She’s sworn to protect...

But does that include a speeding celebrity?

Violet Hawks is a by-the-books police officer—so when she catches a man speeding, she arrests him. Only, the man is famous race car driver Josh Stevens. To make amends, Josh launches a charm campaign, and it works on the small town...and on Violet. But when Josh is connected to an investigation, Violet begins to wonder—can she trust her instincts when her heart is involved?

CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born to storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer.

For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago. To add to the dream, Hallmark Channel has recently released The Sweetest Heart, based on the second book in her Mills & Boon Heartwarming series, Shores of Indian Lake. With more books in the series and more movies to come, Catherine makes her home in La Porte, Indiana, the inspiration for Indian Lake.

Also By Catherine Lanigan

Shores of Indian Lake

Family of His Own

His Baby Dilemma

Rescued by the Firefighter

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Hers to Protect

Catherine Lanigan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09136-7

HERS TO PROTECT

© 2019 Catherine Lanigan

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Why was Josh interested in his arresting officer?

There was a softness in Violet’s eyes, a compassion, and that made Josh pause. Made him think. And feel things he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

Josh had spent most of his adult life chasing the next win. He hadn’t stopped to consider what he really wanted.

“Belonging.”

The word rushed out of him like a riptide from the bottom of his heart. To be important to just one person. What would that be like? What would it be like to walk into a room and have Violet’s face light up just because he was there? Not the blaze of fame like he saw in a fan’s face, or the need in those dependent on him, but love.

Was that what he wanted?

Love?

Dear Reader,

To all of you who are returning to the Shores of Indian Lake series and who read Family of His Own, you might remember Violet Hawks. For those of you who are new to Indian Lake, welcome. Indian Lake is a lovely and loving smallish town located in Northwest Indiana. The town is noted for its close community of involved, concerned and caring people. I have been fortunate in my life to grow up in a place like Indian Lake.

Violet Hawks is a rookie police officer. She dreams of becoming an investigative detective one day, but when she sees an expensive Bugatti Chiron shooting down a country road, she pursues. The Chiron is driven by handsome, famous and wealthy race car driver Josh Stevens. Josh is shocked when the feisty and pretty Violet actually arrests him!

The judge orders Josh to do community service, which keeps him tied to Indian Lake and to Violet. When Josh is injured in a Memorial Day race, Violet realizes that her concern for Josh has turned into something deeper.

I hope you enjoy Hers to Protect. It was interesting and challenging to delve into the law enforcement world as seen through Violet’s young, ambitious eyes. Josh clearly burrowed into my heart.

I love hearing from you as I delve into more Shores of Indian Lake stories. Follow me on Facebook; Twitter: @cathlanigan; catherinelanigan.com; Pinterest; YouTube; heartwarmingauthors.blogspot.com; and my book tours at prismbooktours.blogspot.com; and see my Hallmark movie, The Sweetest Heart, based on the book Heart’s Desire, on the Hallmark Channel.

God bless,

Catherine

This book is dedicated to my husband and hero, Jed Nolan, who died October 21, 2015. I love you to the moon and back and throughout all the galaxies forever. I am ever grateful to you for watching over me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My heartfelt thanks to my editor Adrienne Macintosh for guiding me through this fast-paced relationship between Violet and Josh. We had so much fun sitting in the grandstand while these two jockeyed for positions in their rocketing romance. Your insights and brilliance continue to polish my creativity and make my work turn to “play.”

To Dianne Moggy, my editor and friend. We’ve racked up another one and we’re heading into even more fun! Thank you for being there for me over twenty-three years. That time went fast.

To Kathleen Scheibling, Kathryn Lye, Deirdre McCluskey, Dana Grimaldi and all the creative Heartwarming team who work endlessly to make every Heartwarming story the superlative novels they are, my deepest gratitude. You all continue to amaze me.

And to my agent and dear friend, Lissy Peace, our journey has been decades in the making and the speedway to our futures is certainly filled with thrills and triumphs. The race has only just begun.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

VIOLET PEERED THROUGH her binoculars at the shower of apple blossoms fluttering onto the hood of her unmarked Ford Taurus squad car. Though she listened to satellite radio through an aux jack, she was waiting anxiously for a call from her superior, Detective Trent Davis. This was Violet’s first stakeout—though only an innocent-looking old farmhouse, it represented her superiors’ trust in her.

After six months on the ILPD force, she’d been handed every rookie assignment the chief couldn’t pawn off on one of the veteran cops. She was the greenie kid fresh out of the academy. Every one of her superiors had dodged giving her a real assignment. Until today.

She’d been walking past the chief’s office—okay, she’d been purposefully loitering there, eavesdropping on the conversation between Trent Davis, Sal Paluzzi and Chief Williams about a Chicago-based drug dealer moving into the area. She heard Chief Williams say, “All I’ve got is that this guy is in the area, drives an expensive sports car and a name. Miguel Garcia.”

Violet choked on the coffee she’d been nursing. Trent looked up and saw Violet on the other side of the open door. “Officer Hawks?”

Violet didn’t shy away. “Yes, sir.” She boldly walked across the threshold, but as she opened her mouth, an image of being fired for her impertinence invaded her thoughts. Risks were something an officer of the law faced every day. She took the shot. “It’s likely an alias. Miguel Garcia is a very common name. It would take more than searching databases to get a bead on this guy. Which would be the reason it was used.”

Trent folded his arms over his wide chest. The chief narrowed his eyes, while Sal sought refuge in his coffee mug. He was waiting for her to trip up. Again.

“You’re correct on that, Officer Hawks,” the chief said. “Any suggestions?”

Fast thinking, intuition and the ability to piece together unrelated clues and fragments of information had served her well since the first time she played board games, or watched television mysteries with her siblings. “Over Easter dinner at my mother’s house, which is out on the north side of the county, Mom said she’d seen an expensive sports car racing down 1000 North. She said it came out of nowhere and had to be going over one-fifty. It was so fast she didn’t remember the color. For my mother, an architect and designer, who sees every tone and hue of color, that’s fast.”

“Your point?” Trent challenged.

Her thoughts fell into place like lightning strikes. “It’s been ILPD experience that drug dealers around here tend to have fast, expensive cars. They also comb the county roads around Indian Lake because that’s how they traffic their shipments and avoid us. Er, the authorities. I’ve lived in the north of the county all my life. I know every road, farmer’s access road and gully. I’ve picked strawberries at Paulson’s Farm and peaches at Brown’s Orchards. The tourists don’t usually head out that way. Superfast cars aren’t the norm out near my mother’s house. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say that speeding car belonged to someone who was up to no good, someone who might be part of this new dealer’s network or even the dealer himself.”

Her mouth had gone dry. Had she done the right thing? This wasn’t her meeting. She’d been hired as a traffic cop, though all she’d ever dreamed about was becoming an investigative detective on a major city’s police force such as Chicago or New York.

The truth was, Violet wasn’t good enough for big city forces. She’d applied in Indianapolis, Evansville and South Bend. They’d all turned her down. Being the second youngest Hawks kid, she’d wanted to get out of Indian Lake and make her mark elsewhere. Anywhere. But since drug use and trafficking in small towns and rural areas throughout the Midwest was on the rise, towns like Indian Lake needed cops. Trent Davis knew her sister, Isabelle, and Isabelle’s husband well, so he recommended Violet to the chief. She got the job.

Violet knew she had dues to pay. She was okay with that. Still, she would have rather done so in Los Angeles or Chicago where her detective skills would have been tested nearly every day and advancement would have been faster. Or so she thought. Trent Davis’s Drug Task Force had made significant inroads and arrests last year. Isabelle’s husband, Scott, had written a prize-winning newspaper article on his eyewitness report to Davis’s bust bringing down the notorious and elusive Le Grand gang. Now a new gang was taking over. If she could contribute to this investigation, she could become a permanent member on Davis’s team. After that? The possibilities were endless.

Trent rubbed the pleased smile off his face and turned to Violet. “Did your mother have an idea what kind of car it was?”

“She said Maserati. My brother Eric always had posters of Italian race cars in his room. She said it was something like that.”

“It could be anything,” Sal interjected.

Trent unfolded his arms. “How many Maseratis have you seen around here? Even in tourist season, Sal?”

“None.”

Chief Williams pointed at Violet. “Hawks, I’m ordering you on a stakeout. Davis, you get her outfitted with what she needs. If something is going on up there on or around 1000 North, I want to know about it. This makes sense. It’s close to the Michigan state line. The interstate is a stone’s throw away. Those county roads up there are a spiderweb. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve missed my turn and ended up in Three Oaks, Michigan.” He cleared his throat.

Trent rose and walked toward Violet. Sal was behind him. He lowered his voice as they headed toward Trent’s desk. “Congrats, Hawks. But, while I’m ordering up a car for you, I want you to search that database.” He pointed to the computer on his desk. “Don’t look for Garcia. Look for Maserati sales in the tristate area.”

* * *

AS SHE SCANNED the early May orchards, she savored the sweet taste of satisfaction on her lips. She’d stepped up to the plate, and finally, she felt she was part of a team.

The radio chirped.

“Hawks?”

She grabbed the square shoulder mic. “Sir?”

“What have you got?” Trent asked.

“Nothing.” She sat up straighter. Her ears pricked as she heard the sound of an engine. This wasn’t a tractor or a slow-moving old truck taking fruit saplings out to plant. It was something she’d never heard before.

Holding the binoculars again, she saw a streak of blue through a blind of windbreak trees to the far south.

“Are you still there?” Trent asked.

“I got something.”

“What?” His voice pitched with interest.

“I don’t...know...but it’s moving like a bullet train.”

“Use your radar gun. How fast?”

She snatched the radar gun from the passenger seat, aimed and tagged the vehicle, whose make she still couldn’t identify. “Holy crap. Sorry, sir.” She turned on her car’s engine already anticipating the chase. “Two zero two.”

“Talk later. Go!”

“Roger. Out.”

She flung the radar gun and binoculars to the passenger seat, stomped on the gas pedal and shot dirt from under her tires. The blue bullet was streaking down the country road as if the devil was on its back. As Violet sped the Taurus over seventy, then eighty miles an hour, she knew she’d never outrace her prey.

She’d have to outsmart him.

Knowing that Jasper Brown had bisected his enormous orchard years ago with a dirt path wide enough for his truck, she headed for that familiar dirt alley that separated the apple trees from the pear trees.

Turning sharp right, she tore down the bumpy trail that seemed a lot more hazardous today than it had ten years ago when she used to ride her bike home from apple picking. She tightened her seat belt and hit the gas. From the right, she could see the blue sports car approaching. It would pass her, but she’d have it within her sights.

As she burst out of the farm’s dirt path and up the slight bank, the blue bullet screamed past her. The driver was a blur.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Violet’s squad car nearly leaped onto the pavement and made chase. She turned on her light bar and siren. “Officially, you’re mine.”

Expecting the blue sports car to slow down now that her lights and siren were on, Violet was shocked when it kicked up its speed. Convinced she had the drug dealer dead to rights, she wasn’t about to let up. She plunged the gas to the floor. The Taurus could do up to one-fifty, but this sports car was out of her league.

Just then she heard Trent’s voice. “Officer Hawks, keep this line open.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

“Report.”

“I’m coming up on 350 East. I’m in pursuit. I’ve never seen this car make. I’ll shoot the license. It’s over two hundred miles an hour. I can’t overtake. I need backup.”

“County deputy sheriffs are on their way.”

“Ten four.”

“Stay with him. You got something.”

In the background over the radio, Violet could hear Trent speaking to the county sheriff’s dispatcher.

Trent’s voice was stern. “County is close. They’re forming a barricade two and a half miles from you. Back off.”

She smiled. “Ten four.” She turned off her radio. Violet kept her foot depressed. This was her perp. Her collar. She was going to see it to the end. When the county sheriff barricade stopped this drug dealer, she would be there and she would make the arrest. Glory was within her reach. And possibly a promotion.

Gold-and-brown Indian Lake County sheriff cars and SUVs were strung across the county road with lights flashing. The blue bullet slammed on its brakes, tires squealing and black rubber smoking streaks across the concrete. Violet let off the gas and braked, bringing the Taurus to a quick but safe stop. She couldn’t unbelt herself fast enough. It was all she could do not to run up to Miguel Garcia and drag him from the luxurious sports car. If her brothers were here, they’d be whistling over this car. She still had no idea what it was, but she was sure “expensive” didn’t come close to describing its price.

Before she got to the blue bullet, the door was flung open and a tall, lean, blond man exited. Violet halted. He was killer handsome, dressed in expensive black slacks, a dark blue knit shirt that stretched over his broad chest, its fine material lying over cut muscles. The long sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing taut forearms. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He glared at her. She noticed his eyes were sky blue.

“Aw jeez. A country cop.” He spat the word from between pursed, angry lips.

“ILPD. City cop.”

His anger vanished as he flashed her a blazingly charming smile. “What a coincidence.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m from Indianapolis. It was a joke.”

“I’m not smiling.” This man was likely guilty of nothing more than speeding. And her reaction to him vied with the realization she’d left her stakeout, where the drug dealer might even now be driving by.

She felt she was right back where she started, giving out speeding tickets on Highway 35.

“Sir, I clocked you at over two hundred miles an hour.”

He glanced behind him at his car. He patted the hood. “That’s all?”

Violet gaped at his audacity. Who did he think he was?

The scuffle of boots against the pavement alerted her to the audience of four county sheriff’s deputies watching the scene.

Violet reached to her back pocket for her ticket pad. She pulled a pen from her breast pocket. “I’m citing you for speeding and reckless driving.”

“You’re kidding. Right?”

She glared at him. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She lowered her eyes to the pad and wrote. “The speed limit here is fifty.”

“I never saw anything posted.”

“Well, it is,” she replied, still not looking into his startling blue eyes. “But then you were going so fast, how could you see it?”

“I see a lot of things. If there was a sign posted, I would have seen it. I’ve been all over these country roads.”

“You have.”

“I know people here. Austin and Katia McCreary.”

Violet also knew Austin and Katia. A little. Some said Austin was the wealthiest man in town. He owned the antique car museum, and, according to Isabelle, he’d been a recluse for years until he married Katia. Violet had worked a couple charity events with Katia.

How did this guy know Austin?

She heard the deputies snickering at her, so she pressed on. “It doesn’t matter who you know in town. I need your driver’s license and registration.” She held out her hand.

At that point the deputies broke into guffaws.

This was too much. She took a step away from the car and shot a laser look at the tallest of the four deputies. “What?”

He broke from the barricade as the other deputies walked back to their cars hooting to themselves. “You don’t know who this is, do you, Officer...?”

“Hawks,” she replied officially. “I’m about to find out once I get his driver’s...”

“Josh Stevens,” the deputy sheriff said. “He’s just about the most famous race car driver to come out of Indiana. I saw him race.”

Violet felt herself flush. She imagined she’d gone from red to crimson to deep purple. Of course she knew who he was. You couldn’t grow up in the Hawks house and not know names like Danica Patrick, Fernando Alonso and Josh Stevens. Violet’s brothers had spent nearly every Memorial Day weekend in college seated in the bleachers in Speedway, Indiana, watching the Indianapolis 500.

All she could do was follow through with her job. If she didn’t, the deputy would report it to the county sheriff, who would report her to the chief. She may have egg on her face, but she was in the right and she knew the law. Violet wrote Josh’s name on the top of the ticket.

“I still need your license.”

Josh looked at the sheriff, who shrugged.

“Apparently, you don’t need us anymore, Officer Hawks.”

“No. I don’t.”

Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t believe this.” He pulled the license out along with the car’s registration.

It was all Violet could do to keep her hands from shaking as she finished writing the ticket. “Court is two weeks from Friday. Be there.”

“I will not. I’m in training.”

“Excuse me?”

He waved the ticket at her. “This is ridiculous and so are you for giving it to me. I’m not a criminal, and I won’t be treated like one.”

Violet felt her ire sail to the top of her skull.

“You broke the law,” she countered.

“You don’t want to take me on, Officer Hawks. I’ll have your job for this.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise.”

“You’re under arrest.”

“I refuse.”

“I’ll gladly add resisting arrest to the charges.”

“This isn’t happening,” he spat.

“It is,” she replied, feeling that same rage she’d once felt when she was bullied at school, the day Billy Pope had knocked her to the ground. Violet had vowed never to look up into the face of an assailant and feel powerless again. “You have the right to remain silent...” She began reciting his Miranda rights.

Before Josh could say another word, Violet had flipped handcuffs around his right wrist and had spun him around to clasp his hands behind his back. She tightened the handcuffs.

“You can’t do this to me!” he snarled. “This is ridiculous. I won’t let you arrest me. My lawyer will tear you apart.”

She continued reciting. “...and if you have no lawyer, the court will appoint one to represent you.”

“Trust me, I have the best.” Josh cracked a harsh chuckle. His smile spread across his face, but his eyes glinted icily.

The remaining deputy sheriff had stopped walking and was recording the scene on his iPhone. He stopped, lowered the phone and asked, “You need help?”

“I got this,” Violet said.

Josh shook his head and laughed. He turned his back to the deputy sheriff and flipped his keys onto the pavement at the man’s feet.

Josh was still laughing as he said, “Drive my Bugatti back to town, will ya?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the deputy said with a grin, then picked up the keys and gave Josh a little salute.

Violet rolled her eyes. The admiration she saw in the deputy’s eyes was killing her. She steered Josh toward her Taurus, putting her hand on the top of his head. “Watch your head. And those long legs of yours are going to smash up against my seat.”

Josh spun to face her. They were nearly nose to nose as his angry eyes bored into hers. “You have no idea what you’ve just done. You’re going to regret this till your dying day.”

“I doubt that seriously. The way I see it, you’re a danger to others.” Violet somehow managed to keep her voice steady, despite her rage. She’d come out here today to gather information on a drug lord. She despised drug dealers, pushers and the traffickers who preyed on kids.

So Josh wasn’t a drug dealer, but he had been a danger. It wasn’t merely the fact that Josh Stevens had been speeding, it was his attitude that he could get away with his infraction that kicked up her ire. People like Josh Stevens felt they could wheedle, bully, intimidate and charm their way through all their actions, legal and otherwise.

Violet was just one cop, and she knew that sometimes, all it took was one person to make a difference.

CHAPTER TWO

JOSH INSPECTED THE ink on the pads of his fingers. When he was photographed, he was wise enough to drop his indignation and flash his celebrated smile for the camera. As he was escorted from area to area, desk to desk, he watched Officer Hawks carry out her duties with by-the-book efficiency.

She typed her report like a demon and asked him only requisite questions. He thought of dozens of smart-mouthed barbs he could shoot her with, but she appeared impervious to his taunts. She treated him like a bug. He was a perp. A wrongdoer.

“I get a phone call,” he said.

“You’re entitled to several calls, actually. However, the station cannot allow you to tie up our phone lines talking to your, er, ‘people.’” She kept her eyes on the computer screen as she typed.

“I’ll use my cell.”

“Not for now you won’t.”

“Fine. So, when can I make my calls?”

“When I feel like it.”

“I’m not answering another question until I talk to my lawyer. That’s the law, Officer Hawks,” Josh said bluntly. He’d already figured out that threats didn’t dent this woman’s disposition. Neither did his charm. She was a rock. A government robot. She was the kind of powerless bureaucrat who validated her position by exercising her influence on innocent citizens.

Like me.

He’d seen plenty of people like her. His parents had been killed when their car had been hit head-on by a drug addict. As an only child and with no other family, he’d been shuffled by state officials from one foster home to another.

This cop made him think of his best friend back then. Diego Lopez had had such a severe distrust of authority. He’d also barely spoken English, but Josh had enjoyed teaching him.

“Give me your attorney’s number and I’ll place the call for you. What’s his name?”

“Paul Saylor.”

“In Indianapolis?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“I went to a seminar he gave when I was at the police academy in Indianapolis.”

“And that was when?”

Her eyes narrowed. She was instantly on the defensive.

Josh had guessed she was young, twenty-three or twenty-four. She carried herself stiff, like a rookie. She was out of her league with him. That was for sure.

“I can look up the number if you forgot it.”

“Actually, he’s in Europe...” Josh checked his watch. “Just my luck. He’s back tomorrow. He’s always around for my time trials and the race Memorial Day weekend.” He smiled pleasantly, without too much force.

She glared at him.

He dropped the smile. Nothing worked on this woman. “I’ll call Harry instead.”

“Harry?”

“My manager.”

Silence.

Josh swallowed and then rhymed off Harry’s cell number, and Violet dialed.

Once it started to ring, she handed Josh the receiver. She went back to typing, but she didn’t leave him alone.

Josh turned his back to her and held the receiver close. His manager answered on the fourth ring. “Harry. It’s Josh. I need your help.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to find Paul Saylor when he gets back tomorrow.”

“Why would you need Paul?”

“To bail me out of jail.”

The long pause segued into a low groan. “What for? Drugs?”

“For Pete’s sake, Harry! You know me better than that. I was ticketed for speeding.”

“Where are you?”

“Indian Lake. I told you. I was here to see Austin and Katia McCreary.”

“Right, the antique car guy. Did you buy anything?”

“Harry. Focus. I’m in a jam here.”

“No big deal. Paul can clear this up... Wait. You said jail. Why jail for speeding?”

Josh lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’ve got me for threatening the officer. I resisted her arrest.”

“Her? Well, that explains it.”

“Thanks a lot,” Josh retorted. “Look, I want to get out of here.”

“I want you out, too. Mainly so I can wring your neck!” Harry blasted him. “Has anybody seen you?”

“Seen me?”

“Yeah. Like the press. Some kid on social media? This kind of thing can really hurt us. Bad publicity only weeks before the Indianapolis race. Just what I need, Josh.”

“Hey, this is my career we’re talking about here.”

“Precisely. And your career affects my career and my life. You have responsibilities, Josh. To the sponsors, the crew, the advertisers. You’ve been on a glory roll for nearly three years. No crashes. No bust ups. Not a glitch. Now you go out joyriding in some backwater town. Who knows what the locals think of you.”

Josh’s head inched downward with each of Harry’s accusations. He was right. Josh was a man of duty and massive commitments. His sponsors put up hundreds of thousands of dollars for him to spend his life screaming around a raceway in some of the most expensive cars on the planet. His entourage depended on him to do everything right. Eat right, exercise, train and make lightning-quick decisions on the track. His job was to stay alive and be a good guy while doing it.

Today, he’d let everyone down.

“I’m telling you, Josh. This may have been fun for you, but it can cost us. If that cop has you on resisting arrest, that tells me you let your mouth run away with you. Again.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Josh muttered.

“Yeah? Tell it to the judge. And believe me, you will. In the meantime, shut your trap. You got that?”

“Got it.”

“Good. Be as polite as you know how. I don’t know anything about this Indian Lake, but I’m going to find out. These little towns take small infractions seriously. It’s not Indianapolis where you can buy or autograph your way out of just about anything.”

“I’m seeing that.” Josh’s eyes tracked up to Violet. He watched the hard set to her jaw as she banged away at the computer. She scrolled the mouse over a section of writing and cut it. Then she licked her bottom lip and went back to work. The harsh light shone on her heart-shaped face, and he noticed the long, dark lashes that cast shadows over naturally pink cheeks. She had expressive dark brows that pinched at the bridge of her pert nose when she found another section to cut. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what she must think of him besides the fact that he was a criminal. He was curious to know her thoughts. And that surprised him.

To Harry, he said, “So, how do I get out of here?”

“I can post the bail for you. Is there anyone there who can tell you how much?”

“Hold on.” Josh turned around, put his palm over the receiver and asked, “Officer Hawks, how much is my bail going to be?”

She stopped typing and pointed to a poster on the far wall. “Five hundred dollars.”

Josh went back to his call. “Five hundred.”

“Great. I’ll get in touch with the bail bondsman there in Indian Lake. Just chill. Make the best of your afternoon.”

“Easy for you to say,” Josh replied, and hung up. He handed the receiver to Violet. “You do realize this is costing me a lot more than a few hundred bucks.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m missing an interview with the South Bend Tribune’s sports writer. A radio program and television interview, as well. Interviews translate to tickets sold to the race. These things are important to me.”

“You shoulda thought of that earlier.”

“I was thinking...” His voice trailed off. “Oh, what do you care?”

She rose from her chair. “Until your bail is posted, I have to take you to a cell.”

“A jail cell? I can’t just stay here? Harry said it won’t take long to post bail.”

She cocked her head to the right, indicating a heavy metal door with a small wired-glass window. “Through there.”

“I don’t believe this. Sure you don’t want to put leg irons on me?”

“I can do that if you wish,” she bit out.

Josh remembered what Harry had said about being polite. “No. You’ve gone to enough trouble for me, Officer Hawks.”

They went to the hall that led to four jail cells. Officer Hawks spoke to the young officer just inside the hall. “Cell three has been assigned to...”

“Josh Stevens! Officer Trey McLaughlin. Glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to Josh. “I’ve seen or heard nearly every race. How’s it lining up for the Indianapolis race?”

Josh shook his hand exuberantly. “You follow the races?”

“I do. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks, man.” Josh felt his grin grow. Two minutes ago he’d felt dirty. Now he felt whole again thanks to his fan. He would go back to his world, and his life would return to normal. It would. It had to. “Trey, I promise you, it’s looking great.”

Officer Hawks took Josh’s arm. “In here,” she barked.

Josh entered the cell, turned and put his hands on the bars. He was in jail. He’d fought all his young years to make the right choices, even when others lobbied with very persuasive skills for him to go down another road. The quick road. The road of drug deals and stunning amounts of cash. Hot cars. Expensive clothes. Tropical resorts where women would flock to him.

But Josh’s parents had taught him that his integrity was what mattered. With integrity and honesty, he would win the respect of even his critics.

Right now he had to remember that.

As he looked through the iron bars at the startlingly and surprisingly compassionate green eyes of his captor, he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to win her respect.

With his gaze locked on hers, Josh said humbly, “Thank you, Officer Hawks.”

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU KNOW what a Bugatti Chiron costs?” Trent Davis asked as he paced his office while Violet stood near his desk. Many times in the past she’d felt like running from confrontation, but this time wasn’t one of them. Deep in her belly, as much as Chief Williams and Detective Davis believed she’d bungled this assignment, she knew she was right. Josh Stevens might be a celebrity—he had fame, fortune and influence—and she was barely more than a traffic cop, but Josh had questioned her authority. She’d clocked him speeding. Anything over a hundred miles an hour was considered “reckless driving.” She was in the right, and she would stand her ground.

“A lot, I presume.”

“It’s so expensive, Officer Hawks, that I had a difficult time finding the price.”

“Sir?”

Frustrated, he said, “I don’t care about the car or its cost. My point is that you left your post at the stakeout farmhouse.”

“Sir, I was told that Miguel Garcia was known to drive a very expensive sports car. The Bugatti fits that bill. I thought I was chasing Garcia.”

“That’s your first mistake, Officer. You assumed before you had the facts. Sal was working the database and had found that Garcia drives a Maserati 2016. If you had checked in with him, you would have known that.”

Violet remembered how fast the Bugatti had streamed past her. She knew what a Maserati looked like. But she’d never seen a Bugatti Chiron. They were both fast cars. It was an understandable mistake.

She promised herself that over the weekend she’d comb the internet for images of every expensive car made. She’d log them into her brain and the next time a Bugatti sailed past her, she’d know what she was looking at.

Trent was still pacing.

“What color is the Maserati, sir?”

Trent halted, lifted his head and cleared his throat. “Blue.”

Violet’s eyebrow cranked up in surprise, and she quickly corrected her expression. Blue. Well, she had that one right.

“The bottom line is that I’m disappointed in your work. The next time I give you an assignment, you carry it out.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Violet turned sharply and left the office. She went straight to her desk, avoiding Sal’s and Trey’s eyes. Trey was getting coffee, which was odd, because he didn’t drink coffee.

Violet halted like someone kicked her in the back. It was probably for Josh.

She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when she’d put him in the cell.

Josh was her first lockup. Her first arrest.

As she’d ushered him into the cell, she’d felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Two steps inside the cell, his broad shoulders had slumped and his face had gone ashen.

Shockingly, he’d thanked her.

Why?

What kind of man thanked an officer for showing him his limitations? His vulnerability?

The unique kind.

When he’d looked at her, his blue eyes weren’t malicious. They actually held gratitude.

Every assessment she’d made about Josh Stevens from the second of his arrest was shattered in that moment.

Suddenly, she wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know why. He was her prisoner. He was in the wrong.

Yet she’d nearly reached for the bars to touch his hand, to reassure him.

A jangling phone on Sal’s desk broke through her thoughts. “Paluzzi here,” he answered, then checked his watch. His eyes meandered over to her, checking to see if she was working.

Violet quickly scanned her computer for the photographs she’d taken of the farmhouse. With her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged a particular photo of the white clapboard house. It looked like it had been recently painted. Sure enough, she picked out three paint cans near a fenced-off area with garbage cans.

She moved her fingers over the photo and the image of the side of the house. She could see a For Sale sign against the side of the house. She sat up straight. “But the sign isn’t in the front yard. It’s been put away. Which can mean that they took it off the market, or it’s recently sold. But to whom?”

Miguel Garcia? she thought. And was this where he intended to headquarter his gang?

Enlarging the picture even more, she was able to read the Realtor’s phone number. She jotted down the number on a notepad, then picked up her phone and dialed.

A pleasant-sounding woman answered. “Indian Lake Realty Company. This is Heather. How may I direct your call?”

“This is Officer Violet Hawks, of the Indian Lake Police Department. I understand your company recently sold a farmhouse out near 1000 North?”

“Let me check.”

“I need to speak to the listing agent, please.”

“Sure,” Heather said. “That would be Roy King. He’s out for the day. Funeral. May I take your number and have him call you back?”

Violet left the station number and her extension. “I appreciate your help, Heather.” Violet hung up.

Now that her call was over, she heard the phones in the booking area ringing. She glanced over to the dispatcher’s area. She was putting calls through to various extensions without taking a breath. Another phone rang and Trey grabbed a call. Then Sal took a call.

“Busy day,” she mumbled as she looked at the farmhouse photo. She rubbed her forehead. Trent Davis’s wife, Cate, was a Realtor. There was a good chance Cate would know about the recent sale.

Violet watched as Trey rushed past her desk toward the front door. “What’s the rush?”

“A delivery.”

“Oh,” she replied. Trey was known for his pizza addiction. The slender guy could eat pizza three times a day and never gain an ounce.

She logged in to the database, looking for more information on Miguel Garcia and the blue car. If she could track down the Maserati dealer where Garcia bought the car, there might be an address, and it might even be legitimate.

She scrolled through more information as Trey bounded back through the room toward the jail cell area. But he wasn’t carrying a pizza carton. Instead, it was a brown bag with the Indian Lake Deli logo on it as well as a pink-and-white-striped sack from Cupcakes and Coffee Café. She could only guess the food was for Josh.

She started to stand, and as she did, she came face-to-face with her brother-in-law.

“Violet.” Scott greeted her with a wide anticipatory grin. “Trent tells me you have Josh Stevens in lockup. Is that right?”

“Word travels fast.”

“Can I see him?” Scott asked, looking toward the metal door.

“Scott, you’re drooling,” she said sarcastically.

“I should be! An interview with a real celebrity never happens in Indian Lake.”

Violet dropped her chin to her chest. “Not you, too.”

“What?”

“In all these years you’ve hung around my family, you never told us you were a race car enthusiast.”

“I keep it on the down low. Besides, Vi, c’mon. How can you live in Indiana and not go just a little nuts over Memorial Day weekend when you hear the announcers call the race? It’s in our blood.” He leaned closer. “And it’s certainly in my readers’ blood.”

“I don’t have the authority to grant you that interview. You have to talk to Trent.”

“Piece of cake.” Scott smiled widely.

“Hey, a word to the wise. Friendship may not get you this one. Detective Davis isn’t all that happy that Stevens is in a cell. Anyway, he’ll be out before sundown. His manager is arranging bail as we speak.”

Scott’s expression sobered. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“The manager?”

“No, Josh.”

Violet pursed her lips. “I don’t like his entitled attitude. He thinks he can come here and do as he pleases. Race his car through our roads at over two hundred miles an hour.”

Scott whistled lowly. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “I clocked it. I wish I hadn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because these celebrity types don’t care if their publicity is negative, as long as they stay in the limelight. It’s the juice they need. Take this guy. He’s got a need for speed. For what? What’s he trying to prove? Or gain? More fame? He’s got that. Obviously, he’s got money to burn. Detective Davis says that Bugatti of his is so expensive that until recently, a price wasn’t even posted. Dealers negotiate the price quietly. His success isn’t a result of hard work and sacrifice. It’s all luck. He hasn’t earned it. And he sure hasn’t earned my respect.”

“I see that,” Scott mused, keeping his eyes on her.

Violet wanted to squirm under Scott’s introspective gaze. “What?”

“Nothin’. Just that I never heard you talk like this about anyone before.”

“Yeah? Then you never watched a Cubs game with me in the room, have you?”

“Bad?”

“Brutal.” She paused. “Scott, take my advice. If you want a story about Josh Stevens, wait till he’s in court and I’m testifying against him.”

Scott peered at her, his right eyebrow hitched and his jaw slowly opening. “You’re going to testify against this country’s most famous race car driver? The current winning driver of the Indianapolis race? The guy who’s in a half-dozen ads on TV? The guy who just signed with Breitling to model their watches?”

“I am.”

“You do realize he’ll pull in some high-powered and totally brilliant lawyer from Chicago...”

“He’s in Indianapolis...” she interjected.

“And that doesn’t give you cause for caution?”

“No.”

Scott blew out a breath. “You are one tough cookie, sister-in-law.”

“I’m in the right,” she replied adamantly.

“Who cares?”

“I do! It’s the law. He broke the law and then resisted arrest.”

“Oh, this is good.”

“Don’t write anything until we’re in court, please?”

“Violet, today this story is a scoop. In a couple weeks, half the country will know about it and I’m just another guy covering the beat. I’ll lose my edge.”

Sal Paluzzi slammed down his phone and sprang out of his chair. He rushed past Violet’s desk. “Where’s the fire?” she asked.

“Be right back,” Sal said with a wave over his shoulder as he headed to the doors to the front hall.

A moment later, Sal was back with his wife, and five young children. The kids were chattering excitedly. Sal’s wife was wearing a particularly lovely spring sweater, a floral dress and kitten-heeled shoes. Her dark hair tumbled down her back in perfect curls. Being a hairdresser, Patrija always looked her best, but today Violet guessed she was on her way to a party. Since Sal and Patrija had only one child, eight-year-old Antony, Violet guessed the other kids must be friends.

They walked toward the cell-block door. It was then Violet noticed that each child held a notebook.

“Autographs?” She started toward Sal. Scott reached out and touched her forearm.

“Vi, let it go.”

“He’s practically holding court in there,” she said. “This isn’t punishment for him in the least.”

“No,” Scott replied. “But why is it killing you so much?”

She jerked her head back to Scott. “I... I’m... It’s not. In fact, this just goes to prove my earlier evaluation of him. People who live with that kind of notoriety and influence use it to their own advantage.”

“That can be true.”

“Believe me, it’s very common.” Again, she thought of her childhood bully, Billy Pope, and how he used his father’s power as the town mayor to go after other, weaker kids. “What I do know is that I’ll be very glad when Josh Stevens leaves town. He’s precisely the kind of person I would avoid,” she said as her eyes strayed back to the cell-block door and lingered.

“Yeah, right,” Scott replied.

When Violet’s phone rang and she glanced back at Scott, she realized he was watching her closely. She picked up the receiver. “Officer Hawks.”

She listened as Josh’s manager, Harry Wilcox, explained that the bail bondsman would post bail within thirty minutes. He hoped Violet would have all the necessary paperwork ready. She assured him that everything was in order.

As she ended the call, the chief walked up. “Hawks, I just got off the phone with Harry Wilcox. I’m giving the newspaper permission for an interview.” He nodded at her brother-in-law. “I trust you’ll be, er, complimentary, Scott?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

The chief walked away. Scott smiled at Violet.

“Looks like you’ll get your scoop, Scott,” she said. “Why don’t I give Josh your card? He may not want to be interviewed in or near the jail.”

“You’re probably right. Here ya go,” he said, reaching in his wallet. “I appreciate it, Violet.”

Scott kissed her cheek.

“Hug Isabelle and the kids for me,” she said.

“Officer Hawks,” Trent Davis said, standing in the doorway to his office. “Do you have your report ready?”

“Yes, sir. I’m printing it out now.”

“Good. Bring it in.” He smiled faintly. “Then go down to the cell and get Josh Stevens’s autograph for me before he leaves. Have him sign it to my son, Danny.”

Violet gaped as he closed his door. “Not you, too?”

CHAPTER FOUR

VIOLET HANDED THE document to the bondsman, who scribbled something illegible on it and handed her the cash.

She stapled the paperwork together and went to the cell block, unable to help the wave of incompetence that swept through her veins. Deflated and riddled with guilt for the disappointment she’d caused Detective Davis, she was in no mood for gloating from Josh Stevens.

She squared her shoulders as she tucked in her shirt and smoothed her uniform slacks. It was the end of the day, and all she wanted was a hot bath. But first, she had this duty to perform.

She handed the paperwork to Trey as the metal door closed behind her.

“He said his manager would pull through,” Trey said, smiling.

“Had a nice chat, did you?”

“Oh, we did. Josh has the most amazing stories. You know he’s raced in Europe and...”

“Not now, Officer. I’m here to release him.”

Josh was sitting on the bare bench inside the cell. He looked up at her. “Nice jail you have.”

“This isn’t the jail. We use this room to house criminals we know will only be here a few hours. Like you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Fine.” She motioned to Trey. “You can open it up.”

Josh stood. “I’m being released?”

“Yes. It’s my duty to inform you that you will have to return to Indian Lake in ten days for a hearing. At that time, I will give my testimony to the judge. You will give yours or your lawyer will speak for you. That’s your call. What happens next will be up to the judge.”

“What’s typical in cases like mine?”

“There aren’t many cases like yours.”

“Okaaay. Similar cases.”

“He or she may give you a fine. And the speeding ticket will be reported on your record as well as the charge of resisting arrest.”

Josh walked to the open jail door. “And the endangerment to others?”

“That, too.”

Violet struggled to remain calm. She took a step back from him, wondering how he could smell like clean soap and spicy cologne after most of the day in lockup.

Just looking at him reminded her that she’d bungled her job, and badly. All her life, she’d prided herself on her instincts and her intuition. She’d relied on those instincts when she’d started the chase after Josh, believing him to be the drug lord. She had wrongly mistaken his Bugatti as Miguel Garcia’s car.

She handed Josh his release papers.

“Well, Officer Hawks, I can tell you that my attorney is not only smart but effective. This speeding ticket and the other trumped-up charges you’ve brought against me won’t fly. As far as I’m concerned, you stole a day of my life. My agent has been dodging calls all day about my whereabouts. And the fallout I’m going to face once the story gets out that you, Officer Hawks, chose to incarcerate me to make yourself look good to your superiors...”

Violet opened her mouth to speak, her words coming in an indignant squawk. “Mr. Stevens,” she managed, “this disruption in your life is your fault. Not mine. Apparently, you haven’t learned there is a price to pay for your behavior.”

“Behavior? Your hot-headed reaction is to blame here. My guess is that because you’re so young, you haven’t been doing this long. So, I’m going to give you that, Officer Hawks. I’ve told my attorney I won’t sue you, the city or the county. But trust me, this bust you made is gonna go away.”

Violet’s nerves jangled from the tip of her skull to her toes. She had to remember that Josh Stevens was the kind of person who thought he had the upper hand—always. And she’d had just about enough.

Instead of losing her cool, she smiled as charmingly as she could. “I appreciate your position, Mr. Stevens. In ten days we’ll see how it all falls out. In the meantime, please understand. You aren’t the only one with responsibilities. I have people who depend on me and my judgment, as well. They aren’t my entourage as you label your people. I call mine family.”

She turned to Trey. “Please see Mr. Stevens to the front door, Officer. Make sure he has his cell phone and belongings upon his departure.”

She turned and walked out of the cell block.

CHAPTER FIVE

TRUE TO HIS WORD, the Indian Lake County deputy sheriff had brought Josh’s Bugatti to the police station. Josh walked out looking at his blue baby with its C-shaped sides, the curves that acted to redirect and optimize the airflow into the side intakes. Twin pipe exhaust. Low front aerodynamic hood. The car was masterfully designed. There were only 750 or so sold worldwide. What he had was unique. The engine was a beast at 1,179 horsepower.

“She thought she could outrun me?” He snorted as he walked to the car, opened the door and climbed into the luxurious leather cockpit. “Officer Hawks, you are such a rookie.”

And just then he saw Violet walk out of the station, her uniform as perfectly pressed as if she hadn’t worn the darn thing all day. Her dark hair had been clipped back all day, but now, she’d pulled out the clip as she walked. Her hair fell well below her shoulders, like a veil of dark satin. It shone, and a gentle spring breeze lifted long locks around her face. He held his breath.

He hadn’t expected that.

She didn’t look at him or his amazing Bugatti. She simply got in her squad car and backed out, pulling away like anyone leaving work after a long day.

He’d half expected her to give him the finger.

But this—ignoring him—showed him she saw him as the criminal she said he was. He stared at the finely stitched leather-covered steering wheel that he knew the finest artisans had skillfully sewn. He turned on the engine and heard it hum, promising adventures unimagined.

Some adventure today. When he’d braked at the police blockade, he’d lost his temper. People like Officer Violet Hawks, cops with guns on their belts or licensed authority figures who swooped into an orphan’s life and put him in a stranger’s house, jacked him up something fierce.

He had to admit that he’d been a real jerk to her. It wasn’t Violet Hawks who ran up his blood pressure. It was the authority figures she symbolized. Since the day his parents died, Josh had battled every apathetic or on-the-take social worker and fraudulent foster parent. He’d met a ton of cops who thought all foster kids had chips on their shoulders and “should appreciate what the state gives them.”

“Authority” to young Josh had meant lies, abuse and torment. And then he’d found his calling. Cars.

It was always about the cars.

When he was very young, he thought he could drive himself away from his awful, abuse-filled life. He believed that once he could drive, he’d never feel powerless again.

By the time he was eleven, he’d taught himself how to fix everything on a car that could be fixed. Through high school he learned more by hanging out with mechanics in garages. He worked his way through tech college to learn electronic and computer systems in cars. Then, one day, while test-driving a new Mercedes engine he’d put in an attorney’s car in Indianapolis, his life changed.

Paul Saylor was the man who had caused that change. Paul had been a car buff and he was rich. He saw Josh’s driving skills that first day. Paul was influential and he represented many of the race car owners, some drivers and even pit crew bosses. Paul was Josh’s entrée into the racing world.

Today, Paul was his attorney. Josh would always be grateful to the man for everything he’d done for him.

Paul was family to Josh.

“Family.”

Josh looked down Maple Boulevard in the direction Violet had driven. Her comment about having family hit him hard. Josh had been very young when his parents died, and even now he could remember the smell of lavender on his mother’s skin when she held him close. He could hear his father’s wing tips on the wood stairs when he came home late from work and came to check on Josh.

“But they left me,” he whispered, feeling wrenched again straight across his midsection.

He would give the world to feel his mother’s hug again. And hear her voice telling him that she loved him. Even his father’s seldom-heard laugh would be a gift. Just one more time.

That was why he drove so very, very fast. He felt closest to them when he pushed the limits of speed. As if he could almost touch them. He had no intention of crashing, but he also couldn’t resist the urge to go just a little faster.

Today, when he’d been racing down the country road, he’d been thinking about his mother. He owned a car that went nearly three hundred miles an hour, but it was no Rolls-Royce turbofan engine that could hit supersonic speeds of over seven hundred miles per hour.

Josh hung his head, refusing to believe he was teary-eyed, but it had been happening a lot lately. He didn’t want anyone to see his tears. Especially no one in his employ. Not Paul. Certainly not Harry.

Officer Hawks had been right. He didn’t have family and very few real friends, except for Austin and Katia McCreary, and when he was younger, his foster brother Diego.

He pulled out of the police station parking lot and turned south on Maple Boulevard, suddenly curious about what exactly Officer Violet Hawks had meant by family. Did she have a husband? Kids?

The other side of the beautiful boulevard was planted with flowering pear trees, daffodils, tulips and irises. He hadn’t paid much attention to its beauty when he’d driven down it last time he was in town to visit Austin and Katia who lived at the end of the street. It was too late to drive the three hours back to Indianapolis now.

He was more than exhausted. He couldn’t think all that straight. He’d go to Austin’s house and beg a room for the night.

Across from the station was a huge Victorian house. He quickly hit the brake and moved the Bugatti to the curb.

Was that a squad car in the drive?

He couldn’t believe it.

Slowly, he backed the Bugatti so that he could see down the driveway.

“I’ll be...”

Sure enough, Officer Hawks’s squad car was parked at the very end of the drive.

“So this is where you live? Nearly across the street from the police station? Keeping your head in the game, Officer? Always on call? Ever ready?”

Josh hadn’t the first clue why he was interested in his arresting officer. Other than the fact that she’d brought back memories of his parents. Like an old song that played strong and melodic in his head. As much as Violet was focused on her career, Josh sensed that same kind of big heartedness and warmth he remembered his mother having. There was a softness in Violet’s eyes that he read as compassion, and that look made him pause. Made him think. And feel things he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

Josh had spent most of his adult life chasing the next win. He hadn’t stopped to consider what he really wanted.

“Belonging.”

The word rushed out of him like a riptide from the bottom of his heart. To be important to just one person. What would that be like? What would it be like to walk into a room and have Violet’s face light up just because he was there? Not the blaze of fame like he saw in a fan’s face, or the need in those dependent on him, but love.

Was that what he wanted?

Love?

Josh saw lights on the third floor flip on. More lights on the main floor as if the inhabitants had come alive due to Officer Hawks’s coming home.

Did Violet have love in her life? Josh imagined a man kissing her. Perhaps a child holding out its arms for her.

Josh turned the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb, the images in his mind becoming bothersome. He headed to Austin’s, then dialed his friend’s number.

“Austin! It’s Josh! Hey, man. I need to beg a favor.”

Austin chuckled. “Anything.”

“I’m still in town. Can I bum a room?”

“Absolutely. Where are you?”

“Outside your front window.”

“Sweet. I’ll open the second garage. You can park next to my vintage Bugatti.”

Josh drove up the drive, and the back gate opened electronically. There was a short concrete drive around to the second garage. That door opened automatically. Sure enough there was a blue 1926 Bugatti roadster sitting in the bay.

Josh pulled the Chiron inside.

Austin came walking out with a glass of white wine for them both.

Josh exhaled and smiled. “Bro, you are the very best.”

“I think you need this more than I do.”

“Oh, jeez. You heard,” Josh groaned.

“It’s a small town. Come on, Katia and Daisy are making a seafood dinner. I told Katia we’d sit on the terrace. I have the wine in an iced cooler. We can talk.” Austin slung his arm over Josh’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, man.”

“Seriously, I need this. I need you.”

“Yep, friends are the best,” Austin said. “Unless you have family.”

They sat at a glass patio table.

Josh stared at him. Austin’s parents were dead, too. Just like Josh, he was an only child and had no aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews. No wonder they were close.

Just then Katia came out onto the terrace carrying a glass tray of appetizers decorated with tropical flowers. “Josh! How are you?” She placed the tray on the patio table. She bent and kissed his cheek.

“Katia, you are a vision,” Josh said. Then he slid a glance to Austin. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you, dude?”

“It’s the truth. And she’s my vision.”

When Katia looked at Austin, Josh knew she wouldn’t have known if a cyclone blew into town. He’d seen the look of love before, but theirs was so intense, he felt he was interrupting.

“Listen, guys, I know you have a lot to talk about,” Katia said. “Daisy and I are still cracking crabs for dinner. So, take your time. Josh, seriously, always know this is your haven. Okay?”

Josh felt a lump the size of a speed bump in his throat. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” Austin asked as Katia went back inside.

“You’re a lucky man, Austin.”

“I know that. But so are you. I saw that photo of you in Racing People. That girl. What’s her name? Joycelyn? She’s a knockout.”

“Who?”

“Joy—”

“Austin.” Josh shook his head. “She’s an infield girl. That’s for publicity. I don’t have anyone.”

Austin’s eyes widened. He took a long slug of wine. “I thought... Well. That you had your pick.”

“There’s never been anyone special. Certainly no Katia.”

Austin’s gaze went to the wide kitchen window where they both could see Katia and Daisy laughing and poking each other with crab legs. “I’ve loved her all my life.”

Josh felt chills down his back. He’d give anything to say that. To know there was a special someone for him. He didn’t know what it was or why this was happening to him now. Was it being in this small town? Was it the shock of finding himself behind bars? Or was it Officer Hawks? He couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked at him when the jail cell door had clanged shut. If a gong had been struck in his head, he couldn’t have been more affected. He felt derailed, on a new course, and he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was headed.

As much as he daydreamed about a different life, the reality was he’d been living as the image Harry and he had concocted for the media years ago. He was a winner. Women came and went. He was successful, rich and alone.

Quite alone.

Yeah, his dreams were mirages. A life like Austin had would never be possible for Josh.

CHAPTER SIX

VIOLET DUMPED SOME vegetable soup into a bowl and shoved it into the microwave. Her thick black belt, holster, handcuffs and gun were methodically arranged on the sofa table her mother had given her when she moved into Mrs. Beabots’s apartment. Though she’d picked up her clean uniforms from the laundry, Violet had re-pressed the shirt, taking out the tiny crease she’d seen on its back.

She chuckled as she extracted a soup spoon from her organized flatware drawer. Her mother, Connie, often kidded Violet’s compulsive need for order and cleanliness had finally found a purpose in her “spit-shine” world of law enforcement. Violet didn’t think she was all that obsessive. There was right and wrong. Good and evil. Black and white. “And clearly, clean and dirty.”

The microwave dinged. She took out the soup just as her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Violet,” Mrs. Beabots said, “don’t think about eating that sodium-laden canned soup. Come downstairs for dinner. I have pasta and chicken in a pesto sauce. Homemade.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She’d known Mrs. Beabots since she was a child, and the woman always made her think she had eyes in the back of her head. “How did you know what I’m having for supper?”

“I’m a detective.”

“You saw the cans in my trash bag.”

“That, too. Now come down here for dinner. Sarah and Maddie are coming over. And Liz is bringing wine. Oh! I hear Liz’s truck now. She really does need to get that muffler fixed.”

“See you in a sec.” Violet looked down at her skinny jeans, sky blue high-top sneakers and powder blue turtleneck cotton shirt. She was comfortable and had planned to go for a walk after dinner. Now that it was May, the evenings had finally warmed to a brisk fifty degrees, and she loved the flowering Bradford pear trees and forsythia. Having grown up in the country, she’d never appreciated town living, but after six months living on Maple Boulevard, she’d found it had innumerable charms.

Violet tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and walked down the long staircase to the main floor landing. She heard voices and laughter, and she could smell the aroma of garlic and basil coming from under the door. Her stomach growled. “Guess I do need more than soup.” She knocked on the back kitchen door.

“Come on in, honey,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Door’s always open.”

Violet entered the kitchen to find Sarah Bosworth, the next-door neighbor, architect and mother to Luke Bosworth’s children Annie and Timmy. Sarah and Luke’s toddler, Charlotte, looked just like blonde, cornflower blue–eyed Sarah.

Sarah hugged Violet. “It’s great to see you. Where’re the kids?”

“Luke got pizza and a movie. Need I say more?”

“Nope.”

Next to Sarah was Maddie Barzonni, owner of Cupcakes and Coffee Café, and married to Dr. Nate Barzonni. Maddie was breaking up romaine lettuce leaves into a huge wooden salad bowl and giggling with Liz Barzonni, owner of Crenshaw Vineyards. Liz was removing a cork from a bottle of wine.

“Hi, Maddie.” The women hugged. “Hi, Liz. That a new wine?”

Liz held up the bottle. “Very special pinot noir.”

“Special?” Violet asked.

Mrs. Beabots winked. “Violet. You’re just in time for our toast.”

“Oh? What are we toasting?”

Sarah beamed. “I just beat out the rock star of all Chicago design firms for a new medical complex on the east side of town.”

“I never doubted your design abilities, Sarah,” Maddie said as she took a glass of wine from Liz.

“I know and I love you for it, but there were days...” Sarah looked across the kitchen to the window that looked out on the adjoining yard to her house.

“Hey,” Liz said. “That was after your mother died. Before Luke. Before the kids. You got your juice back.”

“And then some,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet a glass.

They clinked their rims and said, “To Sarah!”

“Congratulations, Sarah,” Violet said. “I know the relief and satisfaction that comes from winning those contracts. Whenever my mother would win a design bid, she’d make us all a nice dinner just like this.” She smiled at them all. “You should be proud.”

“Thanks, Violet,” Sarah said.

Maddie lowered her glass. “Gosh, Violet. Your mom wasn’t one of the other bidders, was she? Connie is so talented, I’d feel terrible if she lost.” Her eyes tracked to Sarah.

“No. She’s working on a high-rise residential tower in Indianapolis.”

“Oh.” Maddie’s relief was audible.

Violet stared at the wine. Indianapolis. Where Josh Stevens lived.

Where had that thought come from and why would she be making that connection? “Um, can I help with any of these preparations? I always made the herbed butter for the bread.”

“Sure,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet the bread knife. “I set the table earlier. This was supposed to be a think-tank dinner and a meeting for the fund-raiser for a new foster child care center I want to spearhead.”

“Really?” Violet unwrapped the silver paper around the Italian bread. “Tell me about it.”

“I want a privately funded and operated family center. No government funds or grants. That way we don’t fall under their jurisdiction, though we will comply with all state and federal regulations. But in the end, our arms will be open to whatever needs there are. Drop-in day care. Possibly a temporary shelter until a family gets back on their feet. I envision job-placement service. Even job training.”

“That’s...an enormous undertaking,” Violet replied, knowing the massive amount of organization and money it would take to create such a center. But it had been done before. The Star of Hope in Houston had been doing it for over a hundred years.

“I’ll need help, of course, getting it off the ground.”

“Did you call Isabelle? Since she and Scott have adopted Bella and Michael, I would think she’d be all over this.”

Smiling, Mrs. Beabots answered, “She was my first call. She’s my committee chair. But little Michael was showing signs of the flu, and she didn’t want to leave him.”

“That flu can be bad,” Sarah said.

“Especially for a toddler,” Liz, the mother of two-and-a-half-year-old Zeke, said. “I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t talk to Isabelle today,” Violet said. “I was on a stakeout.”

Sarah stopped grating Parmesan cheese. “Seriously? A stakeout? Isn’t that dangerous?”

To Violet, not apprehending a criminal was dangerous to the entire community, and that motivated her more than any harm she would encounter. Her exemplary training would see her through. She would count on her skills. Bank on her instincts.

She winced.

Except for today.

She could only imagine what Detective Davis was thinking about her performance today. In the morning she might have to face Chief Williams.

Violet slid the bread into the oven and set the timer.

Maddie helped with the angel-hair pasta, draining and rinsing it in a red plastic colander under cool water in the sink. “Olive oil?”

“Middle of the island,” Mrs. Beabots said, adding finely chopped sun-dried tomatoes to the pesto.

They continued prepping the food. Maddie had brought her delicious and beautifully decorated cupcakes for dessert. Violet set up two French presses with decaffeinated coffee while Sarah poured cream into a small pitcher and Maddie found the raw sugar.

“I think we’re about ready. Liz, would you take the wine to the table?”

The timer dinged, and Violet took out the bread and placed it in a woven basket. She followed the group to the dining room. “I see you’re setting for yet another. If I’m taking Isabelle’s place, who’s missing?” Violet asked, sitting to Mrs. Beabots’s right.

“Katia,” Mrs. Beabots answered. “She had something come up. I’ll call her tomorrow with the details.”

Sarah acted as the server and ladled the pesto sauce over the pasta. “So, Violet. Can you tell us about the stakeout you were on or is that top secret?”

“Well, I can’t discuss all the details. But I was excited because, as Mrs. Beabots knows, I’ve been stuck either in a patrol car or behind a desk since I came to work for the ILPD. Handing out traffic tickets, which there aren’t that many of in Indian Lake, was a highlight of the week.”

“Sounds boring,” Liz said.

Maddie elbowed her. “Don’t mind her, Violet.”

“No, she’s right. It was beyond boring. What I really want to do with my career is work my way up to detective.”

“And you’d be really good at it.” Mrs. Beabots smiled. “I have a way of knowing these things.”

“Thanks for your confidence in me,” Violet said.

“So, did anything happen?” Sarah asked.

“Uh...” She searched for the right words. “Not with the perp we’re hoping to find.”

Maddie stared at Violet. “That was a hesitation. Something happened.”

As Violet looked around the table, she realized that all four women had moved to the edge of their seats.

“Are you after a murderer?” Sarah asked.

“Drug dealer?” Liz asked, holding a forkful of pasta.

“I’m not at liberty to say. At this juncture, we don’t know about murder, but it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility.”

“It is a drug dealer,” Liz said. “Listen, Violet. After what Cate and Trent went through, and poor Mrs. Beabots being the victim of a drive-by shooting in this very house, you can’t shock us.”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Beabots said. “You know all those security lights and cameras I have outside on the house?”

“Yes. It was the first thing I noticed when I came to inspect the apartment. I thought you were smart to protect yourself so well.”

Mrs. Beabots shook her head. “I didn’t do it. The cops did. Sorry. It was Trent’s idea when he was trapping that drug dealer, Le Grand. Now, I’ve inherited all this equipment.”

“That happens. And it’s good protection. Anyway, the perp didn’t show up.” Violet toyed with her pasta. “I did make an arrest, though.”

“Who?” they asked in unison.

“I can’t say. I wouldn’t be surprised if his publicity manager kills the story.”

“Publicity?” Mrs. Beabots stared at Violet. “This wouldn’t be about Josh Stevens, would it?”

Violet’s hand went numb and she dropped her fork. The silence at the table was deafening. “How. Did. You. Know?”

“Katia told me. Josh Stevens is the reason she couldn’t be here. Josh is staying with Austin and Katia tonight. She’s making crab.” Mrs. Beabots beamed.

Violet was glad she’d already dropped her fork. She had to close her mouth. Josh had said he knew Austin, but she hadn’t believed him. She simply assumed Josh was grasping for anything that would aid in his release. Lots of people knew Austin. Now that she had a chance to think about it, it made sense. Austin was a huge antique car collector. She’d heard stories that Austin’s grandfather had been a designer with the Duesenberg brothers at the turn of the last century. Austin’s father had collected cars all his life. Josh and Austin probably met at an auction or something.

She took a sip of wine.

Just my luck.

Bad luck at that. She’d arrested not only a celebrity, but one who was friends with her friends. Terrific.

Violet couldn’t have been more embarrassed. She’d only been doing her job. “He was speeding,” she said without a trace of emotion. “I ticketed him.”

“Speeding? Isn’t that what he does?” Maddie joked.

“Uh, not going down the county road in front of my mother’s house.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Liz added.

“It’s not. I can’t tell you exactly how fast he was going.”

Silence.

“It’s a confidentiality issue,” she continued.

They continued to stare at her, like hungry baby birds.

“Well, we’ll read it in the newspaper tomorrow,” Maddie said.

“Yeah.” Violet remembered Scott’s visit to the station. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she said, “It was over two hundred miles an hour.”

All four gaped at her.

“Good for you!” Sarah exclaimed. “What if some kids were out bike riding now that the weather’s nice? They could have gotten scared, lost their balance.” She dropped her forehead to her palm. “It could have been disastrous.”

Mrs. Beabots’s eyes narrowed. “He was driving that blue Bugatti Chiron, wasn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

Sarah cranked her head up. “How do you know about Bugattis?”

“I used to own one.” Mrs. Beabots grinned. “I like to keep up. And I read in Race Car Driver Magazine that Josh bought one.”

Violet rolled her eyes. Was everyone she knew a Josh Stevens fan?

Liz sank her fork into the pasta. “It may not seem like much, Violet, but thank goodness you were there in the right place at the right time today.”

“Thanks, Liz. I needed that.”

Mrs. Beabots took a thoughtful sip of wine. “You know, this gets me to thinking about my fund-raiser. What I’m proposing is ambitious for Indian Lake,” she said. “Violet, you certainly are aware of the situation with the many foster children in the system, what with Isabelle and Scott adopting their foster children.”

“I do. And I applaud you for taking on such a task. How much do you want to raise?”

“Oh, it’s not just the money we need, Violet. Sophie and Jack Carter helped to get the Alliance Recovery Center for addiction support and rehabilitation started. They’ve made incredible progress, and their efforts are working. Though addressing the drug problem is vital, this town has to deal with the abandoned children and homeless families that are the fallout. We need a facility with day care and programs for the children and the parents. I want more than counseling. The children need activities and learning experiences. And so do the parents. Their backs are against the wall, and they’re desperate.”

“They need options,” Violet agreed.

“Yes,” Mrs. Beabots said. “We will staff it, and I personally will award an endowment so that the shelter can go on for years.”

“You will?” all four women chorused.

“Sarah, I told you I was the ambitious type.” Mrs. Beabots smiled proudly.

“Yes, but...” Sarah looked from Violet to Maddie and to Liz.

Mrs. Beabots wagged her forefinger at Sarah. “Now don’t go thinking because I’m older that I can’t do this. I can and I will. I want to leave something that will go on—after I’m not here.”

Violet reached over and touched Mrs. Beabots’s hand. “You are all heart.”

“Look who’s talking. You don’t fool me, Violet Hawks. If you weren’t trying to eliminate crime in our town, you’d be the first to take in these children and you know it.”

“Well, I’m not sure about that. I don’t have much experience with kids.” Violet felt a pinch in her heart thinking about the infants that were abandoned by addict mothers and fathers. She pushed her emotions aside. “So, Mrs. Beabots. Exactly what are you thinking? To build this kind of shelter will take millions. And just as much to staff.”

“I understand that. I have philanthropic friends all across Indiana. It’s about time I talked to them. And Maddie, I could have a chat with that friend of yours, Alex Perkins, who helped you get the investor for your café.”

Maddie folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you?”

“Ever since I started volunteering at The Alliance. But this idea came to fruition when Beatrice Wilcox and Rand Nelson took in those two foster boys of theirs. If more people stepped up to the plate like they did, think of the lives that would be changed forever.”

She picked up her linen napkin and dabbed her eyes.

Maddie said, “I think this is a great idea. I want to help.”

“Me, too,” Liz chimed in.

“You know I’m at your beck and call,” Sarah said.

“I’ll help in any way I can,” Maddie said. “I could organize food pantry donations at my café.”

Liz nodded. “I can help with that as well at the vineyard. In fact, we should double our efforts during harvest when we have so many tourists to the vineyard. With the holidays after that, Thanksgiving donations tend to soar.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Beabots said.

Maddie snapped her fingers. “It should be an annual event. Maybe we could have a harvest dance and donation at the vineyard. I’ll donate cupcakes, doughnuts, cider. The tourists will love it.”

“So would I,” Liz said.

“Mrs. Beabots,” Violet said slowly, “this is a monumental task. You’re going to need more than just us. What if I were to talk to my chief? Perhaps the Indian Lake County Sheriff’s Department. Both have resources and connections we could use.”

“That’s a fine idea, Violet.” Mrs. Beabots placed her hand over Violet’s. “I’ve thought of everything from taking on one of the old mansions that needs renovation and starting there. I’ve toyed with the idea of asking Gina Barzonni to donate a tract of her farmland to build on, too.”

Maddie looked at Liz. Gina was mother-in-law to them both. “What do you think? Would Gina do that?”

“Gina adores children. I think if we presented it to her the right way, she just might. Rafe is managing the farm now, but Olivia said that he’s got two Thoroughbreds he’s been racing all spring and they are winning race after race. If he keeps this up, he won’t want such a large farm to manage. His heart is still with his horses.”

Violet caught their enthusiasm. “You know, I grew up in the country north of town. I loved it. We had neighbors, an Amish family, who let me ride their horses. Mother didn’t know, but I was always very careful. I loved working our little vegetable garden, and Isabelle planted a million flowers every spring, claiming they were magical. I thought it was the best place to grow up. If those kids had a whole farm to learn skills and play and just be in the clean air and sunshine...”

“Violet, you are so right!” Maddie said. “We have to talk to Gina about this.”

“But remember, girls,” Mrs. Beabots cautioned. “The land is only the beginning. It’s going to take a lot of money. For that, we need one huge extravaganza of a fund-raiser.”

“You can’t steal my summer festival idea,” Sarah said. “St. Mark’s still needs the profits every year.”

The edges of Mrs. Beabots’s mouth cranked up. “It’s Violet who gave me the idea.”

“I did?”

“What was the biggest gathering you all have seen since we’ve been doing fund-raisers together? Not counting Sarah’s Summer Festival.”

“The opening of Austin’s car museum,” Maddie replied.

“Exactly!” Mrs. Beabots’s eyes grew wider with excitement. “And Violet, I’m going to take you up on your offer to help.”

“What can I do?”

“Austin McCreary is sponsoring an event at his car museum. Wine and appetizers. I was thinking if you would ask Josh Stevens to make a personal appearance that night, we could sell so many tickets, people would be out the door. Better still, ask him if he’ll bring that fancy Bugatti of his for photographs of him and the donors.”

“Why not ask Austin to ask Josh?” Violet asked uncomfortably.

“Because I’ve asked Austin for a great deal more than a simple event at his museum.”

“Like what?” Violet asked.

“He’s donating a million dollars. And that, ladies, is information that remains in this room.”

They all stared at Mrs. Beabots.

“Pressing Austin for more after his generous donation might not be prudent,” Mrs. Beabots said.

“Well,” Maddie interjected, “I think this is all fabulous. And this upcoming event is perfect. I know Olivia would be happy to take photographs. She’s so talented. Maybe she can get them printed in the Chicago papers.”

“The Indianapolis newspaper would run anything about Josh Stevens,” Sarah said.

The enthusiasm was electric. But Violet felt her hands grow clammy and her mouth go dry.

She hadn’t told her friends all the truth. She hadn’t told them that in ten days she would be testifying against their hope for this project’s success.

They didn’t know anything about him other than that he was a friend of Austin and Katia’s. And how strong was that relationship?

Violet was a bit surprised that reclusive Austin would have a celebrity like Josh for a friend. Though Austin was wealthy, he came across as an ordinary kind of guy, running his father’s auto parts manufacturing company, and now a new cell phone parts manufacturing company. Austin was a hardworking entrepreneur. Violet just didn’t see the connection between status-hungry Josh Stevens and Austin.

What she did see was that there was no talking her way out of helping her landlady and her friends with this very worthy fund-raising endeavor.

Her biggest fear was that once Josh Stevens discovered that Violet was part of the fund-raiser, he would decline. Mrs. Beabots would be without a celebrity to bring in ticket sales, and Josh Stevens would race out of town so fast he’d break the sound barrier.

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