Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection DetailHidden AgendaBroken Silence Page 43

  The breeze intensified, blowing strands of hair against Amber’s cheeks. Reaching up, she tucked them behind her ear and attempted to remain calm and put on a good face. But one look at Patrick’s strong, chiseled features and her stomach did an irrational juvenile tumble. “Well, I appreciate both of your efforts to solve the case.” She glanced at her watch. This little tête-à-tête was going nowhere. “Look at the time. I should get going.”

  “You haven’t even finished your dessert.” Kim shot her a questioning glance.

  “Sorry. I still have things to do tonight and I’m not very hungry.” At least not anymore. Amber abandoned her coffee on the table, and as she launched to her feet, her knee banged into the table leg, sending her cup crashing onto the brick pavers. Curious glances shot her way.

  Amber sucked in a gasp and stumbled forward as searing pain shot through her knee and it buckled. Her ability to stand was further compromised as she tripped over her messenger bag that had slid from her shoulder.

  “Amber!” Patrick called out as his strong arms wrapped around her, catching her before she hit the ground.

  Patrick’s solid arms kept her steady but sent her heart into palpitations. She stiffened against him, working to catch her breath as the familiar scent of his aftershave wrapped around her senses. Calm never seemed possible again.

  “Are you okay?” Patrick slanted her a wary look, probably wondering why she was gasping for air like a beached trout.

  She gazed into his dark eyes and nodded, her cheeks hot. “Yes, just clumsy.”

  Kim jumped up, grabbed a chair and scooted it forward. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Amber waved off any help as her sense of equilibrium returned. She pulled out of Patrick’s hold and willed her heart to slow.

  She took a step; glass crunched. She glanced down and noticed the broken china at her feet. “Oh, dear, I better clean that up.” She reached for some napkins, but Patrick grabbed a handful first.

  “I can get it.”

  Amber’s pulse kicked higher as she watched Patrick, who was down on one knee, pick up shattered glass and wipe up the puddle of coffee. “Thank you for doing that.”

  “No problem.” He easily grinned.

  Her chest went tight at his sense of chivalry. So attentive and helpful. When was the last time she’d met a guy like Patrick Wiley?

  Never.

  Suppressing a sigh, she picked up her large tote, clutched it to her side and pulled her focus back on her plans to get going.

  As Patrick got to his feet, he sent her a nod. “How’s your knee?”

  “Better.” She smiled and said, “Thank you again for taking care of the mess.”

  Before he could comment, she whirled around. “Good night, everyone.” She left with a little parting wave, sending Kim a reassuring smile. “We’ll talk soon.”

  Amber hiked the strap of her bag on her shoulder and headed down the sidewalk in the direction of her car, wincing at the sharp pain in her knee and doing her best to avoid limping while hoping her sutures stayed intact.

  As she made a turn onto Mulberry Street, she heard someone behind her. She hated feeling paranoid, but the sound of heavy boots clapping against the pavement made her pulse race. She quickened her gait, her eyes pointed forward.

  The boot steps accelerated, moving closer, then came up directly behind her. She was suddenly struck with an eleven-year-old memory. Her pursuer’s thudding footsteps the night she was attacked. So quickly he came at her and once he grabbed her—

  A hand caught her arm and panic exploded in her chest. As a silent scream ballooned in her throat, she wheeled around, adrenaline surging…and saw Patrick. Catching her breath and willing her heart to slow, she felt equal parts disappointment and relief.

  “Amber, what happened back there?”

  “Back at the café?” She pulled away and started walking again, trying to regulate her breathing. “Do you mean why I left?”

  Patrick kept pace with her. “You didn’t just leave. You took off like a scared jackrabbit.”

  So she had been that obvious? Amber didn’t slow down, but cast a sidelong glance his way. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just have a lot on my mind.” Patrick Wiley included.

  “I understand that you don’t like to dwell on what happened, but the truth is, a bomb blew up your car and we need to figure out who did it.”

  Even on his night off, didn’t this man rest? “I understand your need to investigate the crime, Patrick. I just didn’t expect to see you when you’re off duty.”

  Patrick continued walking beside her. “Well, I thought you’d like to meet Liza, since she’s working on the case with me.”

  “I don’t want to seem unappreciative. I’m just holding out hope that this whole ordeal will blow over soon.”

  “That’s all of our wishes. But in the meantime, we need to work together.”

  Obviously an easy feat for him, but for her… Well, not so easy.

  Amber stopped at the street corner, waiting for the light to change green. Eyes forward, heart thumping, flustered that Patrick stood so close.

  She could feel the intensity of his gaze and the tension sizzling like electricity between them.

  “I feel as if we’re missing something,” Patrick said after a moment. “Some vital component to this crime that’s right under our noses. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

  Guilt swamped her. She felt blood rush to her cheeks, probably turning them the color of the red glowing traffic light. She had a million things to tell him. But not here. Not now. And not about the bombing incident. She sent him a glance and fought not to squirm under his speculative gaze.

  “Patrick, honestly, the whole bombing thing baffles me as much as it does you. If that changes, I promise to call.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, his brow furrowed. “Okay. Let me walk you to your car.”

  “No need. I’m just in the parking garage across the street.” The light changed. “Have a good night.” With a wave, she broke into a jog, refusing to look back.

  A half hour later, Amber pulled into her driveway as the night sky twinkled to life. Five steps took her to her covered front porch. As she plunged the key into the lock, her mind was already plotting her evening. Number one on her list: narrow down the fund-raiser’s agenda and finish working on the speech she’d started.

  She blew out a breath. Good thing she’d left the café when she did.

  Once inside, she flipped on the hall lights and locked the dead bolt.

  Creak.

  The sound split the silence, sending an icy tendril of fear skipping up her spine. Amber froze. Fisting her ring of keys, she held her breath, cocked her head to listen, hoping it was nothing. Ten…twenty seconds, then a floorboard creaked again.

  A footstep!

  Nerves sputtering, Amber whirled around as her brain maniacally chanted, Get out of here!

  The lights flickered a split second before the power went out, thrusting her in total darkness.

  The rush of blood pounding in her ears merged with the thud of approaching footsteps. Frantically, she grabbed for the dead bolt. As she untwisted the lock, a steely, gloved hand grabbed on to her wrist.

  “You’re not going anywhere!” the man barked as he whipped her around and jerked her hard against his muscular chest.

  The bloodcurdling scream scuttling up her windpipe quickly abated when a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Amber, it has been a long time,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, distorted. He tightened his hold on her.

  She desperately clawed at her memory, trying to recognize the gruff voice. Nothing registered.

  “Yes, long enough, dear, for you to forget. And if you had been smart, you would have.”

  Forget what? Her attempt to make sense of the man’s words was interrupted by his husky growl in her ear. “Eleven years of silence. Now you’re an advocate for assault victims. Do you really think you c
an make atonement for past regrets?”

  Panic seized Amber as clarity seeped into her brain. Her assailant was back. He knew she was speaking at the Silence No More fund-raiser and feared her story would go public. Immediately, she began to fight—she kicked out her legs, and her body bucked against his. She screamed into his hand, but it was cut off, coming out as a squeak.

  Muscled arms tightened around her, crushing her lungs, stopping air flow. “Remember, Amber, some secrets are best taken to the grave.” His garbled whisper was hot and fast on her neck.

  As her lungs struggled for a breath, she clawed at the man’s hand hard enough that he slackened his grip from her mouth. She then spluttered, “I don’t even know who you are.”

  His harsh laugh jarred her eardrums.

  He didn’t believe her. A jolt of disbelief morphed into terror, catapulting her back to a dark and cold frat house bedroom. This man was here to kill her.

  Fear suddenly dissolved into rage. No way was she going to let him take her life.

  From deep inside her, survival instincts kicked into gear. Biting her lip, she kicked the heel of her shoe into his shin, then jerked back her head so it connected with his jaw.

  “You little—” His wail pierced the air.

  With dreadful memories spurring her on, Amber broke away. She spun around, lifted the pepper spray on her key chain and sprayed the man in the face.

  He stumbled back, hitting the wall with a thud.

  Gasping and dizzy, Amber burst out the front door and into the street.

  *

  Patrick climbed into his SUV, and before he even started the vehicle a shrill ping on his cell phone announced the arrival of a new text message. He grabbed his handset from the clip on his belt and read the text from Liza.

  Enjoyed tonight. Let’s do it again soon.

  “Let’s not.” Patrick shook his head. It was impossible to just be friends with the woman. He clicked off the phone and tossed it on the seat beside him.

  Another ping.

  Really. Ignoring the pesky tone, Patrick plunged the key into the ignition and fired up the powerful V8.

  A third ping.

  “Relentless woman.” Debating whether to silence it, he grabbed the cell phone and glanced at the message. It wasn’t from Liza. It was Amber.

  The police are swarming my house. Someone had broken in and was waiting for me when I got home. Apparently the bomb was meant for me after all.

  Frustration exploded in Patrick’s chest. Yanking the gearshift into Reverse, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Amber’s house. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

  He scrolled through the contacts on his phone, punched on Amber’s name.

  “Come on. Come on.” Patrick turned down a side street, taking a shortcut, waiting for her to answer.

  Finally, “Hello.”

  “Amber?”

  “No, this is Kim, a friend—”

  “Kim, this is Patrick Wiley. I met you this evening.”

  “The detective?”

  “Yes. Where’s Amber?”

  “She’s talking to some of the officers here. Don’t worry, she’s okay.”

  Thank You, God. “I’ll be right there.”

  Someone cut in front of him and he leaned on the horn, the thrum of blood pounding in his ears. Ten minutes later he slammed on his brakes and nosed his SUV in between two patrol cars outside Amber’s bungalow.

  As soon as his boots hit the pavement, he saw her. Surrounded by a handful of patrol officers, she stood there with her arms locked around her waist, her face expressionless beneath the glow of police flashlights.

  Patrick approached the small group. His jaw tightened along with his fist when he thought about someone trying to harm her. Even after eleven years, he felt a need to protect her.

  “What do you know, Gil?” Patrick directed his question at one of the officers.

  “It seems somebody broke into Miss Talbot’s house. Got in through the laundry room window. He was waiting for her when she got home.” He nodded toward Amber. “Fortunately, she got away without being hurt.”

  Patrick’s gaze bounced to Amber. “Did you get a look at him?”

  Amber shook her head. “No, the lights were off and it was too dark.”

  “So her attacker got away?” Patrick asked the officer.

  Gil removed his hat, scratched at his sparse hairline. “Yes, sir. Once Miss Talbot got away from him, the crook didn’t hang around. But we’ve got the forensics team working on fingerprints.”

  “Good.” Although Patrick wouldn’t hold his breath. Criminals today were savvy. Too many seasons of CSI. Whoever was after Amber meant business and wouldn’t be careless.

  “And Roberts and his team have their dogs out scouring the area,” Gil added.

  Patrick nodded. “Have you gotten a complete statement from Miss Talbot?”

  “Yes, sir, we did.”

  “Then I’ll take it from here. Thanks for your work, guys.”

  The group started to disperse, leaving Amber standing beside him.

  “How are you doing?” He draped his arm around her shoulder, breaking his own rule on getting personal with victims. But he had to admit, for the second time in one day, it felt good having Amber in his hold.

  Amber shuddered slightly beneath his touch, but didn’t pull away. “I’ve had better evenings.”

  He was experiencing the same feeling. “Do you have a new revelation on why someone would want to hurt you?”

  After an endless moment, Amber took a deep, quavering breath and nodded weakly. “Yes.”

  Patrick raised a brow. Now they were getting somewhere.

  FOUR

  A corner booth at the Riverside Café was the most private place Amber could think of to talk to Patrick. She no longer felt safe in her home and didn’t feel comfortable going to the police department—Patrick’s stomping ground. The private matter she had to discuss with him was better said in a neutral environment, over a cup of coffee.

  That was if there even was a good place.

  Thankfully, Patrick agreed to hold any questions until after they arrived.

  Amber dropped her bag on the booth seat and scooted in beside it. Patrick settled into the seat across the table from her, and his gaze, full of questions, met hers. He was waiting for her to tie up the loose ends of the case. She inhaled slowly to calm her nerves.

  Patrick propped both elbows on the table, clasped his hands. “So you think you know who your attacker is?”

  “Yes and no.” She adjusted herself in her seat, the vinyl squeaking beneath her, as she gave a slight shrug.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve lost me already.”

  Not a surprise. The breath she’d just sucked in sputtered out in a rush, snarling her nerves again. She was grateful that the waitress arrived to take their orders.

  “You guys know what you want?”

  “Amber.” Patrick gestured to her.

  Forgoing her usual favorite, a decaf latte, she ordered a nice, strong cup of black brew. Somehow she felt as though she’d need it.

  “I’ll take the same.” Patrick nodded at the waitress, then turned his gaze back on Amber. “Why don’t you start at the beginning.”

  A wave of emotion burned in Amber’s eyes. The beginning. He made it sound so simple. She took a slow breath, feeling the heat of his gaze on her, but finding it difficult to meet the dark cop stare. Persistent. Unwavering. No doubt, he was successful in the art of interrogation for suspects and criminals alike. He’d always had a knack for being perceptive. It was impossible to keep things from him.

  That was why she couldn’t have stuck around after being attacked at the frat party. And here she was eleven years later having to explain that to him.

  She placed a finger to her temple and rubbed where a dull pain started to thump.

  “Amber.” By the coaxing in his voice it was evident he was waiting for answers. Answers he deserved. Not because
he was the detective on her case, but because he was the man she used to love.

  Amber met his gaze, trying to stay calm and downplay the agony roiling inside her. “The man who attacked me tonight mentioned something that sent me back eleven years.”

  “Eleven years?” Patrick’s jaw visibly tightened, telling her she’d hit a nerve. “And what would that be?”

  Amber breathed deep again, before she went on, “He said some secrets are best taken to the grave.”

  “Secrets?” Patrick leaned in, an edge of curiosity in his tone. “What kind of secrets?”

  “A very difficult secret…” Her voice dropped several octaves as a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it back.

  A little pool of silence engulfed the booth. She was trying to keep it together and best phrase her thoughts without stirring up more emotion between her and Patrick. But as she looked back into her past, neither the horror of her attack nor the shame she’d suffered since seemed good enough reason for her decision to keep what had happened that night from him. Not even her concern over how he would react when he heard the story.

  She looked up and Patrick’s gaze linked with hers, causing her to sit up straighter and stiffen her spine. It was time to get this over with. She opened her mouth, then closed it as the waitress plunked their coffee down on the table.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “No,” they both said in unison.

  “Thank you, though,” Amber added.

  “No problem.” The waitress spun away, and Amber picked up her coffee, reaching for courage that still eluded her.

  “Please continue.” Patrick’s coffee sat untouched, steam rising from the cup. He sat back in the booth and folded his arms.

  A searing sensation washed over her eyes. She blinked, keeping the tears at bay, wishing she could do the same with the darkened memories. But there was no going back. “Patrick, before I get into this, I want you to know that you were the last person I ever wanted to hurt.”

  The perplexed look was back.

  Guilt ate at her. This was Patrick’s investigation. And here she was, about to put a personal spin on the case.