Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2

by Dana Mentink

  It could not be that. She would not allow it, and with good reason. He’d barreled his way in uninvited, and he above all people had the least right to do so. Keeley’s focus was June, as it should be, and she wanted no one else involved. Enough said. He drove to Reggie’s place.

  Reggie was outside, polishing his old 1971 Mustang, from the windshield wipers to the personalized plates and everything in between. The sheen off the red paint glowed like hot coals.

  “Thought you’d show up here sooner or later.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “Finally got Rivendale. I’m just sorry it wasn’t me that shot him.”

  “He’s still alive.”

  Reggie shrugged. “Docs say he’s in a coma. Most likely won’t make it. Save a lot of effort if he didn’t.”

  The skin around Reggie’s good eye was pinched, stubble showed on his normally clean-shaven chin. Things hadn’t gone well with the cops, probably. Best to be direct. “Why didn’t you say that Bruce was your parolee?”

  “Well,” he said, heaving out a deep breath, “cops already grilled me. I guess it’s only fair that you have your turn.”

  Mick waited.

  “Fact is, Mick, I didn’t remember.”

  Mick couldn’t conceal his disbelief. “Come on. You’re the guy who remembers ever collar you ever made in your thirty-year cop career. You memorize baseball stats like nobody’s business. Don’t tell me you forgot a guy like Bruce.”

  “See, that’s where it gets a little embarrassing for me. I haven’t been as meticulous as I should have with my cases. I might have been a tad careless.”

  Mick was getting a sinking feeling in his gut. “How careless?”

  “Come on, Mick. You know these parolees. Some are heavy-duty and some are the lightweights. I sort of rubber-stamped a few of the minor offenders.”

  “Rubber-stamped?”

  He shrugged. “You know, wrote up some notes, passed them along through the system without really doing too much checking.”

  Mick groaned. “I can’t be hearing this right.”

  He shrugged. “Got so many cases, who can really pay attention to them all? You know what the workload is like. Upward of one hundred ten cases at any given time.”

  “So you dummied the paperwork?”

  “That sounds harsh.”

  “It is harsh,” Mick snapped. “You made up things? Job interviews? Drug test results? All of it?”

  “Only for a few, and not the real bad boys. One two-bit criminal doesn’t make a difference.”

  “Only this one might have, Reg. This one might have been working with Tucker Rivendale.” He tried to bring his volume down without success. “This one might have killed a girl.”

  He looked away. “What I hear, she was a parolee, too.”

  “That doesn’t mean she deserved to die.”

  “Of course not, and don’t put words in my mouth.” He was angry now. “LeeAnn Stevens didn’t deserve to die, either. That’s why I came here in the first place, to deal with Tucker Rivendale, a guy who killed a girl, too, and on your watch, I might add, so maybe you can knock off the high-and-mighty gimmick.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, Mick breathing hard, trying to rein in his temper. Finally he nodded. “Okay. I guess we’re both in damage-control mode.”

  “Aside from the fact that I’m probably going to be forced into early retirement or fired, the damage is controlled. Rivendale is neutralized and the cops will watch out for the brothers.”

  Mick nodded.

  “But you’re not convinced about something.” Reggie shook his head. “Please don’t tell me you think Tucker is innocent.”

  “I need to check out the rooftop. Find out what he was after.”

  Reggie laughed, a bitter sound. “I didn’t do my job, and you can’t stop doing yours. Ironic.”

  “Yeah, ironic.”

  “For what it’s worth, you were a good parole officer, Mick. You’d still be one, if you’d ease up on yourself.”

  “I’m hearing that a lot lately.”

  “Keeley bending your ear?” He offered a sly smile.

  “I’m leaving as soon as I can, Reg.”

  He sighed. “Just as well. Women are nothing but trouble. Nadine loves horses, and you know how much those cost? Why can’t she adore a nice poodle? Something that doesn’t require a stable and a saddle.”

  Mick smiled in spite of himself.

  “Anyway, I’m not gonna ask your forgiveness for cutting corners because I don’t really care if you forgive me or not. That’s my trouble, I guess. Don’t care.”

  “You care about Nadine.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess she’s the one person who made it through my tough-guy defenses.” Reggie arched an eyebrow. “Could be Keeley’s that one girl who makes it through yours.”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’m just thinking that having a woman love you and a family to go home to at night beats scouring filthy rooftops in search of evidence to prove you weren’t wrong.” He turned back to the car. “Catch you later, maybe.”

  Mick turned back to the truck and drove back to Silver Creek.

  The sun appeared and disappeared between clouds, dappling him with light and shadow as he drove. How many miles had he covered in the past year and a half? Traveling roads of self-recrimination and loathing, trapped and steeped in guilt? He’d been blind to Reggie’s transgressions, blind to the people who had tried to come alongside him and offer him solace. Imprisoned.

  Keeley’s words came back to him. God forgives everything because you’re His son.

  “Lord,” he said aloud. “If You’re listening, I’m sorry. For everything. If You’ll forgive me for my heap of sins—” He found his eyes were damp. “I’ll try to forgive myself.”

  He did not feel a bolt of energy or the sudden wash of contentment, but something inside him eased just a fraction, a corner of the darkness lifted and Mick knew, in that moment, that God was with him.

  On a lonely country road.

  In a beat-up old Ford.

  He took up the key God offered and let himself out of the prison.

  *

  Keeley drove June to five-year-old Bonnie’s house in Big Pines. It was one of Junie’s favorite things of all time to spend the afternoon with her friend Bonnie, and Keeley was grateful that LeeAnn had struck up a friendship with Bonnie’s mom, Roberta. Bonnie, too, had Down syndrome, and the girls had bonded at various playgroups and in doctors’ waiting rooms. After LeeAnn’s death, Roberta had stepped right in to make sure that June and Bonnie had playtime together. Keeley learned so much from Roberta, an experienced mother of four—everything from where to buy musical toothbrushes to how to administer a proper time-out for misbehavior.

  Roberta greeted them both with warm hugs and an offer of coffee for Keeley.

  “We’re hoping to go to the movies this afternoon. Is it okay to keep her for a while?”

  Keeley agreed, thanking Roberta and reaching for her wallet.

  “My treat,” Roberta said, stopping her.

  Keeley’s cheeks burned as she accepted the offer. Roberta was aware that money was tight. What would she think if she knew the condition of Keeley’s sodden carpets and ruined curtains? Clamping down on a measure of despair, Keeley departed.

  After a quick stop at home and several maddening phone calls to the insurance company, she once again took her place in the passenger seat of Mick’s truck. One more time, that’s all, she told herself. She avoided looking at his strong profile, keeping her gaze fastened out the window. Get it over with. Quick.

  When the panic started to rise inside, she said some silent prayers. Help me do this, God. If Tucker’s innocent, help me find out. Help me be enough. Junie needs me.

  And who do you need? The question rumbled through her mind. No one. Now that Tucker was in custody, her obstacle was overcome. She and Junie were safe and no longer needed the police, or John, or Mick Hudson. Why, then, did her body seem to yearn for Mick’s
gentle embrace? She clenched her hands into balls to keep herself from remembering the feel of his rough hands as he held hers; every tender glance, each gentle word he’d spoken to Junie nestled down inside Keeley like a newly fledged bird. Even the shame and anger over his anonymous checks had subsided. Why had God drawn Mick, the least likely person that should comfort her, into their lives?

  You don’t need him, she told herself.

  But did she?

  Keeley bit her lip. It didn’t matter anyway. He would be gone right after their rooftop excursion. Gone, and Keeley would be ready to resume her life again. The thought left her flat and cold inside.

  They pulled up at the newspaper building to find it had been securely locked.

  “Looks as if it’s the fire escape again,” she said as she sighed. Memories of meeting Tucker and the sound of whistling bullets made her skin erupt in prickles, but she dutifully followed Mick up the ladders until they reached the top.

  The afternoon sunshine finally beat back the clouds and she blinked against the sheen of the concrete. On the rooftop below, the colony of Quaker parrots bustled about, preening and tending to their tangle of nests. She remembered the green feather. “There’s a man, his name is Meeker. He studies and films the parrot colonies. I think he’s writing a book about them.”

  Mick didn’t answer. She turned to find him down on one knee, surveying. “Tucker’s diagram was accurate. There’s the electrical box and the ventilation vents.”

  “And the air-conditioning unit. But why’d he bother? What could be here that he was looking for?”

  “LeeAnn came here to tend to an injured bird, right?”

  “Yes, but there was blood in the parking lot, which is where she was probably killed. There was no sign she even climbed up according to the police.”

  “But what if she did? What if she saw something? Got proof of something?”

  Keeley’s breath hitched. “She sent me that one text telling me she was in trouble. Maybe she took a picture, too.”

  Mick looked at her. “Did they ever find her phone?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. So if she took a picture and dropped her phone after she sent the text to you, where could it have fallen?”

  They spent the next forty-five minutes trying to answer the question, moving the pallets, scouring every dirty corner of the rooftop with no success.

  Keeley finally collapsed to her knees on the cement. “This is ridiculous,” she said.

  “Maybe I was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Mick rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry if I gave you false hope that we’d find something.”

  Keeley sighed. A little puff of feathers bumped across the rooftop, nudged along by a spring breeze. She watched the bit of fluff tumble along, catching for a moment on the bottom edge of the air-conditioning unit before it was blown underneath. “That’s it.” Keeley scrambled over to the unit and laid down flat on her stomach.

  Mick followed suit, grunting in frustration. “I’m too big to get close. What’s in there?”

  “I’m not sure.” She slid her hand into the gap, pushing through dirty feathers and dry leaves, hoping she wasn’t about to have a close encounter with a rodent. Finally her fingers closed around a hard rectangular object, and she pulled it free.

  They both stared at the pink plastic case.

  LeeAnn’s phone.

  EIGHTEEN

  Keeley’s hand shook as she pressed the phone, cracked screen and all, to her cheek. It felt both wonderful and terrible to feel it there, knowing the last person to hold it had been her precious sister right before her life was ripped away. The tears rolled unchecked, and the grief swelled so big she thought it would tear her apart. All the anguish that she’d thought had ebbed came back in one excruciating rush.

  Mick pulled her to her feet and cradled her in his arms. He didn’t say a word. She didn’t need him to. In that moment of overwhelming emotion, she accepted the comfort and tenderness, the simple gesture from a complex man, the gentle touch of a battle-scarred soldier. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her temples and grazed her cheek. “I’m sorry this hurts.”

  She breathed hard, in and out, trying to pull herself away, and not finding the strength. It trickled into her soul slowly, like a fresh stream fed by spring rains. God did not want her to be alone in her grief, and He’d put Mick in her life, in that moment, to share the burden with her. She returned the embrace, circling his wide shoulders and burying her face in the slow and steady beat of his heart.

  When her crying slowed, he eased her away, bending to look her in the eye.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, returning her attention once more to the phone. “It’s dead. No charge.”

  “I have a charger cord in my truck. Do you… Are you able to climb down?”

  She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “Yes.”

  “All right. Let’s go see if this phone will help us find answers.”

  She thought with a lurch that the answers would mean Mick would be free to be on his way. Of course. What other alternative was there? God had put Mick into her life, but it didn’t mean he was meant to stay there. And that’s the way I want it, she told herself.

  They made it down and into the truck. Mick started the engine and plugged the charger cord into the phone. She found herself clutching his hand, breath held, to see if there would be any sign of life from the battered cell.

  A light flicked to life, and the home screen showed hazily through the web of cracks. Keeley fought another wave of agony as LeeAnn’s screen saver, a picture of Junie flashing a gummy infant grin, sprang to life. She pressed the photos icon, Mick’s arm tight around her. Together they peered at the tiny images. There were only two from the rooftop. One was a close-up of a Quaker parrot, fluffed and limp winged, perched on the edge of the concrete roof.

  Mick pointed. “What’s he got on him?”

  Keeley’s pulse hammered both from the photo and the muscled arm caging her. “It’s a little device.” She squinted. “A camera, I think.”

  Mick’s breath hitched. “You said there was a man who was filming the bird colony.”

  She nodded. “Webb Meeker. Hang on. There’s one more photo after that.”

  The other picture caught only the edge of the ventilation shaft and a blurry shot of Tucker Rivendale.

  Liar. He’d been there. He’d killed LeeAnn after all. “He was on the rooftop that day.” Keeley’s head whirled. “I don’t get it. Did he kill her when they climbed back down? Why climb up at all if he was that angry with her?”

  Mick pointed to the edge of the picture. “There. That’s somebody’s shoulder. A man’s, by the look of it. Tucker was on that rooftop with someone else, and LeeAnn caught them on film. Maybe that’s why he killed her.”

  “Or the other person killed her and Tucker was telling the truth.”

  Suddenly a shadow edged into her peripheral vision. She did not have time to scream before the windshield exploded as Bruce swung a bat at the passenger-side glass. It took him another vicious swing to smash completely through, sending tiny bits of cubed glass swirling around the truck.

  Bruce reached in and opened the door, dragging Keeley from the car.

  Charlie went for Mick, but she could not see clearly through the flying glass as Bruce hauled her to the ground, yanking her wrist so hard she thought it would snap. She screamed and kicked, but his hold did not loosen until he flung her to the ground, driving the breath out of her while he wrestled the phone from her death grip.

  He grinned. “Thought we’d left town?”

  “You killed Ginny. Why?” she panted as he moved close, the bat still in one hand, the phone shoved in his pocket.

  “We were schooling her, but it got out of hand. An accident.”

  An accident. Ginny was a young, vulnerable girl, like LeeAnn had been. “And my sister?”

  Bruce came closer. “Don’t know your sister. Don’t care.”
r />   Don’t care.

  The words chased each other around inside, cutting and burning, igniting rage inside her like a white-hot flame. He gripped the bat, twisting his arms in preparation for the swing that would probably kill her.

  No, you won’t.

  When he weighted back, she kicked with all her might, taking his legs out from under him. He went over backward with a grunt of surprise. She leaped up. Mick was just rounding the front of the truck, Charlie on the ground behind him, stunned.

  Bruce was already scrambling to his feet, so Keeley did not need Mick to tell her what to do. Grabbing hands, they ran to the truck, and Mick hit the gas, grit spraying off the tires. Bruce appeared at the driver’s door, wrenching it open.

  Mick leveled a punch that connected with Bruce’s temple, driving him back until he lost his grip.

  Mick sent the truck shooting forward, only taking a moment to reach out and close the driver’s door. Keeley was panting, her body too shaken to register much but the fact that they had escaped.

  Mick clutched her fingers. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she managed to reply, trying to calm her rasping breaths. “I think they killed Ginny. To teach her a lesson of some kind. He said he didn’t know my sister.”

  “Could be lying, but even if he isn’t, there was someone on the roof with Tucker, and that person has a connection to the psycho brothers. Could have even been them up there with Tucker that day.”

  She groaned. “Bruce has the cell phone. Now we’re back to having no proof again.”

  “There might be proof. There was a camera on that bird.”

  She nodded. “If Meeker was recording the life of the colony with the bird cams, he might have gotten something on tape. He’s got a shop in Big Pines, I think. It’s a long shot.”

  “Better than no shot.”

  He handed her his phone. “Call the police. Ask for Chief Allen.” He shook his head, seemingly talking to himself. “I should have seen it coming with Charlie and Bruce. Should have seen things going south with Reggie.”