Urgent Pursuit. Beverly LongЧитать онлайн книгу.
had married somebody else.
Chase had shared that she was divorced with a couple of kids. Still living in Ravesville. Didn’t matter. He and Summer were old news.
He stepped up to the car-rental counter and took the keys for the Chevy Impala. In New York, he had a sweet little BMW convertible but he rarely drove it. Paid a hundred bucks a month to park it down the street from his Brooklyn condo. He mostly worked out of an old, beat-up Honda that was owned by the agency. There was nothing on it to steal, and it already had so many dents that the joke was he could run down some scumbag drug dealer and not even have to file a report.
He found his car in the lot and was on the road in less than a minute. Ravesville was ninety miles southwest of St. Louis in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his watch. With luck, he’d be there for dinner.
There was a lot of traffic for a Tuesday, but finally, when he was twenty minutes out, he called Chase’s cell phone.
“Red or white?” he asked when Chase answered.
“We’ve got plenty of both. Don’t worry about bringing any wine. Meet us at the church on the corner of Main and Portland. You’re just in time for rehearsal.”
“I could slow way down,” Bray said.
“Get your sorry self here. My bride wants to meet you.”
At the edge of Ravesville, he saw the gas station where he’d worked his junior and senior years. Like most places, the gas had been self-serve. Bray had worked the inside counter, taking money, selling hot dogs and learning to hate the smell of fountain pop.
Frank Baleeze, who had owned the place, had been his dad’s best friend. Once Bray turned sixteen, he’d offered him a job.
It was probably Frank’s fault that Bray had become a marine. The man had talked about his years in the corps with such pride. Bray had wanted to be part of something like that.
When Bray had come home for his mother’s funeral eight years earlier, Frank had already sold the station and retired to Florida. Even so, Bray stopped in at the old place for gas.
They no longer sold hot dogs, and all the soda was in cans. Their main business was lottery tickets.
It was just more proof that the old saying about not being able to go home again was indeed fact.
The church was close, and Bray found a place to park. For as long as he could remember, his mother had been a regular attendee at the Lutheran church. He and his brothers had been baptized and confirmed here. His parents had both had their funerals here.
When Bray entered, he saw Chase first, standing next to a very pretty woman with short white-blond hair. Then there was Cal, with his arm slung around a stunningly beautiful woman with dark hair.
Next came hugs and introductions. Once he’d met Raney and Nalana, he was convinced that his brothers might have fallen, but they’d landed in cotton. The women were gorgeous and nice.
“Reverend Brown would like us to do a walk-through,” Raney said, pointing to the minister at the front of the church.
Clara Brown had performed both his father’s and his mother’s funerals. She was close to sixty and had a soft voice, but when she spoke, people listened. She’d known his mother better, and the eulogy that she’d delivered had been heartfelt and poignant, a fitting send-off for a good woman.
Bray waved to her. There was a middle-aged woman he didn’t know sitting at the piano. He gave her a quick nod and belatedly added a small smile. His partner on the job would have been proud. The guy, who’d recently met his one true love after a nine-month spree of online dating, was always telling him he needed to do that more. “You’re scary tough,” Mason would say. “Unapproachable. That turns people away, especially the babes. Try smiling.”
Every once in a while, he remembered.
“Nice to see you again, Bray,” Reverend Brown said. She stepped off the altar and walked toward them. “Just so you know,” she said, looking at Raney, “my ceremonies start and end on time. My assistant will be stationed with you and your attendants in the back of the church. I’m counting on the three of you,” she said, switching her gaze to the three Hollister men, “to figure out how to get yourselves out of the back room, through the side door and standing at the altar once the second song starts. Can you manage that?”
“I’ll keep him from running out the back door,” Bray said.
“No worries there,” Chase said, winking at Raney.
“I hope not,” Reverend Brown said, a smile in her voice. “It’s unfortunate that the maid of honor and other bridesmaid couldn’t be here for rehearsal, but I’m counting on the rest of you to fill them in.” Bray remembered that Chase had said that Raney wanted her two friends to be able to spend Thanksgiving with their families, so the women wouldn’t arrive until late Friday night.
No big deal. How tough could it be to walk down the aisle?
Tough enough that ten minutes later, Reverend Brown was making Raney do it a second this-time-slower time when Bray heard the sound of squealing tires and a slamming car door. Seconds later, someone pounding down the church steps to get to the basement. Then shouting. A man, loud. A woman, softer, muffled.
And the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Raney stopped midaisle, turned and started for the back of the church. Chase caught up with her in just a few steps. Four feet later, Bray clamped a hand on his brother’s neck and gently grabbed Raney’s arm. “This is your practice,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
Both Raney and Chase hesitated, and then Chase gave a quick nod. “Be careful,” he said.
When Bray got to the top of the basement stairs, the yelling was still going on. He went fast but quietly down the thirteen steps. Rounded the corner, saw the back of a man and realized that he’d grabbed the person in front of him and was starting to shake them.
“Hey,” Bray yelled. And that caused just enough delay that he was able to get across the room, land a hand on the man’s shoulder and whip him around.
The man hadn’t touched him, but he’d felt as if he’d taken one in the stomach.
He hadn’t seen Summer Wright for fifteen years, and there she was. As beautiful as ever with her red hair. Her face was pale, and the fingers she had pressed up to her lips were shaking.
“What the hell?” The man was snarling and pushing at Bray.
Two quick moves and Bray had the man on his knees with his left arm wrenched high behind his back. “Shut up,” Bray said calmly.
“Are you okay?” he asked Summer.
She nodded.
So maybe he wouldn’t break this man’s neck. “What’s going on here?” Bray asked.
The man tried to twist away. “I’m having a damn conversation with my wife,” he said.
“Ex-wife,” Summer said. She swallowed hard and looked at Bray. “You can let him go,” she said softly.
So this sorry excuse for a man was Gary Blake. “I don’t think so.”
She licked her lips. “He’ll just make trouble for you if you don’t.”
Many years ago, Blake had been an officer on the local police force. Based on the uniform, he still was. He leaned close to Blake’s ear. “I’m going to let you up,” Bray whispered. “But if you make one move in her direction, I’m going to take you down, and I’m going to make it hurt.”
When Gary Blake was back on his feet, he whirled toward Bray. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
“Bray Hollister.”
He could tell the minute the name registered. Blake stood perfectly still, as if debating what to do next. Finally, he turned