Protecting Her Own (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Margaret Daley

  Connor chuckled. “Point taken. I knew the owner of all five vehicles I saw on the way here. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  With a little grumbling, C.J. allowed Connor to assist him into the wheelchair, then her father steered toward the porch and waited for Connor to help him up the one step.

  She inserted the key into the lock of the new front door. “Dad, you’ll see all the damage the bomb caused, but most of the rubble has been cleaned up. The workers are starting tomorrow and the contractor thinks he can get everything back to normal in three weeks.”

  She was chattering, so unlike Cara, but something had changed between her and her father this morning when C.J. tried to make his own way to his house. He’d rarely seen Cara hug her dad or vice versa, but the old man had stayed in her embrace for a few minutes and when he’d finally pulled away, there was an almost mellow look in his eyes. If he hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  Inside the foyer, which had received a lot of damage, Cara paused to let her father examine the area. “The bomb blew more toward this way than the kitchen, which I’m thankful for since I was in the kitchen. It could have been worse, but that last package I put on the end of the table closer to the entryway.”

  Her father mumbled something.

  “I didn’t understand. Do you want to write it down?” She dug into her purse and retrieved a notepad and pen.

  C.J. shook his head, then steered toward the dining room.

  While her father viewed the destruction, Cara told him about what had happened right before the bomb went off. “This room, the kitchen and foyer are the worst areas. The back part of the house only had minor damage. I’ll show you.” She led the way toward his office.

  Cara opened the door, stepped through the entrance and came to a halt. “This isn’t the way the office was the last time I was here.”

  He’s been here, she realized taking in the books moved, drawers opened, cushions tossed on the floor.

  TEN

  “He’s been here,” Cara repeated out loud before she realized what she was saying. Her dad didn’t need to get any more upset than he was. Earlier she had discovered from her dad that the safe behind her mother’s portrait had been empty the first time they had checked the office when the nightmare began.

  Her father’s shoulders sagged as his face fell, turning pasty. He veiled his eyes but not before she saw tears pool in them. That brought her own close to the surface. She never thought of her father as being vulnerable, but he was.

  “Maybe. It could be unrelated.” Connor moved into the middle of the office and turned in a full circle.

  Cara laid a hand on her father, hoping he wouldn’t reject her attempt to comfort. “Not likely. It’s just another way he wants to toy with us.”

  “What if he’s looking for something?” Connor waved his arm in a wide sweep, encompassing the whole room. “That’s what this mess looks like.”

  “If it’s John Smith, what would he be looking for?” Cara glanced at her father. “Is there anything he’d want?”

  Dad lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, then slowly shook his head, blinking back the tears that threatened.

  “What if we’re looking at this all wrong and it isn’t John Smith?” Cara gave her father’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  “The evidence is pointing toward John Smith,” Connor said. “He has a motive. No one has seen him in weeks in Arlington. When we find him, we’ll ask him why he did this, for revenge or was he looking for something.”

  Flashes of the night when her assailant had her pinned to the bed flicked in and out of her mind, only to be replaced with the moment she was in the car trunk and the man had pulled the trigger and shot her. The look of hate in those dark eyes. The tense set of his body as he’d raised his arm and she’d looked straight into the barrel of the gun. But he’d worn a ski mask. Why, if he thought she would die?

  “Cara.” Wincing, her father pulled forward.

  That was when she realized she gripped him like a pit bull latching onto its prey. She released the lock of her fingers and took a step back. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” Connor went through the doorway first, checking right and left.

  Her father followed him. As they disappeared into the hallway, Cara swung around, her gaze skimming over the disarray—drawers emptied, books from the shelves thrown on the floor, cushions on the sofa sliced open and their insides spilling out, items on the table swept off, lying in shattered pieces. The room screamed with rage.

  The rage of a father who had lost his son? The more she examined the mess, the more she reassessed her earlier comment. This was the work of someone like John Smith. The reason—the pure rage of a grieving parent.

  Would her dad even have that kind of emotion where she was concerned? Was he even capable of that kind of intensity in his feelings? She’d seen little of that over the years and only glimpses of a passionate nature, all connected to a story he felt driven to write. Once he’d told her he would make a difference in the world. He would make people see the evil that existed and do something about it.

  But when she thought back to it, she hadn’t received much from her mother, either. She could remember coming home from school and finding her passed out on her bed or crying because her father was gone yet again on a business trip. She’d wanted her mother to turn to her; she’d turned instead to a bottle of alcohol. Had her mom’s drinking driven her father away? She’d never thought of it that way.

  She shook away the memories and hurried from the office. She needed to get away from the destruction. It reminded her too much of her life of late.

  Out on the porch she locked the front door and wondered why she bothered. But she went through the motions of securing her childhood home. Then she strode toward Connor’s SUV parked in the driveway. He had finished assisting her dad into the backseat. The empty wheelchair was next to the car.

  When she came around to the passenger side, Connor peered at her. “You okay?”

  “I took another look at the office. It’s John Smith. The person who destroyed the room was very angry. It wasn’t a juvenile getting his kicks or a burglar looking to score.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then why did you say ‘maybe’ back there?”

  “Because as a detective I have to be open to all possibilities. If I make up my mind it’s a certain person and only look for evidence to support that, then I may overlook something important. I can’t afford to do that, especially in this case.” A warmth encased her as his gaze skimmed over her features.

  “Good. The person who attacked me in the hotel and left me to die in that trunk means to do deadly harm.” Cara stepped closer to Connor and lowered her voice. “Not just to me but Dad, too. Until recently I always felt my father was invincible. Nothing could touch him. I was wrong. He can’t protect himself now.” She pointed to the wheelchair. “He can’t even walk without help. What kind of man comes after a man who is down and can’t defend himself?”

  “It happens all the time. You’ve seen it. That’s why there are people like us to protect them.”

  In that moment Cara felt a connection with Connor she’d never experienced. Before when they had dated, they had shared a love but nothing else. Their goals and dreams hadn’t been similar. He’d wanted different things in life from her. And she’d been carrying around a load of guilt, she now realized. Guilt she’d taken on as a child and needed to rid herself of before she could move on.

  “Connor, I’m so sorry for what happened thirteen years ago.”

  His forehead creased. “That’s in the past. It’s not important anymore.”

  “You believe that?”

  His gaze pinned hers. “Yes. Now I suggest we leave this place.” He backed up, as though he had to put a physical space between them to keep his emotional distance.

  Cara opened the front passenger door while Connor twisted toward the wheelchair. The sound of a ca
r coming down the street charged the quiet. She glanced up at the exact moment Connor slammed into her. The sound of a gunshot pierced the air. The window shattered. She went flying across the front seat with Connor following.

  His body covering hers, he shouted, “Duck, C.J.” Rolling off Cara, Connor drew his weapon while he assessed her. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” She reached for her own gun and grabbed it as Connor slowly poked his head up over the front seat.

  “The car’s gone.” Connor relaxed his tense muscles but still held his gun.

  “All I saw was a white sedan. Did you see anything more?”

  “No, only a window rolling down. I was too busy shoving you out of the way to see much more than that. Are you sure you’re okay?” He scooted out the still open passenger door and placed a call to Sean.

  “Fine.” Pain radiated outward from her shoulder but at the moment that was the least of her worries. She lifted herself up, the intense throbbing making her careful in her movements. “Are you okay, Dad?” she asked as he struggled to a sitting position.

  His gaze zoomed in on the shot-out window. Nodding, he snapped his mouth closed, a nerve in his thin face jerking.

  She twisted to shut the door while Connor made his way around and stuffed the wheelchair in the back, then slipped behind the steering wheel.

  He peered at her father. “We’re going back to Gramps’s. Sean is meeting us there.”

  As Connor drove toward his grandfather’s, Cara stared out the gaping hole where the window had been. A jagged edge around the perimeter highlighted the danger she was in. A few inches to the left and she would have been dead. She slanted a glance at her aching shoulder. No blood leaked through the bandage. A sigh escaped her pursed lips.

  “I didn’t hurt you when I pushed you into the car?”

  The concern in Connor’s expression rendered her speech less, especially after what had just happened. She shook her head and looked straight ahead.

  A fresh memory splintered her thoughts into fragments—all centered around that day in the café in Nzadi. Connor had done the same thing as she had by pushing the intended target out of the way. At least in this case no one else had been hurt. But Connor’s actions had put him in harm’s way. If he’d been shot because of her, she would have to live with that guilt, too.

  Cara slid her gaze toward Connor. Only a few inches had made the difference between life and death. She shivered.

  His look connected with hers. He reached across the space and closed his hand around hers. “This isn’t your fault, either.”

  “Either?”

  “I know what you’re thinking about. Nzadi.”

  She started to protest but couldn’t. Sinking back, she rested her head on the cushion. Because he’s right. I couldn’t control what happened at the house.

  What about Nzadi? What about her mother’s death?

  “All I saw was white. Was it the same type of car as the one you saw a few nights ago at the hotel?” Cara said as she walked into the kitchen where Mike and Connor were sitting at the table.

  “No. In fact, Sean called earlier while you were with your dad to tell me they finally found the white Ford Taurus abandoned outside of town near where you were taken. It was stolen. We checked the registration, and the owner was cleared.”

  She’d been sitting with her dad in his room, reading to him until he went to sleep. Today had taken a toll on him, but he was alive and now he didn’t say a word about going to the house. “I guess John Smith likes the color white then. Even the car I was left in was white—reported stolen in Arlington. Are there any other white cars reported stolen in the area?”

  “None yet.” Connor stood and came to her. “Maybe you should go to bed, too. You look tired.”

  She grew taut, her good arm stiff at her side, hand curled closed. “There you go telling me what I need to do. I’m fine. What I really need is to find this guy and put an end to this terror before someone gets killed.” Stepping around Connor, she moved toward the table to sit across from Mike.

  “Let’s list what we know and what we need to find out.” Mike poised his fingers over the computer keys and looked up at them.

  Connor returned to his seat. “You’re really getting into this detective stuff, Gramps.”

  “Yup. Now I know why you like doing it. I’ll go first. Main suspect is John Smith, who lives in Arlington but has been gone from his home for the past four weeks.”

  “Not long after my father went to Sunny Meadows.” She yawned. Although she wanted to be in the middle of this conversation, she was afraid her body would demand sleep.

  “A coincidence or a factor that plays into this?” Connor scooted his chair closer to the table, his expression, full of sympathy, snagging hers.

  “I know coincidences happen in real life but let’s say for argument sake that this isn’t.” The sound of Mike’s typing echoed through the kitchen.

  “So the person at Sunny Meadows who poisoned my father has to be someone new. Within the past four weeks.”

  “Not necessarily. What if John Smith paid someone to poison your dad? We don’t think John is anyone at the center, even in disguise, or for that matter anyone that has visited lately. It would have been harder for a person visiting to poison your dad anyway, especially since he was being guarded.”

  Cara swung her full attention to Connor. “Okay. Then we really have to look at everyone who works there. At least the ones who had access to Dad on the rehabilitation unit and in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll see if Sean can get warrants for bank records for the employees involved with your father on a daily basis. We’ll start with those people first.”

  Another yawn escaped her mouth. Connor’s gaze seized hers and held it for a long moment. Earlier she’d responded to his attempt to help her with anger. She probably should go to bed early. Her body wouldn’t last long even if her mind wanted to hang in there.

  “We still can’t rule out new employees—Mark, Paul, Sally and that lady in the kitchen. Mark and Sally had contact with Dad on a daily basis and possibly the lady in the kitchen. Paul works in the nursing home side so he probably didn’t much.”

  “Okay, we need Sean to first look into the records of Mark, Sally and Patricia in the kitchen. What are their backgrounds? Check their references, etcetera. I know Sunny Meadows did that already when they hired them, but they weren’t looking at it the way we would.” Mike finished inputting into the computer and glanced up. “I can do some tomorrow while you have your office run what I can’t, Connor. Anything else?”

  Connor chuckled. “I think I created a monster. Gramps, you can’t do it all.”

  Mike squared his shoulders. “Yeah, I know law enforcement agencies have more access, but that ain’t gonna stop me from trying to do what I can to help Cara.”

  “And I appreciate all you’ve done.” Cara sent Mike a smile.

  “Fine, Gramps. Whatever you can do is great.”

  “What’s your next move?” Connor’s grandfather relaxed back in his chair.

  “I want to talk to Lucy again.”

  “So do I.” Cara prepared herself for Connor’s reaction. Lately whenever she left the house, something happened to her.

  “No! Too dangerous. Besides, you need to stay here and protect your father.”

  “Who’s going to protect me?” An imp inside her couldn’t resist the question.

  “I will. Who do you think taught Connor to shoot?” Mike said.

  He laughed. “Gramps is better than I am. But a state trooper will be outside. I won’t be gone long. I need to see if she’s ready to talk after spending a few days in jail.”

  “No one’s posted bail yet?” Cara dragged her attention from the humor in Connor’s eyes. Memories of shared laughter fluttered through her, bringing a longing she shouldn’t feel.

  “Thankfully the judge set it high. He takes bombings seriously.” Connor rose and began to pace. “I’ll go tomorrow afternoon, but you have to promis
e me you won’t leave the house for any reason.”

  “Hey, I didn’t willingly leave Sunny Meadows.”

  “I know. I can’t take a repeat of that.”

  The look Connor gave her sent her stomach plummeting. For a moment, thirteen years vanished and she felt the bond they’d had when they were young. The same connection that had scared her in the end and caused her to run. The anniversary of her mother’s death. At that time all she could think about was she wouldn’t let that happen to her. She wouldn’t invest that much in another to have it thrown back in her face.

  “Neither can I. Child, you had me sweating that one. I never researched so much so fast. These old fingers don’t cotton to typing that quickly.”

  The tension that had suddenly sprang up between her and Connor evaporated with Mike’s words. She threw him another grin and said, “I’ll try to remember that in the future.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to this list I’m making. Maybe we should dig into Lucy’s life. Find out all we can about her. Have your people in Arlington been able to discover anything about her? Maybe something you could use to crack her?”

  Connor chuckled. “You’ve missed your calling, Gramps. Actually, the problem is they aren’t finding anything out about her under the name Lucy Samuels in the Arlington area. And her prints aren’t in the database.”

  “Where was the last place Beau lived?” Cara’s mind swam with all the people involved in the case. At least now they had been able to narrow the list down some. “Washington, D.C.”

  “Have they looked there?”

  Connor halted his pacing and faced her. “Yes. It’s a big town and nothing is checking out so far. Other than a few rumors that Beau was seeing a girl named Lucy. We don’t have a photo of her.”

  “Maybe they should look at Beau and his life and connect her that way,” Gramps said. “Why would someone admit a connection to him which gives her a motive for being part of the bombing, unless it’s true?”