Run Rachael Run by Patricia Paris

RUN RACHAEL RUN Copyright Š 2014, 2017 Patricia Paris

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Windswept an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941243 ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-26-0 ISBN-10: 1-946848-26-3 Visit the author at: www.authorpatriciaparis.com & www.bhcpress.com Also available in eBook Edited by S.M. Ray Book design by Blue Harvest Creative www.blueharvestcreative.com

also by patricia paris A Murderous Game THE GLEBE POINT SERIES This Time Forever

Letters to Gabriella Return to Glebe Point The Cottage THE BONAVERAS Lucia Caterina

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. ~ Ferris Bueller ~

chapter one

H

ot damn, give me some of that with jam!”

“Shut it, Brad.”

Rachael Gooding bent down to pick up the tiny black-andtan dog shivering at her feet. The hem of her cherry-red dress inched higher up shapely legs that drew the subtle, and the not so subtle, appreciation from the male customers who had, for one reason or another, gathered at her favorite neighborhood cafe, the Stomping Grounds.

She scooped up the pooch with one hand, the dress hugging her curves, and red became the color of a dozen fantasies.

Tucking the dog into the crook of her elbow, Rachael rose back up to the full five-foot-eight inches of unattainable goddess that sometimes prompted men to say and do stupid things—things that sometimes prompted her to say and do things she might regret, but couldn’t always stop herself from saying and doing.

She could, at times, be prickly.

The dog licked her hand. Rachael nuzzled his ear with her nose. “You’re my good boy, Shelby.” Resettling him close against her side, just under her armpit, she angled her head a quarter turn and lowered her gaze to her target.

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He was a big man, this Brad…beefy. He wore a faded blue T-shirt, one size too small, probably to make his muscles, which he apparently had more of than manners, more apparent. The number 99 leapt off the front of the tee in oversized white block numerals. Tempted to ask if it stood for his IQ, she resisted.

Shifting her gaze to the other man sitting at the small, window-side cafe table, she arched one perfectly shaped brow, compliments of Monique, who was, in Rachael’s opinion, the absolutely best stylist in Center City.

“A friend of yours, Doug?”

“He…uhm…he’s my brother-in-law, Brad, from Ohio.

He’s visiting me and Carrie for a few days.” He gave her a please go easy on the guy look, and added, “It’s his first time to the big city. He’s young, you know, he…” Doug trailed off. He squirmed a bit in his chair, clearly embarrassed by his companion’s crude remark.

Rachael hiked her chin a notch and sniffed. She regarded Brad again, no humor in her eyes. He shot a questioning glance toward Doug, who said, “Apologize, and nicely.”

The cock-sure grin decorating Brad’s face until that moment drooped, and the man actually huffed. “What the—” His expression clearly said Are you shitting me? And it made her want to smack him up the side of the head. Troglodyte.

“You offended the lady.” Doug shifted again. “Now tell her you’re sorry before she cuts you up into tiny pieces, packages you inside little zipper baggies, and doles you out to her pooch as doggie treats.”

Brad’s shoulders slumped. He moped a moment before mumbling, “Sorry,” with all the sincerity of a naughty child who really wasn’t sorry in the least but had just been brought to task by his parent.

He slouched down against the chair back, not looking so big as before. He reminded Rachael of some of the boys from elementary school who used to try showing off to the other

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boys during recess by pulling her braids, and then crying when she kicked them in the shins.

She wasn’t going to kick Brad in the shins. He was probably already swimming in confidence issues. Besides, if she wanted to punish the man, she didn’t have to resort to physical retaliation. She’d learned more effective ways to deal with bullies than when she was seven.

“I like you, Doug, so your brother-in-law gets a hall pass this time.” She adjusted Shelby against her side. “But you probably shouldn’t let him out on his own until he improves his manners. Not everyone in the big city will be as forgiving as me.

The boy might get hurt.”

She’d let him off easy. She’d already wasted more time on Brad from Ohio than she had energy for tonight. If it hadn’t been such a long week, if she didn’t have bigger things to worry about, she might give him a side of buddy, you’re messing with the wrong woman to go with his grandé cup-of-joe. Right now she just wanted to decompress, have a glass of wine, and enjoy some reasonably normal conversation with some reasonably normal people.

Turning so all Brad could see was her profile, she focused on Doug. His expression had relaxed, displaying a hint of relief.

She winked at him, out of Brad’s view. The corner of Doug’s mouth twitched with the hint of a grin. Satisfied to let it go, she spun on her heels and walked to the counter. The men who watched her progress took care to be a bit more discreet, less they, too, offend her.

Drew, the owner of the Stomping Grounds, delivered a frothy cappuccino to a customer sitting at the end of the counter and then came over to greet her.

“Hey, Blade, do you want something to eat, or did you just stop in to skewer the tourists?”

Amused by the humor in his tone, Rachael offered up a smile. “I’ll have a burger and fries, and a Pinot Grigio. Make it

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a blue cheese burger. It’s been a rough week. I feel like treating myself.”

“You got it.” He angled toward her and lowered his voice.

“And thanks for sparing me the trouble of having to mop up 99’s blood.”

She put Shelby’s mat on the floor next to one of the blackand-chrome swivel bar stools fronting the counter, and then sat down and crossed her legs. Leaning forward, she rested both elbows on the cool, grey-and-white top, and propped her chin in her hands. She stared off to her right, not really focusing on anything in particular, the chatter in the cafe fading to a non-distinct din.

Restless and edgy, she’d felt that way all week, and maybe a little paranoid, too. She’d had an overwhelming sense of being watched after she and Shelby left the apartment. She’d looked around, even into the cars parked along the street on her way here, but she hadn’t seen anyone or anything unusual. Paranoid? Maybe. She didn’t know, but the feeling had been real.

She hadn’t imagined that feeling, just didn’t know what had brought it on. Not knowing made her feel vulnerable. She didn’t do vulnerable well.

AN HOUR LATER, Rachael sprinted up the half-dozen steps to the brownstone apartment building where she’d lived for the last two years. Digging into her week-old red patent leather Kate Spade shoulder bag, she fished out her keys. She adored the purse; it had been a gift for her thirtieth birthday from her best friend, Abby Faraday.

Rachael missed her. Other than their Tuesday girls’ night out, they hadn’t spent much time together since Abby and Gage had gotten married a couple of months ago. Gage was in Chicago on business, though, so she and Ab were meeting for din-

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ner tomorrow night at Casa Bellino, one of their favorite restaurants in Philadelphia’s Old City.

She looked down at Shelby. “Pretty pathetic, eh, boy? My two big dates for the weekend are you and Abby.”

She gave his leash a gentle tug when he turned away from the door. The dog resisted, staring across the street and rolling an uncharacteristic, low growl around in his throat.

Rachael squinted, trying to see through the darkness beyond the street lamps that lined the opposite sidewalk.

She saw nothing but the looming bulk of what she knew to be well-fertilized rhododendron, azalea, and crepe myrtle, planted in thickly mulched beds and borders beneath massive oaks, golden maple, and sweet gum trees.

In the light of day it was a beautiful park, bustling with joggers, dog walkers, parents with strollers, and the occasional visitor to the City of Brotherly Love who’d wandered off the beaten path. Tonight, with restless wonderings rattling through her brain, and Shelby a degree below snarling at her ankles, the shadows invited darker possibilities, ones she normally wouldn’t entertain.

She leaned down to pick Shelby up and heard a rustling sound, like something or someone stepping on dry leaves. She looked back across the street. Shelby grumbled again. “Probably a neighborhood cat stalking mice, Shelbs…nothing we need to bother with.” Cats don’t usually make noise when they’re stalking, her inner voice piped up. Right, which is why I’m not hanging around out here to find out what does.

With a last, darting glance, she turned and unlocked the front door. After relocking it, she jogged up the stairs to the second of the building’s three floors. Two apartments were on this level: hers, which faced the front, and elderly Mr. Whitcomb’s on the back, which looked out over the brick-walled courtyard and alley beyond.

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Rachael loved this section of the city. Old brownstones lined the street, intermixed with a smattering of small shops and cafes scattered here and there that added to the neighborhood’s charm. Apartments in this area were hard to come by, especially on the park, and she’d been lucky to find one.

She loved the apartment’s high ceilings, hardwood floors, and tall windows with their original, wavy glass, even if they were drafty in winter. Exposed brick ran the length of the front, street-side wall. Most of all, she loved the red, cast-iron pellet stove in the corner of the living room. Even on Philadelphia’s coldest winter nights it kept her apartment toasty warm, and she enjoyed little more than putting on some music and curling up on the couch in front of it to read.

Setting her purse and cell phone down on the kitchen island, she got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She’d be spending another Friday night alone, just her, Shelby, and the Home Channel. Wouldn’t that just blow everyone’s mind at the office? From comments some her coworkers at the news station where she worked as a reporter had made to her in the past, she knew they had a distorted view of her social life.

Assumptions—people made them all the time, trying to fill in the blanks about things and people they knew little or nothing about.

Slipping off her high heels, she padded barefoot to the closer of the two living room windows. With a reservation that felt foreign, she pulled the sheers open a few inches and looked across the street toward the park.

A man walked down the sidewalk on the other side. He wore a hat, a cap, and the cloak of night made him indistinguishable from any other man his height and build. He appeared in no hurry…probably a neighbor out for a stroll, enjoying the pleasant autumn evening. She started to turn away when he stopped and looked up at her windows.

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Rachael dropped the curtain and took a quick step backward, out of view. Coincidence, she told herself, and then went to check the charge on her phone.

chapter two

S

aturday dawned cold, gray, and wet, offering little hope the rain would release its clutches on the dreary October day.

Rachael spent the morning cleaning her apartment and doing laundry. She phoned Abby early in the afternoon to say she’d decided to drive to the restaurant rather than take a cab, and offered to pick her up.

A few hours later they pulled into one of the spots reserved for valet parking. The rain had stuck to the day like a leech, and she and Abby made a dash for the front door.

Rachael gave her key to the parking attendant, took her claim ticket, and they entered the welcoming warmth of Casa Bellino.

A large fireplace in the entry offered toasty warmth, divine on such a soggy, chilly evening. The restaurant’s plaster walls were painted burnished gold and glowed under the soft lights.

Old wooden kegs and wine crates divided it into small, intimate areas, and customers could easily imagine they were dining in a wine cellar.

Rachael gave her name to the hostess and then went to stand with Abby by the fireplace. “The hostess said our table would be ready in a couple of minutes. They’re just clearing it.”

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“I’ve been looking forward to dinner all day. I already know what I’m ordering.”

“I know what you’re ordering, too—penne with chicken in vodka sauce. You order the same thing every time we come here.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. It’s just so good. Do you know what you’re getting?”

Rachael nodded. “Penne with chicken in vodka sauce.

When I tasted yours last time, it was so good I wished I’d ordered it instead.”

“Good evening, ladies.”

The two turned in unison.

“Hey, Gene!” Abby gave the man who’d come up behind them a brief hug. “I don’t see you for a month, and then I see you twice in the same week.”

Eugene Simms smiled at Abby, the corners of his mouth turning up to crease his ruggedly handsome face. Rachael observed the friendly way he and Abby greeted one another, and frowned. She knew the detective had become fast friends with Gage, something no one would have expected given their contentious relations during the murder investigation of Abby’s ex, and it bothered her that he and her best friend had welcomed this man into their inner circle.

He angled his head her way. “Miss Gooding.”

She felt the same underlying challenge that marked all their encounters, from the very first, when he’d come to Abby’s apartment and Rachael realized her friend was their primary suspect.

Mixed in with her anger at him and his partner for putting Abby through such hell, was an uncontrollable, unwanted attraction to Simms that frustrated the hell out of her. She didn’t welcome it; it had unleashed itself against her will, and she hated that she seemed to have no power over the effect he had on her. Her only defense was to make him think she couldn’t tolerate him. She knew how to do that; she could excel at snarky.

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She made a point of glancing behind him. “Dining alone again, Detective? Too bad, and we’ve only reserved a table for two.”

Abby jabbed her in the ribs, and Rachael bumped her back with her hip.

She watched as Simms’s tongue peeked out between his lips, and wished she hadn’t. He grinned, seemingly amused by her jibes.

“Actually, I’ve got a date for the evening, but thank you for your concern.”

Probably another airhead like the one they’d seen him with several months ago, all beauty and no brains. Rachael cocked her head and eyed him with an air of sarcasm. “Hmmm. I’m sure she’s…charming.”

“She is, and it’s her birthday, so it’s a special night for both of us.”

Rachael felt a petty desire to snort in response, but beneath that, she felt something else—she felt deflated.

He seemed to study her, probably waiting for her to toss back a smarmy remark, but nothing came to her. They’d never been more than acquaintances, adversarial ones at that. It shouldn’t bug her so much that he’d be out with another woman.

Another woman? God! She hated to admit it but she was jealous! She didn’t want anything to do with the man, but the thought of him with anyone else disturbed her.

“How nice for you,” she finally said, lifting her nose a few degrees. “Hopefully, she won’t keep you waiting too long. It would be a shame to lose your reservation.”

“No need to worry, Miss Gooding. We came together. She’s just off powdering her nose.” His pleasant expression irritated her to no end. She looked down and studied her nails, searching for the perfect retort, one that would say, I couldn’t care less, but again, her usual quickness failed her.

“Oh, Gene, who are these nice young ladies?”

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Rachael looked back up to see a small, elderly woman take hold of Simms’s arm. She glanced between Rachael and Abby, and then up at the detective. He laid his hand over hers, giving it a gentle pat.

“Mom, this is Abby Carpenter and Rachael Gooding.” He nodded in each of their directions respectively. “Ladies, my mother, Allison Simms.”

Rachael cautioned a glance at Simms. He stared right back at her, a knowing gleam in his eyes. If they’d had a chalkboard, he’d be putting a check mark in his column, and they both knew it.

“What beautiful young women.” His mother sounded so sweet and endearing, it made Rachael feel like she should be grabbing the chalk and putting another check in his column.

Mrs. Simms looked up at her son adoringly. “It’s nice to know you have such lovely lady friends, dear.”

“Your table’s ready,” the hostess said from beside Rachael.

Thank God! She caught Abby’s elbow and nudged her forward. “Nice to meet you,” Rachael told Simms’s mother.

“Yes,” Abby chimed in, reaching out and touching the woman on the shoulder. “And happy birthday, by the way.

Enjoy your dinner.”

“Well thank you. It was nice to meet you both, too.”

“Happy birthday, Mrs. Simms,” Rachael echoed, giving the woman a smile she hoped didn’t betray what an ogre she felt like. She steered Abby away, following the hostess and wondering if they had crow on the menu.

“Nice, Rach,” Abby mumbled as they were led to their table.

“Okay, so I’ll change my name to Glenda.”

“No, Glenda was the good witch.”

“You know, this isn’t all my fault.” Rachael tossed another shovel of dirt out of the hole she was digging for herself. “Men like him shouldn’t have sweet little old mothers who can make a person feel like a toad.”

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“I just don’t get it. What is it with you and Simms, anyway?”

“I don’t like him. Trying to pin a murder on my best friend didn’t endear him to me.”

“He didn’t try to pin it on me. He was just doing his job, and if Gage and I were able to become friends with him afterward, I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to get over it.”

“Here you go.” The hostess extended a hand and placed two menus on a cozy corner table.

Their server appeared a moment later. “Would you like to begin with something to drink?”

“You want to share a bottle of Pinot?” Abby asked, and Rachael nodded.

“That’s fine.”

Abby picked up her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “He came to our house the other night for dinner. He and Gage have started playing chess together when their schedules allow.”

“Hmmm.” Rachael pretended to study the menu. She felt like a jerk. Why did she have to be so prickly all the time around him? Simms probably thought she was a first class bitch, not that she really cared.

“I thought you were getting the Penne with vodka sauce.”

Rachael put her menu down. “I am.”

A wrinkle of concern etched Abby’s forehead. “What’s wrong, Rach?”

“Nothing.” She snagged a strand of hair and twirled it around her finger. “I don’t know.” She gazed at a small fountain near their table and frowned. “Do you think I’m a bitch, Ab?” “Of course not. Would I be your friend if you were?”

“Then why do I act like that? I mean, I don’t like Simms, but that’s no excuse to be so...I don’t even know what to call it.

God, he must hate me!”

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“I don’t understand why you get your back up like that, but you’re not a bitch. You just, well...you get a little testy sometimes, and mostly it’s just with guys. Not all—you never did with Gage—but some. And Simms doesn’t hate you.”

Their server returned with the wine, poured them each a glass, and then took their orders. When she walked away, Rachael glanced after her and saw Simms and his mother being led into the dining area. Don’t let them be seated in our section, she prayed silently, noting the empty table next to theirs.

Simms’s mother saw them and smiled brightly, waving her fingers as if delighted to see them again. Rachael smiled and waved her fingers back, trying to hide her complete lack of delight that they were headed in their direction. The woman looked very sweet, like someone who enjoyed baking cookies on the weekend and delivering them to her neighbors. Rachael had only baked cookies once in her life, and she’d burned them.

The hostess veered left and led them to an adjoining section, blocked by several crates and wine barrels. Rachael blew out a breath of relief. At least the reminder of her peevishness wouldn’t be sitting two feet away sending her sweet smiles and finger waves all evening.

“Rach?”

Rachael glanced across the table. Abby studied her with furrowed brows. “Oh. My. God!” She slapped a hand over her mouth and stared.

“What?” Rachael asked, immediately concerned. “Are you feeling sick or something, hon?” For a moment she thought Abby was getting nauseous, but when she removed her hand, she was grinning.

“I don’t believe it.” Abby leaned forward, pinning her with a probing green stare. “Why didn’t I see it before?”

Afraid Abby had just guessed what she’d tried to deny for months, Rachael groaned under her breath. Here it came.

“Who’s your best friend since forever, Rach?”

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Rachael picked up her napkin and snapped it open. “You are. And I’d prefer not to have this conversation right now.”

“You’ve. Got. The. Hots. For. Simms. It’s all over your face!

I can’t believe I didn’t realize that’s what all this…stuff between you two is about!”

Rachael fingered the stem of her wine glass and rolled her eyes, but it didn’t dampen Abby’s persistence.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re attracted to Gene. You’re supposed to tell me when you fall for someone, you know.” Abby sounded delighted; Rachael most definitely was not. “How am I supposed to help your cause if you keep something this important from me?”

“I haven’t fallen for him, and there is no cause for you to stick your well-intentioned, but off base, nose into.” Rachael reached up and pulled her hair around her shoulder to rest on one side, tried to look unaffected.

Abby chuckled. “You’re so busted, Rach!”

“There’s nothing to be busted about. I find the guy mildly attractive, okay? There, I admitted it.”

“Ha!” Abby retorted.

“Mildly,” Rachael restated with a little more emphasis, and the voices in her head sang the liar, liar song. She ignored that, too. “It abrades me to admit I’m no less susceptible to his physical attributes than the scores of women who probably fawn over him all the time. Which,” she emphasized to drive the point home, “there’s a chance you’d find me doing only if I’d just had a lobotomy.”

Abby opened her mouth to respond and Rachael held up a finger. “I have no interest in any kind of relationship with the man. Any kind, Ab. Got it?”

“He asked about you the other night, you know, when he came over to see Gage. He wanted to know if I’d seen you lately and how you were.”

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Rachael felt a brief rush. “Yes, well, he does know we’re friends. I imagine he’s picked up a few courtesies in the art of conversation over the years.”

“I wonder if he knows.” Abby rubbed her hands together.

“Knows what?”

“That you want to jump his bones.”

“Oh, that’s it! Just stop right there!” Rachael threw the napkin she’d just spread over her lap onto the table. “Did you not hear me say I want nothing to do with him? I think a lot of men are attractive. I don’t want to go out with, or have hot sex with any of them, either.”

“So it’s hot sex you’re wanting with him? That’s even better.” Abby’s eyes danced with mischief.

Rachael narrowed hers.

“I don’t know why you’re giving me that stink eye. I just thought maybe you wanted a quick tumble and be done with it.

You’re the one who said hot sex.”

“This conversation is over, Ab, unless you prefer to eat alone.”

Abby screwed her mouth up. “Fine, but I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being attracted to him.”

Rachael remained silent. She’d already divulged too much, more than she ever would have if she hadn’t been confronted with her own flawed humanity and suffered a few moments of guilty weakness. But there were things even Abby didn’t know.

Things no one knew, could ever know. Things that would never allow her to get entangled with a man like Simms.

THEIR MEALS WERE served a short while later. Rachael almost groaned with pleasure at the first bite, the creamy vodka sauce complementing the chicken and penne to perfection.

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“This is so wonderful.” Abby picked up a garlic roll and broke it in half. “By the way, Gage’s company is hosting a charity ball and silent auction at Chantlewood Manor in three weeks.”

Rachael’s antennae hummed. “Lucky you.”

“Tell me about it. So, I was thinking—” “No. You know how much I hate those things.”

“I know, Rach. I hate them, too. But I have to go, and Gage will be obligated to hob-knob with a bunch of uppity mucks. At least if you come, the two of us can hang out at the dessert table and stuff our faces on mini cream puffs and crème brulée shooters. It won’t be so boring.” Abby put half of the roll back on her bread plate. “Crème brulée is your faaaavorite.”

Rachael glanced at Abby and smirked. Spending an evening fraternizing with high society ranked a few rungs below getting up at five thirty three mornings a week to go to the gym. Her job as a reporter occasionally required her to attend such functions.

She could plaster on a smile and fake her way through them as well as anyone, but like her workouts, if she could skip them and not have to deal with the consequences, she would.

She sighed. She wasn’t going to agree for the crème brulée, even though it was her favorite. She would dress up, smile, play nice, and stuff her face, because Ab was her best friend. Picking up the wine glass she’d been fingering, she took a sip.

“Aww, thanks, Rach.”

“I didn’t say yes, yet.”

Abby gave her a warm smile. “Yeah, you just did.”

They continued their meal in companionable chit-chat, catching up, joking, and assuming a more lighthearted mood that suited Rachael fine.

Abby’s cell rang and she took it, a call from Gage. After a brief exchange, she told him she was having dinner with Rachael and would call him when she got home.

“How’s Gage?” Rachael asked, as Abby slipped the phone back into her bag.

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Abby got that goofy look only people in love can pull off without looking like total dweebs. “He’s good, but he said he’d rather be here with me than cooped up in a board room for a planning session.”

“Imagine that!” Rachael forked up a bite of salad. “He’d rather be with his new wife than a bunch of pin-striped suits who will spend the next three days sucking up to and yessing him to death? There’s a surprise.”

Abby laughed. “I don’t know why people get so nervous around him. Well, okay, I do. It wasn’t that long ago that I was working with him, and he could be pretty intimidating. But once you get to know him, he’s little more than a big teddy bear.”

Rachael grinned as she sat back and listened to Abby extol Gage’s virtues. She was happy for her friend. Happy that fate had brought Abby and Gage together again, and that Abby’s first love had turned out to be her best love.

She raised her wine glass to her lips. Not everyone could be so fortunate.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Patricia Paris lives in the Chesapeake Bay area of Maryland with her husband John; a lazy, but lovable cat named Shiloh; and James Brown, aka JB, the baddest, but also, most lovable dog in town. When not writing, you’re likely to find the author exploring the Bay area’s small towns and waterways, which provide endless inspiration for her writing; battling the weeds that insist on invading her gardens; or, being an avid foodie, experimenting with a new recipe in her kitchen.

Patricia admits to being an unapologetic romantic, and she loves to give her readers that happily ever after, every time.