Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection DetailHidden AgendaBroken Silence Page 46

  Patrick’s hackles rose at the mention of Amber stumbling around. How many others that night assumed she’d had too much to drink? No one helped her, but someone definitely tried to take advantage of her. “So tell me, Carl, when you finished razzing Amber, what happened to her? Did she pass out? Leave the party? What?”

  Shaking his head, Carl shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, there were a lot of people there. I don’t even recall seeing her after that.”

  “Did you ever hear anything about her afterward?”

  Carl took a moment and then shrugged again, his bushy eyebrows low. “No, not that I can think of. Well, actually,” he quickly amended, “I did hear that you guys broke up. Not that I was surprised, with her out partying like she was without you.” He jutted a thick finger at Patrick. “You guys back together?”

  Suddenly cold all over, Patrick felt the fine hairs on his neck spike. He was equally surprised and annoyed by the question and even more so by his reaction to it. He took a deep breath, putting his erratic emotions on hold. Something he’d have to deal with later.

  “No, Amber and I are not back together.” His tone had more bite than he intended. “However, I am the investigator on her case.”

  With a chuckle, Carl spread his hands, palms out. “Hey, I get it. Too personal.”

  He felt as if a fist had gripped his chest at Carl’s flippant attitude. Then he saw it for what it was—a cheap attempt at diverting the conversation. That was not happening. “So, Carl, besides you, who else was harassing Amber at the party that night?”

  “Harassing? Patrick.” Carl’s laugh was dry. “We never harassed her. We were just having a little fun.”

  At Amber’s expense. Patrick’s annoyance intensified. The muscles in his arms bunched. “Who are you referring to when you say we?”

  Carl gave an offhand shrug. “Bruce Austin and Randall Becker. That’s about it.”

  As expected. “Do you recall if either of them was ever alone with Amber? Or maybe offered to take her home?”

  He shook his head. “We all stayed together. We actually ended up going to another party down the street later that night.”

  Patrick wasn’t buying it. “So what’s up with Randall these days? Do you see much of him?”

  Carl hesitated for a split second then shook his head again. “Actually, I haven’t seen much of Randall since college. After Bruce passed, well, we sort of lost touch.” Carl spoke calmly, but his eyes and face couldn’t hide his discomfort. “What’s going on with Amber anyway?”

  There he went again, diverting the conversation. Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Someone attacked Amber the night of the frat party, and we have reason to believe that person may be after her now.”

  Carl jerked away from the pillar, his body rigid. “And you think I might be involved?”

  Patrick didn’t answer that. Instead, he put on a crooked smile and met Carl’s eyes. “I’m just trying to get the facts together, Carl.”

  Relaxing his stance some, Carl nodded and carefully averted his gaze. “Good. Because I’m not privy to anything that happened to Amber Talbot eleven years ago or anything that’s going on now. But I’m glad you’re on the case. I have no doubt you’ll catch whoever’s been harassing her.”

  Harass. An interesting choice of words. Patrick gave Carl a firm pat on the shoulder before he turned to leave. “Rest assured, Carl, we’re keeping an eye on everyone who had any contact with Amber that night. Including you.”

  *

  Amber stapled the last Silence No More fund-raiser packet of information together. Settling back in her office chair, she flipped through one, skimming the list of vendors and pricing details while waiting for her colleagues Tony and Pam to arrive. She’d spent weeks compiling the data and it felt good to finally be finished.

  By the time Tony walked into her office she had read through everything and was jotting a note, reminding herself to schedule a meeting with Penny, the community center’s event planner, to firm up the agenda for the evening. Things were finally coming together—at least on paper.

  Holding a half bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, Tony settled into an armchair across from her, crossed one leg over his knee. “Afternoon, Amber.” Before she could return the greeting, he lifted a brow. “It is a good afternoon, isn’t it?”

  “So far.” Amber smiled. “No bombs or lurking bad guys. And plans for the fund-raiser are falling into place.”

  “That’s great,” Tony said around a mouthful of bagel. He washed it down with a swig of coffee. “You seem as if you’re doing better, too. Good attitude in spite of the chaos going on in your life.”

  “I’m trying.”

  He lifted his cup in a toast. “Good for you. But if you need to talk, you know I’m here for you.”

  She nodded. It was a blessing to have Tony on staff at Safe Harbor. He was a true asset.

  “Hope I’m not late.” Pam Ralston poked her head into the office, a little out of breath. She worked part-time and was notoriously late. With two small kids and a pastor husband, she always had more to do than she had time for. Still Amber was happy to have her on staff.

  “We’re just getting started. Come on.” Amber waved her in.

  Pam took the chair beside Tony.

  Amber handed them each a stapled packet. “This is an updated list of vendors, caterers, advertisers and such for the fund-raiser. I’ve also added names and contact information for the speakers and volunteers.”

  “Looks as though you have everything covered,” Pam said, flipping through the packet.

  Amber leaned in, folding her hands on the desk. “The itinerary for the evening is on the last page.”

  “Nice lineup.” Tony nodded.

  “Wait a minute.” Pam caught Amber’s gaze. “Your name isn’t listed. Keynote speaker, right?”

  “I’m still undecided on the right time to speak. Before dinner? After?” Amber tried to answer casually, although knowing someone from her past didn’t want her to speak at all dampened her enthusiasm.

  “Are you still considering sharing your story?” Tony always zeroed in on the heart of her issues. As if he could read her mind.

  Amber gave a quick shrug.

  Originally she’d planned a simple, informative talk. One that focused on recovery and preventative safety and shared her team’s treatment styles and community resources. She’d tossed around the idea of sharing her own story. But what would be the point? Every victim in the audience understood abuse.

  But now with her darkest memories exposed, maybe she should reconsider.

  Anxiety twisted her stomach like a pretzel.

  Then again, maybe not. She remembered how difficult it had been to open up to Tony a few weeks ago. Talking about that part of her life still wasn’t easy.

  “Why don’t you speak while the bids are being tallied for the silent auction?” Pam suggested.

  “That would be perfect, right before dessert.” Tony grinned. “You’ll still have a full house. Nobody leaves before cheesecake.”

  Amber laughed and grinned back at him. “Sounds good. At least I’ll know you’ll still be there.” As she penciled it in on her itinerary, Pam added, “Hopefully by the fund-raiser, your elusive stalker worries will be over.”

  Pam’s comment brought Amber back to reality. The fund-raiser was in less than two weeks. What if her worries weren’t over by then?

  “Yes, let’s hope so, Pam.” Amber kept writing, her eyes trained on her paper as she scribbled more notes than were necessary, trying to regroup, think positively.

  She couldn’t remember ever working so hard or so long. Ten months of planning had gone into this fund-raiser. It had taken her weeks just to find someplace to hold it after talking to umpteen venues trying to secure the best prices. And she couldn’t forget advertising. Brochures and pamphlets, stopping by businesses, making phone calls. Gritting her teeth, she scribbled harder.

  The last thing she wanted was to postpo
ne the fund-raiser.

  “You okay, Amber?” Tony’s calm voice snapped her back.

  She looked up and caught both Tony and Pam staring at her. “Sorry. Just a little reality-check moment. I still can’t believe what’s happening to me. If the bomb and being attacked in my own home weren’t enough, now I have the fund-raiser on the line.”

  “Amber, if you have to postpone, it’s not the end of the world.” Pam sat at the edge of her seat. “You can always reschedule for fall.”

  “Fall?” She gritted her teeth, glancing between Pam and Tony. “I ordered pastel decor and blooming plants to use for centerpieces. Spring is a time for new beginnings.”

  “Whatever happens, kiddo,” Tony assured her, “you’ll make the best of it, you know that.”

  Yes, Amber sighed. She would get through this, unless of course, somebody killed her first. Rocking back in her seat, she pushed her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t help but laugh at her sad predicament.

  “Amber, I’m worried about you.” Tony’s low, measured voice usually soothed her, but not now. Disappointment and fear nibbled at her.

  Amber rocked forward and shook her head. “Don’t be worried about me. I’m going to be okay. A little frazzled, but okay. But until further notice, I prefer not to think about or discuss postponing the fund-raiser.”

  Her colleagues exchanged a look, but both agreed without protest. Amber breathed a little easier. She wasn’t giving up yet. Two weeks gave Patrick plenty of time to hunt down the perpetrator.

  She hoped.

  *

  When Patrick arrived at Coastal Karate School, he saw Randall Becker approaching the building from the opposite end of the parking lot. Tall and lean with chin-length dark curls, he looked about the same as he did in high school, outside of a few extra pounds of rock-solid muscle.

  Leaning against his vehicle, Patrick crossed his arms and waited, finding it ironic that a kid who’d lost more fights than he’d won in high school was now a martial arts expert.

  Randall passed Patrick with barely a glance. He stepped onto the sidewalk leading to the school.

  Patrick pushed away from his SUV and started toward him. “Good afternoon, Randall.”

  A second’s hesitation, then Randall pivoted around, his face like stone. “Patrick Wiley?” He shook his head. “So that was you. I’d hoped I was seeing things.”

  Patrick held his stare. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Yeah, right.” Randall scowled back at him, shoving his hands on his hips. “What can I do for you, Wiley?”

  Unlike Carl Shaw, Randall Becker wasn’t the type to waste time or words on being cordial. Rather, he jumped to the point. A behavior Patrick actually preferred over superficial geniality.

  “Actually, I have a couple questions for you.” Patrick started to flash his badge.

  “I get it.” Randall held up a hand and snickered. “Who would have guessed? The rising track star is now part of the cop squad.”

  “Gotta make a living.” Patrick forced a small smile. “Can we talk someplace private?”

  Randall’s left eyebrow raised. “About?”

  “Attempted murder.”

  His eyes turned cold. “What are you getting at, Wiley?”

  Patrick glared back, unblinking. “The questions I have for you aren’t really appropriate to discuss in the parking lot of your school.”

  Randall huffed with disgust, turned and stalked toward the building, then jerked open the door. “Let’s go.”

  Patrick accompanied him past several windowed studios where children of various ages dressed in martial arts garb eagerly practiced kicks and sparred while parents looked on. Across the hall, adults showed off more complex and powerful karate moves.

  “Looks like a thriving business,” Patrick said, following Randall down a short hall.

  “It’s been a lot of hard work.” Randall stopped and unlocked a door. “So whatever you’re here for, let’s make it quick. I’ve got a class to teach.”

  Patrick followed Randall inside. The interior of the office reeked of musty sneakers and cheap cologne. Boxes of karate uniforms and fighting gear crowded the perimeter of the limited floor space. And a card table, serving as a makeshift desk, sat in the middle of the clutter, along with two white plastic chairs.

  Randall gestured impatiently. “Have a seat and let’s get this over with.”

  Patrick settled into one chair and Randall plopped onto the other, straddling it. Plunking his elbows on the seat back, he glared at Patrick, his dark eyes sparking with annoyance. “Okay. What do you want?”

  “I’m here to discuss a particular college frat party.”

  “Frat party?”

  “Yes. One that your fraternity put on. It took place the end of your freshman year.”

  A shrug, then a smirk. “We hosted parties all the time.”

  “I’m talking about an end-of-the-year bash. Freshman year,” Patrick reiterated. “It was a pretty big deal. A lot of people attended.”

  Patrick sat back and waited for Randall to answer. He could imagine the wheels turning in that thick skull of his. Trying to fend off suspicion by not reacting too quickly. Patrick knew his type well.

  Suddenly, Randall’s mouth twitched into a humorous grin. “Amber Talbot. Party-girl extraordinaire. Is that what this is about?”

  Anger fisted tight in Patrick’s gut at Randall’s smug expression. It took all his control not to launch out of the chair and wipe that smirk off Randall’s face. “Tell me what happened to Amber that night.”

  Randall lifted a shoulder in an offhanded shrug. “What’s to tell? She showed up. Mingled around and drank too much.”

  Patrick’s mouth tightened at his assumption. “You saw her drinking?”

  Randall lifted a brow, paused. “I wasn’t paying that close attention, but I saw the results. She was stumbling around, not making any sense.”

  Disgust twisted tighter in Patrick’s stomach. “You may have assumed too much.”

  Randall’s eyebrows snapped together. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Somebody may have drugged Amber that night.”

  “Drugged?” Randall’s smugness eased up some, but his mouth stayed in a straight, rigid line. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Never heard any rumors? We both know guys talk.”

  Randall tipped the chair forward on two legs. “I heard nothing then, and I don’t know what’s going on with Amber now. I read the news. She obviously got on someone’s bad side.”

  “Or maybe someone is afraid history will be revealed.”

  “What kind of history?” Randall’s mouth puckered.

  “Incriminating history.”

  “What do you think you have on me, Wiley?”

  Patrick waited a beat, gave a thin smile. “Like I said, Randall, I’m just asking questions. I’m not pointing fingers.”

  Randall came up out of his seat, the chair slamming to the ground. “Listen here, Wiley.” He jabbed a finger in the air. “Whatever happened or is happening with Amber Talbot doesn’t involve me.”

  Patrick stood, also. “One more question, then. Are you still friends with Carl Shaw?”

  A short pause, then Randall shook his head. “No. Why?”

  “Just trying to piece things together.”

  Randall gave Patrick a hard look, his teeth gritted. “Wiley, don’t play games with me. Now that you’ve got a little power, you better not be trying to get back at me for something—”

  “This isn’t personal, Randall.” Patrick held up a hand. “I’m just doing my job.”

  Randall screwed up his face. “Job or not, I want you to know I’ve got my act together now. I’m a black belt master and I own my own business. I can’t afford for my name to get tied to anything criminal.”

  Patrick nodded. “Let’s hope it won’t have to be.”

  SEVEN

  At five o’clock, Amber checked her emails one last time before powering down the compu
ter as if it was just another day at work.

  From the time she’d arrived that morning she’d been caught up in a flurry of activity. Her meeting with Tony and Pam and catching up with paperwork had prevented her from dwelling on the other major issues in her life. Like who was trying to kill her. And the way her heart pounded when Patrick Wiley was around.

  She’d never met another man that affected her that way, or maybe she’d been too busy wrestling with the past to notice. An unsettling thought.

  But even more disturbing, she’d never been bothered by the lack of romantic interests in her life. Until seeing Patrick again. He had seemed to move on just fine. Made a new life for himself. Something she had expected and regretted at the same time.

  Sooner or later, she hoped to do the same.

  Her phone rang and she picked it up. “Safe Harbor Counseling Center.”

  No answer.

  “Hello?”

  Click.

  Chills trickled up her spine and she shivered. That was the third hang-up today. She hung up the receiver. Everything had her antsy these days. Even a likely wrong number. She hated feeling as though she had to watch over her shoulder.

  Even worse, she hated thinking that someone was watching her. Waiting for an opportunity to—

  Enough. She tamped that thought down. It was hardly productive.

  While she breathed out a sigh, she picked up her bag and left her office. She walked into the lobby and Patrick was there, seated in a wing chair waiting for her.

  Nope. Nothing normal about this day.

  With a glance at Amber, Patrick set down the magazine he was reading and stood. “Well, hello there.”

  “Hi, Patrick.” Amber forced a nonchalant tone in her voice. “I thought we were meeting at the Riverside Café?”

  “I finished work a little early. I stopped by to see if you were still here, and Tony let me in on his way out.” Patrick moved around a potted plant and then closed the gap between them in two long strides.

  Amber nodded, her emotions skittering between gratitude and bewilderment. It was a testament to Patrick’s good character that his determination to catch her pursuer and keep her safe took precedence over even his free time.