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

  Hopefully, his girlfriend didn’t mind.

  Another shiver came, skidding up her spine. She tamped it down and swallowed hard. “If you’d like, we can hang out here for a while and discuss the case. You probably want to get home and get some sleep after staying up all night in your car.”

  “Most of the night.” He grinned. “I caught a few winks. Besides, nothing a cup of coffee won’t fix. And with a lunatic on the loose, I expect a few more nights of surveillance will be in my future.”

  Amber winced at Patrick’s mention of spending more nights sitting in his SUV in front of Kim’s house, watching over her. It was his job to investigate, she got that, but making sure she was safe around the clock? Surely that wasn’t part of his job description. Then again, she remembered seeing on the news that the local police had been hit with a severe staffing shortage. Too few officers to do the job, and everyone worked overtime to fill the gaps.

  That explained it.

  Patrick’s attentiveness wasn’t personal. It was his job. Too bad he didn’t realize what doing his job did to her haywire emotions.

  She flipped back her hair, chagrin registering as she thought about that morning. Her guard had not only slipped, but also completely unraveled the moment Patrick had wrapped his strong arms around her.

  Wholeheartedly, she’d fallen into his embrace, reveling in the warmth of his touch and the protective feeling it brought. Albeit, her legs had been wobbly, literally quaking at the knees, but she still should have stepped away, kept her composure intact.

  “Okay, let’s go get that coffee, then.” She grabbed her keys from her purse. Obviously she was the sleep-deprived one.

  *

  Amber shut off the lights and headed for the door.

  As Patrick started to follow, three sharp pops lit the air, one after another. Glass shattered.

  Gunfire!

  Amber jerked back around with a shriek.

  “Get down!” Patrick yelled, but he didn’t wait. He barreled toward her, taking her to the ground himself.

  Another series of bullets whizzed through the plate glass, blowing out half the front window.

  For the first time in his life, sheer, cold terror infiltrated every vein and touched every nerve. His adrenaline shot to the red zone. Whoever this creep was, he wasn’t going to get his hands on Amber. “You need to get into the hallway,” he ordered. “Away from the glass.”

  The color drained from her face as her wide eyes locked on to his. “Okay.”

  Another round of shots blasted into the building.

  Patrick stayed beside her as they belly crawled deeper into the building, shielding her from the threat of more gunfire.

  Once there, he shoved his cell phone into her hand. “Call 9-1-1 and stay down. Tell them I need backup now, but no lights or sirens.”

  She nodded before she started punching the numbers.

  Cautiously raising himself up, Patrick slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, molded his fingers around his revolver.

  A fourth array of shots sent more splintered glass raining into the room.

  Staying low, Patrick edged to the door. Wedging himself between the doorjamb and wall, he kicked the door open and whipped out his weapon. This guy was his. He squinted, his vision searching the street and buildings beyond.

  Muffled sirens sounded, blaring closer. Too close. A second later, scores of squad cars roared from both directions, tires screeching against asphalt as they slammed to a stop in front of the counseling center.

  No way! Patrick gritted his teeth and beat a fist against the doorjamb, knowing the guy had hightailed it out of there.

  *

  At the police department, Patrick ushered Amber through the violent crimes investigation department under the speculative glances of the desk sergeant and other detectives, stopping when they arrived at the detective squad room.

  “I need to check on a couple things. You can have a seat in my office.” Patrick gestured toward a door marked Lead Detective Patrick Wiley. Any other day Patrick’s title would have impressed Amber, and she would have said so, but between the wave of nausea churning in her midsection and the mind-boggling numbness dulling her brain, her ability to stand, much less think, was sorely in jeopardy.

  “Thank you, I’ll wait in there.” She nodded, and then managed on shaky legs to walk in that direction while Patrick stepped aside to have a conversation with another officer.

  Once inside, Amber slipped off her jacket and sank into one of the worn vinyl armchairs opposite his desk and tried to ignore the chaos rumbling just outside the room. The chatter of detectives, phones ringing and keyboards clacking made for a cacophony of activity.

  Even after six in the evening, the staff stayed busy working to keep Savannah safe. Once this ordeal was over she’d have to write the department a nice letter telling them how much she appreciated their service.

  That was if over meant she’d still be around.

  A shiver snaked up her spine. Whoever was after her was persistent and cunning, which made her wonder what he had planned next.

  She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms and took in a deep, cleansing breath. Patrick was on it, looking at clues, trying to fit the pieces together even as she sat there.

  She only hoped that would be enough.

  Pushing that last thought aside, she tried to find the words to pray. If ever she needed God’s help, it was now. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited. No words came. Just the same oppressive sadness that never strayed far, holding her hostage since her world had imploded eleven years ago.

  She slumped down in her seat and shook her head. The feeling hammered home just how much her one mistake had cost her—a future with Patrick and her faith.

  Tears clogged her throat and she sniffed, knowing in about twenty seconds she was about to break down and cry. The last thing she wanted to do was wallow in that little black hole of regret her life had become.

  No. She toughened up, seizing on that regret and using it to fuel her determination to keep it together. She would not let that creep get to her.

  She was safe. For now that was enough.

  Somewhat better, Amber made a conscious effort to relax. Shifting against the cushions, she glanced around the room, taking in every detail. It was a rather small space, made smaller by the overflowing clutter. Besides Patrick’s oversize desk, dozens of boxes of evidence had been stacked to the ceiling, competing for floor space with mounds of law enforcement journals and boxed files marked Confidential. Two file cabinets, topped with folders and more paperwork, sat below the tall single window that provided a splash of sunlight through half-open blinds.

  The room definitely had a chaotic element, and it was about half the size and twice the clutter as in the movies. But this was the real deal. A detective’s office. Her detective.

  She bit back a sigh.

  After a few more moments, Patrick stepped into the room and closed the door. “Would you like some coffee? Or something to eat?”

  Adrenaline kept her heartbeat thumping. The last thing she needed was caffeine. Then again, it would be a long night. “Nothing to eat, but coffee would be nice.”

  Patrick circled his desk, plopped into the swivel chair and picked up the phone. He flicked a glance at her. “Cream, no sugar, right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Amber told herself it was of no significance that he remembered how she liked her coffee. She remembered that he liked his black, which meant nothing, either.

  Patrick settled back against the sturdy wood frame of his chair and folded his arms. “Let me bring you up to speed on what’s going on. Right now, forensics is at the scene trying to identify the bullets used. We’re also interviewing employees and patrons from the neighboring shops to see what they know.”

  She managed a nod.

  “And we’ve contacted everyone on the list you gave me this morning and got a statement from them.”

  Amber detected a tiny note of hope in his tone. She sat up strai
ghter. “Did they tell you anything that might help?”

  His eyebrows went up. “To be honest, most folks didn’t recall the party. And those who did had a vague memory at best. With the exception of your old roommate. She remembered you chatting with three guys at the party.”

  “So she substantiated my story?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “However, she was pretty oblivious about anything else that went on with you that night.”

  “She left for home early the next morning, before I was released from the hospital. I never told her what happened.” Amber’s heart sank. “So I guess your effort was a bust?” A pretty uneventful evening for everyone but her.

  Patrick gave an offhanded shrug. “Not necessarily. Her statement helps us, and as far as the others, sometimes people deny knowledge of something, then a guilty conscience entices them to call back.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Yes, it would.” Patrick nodded, and then added, “Regardless, we’re pushing forward, centering our focus on Randall and Carl. I spoke to both of them today.”

  Stress caused a little twist in her stomach at just hearing their names. “And what did they have to say?”

  “Exactly what I expected.” He gave her a subtle grin. “They both denied knowledge of anything.”

  The door swung open and a uniformed woman appeared. She handed one cup of coffee to Patrick and one to her. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Amber wrapped her palms around the cup, savoring the warmth, as the woman stepped back out.

  Patrick set his coffee aside, grabbed a laptop from his bag and powered it on. “I have something to show you.” He positioned the computer for her to see. “Liza, our criminologist, gathered some data about our two suspects, Randall and Carl.”

  Liza. Amber blew out an uneasy breath. The blonde date from last night.

  He typed in “Talbot File” and the tense knot in Amber’s midsection coiled tighter as a dozen pictures popped up on the screen. Black-and-white shots ranging from the parking lot crime scene taken minutes after the bombing, to her home, sectioned off with caution tape, and various rooms inside.

  She breathed a little easier when Patrick scrolled farther down the page and new photos came into view.

  “These are Randall’s and Carl’s senior photos. See if anything about them jogs your memory. Their build, their features. Anything.”

  Amber’s gaze skimmed each photo. Countless memories about that night were still vivid. Yet as many or more remained a blur in her mind. “Sorry. Nothing new jumps out at me.”

  “That’s okay.” Patrick nodded. “Take a good look at these.” He clicked on the mouse, enlarging the photos of Carl and Randall. Another click and recent shots of the men emerged onto the screen. “Then and now. Maybe you’ve seen one of them lurking around.”

  Amber stared at the screen. For the past eleven years she’d worked hard to block the memories. Rehashing them equaled pain, like slowly ripping a scab off a wound. Now here she was racking her brain, trying to give her attacker a name.

  “Well?” Patrick scooted his chair closer to his desk, hopefulness in his expression.

  “I don’t know.” Amber tilted her head and leaned in, studying each man more closely. Carl’s short cropped hair, broad smiling face, hollow stare. No one ever knew what he was thinking. Friendly, agreeable, hostile or argumentative, his mood changed depending on the company he kept. Randall, on the other hand, feared nothing. He spoke his mind without reserve, picked fights and was suspended more times than anyone in high school. Amber took in the loose dark curls that grew over his collar, his crooked smile, dark beady eyes.

  Her mind bounced from one thought to another as she forced herself to delve into her memory, searching for any snippet of information that would make either one of the men stand out.

  She sat back, shrugged. “Sorry, Patrick. Nothing.”

  The hopefulness in his expression faded, leaving nothing but murkiness in its wake. “Amber, dig deep,” Patrick persisted. “Think about that night. Wasn’t there something that stood out? A voice? A laugh? Anything?”

  Amber held Patrick’s gaze across the desktop, feeling strangely at a loss. Patrick wasn’t going to be happy until she gave him conclusive facts. Of which she had none. “Patrick—” she sighed “—so much of that night is still foggy. Honestly, I’ve told you everything I remember.”

  Patrick lifted a finger, for emphasis, no doubt, but dropped it when there was a knock on the door. He glanced over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

  Amber breathed relief. If he thought that by pointing out the urgency of the situation she could just will herself into remembering some kind of concrete evidence, he was dead wrong.

  She completely understood the urgency, and the memories that scrambled her brain were bad enough.

  The door creaked open. A man she recognized stuck his head in. Vance Peterson, another classmate from high school.

  “Hey, Patrick, do you mind if I interrupt?” Vance said.

  “Sure. Come on in, Captain.” Patrick eased back in his chair, folded his arms. “Amber, you remember Vance? He supervises this department and is the culprit who enticed me to quit the navy and come back to Savannah. He’s also the man I answer to.”

  “I see.” Amber nodded. “How are you, Vance?”

  “Doing fine.” Vance stepped inside. He focused his gaze on Amber and placed his hands on his hips. “I hope you know how fortunate you are to have Patrick on your case. It took some hefty persuasion to get him here, but he’s the best investigator on the force.”

  “Persuasion?” Patrick erupted with a hardy laugh. “Don’t you mean pleading and groveling?”

  “Okay. I’ll give you pleading. But groveling? Come on.” Vance sprouted the same impish grin.

  The thick blond hair from his teens had now aged into a medium brown. He still wore it short, with soft spikes on top. Not quite as tall as Patrick, he stood about five-ten, with broad shoulders and a muscled physique.

  Amber smiled. Patrick and Vance had been friends since junior high. They’d been an inseparable duo. They both were athletic, charming and funny. She’d always enjoyed the camaraderie between them. Seeing them together reminded her of better times.

  “So tell me what’s happening on the case.” Vance’s deep baritone took on a serious lilt as he morphed back into police-captain mode.

  Patrick rocked forward in his chair. “You know about the shots fired at Amber’s counseling center?”

  Vance nodded. “I heard it got hit pretty hard.”

  “Oh, yeah, there’s some damage, all right.” Patrick grimaced and added, “Blew out the front window and fractured the facade of the building.”

  Amber pressed one hand to her churning stomach. Somehow hearing the details made the truth that much more chilling. This guy wasn’t playing.

  “But of course, those things are easily repaired,” Patrick said, giving her an affable yet serious look. Probably his way of reassuring her. Keeping her from a major meltdown.

  Smart man.

  “Brick, mortar and glass are easy to fix.” Vance crossed his arms. “Finding this guy seems to be our problem. But we need to get him off the street before he actually hurts someone. What do you have on the suspects?”

  “We’re making progress.” Patrick opened a file to read from his notes. “Liza did a little searching and found some pertinent data. Carl and Randall both have more history than originally thought. Carl, in fact, was issued a restraining order in college for stalking a former girlfriend. The charges were eventually dropped.”

  “Dropped or not, that’s pretty significant.” Vance scratched his chin. “What about Randall?”

  “Last month, his wife filed divorce papers. Adultery and domestic abuse were cited as grounds.”

  “Nice guy.” Vance paused, his deep-set eyes narrowing as he stared at the computer screen. “So what is your gut telling you?”

  “My instincts say one or both are involved.” Pat
rick shook his head. “Which one or to what degree, I’ve yet to determine.”

  “What about you?” Vance’s gaze cut from the screen to Amber.

  She gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t have a gut feeling about much these days. This included.”

  Vance nodded. “I’m sure this whole ordeal is quite disturbing. I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this.”

  “Thank you, Vance.” Amber mustered up a tight smile.

  “What about you, Captain?” Patrick asked. “What’s your take?”

  Vance exchanged a look with Patrick. “No call on this one yet. Carl and Randall both grew up on the edge of trouble, but assault and attempted murder?” Vance glanced at Amber, brow knit. “I attended a couple of those frat parties myself. Things got crazy sometimes, but for either of those guys to be so cruel to a woman is—”

  “Totally possible,” Patrick interrupted.

  After a short pause, Vance gave a shrug, and nausea swirled in Amber’s stomach. “You’re exactly right.”

  “Unfortunately, capable doesn’t equal guilty.” Patrick emitted a deep sigh. “But both of them know they’re being watched. And the moment one slips up…I’ve got them.”

  EIGHT

  Later that night, Amber’s eyes drifted to the faint glow of the alarm clock. Two hours she’d been in bed, every moment plagued with mounting frustration. After tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, she was now more awake than ever. She’d tried counting sheep, reading, pacing and even taking a hot shower, trying to relax.

  Still she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too busy spinning scenarios. Conjuring up a litany of what-ifs and maybes. Who was her attacker…and what if she accused the wrong man? Maybe the gut feeling she’d had about Randall, Bruce and Carl was wrong?

  Sighing, she rubbed her face. She was getting nowhere. Blunting the memories was far easier than trying to remember.

  But Patrick wanted answers. Something definitive.

  There had to be something. A word, a scent, some memory.

  Crimping her eyes, she forced herself to think, focus, push her thoughts back to that dingy frat room.