Close To Danger (Westen #4)(15)

Someone had attacked her car. They’d been angry, at her. They’d wanted to hurt her.

Her heart started racing.

A shiver of fear ran over her body.

Followed by another. Then another. Until she was trembling uncontrollably.

Wes reached to the dashboard, turning the vents her way. He hit the heater button and blasted her with warmth. “Try to take some slow deep breaths. You’re going to have to get a handle on your panic yourself. I don’t have time to hold your hand like some high-priced diva.”

She swiveled her head around to stare at him open mouthed. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone knows lawyers are just self-centered divas. Wanting the center of attention all the time. Looking down on the rest of us. Feeling superior because you went to four extra years of school. Probably what got you into this mess in the first place.”

Chloe blinked. Anger shot through her. “How. Dare. You?” she bit out between clenched teeth. “Who do you think you are making judgements on me and my career like this?”

“I’ve dealt with all kinds of lawyers over the years. Not many of them make me respect your profession.”

“Oh, really? Name one?” Crossing her arms in front of her, she turned to glare at him.

“Gage’s ex.” He gave her a dead-pan look before returning to watching the road.

Chloe shook her head, “She doesn’t count. She’s a narcissistic psychopath.”

“My point.” He said with a shrug.

“You cannot base your entire opinion of my profession on the crazed antics of one woman. Lawyers and the legal profession help people. We help them solve problems. We’re the mediators when two sides are at conflict. We prosecute the guilty and we defend the innocent.”

“You also help criminals go free. You twist and turn things so the average person comes out on the short end of things.”

“I’ll admit that some of my colleagues don’t always do what’s just.”

“Some?” he scoffed.

“No one is perfect. Every profession has its good members and every profession has its sore spots.” She leaned in a little closer. “We both know there’s a history of bad cops causing problems for the good ones.”

“I didn’t say there wasn’t.” He let go of the steering wheel and laid his big warm hand on her leg. “Is the panic gone?”

“What?” she asked, then saw the corner of his lip lift. “You said those awful things on purpose. Just to get me mad.”

“Anger is much better than hyperventilating in a panic over something you can’t really control. Don’t you think?” He winked at her, squeezed her leg and let go. “Besides, I like the spark in your eyes when you’re pissed.”

She shook her head, opened her mouth, then slammed it shut again. Turning her attention back to the blackness outside the door window she let her ire fester for a few minutes. As it slowly faded down to an irritation level, she muttered, “You’re an ass, deputy.”

“Probably, but you’re no longer letting your fear grip you.”

“If you have nothing nice to say, it’s best to say nothing at all.” Bobby’s words from when she was a belligerent teenager sounded in her head. And right now, she had nothing nice to say to or about Wes Strong.

She leaned her head against the cool glass. Despite how irate she was at him, she had to admit he was right. Her panic was gone. Her breathing easier and her pulse back to a normal rate—well, normal for someone who wanted to sock the person in the driver’s seat really, really hard.

The lights in the housing divisions slowly gave way to long stretches of empty blackness, broken only by the flashes of light from on-coming lights on the south-bound lane of I-71. They were headed north.

Out of her peripheral vision she watched Wes turn on the radio and soft jazz music filled the SUV. The constant hum of the wheels on the pavement, the warmth of the cab worked with the music to slowly lull her into sleep.



Once Wes was sure Chloe had drifted off, he reached into the back seat and grabbed the blanket he always carried in his car during winter, along with the extra bottles of water, snack bars, emergency kit, and flashlights. In a Midwestern winter you never knew when you’d come across someone injured on the ice, or a snowstorm could strand you on the side of the road.

With one hand, he shook out the blanket and loosely draped it over Chloe, tucking it around her shoulder and hip. He resisted the urge to brush the wisps of her short dark hair off her face and run his knuckles over her cheek. Instead, he leaned to one side, shifted his smart phone into the GPS section of the dash, and typed in local super stores. Once he located one not too far from the interstate near Columbus, he leaned into the driver’s door and concentrated on driving.

He was certain no one had followed them from the restaurant. When he left Westen this morning he’d been planning to spend a day or two in Cincinnati trying to nail down the identity of the person stalking Chloe. It should’ve been simple. Spend some time shadowing her both physically and electronically until he found the perpetrator, then either put the fear of God into them, or make them disappear—legally.

Speaking of electronics. He reached into the giant bag by Chloe’s feet and fished out her cell phone.

He chuckled inwardly. Trust the lawyer to have a bag so organized, there was even a spot for her phone.