Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2 (14 page)

He cranked the engine to life. She pressed her hands to her mouth and gave a little half sigh and then, suddenly, she'd scooted over and put her arms around his neck.

He was so startled he didn't know what to do. His mind could not understand, but his body reacted, embracing her, relishing the softness of hers, the brush of her orange-shampoo-scented hair, the tickle of her lashes against his jaw. He was too surprised to speak, to rouse her from whatever impulse had caused her sudden change of heart.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “You were being generous, and I made you feel bad,” she mumbled into his T-shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, letting the feel of her press some life back into his battered heart. “My fault. Totally. You had every right to be mad. I was a jerk.”

She put her head against his chest and he thought the thundering of his heart might deafen her. He heard her sigh, long and slow, a sound that was more tender and soft than the peeping of baby birds. He breathed in the warmth of her. If there was one moment in his life that he could hold on to forever, this was the one.

“Thank you for replacing my window.” She took a breath before she pulled away, and he felt bereft. “That's all I should have said. An act of kindness is not going to strip away my independence or threaten Junie's safety. I've been scared since LeeAnn's death. Too scared. My mother used to say if you decline a gift, you rob the giver of a blessing. Anyway,” she said, buckling her seat belt, “Thank you.”

He was nonplussed, thrown completely off-kilter by her sincerity, the ease at which she expressed herself and bared her heart. He would have said anything then to make her lay her head down against him again, to be so close to something so incredibly wonderful. What was happening to him?

It was a relief to start the engine and watch the miles tick away, but even so his pulse refused to return to a normal rhythm. When his phone rang, he snatched it up as if it was a parachute rip cord and he was plummeting. “Hello?”

There was the sound of breathing, heavy and panicked.

“You have to help her.”

His nerves iced over. “Tucker?”

Keeley pressed close to hear.

“At the garage. I don't think she's going to make it,” Tucker gasped.

“Who? What happened? Tell me,” he commanded.

“Just hurry.” There was a soft, high-pitched moan and the phone disconnected.

Mick stared at the phone in his hand.

Keeley's face was white. “It has to be the Quick Stop Garage. Is he talking about Ginny? That sounded like a woman in pain.”

“Call the police.”

She was already reaching for the phone.

His mind whirled. “We're only six blocks away. I'll drop you at the next light.”

“No. He's talking about Ginny and she's hurt. I'm coming.”

“This could all be a trap, Keeley. Consider the source.”

“That was fear in Tucker's voice, Mick. Terror even. He wasn't faking that. We have to go now.”

He drove as fast as he could, slowing just before the entrance to the garage. There was no glimmer of light from the darkened window. He jerked the truck to a stop. This time, he wasn't worried about politeness.

“Listen to me, you're a mother now, the only person Junie has in this world.” He gripped her upper arms and would not let her look away. “You can't go in there. Keep the engine running and stay locked in until the cops arrive.”

“I...” Her eyes searched his. He saw the struggle there, and the decision born of love for her little girl. “Okay.”

As he got out she clutched at his hand. “You shouldn't go in, either, Mick. You're not a parole officer anymore.”

“I still have one case left to close,” he said.
For you and Junie
. Before he could reconsider, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before he ran toward the back entrance of the garage.

Mick could see nothing in the two windows he checked. He estimated it would be less than ten minutes before the police would arrive. The reasonable thing to do would be to wait, but he was in no mood to be reasonable, not after he'd heard that moan of pain.

Tucker Rivendale would not hurt anyone else if Mick could help it.

The only option seemed to be to edge around to the back door and force his way in. He didn't need to. The door was ajar; the small pane of glass above the knob was shattered. He made himself as small a target as he could manage and then crept through. His shoes crunched on the glass. Tucker would know he had arrived, served up like a Christmas goose, but there was no help for it now. He unsheathed the knife. Holding it in front of him, he scooted behind a tool chest, which was barely big enough to cover him. Go for broke. It was the only way to save Ginny, if she was actually in danger.

“Tucker,” he yelled into the darkness.

“Here” came the reply from the mechanic's bay. He could see through the threshold into the cavernous space. “Hurry.”

Tucker's voice was urgent, plaintive. So sincere.
Don't fall for it again, Mick
. He eased closer, keeping sheltered as much as he could. He saw what he was looking for, the switch to the overhead lights. It would give him one moment of surprise only, but a moment might be all he would need to ascertain if the whole thing was a ploy to get to Keeley.

He slammed the switch up and the lights buzzed on.

Inside, next to a car with no wheels, was Tucker Rivendale.

On the floor next to him was Ginny's crumpled body.

FIFTEEN

T
he police would be there in moments. Keeley could hear the siren in the distance, but there were so many avenues of escape for Tucker. What if he fled into the woods? Escaped from Mick after—she swallowed hard—he killed him. Mick was only walking into that garage to protect her and June, and now Ginny. He would die if it meant that they might have a chance to live a life free of Tucker. Her stomach tightened to fist size.

She threw the door open and ran, vowing that she would keep to the shelter of the trees behind the garage and wait for the police. If Tucker fled that way, she could at least inform them which way he'd gone. Or maybe she'd spot something, anything that might create a distraction so Mick could get Ginny out safely. The hammering of her pulse increased with each passing moment.

She raced to the back and spotted the open door. Her heart ached to scream his name.
Mick, what's happening in there?
She crept close enough to peer inside.

She saw Tucker step into her line of sight, hands held up in the air. Her breath caught. Mick had done it; somehow he'd thrown Tucker off guard. She sprinted inside, a cry escaping when she saw Ginny lying on the stained cement floor.

Mick shot her a look. He had a knife in his hand.

She knelt next to Ginny, whose face was bruised and her lip split. A faint pulse beat in her wrist but her body was cold, so cold.

Tucker's mouth was twisted in grief. “You've got to save her. She's just a kid. She was trying to help me.”

“Why did you do this to her?” Mick snarled, voice barely recognizable as the big-hearted man she knew.

“I didn't hurt her,” Tucker said. “She texted to tell me the brothers, the guys who own this garage, brought her here. I broke in and found her like this. I didn't know who else to call. I figured the cops would shoot me on sight.”

Mick's knife-armed hand didn't waver. “They might anyway.”

Tucker shook his head. “If that's the way it ends, so be it, but just help Ginny, okay? Can you stop trying to ruin me long enough to do that? She's my friend.”

Keeley took off her jacket and put it over the girl, trying to chafe some warmth back into her hands. “Help is coming, Ginny,” she crooned in the same tone she used when Junie was scared about thunder. “Hang in there.”

The sirens screamed now, just outside the building.

Tucker shifted from foot to foot. Would he try to run? She wasn't sure, but she knew Mick would not let him leave the garage under any circumstances.

Tucker finally tore his gaze away from Ginny and stared at her.

“Ginny told me June was my kid. I just wanted to get to know her better. I came here so I could tell her that I'm not the man everybody thinks I am. That's all. I never meant to scare you. I'm not a killer.”

Keeley met his gaze, saw the sorrow there. Was he deluded enough to think himself innocent? Was it possible that he could not face what he had done? The thought that had lived in the darkest part of her soul for so many months found its way past her lips.

“LeeAnn loved you.”

He swallowed hard. “I loved her, too, more than anything.”

Keeley sucked in a breath. “Tucker, why did you kill my sister? Why?”

The noise of the sirens echoed and bounced through the cavernous garage, but her attention remained riveted on Tucker.

“Why did you kill my sister?” she repeated.

He closed his eyes, mouth twisted as if he was in physical pain. When he opened them, his face blazed with emotion. Each syllable fell like a stone. “I did not kill LeeAnn.”

The air seemed to leave the room, pulling the oxygen from her lungs. Tucker Rivendale, her enemy, her sister's killer, sounded very much like a man telling the truth.

Mick edged closer. “No more. You'll have your say in court.”

Tucker laughed, an edge of hysteria in it. “I won't live to see a courtroom, Mick. You'll see to that, won't you?”

“What are you talking about?” Mick snapped. His profile was hard as granite, his whole body tense.

“Freeze! Police!” Chief Uttley charged in, gun aimed at Tucker.

Tucker leaped backward, whether scared or intending to flee, Keeley didn't know.

Uttley fired two shots. The explosion was deafening. Mick covered Keeley and Ginny with his body, gripping them in a desperate embrace. She heard running feet as more officers entered.

Sounds echoed around her. Shouting, intense, energy charged. Radios buzzed and crackled. Mick's breathing, as uncertain as her own.

“Don't move,” he murmured.

He pressed close, and she was grateful for his strong chest, heart beating fast and steady.

When her ears stopped ringing, he eased off her. She stayed on her knees, clutching Ginny's hand.

Mick stood between her and Uttley. The lines around his mouth were pronounced, relief and despair mixing in his expression.

Uttley knelt and stared at Ginny, gun still in his hand.

“Is she alive?”

Keeley nodded. “But hurt badly. I can hardly feel her pulse.”

“Paramedics are two minutes out.” He reached out a finger and gently brushed the dark hair from Ginny's face. “You're gonna be fine, Virginia. Just fine,” he said.

So Uttley had been covering for Ginny. They'd been right.

“How do you know her?” Keeley asked quietly.

His eyes burned as he stared at the fallen girl. “Ten years ago, I killed her mother.”

Horror trickled through Keeley.

He asked, without taking his eyes off Ginny, “May I hold her hand?”

Keeley moved aside so Uttley could get closer. Mick helped her to her feet, standing very close.

She looked at Mick and the bustling cops that filled the space.

“How...?” She swallowed. “What happened to Tucker?”

Mick moved her toward the door. “Let's go outside.”

She resisted. “I want to know.”

“It's better to wait outside.”

She let him lead her, but at the last moment, she turned to look. There over the shoulder of another medic and Officer Mason, Tucker lay on the ground, head turned toward them, one arm outstretched as if he yearned for someone to take it. Blood seeped through the front of his shirt.

He'd been shot. An unarmed man. Her sister's killer. Keeley's head spun and the ground rose up to meet her.

* * *

Mick carried Keeley outside and helped her sit on a fallen log. She put her face into his shirtfront and sobbed.

He let her cry, cradling her close, his own mind trying to process the finality of what had just occurred. It was done. Finally. Tucker Rivendale had been brought to justice. But Tucker had been unarmed, shot in cold blood.

Nonetheless, the man was a murderer. He should have felt elated, relieved, but instead he had the sensation that everything inside him had turned to stone. It was the same feeling he'd gotten looking down at the grave of the son he'd never even known about, a regret so heavy it sank his soul to the depths.

He realized that however things had turned out, no matter how much past history was piled up, he'd believed Tucker. The worst thing was, way down deep, in the very tiniest sliver of his drowned soul, he still did. Had Tucker really thought Mick would murder him rather than see him safely to prison?

I did not kill LeeAnn.

Said the man with yet another woman lying broken at his feet. Tucker would have babbled anything that might have bought him time or a chance at escape. Mick could not fathom why he still had doubts. He focused on Keeley, willing some of her pain into his body. He rubbed his hands over her back and shoulders, feeling the sobs that rattled through her. One woman, too much grief that she didn't deserve.

Let me take it for her, God. Let this be on me
.

It had been a very long time since he'd spoken to God. He was not sure God was even listening, not anymore. Mick was locked away in a jail of his own making, and he figured God had better things to do than chase after one washed-up paroled officer. He stroked her hair, rubbed her shoulders and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“I'm sorry,” he said, without knowing why. “I'm so sorry.”

Keeley sucked in a shuddering breath and pulling away to look at him. “Did you hear what Tucker said?”

“Yes.”

“What if he was telling the truth?” she whispered.

He swallowed. “He wasn't.”

“Are you sure?”

She searched his face, tears glittering like a sunlit pond.

He could not say what she wanted to hear. He could only lose himself in the shimmering blue of her grief. He pressed a kiss on her cheek, soft and satin, and wiped the tears away. “Keeley, it's over. Hang on to that. You're safe, June is safe. It's all over.”

He felt himself leaning toward her, wanting nothing more than to cover her mouth with an unending kiss. Heart pounding, he saw her face tip to his. Her lips just touched his, and the yearning inside him nearly overwhelmed his sense.

Officer Mason approached, his face grim. Mick broke away. What had he been about to do?

“Do you need medical care?” Mason said. “Either one of you?”

Mick checked with Keeley, who shook her head. “No. We're okay.”

Mason didn't respond, scrutinizing the tree line as if he was tracking a felon.

“Uttley said he'd killed Ginny's mother,” Mick said quietly.

Mason chewed his lip, still gazing at the treetops. “When he was a new cop. He was in pursuit of a suspect and she was in the crosswalk. Tragic accident. She lived for a few days. Uttley promised to look out for her daughter, Virginia. She was ten at the time. Went to live with her aunt, but Uttley kept tabs on her, helped her out when he could over the years.”

Keeley sighed, a long sad sound.

“Ginny's been in and out of trouble. Did some jail time for drugs. Showed up here a few months ago. Uttley was worried she was into something. Started hanging out at the garage. We've never gotten them on anything, but those brothers are into something bad, and Uttley was worried about Ginny. She asked him about Rivendale's case, but she refused to say why.”

“That's why he covered for her at the newspaper building. He was afraid she was consorting with Tucker, too.”

Mason shrugged. “That's all I'm going to say. He's a good man and a good cop and you'll have to get the rest from him. There's going to be an investigation now and things are going to come out. I've got to go.” He left to speak to the other officers emerging from the garage.

The medics rolled out a stretcher. Keeley looked away and swallowed hard. Mick gripped her shoulder. A second ambulance pulled up, and Ginny was loaded on board.

What followed was an excruciating round of questioning before they headed to the police station for yet another session. Mick's mind whirled in many different directions.

Keeley was dead silent as they drove to the station. Finally, when they pulled into the lot, she spoke.

“Mick, after this, after we're done with the police, would you take me to see June? Please? I need to be with her.”

“Yes.” He realized in that moment he would do absolutely anything she asked. Period. It scared him.

She nodded, relief relaxing her features. “I've missed her so much.”

“I know.” Again he felt the pang, that odd pinch that came when he considered the parent-child bond. He'd never had a chance to love his son, hadn't even known he had produced one, so he wondered sometimes what that strange feeling could be. Regret? Envy? Or was it possible that God had wired him to love a child, even though he'd never gotten to meet him? He shook himself, unsure why his thoughts turned ever more frequently to God.

Now it was not Chief Uttley in charge of the investigation, but a new man in his sixties who introduced himself as Chief Allen as he called Mick into Uttley's office. Mick gave Keeley's hand a squeeze as he left.

“I'm just stepping in to help out,” Allen said, his head shaved bald and speckled with sunspots. His posture was perfect, uniform neat.

Mick knew. Uttley had been removed, pending an investigation into both the shooting and his covering up for Ginny.

Allen listened patiently, taking notes on a yellow notepad as Mick talked. When Mick was done, Allen smiled. “I've been doing this for a long time, Mr. Hudson, practically a lifetime, but before I took on this job I was a major in the corps.”

Mick found himself sitting straighter. “I thought so, sir.”

Allen laughed. “Now that we've established a rapport, I already had a talk with Sheriff Pickford, who seems to think you don't completely trust the cops.”

“Uttley was covering up something that might have helped us catch Tucker earlier, sir.”

“And he'll be disciplined for that, but he was doing it out of a higher sense of duty. What's the first leadership trait, son?”

“Justice,” Mick said automatically.

“Yes, and you and I both know justice is a moving target sometimes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you and your friend—” he consulted his notepad “—Reginald Donaldson, rode into town to capture Tucker Rivendale, like a couple of modern-day cowboys.”

“Or marines, sir,” Mick said.

Allen laughed again. “Right. So I'm thinking you've been working your own investigation, which is what led you to your father's property where you encountered Virginia and the brothers, Bruce and Charlie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you know that Reginald was Bruce's former parole officer?”

“I did not, sir, until Sheriff Pickford told me.”

“Reginald is on his way here, so we can ask him about that point.”

Mick sure wanted to hear Reggie's answer.

“It may have nothing whatever to do with the current situation, of course.” Allen tapped a pencil on the desktop. “Then again, when we've got a murder investigation in progress, every point has to be considered.”