The Chase Read online

  The Chase

  Lone Star Intrigue, Book Three

  Debra White Smith

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Author’s Note

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Also by Debra White Smith

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Ryan Mansfield’s boots crunched against the loose gravel scattered along the wide highway shoulder. He approached the stopped SUV with as much caution as determination. Last year, he’d been sucked into a shoot-out when an angry driver didn’t think he deserved a ticket, let alone a citation for driving while intoxicated. The night had a way of bringing that memory into haunting focus.

  His flashlight’s beam snaked across the pavement as he glanced toward the horizon west of Highway 69. Dusk was disappearing, and a creamy moon hung from the sky like a ballroom chandelier. The November cool sucked all the haze from the air, leaving room for stars to dazzle. Ryan stopped a shiver and wondered if Shelly would ever understand just how lonely he was without her . . . and how much the long, autumn nights sharpened his loneliness.

  Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he paused near the driver’s side as the tinted window slid down.

  The worried eyes that peered up at him didn’t belong to a threatening stranger but to the woman he knew better than any other. “Shelly! Good grief! I was just . . .” Ryan blurted and stopped himself from admitting he’d been thinking of her.

  The dashboard’s glow heightened her petite features, and Ryan wished he could tell her how pretty she was.

  “Ryan!” she exclaimed.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” Sean’s face appeared near Shelly and then the back door popped open. “Daddy!”

  “Sean! No!” Shelly ordered.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got him,” Ryan said and scooped his son into his arms. Sean’s damp hair smelled of shampoo, and Ryan tousled it.

  “How’s my champ?” he asked, hugging his son tight.

  “I’m going home with you!” Sean declared.

  “No . . . we’re going to Granna’s to spend the night, remember?” Shelly said. “It’s Granna’s birthday tomorrow, and she’s taking you to the fair.” Her focus shifted to Jack. “That’s what Mom’s ‘getting from Sean’ for her birthday.” Shelly drew invisible quotes in the air.

  Ryan smiled and patted his son’s back. “Sounds like the best gift in the world to me.”

  Sean’s hold on Ryan’s neck increased. “Please, Daddy!” he begged. “I still wanta go home with you.”

  “You’re going to Daddy’s next weekend,” Shelly insisted.

  Ryan sized up her determined expression and knew this was one weekend she couldn’t relent. They’d amazingly managed to juggle parenting duties for two years now with a cooperation that had escaped every other element of their marriage. Somehow, they’d set aside their own preferences for what was best for Sean. As a result, Shelly gave Ryan more than his share of the dad-time the courts had outlined.

  They’d adopted Sean as a newborn when Shelly’s unstable sister gave birth out of wedlock. The stress of a baby hadn’t helped their self-centered marriage—but even a tumultuous union couldn’t change the fierce love they both felt for Sean. Ryan and Shelly never had a biological child, but he couldn’t imagine loving one more than he loved his son . . . and Shelly claimed she felt the same.

  With a lump in his throat, Ryan chuckled and tried to make light of the awkward situation. “Just wait until next weekend, okay? And then the week after that it’s Thanksgiving, and we’ll be together all week. We’re going fishing at Uncle Jack’s and horseback riding . . . and maybe even camping.”

  The patrol car’s flashing lights illuminated the expectation in Sean’s widened eyes. “Camping?” he exclaimed. “You promise?”

  “You bet,” Ryan said, “but you’ve got to cooperate with your mom now. I think she’s in a hurry,” he added on a dry note and eyed his ex-wife.

  “Uh . . .” Shelly glanced down and then lifted her gaze. “I was supposed to be at Mom’s an hour ago. You aren’t going to give me a ticket, are you, Ryan?” Her question held an incredulous note, and her big brown eyes begged him to let her off.

  He hesitated . . . only because he didn’t want her to know just how much her request affected him. Truth was, all chances for a ticket had vanished the second he saw her.

  “What’s the deal with this SUV anyway?” Ryan asked. “I thought you were still driving the minivan.”

  “This is Tim’s. He’s letting me borrow it while the van is in the shop. Something with the transmission. It’s been a wild week. My alarm system on the house malfunctioned, maybe due to a family of squirrels up in the attic. Then the dog next door got out and chewed up Sean’s shoes, which he’d left outside.” Shelly waved aside the problems, and her engagement ring flickered blue in the flash of the patrol car’s blinking lights. “All I know is Dad’s taking care of the alarm and Tim’s taking care of the van.”

  “Oh,” Ryan said, his voice flat. Daddy always did take care of everything, he thought and didn’t even want to consider Tim. Over the past few months he’d come to despise the name “Tim.” Last week, he’d even snapped at some poor guy bagging his groceries, just because his name badge said “Tim.”

  “You should really get the alarm system fixed ASAP,” Ryan encouraged. “I don’t mind taking care of it. Your dad lives an hour away.”

  “I know. I just hated to, well, bother you.” She looked away.

  Or didn’t want me involved, Ryan thought and tried not to wince.

  “Dr. Tim gave me a new baseball glove.” Sean wiggled in his arms and reached for the door handle. “Here—I’ll show it to you!”

  Ryan stopped short of refusing his son’s offer, simply because he sensed how proud Sean was of his new gift. Once Sean opened the van’s door and settled onto the backseat, he lifted the glove for his father’s inspection. “See?”

  “Very nice,” Ryan said, running his fingertips across the high-grade leather. The thing must have cost the price of a root canal, he thought and wondered if there was no end to the dentist’s money. The best Ryan could have ever done on his salary was a Walmart special.

  He clicked his son’s seat belt in place and kissed his forehead. “Listen, you be good for your mom, okay?” he said, his voice thick. “And I’ll see you next weekend.”

  “And then camping the next?”

  “Right-O, champ.” He doubled his fist, and Sean bumped the top with his own fist.

  After shutting the door, he shifted back to Shelly’s window and attempted to soften the admonishment he couldn’t hol
d at bay. “Try to keep the speed down, you hear? Your mom can wait. She’s waited before. Besides, I kinda like that little guy in the back.”

  “You only clocked me ten miles over the speed limit,” she groused.

  “Lots of people in the grave have said the same thing.”

  “That’s the speed limit not far up the road anyway.”

  “Yeah, but the road here has a lot more twists and turns.”

  Shelly cut him an upward glance and then studied the steering wheel.

  Ryan considered another remark, but decided to stop the exchange before it got out of hand. A pause stretched to awkward, and he said, “Well, I guess I’ll e-mail you next week, and we can set up a time for me to get Sean.”

  “Oh sure,” she said before Ryan walked away from the vehicle.

  “And, thanks . . .” The offer of gratitude was so soft, Ryan wondered if he’d imagined it. He glanced back. Her faint smile held a hint of the appreciation in her voice.

  He lifted his brows to prompt an explanation.

  “You know,” she continued, “for not writing a ticket.”

  “Why would you think I’d give you a ticket this time? I didn’t the last time,” Ryan replied, and could have bitten his tongue in half for the slip that referenced their first meeting.

  Shelly turned her head as if she had no clue his words had been loaded with the memory of their initial flirtation after Ryan issued Shelly’s warning. And Ryan didn’t tell her she twisted his heart even more tonight than she had the day he stopped her for speeding more than ten years ago.

  When she remained silent, Ryan trudged back to his squad car and thought it odd that she would believe he’d actually issue her a ticket. After all, Shelly was his wife . . . or at least, she used to be. Problem was, somebody forgot to tell Ryan’s heart the “used-to-be’s” weren’t still in effect. In his heart, she was as much his wife as she was the day they each said, “I do.”

  The vehicle’s flashing lights reminded him of the squad car that escorted them out of town on their wedding night. Eager to switch off the lights, he paused by the door, waited until an approaching vehicle whizzed past, and watched Shelly pull away. Sean’s face appeared in the back window. He waved, and then rested his hand against the window.

  He’s gotten out of his seat belt! Ryan thought and prepared to call Shelly on her cell phone if she didn’t immediately refasten it. Ryan returned the wave. Fasten your seat belt, Buddy, he mouthed, hoping Sean could read his lips.

  The vehicle slowed and pulled back to the shoulder. Sean’s face disappeared, and Ryan knew Shelly was enforcing the seat belt rule. Even though she pushed the speed limit here and there, she was a stickler about wearing belts.

  “At least I can count on that much,” he sighed. Ryan opened the door, dropped behind the wheel, and turned off the flashing lights. Another long night on the highway awaited him. He’d asked for a change to nightshift last year when he realized working nights stopped him from sitting in an empty house once the sun went down.

  “Oh God,” he prayed. “I know I’m the one who blew it . . . but please, somehow, bring her back to me.” Ryan lowered his forehead to the steering wheel and groaned over the next words, “Please, please stop her marriage to Tim Aldridge. Oh Lord, I need a miracle.”

  Shelly Mansfield rolled over and opened one eye. According to the digital alarm’s glaring red numbers, she had only five minutes left to sleep. Groaning, she pulled the comforter up to her nose and wished for another hour. While she enjoyed serving on the church praise team, it robbed her of the extra sleep she’d normally get. The team met for practice an hour before Sunday school.

  Of course, that also meant she and Tim had another hour together on Sundays, since he also sang on the team. Occasionally, they were assigned a duet, and everyone said they sounded professional. A drowsy smile overtook Shelly. She enjoyed mingling her voice with Tim’s and could hardly wait until they would fully mingle their lives as one—just three short months away.

  Ryan’s disapproving expression floated across her mind, and Shelly tried to purge him from her thoughts. When she rolled down her window Friday night, Shelly hadn’t expected Ryan. She also hadn’t expected to be taken aback by just how good he looked, standing in the shadows in his uniform like a new love who only had eyes for her. But then, Ryan Mansfield always had been a good-looking man—one that turned female heads in any crowd. She squeezed her eyes tight and reminded herself that that had been the problem in their marriage. Ryan had turned one too many heads and finally gave in.

  Shelly had just been getting over the devastation when he claimed that he’d found the Lord and wanted to reconcile. But by then, she and Tim were getting acquainted. On top of that, Shelly doubted she could ever trust him again. He was one of those men who became more attractive with age. The more attractive he became, the more women noticed. The more women noticed . . .

  Just as they had the last two nights, the old emotions stirred anew . . . betrayal, devastation, confusion—emotions rooted in love gone wrong. The torment of it all had driven her to take the natural sleep aid that her doctor had recommended during and after the divorce two years ago. The stress of her marriage falling apart and Ryan’s moving in with his girlfriend had robbed Shelly of precious slumber to the point that she’d welcomed a cure. In the last year, she’d only needed the sleep aid sporadically. Seeing Ryan ensured that the last two nights were some of those nights.

  Shelly dragged herself up from the clutches of grogginess. “I refuse to let him get to me today,” she muttered and shoved aside the covers. She’d spent a whole year with a counselor, sorting out her wounds and trying to heal. Shelly Mansfield had finished wallowing in the pain a long time ago.

  The alarm’s squawk accompanied her feet touching the carpet. As she turned off the buzzer, her gaze slid to the other side of the bed. It was empty. Despite her admonishments that Sean should sleep in his own room, he often crawled into her bed in the wee hours. Most the time he claimed he didn’t remember moving to her bed. A time or two in the last few months, she’d found him curled up on the floor in his room . . . or on the sofa. The pediatrician attributed it to sleepwalking. Shelly immediately installed some childproof locks on the doors leading outside.

  “He was probably too tired from yesterday to even sleepwalk,” she mumbled while thrusting her feet into satin slippers and donning the matching robe. The fair had certainly exhausted Shelly, but insomnia had prevailed even in the face of exhaustion. If not for her dedication to the praise team, she’d have spent another night with her parents and slept in this morning.

  The smell of fresh coffee lured her down the hallway; and Shelly was thankful that last night she’d remembered to set the automatic unit for a fresh brew.

  Nearing Sean’s room, Shelly detoured long enough to make certain he was still in his bed. But only a few steps into the chilled room revealed the bed was empty. Shelly stepped to the light switch, flipped it up, and scanned the floor. Still no Sean. Assuming he must have landed on the couch this time, Shelly swiveled toward the hallway, but stopped. Something was wrong. As her disoriented mind grappled for logic, her nose grew colder.

  Shelly touched her cheeks. For some reason, the room was cooler than the hallway. She twisted back around. Her gaze darted to the window. The curtains printed with toy trains shifted with the sound of autumn’s breeze dancing among the backyard oaks.

  She rushed to the curtains, shoved them aside, and stared at the opened window. “Oh no,” she gasped. “No, no, no!” Her desperate mind insisted Sean must have somehow crawled out the window in his sleep. But as she looked up she spotted a precise square cut out of the pane. The resulting hole was just large enough for someone to reach through and unlatch the lock.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan pulled his Ford truck into the country church grassy parking area, grabbed the grocery bag full of breakfast food, and stepped
from his vehicle. Once a month the church hosted a breakfast before Sunday school. Ryan had volunteered to cook this month’s meal.

  He rounded the truck and went straight toward the fellowship hall, which was nestled behind the white-frame country church he’d begun attending with Jack and Charli since shortly after they married the summer before last. Now Ryan was considered as much a part of the Bullard, Texas, congregation as was Jack.

  Before he entered the fellowship hall, Ryan paused to admire the rolling meadow and the surrounding pines bejeweled with heavy dew that also dampened his boots. The morning sun christened the whole countryside with a golden aura that brought heaven to mind. Ryan closed his eyes and inhaled the crisp air. Fall was one of his favorite seasons. He and Shelly had even gotten married in November so they could enjoy a ski trip in Colorado for their honeymoon.

  Ryan’s eyes popped open. He shook his head and determined to focus on the job before him. “Breakfast,” he stated and stomped toward the task.

  But a horn’s frenzied blowing halted Ryan in his tracks. He swiveled to face the parking lot. A Ford truck he recognized all-too-well halted mere feet from his pickup, and his brother Jack bolted out.

  As the Bullard, Texas, chief of police, Jack usually remained unruffled, but his current expression surpassed frantic.

  Ryan rushed forward to meet him. “What’s the matter?” he croaked. “Charli . . . Bonnie?” he hedged, knowing in his gut this wasn’t about Jack’s family, but dreading the thought that it might be about his.

  “No,” Jack said, his intense eyes filling with anguish. “It’s Sean, Ryan.”