Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (41 page)

Rebecca smiled reassuringly at her, holding up her hand. “This is just a small cut. I'm fine.” She looked over at Jack, feeling suddenly shy in front of Mrs. Harper, well-known in the area for her love of gossip in all its forms. “Thankfully, Jack came to my rescue and scared the intruder off before he had the chance to take anything.”

Mrs. Harper slid her eyes over to Jack coyly. “A knight in shining armor,” she said demurely. “We could use you on our neighborhood watch.”

Rebecca could see Jack struggling to hold his impatience. “Mrs. Harper,” he said calmly, “who took my car?”

“Oh, it was a repo company,” she said with a sympathetic downturn of the eyes. “But don't feel embarrassed. Financial difficulties can happen to everyone at one time or another.”

“I own the car outright,” he said with a puzzled expression. “It's not financed.”

Rebecca went to stand next to him. “Could it be something else?” she offered. “Unpaid tickets? Traffic offenses?”

“No,” he replied. “There's no reason for anyone to tow the car.”

Rebecca stood even closer and lowered her voice. “Do you think it has something to do with the break-in?” She noticed Mrs. Harper creeping closer, making a big pretense of looking at the flower baskets on Rebecca's porch. “How do we find out where it's gone?”

Jack brought his face close to hers, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Let's go back inside. I'm not comfortable with an audience.”

Jack lifted his head and smiled broadly. “Thank you very much for your help, Mrs. Harper,” he called. “I guess I must've forgotten about some unpaid tickets.”

He put his hand on the small of Rebecca's back and guided her up the porch steps. She glanced behind them to see her neighbor watching them each step of the way, rubbing the fur of her immaculately preened terrier, whispering in the dog's ear, no doubt already composing the grapevine of rumor that could sweep through a small town like Bristol in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Jack navigated the streets of Blountstown in Rebecca's minivan. He noticed her wringing her hands in her lap, clearly concerned at this new turn of events. Her house had been broken into and her life threatened and, as if that were not enough, his car was then unlawfully taken by a fake repo company.

“It'll be okay,” he said, glancing over at her. “We'll get this all straightened out in a day or two.”

He wished he sounded convincing, because he had no idea who or what they were dealing with. He just hoped he could contain the situation before it got out of hand.

She didn't answer. She remained silent for a while before asking quietly, “How did Ian die?”

Jack felt his grip tighten on the wheel at the unexpected nature of the question. “I thought you knew that,” he said gently. “Ian stepped on a land mine.”

She looked over at him. “Yes, I know that, but I want to know
how
he died.” She bowed her head. “Was he scared?”

Jack worked hard to steady his breathing and retain a composed demeanor. He and Rebecca had never spoken fully about the day that Ian died. She knew the basics, and that was all. She had never wanted to know more.

“No,” he said finally. “He wasn't scared.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “I'm glad of that.”

He waited for more questions to come, but she fell silent and turned her head to look out the window, watching the wide streets of Blountstown pass them by. The ornate colonial-style buildings gave the town a feeling that was rich in history, and he knew that Rebecca loved working among its proud residents. But right now, he guessed that her mind wasn't on the residents of Blountstown. It was focused on an event that took place a year and a half ago on a dark hillside in Afghanistan. The code name Dark Skies mission that had taken Ian Grey's life hung over both of them like a shadow. He knew that Rebecca was sometimes angry with God for taking her husband, and Jack couldn't heal her heart, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe this tentative questioning regarding Ian's fatal mission was the final step in her healing process. He could only hope so.

He turned in to the
Liberty News
parking lot and screeched the minivan to a halt.

“I don't believe it,” he said, staring straight ahead. “What on earth is going on?”

Parked in the corner, tucked against the wall of the parking lot, was his Porsche, gleaming like a yellow beacon in the hazy morning mist.

THREE

R
ebecca and Jack locked eyes in mutual shock. She automatically reached her hand to open the passenger door and go take a closer look, but Jack's fingers closed around her wrist.

“No,” he said firmly. “I'll go check it out.”

He parked the minivan as far away from the Porsche as possible in the small parking lot and moved his hand to rest on top of hers in her lap. “Stay here. If anything bad happens, run into the building and call the police, okay? Don't put yourself in any danger.”

“Jack,” she said, “be careful.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I always am.”

She watched him slide from his seat onto the ground, keeping low and alert. With his hand resting on his holstered gun under the loose fabric of his shirt, he approached the Porsche cautiously, checking the surrounding vehicles for anything suspicious. He skirted around his car, looking through the windows and squatting low to check the underside.

Finally, he returned to her and retook his place in the driver's seat of her minivan.

“It looks exactly the same as always,” he said. “There's no sign of anything having been tampered with.”

Rebecca felt the air growing muggy like a storm was brewing. “But what's it doing here?”

Jack shook his head. “I have no idea, but let's save that question for later.”

He looked up at the tall
Liberty News
building. “We need to go get those photographs so we can hand them over to the police. The sooner we make this situation go away, the sooner you can get back to normal.”

Normal,
Rebecca thought.
What exactly is normal?
Normal was living life as a single mom, watching her children grow up without a father, relying on Jack to do all the things that Ian should be doing: teaching the girls to ride a bike, building them a tree house, going to ballet recitals. It wasn't fair to expect Jack to do this forever. She should be able to manage alone by now. After all, eighteen months had passed already.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess we both want to get back to normal. You can get on with your life again.”

He looked a little taken aback. “I
am
getting on with my life. I didn't mean to imply that you're a burden.”

She inhaled deeply and thought of all the words she wanted to say to him, but none of them would come. “We'll talk about it later, Jack,” she said, opening her car door and stepping out onto the pavement. “We need to have a conversation that is long overdue.”

She saw a look of confusion fall over his face as he exited the car and came to stand next to her. “What are you talking about, Bec? I thought we were doing fine.”

“That's just the problem, Jack,” she said, turning to walk up the steps to the revolving door of the
Liberty News
. “There is no
we
.”

* * *

Jack took the steps two at a time to catch up to Rebecca, who had stridden ahead of him without warning. Whatever she had just alluded to had unsettled him. He had a worrying suspicion that she wanted him to back out of her life, and this thought sent a cold sensation of anxiety through his body. Yet he couldn't profess to be wholly surprised. A beautiful woman like Rebecca deserved to meet someone special and be cherished again. She had probably realized that she would never meet such a person while he was on the scene, scaring off any potential suitors.

He saw her disappear through the revolving door and waited for the next wing to turn before darting into the space and finding himself in the large foyer of the building. The temperature inside was the perfect relief from the chilly February day, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Numerous framed newspaper stories adorned the walls, showing the history of the paper through the years, with many of the photographs having been taken by Rebecca.

“Rebecca,” a voice echoed across the foyer. “What are you doing here today? Our receptionist told me you'd called to request the day off.”

Jack looked over to see Rebecca's editor, Simon Orwell, rush to her and envelop her in a hug. Jack's skin prickled with something he couldn't put his finger on.

“She also told me about your burglary,” Simon said. “How awful for you.”

“I won't be here long,” Rebecca replied. “If it's okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” he said. “Take as much time off as you need.”

Simon's eyes slid from Rebecca's and caught sight of Jack behind her. His manner instantly changed to one of brusque formality. He straightened out his yellow suit jacket and adjusted his electric blue shirt collar beneath. He was known for his snappy, if unconventional, dress sense and was thought of as an eccentric media mogul in Florida, where he owned several regional newspapers, many of them sharing the same office space as the
Liberty News
.

“Conrad,” Simon exclaimed. “So good to see you. Long time no see.”

Jack approached Simon and extended his hand. Simon was one of very few people who used Jack's first name, and it emphasized the distance between them. They had met many times but had never gotten to know each other well, keeping their conversations usually limited to the best way to avoid traffic gridlock in the morning. That was as personal as either of them wanted to get.

Jack shook Simon's hand firmly. “I don't suppose you happened to notice who parked my yellow Porsche in the
Liberty News
's lot this morning?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as light as possible. “I took it to be cleaned, and the company must've dropped it here instead of the parking lot in the center of town like I asked.” He rolled his eyes. “They get it wrong all the time. I just wondered if you'd seen which attendant left it here.”

“Sorry, no,” Simon said, releasing his hand. “But you're welcome to use our telephone to call them and check.”

Jack held up his hand. “No, thanks. It's not a big deal.”

He caught Rebecca's eye and gave a small shake of the head, letting her know that he didn't want to divulge any information to Simon. Simon's natural nosiness was not what they needed right now. If he sniffed a story, he'd be all over it like a bad rash.

“I've come to get something from my desk,” Rebecca said, keeping her voice light, as Jack had. “I left it here yesterday, and I need it for the weekend.”

Simon put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the elevator. “I'll walk with you. I meant it when I said to take as much time off as you need before returning to work. Burglaries can leave a person with a lot of mental stress, so don't worry if you need some downtime.” He guided her into the open elevator. “After all, I need my star photographer to stay happy and healthy.”

Jack kept his eyes on Simon's hand resting on Rebecca's shoulder as the elevator glided up to the eighth floor. He wanted to lift Simon's fingers from Rebecca's person. Simon was always very friendly with Rebecca, and it bothered Jack greatly, but he knew he had no right to feel that way.

The elevator doors opened out directly into the large newsroom, where there was a buzz of activity. It was open and airy, with telephones ringing and staff calling to one another across the room.

“I'll leave you to it,” Simon said, removing his arm from around Rebecca and heading for his enclosed office at the far end. “Just holler if you need anything.”

Jack watched Simon striding confidently away, displaying an air of authority that let everybody in the newsroom know who was in charge. Despite being only a little more than five feet five inches in height, he carried himself with the commanding presence of a much taller man. The wide shoulder pads on his expertly tailored suits helped.

Jack noticed that Rebecca had left his side and gone to sit at her desk by the window. He went to join her, realizing that he had never actually seen her place of work before. Her sunny desk was neatly laid out with photographs for local stories: a beauty pageant, a veterans' parade, a new statue being unveiled. Next to her computer was a framed photograph of her and Ian, each holding one of their daughters, waving at the camera. He looked away, feeling sadness creep into his heart. He felt as though he were invading her private space.

She opened the drawer of her desk with a key from her purse and gave a small gasp. “They're gone,” she said, searching through a pile of papers inside. “They were right here on top. I remember putting them there yesterday after I spoke to the auction house.”

Across the newsroom, Jack saw Simon talking on the phone, lowering the blinds in his office. It made him feel uneasy.

He squatted down beside her chair. “Does anyone else have a key to your desk?”

“Simon has a master key for all the desks,” she said. “But to my knowledge, he's never used it.”

“Were these the only copies of the photographs?”

“They're the only printed copies,” she said. “But I think I still have the negatives filed away at home. I have a storage freezer in my darkroom.”

“You think you have them?” he repeated. “Don't you keep the negatives of all your pictures?”

She nodded. “Yes, mostly. But these photographs never appeared in any publication. At the time of Operation Iraqi Freedom, the media was way more fixated on human interest stories. Pictures of artwork weren't what they wanted. If I don't manage to sell a photo, I sometimes don't look after the negatives like I should.” She looked a little sheepish. “I have thousands of them, and I focus on the important ones. I keep meaning to transfer them all to digital format, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.”

He dropped his voice. “We need to find those negatives before anyone else does.” He grabbed her by the hand. “Let's go.”

* * *

As Jack led her toward the elevator, Rebecca heard Simon's voice in the newsroom. “You leaving already?” he called. She looked back to see him jogging to reach them.

“Yes,” she said. “I got what I need.”

A look of surprise swept over his face. “You did?”

Simon quickly smiled, but it was too late to hide his initial reaction. Jack noticed it, too, and flicked his eyes to hers with a look of concern.

“I thought we could have a coffee together,” Simon said, keeping the smile fixed on his lips. “We so rarely get a chance to catch up these days.”

Rebecca felt her face take on a look of amazement. In the ten years she had worked at the
Liberty News
, Simon had never once asked her to accompany him for coffee. In fact, he didn't like sitting down for longer than five minutes at a time and always grabbed his coffee on the run. He possessed a kind of energy that kept him moving at a frenetic pace.

“Um, no thanks, Simon,” she said. “I gotta run.” She noticed his disappointment. “Maybe next time.”

“Aw, come on,” he insisted. “Just ten minutes.”

Jack then stepped forward and stood between her and Simon. “Thanks for the offer, Simon, but we have a busy day ahead.”

Rebecca heard the emphasis that Jack placed on
we
, and she saw Simon's face harden in response. He was not a man who liked to be challenged, and Jack clearly found it difficult to hide his dislike of her editor. Simon was a big player in the regional media world and had friends in high places. But none of this had an effect on Jack, who treated Simon like any regular Joe.

“Fair enough,” Simon said, raking his hand through his thinning blond hair. “It was good to see you guys. We'll catch up another time.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back to his office in the newsroom, pushing open his office door with a flourish.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he watched Simon walk away. “I think it's wise to keep Simon at arm's length,” he said quietly. “The less he knows, the better.”

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside.

“I know that Simon can be a little arrogant,” Rebecca said, feeling duty-bound to defend her editor. “But I've known him for twelve years. I don't think he's caught up in anything illegal.” She pressed the first-floor button impatiently when the elevator failed to move. “Simon isn't a bad person.”

Jack leaned against the elevator wall as the doors finally closed and it started gliding downward. “You see the good in everyone, Bec. That's your best quality.”

She felt her color rise a little and was suddenly conscious of their proximity to one another in this confined area. Jack's aura seemed to fill the small space, and she found herself willing the elevator to go faster. But instead of smoothly descending to its destination, the elevator began to shudder and jerk, causing her to lose her balance and stumble sideways. She felt Jack's arms catch her and bring her back to her feet, but the floor was still shaking beneath her legs.

“What's happening, Jack?” she yelled, grabbing his hand.

“Just keep a tight hold on me,” he replied, quickly pulling her into the corner, where he could lean against the two walls.

Jack's arms curled around her waist, and the sound of grinding metal filled her ears. It reminded her of the twisted remains of tanks and military vehicles she had seen littering the roadside during her time in Iraq. She could smell the pungent odor of heated steel as the elevator tried to slow its descent into an abyss below. Jack tightened his grip, restricting her breathing a little and leaving her breathless. She worked her fingers underneath his, and he loosened his hold.

Then the elevator stopped with a sudden jolt, and they were both sent sprawling to the floor when their legs gave way beneath them. She felt Jack's body cover hers for a split-second before he sprang to his feet like a cat. The lights flickered for a few moments and then went out completely, plunging them into total darkness. This wasn't a random fault with the elevator. This was a targeted attack, and fear seemed to seep into her bones. She imagined somebody just a few feet away, gleefully toying with the elevator control box, knowing that its occupants would feel terrorized in the dark.