Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 by Karen Whiddon (good e books to read txt) 📗

Standing on the sidewalk and looking out over the dimly lit parking lot, Connie listened as Trace discussed his concerns. It had been a long time since a man had cared enough to worry about her. Though she appreciated that he cared, she wished he would give it a rest. How could she tell him that without sounding ungrateful? She was never going to be able to put the incident behind her if he kept bringing it up constantly.

“The media has been flashing the teller’s face on TV and social media. If you saw a picture, would you remember if she was the one who helped you with your banking that day?”

“Maybe. But, Trace, you need to let this go. I’m trying to move on. Right now, I just want to eat my ice cream and pretend that all is right in the world.”

“I’m going to text you her photo,” he said, as if she hadn’t just made it clear that she was done with the incident.

“Fine, but I’m not looking at it until—”

“Look out!” someone yelled suddenly. A second later, Connie was shoved hard in the back with enough force to send her catapulting forward, barely missing a parked car. Her phone and ice-cream cone flew from her hands, and an ear-piercing scream ripped from her throat as she slammed hard into the ground.

“Oh, wow. That car was coming right at her,” a man said. “I didn’t mean to push her that hard, but—”

“Is she okay?”

“Miss, are you hurt?”

“Don’t touch her!”

“I got the jerk’s license plate number.”

Everyone around her spoke at once as Connie was lying facedown on the ground trying to get her bearings. Her mind racing, and her body throbbing, shock and fear warred within her. She slowly lifted her head and blinked several times until tires came into view. Lots of tires.

What just happened?

CHAPTER 7

“Connie!” Trace hollered. One minute he was talking to her; the next, screams were piercing his eardrums. Then the phone went dead. His voice ricocheted around the interior of his car like a tennis ball bouncing off a wall. His stomach churned with trepidation as he tore out of her driveway.

He took the next corner on two wheels, then floored the gas pedal and flew down the side street. He tried not to think the worst, but his active imagination conjured up one scenario after another. None of them were good. He had to get to Connie. He just hoped she was okay.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Trace leaned on his horn, shouting at a driver who had jumped out in front of him. “Drive or get the hell out of the way!”

As if hearing him, the guy turned left at the corner, and Trace took off up the street.

She has to be all right.

The thought ping-ponged inside his mind. He had dropped by Connie’s house after seeing the news report regarding the bank robbery. Yes, he’d been concerned about her, but mostly, he just wanted to see her. Now Trace was glad he had shown up at her house. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to get to her now as quickly.

Ten minutes later, he whipped his car into the semi-lit strip mall’s parking lot, ignoring the way his tires screeched. He had to find Connie. The lampposts, strategically placed to illuminate the area, didn’t provide much light as Trace slowed and crept toward the ice-cream shop. He noticed a handful of people standing near parked cars across from the store. That was when he saw someone sitting on the ground.

Connie.

Trace’s chest tightened, and he willed himself to stay calm. Yet his pulse was racing like an Indy 500 driver roaring around the track. She wasn’t his, officially, but he immediately felt more possessive of her than he’d ever felt for another woman. The thought of her ever being hurt, or worse, tore him up inside.

Trace couldn’t quiet his mind as he pulled up. What the hell had happened here? Had Connie fallen? Had someone hit her? Questions continued bombarding him even after he parked and jumped out of his vehicle.

He jogged the short distance and shoved his way into the inner circle. A woman kneeling next to Connie was shining a cell-phone flashlight on her, and his heart skidded to a stop.

Scratches. Blood. Torn blouse. Connie’s lip was busted and her chin scraped. The sight of her bruised and banged up hit Trace like a punch to the gut. He crouched beside her and gently pushed a few strands of her hair away from her face. A fierce protectiveness for her consumed him, and he wanted to strangle whoever had done this to her.

“What happened?”

“Trace?” Connie said, her eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Trace’s voice sounded calmer than he felt as anxiety hammered inside him. His gaze frantically scanned her before returning to her face.

“I’m all right,” she said in a rush, but didn’t answer his question.

“We called 911.” The woman who’d been tending to Connie a moment ago stood. “They’re sending the police and an ambulance.”

“I told them I didn’t need an ambulance,” Connie said, her voice quivering. Planting her hand on the ground between them, she twisted slightly, trying to stand, and Trace helped her up. He didn’t miss the way she winced with each move.

He looped his arm around her waist. “Stay still until you’re checked out and tell me what the hell happened.” His voice rose with each word, and though he was trying to remain calm, he knew he was failing miserably.

“I wasn’t paying attention and almost got hit by a car. They saved my life.”

“I’m Stephanie,” the woman who had called 911 said. “And this is my husband, Larry.”

Trace nodded a greeting.

“A guy, or whoever was driving, came out of nowhere and was flying through the parking lot.” Larry rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit shook up himself. “I was calling out to her, I mean Connie,