Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (48 page)

TEN

T
he cinnamon roll was surprisingly good, despite the slightly burnt edges. The conversation was better.

Grayson was funny and intelligent, and Laney would have been lying if she said she hadn't enjoyed spending time with him. But Grayson's easy banter couldn't belie his concern. He was reluctant to leave, even after Kent arrived with Murphy, who'd greeted Laney like a long-lost friend before eying Grayson suspiciously until introductions were made. Grayson had finally given her a stern reminder to stay in the house and left for the airport.

With Grayson gone, Laney tried not to watch the clock, counting the minutes until he'd return with the sketch artist. The armed officers in Laney's drive, plus the curtains pulled tightly closed throughout the house, were blatant reminders of the danger she was in. If that wasn't enough, the nagging headache and various aches and pains she had would have been.

She watched as Rose popped opened another container of cinnamon rolls. Despite her cheerfulness, she looked tired, her skin a little pale, her hair a little less bouncy than usual.

“Why don't you let me do that, Aunt Rose?” she asked, and Rose scowled.

“You think I'm too old to handle this?”

“I think that if I'm tired, you must be, too.”

“Well, I am, but Grayson would probably enjoy a few more piping hot cinnamon rolls when he comes back, and you've never been all that good of a cook.”

“This isn't cooking,” Laney said, taking the can from her aunt's hands. “And you know that Grayson has only been gone forty minutes. If we bake these now, they won't be hot when he gets back.”

“Truth be told,” Rose admitted, “I want one. I stress-eat, dear. That's how I got these.” She patted her hips, and Laney laughed.

“You've got nothing. Now, sit down. I'll take care of the rolls.”

She helped her aunt to the chair, anxious to get her off her feet. The woman had more energy than most twenty-year-olds, but she wasn't twenty, and she could easily overdo it.

Once Rose had settled into the chair, Laney opened the container, peeled out the rolls and placed them in the baking dish. After sticking them in the oven, she did a half dozen other things that were everyday and easy. All the while, her heart slammed against her ribs. Her throat was dry. Every minute, she expected something to scratch against the kitchen window, someone to kick in the kitchen door.

Sure, they had armed police officers outside, but that hadn't made any difference the previous night.

As if thinking about it made it happen, the back door flew open.

She screamed, the sound choking off as she saw a police officer standing in the doorway.

“Sorry about that, ma'am,” he said, his gaze shooting to a spot just past her shoulder. She glanced back and saw Kent on the kitchen threshold.

“What's going on?” he asked, his tone cold, his eyes icy. Maybe he thought the police officer was a threat. Whatever the case, the young officer swallowed hard, took a step backward.

“Mills Corner store and gas station has just been held up at gunpoint. Dispatch has called us in since we're the closest officers. You cool with us going to the scene, Chief?”

Kent hesitated, then nodded. “Go ahead. Call in to dispatch to have a couple of officers head out here to fill in, though. We don't want to take any chances.”

“Will do!” He raced back outside. Seconds later, the sound of a siren blasted through the afternoon stillness.

“I don't like this,” Kent said with a scowl, pacing to the front window and pulling back the curtain. Murphy, sensing his anxiety, was instantly at his side. “That gas station is so far off the beaten track, it's nearly impossible to find if you don't know where to look. It's too much of a coincidence that it just happened to be robbed today. Call those kids back from the kennel, Laney. I'm going to take Murphy with me and do a sweep of the property. Make sure everything looks clear. Let the kids in, lock the door and stay inside.”

He snapped a lead on Murphy, issued a command and opened the sliding glass door.

As soon as he disappeared from view, Laney texted Bria and Riley, telling them to come to the house. The chief was right. The little gas station had been around for as long as Laney could remember, and as far as she could recall, it had never been robbed before. The mom-and-pop store offering cheap prices on junk food and milk didn't look like much. It certainly didn't look like much money could be found there.

Riley knocked on the sliding glass door, and Laney opened it, waving the teen inside. Bria was right behind him, her eyes wide. “What's going on?” she asked. “More trouble?”

“Not yet,” Laney responded, keeping her tone calm. She didn't want to scare her employees.

“Meaning you're expecting trouble?” Riley asked. “Because if you are, I want to go home and get my hunting rifle.”

‘There's no need for that,” she cut him off. “We're not even sure there's actually any trouble.”

“Then Bria and I should go back to the kennel. We've got a lot of work to do.” He opened the slider, stepping outside. One of the kenneled dogs barked, the frantic sound a warning that Laney recognized immediately. Trouble. Danger.

She met Riley's eyes. “Was everything okay when you left?”

“It was fine,” he responded. “We were...” His voice trailed off as a wisp of gray smoke spiraled up from the corner of the kennel.

The scent of it followed, wafting into the kitchen, stinging Laney's nostrils.

“Fire!” she shouted. “Rose, call 911! There's a fire at the kennel.”

Rose grabbed the kitchen phone while Laney raced out the sliding glass doors toward the kennel, Riley and Bria close behind. They needed to get the dogs out first and then worry about containing the damage to the kennels.

“You guys get the hose and meet me by the outdoor dog runs. We're about to put the emergency evacuation system to the test. Remember, under no circumstances do either of you go into the facility.” Her mind racing, Laney knew she could be walking into a trap. As much as she wanted to get the dogs out safely, she could not endanger either Riley or Bria to do it.

Laney was at the kennel entrance in moments. She'd had an emergency release switch designed to open all the dog runs at once. She'd tested it after it was installed but had never needed to use it again.

Throwing the facility door open, she rushed in. Smoke billowed from under her office door. So far the flames were contained behind it. Laney knew the sprinkler heads would activate only with direct heat. There were two sprinkler heads in her office. She hoped they would contain the fire. She pulled open the dog run control panel and yanked down the emergency release lever. The grinding sound of the gates opening was an immediate relief. Now it was just a matter of getting into each run, putting a leash on the dogs and taking them to the outside training pavilion until help arrived.

A shadow passed across the open door.

Was someone there? “Kent?” she yelled, hoping the chief had finally arrived. The property was large, but there was no way he'd missed the thick cloud of smoke that was engulfing the area.

“It's Riley,” the teen responded. “I thought you could use an extra set of hands.”

“I told you not to come in the kennel,” she snapped as Riley appeared at the threshold. She didn't want him to become an unintended target.

A sudden movement behind Riley caught her eye.

A man ran toward the entrance to the kennels, a baseball cap pulled low over his face, a tire iron in his hand.

“Riley! Look out!” Laney warned, rushing toward him. Riley turned, ducking and bringing his arm up in an attempt to block the blow from the tire iron. Though his arm took the brunt of the blow, the tire iron still caught him on the side of the head. He crumpled to the ground in a heap.

“No!” Laney cried out as the man roughly nudged Riley with his foot, stepping callously over the body of the unconscious teenager.

She couldn't see the man's face, but something about him was eerily familiar. He had the same wiry frame and runner's build as the gun-wielding kidnapper. A familiar fear ran up Laney's spine as he advanced toward her, tire iron poised for attack.

Glancing around, she saw the catching pole resting against the front desk where she had left it that morning. Wielding it like a sword, she swung it at him. He dodged back to avoid the blow. She swung again, the tip of the pole hitting his hand.

“You're going to pay for that!” he growled.

He lunged forward, the tire iron arcing toward her head.

She ducked, swung the pole again. He grabbed the end and tried to rip it from her hands.

“Laney! Where are you?” Kent called from the other side of the kennels.

“Here, Kent! Quick! Help!”

At the sound of Kent's voice, the man dropped the catching pole and darted toward her. The tire iron whizzed through the air.

She felt it glance off her arm as she ran toward Kent's voice.

She thought she'd feel it again, slamming into the back of her skull or the side of her head. She was sure that at any moment, the man would be on her.

Instead, she felt nothing. Heard nothing. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him disappearing into the woods.

She was safe.

But she didn't feel safe.

She felt terrified.

Kent called out again, and she managed to respond, her heart in her throat as she turned back and knelt beside Riley. He groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He was alive. She was thankful for that. She had to keep him that way. Keep Rose and Bria safe.

A task that seemed to grow more difficult by the hour. If something happened to any of them, she'd never forgive herself. She was all too familiar with that scenario. Her failure to protect them would haunt her dreams. And her waking hours.

* * *

A fire truck, an ambulance, two police cruisers and a K-9 unit were still in the yard when Grayson navigated the gravel road. Andrews had called and briefed him on the attack and Grayson's mind was racing as he parked quickly, jumping out of his sedan and opening the passenger door for the sketch artist.

“Slow down,” Willow Scott demanded, her curly blond hair pulled into a loose bun, the hairstyle matching her no-nonsense business suit perfectly. “Rushing isn't going to change what's already happened,” she said, her long stride easily keeping up with his as he jogged toward the house.

“Moving slow isn't going to keep more from happening,” he growled, frustrated with himself, with Kent, with the two officers who'd left their post to respond to the falsified report of an armed robbery.

The door flew open as he jogged up the porch stairs, and Kent Andrews appeared, a streak of soot on his cheek and a scowl deepening the lines in his face. “This the sketch artist?” he asked, gesturing to Willow.

“I am,” Willow responded, moving past him and into the house, adjusting a bag of art supplies she had slung over her shoulder. “Where's the witness?”

“In the kitchen. She thinks the guy who was out here today might be one of the kidnappers from last night.”

“How'd he get away?” Grayson asked.

“I'm pretty sure he had an accomplice parked out on the highway. Murphy and I scoured the woods. No sign of anyone, though Laney clearly saw him disappear into the trees.”

“That's unfortunate. I really want to ID these guys quickly,” Grayson responded.

“Well, if Laney is as good a witness as you think she will be, we'll be able to run a sketch through the system before the day is out,” Willow interjected. “If the partial prints or DNA profile from the gun recovered at the scene pan out, your case will be airtight—and if either of the kidnappers is in the system, we'll have a positive ID in no time.”

Grayson was banking on it. The FBI's new facial recognition program was able to compare surveillance images and even sketches against the FBI's national database of mug shots in minutes. That's why he'd brought Willow in. She'd had a hand in developing the system and the highest hit ratio of any artist using it. “Let's hope both perps have criminal records.”

“There's a good probability they do. You don't get involved in this type of crime overnight. I'm betting these guys are career criminals.”

“Let's get this done, then.” Grayson said, leading the way to the kitchen.

The house bustled with activity. Firefighters, police and ambulance personnel were all milling around, eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that Rose was passing around on a platter. Despite the cookies, the air was still ripe with the scent of smoke, the sliding glass door open, cool air tinged with a hint of moisture drifted in.

He scanned the room and found Laney seated in a chair at the table. She caught his eye and smiled. She looked young, her hair scraped into a ponytail, her eyes shadowed. “You made it back,” she said.

“Better late than never, I guess.” He took a seat beside her, the acrid stench of smoke heavier there. Though her clothes were smudged with soot, her face and hands looked freshly scrubbed.

“You're not late,” Rose cut in. “You're just in time for a cookie.” She handed him one, and Grayson ate it.

It tasted like dust. Or maybe mud.

“Good?” she asked, beaming as she held out the platter. “Have another.”

“Thanks, but we've got a lot of work to do. Maybe you could—”

“Say no more!” she interrupted. “Bria and I will check on the dogs, but we'll go see Riley first. He's conscious but the paramedics want him assessed at the hospital. His parents just arrived and they're planning to head over there with him. Bria, grab that platter of cookies in case anyone needs a snack.”

Seconds later, Kent had cleared the rest of the room, then joined firefighters and police outside. Willow took a seat on the opposite side of Laney, smiling as she introduced herself. She was good at what she did. Great at it, and part of that gift was in her ability to make the witness feel comfortable and confident.