Sugar Creek Read Online Free PDF Page A

asshole to make a wrong move and go skidding off the pavement into a tree or a ravine—but going ninety, it was hard to concentrate on more much than the road itself.
    He drove that way for nearly ten minutes down the country highway, never catching even a glimpse of the Mustang—before he accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to. Damn it.
    Slowing his cruiser, he banged his palm on the steering wheel and cursed. What the hell was that idiot thinking, driving that fast on a twisting two-lane highway?
    Finally, he located a spot to pull off and turn back—he’d gone well beyond the Destiny city limits, past his own house and out into farm country. It was rural here, but there were plenty of roads crisscrossing each other every few miles—so the Mustang could be headed anywhere now.
    Once back in town, he drove toward the police station, every muscle in his body still tensed. It was the first time anyone had ever even tried to outrun him, and though he knew it wasn’t his fault the guy had gotten away, the Mustang had put him in a rotten mood. Pulling up in front of the station, he slammed his door shut with too much force.
    “Whoa, dude, who pissed you off?”
    He glanced up to see Logan Whitaker, the person who knew him best in the world. And the truth was, he didn’t particularly like anyone knowing all the things about him that Logan did, but it couldn’t be helped—it was the price you paid for lifelong friendship. A fireman, Logan sat outside the firehouse next door in a DFD tee and blue jeans—apparently just soaking up the sunny day and looking far too chipper for Mike at the moment. “Some son-of-a-bitch Mustang just blew by me on the Meadowview going ninety-fucking-two,” he growled.
    Logan drew back slightly in his folding chair. “Damn. You catch him?”
    Mike raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I caught him?”
    “Oh.” Logan left it at that, since he knew how Mike felt about speeders, and reckless people in general.
    Pushing through the door into the station, Mike was glad to see things mostly quiet, empty—only Chief Tolliver sat at his desk doing paperwork, and he lifted hishand in absent greeting, raising his eyes only briefly. “Mike,” he murmured.
    “Walter,” Mike returned—then planted himself at his own desk, where he signed on to his computer to contact the Ohio State Highway Patrol with what little information he had about the car. Who knew what they’d find in the master Bureau of Motor Vehicles database without even a partial on the plate, but on the other hand, how many purple Mustangs could there be in the area?
    Half an hour later, it turned out the answer was none. No purple Mustangs anywhere nearby. But there were a considerable number of hits statewide, and when he ran an inquiry through the Law Enforcement Automated Data System, he found out a purple Mustang had been stolen from a Cleveland suburb a couple of weeks ago. Hmm. He’d lay odds he’d just chased that same car up the Meadowview.
    Maybe he was assuming too much, but his cop’s gut instincts had told him almost instantly there was something more at work here than just a wild joyride. Something…worrisome. Shit.
    Taking a deep breath, Mike e-mailed the jurisdiction where the stolen Mustang was registered, to let them know of the possible sighting. And upon closing the database, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh, glad the chief was too immersed in work across the room to notice his mood.
    Then he caught a glimpse of the picture of Anna he still kept on his desk. It had been taken one Easter—she stood in the yard wearing a lacy white dress.
    Somehow, at a moment like this, the very sight of her, looking so happy and carefree, so innocent, stole his breath. She’d had no idea, no idea at all what was coming. None of them had.
    And he thought, as he did at some point every single day, of all the bad things happening in the world that hewas powerless to stop. He kept trying—he tried with everything