Chased By Memories (The Agent’s Legacy #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

This had been a really long day. In fact, this had been a really long week.

Month. Year…years. A lot of people Betsy Peyton had loved were no longer walking the earth, and she was having one of those missing-them periods in her life.

Of course, it could have been worse. At least she still had plenty of family and friends to fill her off hours.

Peyton’s Automotives, her branded dealership, filled her days with single-car clients and company fleet contracts. The service center handled cars, trucks, SUVs, vans and the occasional emergency RV repair. Motorcycles she referred to the bike shop a couple blocks over.

Sighing, she set the burglar alarm for the night and stepped out the back door of the main dealership structure housing the offices and automotive display area.

It was Friday night, and she was headed to Joanie’s Pizza, Pub and Pool, one of the places in town she could count on for friendship, laughter and good food.

Sliding into her SUV, parked in her spot next to the door, a couple of trucks parked behind the detached multiuse service center shop, at the far end of the lot, caught her eye as Papa Carrington walked into the service center.

Her work ethic wouldn’t allow her to leave before her workers were able to go home, especially heading into a weekend.

She might be the boss, but others always came first in her way of thinking.

She started the car and coasted down to the service center. Not recognizing the customer’s truck or SUV, she shifted into park, then headed inside. She heard indistinct voices from the other side of the closed door, but the moment she opened the back door the instantaneous silence was deafening.

“Hello. Anyone here?” Silly question seeing that she’d just seen at least one person enter less than two minutes ago.

“Betsy. Betsy, is that you?” Papa C stepped out from behind one of the floor posts. “Thought I saw you heading out of the office for the day when I turned into the lot.”

“You’re right, it’s that time. I saw some customer cars sitting down here. Just checking to see if I could help with anything.”

Off to the left, a grunt-groan caught her attention. Slowly, Earl Millerton, the service manager, pushed himself up from behind a car, holding his palm to his forehead. A trickle of blood oozed from the side of his mouth.

“Oh my gosh, Earl! What happened to you?” She stepped in his direction, but Papa C waved her off.

“Nothing to worry about, Betsy. He just got startled when I slammed one of the cabinet doors. First, he dropped a power tool. Then he tripped over it. I’m always telling him that you gotta be careful when you’re around equipment.

” Papa C steered her toward the door. “Don’t you move, Millerton.

As soon as I get Betsy on her way, I’ll find the first aid kit and get you all fixed up. ”

She’d never understood why Papa C insisted on calling employees by their last names.

Guess he thought it sounded more professional.

More likely, he felt it gave him an edge of control over them.

As for her, she wanted her workers to understand she considered them friends.

They already knew their jobs, otherwise she’d have spoken to them.

Worst case let them go. Either way she’d still call them by their first name.

Movement and a man’s mumbled voice caught her attention from the front of the building.

“Customer? I figured the service department was closed for the day.” She glanced to the corner where all she could see was the back of a mid-length bomber-style camouflage jacket and red cap on a tall muscular man. He appeared to be talking on his phone.

Papa C cleared his throat. “An emergency repair drove in at the last minute. Some guy heading out to hunt had an oil leak. That’s why Millerton called me. I told him I’d come over and help.”

“You sure? I don’t want you to get all tied up working late tonight.”

“We’ll be fine. Ain’t that right, Millerton?” He raised his voice as he called across the room.

The service manager glanced at the man near the front, then over to her. “Sure thing. You head on out, Betsy. We’ll be done and gone in no time flat.”

“Hey, can you get a move on back there? I’ve been waiting a long time for my repairs,” the man from the front hollered. “Got places I need to be. Things I need to check on. Or did you forget that part?”

Halfway out the door, she turned to confront the unappreciative customer, but one quick moment of eye-to-eye contact told her the man wasn’t one to squabble with.

In fact, he sneered right into a threatening laugh as he shoved the red hat in his pocket then unzipped the jacket.

She didn’t turn away, but a flash of cold raced up her spine as the clean-shaven man raised his sweatshirt’s hood and tugged it forward on both sides.

He didn’t turn away either but did take a couple steps toward Earl.

“Be right there,” Papa C answered in return.

“You sure you and Earl will be okay with this guy?” she quietly asked.

He nodded, slowly pulling the door closed between her and him. “Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

“You seen him around before?” Something about the customer seemed vaguely familiar to Betsy.

“Met him a few times. He’s just got a chip on his shoulder. Now get on out of here and enjoy your evening.”

“Okay, I’m just concerned. Text me once the customer leaves.”

Papa C nodded and finished pulling the door closed. She heard the click of the security lock being set from inside.

As she got in the car, she realized just how lucky she was to have Papa C’s continued interest in the dealership.

Of course, without him she’d have never owned Peyton’s in the first place.

She used to refer to him as her father-in-law, or Phillip’s father.

Nowadays she simply called him the previous owner out of respect for all he’d done, and still did, for her and the business.

Her own dad would probably have enjoyed helping around the dealership if he hadn’t been killed on the steps of the FBI building in Jefferson City.

She’d only been ten, almost eleven years old.

He’d been a special agent with the FBI, a man who loved the danger of following clues and solving cases.

He also loved to tinker with cars. She must have inherited his penchant for automotives.

The lot’s halogen lights kicked up another notch, and she spied one of her perpetual lookie-loo customers strolling through the car lot.

Any time she’d talked to him, he always seemed to have an appreciation for cars and trucks running through him, too.

She gave a small wave. The man nodded in return as she pulled out of the dealership.

Five minutes later, she turned into Joanie’s Pizza, Pub and Pool parking lot. Evidently, she’d beat the Friday night rush and luckily found a spot under a parking light on the second row. Time for food, friends and hopefully a game of pool.

Doubtful any of her family would be there tonight.

Her sister Marcy had texted a couple hours ago that she didn’t feel like their usual Friday get-together.

And her mama, Sadie, and stepdad, Truman Dawson, were spending the weekend in Kansas City.

They’d decided to celebrate their anniversary at one of those swanky downtown hotels.

How many years had they been married? Enough to make them both happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Stepping into Joanie’s was like someone had suddenly lifted all the problems weighing on her shoulders. She felt the smile on her face increase with each person that shouted hello as she made her way to the small counter near the kitchen.

She snapped her fingers and made a detour to the chalkboard by the pool tables area, then printed her name at the bottom of the list of names already ahead of her.

Worked for her. Gave her time to sit and chat with her best friend, Joanie Reynolds, as she came and went from the kitchen to the small counter.

“You’re just in time to taste my new recipe,” Joanie said as she slid a plate of fried ravioli appetizers in front of her. As the owner, her jobs ranged from paying the bills to coming up with new ideas for Friday night specials.

Betsy slipped onto one of the stools at the small counter. “So what’s new about this? I’ve had your fried ravioli lots of times.”

Her friend leaned forward and whispered as if this was a world-changing secret.

“The ravioli are chicken instead of pork and beef. And you’ll notice there are two sauces.

The regular marinara one and...”—she set a second small bowl next to the first—“… a special sauteed minced garlic with Italian seasoning in a delightful pool of melted butter.”

“Looks good to me.” Betsy took a chance on the chicken ravioli and smiled. Not all of Joanie’s concoctions turned out well, but this one had potential. “Hey, I need a light beer, wedge salad and a plate of fries to go with this.”

For the next hour, Joanie and she carried on a running conversation, in between customers and sharing the fries.

Friday nights were always busy. Not much time for chitchat, but that didn’t matter.

Joanie’s was making money, and Betsy was enjoying the noise of the customers.

Sure beat sitting at home in front of a television.

And once Papa C had texted that Earl and he had locked up and left Peyton’s, she felt a lot better.

Cheers from guys shooting a game at one of the pool tables greeted whoever had just walked in the front door.

Betsy turned to say hello and made unintentional eye contact with the new arrival—Cain.

Cain Connery. His blue-eyed nonchalance belied the intensity of his six feet of muscle and masculinity.

Breaking their visual connection, he glanced at the pool table chalkboard. “Could one of you guys put my name on the bottom of that list? I’ll be right over after I order a pizza.”

“Sure thing,” one of the guys said.

“Appreciate it.”

Seemingly always at ease in himself, he headed toward the small counter. Stopped to chat with people along the way, shook hands and laughed. Took extra time with some of the townsfolk, moved quick past others.

Knowing her body’s heated, heart-thumping reaction every time Cain got within speaking distance, she evaluated her options for avoidance.

The sound of his voice, a cross between Sam Elliott and a finely crafted, ultra-smooth bourbon, depending on her mood, became more distinct as he neared the counter.

Quickly, she swallowed the French fry taking up space in her mouth and motioned to Joanie. “Hey, I’ve decided to head on home. Can I get a box for the rest of this?”

Joanie glanced at her, then Cain, then the counter. “Nope.”

“What do you mean nope?” Betsy leaned forward and rounded her eyes, then quickly gave a side-eye between Cain and Joanie. “I’m tired and I’d like to head home.”

Her friend smiled, arching her right eyebrow in a “gotcha” moment. “It’s about time one of us moves on with their life.”

“That goes for you, too,” Betsy whispered.

Joanie stared for a long moment at the tri-folded United States flag in the case above the entrance. Batting her eyes, she grabbed the bar towel and started cleaning the counter. “I’m not ready. That means it’s your turn tonight.”

Cain slid up on the stool at the end of the short counter. “You two look deep in conversation.”

“Just talking about life and weather and long past Friday nights,” Joanie said. “What can I get you?”

“One of your special Friday night pizzas and a beer. How about you, Betsy? You need another beer?”

“No. I’m…I’m just fine. I…uh, that is…” She shook her head and placed her hand on top of her drink.

And there it was—the quirk of his smile, his questioning glance, the furrow of his brow at her answer, and that smooth-as-metal voice.

Add in the scent of his leather jacket and she was done for.

She’d felt the blush on her neck as she stumbled over her words.

But her emotions would never get the best of her.

Any unfulfilled feeling she’d had for Cain in high school had long since been doused with years of life and distance.

Across the room, a groan split the air a second before cheers and hurrahs erupted. Evidently, someone had unexpectedly won. Or lost.

“That’s a wrap, guys,” one of the players shouted. “Hey, Betsy, your name is next on the chalkboard.”

Thank goodness she had a reason to leave the counter. “Okay, who’s up for a game?”

No one answered. And the one person who started to stand was pulled back down. What was going on?

She snagged her favorite cue stick from the rack. “Okay then. Is this a joke or something? No one wants to shoot a game of pool with me?”

The guy who had called out her name, glanced at the chalkboard. “Hey, there’s only you and Cain’s names left on the board. Why don’t you two play a game?”

People around the room quieted as if her answer was worth a million dollars.

Cain turned around on his stool. “That’s okay. I don’t think Betsy has ever shot a game of pool against me. Guess she’s afraid I’ll beat her.”

That did it! Betsy straightened. He’d just stepped over her line.

She picked up the blue chalk from the siderail.

Tossed it in the air a couple of times. Took a few steps in his direction.

And stared into his eyes. “So, you don’t remember the day I wiped you off the table in high school?

” She cocked her hip out to the side and tapped her pool cue twice against the floor.

“Right over there, at table number four.”

“Nope. Can’t say that I do.” He bit the side of his lower lip and crunched his brow as if deep in thought.

Snapped his fingers. “Ooooooh, you mean that day after school when you lucked out and beat me? The day you were wearing those denim blue earrings with tiny gold stars holding them on your ears.”

Some of the other customers nodded in agreement. She turned to the crowd and opened her arms in an exaggerated bow. Good to know she wasn’t the only one from their high school group that still remembered the fun days of being young and crazy.

She turned back to him and smiled. He’d noticed. Noticed her earrings back then. “You remembered.”

“I remember a lot of things from back then.” Quick and easy, he shucked out of his jacket, tossed it over the closest chair and grabbed a cue stick from the rack. “We gonna play or not, Betsy?”