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

  *

  The long day turned into an even longer evening.

  In Kim’s living room, Amber shifted against the arm of the sofa and adjusted her computer on her lap. Scrolling down the screen, she read over the rough draft of the speech she’d been working on.

  With an inward cringe, she hit the delete key and erased it all. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly, digging deep for inspiration.

  A few thoughts came to mind and she started typing again. The words flowed freely, quickly beneath her fingertips. Several sentences later, she read over what she’d written, hope soaring that she was on to something.

  She bit her lip. Not quite. Rough draft was way too generous of a description. She hit Delete.

  Following that routine, she worked for the next couple of hours. She only completed two paragraphs. And they weren’t great.

  Amber sagged back into the depths of the sofa, pressing her fingertips against her throbbing temples. Even her brain was tired.

  Kim, occupying the opposite end of the sofa, passed her a fleeting smile before refocusing on her ebook reader. Across from them, Patrick rested with his feet up and crossed in the recliner as he studied the computer tablet in his hands.

  Seeing them actually startled her for a moment. She’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone. The room was ridiculously quiet for being occupied by three people. Of course, all were caught in an electronic fog.

  Ah, the digital age.

  She laughed inside, not daring to break the sacred silence.

  Patrick cleared his throat, doing it for her.

  Good, she was still among humans. She smiled this time and looked back at the disjointed speech on her computer screen. She sobered. She’d hardly written a fluid thought. Even with a clear topic, speech writing was harder than she envisioned. Then again, why should she bother to even write out her speech? She knew all too well what she needed to say.

  Amber shut her laptop with a snap.

  Patrick looked up. “How’s the speech coming?”

  “I’m finished.” She smiled. “What about you? Any breaking news across the wire?”

  Patrick lowered the foot of the recliner. “As a matter of fact, I was just going through the data Liza sent. She found out that Carl ran in a marathon a couple months ago. And on the 5K roster, it listed Randall Becker as his running partner.”

  Amber wrapped her mind around that tidbit. “So Carl and Randall were still friends?”

  “So it seems, although they both denied it.” Patrick got to his feet, stretched a little. “We’re still matching puzzle pieces, but Randall’s name keeps popping up as the right fit. I have a feeling his days as a free man are numbered. I plan to see Liza tomorrow morning. I’ll see what else she came up with that might help us tie him to this case.”

  Liza. The pain behind Amber’s temples thumped harder. She had no right feeling jealous. She didn’t even know if Patrick had a relationship with that cute little blonde—

  Okay. Enough speculation. Patrick deserved a nice, beautiful woman in his life. Eleven years ago she’d made choices she needed to accept, as well as the consequences. And accepting that reality kept her on track.

  Amber drew a deep breath and stood. “Tea, anyone?”

  Patrick didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

  “None for me.” Kim closed her ereader and yawned. “I’m exhausted, and six o’clock will be here before I know it.”

  “You sure? Not even a cup of chamomile?”

  “No, thanks.” Kim was up and already trudging toward her bedroom. “Who would have believed I’d ever be eager to jump into bed by eight-thirty? Ah, the perils of being a nurse.”

  Amber exchanged an amused smile with Patrick.

  She knew what her friend was up to. No matter how much Amber reminded her that having Patrick on her case was awkward at best, whenever there was free time to mingle, Kim made herself scarce, giving her and Patrick more time alone. As if being with him all day wasn’t enough.

  Amber shoved her laptop into its carrying case as Patrick stood at the arm of the sofa, waiting. “I guess we’re on our own,” she said, nonplussed by Kim’s assumption that something would rekindle between them. After so long and all the grief she’d caused him, that wasn’t going to happen. Her romance-minded friend was wasting her matchmaking skills on them.

  Even as Amber thought the words, her heart crimped. She should never use romance and Patrick in the same sentence. “Okay. Let’s have some tea.” She rose from her seat.

  “All right.” Patrick gestured for her to go first.

  She made her way into the kitchen, Patrick right behind her.

  Stretching on tiptoes, she pulled a box of tea from the cabinet, the one she’d bought Kim for Christmas. “Your choices are chamomile, Sleepytime, raspberry, blueberry, peppermint, peach, licorice spice, chai—”

  “Hold on.” Patrick laughed. “How many varieties are in that box?”

  “Just one more. Lavender.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, doubt in his eyes. “You can drink lavender?”

  “Absolutely. Do you want to try some?”

  “If you’re sure it won’t kill me.”

  “Actually it’s good for you. It aids in indigestion, insomnia, headaches, things like that.”

  “Perfect. I’ve got all three.” Patrick settled into a seat at the table.

  Amber smiled, understanding completely. She filled the kettle and put it to boil on the stove. “So about tomorrow, I’d like to see my clients at the women’s shelter. And, if possible, run by the banquet hall to make sure everything is in order for next week.”

  Her remark was met by silence.

  Amber glanced over her shoulder and found him staring off, his lips pulled into a straight line, his brow scrunched tight.

  She probably didn’t want to know what he was thinking about.

  Several more seconds beat between them. Had he even heard her?

  She swung around and leaned her hip against the cabinet, waiting. He plucked a small notepad from his pocket and jotted something down. “Patrick?”

  His gaze swung to hers. “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you heard me.” She grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, plopped a tea bag in each.

  “I heard you. I’m trying to run through my plans for tomorrow and figure out how to get you where you need to be.” That infamous brow lift was back. “And keep you safe in the process.”

  Relief trickled through her. “I could drive myself, maybe ask Tony or Pam to tag along.”

  “Nope, too risky.”

  The shrill whistle of the teakettle made Amber jump. She turned off the stove and filled the mugs with hot water. “Maybe I could ask one of them to drive me?”

  “Neither Tony nor Pam offers you any protection, and you’ll be putting them in danger.”

  “Right.” She carried the steaming mugs to the table.

  Patrick took the one she offered him. “I’ll drop you off at the center in the morning and you can stay for the day. The building is equipped with security cameras, and I’ll arrange for an officer to patrol the area. And keep your smartphone with you.”

  “Okay.”

  Patrick stirred a packet of sugar into his tea. “Then around four o’clock I can pick you up and take you down to the community center.”

  This man was amazing. Too amazing. Guilt tightened her gut. After all she’d put him through, he was still willing to do this for her. She tried to think of something fitting to say to make him understand how much she appreciated his help. Something that wouldn’t involve dredging up the past to make her point.

  She settled on a simple “Thank you” and took the seat beside him.

  Patrick set his teaspoon down with a clank and picked up his mug. He cleared his voice lightly. “So, Amber, tell me—what do you do for fun these days?”

  For a moment she was caught off guard. Was this a detective question? Or was Patrick Wiley just curious? “Like a hobby?”

  �
�Yeah, a hobby.” Patrick lifted his cup and took a sip and then said, “Or anything you do for fun.”

  Which would be… Amber paused, racking her brain. Work and more work didn’t sound like a hobby or particularly fun in the scheme of leisure activities. Then she remembered the spring plants she’d just purchased.

  “I like to garden.”

  “Garden, as in vegetables?”

  “Not vegetables. Herbs, flowers—”

  “Lavender?” He laughed between sips. “Hey. This isn’t bad.”

  A sudden warmth curled around Amber. She loved the way he laughed. The way he smiled. The way— Whoa. She shifted in her seat. Enough of that. She took a long, slow breath. “I’m glad you like your tea. I haven’t tried growing lavender yet. But I have some seedlings in my garage ready to plant…well, assuming they’re still alive.”

  “Hopefully they are.” After a short silence he asked, “So what else keeps you busy?”

  Amber sipped her tea, wondering where this was going. Was he hoping to engage her in casual conversation and draw new information from her?

  Clever tactic. Something she used in counseling herself.

  She lowered her cup. “I used to volunteer at church.”

  Where had that come from? That had been eons ago. She bit her lip, noticing Patrick’s assessing brown stare.

  “Used to?”

  She nodded.

  Almost fleetingly a glint of sadness shone in his eyes. “You know, Amber, our faith in God is what sustains us when things get tough.”

  Her pulse pounded a frantic rhythm. While his faith was bolstered by the trials in his life, her faith remained frayed, so worn away and neglected by the pain of her past. She attempted a smile that failed.

  “I hope that truth comes back to you.”

  “I’m working on it.” His words, although soothing, stung all the way to her soul. She hoped for renewed faith, too. Slowly, her heart was starting to heal.

  Someday maybe she’d possess the faith she once had.

  *

  The parking lot was nearly full when Patrick pulled up to Coastal Karate School. He recognized Randall’s Jeep and parked right next to it.

  He walked inside the dojo and looked around. Through several windows he saw classes in session, and otherwise not a soul in sight. Patrick stood there a moment, mulling over his choices, whether to wait it out until classes ended or start knocking on doors.

  “Sir, may I help you?” A young man, looking to be in his late teens and dressed in a white martial arts uniform with a brown belt, came out of one of the classrooms.

  Problem solved. Patrick lifted his chin. “I’m looking for Randall Becker.”

  The young man strode toward him. “He’s teaching a class right now. I’m Kyle, one of his assistants. Maybe I can help?”

  “I don’t think so.” Patrick pulled out his badge. “I hate to interrupt Mr. Becker’s class, but I need to speak to him. Is that possible?”

  Kyle’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir. I’ll get him.”

  Two minutes later, Randall walked out of a room. He was dressed in the same martial arts gear as his assistant, but he wore a black belt that slapped at his thighs as he stormed toward Patrick. He was wound way too tight for someone with nothing to hide. “What are you doing here, Wiley?”

  “Well, good afternoon to you, too, Randall.”

  Randall snorted, halting three feet from Patrick.

  Patrick crossed his arms, met Randall’s stare. “Actually, I need to ask you a few more questions.”

  “I answered more than enough questions the last time you were here.”

  “Well, I have a couple more. Do you want to talk someplace private?”

  Randall shoved his fists on his hips and glanced around before taking a step closer to Patrick. “You’ve got nothing on me, Wiley.” His voice was low, but his tone was lethal.

  Patrick stood for a moment eyeing Randall’s defensive stance. He wasn’t about to lose his cool, although it wasn’t easy to maintain control. What he wouldn’t give for a little sparring practice with black belt Randall. Not that he’d hurt the guy. Just maybe knock him down a few pegs. “The last time I was here, Randall, you denied being friends with Carl Shaw. Yet the roster for the 5K you ran just a few months back listed him as your running partner.”

  “So?” Annoyance stamped his face.

  “Lying to a law enforcement officer is never a good idea.”

  Randall jutted a thick finger at him. “It’s none of your business who my friends are. Or were.” He paused, cleared his voice. “Like I said, Wiley. You’ve got nothing on me.”

  “I’d like you to come down to the precinct with me and tell us what you know about Carl. You’re not under arrest, but I think it would be in your best interest.”

  Randall leaned in and whispered through clenched teeth, “Calling my attorney is in my best interest. Once again, Wiley, you can’t tie me to anything.”

  Patrick shifted his weight and mimicked Randall’s rigid stance. “Because you’re not guilty? Or because you’re good at hiding something?”

  “I’m done talking to you.” His voice turned to ice now.

  Patrick pressed on. “Where were you yesterday around noon?”

  His entire face twisted and he practically growled, “You sure don’t do your homework, do you, Wiley?”

  “And what homework would that be?” Patrick asked with growing impatience.

  Patrick waited as Randall panned the area, his head swiveling left and then right. Satisfied that they were alone, his lips curled into a smirk. “I spent the day in jail, bozo.”

  “Jail?” Patrick crossed his arms, showing no outward sign of his astonishment. Too bad he hadn’t put a tail on him sooner.

  “Yeah.” Randall droned on. “Stopped by my own house to pick up a few things yesterday morning, and my soon-to-be ex-wife called the cops. Said she felt threatened, imagine that?”

  Patrick didn’t respond to that. Instead, he said, “Why don’t you tell me what you know about Carl.”

  Randall moved slightly closer. “The only thing I have to say to you is this—I want you out of my building. And if you ever come back, be prepared for a little one-to-one with me. I’ve got a training room ready.”

  So the man could read his mind. Patrick grinned. “I hope I can take you up on that one day.”

  “Good, because there’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to grind your face into the mat.” Randall turned and stomped away.

  And Patrick would love to give him the chance to try.

  TWELVE

  Amber strode down the hallway at the Savannah Battered Women’s Shelter and headed toward the last office on the left. The place was bustling. Had been all day. Besides the scheduled group meetings on life and parenting skills led by the case workers and counselors, local church volunteers had stopped by to stock the food pantry and give haircuts to the women and children.

  Much of Amber’s day was spent meeting with individual patrons, offering counsel and working on plans to get them back on their feet. Not an easy assignment given the limited community resources in the area.

  Still, the normalcy of the activity put Amber at ease. Dealing with the problems of others kept her from dwelling on her own.

  Amber poked her head into the office of the shelter director, Christine Carmichael. “Thanks, Christine, for letting me hang out with you guys today.”

  Christine’s fingers paused over her keyboard. She looked up with a smile. “You’re always welcome here, Amber, you know that. Our space may be at a minimum, but I’ll make sure there’s always an office open for you.”

  “Thank you.” Amber returned the smile, grateful for the offer but also hopeful her center would be up and running before long. “I need to make a couple of copies. Do you mind if I grab some paper from the supply room? The printer across the hall is out.”

  “Help yourself.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be leaving after that. So I’ll see you
next week.”

  “All right.” Christine nodded. “Be safe out there.”

  Safety. A looming issue Amber didn’t want to be reminded of. “I will.” She hoped so anyway. She swallowed a sigh.

  In the basement Amber scanned the jumbled rows of shelves, freshly stocked with boxes of pens, markers, notepads, file folders and…ah, copy paper.

  On tiptoes she reached to the fifth shelf as a hollow thump broke the silence.

  A chill prickled her skin.

  Daring not to move, not breathe, she waited a moment, listened. Another series of swift taps. One. Two. Three. The muffled, rhythmic beats sounded like soft footsteps.

  Panic set in. Amber spun to the doorway, peeked around the corner. She saw nothing. She held her breath. The eerie beat eroded into a dull whir as the air conditioner cycled on.

  Only the air conditioner. Amber exhaled, smiling at her overactive imagination. The shelter had round-the-clock security, cameras and alarms. No one could get in.

  She spun back, and as she grabbed a ream of copy paper she heard a scuffling sound, followed by shuffling footfalls. Louder. Creeping closer.

  The thud of the paper hitting the ground momentarily drowned out the squeak of footsteps. Her nerves flared.

  “Who’s there?” she shouted, fear choking her.

  No answer came.

  Forgoing the copy paper, Amber wheeled around, headed for the door. At the doorway, she quickly glanced into the corridor, feeling a smidgen better when she saw no one. But then there was a click and everything went black.

  An overwhelming dread surged through her—it was petrifying, oppressive. The feeling stole her breath and thrust her back into that murky frat room. Her heart pounding against her ribs, Amber took off to the right and picked her way down the corridor, avoiding stacks of boxes and old furniture.

  A clank, then a loud clatter came from the darkness behind her, as if someone had tripped over something. The footsteps quickened, her heartbeat with them.

  Fresh fear spiraled through her, escalating further at the sound of a taunting chuckle.

  Fixated on getting out of there, Amber didn’t look back, didn’t stop, even as her ankle grazed the brick wall at the stairwell. Grabbing the stair rail, she bounded up the metal steps to the top. “Help!” She desperately clawed for the doorknob, finally latching on to it just as the door swung open.