Love Inspired Suspense January 2014

by Shirlee McCoy

  But what if she or Caroline, or both of them, ended up behind bars? Could she bear that?

  Eyes closed, she bowed her head. “God, we’re in Your hands. I can only cling to trust that You’re at work to save us.”

  She didn’t add the obvious—that she saw no evidence of such grace operating in the situation. Over the years she’d noticed how frequently God worked in secret until the eleventh hour. There were times—like now—when Laurel wished it weren’t so, but faith often had to be blind.

  *

  “Nope. Sorry, I’ve never done a tat like that. Or seen one either.” From the opposite side of a sales counter, a grizzled tattoo artist shook his head at the smartphone photo David was showing him.

  “Thanks for your time,” David said, swallowing a rush of bitter stomach acid.

  A guy could get an ulcer from this much disappointment. He’d heard similar answers all weekend while he dodged the frenzy of partiers as he went from parlor to parlor all over the city. He was running out of businesses to check out.

  David trudged from the tattoo parlor onto the sidewalk. Foot and vehicle traffic was sluggish this Monday evening in a San Antonio nightclub district. Neon lights and meaty, spicy scents from surrounding restaurants greeted him. The savory odors didn’t stimulate so much as a drop of saliva on his taste buds.

  With a long groan, he climbed into his rental car and scanned his dwindling list of unvisited tattoo parlors. Of course, in the past decade the one he needed to find might have closed its doors. His chances of locating the right parlor might be slim to none.

  The phone at his belt played Pachelbel, and the screen lit with Laurel’s number. David’s heart jumped. Had the Montel boy been arrested? Were Laurel and Caroline in the clear?

  “David here.”

  “Why is that security van still lurking across the street from my house?”

  “Good evening to you, too. Did you just notice that little detail?”

  Laurel let out an exasperated noise. “I turned in early the past few nights and didn’t look outside. Tonight I did, and there sat the van. I appreciate your care for us, David. I really do, but I thought you said you would call the bodyguard off.”

  “I said I could. I didn’t say I would. I didn’t feel comfortable backing off until an arrest had been made. Has that happened?”

  Several beats of silence ended in a soft sigh. “Not yet. The most likely arrest remains Caroline or me or both of us. Apparently, Grant Montel wasn’t in town at the time Melissa Eldon met her demise.”

  “When was that?”

  “My question exactly, among a number of others, but Detective Iceberg wasn’t forthcoming.”

  David chuckled. “Iceberg. Appropriate moniker.” He liked this woman’s sense of humor.

  “Caroline gave a statement to a female staff sergeant about the harassment and stalking, but I don’t hold out large hope that much will come of it since Grant hasn’t yet done anything actionable that we can prove. We were told to refer the matter to the school administration.”

  “Are you going to follow through with that suggestion?”

  “Of course. We have an appointment with the principal next Monday.”

  “You don’t sound very hopeful.”

  “I’m ninety-nine percent certain that we’re opening a can of worms that won’t end well for us. I may have to find a different school for Caroline. But I can’t live with my conscience if I don’t speak out about unacceptable behavior. So many bullies get away with their tactics for years and harass innocent victims who might have been spared if people along the way hadn’t let fear stop them from making a stand.”

  “I’m proud of you…and Caroline. Tell her David said to hang tough.”

  “I’ll do that. But I’m sure you’re happy to be out of range of our problems. You’ve done a great deal. Please don’t feel any further obligation to us.”

  “Obligation isn’t my motivation.”

  “Then what is?”

  There it was—the point blank question. What did he dare tell her? The truth, buddy. His conscience spoke loud and clear.

  What exactly was the truth? There was such a muddle of factors. Like his natural instinct to defend the defenseless. Were his mother around, she could testify under oath about the many times he’d come home from school with a black eye or cut lip because he jumped into some fray not his own. And then there was the thorny issue of his growing attraction to Laurel as a woman and his affection for spunky Caroline. Laurel wouldn’t be interested in those unquantifiable motives. There was only one reason she’d care to hear—and it was one he was overdue sharing with her.

  “Melissa Eldon had a tattoo almost identical to my dead girlfriend’s. They may have known each other in college ten years ago. I’m—”

  “That’s it? Tattoos obtained on some undergraduate whim?” Laurel’s tone was incredulous.

  “The design was unique. Not your run-of-the-mill flower or butterfly.”

  “If you think the coincidence of similar tattoos is important in finding whoever is responsible for their deaths, don’t you think the police might be interested in that information?”

  “Sure, but I figured their first assumption would be that I had something to do with Melissa’s death, too. Before I speak up, I need to know if there’s significance to the commonality—beyond some random fluke.”

  “Because you know you didn’t kill Melissa, so if by some wild chance the tattoos connect the two murders, then you didn’t kill Alicia either.”

  Laurel’s words flowed without intonation as David sat speechless with his mouth open. She got it. Did that mean she would forgive him for not sharing this information sooner?

  “You’re not angry with me for keeping this to myself?”

  “I’m steaming like Old Faithful ready to erupt, Mr. Greene, but I understand your desperation. I sensed you were keeping something from us—at least it wasn’t something sinister. For that small mercy I’m relieved. Good night, Mr. Greene. Call off that bodyguard. No semantic gymnastics to get off the hook this time.”

  The connection closed, and David rammed his head back against the headrest. She was angry all right. She’d addressed him formally twice in one string of sentences. What had he expected Laurel’s reaction would be? She’d understood his thinking about the possible connection that the tattoos suggested between the two women, but then she’d called him desperate.

  She was right about that. He was probably grasping for ashes in the wind. Maybe he should head home and put his feet up. Flip on the boob tube and watch sitcom reruns. Forget about Melissa and Alicia…and Laurel and Caroline, too.

  No! His teeth clamped together. He couldn’t abandon this long-shot lead without wringing every drop of possibility from it.

  But if Laurel felt so strongly about having the watchdog stand down, he’d comply…reluctantly. He punched up the number of the business’s central office and waited while it rang through. The desk clerk would notify the operative that the assignment was cancelled.

  “Safety and Security Services,” a pleasant female voice singsonged.

  David told her what he wanted.

  “Very well, sir. I’ll place a call to— Just a moment, sir. The operative’s emergency light just went red. I’ll have to let you go so I can call the police.”

  THIRTEEN

  This wasn’t possible! Laurel’s heart raced, and her breathing pumped shallow and fast.

  Two minutes after requesting David remove the bodyguard, she was waiting for the security agent to burst into her home by any means necessary and save Caroline and her from whoever was downstairs.

  Another thud sounded below, then a crash of breakage— one of the new lamps? An eerie, raucous cry scraped like claws down Laurel’s backbone. The man with the cold! She’d been half expecting another threatening phone call since she deduced he must have her cell number. Instead, he was in their house? How? All of the locks had been changed.

  Laurel’s arms tightened
around Caroline. The girl’s slender body shuddered. The two of them were in Caroline’s room behind a closed door barricaded by a wooden desk chair under the knob. The protection looked mighty flimsy.

  “Mo-o-om!” The girl’s familiar whimper bled forth.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Help is on the way.”

  Faint rattling drifted upstairs from the area of the front door. Must be the security guy. When she called Mack Simmons, he’d directed her to secure herself and her daughter as best she could and not to worry about letting him in. He had the equipment and skills to deal with the lock on his own, and when the alarm went off, so much the better.

  The alarm blared, which meant Mack must have gained entrance. The electronic screech drowned any other noises from downstairs. Laurel drew her daughter to the bed and sat on the edge with the girl still clutched in her embrace. Both pairs of eyes stayed riveted on the door. Beneath Laurel’s clinging arms, Caroline’s heart fluttered like a caged bird. Laurel’s wasn’t much less frenzied.

  A sharp report echoed through the house, and Laurel jumped with a cry. Caroline burst into tears. The gun roared again, followed by a shattering sound, faint but distinct against the backdrop of the alarm’s wail. Then nothing but the alarm.

  A minute passed. Then another.

  Laurel scarcely dared breathe. Who had been shot down there? The intruder or their hired defender?

  If the latter, then she and Caroline were on their own. Laurel eased away from her daughter and pointed to the corner of the room where Caroline’s softball bat leaned against the wall. Caroline’s lips trembled, but her gaze firmed as she nodded.

  Laurel crossed the room and grabbed the bat. Caroline went the other direction and returned with a tennis racket. What good these weapons might be against a firearm, Laurel didn’t care to contemplate.

  She took up a position on one side of the barricaded door while Caroline took the other side. Laurel gazed into her daughter’s eyes, so like her own in their rich shade of brown. In this moment, even though fear fixed her child’s eyes wide, the pupils had darkened. Gone steady. Determined.

  A strange peace wound around Laurel’s heart. Yes, misunderstandings and contests of will remained ahead for the two of them. Inevitable with two such stubborn women in the household. But Caroline was going to be all right. She’d find her way through the land mines along the path to adulthood. Laurel knew that now. Provided they survived the next few minutes.

  The doorknob rattled, and they raised their weapons as one.

  *

  David’s cell phone played its tune, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as he paced up and down on the sidewalk in front of the last tattoo parlor he’d visited. He hadn’t moved from the spot while the longest fifteen minutes of his life crawled past on hot coals. Scarcely glancing at the caller ID, he keyed to answer.

  “Yes!”

  “Mr. Greene?”

  It was Mack. David exhaled a pent-up breath. “Are Laurel and Caroline all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Shaken up and scared white, but they’re troopers.”

  David wilted against the outside wall of the parlor. If the stucco-coated cement wasn’t holding him up, he’d be on his knees literally as well as in spirit.

  Mack chuckled. “If I’d been the wrong person attempting to get at them through that barricaded bedroom door, they were going to bean me with a bat and a tennis racket.”

  “Sounds like them.” A grin began to grow on David’s face. “I take it there was an intruder. Did you catch him?”

  “Negative. It wasn’t a human intruder. It was some kind of large bird.”

  “A bird?”

  “Yes, and vicious, too. It attacked me. Came at me with beak and talons. I took a couple of shots at it and unfortunately managed to break the picture window in the living room. The thing flew away. Probably got in down the chimney. Critters do that sometimes when the weather gets cold. Then they don’t know how to get out and go nuts.”

  “What kind of bird was it?”

  “I don’t know. Big and black. There are a few feathers lying around the living room. Maybe some bird expert can tell us— Oh, hey, the cops are here now. I’d better go.”

  “Have Laurel call me when she’s free, would you?”

  “Will do.”

  The connection went dead. David slid the phone into the pouch at his belt. Now a live bird was involved in this deadly mystery. He didn’t for a minute think that bird got down the chimney by accident. Someone clever and vindictive was at work. A bird that could be described as having talons was a bird of prey, the kind of bird depicted by those tattoos.

  David got into his car. He was going to find answers tonight. How he could force that to happen, he didn’t have a clue, but that was the way it was going to be.

  Forty-five minutes later, he entered a hole-in-the-wall place called simply Jake’s Tattoos that looked like it had seen better days. The tools of the trade sat ready on shelves and benches, but there were no customers lying on tables or reclining in chairs. Scents of ink and blood pervaded the air the same as they had in the other parlors David had visited. He was almost getting used to the odor.

  “What can I do for you, man?” A youth with scruffy shoulder-length hair and a wisp of a goatee rose from behind the counter wearing a lopsided smile. “We’ve got some great specials going.”

  “I’m tracking down the origins of a particular design.” David presented the photo on his phone and braced himself for another blank stare. The kid didn’t look old enough to be in college himself, much less old enough to have been in the tattoo business a decade ago.

  The young man frowned at the photo, started to shake his head then peered more closely. “Do you mind?” He reached for the phone.

  David released it to him. The kid flicked on a gooseneck lamp and studied the picture while he stroked his goatee.

  “Can’t tell for sure,” he said at last, “cuz the photo’s not the best. Looks like there were white flecks in the air between the lens and the subject. Ashes?”

  “Snow. What are you thinking but not saying?” Throttling the information from this young man could be a viable option at the moment. David’s hands fisted, and the tips of his fingernails bit into his palms.

  The kid flicked the photo to zoom in on the image and let out a hum. “Looks like my grandfather’s work. Nobody—but nobody—did a talon like Grandpa Jake.”

  “The Jake from the name above the door.”

  “That’s him. People used to come from around the world for his work if they needed something with a bird or a dragon in it. He was a true artist.”

  David’s heart hit his toes. “Was?”

  “Retired now. Couldn’t do a tat if his life depended on it. Arthritis in his joints.” The kid’s mouth drooped.

  David inhaled, then exhaled a cleansing breath of air. “Would it be possible to talk to your grandfather?”

  “Prob’ly.” The young man smiled. “He lives in the apartment upstairs.”

  Within twenty minutes, David had more answers than he’d wanted. He staggered out to his car and leaned on the hood. A fist—no, talons—clutched his heart.

  Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe—forget it! No maybe. The facts fit too neatly to call his thoughts a flight of fancy. His gut chewed on itself.

  Pachelbel began to play. David swiped the phone from his belt and narrowed his eyes at the caller ID.

  “Hello, Laurel.” Did his voice sound as cold as he felt? “I wish I could say it’s good to hear from you.”

  “David? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  Less than a half hour ago, that would have been his question for her. Now he had a different one. “Where did you attend college?”

  “I got my master’s degree right here in Denver from—”

  “No. You mentioned you met your ex-husband when you were a freshman in college. Where was that?” As if he didn’t know the answer.

  “San Antonio. I—”


  “That’s what I thought. I’m flying back to Denver tonight. I’ll be on your doorstep first thing in the morning.”

  “We’re at Janice’s again until that picture window can be replaced.”

  “Of course. Be prepared to answer more questions. Lots more.”

  “David, you’re scaring me.”

  “You can’t be half as scared as I am.”

  FOURTEEN

  “What has gotten into you, David?” Crossing her arms, Laurel stared into David’s storm-cloud eyes.

  They glared at each other across the length of Janice’s family room.

  “Do the words Jeweled Talon Society mean anything to you?”

  “Should they? Get to the point, will you? My life has been terrorized enough. I don’t need any more suspense.”

  “Five women—” David raised his left hand with the digits spread apart “—freshmen at the same college, each one an outstanding beauty, made a pact to wed only wealthy men. In fact, it was a contest to see who could snare the wealthiest husband. They sealed the pact by each getting the tattoo of a raven’s talons gripping a jewel—every jewel as unique and beautiful as they were. They wore their tattoos right here.” He lifted his left hand to cover a spot below the breastbone but above the heart. “Starting to ring a bell?”

  The bitter twist of his lips jabbed Laurel’s heart like a knife. “No bells. No whistles. Not even a gong. Where did you discover this information, and what does a shameful pact have to do with my situation?”

  A realization zapped through Laurel’s brain and she gasped, covering her mouth with her fingers.

  Heat flared in David’s gaze. “Suddenly remembering?”

  “You mean Alicia and Melissa had these tattoos? They were part of this foolishness? Do you think something to do with this Raven Jewel Society got them killed?”

  David expelled a burst of air. “Jeweled Talon Society—as if you didn’t know. Laurel, it’s time for the truth. You admitted to me you were a freshman at the University of Texas in San Antonio.”

  “No, David, I said I started college in San Antonio, but you never let me finish my sentence to tell you which school. I was a freshman at Northwest Vista College.”