Cold Pursuit Read Free

junkyard, but they’d enjoyed the setting—the woods, the lake, the hills. They’d hiked, fished, gone canoeing, read books in the quiet.
    That was before Jo’s bad week. She doubted any of her fellow Secret Service agents would head to Vermont anytime soon, even if she did fix up the cabins.
    She avoided looking at the iron four-poster bed in the alcove—it was the same bed she and Elijah had found so useful fifteen years ago.
    â€œHow long are you planning to stay?” he asked.
    â€œUntil the dust settles in Washington.”
    Jo bent down and grabbed the bananas from the top of her box. How long would she be here? As she stood up straight again, she tried not to wince in front of Elijah, a matter of personal pride, but she knew she’d failed.
    â€œStill hurting?” he asked with no detectable amusement or sarcasm.
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œBaking soda and water might help.”
    Now she detected a note of amusement and sarcasm. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
    She had heard every conceivable homemade remedy in the past seventy-two hours, ever since she’d fallen victim to a prank orchestrated by the sixteen-year-old son of the vice president of the United States. Charles Preston Neal was a notorious handful. He had invited his cousins and friends over to the madhouse that was the vice president’s residence for an elaborate simulated firefight with realistic-looking fake weapons. Jo was assigned to Marissa Neal, the eldest of Charlie’s four older sisters, who lived nearby and was there for a visit.
    Five minutes into their firefight, Charlie had pointed at his cousin Conor, who was about to shoot, and yelled, “I think it’s a real gun!”
    Jo had reacted instantly, jumping into action to save Charlie and his friends from possible injury or death. But the “weapon” turned out to be another of the authentic-looking toy pistols and rifles in the boys’ extensive arsenal. She’d intercepted a barrage of airsoft pellets zipping toward Charlie and took the dozens of tiny, fake rounds meant for him.
    Trying to live down the spray of pinprick welts on her left arm, side and hip would have been bad enough, but Charlie had collapsed in hysterical laughter, and that was it. Jo pulled him up by the ear and gave him an uncensored piece of her mind.
    That was what one of his cousins or friends—no one knew which one—had secretly captured on video and put on the Internet.
    Hence, today’s drive up to Vermont.
    Vice President Neal had mandated the boys all take a police-sanctioned safety course if they were to have any more simulated battles in the backyard, and he’d personally sat them down at the kitchen table and had them write notes of apology to Jo. There was no telling how many of them were in on the prank, but Charlie clearly was the ringleader.
    But the damage was done. The video was out there forever, with Secret Service Special Agent Jo Harper grabbing the vice president’s son by the ear and giving him a piece of her mind.
    Not one of the finer moments in her career.
    Marissa Neal was sympathetic, having fallen victim to her brother’s pranks herself. Jo’s quick action a few weeks earlier had saved Marissa from severe burns and possibly death when a gas stove had exploded in a cabin she and friends had rented in the Shenandoah Mountains. A simple accident. It wasn’t publicized, much less splashed over the Internet.
    â€œDyeing your hair these days, Jo?”
    She frowned at Elijah. “What?”
    â€œI like the copper,” he said, then nodded to the flowers. “That must explain Charlie’s choice of colors for your lilies. They go with your hair.”
    â€œHe has an IQ of a hundred and eighty. He knows how to manipulate people.”
    â€œMaybe he has a crush on you.”
    â€œI doubt that.”
    The youngest of five and the only son of a busy, popular vice president, Charlie was