Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (43 page)

She turned to Jack. “I need to make sure the girls stay safe. I'll call Ian's mom and ask her to keep them for the week.”

He stepped up to bring himself in line with her. “Let's not worry Sarah unnecessarily. Tell her there's a big job at work you need to focus on.”

They rounded a corner, and Jack stopped in his tracks. “Wait up,” he called. “I borrowed a jacket from a room here earlier.”

He unzipped the coat and slipped it off, darting into the room and hanging it back on the peg. Once he was back in the hallway, Rebecca was faced with his bare chest, with firm, wide shoulders, bronzed from his regular beach trips. She was suddenly embarrassed and looked away.

“You can't walk out of here with no shirt,” she muttered. “We're supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

Darius turned around and shook his head in irritation. He reached into a backpack he was carrying and pulled out a crumpled T-shirt, tossing it to Jack in a swift movement. “Always the show-off, huh, Jack?”

Jack pulled the red T-shirt over his head. It strained over every inch of his torso, clearly made for Darius's slight frame rather than Jack's tall and broad one.

Darius approached the elevator and pressed the button.

“I'd rather take the stairs,” Rebecca said, scanning the corridor and spotting a door for the stairwell at the end. “It's much safer.”

Darius didn't offer any objection and headed for the stairwell. They began to descend the stairs with quick feet, and Rebecca saw Jack momentarily stumble behind her. She turned in a flash and held him steady.

“Are you sure you should be leaving the hospital, Jack?” she asked. “Now that Chief Finch is here, you don't need to worry. You should concentrate on getting well.”

“No,” he said loudly. His voice echoed off the bare white walls of the stairwell, and Darius stopped to look sharply at him. Jack dropped his voice. “The nurse said that my blood pressure was a little low and I should take it easy.” He looked uncomfortable, like he was hiding his true condition from her. “But other than that, I'm fine.”

For the first time, Rebecca saw weakness in Jack's body. She was so used to him being strong and healthy. It pained her to see him suffering physically.

“Jack,” she said, “I know you want to look after me, but you're pushing yourself too hard. I don't expect you to sacrifice your health for me.”

“Let's not talk about this now,” he said, looking past her to the stairs. Darius had already descended a whole flight ahead of them. “I need to come with you.”

“Why?” she challenged him. “Is it because you want to be with me or because you feel obliged to keep your promise to Ian?”

He looked at her with his eyes blinking fast, and she sensed his surprise. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Of course it matters,” she replied, trying to keep a lid on her emotions. “I feel like I've stolen your life, Jack. Ian wouldn't have wanted you to devote your entire future to me.”

She saw his brows knit together in confusion. “Have I done something to upset you, Bec?” he asked. “Because you seem to be mad at me.”

Rebecca closed her eyes briefly and allowed her shoulders to relax and drop from their pent-up position. “No, I'm not mad at you,” she said, touching his arm. “You saved me from being hurt in the explosion, and I'm really sorry if I sound ungrateful. I guess I just wanted to let you know that you don't have to put yourself in any more danger for me.”

He smiled. “Okay. Well, I'm glad we've cleared that up. I'm leaving the hospital with you, and that's final.”

A low whistle rose up through the stairwell, and Rebecca looked down to see Chief Finch's impatient face three flights below them. “What's taking so long?” he hissed.

She turned swiftly and began to descend the stairs again. She had failed to convey her feelings accurately, and now Jack thought she was mad at him. In truth, she wanted to set him free. She wasn't going to allow the status quo to continue any longer. Their facade of family life couldn't continue indefinitely. It had to either change or end. She suspected it would be the latter.

The three of them reached the ground floor together and walked out the exit door into the parking lot. The day had become gray and overcast, and Rebecca felt the storm she had anticipated earlier creeping closer toward them. Darius indicated that they should stop at the side of the parking lot while he checked his car thoroughly for devices. He then called them over and reached into the glove compartment.

“I'm guessing you don't want to be without this,” Darius said, handing Jack his gun and holster. “The police signed it over to me for safekeeping.”

Jack took the gun and slipped the holster over his shoulder. He had gone quiet, and she hoped he wasn't hurt by her words. “I care about you, Jack,” she said. “I want you to be happy.”

He spoke in a whisper. “I
am
happy,” he said. “But I don't think you want to accept it.”

* * *

Jack lowered himself gingerly into the backseat of the car, next to Rebecca, wanting to keep her as close to him as possible. She had turned her head away from him and was studying the dark clouds gathering overhead. A gulf seemed to have opened up between them, and he was clueless about how to close it. He wished he knew what was going through her mind, but he figured it was pointless to ask. Rebecca was not someone who shared her feelings easily. He had often tried to encourage her to talk about Ian and share the burden of her loss, but she stubbornly carried it alone. She ensured that the children talked about their father often, and his picture was present in every room, but she kept her innermost thoughts to herself. Even though he and Rebecca were close, there was one final piece of the puzzle that had never been put in place—the piece that would connect them on a deeper emotional level.

Darius started up the car. It rattled to life, and the chief stepped on the gas until the engine ran a little more smoothly.

“I think I need a new car,” Darius said, pulling out of the lot onto the highway. “This old rust bucket is on its last legs.”

“That reminds me,” said Rebecca. “My car is still at the
Liberty News
lot. I should go get it.”

“Negative,” Darius said. “We'll pick it up tomorrow.”

Jack shook his head. “A simple
no
would be sufficient, Chief. We're not on a military mission here.”

“This may not be an official assignment,” Darius replied, glancing at him in the rearview mirror, “but we should be treating it as such.” His brows dipped over his deep-set eyes. “Treat it with the same importance as Dark Skies.”

Jack's eyes darted over to Rebecca at the mention of Dark Skies, the final mission that Ian ever completed. She didn't understand the reference and showed no emotion. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, one still covered by the bandage Jack had constructed. He wished he could lean over and place his fingers on top of hers, but he wasn't sure how she would react. It was safer to do nothing.

Rain began to fall in fat, heavy drops, snaking down the windshield in trails.

Darius turned on the wipers. “It sure does seem to rain a lot in The Sunshine State,” he said.

“Thunderstorms are a part of life here,” Rebecca said. “You get used to it. They rarely last long.” Her voice sounded flat and detached.

A bright flash of lightning lit up the glistening road ahead of them, and Darius flicked the wipers to high speed. Then, without warning, he yanked the wheel and veered sharply to the left, forcing Jack to lean all the way over to Rebecca's side. His face brushed against her hair before he managed to right himself again.

“Go easy on the gas, Chief,” he said. “We've got plenty of time.”

Darius's face was stony and motionless in the rearview mirror. “Get your gun out, Jack,” he said. “And keep it close at hand. We're being tailed.”

FIVE

R
ebecca swiveled around in her seat just as another bright flash lit up the vehicle behind them. It was a plain beige sedan exactly like hundreds of others on the road.

“How do you know it's following us?” she asked, hoping he had somehow gotten it wrong.

“Trust me,” Darius said. “I know.”

Jack took out his gun and placed it on his lap. “Keep out of sight, Rebecca,” he said. “Stay down.”

She automatically slid down the leather upholstery and drew her head close to her knees. She felt Jack's warm hand settle on her nape in a gesture of reassurance. The car gathered speed and began swerving across lanes, but Jack's firm grip held her steady as she was jostled with the force.

“I'm taking us out of town,” Darius called out, making a turn off the freeway. “Hold on for a wild ride, folks.”

With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Rebecca couldn't see the continued flashes of lightning, but she could hear the eruptions of thunder crackling in the sky above. The rain hammered down on the roof of the car, and the wheels splashed through deep puddles that had gathered on the sides of the road. Without the ability to see their projected path, she was being jarred by the quick movements of the car. She leaned heavily against the door to give herself better balance, but her head bounced off the glass as they hit the curb, and Jack pulled her farther toward him. Her head ended up pressed against his torso and she didn't dare move again, so she remained there, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt tightly. It seemed there would be no respite from the menace that was pursuing her with all its might. Not today. She twisted her head a little to look outside for a clue to their location, but she saw only dark clouds whipping past the window and streams of rainwater forking across the glass in all directions.

When the car hit a pothole on the road, both Rebecca and Jack bounced up so high that their heads hit the ceiling.

“Make a stop, Chief,” Jack shouted. “This is too dangerous.” He pointed to a turn leading into a business district. “This place looks quiet.” Darius took a left down a one-way street. The tailing car followed.

“Stop now,” yelled Jack, pushing Rebecca away and opening the door, ready to jump out.

Darius slowed the car to a crawl and, even before the tires had stopped moving, Jack jumped from the car with his gun raised.

Rebecca clasped her hands together and prayed for his life.

* * *

“Get out of the car,” Jack yelled through the sheets of rain soaking him to his skin. He was standing in the middle of the road with his gun trained on the driver sitting motionless behind the wheel. In just a few seconds, Darius joined him.

The door of the car opened with tiny, slow movements. “Nice and steady,” Jack called as he saw a black shoe emerge and plant itself on the ground. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The driver stepped out of the vehicle and stood in front of them with his hands raised.

“I'm...I'm a reporter from the
Liberty News
,” the man stammered. “I was asked to follow you and report your movements.”

Jack didn't lower his gun. “By who?”

“My editor, Simon Orwell.”

Jack looked the man up and down: neatly combed hair, shirt and tie, polished shoes. He certainly didn't look like he belonged in the criminal underworld.

Jack glanced over at Darius. “What do you think, Chief? Do you believe him?”

Darius took a few moments to answer. He was staring at the man with an expression of wide-eyed surprise.

“Do you know this guy?” Jack asked. “You look like you've seen him before.”

Darius quickly shook his head. “No, I don't know him, but I sure want to find out.”

Jack turned back to the man. “What does Simon want to know?” he demanded.

The guy shook his head vigorously, sending droplets of water flying through the air like a dog shaking its fur. “He said you're the key to a big story, but he didn't give me details.” He splayed his fingers held up high. “I promise, I don't know.”

The rain slowed to a light patter, and Jack called behind him to Rebecca, still safely inside Darius's car. “Hey Bec, do you know this guy?”

She tentatively stepped out of the car and narrowed her eyes in concentration. “Yeah, I know him.” She addressed the man. “It's Peter, right? You're a new journalist with the
Liberty News
.”

Peter managed to raise a smile and summoned the confidence to gently lower his arms a little. “That's correct, Mrs. Grey. My name is Peter Allen. I started a couple of weeks ago.”

Darius went to Peter's side and frisked him for weapons. “Sorry,” he said, “but your boss has sent you on a wild goose chase. There's no story here.” He glanced over to Jack. “We thought you were a carjacker.”

“I apologize,” Peter said. “I didn't mean to frighten you. I guess I'm not cut out for secret surveillance.”

“No, you're not,” Jack replied. “It's almost like you wanted to get caught. I hope you don't mind if we escort you back to the
Liberty News
to check your story.” He gestured to Darius's car. “We'll give you a ride. There are a few questions I'd like to ask Simon Orwell.”

* * *

Simon Orwell squirmed uncomfortably in his black leather chair. He was seated behind a huge mahogany desk, gleaming cherry red from regular polishing. He clasped his hands over his ample belly, smiling tensely at the three figures seated before him. Jack had enjoyed seeing the horrified look on Simon's face as he, Rebecca and Darius entered the newsroom with Peter lagging sheepishly behind. They had caused a ripple of excitement through the staff, who had already heard about their lead photographer's escape from a car explosion that morning. As numerous pairs of eyes looked him up and down, Jack remembered that he still wore Darius's ill-fitting shirt over his blackened jeans and had blood matting his hair on the back of his head. Both he and Rebecca looked as though they were emerging from a war zone. In a way, it was true—someone had engaged them in battle.

“Let's cut to the chase, Simon,” Jack said. “You had us followed today. Why?”

Simon rose from his chair and stood by the window overlooking the streets of Blountstown. The
Liberty News
building was the only high-rise in the town and had views in every direction for miles around. Jack often felt that Simon treated it like his own castle, where he was the king.

“You're hiding something from me,” Simon replied, addressing Rebecca rather than Jack. “And I wanted to find out all the details.”

Rebecca looked directly at him. “You took the photographs from my desk, didn't you?”

Simon affected a look of surprise. “Why would I do that?”

“Don't play games, Simon,” Rebecca said, her eyes taking on a steely quality. “Someone has already broken into my house, trapped me in an elevator and caused Jack's car to explode. It seems that somebody desperately wants my photographs of the Al Faw Palace, but if they can't get the photos, they'll scare me into submission instead. If you know anything about what's going on, you tell me right now or I'll walk out that door and never come back.”

The three men in the room were momentarily stunned into silence. Jack had never seen Rebecca behave so fiercely before, and he was quietly impressed by the way she held her ground. By the look of it, so was Simon.

“I apologize for the elevator,” her editor said, looking at the floor. “I just wanted to keep you in the building for a little longer while I arranged for someone to tail you. It was obvious that you and Jack were trying to cover something up.” He paused. “And I'm guessing it has something to do with the sale of stolen art treasures from the Al Faw Palace in Iraq.”

Rebecca exhaled loudly. “So you
did
steal the pictures?”

“I prefer to use the term ‘borrowed' instead,” he said. “I heard you talking on the phone with the Regency auction house in New York yesterday morning. It was pretty clear you were accusing them of selling stolen art from Iraq and you had the photographs to prove it.”

“I wasn't accusing them of anything,” Rebecca protested. “I simply wanted to know how they came by the pieces. Nobody would listen to my concerns.”

“When you locked up the photographs in your desk, I decided to take a look at them after you left for the day, and I realized that this could be a huge story for the
Liberty News
and my other regional papers.” Simon ran his hands through the air on an imaginary headline: “Stolen Iraqi Treasures Auctioned in New York.” He beamed widely. “My papers would be world famous. It could propel me into major-league news, and I could focus on international stories instead of small-town gossip.”

Jack bristled with dislike for this arrogant man. In the midst of all the danger, Simon's only goal was glorifying his media empire. He didn't seem concerned for Rebecca's safety at all.

“So your main focus is to scoop a big headline for the paper?” Jack asked, disbelieving that even Simon could be that callous. “Are you sure there isn't another reason you want to keep these photographs all to yourself?”

Simon folded his arms. “What are you implying, Conrad?”

“You were in Iraq at the same time as Rebecca. You worked together, am I right?”

“Yes,” Simon replied. “I was at the Al Faw Palace with Rebecca. She took pictures while I conducted soldier interviews.”

On hearing these words, Darius seemed to spring to life. “So you were part of the small group of people who went inside the palace before it was cleared and the artworks disappeared?”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Darius stood up. “And I'm guessing you would've had an opportunity to remove any of the items without being seen.”

Simon raised his voice. “No. As a journalist, I was never left alone for reasons of safety. I was assigned to a platoon of marines who never let me out of their sight.”

Darius rubbed his chin. “It's unlikely that this is a one-man job. You could easily have recruited assistance from young soldiers looking to make a fast buck. War changes people's moral codes, and they sometimes can be persuaded to do things they wouldn't normally dream of doing back home.”

Simon shook his head forcefully. “No,” he said. “That's not what happened.”

“Enough!” Rebecca's voice punched through the air, silencing both Darius and Simon in an instant. “Instead of accusing each other, why don't we have the photographs analyzed by an expert, as the police suggested, to see if they match the items being auctioned? If we are, in fact, dealing with the looting of war treasures, then this matter needs to be handed over to the military to investigate.”

“Agreed,” Darius said, eyeballing Simon. “Mr. Orwell, we'd appreciate you handing the photographs back.”

Simon hesitated momentarily, obviously unwilling to give up his prize. “Very well,” he said, sitting at his desk and pressing the intercom button on his phone. “Claire, could you bring in the Al Faw file from my locked cabinet?” He looked up at the three faces staring at him. “Whatever the outcome of your investigation, I would very much like to be the first to know.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You don't give up, do you, Simon?”

A light knock rapped on the door, and Simon's secretary, Claire, walked into the room. “Here's the file you asked for, sir.”

Jack saw the young, redheaded woman give Darius a shy smile, and the chief's color rose in response as he caught her eye. Was Darius flirting? The chief had never married, and Jack had assumed it was because he preferred his own company, but maybe there was a romantic persona hidden behind the hard exterior after all. But at almost fifty years of age, Darius was showing an interest in a woman far too young for him.

Claire handed Simon a black plastic file folder and swiftly left, avoiding Darius's eyes and closing the door behind her. Simon opened the file and reached inside.

“I don't believe it,” he said, his fingers scrabbling inside. “They're gone.” To emphasize his point, he tipped the file upside down and shook it. “They were here. I put them inside myself, and they were locked in a cabinet.”

“Who has access to the cabinet?” Jack asked.

“Just me and my secretary,” he said.

Darius crossed his arms. “All of this seems very convenient, Mr. Orwell. First, you steal the photographs—”

Simon cut him off. “I didn't steal them. I borrowed them. I always intended to return them to Rebecca.”

Darius ignored the protest and continued. “And second, you then claim the photographs have inexplicably gone missing when you are asked to hand them back.”

“They
have
gone missing,” Simon emphasized, shaking his head.

Jack then noticed Rebecca had leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. He left Darius and Simon bickering and went to her side, bending down to speak quietly into her ear. “Are you okay?”

She opened her eyes. “I was just wondering how on earth we're going to deal with this situation if we can't even speak nicely to one another.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Your minivan is still in the parking lot outside, isn't it?”

Rebecca reached into the pocket of her jeans. “The keys are here.”

He smiled and held out his hand. “Then let's go.”

While Darius and Simon continued to wage a war of words with one another, Jack and Rebecca laced their fingers together and slipped away unnoticed.

* * *

Rebecca watched Jack pack a bag with some basics: just enough to last a few days. He had showered and changed out of Darius's small T-shirt and was now wearing a hooded sweatshirt over cargo shorts. Occasionally he lifted his hand to his head and gingerly touched the wound on his scalp. The swelling on his face looked a little better, but she was worried.