Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (12 page)

* * *

Gavin had been forced to learn the fine art of patience years ago, but it still didn't come easily to him. That was a shame, seeing as how he was currently spending almost all of his time in a house filled to the brim with kids. None of whom were eager to cooperate with him.

Case in point—Tommy.

The kid knew something, Gavin was almost certain of it.

But, no matter how many times Gavin asked, no matter how many ways he asked, he got nothing from him.

He glanced at his watch, the silence in the room deafening. Neither Cassie nor Tommy seemed eager to break it. Any other day, that would have been fine, but Gavin was on a tight timeline. He was supposed to have Cassie at headquarters within the hour. The forensic sketch artist had limited time in DC, and if they missed the window of opportunity, Harland's efforts to get the guy in would have been wasted.

He cleared his throat, hoping Cassie would get the hint and try to move things along.

She shot him a hard look, her eyes bright but deeply shadowed. She hadn't been sleeping well. He'd heard the floor creaking above his head as she'd paced her room, heard her move from one room to the next, checking on kids. He'd thought about walking up the stairs and offering her a cup of coffee, a glass of milk, a willing ear.

But that had seemed like a bad idea.

He needed to keep his distance.

That's what his job required. It was also what his life required. He didn't have anything to offer a woman like Cassie. She was all about family and connection, about sitting down to dinner every night with eight kids, hearing every minute detail of each child's day. She was about playing tag in the backyard, chasing preteens and toddlers until everyone was squealing and laughing.

Tommy shifted, and Gavin hoped the kid was finally going to speak.

“I'm hungry,” he said, and Cassie sighed.

“That's all you have to say after coming in my room and hiding in my closet?”

“It's not your room. It's his room.” Tommy jabbed his finger in Gavin's direction. “'Cause this is his house.”

“It's not my house, champ,” he corrected. “It belongs to the people I work for.”

Tommy shrugged, shuffling out of the closet on his knees, all his stuffed animals clutched in his arms. “It's still not Cassie's.”

“That doesn't mean you get to invade my privacy, Tommy,” Cassie responded calmly. In the three days she and the kids had been at the safe house, Gavin had never seen her come even close to losing her cool with any of them. She had more patience than anyone Gavin had ever known.

“I'm sorry, Cassie. I just didn't want the bad man to get me,” Tommy whispered, and everything inside Gavin went still and calm and careful. This was what he'd wanted to talk about. This was what he'd waited three days to hear.

“What bad man?” Cassie asked, crawling out of the closet behind him. She could have been asking about the color of the sky or the warmth of the sun for all the excitement in her voice. What wasn't there was in her eyes. Gavin could see it in the sharpness of her gaze as she crouched in front of Tommy, put a hand on his shoulder.

“The one with the gun,” he said, and Cassie's gaze shifted to Gavin. He knew that she felt what he did. This could be it. The moment when Tommy admitted that he'd been out of the house, been to Harland's place, seen something that he shouldn't have seen.

“You saw him?” Cassie asked quietly. “At Congressman Jeffries's house?”

Tommy hesitated, then shook his head violently. “No! I told you no! I didn't see nothing!”

He jerked away from Cassie, ran down the stairs, his feet pounding on the wood.

She didn't get up, didn't move, and Gavin thought he saw a little piece of her heart break right in front of his eyes.

He took her hand, tugged her to her feet. “It's okay,” he said, because he thought she needed to hear it.

“Not really.” She rubbed the back of her neck, her hair loose for a change. No high ponytail or messy bun, the glossy strands fell to the center of her back and clung to her neck and her shoulder. “I've worked so hard to get Tommy to open up to me. Now we're back at square one, doing the same things we were doing when he first came to me.”

“Isn't that the way it always is?” It was the way it had been with him. Two steps forward. One step back. Repeating the same bad patterns of behavior over and over again, always hoping to get a different result. It had taken time and maturity to work through that, to figure out a way to make healthy choices that would lead him in the right direction.

He would have told her that, but they were running late. The sketch artist was waiting with Margaret and all the members of Capitol K-9 who weren't on duty. So far, they had plenty of questions and no answers. The search warrant for Erin's apartment had finally come through, but a thorough search of the residence had revealed nothing. No hint as to where she'd gone, why she'd gone. No hidden diary revealing some secret hatred of Michael, some reason why she might want him dead.

They were exactly where they'd been four days ago—two dead, two wounded, Cassie the only—talking—witness who'd seen a face, eyes, hair color.

“It is, but that doesn't make it easier,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word, and suddenly the need to leave wasn't quite as compelling.

“He'll come around.”

“Maybe.” She turned away, and he thought she might be fighting tears. If so, it would be the first hint of them he'd seen. She came off as strong, almost invincible, but looking at her there—standing with her face to the sunlight that streamed through her window, her body encased in baggy jeans and an oversize T-shirt, she looked vulnerable and alone

“Cassie.” He touched her shoulder, urging her around so they were face-to-face. The cut on her forehead had scabbed over, her thick bangs nearly covering it. She had a bruise on her jaw, shadows under her eyes, but she met his eyes without hesitation, looked straight at him in a way most people didn't. “He will come around, because of you.”

“Despite me, you mean?”

“I mean what I said. Tommy needs you in his life. You'll be the difference that he remembers when he's my age.”

“Who was yours?” she asked, grabbing an oversize sweatshirt from one of the drawers and pulling it on over her T-shirt, her hair trapped beneath the collar.

He freed it, unconsciously doing what he'd done for Helena. Only Cassie's hair was softer. Not the processed blond strands that Helena had teased and sprayed. It was natural, silky, the strands sliding along his fingers and his wrists.

She blushed, and he felt a moment of such pure tenderness, he had to step back, put a little space between them. “The difference I remember?” he responded, his voice a little gruffer than he'd intended. “Mrs. Simons. She was housemother at All Our Kids when I arrived. That woman knew how to get what she wanted.”

“What did she want?” she asked as she shoved her feet into sneakers, her back to him again, her hair falling in a long wave of silken strands down her back.

“To watch me graduate from high school, see me go to college, cheer for me when I got my degree.”

“Did she?” She turned, the sunlight from the window glinting in her hair and splashing across her pale cheeks. It wasn't an idle question. He could see that in her eyes, see just how much she wanted to know the answer.

“Cassie,” he said, hooking his arm through hers and leading her to the door because they
were
on a time crunch. “Mrs. Simons hounded me all the way through high school graduation, helped me find scholarship money for college, cheered louder than anyone in the crowd when I got my degree. Now she's living in Florida, waiting for me to get married so she can buy a mother-of-the-groom dress.”

“Is she really?”

“As sure as I'm standing here telling you the story, she is.” They reached the top of the steps, and she jogged down ahead of him. The woman had more energy than any three people Gavin knew.

He guessed she needed that and more to deal with her crew.

She stopped at the door, tugged her hair into a messy bun. Several strands escaped, but she didn't seem to care. “Are you going to let her?”

“Let her what?” he asked.

“Wear the mother-of-the-groom dress?”

“If I ever get married, she'll not only be wearing the dress, but she'll be dancing the mother-and-son dance with me.” Of course, he'd told Mrs. Simons there was no chance of him getting married, no reason for her to put away money for a plane trip or a fancy dress. She'd laughed, and told him that everything would happen according to God's plan and in His time.

Gavin believed that, he just didn't believe that God's plan included all the things his foster mother wanted for him.

“I hope that's me one day,” Cassie said wistfully. “Dancing with David or Tommy or Kent or Axel. Or maybe standing in as mother for one of the girls. Of course, I have to make sure they all get to adulthood before that happens. I'll go tell Virginia we're leaving. I'll be right back.”

She jogged down the hall, her baggy jeans skimming the floor. From the back, she looked like a kid. In every other way, she was a woman.

Gavin had noticed. More than once.

It would probably be best if he stopped, but when it came to Cassie, he had a difficult time pretending not to see what was there.

His cell phone rang, and he answered, his gaze still focused on the hallway that Cassie had just walked down.

“Gavin here.”

“It's Isaac. I got a call from the DC police. Rosa Gomez has a sister. Name's Lana Gomez.”

“They finally located her?” he asked, the sound of Cassie's voice drifting out from the kitchen.

“Yes. The two were estranged, and she hadn't spoken to her in a while.”

“Has she been interviewed?”

“Yes, and she's agreed to speak with us. I've got her scheduled for tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. Would have made it earlier, but she works. Is the time okay for you?” Isaac asked. He wasn't the kind of officer who waited around for instructions. He assessed situations, figured out what needed to be done and did it.

“I'll make sure it is.” He was interested to see what Lana Gomez had to say. There had to be a story behind her estrangement from her sister, a reason why the two hadn't been on speaking terms.

Whether or not that had anything to do with Rosa's death remained to be seen. He said goodbye and tucked the phone back in his pocket as Cassie hurried toward him.

ELEVEN

T
raffic on the beltway was terrible, cars backed up bumper to bumper, trucks inching along the road. Gavin didn't seem bothered by the delay. His hands were loose on the steering wheel, his body relaxed. He kept up an easy conversation, asking about each of the kids, about Virginia, about how Cassie had gotten the job of housemother.

She answered, but she felt tense, each slow mile making her more anxious. She'd left the kids on a few occasions, but never when they'd been upset or scared.

Today, Tommy had been both.

He'd also been angry, and Cassie wasn't sure why. Maybe because he'd wanted her to stay. Whatever the case, he'd looked almost exactly like he'd looked the day he'd arrived at All Our Kids—irate, truculent, unapproachable.

“I've lost you to something,” Gavin said as he finally exited the beltway and headed into the heart of DC. “Want to tell me what?”

“No.” She didn't talk to many people about the kids. Sure, she spoke with their counselors, their teachers, their Sunday school teachers. She and Virginia talked, but Cassie didn't share details about the kids with her friends. They didn't understand. Not how deep the kids' wounds went. They said they did. They gave lip service to sympathy, but empathy was difficult to come by when a kid who was visiting stole a favorite knickknack or kicked a beloved pet.

“Then, maybe I should take a wild guess.”

“Don't put yourself to too much trouble. It's not that important.”

He laughed. “No trouble at all. Here's the way I see it. You're thinking about Tommy. You're thinking that you shouldn't have left him. You're thinking that everything you've worked hard to accomplish has been undone by circumstances that are beyond your control.”

“Something like that,” she admitted.

“He'll be fine,” Gavin assured her. “Kids usually are.”

“That's not true, and you know it. We like to say that, because it makes us feel better, but trauma is just as difficult on kids as it is on adults.”

“I didn't say it wasn't, Cassie. I said they're usually fine. The thing about kids is that they still have hope. No matter how bad the situation, they always think that something better might be right around the corner.” He turned left, heading down a narrow side street. She knew the area. They were close to the White House and Capitol Hill. Not far from the heartbeat of the federal government. “Adults know better. They know that the next corner could hide blessings or misery, so they're not as likely to be optimistic during difficult circumstances.”

“Some of us are,” she responded. At least Cassie tried to be. It could be difficult. Sometimes, she'd take a dozen steps forward with a kid and find herself back at the beginning again.

“Then why are you worried about Tommy?”

“Because, there's no one else to do it?”

“There's God. Isn't that enough?”

“You know it is,” she muttered.

“Then stop worrying and start trusting.”

“It's not that easy.”

“It is if you want it to be.” He turned down a narrow alley that opened up onto a quiet street.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe it was as easy as that.

She still wanted to be back at the safe house with Tommy.

“You've got your seat belt on, right?” Gavin asked suddenly.

“Yes. Wh—”

He accelerated, swerving around a slow-moving truck, taking a sharp turn onto another side street. Glory let out a quiet bark and shifted position in her crate. Like Cassie, she must be sensing trouble.

“What's going on?” Cassie asked, shifting in her seat and trying to see out the back window.

“Maybe nothing,” he said.

“Or maybe what?”

“Or maybe someone is following us,” he replied, glancing in the rearview mirror and frowning.

Maybe or for sure?
she wanted to ask, but the words stuck in her throat. There were several vehicles behind them. A sporty Mazda. An old station wagon. A Jeep. A white panel van. A pickup truck. None of them seemed any more suspicious than another.

“Which one?” she whispered as if whoever was following could hear. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Which one?”

“The white van. It's been behind us since we entered the city limits.”

“There are vans just like it all over the city,” she said. More to reassure herself than to sway Gavin.

“Not many of them would take that alley I just went through. It's narrow and not easy to turn into.” He used his radio to call in their location and ask for backup.

That should have been reassuring, but it only made Cassie more nervous.

“How far are we from your office?”

“Not far.” He took another quick turn, glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. “Looks like he's gone.”

“You don't seem happy about it.” Cassie was thrilled. She'd been envisioning a car chase through the city, jumping curbs and doing U-turns into oncoming traffic.

“I'm not happy about anything that's happened the past few days.” He pulled up to a gate and punched a number into a small panel. “I'm especially not happy that you and your kids are involved.”

“I'm not all that excited about it, either.”

“You know we're going to have to grill Tommy a little harder, right? Ask Rachel a few more questions?” The gate swung open, and he pulled through. Cassie tried not to notice the armed guard sitting in a booth a few feet away.

“I've been trying to get them both to open up.”

“Trying isn't working for anyone, Cassie. We've got to get the truth out of them.”

“I know.”

“Good. Does tonight work for you? We can go back to the house, bring the kids some ice cream or something—”

“How about we skip the sugar? It took the kids an hour longer than usual to fall asleep after the doughnut incident.”

“I was trying to get the kids to warm up to me.”

“Then play a game of tag with them. Or show them some of Glory's cool moves.”

Glory barked in response to her name, and Gavin smiled.

“Glory likes that idea, so I might try it. Can I bribe
you
with sugar?” He parked the SUV near the entrance of a two-story brick building. A few other cars dotted the small parking lot. Nothing too impressive, but there were security cameras mounted to the exterior walls.

“Bribe me to what?” she asked, shifting her gaze from the building to Gavin.

Big mistake.

There was plenty of space between them. An entire console of air, but he had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. The warmest smile. She'd looked at him plenty of times while he'd been helping at the house or schmoozing at some gala event for All Our Kids, but she'd never really
seen
him.

“I need you to let me deal with Tommy,” he said. “Let me be the one to talk to him, try to get him to open up about what he saw.”

“
If
he saw anything. It's possible—”

“Don't kid yourself, Cassie,” he said, his gaze hard, his tone firm. “He saw something. He's scared to death. You saw the way he acted when Harland was asking questions, the way he's acted every time someone brings up the night of the murder.”

He was right.

“I—”

“Trust me on this, okay?” He touched her hand, his fingers sliding along her knuckles before they drifted away. “I'm not going to do anything to traumatize him further, but I can't have my hands tied. I've got to do my job.”

“Of course you do,” she said, her head filling with a dozen years' worth of police officers saying the same thing as they ransacked her room, looking for drugs.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know where I grew up, Gavin?” she asked. “I grew up in the worst area of DC in the ugliest little house God ever allowed to exist. There was mold growing on the ceilings and water dripped through the roof when it rained. My grandmother grew pot in little planters on the back deck and she sold just about every prescription painkiller you can imagine.”

“I'm sorry, Cassie. No kid should live like that.”

“True, but that's not why I'm telling you about it. The house was ugly, my grandmother was neglectful at best and abusive at worst, but I had a room, a bed, a bookshelf filled with library books and schoolbooks. A couple of times a month, some druggie would decide he'd been cheated and call in information to the police. They'd arrive in the middle of the night or early in the morning, banging on the door. I'd hear them, but I'd always stay in bed with the covers over my head, hoping they'd just leave me alone. They never did. They always came and dragged me out of bed, made me stand in the hall while they tore my room apart. Sometimes, I'd cry. Sometimes I wouldn't, but I always heard the same either way— ‘Sorry, kid, but I've got to do my job.'” She grabbed the door handle, shoved the door open, and tumbled out into the parking lot.

She didn't wait for Gavin, didn't want to hear whatever excuses he'd offer. She'd grown up. She understood. But she wasn't going to let her kids feel the same sense of helplessness she'd felt. Not if she could help it.

She reached the door of the building, tried to open it. Locked. Gavin was getting Glory out of the SUV. He'd have the code or the key or whatever was needed to open the door.

But she didn't want to look in his eyes again, didn't want to stand close and inhale his masculine scent. Didn't want to think that he was different from other guys she'd known, that he was different from Kane.

She pivoted to the right and headed for the corner of the building. A place like this didn't only have one door. She'd find another way in, and then she was going to find the nearest restroom and splash her face with icy water. Fatigue was messing with her head. She needed it to be un-messed with. Otherwise, she might find herself wanting things she couldn't have, believing in stuff that was never going to happen.

* * *

She wasn't going to get into the building, but Cassie obviously didn't know it. Gavin hooked Glory to her lead and followed Cassie as she checked the side entrance and then the rear entrance. She was heading around to the east side of the building, when he snagged the back of her sweatshirt and pulled her to a stop.

“They're all locked,” he said. “So, how about you stop wasting time looking for one that will open?”

“You could have told me that two doors ago,” she said, shoving her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and sighing.

“I thought you might need to walk off some steam.”

“I wasn't mad.”

“I know.” He nudged her back to the west-side entrance and used his key to open it. His office was on the second floor. Since the stairs were closer than the elevator, he led her there. “That doesn't mean you don't need to walk off some steam.”

“You're afraid I'm too upset to give the sketch artist what he needs,” she accused.

He couldn't deny it.

He needed her description to be clear and precise, but he needed her to be okay, too. She might not understand that. Not after spending her childhood being on the wrong end of enthusiastic law enforcement. He'd like her to understand it, though.

“
Are
you too upset to do this?” he countered as they reached the second story. A hall stretched out to either side of the stairwell. His office was to the left, and he could see that the door was open.

Margaret had probably brought the sketch artist in.

“What if I said yes?”

“Then I'd ask if I could get you a cup of coffee and give you a minute to think about how important this is. Not just to my case, but to you and the kids.”

“I don't need a reminder, but I wouldn't mind having a cup of coffee.” She smiled, but there wasn't any energy in it, no sparkle of amusement in her eyes. She looked exhausted, and he had a moment of doubt, a moment when he wondered if he should take her back down to the SUV and drive her back to the safe house.

“Gavin!” Margaret Meyer stepped out of Gavin's office and hurried toward them, her heels clicking on the tile floor. Short with a petite build and striking blue eyes, she'd built Capitol K-9 from the ground up. “Glad you finally made it. Pretty terrible traffic today, huh?”

“Worse than usual. Is the sketch artist here?”

“Yes. Congressman Jeffries is with him.” Margaret's gaze shifted to Cassie, and she smiled. “You're Cassie Danvers. I think we've met at one of Harland's parties.”

“I think we have,” Cassie agreed. “It's nice to see you again.”

“Nicer if it weren't under these circumstances, right?” Margaret took her arm as if they were old friends and walked her into the office.

Gavin followed, Glory on heel beside him. She knew the building, the office, the people, and her body was relaxed, her tail wagging happily.

Harland was standing near the window, a dark-haired man beside him. An inch shorter than the congressman, he wore black slacks and a dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. There was no doubt he was the sketch artist. He had a pencil in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Cassie,” Harland said, crossing the room and taking her hand. He looked thinner, the hollows beneath his cheekbones more pronounced. “I'm glad you were up to this. I was worried that with all the stress, you might not feel ready to provide a description.”

“I'd do anything to help the police find Michael's...” She shook her head. “I don't want to leave the kids for too long, though.”

“We can get started, then,” the sketch artist said. “I'm Westland Granger, by the way. You can call me West. Everyone else does. Mind if I use your desk to get set up?” He lifted an oversize portfolio from the floor and pulled a large sketch pad from it. “We'll start with a good old-fashioned pencil sketch. I may switch to my computer system later.”