Love Inspired Suspense January 2014

by Shirlee McCoy

“It could be. I think I’d better go find out.”

  “With Max, right?”

  Laney frowned. “I shouldn’t involve him any more than he already is.” She shot a look at her father. “And I don’t want to leave Dad.”

  “I will stay with him every minute, and you will take Max because it would be dumb to do otherwise.”

  “And they say I’m the outspoken one,” Laney said.

  Jen shrugged. “Dad didn’t raise any shrinking violets.”

  “No he didn’t,” she said, hugging her sister and giving her father a gentle kiss.

  She called Max and waited, stalking in impatient stretches across the admissions lobby until he arrived a half hour later. As she climbed into the truck, she was surprised to find that the sun was low in the sky. Nearly a full day had passed since they’d headed out of town to the junkyard.

  Max let her do the talking, engine idling as he listened. “I’m glad you called me,” he said finally.

  “My sister would have had my head if I tried to go it alone.”

  “Your sister is pretty smart.”

  “Yeah.” She tried to drag her mind from the hospital room to the situation at hand. “I wish I knew what Hugh wanted to talk to me about.” She worked the zipper of her jacket up and down. “Did you find out anything from Tanya?”

  He grimaced. “When I got close, I was mobbed by a bunch of girls wanting to know how you were, and by the time I took care of that, Tanya was gone.”

  “She didn’t have anything to do with the crash, Max. None of the girls did. They wouldn’t cover up something like that.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She fought the urge to get out of the truck and sprint alongside it, anything to drain some of the frenetic energy from her body. “Jen says I shouldn’t quit.”

  His head jerked a bit in her direction, but he immediately resumed focus out the front windshield.

  She waited for his question but it didn’t come. “I’m not sure if I should stay in or not. What do you think?” He would say, of course, that nothing should stop her from racing, not her father’s heart attack, not anything.

  “I think you should do what is best for your family.”

  She gaped. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to quit?”

  He sighed and suddenly he looked sad and vulnerable. “Laney, until just recently I thought racing was all that mattered. But you said it yourself, it’s only a small part of who God made you to be, right?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You have so many people who love you, and they’re going to love you no matter if you race or not. The question is, do you feel the passion to win that gold? If the answer is yes, we train as hard as we can in the few days we have left. If not…”

  “If not?”

  He smiled at her. “Then, Birdie, you’re free to fly somewhere else.”

  And so was he. She could not imagine what her life would be like without Max, but she could not skate forever, and skating was what bound them together. She thought about the single tear that had glistened on his cheek when he cut the paper dinosaur. Had he finally stopped running from the terrible sadness of his brother’s death? She felt the twin pangs of happiness for him and an inkling of despair. Had she kept him prisoner, tied to her as she pursued her dreams instead of pursuing his own life outside of skating?

  “I’m confused.”

  “Think it out and let me know.”

  “And if I decide not to race,” she heard herself say. “What will you do?”

  He turned sapphire eyes on her so brilliant that they were worlds unto themselves. “I don’t know, but I think it’s time for me to find out.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The road led them into a quiet suburban neighborhood just as the sun began to sink below the hills. Trees crusted with snow lined both sides, and the streetlights flicked to life when Max turned into the long driveway of Hugh’s compact, neatly tended condo. It was the farthest away from the main road, isolated from the rest by the towering pines that seemed to crowd around it. A ladder leaned against the side of the house, and paint flaked away where the owner had apparently been trying to hammer a loose shutter back into place.

  Max cut the engine. Something heavy and uneasy had settled in his gut, and he wasn’t sure if it was the unnatural stillness of the place or the conversation he’d just finished with Laney. As her trainer, he should have done everything in his power to convince her not to quit. He hadn’t, and it bit at him that he’d let her become something other than his athlete. Dan Thompson had picked him to be more than a trainer to her, but he wondered now if his feelings had made him less.

  She might quit. Walk away from the dream that sustained her.

  And she might regret that loss forever, just as he did. He got out and they crunched up the path, which was obscured by a light layer of snow. Wood paneling covered the exterior of the two-story structure, an angled roof giving it a rustic appeal.

  Laney knocked on the front door.

  “There’s a light on inside,” Max said. “And one on upstairs.”

  “Do you hear music?”

  He did. Classical piano, from the sound of it.

  Laney knocked louder. “Mr. Peterson? It’s Laney and Max.”

  They listened for the sound of footsteps but heard nothing as the dusk swallowed them in darkness.

  “Maybe we’re early,” she said.

  “Right on time. He could be in the shower or the garage and he can’t hear us.”

  The garage was actually a three-sided carport, and Hugh’s old Suburban was parked there, the hood cool to Max’s touch. “Out walking?”

  “He sounded urgent on the phone, desperate to meet with me. Why would he leave?”

  Max’s skin prickled along the nape of his neck. “Let’s check the back in case he stepped outside for some air.”

  The porch wrapped around to the back of the house, sturdy railings enclosing a seating space that housed a rocking chair neatly covered to keep off the elements. More snow-covered trees adorned the space, along with a barbecue and bicycle tucked back against the house.

  “Why would…?” She broke off as Max pointed to the sliding door, open six inches, curtains fluttering out the gap in the chill air.

  “Go wait in the truck,” he said. “I’m going to check things out.”

  “I’m going, too.”

  “This is not legal, Laney. We’re breaking the law here and we have no idea what’s waiting inside.”

  She nodded solemnly. “I know, but we’re in this too far to leave now.”

  Body taut, he stepped to the opened door and listened. Still only the sound of piano music. He could see into a neat kitchen, an old tiled counter clear of clutter and a round table with a mug on it dead center. The music came from an old-type CD player sitting on a shelf just above the kitchen sink.

  He stepped in. “Mr. Peterson?” he called softly.

  Laney pushed through behind him. “Look,” she breathed. There was a whiteboard fixed to one side of the dining room wall decorated with Hugh’s scrawled print in dry-erase marker. “Beth Morrison, Diane Morrison, Trevor Ancho, Tanya Crowley, Jackie Brewster,” she read, her finger resting on the last two names. “Laney Thompson, Dan Thompson.”

  She picked up three plastic-backed magnets from the floor. “He had things put up here.”

  “He’s been investigating how it all fits together,” Max said. “I wonder what he found out.”

  “And where he is now?” she asked with a shiver. She frowned. “I’m sure I didn’t get the message wrong. I hope I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t,” Max said, touching the Utah Jazz coffee mug. “It’s still warm.”

  Laney’s eyes widened. “So where did he go?”

  “I’m going to look upstairs.”

  She tiptoed up the squeaky wood steps right behind him.

  At the top of the stairs they found a loft with a neatly made bed. The loft opened onto a tiny bathroom, all decorated in
browns, that made the place seem even gloomier.

  “Mr. Peterson?” Max called again.

  There was no one there.

  “I’m worried, Max,” Laney said.

  Her face was etched with fear. “What if something bad has happened to him?”

  “Let’s look around a little more and then we can call the police. There could still be an innocent explanation for all this. I’m going to check his answering machine downstairs.”

  “Okay. I’ll call my sister and check on my father.” She sat on a slatted chair.

  Max returned to the dining room. There was no indication that anything bad had happened to Hugh, but why would he go out and leave the door open? It did not feel right to snoop through Peterson’s house, but he pressed the button on the answering machine to play back the one message.

  Tanya’s thin quavering voice floated through the space.

  “Mr. Peterson, you contacted me before to see if I knew anything about the accident, the one that hurt Laney and Max.”

  Max’s stomach tightened as he listened.

  “I…I think I might know something. I didn’t realize it before and I’m not sure it’s anything so I didn’t want to call the police and get anyone in trouble, but… Well, anyway, I can’t talk right now but I’ll call you back later, okay?” There was a click as the phone was disconnected.

  His mind whirled. They weren’t the only ones looking for Hugh Peterson. Tanya had something to share with him, as well.

  He felt something behind him just then, the same way he’d always been able to sense skaters stealing up on him, trying to pass. He had time enough to raise a hand to defend himself, but it did no good as the bat struck him and he crumpled to the floor, registering a fleeting glimpse of Ancho before things went black.

  *

  Jen reported to Laney that their father was resting comfortably, no change. She was not sure whether she should be pleased or dismayed. His body needed time for the medicine to work, but the waiting was agonizing.

  “I called the athlete dorms, and Tanya said she’d feed Cubby for you.”

  Laney sighed. “Thank you. He’ll get crabby without his dinner.”

  “You know, Laney, I’m just sitting here, staring at Dad, thinking you both have the same stubborn chin.”

  “Even though we’re not blood related?”

  She laughed, but it was a tired sound. “I’ve spent the past three months studying heredity. It can influence practically everything.”

  Laney waited, sensing that her sister needed to say something.

  “Our mom, our birth mom, I mean, was unable to handle her problems. The addiction was too strong.” She paused. “Did you ever wonder, Laney, how much of her is in us?”

  “She gave us our genes, but we decide what we do with them.”

  Jen laughed and Laney felt rewarded for easing her sister’s mood for a moment. “You wouldn’t pass a genetics class with that answer.”

  “No, but Dad would approve.”

  “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll tell him, just in case he can hear me.”

  Tears lashed at her eyes. “Give him a kiss for me and tell him I’ll be there soon.”

  Jen promised she would and clicked off.

  Laney got up to look out the window, surveying the bleak landscape outside. To her surprise, she found the window was not fully closed. Giving it a yank, it slid upward. Outside, a tall ladder leaned against the wood siding. Had someone entered the house that way? Or was it possible Peterson had climbed down? It would make a convenient escape, but why exit via ladder?

  Only one logical reason—because someone was coming in another way, say, the back sliding door, someone who intended to do harm. She peered down into the night, trying to discern which way he might have gone, but it was too dark to make out much of anything.

  Biting her lip, she started to pull herself back in through the opening when a pair of hands seized her arms from behind, trapping her in the open window.

  She struggled against restraining hands. “Let go,” she grunted, thrashing from side to side.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Ancho said, laughing low.

  Terror ricocheted through her nerve endings. “Max,” she screamed.

  “He won’t hear you.”

  Her throat convulsed. “What did you do to him?”

  “Let’s stick to the present. I told you it would be best for you to quit racing, but here you are, not only still racing but sticking your button nose into places where it doesn’t belong. Even the cops are getting tired of you.”

  Her torso was pinned against the window frame, arms still immobilized. Twist as she might, she could not free herself. Max, she screamed silently. Max, what’s happened to you?

  “If you were a good daughter, you’d be there in the hospital, at your father’s bedside, not breaking and entering.”

  She stopped fighting for a moment to suck in a breath. “You’re insane.”

  “Not insane,” he hissed, giving her flesh a savage pinch. “Just persistent, like you.”

  “Help,” she shouted.

  “No one will hear you.”

  No one. “Tell me what you did to Max.”

  He did not seem to hear. “You’re going to have a fall. It probably won’t kill you, but it will break one of your legs, maybe both, possibly other bones, as well. No trials for you next week.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she gasped as he levered her out the window. “I never did a thing to you.”

  His tone was hard as iron. “You had your shot. It’s somebody else’s turn.”

  She was frantic now. “Who are you covering for? The hit-and-run driver? You don’t want me to remember, do you?”

  He paused.

  She knew she’d hit it. “You’re scared I’ll remember the accident and you want me to disappear before that happens.”

  “Smart lady,” Ancho said.

  “You did something to Peterson because he figured it out. Where is he? Did you kill him?”

  “So many questions,” he said, punctuating each word by digging his nails in. “It’s time to go, Laney.” He picked up her ankles, in spite of her flailing feet, and shoved her so far out the window that she tumbled headfirst into the cold night air. Her scream was cut off as the hood of her jacket caught on the crooked shutter and her downward progress was halted for one precious moment. It gave her a millisecond to grab the shutter with her fingertips and cling there, legs scrabbling for purchase on the wood siding. Hardly daring to breath, she hung on with all her might, listening to the wood groaning under the stress. The ladder was a few tantalizing inches away. Salvation, if she could reach it.

  Ancho poked a bat out of the window and used it to push the ladder away from the side. It fell with a soft plop on the snow below.

  “Bye, honey,” he said. “Try not to fall headfirst.”

  She started screaming even before he’d cleared the room. Peterson’s house was so far away from the others she knew Ancho was right—no one was going to hear. Max, Max, her mind shrieked.

  Fingers straining, she heard the sound of a motor as Ancho drove away, knowing she’d drop very soon. She pressed her feet against the wood to ease the load on her hands, but even so her joints were shaking with the effort of holding her there. She knew the old shutter would give way anytime.

  Just to the other side of her she saw a downspout, sparkling with ice crystals. If she moved, she might break her grip and fall. If she didn’t take some kind of action, she would undoubtedly plunge to the ground.

  After as deep a breath as she could manage, she kicked out one leg. It banged against the downspout and fell uselessly away, nearly breaking her grip on the sill.

  Come on, Laney. Focus.

  This time, she aimed better and succeeded in getting her knee around the metal tube. There was a crooked part where it came away from the roof. It would be the only place for her to hang on, but it would mean she’d have to let go with one hand.<
br />
  One shot and one shot only.

  Just like short track, where one moment was all a skater was given to make her move, one moment that was the difference between triumph and disaster.

  Sweat stung her eyes but she did not dare risk wiping it away. Muscles tensed, she put the fear aside and let go of the shutter with her left hand, grabbing desperately for the drain pipe.

  She got hold of the crooked part and wrapped her arm around it as tightly as she could before letting go with the other. A surge of triumph coursed through her as she fastened herself to the safety of the downspout.

  Until she heard the soft groan of the metal as it began to detach itself from the wood siding.

  NINETEEN

  Some part of Max’s subconscious told him to open his eyes and get up, but the pain in his midsection demanded he stay curled in a ball, squeezing air in and out of his lungs. It hurt to breathe, pained him to think and he got the sense he had passed out. It came back in a rush.

  Laney. Ancho’s here and he’s going after Laney. The thought finally penetrated his fog and he forced himself to his knees, blinking against the spinning of the room. Levering himself upright using the table leg for support, he made it to his feet, stopping when a wave of dizziness nearly took him down. Staggering up the stairs, he tried to call her name, which came out as a gasp. He took the stairs as fast as he could manage until he burst, stumbling, into the bedroom.

  “Laney,” he grunted.

  He was about to turn around and head back down the stairs when he heard a clang from outside the window. His stomach dropped. Thrusting his head through, he found her, clinging to a gutter of some sort that was about to detach from the wall.

  In spite of the pain in his ribs, he shot out a hand, which she grabbed.

  At that moment the metal twisted away from the building, carrying Laney with it, except for the anchor of their clasped hands.

  She cried out in terror, eyes wide, mouth open.

  He clung to her with all his strength, but her dead weight and the unfriendly angle made her hard to hold on to.

  He grabbed her wrist with the other hand, trying to brace his legs against the wall but it would not hold, not for long. He had to pull her in but he could not manage the thing.