Page 32 of Dangerous Secrets

Hold on? Charity reached for the pull-down handle over the door, wondering why she had to hold on, when the car suddenly shot forward violently, pressing her against the seat back like an astronaut during liftoff. In a second, it seemed, they were at the end of her street, still—amazingly—alive. A miracle considering she’d never dared to drive this fast on a sunny, dry day, and she was a woman who liked her speed.

On icy roads and in the middle of a snowstorm, this speed was suicidal.

A scream vibrated in her throat and she clamped her lips shut. A scream might distract Nick and that could prove fatal at this speed, in this weather. One wrong move and they’d die.

Nick continued gunning the big, heavy car, somehow knowing the next corner was near, though it was almost impossible to see past the white flurries. You could only see the road ahead in fleeting moments when the curtain of snow parted for only the briefest of instants. The Lexus was shooting ahead at an impossible speed, rounding the corner onto Wingate inside a couple of seconds. She clamped her lips shut against a scream. They were sliding wildly out of control . . .

No.

Not sliding out of control. The car straightened and remained steady on the road, traveling much too fast, but in a straight line.

Braced to die, Charity finally pulled in a deep breath, her first in what felt like forever. Nick was driving so fast it terrified her, but he seemed to be in total control. Just when she thought they’d crash into a van parked on the street or would climb onto the sidewalk and hit a tree, Nick somehow righted the car without braking. He seemed to have a sixth sense for what the car could do on the icy roads and pushed it to those limits and never an inch further.

“What’s in Ferrington and why are we going there?” Nick’s voice was utterly calm as he corrected for a skid the instant the wheels slid under them. Thank God there were no other lunatics on the road other than them, or they’d already be dead. Charity braced herself as they whizzed around another corner and Nick took what she recognized as a smart short-cut to Ferrington.

She had to remember to breathe, transfixed by the bright columns of the headlights creating two yellow tunnels in the white nightmare.

He’d asked something . . .

Charity had been staring at the road ahead, ready to shout useless instructions to Nick. At the sound of his calm voice, she turned and watched him for a second—steady, in complete control—and relaxed a tiny bit, just enough to gather her thoughts.

“My aunt and uncle live in Ferrington, or rather in the country outside town. They’re elderly. My uncle called to say that my aunt is missing. He can’t find her anywhere.”

“How elderly?”

“Uncle Franklin is 94 and Aunt Vera is 90.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “So you’re telling me that a 90-year old woman might be out in this weather?”

Impossibly, the car picked up a little more speed while Charity’s heart leapt into her throat.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Aunt Vera gets a little, um, confused at times.”

This was so hard. Uncle Franklin refused to accept even the idea that his beloved wife was deteriorating mentally. Each time something happened, he would put it down to her having the flu, or to not having slept well or having accidentally forgotten something. He refused to acknowledge her failing mental health to the outside world, to her and—perhaps most tragically—to himself.

It was why he called Charity instead of the police when his wife disappeared in a snowstorm. In this case, Charity understood. He was probably right. Ferrington’s police force consisted of an overweight county sheriff who drank and lived twenty miles away. His clueless, moron deputy would be of even less help. Sheriff Hodgkins could never find Aunt Vera, not in a million years. He could barely find his way home after a night on the town.

And by the time Uncle Franklin got through to the Highway Patrol or some law enforcement authority who could actually be effective, hours would have passed and Aunt Vera could die.

“Confused, how?” Nick didn’t look over at her but she could feel his attention on her like a hand touching her.

Confused, how? Very good question. Uncle Franklin would be devastated if she gave too much away. What was happening to his wife was eating him alive. He didn’t want Aunt Vera exposed to criticism or ridicule. “She, um, sleepwalks. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes? How often?”

More and more lately. “Some. I think that’s what must have happened tonight. Uncle Franklin woke up and she wasn’t there. I’m really hoping that she didn’t go outside in this weather. Once we found her in the basement. Another time she’d, um, climbed up into the attic. He needs me to help look because his knees aren’t very good and the stairs down to the basement and up to the attic are very steep.”

He was frowning. “Doesn’t she trip the alarm when she leaves the house?”

“Um.” She took in a deep breath. “The house isn’t alarmed.”

“Jesus.” The frown was deeper, deep grooves between his eyebrows. Heavens, even his eyebrows were gorgeous—thick, black, finely arched. God, how could he be so impossibly good-looking even while frowning and driving a billion miles an hour over ice? And how could she even notice it when she wasterrified for Aunt Vera and, frankly, for herself, whizzing at insane speeds on icy roads?

That was when Charity realized how badly sex messed with her head. She was worried sick about Aunt Vera and terrified she was going to die in a car crash. And yet those thoughts faded for a second as she watched Nick’s grim face in the space-age glow of the lights of the dashboard.

The dim glow highlighted his beautiful cheekbones, the strong jawline, the cords in his neck standing out from the tension of driving fast in impossible weather. He was so handsome her heart squeezed as she looked at him.

Even after rolling out of bed and into his clothes, he looked liked he could walk into a boardroom right now. Charity was sure she looked like she’d spent the night sleeping on the floor and that she had those fine worry lines only Uncle Franklin and Aunt Vera could call up.

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