Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection DetailHidden AgendaBroken Silence

by Shirlee McCoy

  She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as she let her mind drift back. Eleven years, to that unforgettable night…

  A small room. Dark. The whir of a ceiling fan. The air oppressive, stale. With effort, she’d managed to grip her fingers along a table edge or desk. She was confused, dazed, wondering how she got there. Music played in the background. Classical. Eerie. Pain boomeranged in her skull. Claustrophobia swallowed her, the walls closing in.

  Then she heard him. His voice was high and singsong—a phony disguised lilt. She tried to place it. Tried to replay his words in her head. Patrick. He kept talking about Patrick. Where was he now? Who was going to save her?

  Then the man laughed. The most chilling laugh she’d ever heard.

  Panic grew. Blood turned to ice. She forced her trembling legs to run. Her hands frantically slapped walls, furniture to guide her to escape…

  Until strong arms grabbed her, keeping her from going anywhere.

  Amber’s eyes blinked open, her heart galloping in her chest, a sheen of cold sweat filming her skin. She couldn’t do this tonight. Nighttime was always the worst.

  Now more antsy than ever, she got out of bed. Lying still a moment longer was definitely out of the question. In an attempt to stave off the shiver that began in her very soul, she grabbed her robe and paced the room, each firm step adding to her stress.

  She just wanted to wake up one day and have this nightmare be over.

  Chilly air from the air conditioner wafted around her, pulling her back to the present. She stopped short as rational thoughts took hold.

  She’d never stopped to consider how much worse things could have been. Maybe God had intervened before the situation had escalated further.

  She was nearly blown away by the concept. The tension knotting her muscles started to ease, replaced by a strange peaceful feeling.

  Slipping back into bed, she snuggled beneath the blankets. There was a gentle snore from down the hallway. She curled up tighter, glad Patrick could finally sleep. When Kim had suggested he bunk on her living room sofa for the night instead of his SUV, he’d jumped at her offer.

  His dedication astounded her. She didn’t deserve that.

  It seemed ironic that Patrick was determined to protect her from the very madman who had pushed their life into a tailspin eleven years ago.

  Or could it be that in spite of her severed relations with God, He had sent this elite soldier and detective back into her life?

  Even if it was a temporary assignment for Patrick, her heart melted at the thought.

  *

  Hit by the first rays of morning light streaming through the slats of the window blind, Patrick squinted and checked his watch. Barely past six. He pulled the sheet over his head, tempted to roll over and keep on sleeping. Had he not heard somebody up and rumbling around in the kitchen, he might have done so.

  Sitting up, Patrick swung his feet to the floor, every muscle in his back as tight as rubber bands. Apparently, his body’s way of protesting for two nights of awkward sleeping arrangements.

  But despite being stiff, he’d slept okay, although lightly, with one ear attuned to his surroundings.

  The night had been peaceful. No bells or whistles from the security system. Nothing unusual to note. Outside of the periodic pattering of soft footsteps coming from Amber’s room down the hall. She was restless and he didn’t blame her—she was dealing with a lot.

  Hopefully his presence offered her some solace and a sense of safety.

  With a low groan, he rubbed at the cramp in his side. Over the years he’d slept in more confined and uncomfortable quarters. He almost felt like a wimp missing his own bed with the nice memory-foam mattress. Guess that’s what civilian life does to someone.

  Patrick rose slowly, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. Better. He cracked his knuckles.

  Now he was ready to start the day. A slight clanking came from across the hall, accompanied by a whiff of something savory.

  Breakfast.

  A low growl in his gut responded. He hefted the knapsack he’d brought in from his car and headed to the bathroom to change his clothes and clean up. Then he went to check out what was cooking.

  In the kitchen doorway, he paused and, as Amber moved around the small space, he did a quick survey of the area. The round mahogany table sat empty, pantry open, nothing lurking in the corners.

  Turning slightly, he glanced out the wide bay window by the table, his gaze traveling beyond the front yard to the neighborhood street. A minivan puttered along going east, and right behind it a patrol vehicle.

  Good. They were making rounds, just like he requested. He loved those guys.

  Satisfied, he settled his gaze back on Amber. Humming softly, she continued cooking, her damp hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her pastel sundress clung softly to her curves, her feet bare.

  The sight unleashed more unbidden feelings. Ones he’d kept locked up for years.

  Patrick’s mouth edged up as he watched her, hesitant to interrupt, reveling in the peaceful moment. He couldn’t help but admire her beauty.

  No other woman had ever affected him the way Amber Talbot did. Too much time with this woman and he’d be a goner.

  A lump crowded into his throat. At one time he’d hoped for a scenario like this. Sharing a quiet morning with Amber—sharing a lifetime together.

  He remembered how she loved to cook. And how she used to surprise him with new recipes when they’d dated. He’d tease her about opening a restaurant. She’d respond that she only enjoyed cooking for him.

  That was forever ago. His heart thumped in his chest.

  Amber turned and grabbed an egg from a carton on the counter. With a gasp, she jumped, her eyes going wide, the egg dropping to the floor. “Patrick. You scared me to death.” Her splayed fingers slapped her chest.

  So much for not being obvious. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Patrick grabbed a handful of napkins from the table. “Let me clean that up.”

  “No. I’ve got it.” Amber tore a paper towel from a roll, squatted down and sopped up the gooey mess.

  “I should have said something. I wasn’t thinking.” He’d been too busy reminiscing. Something he shouldn’t be doing.

  “I’m just a little jumpy these days.” She tossed the soiled towels into the trash and turned on the faucet to wash her hands.

  “As you should be. By the way, whatever you’re cooking smells great.”

  “It’s just bacon, eggs and toast,” Amber said, turning from the sink. She leaned against the cabinet and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  She’d thought right. He smiled. “It sounds delicious. What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. Just have a seat and relax.”

  Once he was up and about, relax wasn’t in his vocabulary these days.

  “On second thought, you can grab some plates.” With her chin, she gestured to the cabinet to her left.

  “Two? Three? What do we need?”

  “Only two. Kim won’t be joining us. It’s her day off and she’s sleeping in.”

  Not that it mattered if they ate alone, although he didn’t mind. He gathered the plates, and as Amber finished scrambling the eggs, he grabbed two cups of freshly brewed coffee and took them to the table.

  “Here you go.” Amber set one plate in front of him and another on the place mat across the table before she settled into her seat.

  “Do you mind if I say a blessing?” he asked her.

  After a slight hesitation she shrugged. “Sure.”

  They bowed their heads.

  “Lord, please let this food bless and nourish our bodies. And thank You for our many blessings. Amen.”

  “Amen,” she mumbled.

  “And keep Amber safe.” Patrick met Amber’s gaze, smiled.

  “Thank you.” Amber gave him one of those squinty-eyed smiles. The one that meant she was trying to not cry.

  He took a bite o
f his food. Amber’s safety was on the top of his prayer list these days. He hoped his simple prayer might touch her some. He’d noticed her faith didn’t seem what it once had been.

  “You know, you’re a pretty brave woman,” he said after a moment, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

  “Brave?” A slight laugh escaped her. “I hardly think brave is the best description of me.”

  “Oh, but you are. With all that is going on, you haven’t let it get you down.” He shoved a bite of eggs in his mouth and nodded.

  She shook her head, staring sullenly into her cup of coffee, where she’d just stirred a serving of cream. “For over a decade I kept a painful secret from you. I gave in to fear and guilt. I feel anything but brave.”

  Her rationale hit him like a blow. Was he to blame for her fear? Maybe if he hadn’t been such a hothead, maybe if she had trusted him more—

  No. He refused to go there again. He took a sip of coffee, set the cup down carefully, so as not to give away the turmoil churning inside him. Lord, give me the wisdom to break through the wall of guilt she’s erected.

  “Amber, you became victim to a vicious, selfish act. It’s understandable how fear and guilt could clog your mind after something like that. But look at you now. You’ve dedicated your life to helping others. I admire that.”

  Five seconds later, he regretted the words when Amber glanced up at him. Her expression of raw pain and remorse tore at his heart.

  “Patrick, you can’t minimize the mistakes I’ve made.”

  What he couldn’t minimize was the guilt she was carrying.

  Silence settled between them. He forked another bite of eggs, watching Amber out of the corner of his eye.

  For the past several moments she had been toying with her nearly full plate of food. His attempt at being supportive had batted zero. She obviously didn’t want his understanding, only his help.

  Truth be known, he was still trying to make sense of it all. Relieve some of the pain that had whittled away at him for years. Little by little, piece by piece, until he went numb.

  And here he was, thrown back into Amber’s life, his battered emotions spewing out like molten lava. Weakening him. Making him crazy.

  He kicked himself for letting his guard slip so easily. So quickly. Again.

  Before he got more caught up in his frustration, the ringtone sounded on his phone. He plucked it from his belt clip, thankful for the distraction. “This is Patrick Wiley.”

  “Good morning, Patrick. I have some news.” His ears perked at Liza’s words.

  “Something good, I hope.”

  “Good for you. However, bad for Carl Shaw.”

  “Carl? What about him?”

  “Well, he was picked up and brought into the station last night. A call came in that a vehicle was swerving on Highway 80 east. When an officer attempted to pull Carl over, he took off, leading them on a fourteen-mile chase before he ran off the road and into a ditch.”

  His lips curved at Liza’s words. “Where is Carl now?”

  “Sitting in a holding cell, waiting for his bail hearing. Here’s the added bonus—they found four loaded guns in his trunk. A shotgun, two semiautomatic assault rifles and a handgun. We checked the registration, and they all belong to Shaw. We’re running a ballistics test to see if any of the weapons match the bullets fired at the Safe Harbor Counseling Center.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be right over. Thanks, Liza.”

  He ended the call and met Amber’s wide stare with a grin. “We need to get going. I think we may have just hit pay dirt.”

  NINE

  Amber paced from the narrow window in Patrick’s office to his oak desk and then back again. She mentally counted her steps, trying for distraction, to kill time. Anything to keep from looking at her watch again.

  From her last glance, only forty-five minutes had elapsed since Patrick left for the interrogation room. It seemed like hours.

  Her attempt to sit calmly and wait for him to return abated in about ten seconds, just long enough for her mind to whip up images of Carl Shaw. The man who may be trying to kill her.

  The man who may have assaulted and drugged her…

  No. She picked up her pace, refusing to relive that experience with Carl.

  After years of anonymity, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to learn the identity of her attacker.

  Besides, what if it wasn’t Carl?

  On the fifteen-minute ride to the station, Patrick had stayed on the phone with the forensics lab. The four weapons found in Carl’s truck were the newest pieces of information that could tie him to the crime.

  The gleam in Patrick’s eyes told her he was ready to break the case.

  Was he confident or hopeful? She’d soon find out.

  Muffled voices bled into the office from the other side of the closed door. One deep tone erupted from amid the cacophony and caught her attention.

  She halted her repetitious march and turned as the door swung open. Captain Vance Peterson, carrying two cups, walked in, looking concerned. “Amber, how are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.” She attempted a reassuring smile. “Any news about Carl?”

  “He’s agreed to answer questions. Actually, he requested to talk to Patrick, but only with his attorney present. We’re waiting on him to arrive now.” He handed Amber a cup of coffee. “Patrick said you drank yours with only cream.”

  “Yes, thank you.” She gently blew on the hot liquid. “So Patrick hasn’t seen Carl yet?”

  “Not yet. But it shouldn’t be long.”

  She curled her hands around the cup, absorbing the warmth. “Guilty or innocent, I suppose everyone wants an attorney to be present.”

  “Actually we prefer to interrogate suspects before they ask for an attorney. But we’ll take what we can get.” Vance lifted a brow. “Sorry about the wait. I know it’s tough. Especially under the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Someone has been trying to kill you.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She took a sip of coffee, willing her knees not to buckle.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Vance suggested, pointing her to a chair. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m okay.” She spoke lightly and smiled, trying to downplay her anxiety. “I just want this culprit found. I’m getting a little tired of having a target on my back.”

  “I can understand that. In the meantime, try to relax. I could probably scrounge up a newspaper if you’d like to read something.”

  “No, but thanks.” Seeing her name slathered across the headlines wasn’t exactly relaxing.

  “Okay.” Vance drained his cup and tossed it in the trash can. “Just remember whether Carl Shaw is our man or not, Patrick is diligent. One way or another, he’ll get this case solved.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  The shrill ringtone on Vance’s phone sounded. He held the cell to his ear, listened a second and then gave a brisk nod. “I’ll be right there.

  “Shaw’s attorney is here,” he said, turning to leave.

  Amber’s heart kicked up as Vance walked out and shut the door behind him. Her thoughts returned to Carl Shaw. If he turned out to be her attacker, the thought of someday facing him in a courtroom was daunting.

  As her legs turned to rubber again, Amber leaned on the edge of Patrick’s desk. She took a couple cleansing breaths, and even as dread knotted in her stomach, she stomped out any speculation. Innocent until proved guilty, she reminded herself. And as of now, Carl Shaw was innocent.

  *

  Shaw’s attorney, an overweight, balding man in his late fifties, pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms firmly over his chest the moment Patrick walked in the room. His stare met Patrick’s. “Remember, Carl,” he told his client, “you’re not on trial here. You have the right to remain silent.”

  So the attorney was here to intimidate. Patrick smiled inside. No problem.

  A few feet from the table, Patrick paused and zeroed his
gaze on Carl, who sat beside his bulldog lawyer. Shoulders slumped forward and a scowl on his face, Carl looked about ready to crack. “He’s right, Carl, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law.” Patrick threw in that Miranda reminder before the attorney did. He liked everything out in the open. “By the way,” he said, addressing the attorney, “I’m Patrick Wiley, lead detective.”

  The portly man nodded. “Stu Gilbert, a longtime friend of the Shaw family. And please note that I strongly oppose my client’s decision to talk to you.” Then in the next breath, he added, “And I assure you Mr. Shaw has done nothing that would suggest a tie to the recent murder attempts on Amber Talbot.”

  “I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Gilbert. Although, Carl hasn’t been charged, nor has a connection been officiated.” Yet. Patrick shifted his weight. “Still, I’m glad Carl has agreed to talk to us.”

  “Which again, I don’t recommend.”

  Straightening in his seat, Carl glanced at his attorney. “Stu, I wanted you here as a friend and witness to what is talked about, not to stop me from talking.”

  Stu didn’t look happy. And Patrick doubted he just planned to listen.

  Patrick took a seat directly across from Carl. He planted an elbow on the table, rested his chin on his fist. “Okay, Carl, if you’re ready to talk, I need to make you aware that this conversation is being videotaped.”

  Carl struggled to swallow. In a gesture of nervousness, his Adam’s apple rode the length of his throat. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “Then let’s start with the police chase.”

  Carl shrugged without meeting Patrick’s eyes. “I saw the cop car behind me, but I wasn’t speeding or anything, so I guess it didn’t register that he was following me.”

  “You didn’t see flashing lights?”

  “Not initially.”

  Patrick pulled the police report from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “It states here that after you ran a red light, you pulled onto Highway 80 east, where a fourteen-mile chase ensued. You were clocked in excess of eighty miles an hour.”

  Silence stretched for about twenty seconds as Carl slouched farther in the chair. “By the time I realized what was going on, sirens were blaring. Red, blue and white lights filled my rearview window. I got scared.”