Page 1 of Wicked Rush

Chapter One

Lars’ heart pounded in his chest as he swam through the icy Pacific. His palms stretched into the seawater, propelling him forward, a sweet burn radiating through his thighs. The sting of rising swells wasn’t enough to thwart the memory from playing through his mind. Nearly two months ago he’d been surfing with his colleague, Seth Termaine. A hail of gunfire had erupted from a cliff precipice, spraying across the beach and into the ocean. While he and Seth had avoided the bullets, they’d caught sight of a terrified brunette taking a direct hit to her shoulder.

Without hesitation, Lars had swum to shore. Running toward her, he’d fallen to his knees in the bloodstained sand. As another shot sounded, he’d scooped her up in his arms and sped toward an alcove in the cliff. Cradling her to his chest, he hid within the darkened cave. Laying her on the sand, he’d removed her jacket and located the puncture wound. Her fierce emerald eyes had blinked up at him. With his name on her trembling lips, she’d pleaded, ‘Lars, help me.’

Broken and beautiful, she’d succumbed to the impending loss of consciousness. As sirens blared in the breeze, he’d held onto her; minutes stretched like hours. When the medics had finally arrived, Lars had insisted on going in the ambulance, remaining by her side until they’d whisked her into surgery.

Lars had sat in the waiting room staring at his hands, the dried blood caked on his skin. He’d reluctantly accepted a warm washcloth from a nurse, who’d repeatedly encouraged him to get examined. Shaking her off, he’d stubbornly remained, steadfastly waiting on news of her condition. By the time the police had arrived, he’d composed himself, hiding his frustration that neither he nor Seth could provide a detailed description of the assailant.

While she’d survived the procedure to repair the tear in her artery, she’d contracted a hospital acquired sepsis infection, which had left her unresponsive for a few days. Never leaving her bedside, he’d willed the mysterious Jane Doe to heal. When she’d regained consciousness, a flicker of recognition registered in her eyes. The nurses immediately sprang into action, assessing her condition. Lars hadn’t been able to speak to her as the medical team hastily ushered him out of her room.

After calling into the office and catching up with his secretary, he’d returned to see her, but a hospital administrator had greeted him at her door. In a matter-of-fact tone, the perky businesswoman had explained he was no longer welcome. He couldn’t believe that after everything he’d done for her, she’d lie, not even as much as say thank you. The news sent him reeling. Although he’d explained that he’d donated millions to the facility, as the victim had claimed she didn’t know him, he had to leave.

Angry that she’d refused to talk to him, Lars had exited the building pissed as hell. He’d told himself the entire fucking mess was none of his business anyway. Whatever fleeting feelings he’d developed for the injured woman were nothing more than a false sense of responsibility. He told himself that despite saving her, he had no obligation to watch over her recovery. She has the finest doctors in the country. Not my fucking problem. Tomorrow he’d wake up, purge the memories of the attack from his mind and go back to business as usual.

As the weeks passed, curiosity turned to anger. With no answers from detectives, he’d sought help from his friend Dean, who was an assistant District Attorney. The victim had been identified as Dr. Braelynn Rollins, a prominent marine biologist. Dean explained the police investigation had been stalled. There was nothing more they could do to find the suspect. Neither Seth nor Lars could describe the shooter, and Dr. Rollins had been unable to name her attacker, claiming that it had been a random case of violence. Her car had been located a mile down Pacific Coast Highway, carefully parked and locked. No purse or keys had been found. Along the top of the cliff and on the beach, no evidence had been left by her attackers except for the tire marks left from the shooter’s car.

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Dean had told Lars, imploring him to move on and forget what had happened on the beach. He’d promised him he’d follow up with Dr. Rollins in another month to see if she remembered any other details.

Another frigid wall smacked over Lars’ head, breaking his rumination. Get your fucking shit together. Having swum the same San Diego shoreline for the past five years, he knew the dangers of swimming in the open ocean. He should have been paying attention to his surroundings instead of daydreaming. Lars trod water, assessing his location. Relieved to see the familiar beach from where he’d started his swim, he rode a wave toward the shore.

As his toes sank into the sand, he gave a wave to his friend Seth, who was chatting it up with a couple of blondes. Lars smiled but made no move to approach the trio as he unzipped his wetsuit and peeled it from his limbs. The taste of the saltwater fresh on his lips, he reveled in the warmth of the sun. He closed his eyes, breathing in the ocean mist.

Lars picked up the neoprene skin and set out to return to his car. He paused as his eyes caught sight of the cave that he’d deliberately avoided. The police had already searched the beach, he knew. But none of it made sense. Although he was obsessed with the truth, the cave reminded him of Braelynn. After she’d booted him from her hospital room, he preferred not to dwell on the beautiful face that had spurned his kindness. Yet as he put one foot in front of the other, he decided enough was enough. He needed to search for the missing clue to what had happened the day of the shooting. Braelynn Rollins had nearly died that day, and the perpetrator could have killed all of them.

As Lars entered the darkened crevice, the chill from the shaded tunnel caused gooseflesh to break across his skin. The bone-dry sand told him that the surf only reached up into the cave during high tide. He scanned the area for evidence, catching sight of a tiny crab scurrying off into obscurity. Falling onto his knees, he palmed the cliff, tracing his finger pads over the earth.

Lars spied a cracked sand dollar jutting up from the sand. His mom had always loved them when he was a kid, and he still couldn’t resist the temptation to collect the little treasures. Lifting it out of its gritty tomb, he inspected it. The brittle shell crumbled in his grip, and he opened his palm, letting the pieces float back to the ground. As he brushed off the remaining sand, a silver fleck caught his attention, and he reached for what he initially thought was broken oyster shell.

He rolled the grainy bit in his fingers and tugged on it, its weight resisting his grip. Excitement set in as the thinly braided string rose from its sandy tomb. A tiny metal object dangled from the end, and Lars pressed to his feet, surging toward the entrance so he could get a better look. It was only an inch long, but Lars was able to make out the shape of a tiny brass key. Its intricate pattern was easily discernable in the glaring sun. After running his fingers over the green corroded metal, he slid them along the cord. What he’d thought to be a shell was a small silver charm. Although the initials had been worn, he easily recognized the monogrammed inscription: BR.

Lars’ close friend and colleague, Garrett Emerson, CEO of Emerson Industries had insisted on seeing him. He sensed the impending lecture, but it wouldn’t deter him from his decision to investigate the shooting on his own.

“I know I should, but I can’t let it go.” Lars swirled the cognac and glared into the snifter.

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m merely suggesting that you need to get your shit together. You’re letting this eat you up,” Garrett told him. He gave a quick glance up to the stage, where a band was beginning to set up their equipment.

“I know this. But at the same time…I was shot at. I’ve got to know what happened.”

“Jesus Christ, already. It’s been a couple of months since you found the girl on the beach. I know you think she said your name, but did you ever think you might have heard her wrong? She told the police she didn’t know you. Nothing has gone down since the accident. Yeah, what happened sucks. You all were shot at, but it could easily be just what it looks like, a random act of violence.”

“She’s got a name.”

“You haven’t been on a dive for two months,” Garrett pressed.

“Dr. Braelynn Rollins.” Lars knew damn well he hadn’t been skydiving since the shooting. He’d been closing several million dollar contracts, and blamed business for interfering.

“What’s the fucking difference what her name is?”

“She is a person, that’s why.”

“Yeah, and so are you. Selby tells me you haven’t been going to work every day.”

“That’s bullshit. I’ve been offsite. She doesn’t even work for me full time anymore. She’s transferring over to Emerson. And no offense, G, but it’s none of her goddamned business what I do. Besides, DLar-Tech is thriving.”

“Seth told me you’ve been swimming every day.”

“Yeah, I have.”