Hot Pursuit

RAYNA

It takes me more than two days of continuous travel, but I finally arrive at the county line feeling relieved and exhausted. It’s not too much farther. I’m in Alabama, and the position of the sun in the sky tells me it’s getting later in the afternoon. The clock on the dash confirms it. I told old Mrs. Gordon I’d be there within the hour to meet her for the keys to the rental house. A hot shower is calling my name.

It’s been several months since I left Miles. The only perk of working for several top lawyers in the city is the quickness of divorce papers. I spent the day after finding out about my husband’s affair cleaning out my bank accounts and most of his. After twenty years, he owed me.

I closed all my accounts and opened new ones at another bank altogether, making sure Human Resources at my job had the new changes. I also gave them my new address. Believe it or not, my boss gave me one of the many apartments he leases out until I can figure out what I’m going to do next for Logan and me.

Explaining all this to Logan was the hardest. Explaining why we were leaving was mind-boggling to him. Just like me, he had thought our family was strong and filled with love on all sides, so of course he was utterly hurt and confused.

Once the divorce was finalized, Mr. Bigham, my boss, told me to take an extended vacation. I have the days for it, so after a little thought, I figured, why not?

Logan is at football camp now, so instead of aimlessly wandering New York City by myself or hibernating in the apartment, I got online and searched for rental homes near my parents. I talk to them on the phone, but our lives are so busy, I haven’t visited since I left Alabama.

And now I’m back.

This stretch of road is lonely, and I want to make it into town before it gets dark. All I see are the towering trees around me and the occasional horse or cow field. I forgot what it’s like to be down in the south. The air is cleaner, but the summer is muggier. Good thing I have a good air conditioner in my car.

I don’t know what’s worse, the snow we get in New York during the winter or the humidity down in the south pretty much year-round. I know people in Alabama who still wear shorts and flip-flops in the dead of winter.

Glancing down at the dash, I frown when I see that a red light is on. It looks like a freaking horseshoe with an exclamation point in the center.

Just great. There’s nowhere to stop on this stretch other than the side of the road, and it’s getting dark. Cell phone service is sketchy at best throughout here, and I don’t have a clue about cars. What else can go wrong?

I hear a thud, thud, thud coming from my right front tire. I’ve still got a thirty-minute drive to the nearest town, which just happens to be where I need to go, but I can’t very well risk damaging the car, so gripping the steering wheel, I slow down and pull over.

I get out, walking into a wall of dense humid air, and find a flat tire. Just my stinking luck. Frustrated, I deliver a swift kick to the tire. I know it’s not going to make the situation any better, but it sure makes me feel better. So I kick it again.

“Stupid tire.”

Another kick. I must look like a flipping fool taking my anger out on a flat tire but really, who’s here to see me?

“Couldn’t you have waited thirty minutes?”

Another kick. By now, I can’t stop, and I’m full-on kicking and screaming at the flat.

“Why not? Just like everything else in my life! Go ahead! Let me down too! No, wait! You already have! You stupid tire!”

I don’t notice the unmarked police car pull up behind me. Nor in my rage over the tire that let me down, do I notice the cop walking up as I consistently kick said tire.

“What the hell is wrong with you!? You must know my ex-husband, don’t you!?”

“Umm…not personally, ma’am. I don’t believe I do, and your tire seems to be flat.”

I jump sky-high at the sound of his voice and almost trip over my own feet. He immediately grabs me by my upper arms to keep me from falling straight on my rear end.

“Whoa there! Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were speaking to the tire.”

Holy Mother of God, when was this gorgeous man created, and where was I when he was growing up?

Probably in New York with your cheating husband, that’s where.

But Jesus, I never knew men in uniform were so damn hot! I mean, there’s no way I’m looking for a man right now, but I can still appreciate the male specimen, can’t I? Besides, he looks about my age, so I’m pretty sure he’s been taken for a while now.

Head out of the gutter, Rayna.

“Are you okay, miss?”

“Not one bit.”

“My name is Detective Kelly Hawthorne. I can help you change your tire so you can be on your way.”

“Detective? But you’re in uniform.”

He smirks. “Yeah. I drew the short straw on patrol today. It happens. So, can you show me where your spare is…”

“Rayna. It’s Rayna Anderson-Callaway.”

“That’s quite a mouthful.”

As he follows me to the back of my car, I explain. “Yeah, I’m waiting on the paperwork to drop the Callaway. Here’s the spare.”

“Divorce?”

I just nod.

“Sorry to hear it.”

I chuckle as he rolls the spare toward the front. Damn, that ass in that uniform. “I’m not.”

“So, you just visiting or moving?”

“Coming home for a visit. I was born and raised in Ashville. I needed to get away for a while.”

His eyes snap up to mine. They are a gorgeous green. Almost clear but not quite. I’ve never seen a color like that before. His hair is dark, almost black, and cut close to his head on the sides and back but longer on the top. His face is angled to perfection, with a short beard that covers that chiseled face.

Never in my life have I seen someone that rendered me speechless, but on first look, this man did. Huge red flag to stay away. Nothing good comes from good-looking men. Good thing I’ll never see him again.

“I work at the sheriff’s department in Ashville. Where are you staying?”

So much for never seeing him again.

“I rented a house on Spring Drive. Right off Hugh Ridge Road.”

“Are you talking about the house Edna Gordon owns?”

“Yeah.”

He nods again as he pulls the flat tire off. “That’s only a couple of houses down from me.”

Damn it to hell…

It doesn’t take him long to finish changing my tire and put the one that screwed me over in the back. As we are walking toward the driver’s side, all of a sudden he pushes me against the car. The impact of his body covering mine is so forceful that my back slams into my car in an instant. A semi-truck flies by a little too close for comfort.

But the semi-truck takes a huge second to the smell of whatever cologne Kelly is wearing—a mixture of mint, sandalwood, and a dash of danger. My breathing is already fast considering I was just smashed against my car with his body, but now…all I can do is inhale his masculine scent.

Our cheeks don’t quite touch because he’s taller than me, and I swear I hear him quietly sniff my hair. You’re going crazy, Rayna. ~The divorce has you going batshit crazy. It’s just been too long without having a man, months actually. That’s it, that’s all it is.~

I’ll need to stop for batteries on my way. I’m sure Mrs. Gordon will understand. Without moving his body, he leans his head down and speaks into my ear.

“You okay, Rayna?”

“Umm, yeah?”

He looks down at me, and damn it, he’s so close. He needs to back away, and I need to seriously get away from here.

“Is that a question or a statement?”

With his arms still blocking me in, I’m starting to wonder if being alone on a deserted stretch of road with this man isn’t such a bad idea…

Ugh. Stop it, Rayna!

“Yeah, detective, I’m fine. I just need to get going. Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.”

As he starts to walk away, he suddenly pivots on his heel and looks me in the eye. “See you around, Ms. Anderson-Callaway. And please, call me Kelly.”