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

but she didn’t hear me. I couldn’t get her attention, so I lunged in front of the car and shoved her out of the way. I didn’t mean to push her that hard.”

“I’m glad you did.” Connie shifted restlessly.

Trace studied her, noticing the awkward way she held her left hand close to her side.

“She hit the ground pretty hard,” Stephanie added. “I’m so glad they were able to get out of the way. That car missed her and Larry by inches. Then it smacked the back end of a parked car, and you’d think it would’ve stopped. Instead, the driver plowed out of the parking lot like his ass was on fire.”

“I managed to get the license plate number,” another man said. “But the windows were too dark for me to see the driver.”

More people started talking at once, and Trace picked up a few details from the conversation. Red. Four-door. Camry or Accord. Loud music. Dent on the right side.

He turned when a squad car and an ambulance pulled into the lot and slowed in front of the ice-cream shop. Two officers stepped out of their vehicle and ambled toward the group.

In the meantime, an EMT asked Connie to sit on the back bumper of the ambulance so she could take her vitals and check her out. Trace stayed close, hating the way Connie was downplaying her injuries. Why was it so hard for her to admit that she was hurt? Between her bruises and how gingerly she was moving, it was clear that she was in pain.

There was something else that bothered him. Trace couldn’t help wondering if the incident was intentional or really an accident. It might’ve been irrational to even think it could be connected to the bank robbery, but that didn’t stop his mind from going there. Especially if the teller could identify her. It didn’t matter that it was far-fetched or that the robbers would know Connie from any other person. It also didn’t matter that it was virtually impossible for them to even know what community she lived in. Yet those thoughts were lodged in his brain.

“Can you tell if her hand or wrist is broken?” Trace asked. Connie was still holding her arm close to her body but had the nerve to glare at him through narrowed eyes.

The EMT had Connie move her hand back and forth, then gently pressed different areas of her palm, asking if this or that hurt. Connie winced a few times and said that it ached, but not too badly.

“It doesn’t appear to be broken, but it might be sprained. You should get it x-rayed to be sure.”

Connie didn’t want to be taken to the hospital, and, not wanting to make a scene, Trace kept his opinion to himself for now. He’d wait until they were alone to try to talk sense into her. He had witnessed her stubborn streak on more than one occasion, and the determined set of her jaw said this was one of those times.

“Ride with me, and I’ll make arrangements for your car,” he said once the EMT and the cops had finished.

“It’s not that far. I can drive.”

She started toward her car, but Trace blocked her path. “Connie.”

“Trace,” she huffed and folded her arms, but winced when they made contact with her stomach. That was yet another area that had gotten scraped when she landed on the ground. “I appreciate your concern, but this all looks worse than it is. I’m not helpless.”

“Sweetheart, I never said that you were. I’m just trying to... You know what?” Trace threw up his arms. “Fine. Drive. I’ll meet you at your place.”

Wound tighter than a helical spring, he left her standing there and hopped into his vehicle. He needed to calm the hell down, but right now, Connie was making him nuts. There were so many things he liked about the woman—everything from her vibrant personality to the way she took charge at work. But he had just been introduced to an extreme side of her. Bullheaded. Strong-willed. She might be petite, but she had just made it clear that she wasn’t a pushover.

“Now...how to deal with this uncompromising woman,” Trace mumbled. The same woman who owned his heart. He might’ve respected her independent nature, but he had a problem with her not using common sense. And common sense should’ve told her to let someone help her.

He followed Connie home, and when they arrived, she pulled into the driveway. Her freestanding garage was about thirty feet past the house. He didn’t like that it wasn’t attached, that the yard wasn’t fenced. It definitely wasn’t a safe setup, especially for a single woman arriving home late at night.

Trace parked near the side door of the house, then climbed out of his vehicle. As he stood waiting for Connie to exit the garage, he also noted that she needed more lighting on the property. While her neighborhood might’ve been quiet and relatively safe, he knew criminals were equal opportunists.

Connie finally shuffled out of the garage, looking wearier than she had only minutes ago. She was carrying her purse and laptop bag on her right shoulder, and a sweater in her hand. It was safe to assume that she hadn’t been home since leaving work.

Trace strolled toward her, prepared to lighten her load, when a tan-and-white cat darted across the driveway between them. Connie gasped and jerked back, her bags tumbling to the ground.

“Whoa, babe. It’s just a cat,” he said and reached for her.

“I know,” she groaned, pain lacing her words. She bent forward, cradling her left hand against her chest. “Crap. I moved the wrong way, and...”

Trace cursed under his breath. “You need to quit being so damn stubborn and let me take you to the hospital.” He picked the bags up from the ground. “This is ridiculous. Clearly you’re in agony.”

“Let’s just give it a day. I’m sure it’ll be better by tomorrow if I don’t jostle it too much. If not, then I’ll