquid, starless night. When he popped the shark’s soggy head into his mouth, he was in heaven.

He had no idea what they put in these cookies. Something illegal, maybe. He didn’t care. They were obscenely good, even with the weird sharky grey icing. They were also only a dollar fifty a piece, so he’d bought three. One for him. One for Kerry. And another one for him he planned to finish eating before she arrived.

She caught him in the act. He still held the tail between his fingers when she walked in, looking like a tiny, trim goddess in a navy blue dress and a sunhat.

Like him, she was in her late twenties – the only woman that age he knew who actually wore sunhats. Somehow, she looked good in it. When she took it off and turned in his direction, she looked even better.

She smiled a little as she approached him, her skirt swinging around her knees. Her dresses always seemed a little longer than most. Maybe they fit her like that because she was so petite, or maybe she just liked them that way. He wasn’t sure. She always dressed modestly, but conservative clothing couldn’t hide her amazing figure.

Her limbs were slim and tight with lean muscle. She looked like she could star in one of those exercise videos, the yoga kind where she’d have to wear stretchy leggings and demonstrate a bunch of bendy poses. It was fun to imagine.

Hi Grey. She slid into the booth, across from him.

Morning. I got you a coffee and a cookie to start off with. Hope that’s okay.

Sure. She looked down at the plate beside her mug of steaming coffee. I don’t usually eat stuff like this… Are they good?

You’ve never had one? And you’ve lived here for how many years?

Three. And no, I haven’t.

What I have to say won’t do it justice. The shark has to speak for itself – go ahead, try it.

Her cookie shed a few crumbs as she lifted it, looking at it like it was a real fish instead of a gift from the bakery gods. Okay.

Hold on. He nearly reached out to stop her as she lifted it to her perfect, pale pink lips. It would be wrong of me not to inform you that you have to dip it in your coffee first. Just trust me.

She did it, then bit off the end of the shark’s nose.

It’s pretty good, she admitted a few moments later. Better than I thought it would be.

Just ‘pretty good’? Not the best damn shark cookie you’ve ever had?

Her lips quirked, hinting at a smile. "It’s the only shark cookie I’ve ever had. So yeah, you could say that. I was expecting it to be all dry and hard, like a Christmas cookie a week after the holidays have passed."

Oh ye of little faith. He picked up his second cookie.

So, are we expecting anyone else, or is it just you and me?

He dropped his cookie into his coffee and barely managed to fish it out before it got hopelessly soggy. It’s just you and me. I thought you knew.

Damn. He’d thought he’d finally wrangled her into a date of sorts. He was an idiot.

I thought it might be just the two of us, but I wasn’t sure. I guess I was a little distracted when I spoke to you last.

Right. He searched her eyes for any signs of why she’d sounded so weird on the phone the other day. Her irises were almost as dark as her black coffee, incredibly hard to read. With those eyes, she could’ve kept a thousand secrets from him.

Sometimes, he got the sense that she was.

A few borderline-endless seconds crept by, and then a waitress descended on them with a note pad. What can I get for you two? Or do you need a few more minutes to make up your minds?

They ordered right away – scrambled eggs and