Yuletide Protector (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Lisa Mondello

  Ski was waiting in the driveway when she got home, already geared up with his tool belt and wire. Daria waved to him as she got out of the car and grabbed her bags.

  “Sorry I needed an extra day for this. I know you’re eager to have your house all to yourself,” Ski said.

  “I don’t mind.” Hoisting the bag up in her arms, she made her way to the front door and unlocked it. She dropped the bag to the floor and quickly disarmed the alarm.

  “I already have the camera mounted on the front,” Ski said. “I need to mount the other camera out back and then connect them.”

  “You’ve been working with your dad on alarms for a while, huh?”

  “Since I was old enough to hold a drill.”

  “How long have you been a police officer?”

  Ski shrugged. “I’m a babe in the woods compared to some of the other officers. Jake and Kevin have been great about teaching me. If I know Kevin, he probably didn’t tell you about my mistake the night of the sting with your ex.”

  “What mistake?”

  “I moved in too fast and tried to arrest George Carlisle before Kevin gave me the signal. It was my fault the charges were dropped. I know Kevin would have done it different and your ex would probably be in jail by now.”

  She smiled. Ski was a nice young man. And she couldn’t thank him enough for what he’d done to help her over the last few weeks.

  “I don’t think Kevin would trust you with the job you’re doing if he didn’t have complete faith in your ability. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  Ski smiled. In actuality, he was probably only about five or six years younger than she was.

  He thumbed toward the back of the house. “If you hear any noise, it’s just me out back.”

  Daria had just enough time to prepare the roast and vegetables and get them started in the oven. A few times she was startled by the sound of a drill against the clapboard or a bang downstairs but she stayed out of the way, hoping Ski finished up before Kevin got there.

  After collecting her glass vase, Daria reached across the counter to grab the daisies she’d picked up during lunch. She whistled in the kitchen.

  Before she could fill the vase with water, she heard the front door open and then close. It couldn’t be Ski because he’d been working down in the basement with the electrical panel.

  “You’re early,” she said, spinning around expecting to see Kevin.

  “I remember a time when that smile greeted me every day. I kind of miss seeing it.”

  Daria’s heart plunged in fear at seeing George again. Panic coursed through her. She’d never felt fear like this when she’d been married to George and she didn’t like the feeling now. Where was Ski?

  “You shouldn’t be here, George,” she said, glancing past him.

  “He’s not there.”

  “Who?”

  “That young cop who’s been following me. Your plumber’s wrench went to good use.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat. “What…what did you do to Ski?”

  “Why the sudden frown? Were you expecting someone else?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “We’re married, Daria. Anything that makes you unhappy is my business.”

  Irritation curled through her. “We’re divorced.”

  “Yes, we are. But I don’t think I got my fair share of what’s coming to me in the divorce.”

  Daria glanced passed George again, listening for Kevin’s SUV. But she heard nothing.

  George sneered. “I know you’re expecting him, Daria. Are you going to have that cop move in with you now? It wasn’t enough for him to park himself on your street corner. He has to move into your house now, too?”

  She felt her hands tremble as she gripped the counter. How could George have known Kevin had been spending his nights in the car in front of her house? He couldn’t know this unless he’d been watching.

  “Stop it, George.”

  “You know, you hurt my feelings, Daria,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t keep those beautiful flowers I gave you. You always loved those flowers.”

  “Get out of my house, George.”

  “You and I both know you can lock me out, but I’m going to get in. Your little friend out there might be good with a drill and a wrench.” George’s face twisted into a sneer. “Well, maybe not that good with a wrench. But even though you didn’t keep my pretty little flowers, I still heard every word you said about me.”

  Confusion swirled in her mind as she tried to understand him. George was insane. And then it hit her. “You bugged my house?”

  “Don’t worry. I managed to get the information I needed. And you thought I’d hurt poor Marla. Tsk, tsk. She was a bore like always, but a highly useful vehicle for getting what I needed to get done.”

  Kevin and Daria had spoken about Marla outside. How could George have heard what they’d said?

  She glanced at her purse on the kitchen table and bolted to grab it, but George got there first. “You’re cold,” he teased. Picking up her coat, which she’d draped over the back of the kitchen chair, he added, “I’m getting warmer. You left this in your office the day I asked Marla to lunch. You may want to check the lining, because there’s a tiny, tiny tear in it.”

  “Where you planted a listening device.” Pressing herself back against the counter, she looked around and wondered how many other microphones had been planted in her house.

  “How else would I have known what you were doing? Knowing when the alarm would be off made it easier for me to plan when to come visit you. This fix-it cop you have here now is less formidable than your friend Officer Gordon.”

  George reached down and started wrenching through what was left in the grocery bag she’d left on the table.

  “What is this? Candles? Looks like you’re planning a nice romantic dinner and you forgot to invite me.”

  “George, if you don’t leave now…”

  His face was dark. “What? You’ll call your cop friend? I don’t think so. You’ve had your way for too long. Now it’s my turn to call the shots. Or at least, the hits.”

  Daria flinched. Lord, please let George be lying about hurting Ski. I don’t want him to be hurt because of me.

  “Don’t worry about the cop.” George sneered. “Unlike you, he’ll be fine. But now it’s your turn to pay.”

  FOURTEEN

  It was almost dark when Kevin made it to Daria’s house. He tried not to read anything into why Ski’s car was parked in the driveway with the front door still slightly ajar, leaving the inside light on.

  He parked his SUV on the curb as he had many times before and looked around. Maybe Ski’s arms were full and he’d forgotten to close the door. But Ski wasn’t usually this careless.

  He climbed out of the car and walked up the driveway toward the brick pathway.

  The screen door opened and shut with a gust of wind. A wave of uneasiness hit Kevin square in the chest. Something was stuck there, keeping the door ajar. Ski wouldn’t keep the front door open like that.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood to life and dread tumbled down upon him. He stared into the night and listened.

  There was no noise. Spot wasn’t barking. Not even when he’d gotten out of the SUV. The dog had always howled, loud enough to be heard from within the confines of the house. Now there was silence.

  Kevin advanced toward Ski’s car and found him lying in the front seat, his foot dangling outside just enough to keep the door ajar. His hand was stretched out as if he’d been reaching for the handset on his police radio. With the light from the dashboard, Kevin saw the blood that was draining from Ski’s head. He’d been struck with some type of large object.

  Yanking the door open, Kevin quickly checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one. Ski was alive. Thank You, Lord, he’s alive. Now where was Daria?

  With no time to lose, Kevin quickly grabbed the police radio and his gun from his holster at the sa
me time.

  “This is Detective Gordon. Officer down. I need backup at 72 Hitchcock Street along with an ambulance.”

  Every bit of his training told him to wait for backup. It was never a good idea for an officer to enter a building alone where a violent crime had been committed. But nothing, no amount of police training, was going to keep him from going inside to find Daria.

  With his gun drawn in front of him, he stepped up the front porch. Blood hammered in his ears as he bounded through the front door and into the hallway. The scent of blood drifted to his nose. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat sprang to his face.

  As he moved slowly down the hall, the roar of his blood pounding through his veins made him dizzy. The stickiness he felt on the floor looked like drops of blood. Kevin knew immediately he’d just compromised a crime scene. But he had to know if Daria was in there and if it was her blood or Ski’s.

  Gripping his gun tighter in the palm of his hand, he inched his way down the hall, listening for movement. When he reached the kitchen, he lightly ran his hand up the wall and flicked on the light switch. The sudden glare stung his eyes and made him blink.

  What he found in the kitchen made his body turn cold. There was blood everywhere, smeared on the newly painted hallway walls and on the old linoleum kitchen floor.

  He glanced back down the hall he’d just walked and almost dropped to his knees, shuddering. A dark stretch of smeared blood streaked the wall along with handprints. His bloodstained footprints trailed along another set of prints down the hallway and led to the kitchen. With his eyes, he followed the path leading to his shoes. Another large set of footprints and a smaller set that looked like the size of a woman’s running along the same path he’d just taken in what looked like a chaotic pattern and…

  Breathing hard, he screamed, “Daria!”

  In the middle of the floor in a huge heap was a white tablecloth soaking up the blood. White flower pedals were pulled apart and scattered all over the floor among broken glass.

  Kevin closed his eyes as a quick prayer escaped his lips. His throat constricted. Daria. Not my sweet Daria.

  Minutes later, Kevin stood outside Daria’s house as crime-scene investigators crawled all over the yard and the interior looking for evidence. One of them walked over to Kevin.

  “Detective Gordon. We found your bloody footprints all over the hallway and kitchen. I hope you’re not too attached to your shoes.”

  He shook his head, glanced down at his feet. He’d taken off his shoes almost immediately when he realized Daria wasn’t in the house. He knew they were going to need to match the shoe print against the second set in the kitchen. “I left them in the kitchen. You can take them.”

  Office Johnson came up behind him with Captain Jorgensen. “We talked to a few of the neighbors. They all know Detective Gordon’s SUV. Mrs. Parsons said she noticed another car here earlier, but I think she’s talking about Ski’s. She also heard some arguing and then heard the car speed away.”

  “Did she call it in?” Kevin asked.

  “No, said she was trying to mind her own business.”

  Kevin’s every attempt to keep himself emotionally detached was a losing battle. “I can’t say I blame her,” he finally said. “This neighborhood is used to seeing and hearing a lot of things. When it happens too often, it becomes routine.”

  “She does remember seeing Daria come home and then hearing a car speed down the street. Said she remembered it because she was angry someone would drive that fast down this side street, especially a neighbor.”

  Kevin closed his eyes and sighed. “What about Mrs. Hildebrand, the neighbor next door?”

  “She said she heard the same argument as Mrs. Parsons but was too worried about her dog.” Matt propped his hands on his hips. “And right now she’s quite upset. Seems her dog was poisoned in what looks like an attempt to shut him up during the attack.”

  “The dog was poisoned?”

  “Yeah, but he should be okay. He was given just enough to keep him out of the way and keep the neighbor preoccupied.”

  “Whoever did this knew Spot was there.”

  “Most likely. One of our officers is bringing Mrs. Hildebrand to the vet to have the dog checked out and write up a report.” Matt pulled Kevin aside, out of earshot of the other officers. “Look, I know how personal this has gotten for you, but you need to stay focused. Walking through that house without backup was—”

  “Stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. But isn’t that what you did?”

  “Yeah,” Matt said quietly. “And look what it got me.”

  The paramedics loaded Ski onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The gash on his head was bad enough that Ski hadn’t regained consciousness yet. There were a whole host of problems that could occur with a head injury. Brain swelling and brain damage were a major concern, as was death.

  Guilt collided with Kevin’s fear. He closed his eyes against the fury that was building and threatened to explode inside him.

  Ski was just a kid. Sure, he’d made a few rookie mistakes, but he didn’t deserve to die for them. No one did. He was nothing more than an honest officer eager to please those around him. If he dies, Lord, how am I ever going to bring this news home to Ski’s family?

  “I wonder if he even knew what hit him,” Jake said, walking back from the ambulance. “Does anyone know where Carlisle is now?”

  “I thought you were watching him this afternoon?” Kevin asked.

  “I called him in for duty earlier,” Jorgensen said. “Then I made a quick call to Carlisle’s office just to make sure he was there and was told he’d taken the afternoon off.”

  “You called?”

  With Kevin’s surprised expression, Matt shrugged. “It didn’t require OT pay.”

  “We’d only been tailing him to and from his office and after hours,” Jake said. “While he was at the office there wasn’t much we could do anyway. Looks like he used that to slip out of view.”

  Jorgensen propped his hands on his hips. “Well, we have an APB out for him. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t have left the city.”

  Jake handed Kevin a pair of boots he’d pulled from the SUV.

  “Thanks,” Kevin said, immediately sitting on the porch steps to put them on. His feet were freezing, but at least he could feel them. The rest of him had gone numb when he realized Daria wasn’t inside.

  Officer Johnson emerged from the house. “They found this in the basement. We’ll need to dust it for prints.”

  The officer handed the captain a sealed bag with a tagged item.

  Kevin stared into the bag. It was the bloody wrench Daria reported missing during the last break-in.

  “You should know that we did get a match from one of the prints we took the other day when the kitchen had been ransacked,” Jorgensen said. “They’re from a man named Terry Dawson, one of the names on your list from the salvage yard. He’s the man who lives a few blocks from here. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that wrench has his prints on it.”

  “If the prints on the wrench are Terry Dawson’s, then that would clear George Carlisle.” Anger mixed with mind-numbing fear surged through Kevin at the thought that Carlisle would get away yet again.

  “Not necessarily,” Jake said. “When I found out Terry Dawson came up as a match, I dug a little deeper into that inch-thick criminal file he has, thinking maybe this would help connect him to Carlisle.”

  “Did you find anything?” the captain asked.

  Jake continued. “No connection yet. Just interesting reading. Dawson is intelligent. A genius, even. Graduated from MIT and was working on his master’s until his drug habit got out of control. Since then, his rap sheet tells a pathetic story, but an interesting one.

  “Get this. He’s an expert in electronics. In fact, it’s like his calling card. He’s had more misses than hits on conviction even though his rap sheet runs a street block. Why? Because the evidence is always compromised. He used a magnet to e
rase a video that had him on surveillance robbing a liquor store. He’d set up his contraption the day before. He’s calculating and clever, but his drug habit has escalated in the last few years, and sometimes it makes him sloppy.”

  Kevin took it all in. “Which means he’s desperate for money to support that habit.”

  “Right. But there’s more.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Jorgensen said. “Let’s have it.”

  “I did a check on his work record. He was working at the salvage yard just hours before we set up the sting with Carlisle that first night.”

  “And an electronics expert would know how to create interference for a recording device,” Kevin said.

  Jorgensen nodded. “Which means Dawson may have been doing Carlisle’s dirty work right from the beginning.”

  Kevin stood up, his mind taking him back to an earlier conversation with Daria. “Carlisle got into trouble with a loan shark some time ago. Daria said he told her that if he didn’t pay up he’d be crushed like a tin can.”

  “The salvage yard crushes old cars before the metal is sent off to another location for recycling. Do you suppose he took Daria there?” Jake said.

  “I’m not waiting to find out.” With that, Kevin ran to his SUV, with Jake running right along with him. Behind them, the captain called out, “You call for backup if there’s anything. Don’t take Carlisle or Dawson by yourselves.”

  Kevin didn’t reply. If he found Daria at the salvage yard with Carlisle, Kevin had no intention of waiting for backup. George Carlisle was going down.

  Daria’s eyes drifted open to the sound of grinding metal against metal. Then they immediately closed. She was freezing without a jacket on. Her head felt like a watermelon that had just been cracked open and drained. The rocking motion of wherever she was had her stomach doing a somersault. Bile rose up her throat, scorching it. What had George done to her?

  She pulled at her hand in an effort to rub the throbbing in her temples and found that she could not move her arms at all. She yanked again, felt pain in her wrists. It took a few seconds to realize her wrists had been bound with rope. She swallowed to help with the cotton-dry taste in her mouth, but it was no use.