Killing Secrets (14 page)

Assured Amanda was sleeping peacefully Rachel eased the curtains open a few inches to allow moonlight into the bedroom. Picking up the oversized backpack she’d found in the closet earlier, she began transferring items from their suitcases into the bag. An extra set of clothes for both of them. Socks and underwear. Toothbrushes.

Amanda would miss her doll, but Rachel was not sneaking next door to Patrick’s house to get it. It was one reminder of her ex-husband she wouldn’t be sorry to see gone forever. She’d buy another one for Amanda. Although the way she clutched Suze’s doll in her sleep, maybe that wouldn’t be necessary. Their temporary trade could just become permanent. Suze would be happy to keep Becca.

Culling their meager belongings proved difficult because she’d arrived in Denver with only the bare necessities and items she couldn’t live without…like her mother’s monogrammed silver mirror, brush and comb set. But, Patrick had keyed in the security panel before they’d gone upstairs to bed so she couldn’t just throw their suitcases out of one of the bedroom windows without tripping the alarm. A backpack made more sense, especially when she’d also be carrying a sleeping child.

She’d slept in a cotton tee and loose-fitting shorts. So, once she’d tied tennis shoes on her bare feet, she settled the backpack on her back and picked up Amanda in her arms, her fluffy blanket tucked around her. Rachel’s head swam, but she waited until the dizziness passed, then left the bedroom. She made her way down the stairs sidestepping the two that squeaked, not stopping until she reached the archway on the right that led into the living room. She peered into the room at the dark lump on the couch that delineated Patrick’s body where he slept. As he’d promised he would.

It was that promise, more than exhaustion, that had allowed her to fall asleep earlier. For the first time in years she’d felt able to relinquish her anxiety, if only for a few hours to rest up. Once she hit the road, it might be days before she’d feel safe enough to stop and sleep.

Staring at Patrick’s unmoving form, she fought her impulse to go to him and ask him to hold her like he had in the bathroom after Greg’s package was delivered. She’d never felt as safe, as secure, as she had in those minutes she’d cried in his arms. Listening to his deep voice promise her that everything would be all right, she’d desperately wanted to believe him. She’d soaked up his words and the feeling of security like she was a parched prairie flower and he was the long-awaited rain.

She should be appalled at how easily he’d walked past defenses she’d bolstered for years. She hardly knew the man!

The reminder she’d met Patrick less than forty-eight hours ago kicked her self-protective instincts into high gear and forced her to turn her back to the living room. Walking across the entry, she silently passed through the swinging door into the unlit kitchen. Just inside, she paused to pick out the outlines of the central island and bar stools that bisected the large room between her and the breakfast alcove on the other side. A sliver of moonlight lit the table through the drawn curtains revealing her purse right where she remembered leaving it.

Afraid the lights would hurt her eyes and make her headache worse, not to mention awaken Patrick in the other room, she didn’t bother to turn them on. She grabbed her purse off the table and walked toward the kitchen door, where she paused to listen to the Victorian house creak and groan, settling sounds she’d grown used to the past few days. Nothing stirred.

Still, her hand didn’t reach for the glowing security keypad. Once she punched in the sequence of numbers Patrick taught her to turn off the system, once she walked out the door, she would be vulnerable. But, more than that, she’d be alone again.

She was so tired of being alone!
Which is how you got into the current mess you’re in, little chickadee.

Her father’s voice in her head hurt her heart worse than anything Greg ever did to her. She would have thought ten years would have allowed the painful memories to fade. They’d only gained intensity over time. She’d been thinking about her dad a lot lately. She longed to hear his gruff voice tickling her ear as she laid her head on his strong chest. She still dreamed of feeling his arms close around her shoulders, squeezing until she laughingly protested.

She’d felt loved back then. Childhood memories. Why didn’t she remember the arguments they’d had when she was in high school? His angry, dismissive words when they’d argued that awful day her senior year when he walked out of her life forever?

Why are you standing here wasting time wandering down memory lane when you need to get out of Dodge?

The thought forced her to key in the numbers with trembling fingers. The beep that told her the security system had disengaged sounded too loud in the nighttime quiet. Praying the sound hadn’t reached the living room, she opened the door, turned the lock on the knob to keep Patrick safe, and hurried out into the night with Amanda.

Chapter Eleven

Patrick woke to the beep from the kitchen alarm, his Glock already grasped in his right hand. His adrenaline pumped him to full alert. He was off the couch like a shot and halfway across the entry before he heard the snick of the door closing. Had someone come in, or gone out?

His eyes already adjusted to the darkness, he eased to the kitchen entrance. Frowning at the closed swinging door, he pushed it open just enough to peek his head around it, low and tight. He scanned the room. No one. A moment later, a bulky shadow backlit by moonlight passed across the kitchen window heading toward the back of the house.

Grateful he’d fallen asleep in his jeans and boots, he didn’t hesitate to cross the room to the door. Looking down on the knob locked from the inside, he cursed. Burglars and felonious exes didn’t lock up behind themselves. And—he sniffed the air—they didn’t smell like lilacs. Rachel had bolted. Jack warned him she might. Why hadn’t he listened?

Gun in hand, he left the house on Rachel’s heels, keyed in the security system so no one could sneak in while he went after her. It was considerably brighter outside with the full moon overhead so he traversed the length of the side yard toward the back of the property quickly. He stuck to the shadows until he entered the dark maw between his garage and his mom’s hulking greenhouse behind which he knew Rachel had hidden her rental car.

Thanks to the recent heat wave in Denver, a couple of upper windows had been left open to vent the greenhouse so a myriad of luscious scents drifted on the night air from the plants his mom cultivated to create the floral arrangements she donated to local hospitals and senior centers. But Patrick still caught another whiff of lilacs and knew Rachel—and Amanda, since he knew Rachel would never leave without her—had passed through here.

He hoped he hadn’t missed them completely, that Rachel hadn’t already driven off where he couldn’t find her. He’d never forgive himself if she or Amanda were hurt!

Rounding the corner of the greenhouse he came to a dead stop. His gun hand fell to rest at his side.
He’d found them.
Amanda was sound asleep in her mother’s embrace. Rachel stood, fully exposed in the moonlight, in front of her rental car.

Just before he lambasted her for her foolishness, he registered the tarp tossed to the ground, the open hood. Pieces of the engine scattered all over the fenders and grass. The passenger side mirror partially ripped off. Rachel didn’t move as she stared at a screwdriver sticking through the front of the radiator. A piece of hose, sliced more than once, jammed into the hole usually covered by a radiator cap.

Someone had violently trashed her only means of escape.
Bishop!

Thousands of needles of awareness raised the tiny hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck. Was Rachel’s ex still in the shadows watching her?

Patrick lifted his gun hand, scanned the area. There! A large silhouette of a man darted to the right through a break in the natural wall of evergreen trees his mother had planted along the alley. Patrick raced to the gutted car to get between Rachel and the danger.

Rachel must have heard the noise of the retreating figure because she gasped, pivoted on her heel, and ran in the opposite direction, straight into Patrick’s arms.

Thankfully, she hit him sidewise or he’d have crushed Amanda between them. Rachel’s shoulder still hit his torso hard enough to knock the air out of him. “Oomph!”

Squealing, she tried to escape his arms as they came around her and Amanda. He didn’t have time for this. “Rachel!” he said tersely. “It’s me.”

She froze long enough, he was able to wrap his free hand in one of her backpack straps and pull her out of the swath of moonlight toward the protective gloom between the buildings. When they were deep enough in the shadows, he whispered into her ear. “I’m going to let you go,” he said. “When I do, drop to the ground next to the garage and stay put until I come back for you.”

“B-b—”

“There’s someone there. I have to go,” he said, stroking the back of his knuckles over her cheek.

She was gasping for air like a beached bass and, reminded of her altitude sickness, he gently eased her to the ground. “Just be quiet…and breathe.”

“Greg—”

The terror in her voice tore at his insides. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him. Remember?”

He watched for her nod of acceptance. Then, seeing Amanda’s big brown eyes open and fixed on him, he smiled at her. “Take care of mommy. I’ll be right back,” he said to reassure her. Then, for reasons he didn’t want to analyze, he leaned down to kiss Rachel’s trembling lips.

Before he could think about deepening the gentle caress, he straightened and raced back the way they’d come. He’d probably missed his chance to capture Bishop while he secured Rachel and Amanda but maybe he’d catch a lucky break.

In full stalking mode, Patrick skirted the moonlight surrounding Rachel’s sabotaged car and pushed his way into a gap between two evergreens several yards north of where he’d seen the figure go through. It was a small space, branches and pine needles tore at his torso, making him regret his impulse to take off his shirt before he dozed off, but he was hoping to retain an element of surprise when he came out into the alley in a different spot.

Stepping into the alley, he spotted his prey less than ten feet away, fumbling around on the ground next to a dark sedan, like he was looking for lost car keys. He was in luck tonight!

Patrick raised his weapon and sighted in on the man’s broad back. “Freeze!” he ordered. “Hold it right there.”

The man stiffened.

With Rachel’s ex-husband in his sights, Patrick could feel his anger rise. He wanted to beat the man senseless, make him feel the agony he’d forced Rachel to endure. “Stand up and turn around, Bishop. Slowly!”

“I’m not—”

“Do it or I’ll shoot your cowardly carcass right there.”

The figure rose and turned slowly until his face was clearly illuminated in the moonlight. “I’m not Greg Bishop,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

Patrick looked at the stranger, for the first time wondering if he’d captured his saboteur. If Jack and the task force team were right, though, he knew the Angel Killer. He’d never seen this man before. His fingers tightened around his gun grip. “Who are you? And what are you doing, sneaking around in the bushes?”

“Larson Cook.” His right hand dropped to the inside of his charcoal-colored jacket.

“Don’t even think about it.” Patrick motioned with his Glock. “Get that hand up where I can see it.”

The man sighed. “I’m private security,” he said. “My I.D. is in my wallet.”

Private security? Patrick frowned. “If this is a trick, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“Understood.” Slowly reaching inside the jacket, he withdrew a brown leather wallet and tossed it to the ground at Patrick’s feet.

His gun, and gaze, fixed on the man Patrick squatted and picked up the wallet. When he flipped it open, he skimmed the man’s credentials. Larson M. Cook. Consultant. NIC Security. Concealed carry license number. Patrick’s gaze sharpened on the man. “You have a gun on you?”

Cook nodded. “Right jacket pocket.”

“You’re a lefty?

Another hesitant nod.

Patrick wasn’t proceeding until Cook was disarmed. “With your right hand, take the gun out of your jacket and toss it to the ground.”

A frustrated snort greeted his demand. “This is ridiculous, Thorne,” he said. “We’re both on the same side.”

He knew Patrick’s name. “Explain.”

“You’re trying to protect the James woman and her child.” Cook lowered his arms to his side like he wasn’t concerned he could be shot at any moment. “So am I.”

~~~

Rachel leaned against the garage wall where Patrick had deposited her and did as he’d instructed. She breathed. She murmured quiet reassurances into Amanda’s long blond curls. She prayed.

Patrick had gone after Greg. She hoped he caught him. Then, this horror would be over and she could find some semblance of normalcy again. But, did she really want Patrick to confront Greg? She knew what her ex-husband was capable of, the lengths he’d go to get her and Amanda back. She hadn’t thought he was capable of killing to get what he wanted…despite his brutal attack on her their last night together. Yet he’d been sitting in a Federal prison for the past six months, his anger building, and the first thing he did was attack Simon? If Patrick’s brother was correct and Simon didn’t come out of his coma, Greg had already crossed that line to murder.