Suspicious Circumstances: He Loves Me Not

By Morgan K Wyatt

Taciturn agent and provocateur Simpson from Love and Deception is back in a new romantic suspense, He Loves Me Not. Northern California doesn’t turn out to be the easy-going spot he planned for his retirement from the spy game. Instead, he hooks up with his old special ops pal to hunt down land sharks among the unsuspecting locals.

Mina had a suspicion her marriage wasn’t the best, but she never expected her husband wanted to kill her. A traumatic kidnapping by her volatile ex has Miranda seeking sanctuary in an abandoned lighthouse. Nick’s worried about his sister and the stranger she rescued from the sea. Add a storm of the century, a sociopath, a web of lies, and water phobic Labrador and you have major problems.

Determination, a will to live, and a whole lot of luck might allow someone to come out alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morgan K Wyatt
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311134073

Morgan K Wyatt

Morgan K Wyatt, raised on a steady diet of superheroes, believed she could fly at a very young age. After using trees, barn lofts, sliding boards, and even a second story window as launch pads, she found her flying skills were limited to fast and downward. By the age of nine, her dreams to be a superhero needed some modifications, which caused her to turn to writing and horseback riding as alternatives to flying.At the age of twenty, she had another chance at superhero greatness as being one of the few female soldiers trained for combat. The fact that women will be able to serve in combat soon indicates that all the witnesses to the grenade incident have retired. The grenade incident didn’t prevent her two sons or daughter-in-law from enlisting in the service. Having different last names probably helped.Morgan recently retired from teaching special needs students to write fulltime, instead of in the wee hours of the night. With the help of her helpful husband and loyal hound, she creates characters who often grab plot lines and run with them. As for flying, she prefers the airlines now.

Book preview

HE LOVES ME NOT

Suspicious Circumstances

Book Two

Morgan K. Wyatt

Published by Sleeping Dragon

Copyright © 2016 Morgan K. Wyatt

Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Many thanks for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [e-mail].

All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

www.morgankwyatt.com

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Excerpt from Love or Deception

Chapter One

Mina smiled at her husband over the soft-top car roof as she opened the passenger door. Raising her voice a little, she said, A ride along the coast sounds great. It did, especially since it had been a while since she and Lucian had done anything together. Her images of married life were worlds away from the reality.

Instead of preparing meals together and snuggling on the couch watching television, Lucian worked. She worked, too, as a school office manager. It allowed her plenty of time to get home to fix Lucian an excellent supper he seldom ate because he usually ate at work or even dined with clients. His actions hurt her, but she pretended they didn’t. After all, Lucian never had a wife before. How would he know what he was supposed to do? Maybe it was her. Could she be doing something wrong?

They were going for a ride today, which showed that being a compliant wife paid off. Following her church’s teachings of being a submissive wife was not only the right thing to do but was also its own reward.

Lucian backed the car out of the garage slowly, driving a few miles before pulling over long enough to lower the convertible top. She glanced at his hands because she’d always admired his long fingers and the manicured nails he kept meticulously clean. Her deceased father had run an airline, but he often worked on the planes himself, which left him with stained, rough skin.

Today Lucian’s immaculate hands were glove encased. Honey, why are you wearing those gloves, especially on a warm day like this?

He fixed his warm chocolate eyes on her and smiled. Can’t risk a blister. I’ve got a big case this week. A lawyer with a blister on his hand draws attention at the wrong time. I can’t have some nearsighted juror trying to decide if it’s a wart, a blemish, or a blister while ignoring my opening argument.

You’re right, she readily agreed.

Lucian was an excellent criminal defense lawyer. How could a jury convict when he turned those eyes on them and launched an argument that demolished his opponent’s case. She’d met him through her old boyfriend, who was also a lawyer. There was a time she thought she could be a lawyer, too. The thought made her grimace. That was back when she was an independent woman, thinking she could do anything. Thank goodness she found Lucian and the church to help her put things in their proper place. Although, sometimes she wondered what would have happened if she’d finished her degree and passed the bar.

The morning sun rose in the sky like a play backdrop. The blue skies above her, the sheer wall of rock on one side, and the ocean tossing far below made for excellent scenery, a setting for a perfect day. Lucian mentioned they might stop for lunch at a little bistro up the road featured on The Food Channel. The life she wanted was coming together, the one she dreamed of while she persevered to be the ideal wife. She never raised her voice and never argued with her man. He stopped the car at a lookout point, a sharp jog of a cliff that jutted out over the roaring water attached only on its side to the mountain wall. Lucian left the car to stand at the safety railing, gazing out to sea. A mini mall sat across the road with the majority of its storefronts empty.

Sweetheart, you got to see this. Only on the West Coast can you feast your eyes on this type of savage beauty.

A feeling of trepidation suddenly grabbed her, stalling her exit from the convertible. Why should she be afraid of Lucian, especially when he was so sweet to her? His masculine silhouette, highlighted by the morning sun, emphasized his wide shoulders and powerful physique—not exactly typical for an attorney. Her husband trained for the triathlons that were so popular in their area with the same passion he displayed in court. She noticed his gloved hand clutching the railing. Was he afraid of being up so high? If so, he’d never mention it.

Forcing her feet forward, she preferred not to be so close to the edge. Did Lucian know she had a fear of heights? Ironic when her family’s money came from flying. Did she ever mention it? Maybe, it was hard to remember. Theirs was a short courtship brought about by the betrayal of her former boyfriend, James. Jumping in bed with Lucian, when he told her about James’s cheating ways, hadn’t been her intention, but still, it had happened. Hard to believe she was ever that girl. Once she joined his church and started participating in the Ladies’ Bible study, he found her acceptable as wife material. His exact words involved something about acknowledging his spiritual headship. She didn’t question the meaning, only nodded, overwhelmed to have the love of the handsome up-and-coming lawyer.

Finally at the railing beside her husband, she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal for assurance and support. The sun glistened on the waves, making them iridescent, changing color with each ripple. It was beautiful. She smiled up at her husband, wanting to share the moment, only to see herself reflected back in his sunglasses. Was he as happy as she was? His unsmiling lips didn’t indicate any joy. Still, how could he not be when everything was so perfect?

Honey, are you happy right now?

He wrapped one arm around her and squeezed her shoulders, turning her into his embrace, forcing her to let go of the rail. I’m going to be much happier in a few seconds. He grinned, his face close to hers. Their differing heights sometimes made a simple kiss a challenge. Pressing up on her toes, she did her best to meet him halfway. Her eyelids fluttered shut, as his face loomed large in front of hers, making a kiss so much more romantic.

No lips landed on hers. Instead, Lucian scooped her up in his arms, cradling her high against his chest. Her eyes opened at his unexpected action. While romantic, it made no sense. There was no grassy picnic area for him to carry her to, just rugged, rocky outcroppings with gravel dusting the ground. What are you doing?

She hadn’t meant to ask, but the words popped out. One of the primary rules for being a good wife was to never question your husband. She couldn’t see his eyes, but his biceps bunched as he lifted her higher. Getting rid of a boring mouse of a wife.

Her mind took a painstakingly long time to work through the words. They were so wrong. What could he possibly mean? What this some type of role-play game? He had wanted her to dress up like a schoolgirl while he pretended to be the teacher, but she’d hesitated, thinking it a bit kinky. Her realization that he meant what he said came too late as she plunged downward to the angry waves.

Her hands reached for the twisted shrubs growing out of the rocky cliff. The first one grazed her hand with its sharp needles. The second one jutted out more. Closer, she could get this one. For a brief heartbeat, there was a break in her fall as something caught on a tree limb, then broke. The sun glinted on something metallic as her body wind milled through the air rather like a rag doll.

Lucian stood at the railing watching Mina’s body appear to fall in slow motion. She didn’t scream as he expected, but maybe the roar of the waves gobbled up the sound. If she did cry for help, it would be a genteel little squeal. It seemed like everything she did was small and delicate. At first, he’d liked the idea of a petite wife that played up his masculinity. He even had her join that Bible-Thumper church that emphasized women were servants to their husbands. The idea worked for a while, until he found himself bored and Raquel joined the firm.

The tall, long-legged law intern embodied a take no prisoner attitude he liked. Her bravado, along with a waterfall of ebony hair and double D’s, drew him like a magnet, and she flirted with him while stating she didn’t do married men. Her appeal kept all the males swarming around her like honeybees, which irritated the women lawyers. They didn’t care for Raquel and did what they could to make her stay unproductive. As far as the law went, even with her attitude, he doubted she’d be successful. Too many female jurors would side against her at her client’s expense. Because he doubted she’d be there for long, it was best to get her while he could.

He wouldn’t make the mistake of marrying Raquel. That ball-buster would take him for all he had, no doubt. She was also savvy enough to sniff out his hidden accounts. He pulled off his jacket and turned it inside out revealing a different colored windbreaker. Zipping it up, he was certain no one would associate it with him. To be sure, he reached under the seat for a NASCAR ball cap, which covered most of his sable colored hair. Almost done, he unfolded his wife’s carefully typed suicide note and put it in the glove compartment. Typing might look suspicious, but people who knew Mina knew she typed everything, even her grocery lists. He’d wait until tomorrow to report her missing. They’d find the car and ID it with the plates.

He pocketed the keys. Wouldn’t do for any teenagers to take his wife’s Lexus convertible for a joyride. It would make it hard for the police to find the evidence. He hesitated. Her purse was in plain sight. What if someone took her purse? Not likely since this locale housed billionaires’ seaside cottages they seldom used. Why he chose that spot. The few returning residents would have little reason to be up so early.

He took off his gloves, rolled them into a ball, and thought of tossing them into the ocean, but hesitated. What if some errant tide threw them back on shore? What if they could be traced back to him? He didn’t see how, but why take chances? He’d burn them in the fire pit at home. He hiked the mile and a half to the diner, only seeing a few cars. One man in a pickup truck covered with NASCAR stickers stopped to offer him a ride, probably feeling obliged because of Lucian’s ball cap. He demurred while stroking his beard stubble to hide as much of his face as possible.

He came around the bend in the road able to see the popular diner. His eyes scanned the parking lot for the promised motorcycle and spotted a battered green Kawasaki. That’s it. He preferred something newer and more powerful, but at least it wouldn’t attract attention. One of his clients he’d managed to get off scot-free owed him a favor for his excellent legal maneuvering that allowed him to slip out of an extortion charge. A hundred different charges could be levied against Leon Prince, and Lucian had successfully defended him against eight of them.

The fact he couldn’t be tried for the same crime worked in his favor, and that previous charges weren’t mentioned in current cases because it would prejudice the jurors. The jurors were little more than sheep. He worked along with the other lawyer to pick out some of the most stupid, easily led people put on earth. It wasn’t too hard. The intelligent part of the population knew how to weasel out of jury duty, making his job easier. He also tried to load the jury with women of all kinds. Elderly matrons thought of him as their grandson. The not so old wanted to picture him in some romantic fantasy. He tried hard to avoid the lesbians, but a couple of times he got fooled. One even swung the vote against him. Damn dyke, one of the few cases he actually lost.

He went into the diner and ordered coffee. He identified himself as John Wayne with an apologetic grin and asked if anyone left him something. The bored waitress twisted her lips into a disbelieving smirk and reached under the counter to pull out an envelope that had John Wayne written in big block lettering. It looked more like the start of a kidnapping note. Leon was as subtle as a train wreck. He should be thankful Lucian was his lawyer.

Lucian considered tipping the waitress but didn’t. A big tip might make him memorable. He didn’t need that. Instead, he walked to the restroom to use the facility when he spotted another exit door. Inside the restroom, he wondered if he should ditch his jacket or turn it again. No one would notice him. Why should they? Wearing his helmet, he’d be anonymous. Looking down at his athletic shoes, he wished he had on motorcycle boots, but that would have made his wife suspicious, even the trusting soul she was. He looked into the mirror wondering if his was the face of a killer. Nope, he still had the sincere Boy Scout look that made juries rule in his favor almost every time. His clients, who often resembled the vermin they were, served as his only handicap.

Satisfied he didn’t look guilty, he replaced his hat and strolled out the alternative exit. He tore open the envelope and took out the keys. Strapping the helmet on, he laughed at the thought of his wife accepting his excuse of training for the triathlon, which included learning how to ride a motorcycle, as he planned her death. It wasn’t that hard really, but he wasn’t looking forward to the two-hour ride home.

He’d logged into his work computer from home before leaving. It would show his preparation for his Monday court case. His car had never left the garage. He’d have to ditch the bike somewhere before he got all the way home. Cutting across his neighbor’s wooded lot, he’d enter his house from the back. The light in the study was on, which would be a nice touch for any nosy neighbors. The police always tended to suspect the spouse when a loved one went missing. Of course, in his line of work, it usually did end up being the spouse.

Jack pushed open the door of his new office. The scent of stale cigarette smoke greeted him. A thin layer of dust covered a metal desk, which looked older than he was. Yeah, what did I expect? He’d rented the office sight unseen via a realtor online.

His last assignment had literally gone up in flames. The time had come for him to get out of Texas and past time to get out of the business. With his skill set, he’d figured he’d be a natural as a detective. The idea of being a gumshoe in a moth-worn office strangely appealed to him. Could be too many black and white movies or the possibility of not having to move around and pretend to be someone he wasn’t influenced him. All the same, he should change his name, even though his most recent name didn’t belong to him any more than his red hair.

In the United States, he discovered redheaded men attracted little attention. People, mainly women, assume they weren’t attractive. Women would glance at him and immediately looked away. They didn’t want him to make the mistake of thinking they were interested. Their sudden swing of their head in the opposite direction amused him. A few may have suffered whiplash. Ironically, they were doing exactly what he wanted, wiping him from their memories.

His ability to blend into the background had made him an excellent spy. When that got old, he found himself doing little errands for a collective that didn’t identify itself as a government agency, but their denial made him suspect they were. On the last job he took, he discovered the organization decided he was expendable after he figured out what they worked so hard to hide.

The door shut behind him as he released his grip on it. The windows with the open blinds drew him first. A quick twist and pull closed them on the first window. Unfortunately, the second blind resisted his efforts to close it. A hard yank pulled them off the window into a clattering heap on the floor.

Damn it. He kicked the offending blinds across the room. No big deal, no one is looking for me, especially the redheaded version.

The vinyl desk chair groaned and exhaled a dusty breath as he sat. Yeah, I know. His booted feet landed on the desk as he laced his hands behind his head. Sad, his first act in his new life involved conversing with office furniture.

When he planted evidence in the factory explosion, he meant for everyone to assume he was dead. The only problem with being dead was it left him with no one to hang out with. That in itself wasn’t that difficult. His previous line of work provided him with only superficial friendships and the knowledge that anyone he called a friend or lover could turn on him if the price were right.

Starting over was something he excelled at, only this time it was all him. No one else was calling the shots. Espionage was a young man’s game. Three bullet wounds, shrapnel in his left knee, the long scar across his back where a Kevlar vest deflected most of the damage proved that. The truth was he couldn’t keep up anymore. Best to take himself out of the game before someone else did.

The only problem was would the right people believe he was dead. It wasn’t the first time he’d died. Of course, those other times, he’d dropped out of sight for a few months, and people assumed he’d expired. This time he faked his own death and did a good job, too, leaving evidence those looking would be able to ID. His pearl-handled sig he took off a double agent was outside of the explosion zone. Anyone who knew him knew he’d never give up his weapon.

For most people that would be enough, but there were some bad characters following him, shadowing him across continents and over oceans. Foreign nationals believed in payback and felt he had some coming, even though he was only doing his job. It was never personal.

That’s where the blood had come in handy. His lips tilted up. Brilliant. He knew what he was going to do a week before he did it. He siphoned off two pints of his own blood. Kept it refrigerated to keep it fresh. Those interested in DNA testing would find a match. Two pints was a great deal to lose all at once. Loss of blood, along with the weapon, and an out of control explosion equaled probable death as long as he didn’t make any visible appearances, part of the reason he chose the northern California coast, especially this section. It was wedged between the surfer crowd on one side and the newly wealthy celebrities who gobbled up the land as fast as they could on the other. Neither one had much interest in anyone outside their social circle. Typically, strangers attracted attention, but both groups tended to be transitory in nature, which made him background filler, not an oddity.

Can’t take it with you. Hah. Aware of the dangers associated with this job, he’d liquidated funds into cash. He hid the cash across the country. Some he buried, one cache sat in a mausoleum, another he mailed to a P.O. Box, which he had yet to check. He also kept a generous amount of funds close. A couple thousand hid in a first aid box in the wheel well of his spare tire, another stayed safe in his hidey hole, and the third he kept close in a worn metal cracker box. The computer searches for nervous online daters, background checks for employers, and the occasional tail of a cheating spouse should provide him with enough money to represent working for a living.

He’d made up the moniker Jack Marlowe on the spur of the moment. Even traveling across states, he needed identification. The wrong ID could raise flags. He shed his last identity as easily as an outgrown suit. Sometimes, it was hard to remember the name he’d been born with. There was a memory of his silver-haired great-grandmother patting him on the head, reeking of gin, calling him her Pauly boy. That would have been fine if his name had been Paul. It wasn’t. Beau Monroe was an uninspired name, not one he missed.

As a private eye, he needed a business name with dash. He tried to remember the famous cinematic gumshoes. Sam Spade, Phillip Marlow, those guys with the Falcon. He couldn’t remember their names. His bent finger rubbed at the furrow between his eyes when it hit him. Falcon Investigations.

A spritely trio of knocks interrupted his musing. The door opened without him acknowledging the knocker. A bald head poked in the open wedge and turned in his direction, confirming that the visitor was indeed a man.

Howdy, neighbor. The man grinned, revealing one gold tooth. I’m Amos. My office is next door. I run the Good Neighbor Insurance Agency. That’s why I dropped in, always trying to be a good neighbor.

Jack slowly removed his feet from the desk, resenting the intrusion before he was ready to try out his new persona. Still, Amos seemed a likely enough person to try it out on. He stood, gestured for the man to come on in, even though he’d already accomplished the task on his own. Three long strides put him about a foot from his friendly neighbor, one he knew would eventually pitch him insurance.

He put out his hand to shake with a broad smile that even reached to his eyes. Glad to meet you. Marlowe, Jack Marlowe, Private Eye. Falcon Investigations.

Amos grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. Private Eye. How cool. A slightly puzzled expression had passed over his face before the man regained his former good humor.

A question, doubt, Jack saw it. If he couldn’t fool Amos, then he was in deep horse hockey as his gin swilling great-granny would say. You got a question?

Um, Amos hesitated, then plunged in. Do you have a partner?

No. He confirmed his answer by shaking his head. Why do you ask? Had someone been here before him? He couldn’t see how since he didn’t know where he was going until he arrived.

Falcon Investigations. I figured there was a partner named Falcon. Amos’s shoulders went up with a shrug.

Ah, I see. Mentally, he heaved a sigh of relief. Hadn’t tipped his hand and still had the opportunity to fix things. I decided on Falcon because they have such great eyesight and superior speed. It would be a memorable name for an agency.

Amos nodded his head, shifting a wad from one cheek to another.

A tobacco chewer, which boded well for Jack, since the man wouldn’t spit in his office and would have to duck out to do so. Glad to meet you. I need to head into town to get some supplies. He gestured to the door, hoping the man would take a hint. He did, but Jack had to follow, even to the point of locking his office door. Might as well head into town and get some business cards ordered. He ended up getting bad coffee and a worse bear claw at a nearby convenience store.

Nick double-checked his trunk, making sure he had the groceries and household supplies his sister requested. The idea of her living alone in the reclaimed lighthouse so far away from civilization bothered him. Miranda insisted she needed time on her own to recover from her ordeal. His lips thinned as he thought of his bastard of an ex-brother-in-law kidnapping Miranda from the hospital parking lot. Besides, being an abusive ass, he was also stupid enough to take her in broad daylight. The guard usually on duty had been mysteriously absent, but another employee witnessed Miranda being forced into her car at gunpoint.

Even with the quick reacting nurse calling 911 immediately, it was forty-eight hours before Miranda was located. Instead of great police work, triangulating her cell phone signal, or any other conventional method, a hot tip from a disgruntled girlfriend did Buddy in. She didn’t know about the kidnapping but heard Miranda screaming. She called it in as a domestic, knowing Buddy already had a warrant out for his arrest.

The bruised, shaken Miranda, Nick met in the hospital was not the sister he knew. The devil may care girl had vanished, but she’d started her disappearing act near the end of her marriage. Her upbeat manner and mischievousness had made a fortunate reappearance about a week before the kidnapping. His lips twisted when he remembered her Saran-wrapping his toilet seat, though he wasn’t too happy at the time since he had a female visitor. The last thing he needed was for Victoria to dismiss him as dating material because of messy bathroom hygiene. In the end, Victoria fell by the wayside with the fallout from the kidnapping and the sequential court case. Failure to understand his sister coming before the various plans Victoria had made split them up. Her parting sally on his voice mail said something about looking for someone without an unhinged sister. He slapped the side of the car. The words still angered him.

What had he seen in the tall, curvy blonde, anyway? Oh yeah, the blondness, the curves, and the possibility of handling it all. A disgusted snort for his stupidity echoed in the garage. Enough time spent on an unneeded trip down memory lane. Miranda was waiting. For a woman with no visitors, his visit would be the highlight of her week. At least, he hoped she pulled herself out of the apathy prison to feel something. Something good, he mentally corrected.

Dry goods, a red and white cooler of frozen food, a case of water, a couple of packs of diet cola, and a jumbo-sized pack of toilet tissue—the extra soft kind—as requested. He’d loaded a can of kerosene in the corner of the trunk where it wouldn’t fall over. The propane tank would go in the back seat since it had a tendency to roam. Electricity tended to be more of a luxury at the lighthouse, out more than it worked. Miranda’s emergency measures included a kerosene heater, a propane camp stove, and half a dozen jar candles. She often resorted to these to save gas for the generator if needed. When he stayed overnight, it felt like crossing centuries as opposed to the twenty miles that connected the lighthouse to the next town.

No one knew about the island, and even if they did, an ancient fence enclosed the tiny spit of land. A locked gate was the second thing Miranda agreed to. The first thing was she’d take his oversized lab, Winchester, with her.

The good news was his sister was finally taking her safety seriously and had asked for a gun. He picked up the pistol box and placed it on his seat. No one could accuse him of concealing a weapon. The bad news was something prompted her to ask, and he was determined to find out what. Everything she asked for was packed, but not everything he was bringing.

Cupcakes. He ducked back into the house to rescue the candy pink box he left on the table. He had a dozen cupcakes from Cutie Pie’s Bakery. He made sure to get the Red Velvet, German Chocolate, and the Banana Cream she loved along with a few other different ones. Miranda might be willing to go without cable and cell phone service, but no reason she needed to forgo cupcakes.

He needed to get all his callbacks done for the day before he lost cell service, using his car’s Bluetooth service that allowed him to use the car radio as a speaker. As an accountant, he needed to be in touch with his clients. Typically, he didn’t mind the calls at home, but it made it hard to visit Miranda. Somehow, he had to convince his sister to move in with him.

If their aunt and uncle hadn’t left the lighthouse to them jointly, using it has a sanctuary would have never been an option. Miranda, terrorized by her ex-husband, would have joined other women in a group therapy session, probably enrolling in a self-defense class, and carrying mace on her key chain. She’d avoid men and refuse to go out at night. Even though it sounded extreme, it would be a step up from her hermit-like existence at the lighthouse. If Buddy served his full term, then Miranda would be back in society by that time, possibly married, or moved to a different locale.

Living alone so far from him made it difficult to be an over-protective brother. A desire to see his sister had him rushing through the lockup of his house. No reason to be an easy target for home invasion was the way he explained his thoroughness. Miranda always laughed at him before, pointing out nothing bad had ever happened to either of them. That was before Buddy.

An uneasiness, a tickle at the back of his neck, sent him squealing out of the garage. His sister needed him. He was sure of it. His foot eased up on the gas pedal. No reason to get a ticket, especially in some of the better-known speed traps. Being a local wouldn’t save him. He could hardly mention he was driving like a maniac on a whim that something might be wrong with his sister. Instead, he seethed at a red light, even resorted to honking when the woman in front of him continued to put on her