Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (49 page)

He pulled around to the rear of the lot and backed into an open parking space.

Minutes ticked by. Drumming his fingers on the center console, he took in the area while still keeping an eye out for Carl. Directly behind him were an old feed store, barely standing, and a two-pump gas station. To his right, a couple of decrepit storage buildings, some ancient rusty oil tanks and overgrown vegetation. A deserted office building stood in front of him, and to his left, across the street, a Laundromat and several more locally owned diners.

Finally a yellow dual-cab pickup pulled into the rear entrance of the parking lot.

Patrick was just about to climb out of his SUV when he heard a loud
pop, pop, pop
.

His heart pounding, he kicked open the driver's-side door and dropped to his feet, weapon ready. Staying low, he moved to the front bumper, stretched to look over the hood. Swiftly, he gave the parking lot another encompassing glance, looking for the shooter or anything suspicious.

Nothing moved, except Carl's truck, which was now weaving out of control. After sideswiping a parked vehicle, it spun and skidded several yards into a metal gate marked No Trespassing. The gate flew off. The truck jolted right, then left before slamming head-on into an old oak tree.

Patrick grabbed his cell phone and called for backup. Then he rolled into action and raced toward the accident, gun drawn and his eyes peeled.

A siren blared in the distance within moments.

Smoke spilled from the buckled hood. Looking inside, Patrick saw Carl's body slumped over the steering wheel. Blood was oozing from a wound on the side of his head. He yanked open the door, and felt for a pulse.

There wasn't one.

ELEVEN

J
udging from the troubled expression on Patrick's face when he walked in the office, Amber didn't expect good news. Now the burning question in her mind was, if his talk with Carl hadn't produced any new clues or evidence, where did they go next? More than ever she needed this thing over with. The last thing she wanted was to end up in a safe house.

“Sorry it took so long.” He sounded a bit harried. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Carl did supply him with some intriguing information he needed to jump on.

“I was beginning to wonder.” She smiled at him.

He didn't seem to notice, clearly distracted. She volleyed back to her original assumption that things hadn't gone well with Carl. “Hopefully you weren't too bored,” he said, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the back of the file-laden chair beside her.

Since it was a statement, not a question, she didn't even respond. He looked as if he had more on his mind than worrying about her being cooped up in his office with nothing to do but hope for good news while his desk phone rang off the hook.

Now it rang again.

Patrick walked around his desk to answer it.

Reluctantly, Amber sank onto the edge of a chair, trying to ward off any speculation. At the same time she held on to a thread of hope that Carl had supplied Patrick with some tidbit of information that would help crack the case.

“There's definitely a drug tie to this, has to be,” Patrick said into the phone. He shoved his hand through his hair, making it stand up in short spikes, before he combed it back down with his fingers.

She tried not to eavesdrop, but her ears perked up when he said, “Find out everything you can on Carl Shaw. Who he partied with. The name of his drug dealer. Old friends. New friends. Anything. And find out if he still had ties to Randall Becker.” Patrick hung up the phone and met Amber's gaze. “Sorry, I meant to call you with an update sooner, but I've been on the phone for the past hour.”

Shifting uncomfortably, she shrugged. “No problem. Doesn't sound as though you had a very productive meeting with Carl.”

“Carl's dead.”

Her jaw fell slack. Thank goodness she was sitting down. “What? I mean, how?”

“Someone shot him in the head as he drove into the parking lot at Moe's.”

A dead weight settled in her stomach, along with the knowledge that this crime was more complicated than she'd ever imagined. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “And the shooter?”

Patrick lifted his hands in exasperation. “Don't know.”

“This is crazy.”

“Yes, it is.” Patrick rocked back in his chair with a sigh. “To make matters worse, the ballistics reports came back on the bullets recovered from the attack on the counseling center. None of the bullets matched any of the guns registered to Carl.” As he spoke, the frustration in his voice grew thicker.

He always seemed so strong, so in control. A cool self-assurance that encouraged her and kept her grounded. She'd forgotten how just having him in the same room made her feel safe. She didn't like this change in demeanor.

Amber drew in a calming breath, digging deep for composure. “How many people are involved in this?” She almost hated to ask.

There was a flicker of hesitation.

She straightened and caught Patrick's eye. He quirked a brow and sighed. “That's the question of the day.”

“So where does the investigation go from here?”

“We'll start dissecting the lives of every guy at that frat party. But still keep Randall Becker at the forefront of our investigation. I just put a tail on him.”

Alarm sent tiny pinpricks of fear hopscotching up her spine. “And if Randall isn't the one?”

He shrugged. “We'll keep looking.”

Amber slumped back in her chair, her mind trying to sort through the new information. As it started to sink in, she came back up in her seat. “With Carl dead and Randall under surveillance, I'd like to hang out at Kim's house awhile longer. I'm not comfortable with the safe house idea.” She held her breath, waited for him to respond.

Patrick gave her an arched look. “I don't think staying at Kim's is wise.” Then, as if he could read her thoughts, he rocked forward and his eyes latched firmly on to hers. “And it's not because I'm tired of hanging around you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” she said, downplaying her earlier concern. Suddenly embarrassed under his penetrating glare, she added, “I didn't want you to feel obligated to spend all your free time protecting me.”

Patrick wagged his head. “My job is to solve this case. I'm one hundred percent invested until that happens.”

Of course. Her heart slipped a little. “Well, if it's okay with you, I'd like to hold off a few more days before I am sequestered anywhere.”

He scratched his jaw. “You're still holding out on the fund-raiser?”

She chewed her bottom lip and nodded.

“But if we're at an impasse in a few more days—”

“I'll gladly go.”

“Okay.” He stood. “If the safe house is out for now, then let's have some lunch.”

Amber was out of the chair and pulling on her jacket before he had a chance to change his thinking. “Sounds good. I'm starving.”

* * *

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.”