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

by Shirlee McCoy

  Right now her emotions were winning.

  She swallowed and forcefully tamped down her feelings. “So what information did Liza supply you with today?”

  Patrick flipped the blinker on and turned down the road leading to the community center. “Well, it has to do with a drug ring, offshore trust accounts and Randall and Carl.”

  As if her mind wasn’t already clogged with information, confusion took on a whole new meaning. “I’m not sure where I fit into all this.”

  “We’re still in the speculating mode. I’ll bring you up to speed a little later.”

  Good. Because as of now, her mental capacity was about shot.

  *

  Inside the Port City Community Center in downtown Savannah, Amber took Patrick on a tour of the reception hall, where the fund-raiser was slated to take place. It was a huge open room, with a high domed ceiling, glittering chandeliers and gold velvet curtains. The elegant setting was a stark contradiction to the gritty topic of the Silence No More fund-raiser—the prevention of violent crimes against women.

  For the next thirty minutes, Patrick stood on the sidelines and waited as Penny Roberts, the community center’s event planner, walked Amber through the planned itinerary for the evening. The glint of enthusiasm in Amber’s wide green eyes snagged his heart. This was a personal venture for her, and he would do anything to ensure that the fund-raiser would go on as planned.

  But deep inside he knew every passing day decreased the likelihood of that happening.

  “I believe we’ve covered everything.” Penny Roberts’s voice cut through his meandering and redirected his thoughts. She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “Do you have any questions, Ms. Talbot?”

  “I can’t think of any. Everything sounds perfect.” Amber nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’ve put a lot of work into this fund-raiser, and I expect it will a nice evening,” Penny said as she turned to leave.

  “I can’t wait.” Amber’s lips curved into an appreciative smile. That smile wasn’t directed at him, but it touched something inside him. Her loveliness was so evident. Her innocence and humility. His throat tightened. For a moment he forgot the reason he was there.

  Memories washed over him. Sweet remembrances of Amber, of their life together. And with each fleeting memory his heart squeezed, bumping up his pulse and weakening his ability to think clearly. He missed Amber. Missed the relationship they’d once had. What he wouldn’t give to turn back the clock.

  Amber turned slowly to face him. “What do you think, Patrick?”

  Patrick ignored the sudden surge in his pulse as Amber’s engaging green gaze latched on to his. Suddenly embarrassed by his erratic reflections, he kicked them aside, relieved when rational thoughts that had momentarily deserted him started to form in his brain.

  All romantic notions instantly drained from his mind. Losing Amber once had been hard enough. Some things were better off left alone. Like love and relationships.

  Widening his stance, he managed a deep breath, then covered his unease with a grin. “What do I think about the fund-raiser?”

  Amber shook her head, chuckling. “Yes, does everything sound all right to you?”

  Except for the timing. But that was a subject he’d broach again in a few days. “The room is really nice. The itinerary sounds great. I look forward to attending.”

  Her eyes went wide, and the lethal smile was back. “So if the creep who’s after me is behind bars and the fund-raiser goes on as planned, will you still attend?”

  Patrick kept his rational thoughts in the forefront of his mind. Still, the playful twinkle in Amber’s gaze warmed him deep inside, and he said, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Daylight was dying around them as they headed back to his SUV on deck four of the parking garage. Patrick cast an assessing glance around the area, which was half-full with staff and visitor cars. The few dimly lit fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Amber stayed close beside him. So close he was tempted to slip his arm around her.

  Crazy the way his mind worked. Even scary. Inhaling slowly, he bridled the emotion and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “So, Patrick, tell me about the drug ring and offshore-account theory you’re working on.”

  “Well, we now believe both Carl and Randall were involved in the drug trade. If that’s true, then we suspect there’s somebody in a higher position who doesn’t want his name out.”

  Amber’s steps stalled. She glanced up, her dark lashes a feathery surround to the solemn look in her eyes. “So you think someone besides Carl and Randall wants me dead?”

  Patrick stopped, gave a simple shrug. “It’s beginning to look—”

  He never finished the sentence. Before he could say another word, the parking garage exploded in whirr of gunfire. Three rapid blasts rang out against the aged cement walls.

  Amber shrieked, and instinctively Patrick grabbed her, whisking her behind a concrete pillar. He pulled his Glock from his holster. “Get between those two cars,” he shouted to her, gesturing to the row of vehicles to his right. “Stay down and call 9-1-1.”

  Amber hurried forward, slipping into the cramped space between a truck and sedan.

  Weapon ready, heart racing, Patrick’s gaze swept the parking deck, taking in any potential threat. No movement. No one in sight. He yelled, “I’m with the Savannah-Chatham Police Department. Step out with your hands in the air.” His voice echoed around the hollow space like a boomerang.

  No reply came. Patrick stared down at the long row of cars. Whoever was out there had to be behind one of the vehicles or inside one.

  He slowly moved forward, watching for any movement, listening. Tightening his grip on his gun, he leveled it solidly in front of him.

  A hush settled in the air, spine-chilling, deafening. His adrenaline was skyrocketing. It was time to take this guy down.

  A deep grunt broke the silence, then the echo of footsteps.

  Patrick searched frantically for the shooter. He caught a flicker of movement in the shadows. The hint of a person edging toward the north exit of the parking deck. “Step out and put your hands in the air!” Patrick barked the order for a second and final time.

  Another crack of gunfire rent the air.

  Patrick spun and took refuge behind a parked car. He swiveled in a crouch and fired back.

  The air settled. Silence crept in again.

  Patrick took several deep breaths, waiting and listening for the man to make another move. Twenty seconds was long enough. He peeked around the car bumper, saw nothing, ducked back. Then he turned, casting a quick look toward the area where Amber was hidden. He couldn’t see her, but prayed she was still huddled low and safe.

  The scent of lingering gunpowder assaulted his nose. His nostrils flared and he got moving again. Heart hammering, he kept his back plastered to the concrete wall and positioned himself to watch the exit door and keep Amber’s location in his periphery.

  Another sharp pop ripped through the air, and Patrick pulled back as a bullet whizzed past him, burying itself into the wall an inch from his head.

  Dropping low, he gritted his teeth. That was too close.

  Long shadows fell across the parking deck. Patrick surveyed the area, mopping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Eighty feet away, on the far side of the deck, the ominous figure made his way toward the elevator. But Patrick would not let his assailant get away.

  As if reading Patrick’s mind, the figure stopped and fired again, the blast ricocheting around the space.

  In response, Patrick aimed through the opening of two concrete barriers and squeezed off two rounds.

  He heard a shriek, followed by a loud grunt of pain.

  Got him. “Okay, creep. It’s time to give up!”

  A feral growl, then the tall, burly man, waving two pistols, one in each hand, came stumbling down through the row of cars, screaming, “I’m not finished with you yet!” His eyes were wide and crazed. His face was bloodied, but only from what
looked to be a superficial head wound. The bullet had only grazed him.

  “Where is she?” The man picked up speed and was aiming his weapon in Amber’s direction.

  Patrick jumped to his feet. “Amber, stay put!”

  Another round of gunfire rang out.

  Patrick had no choice. He aimed his Glock and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

  What? Heart ready to explode, Patrick made a decision. He took off in a run toward the madman that was shooting in Amber’s direction. “Freeze! Police.”

  Amber’s frantic scream echoed around him as the man shifted his aim and fired at Patrick.

  The bullet caught him in the shoulder. The force flung him against a car, and blood spewed from his ripped muscle, spreading rapidly across his shirt.

  “No! No! Patrick!” That was from Amber.

  A lancing pain splintered through Patrick’s shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. Pushing past the sting, he lunged toward the man, taking him down in one clumsy swoop. The guns flew out of the thug’s hands and went spinning across the concrete floor.

  Patrick drove his knee into the man’s spine and locked his uninjured arm around his adversary’s thick neck. “Who are you?” Patrick spat out, praying the blood pouring from his shoulder wouldn’t cause him to pass out before backup got there.

  “Get off me, man!” The thug writhed against Patrick’s hold.

  Patrick held him in place, digging his knee deeper into the man’s back. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you?”

  Still the man continued to wrestle.

  “He asked who you were.”

  Patrick looked up to find Amber holding one of the man’s guns. Her grip was shaky, but she kept the weapon trained on the goon.

  “Go on. Tell him who you are. And why are you trying to kill me?” He detected some heat in her voice now.

  Patrick was so proud of her, he could almost smile.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m…Darrell. Darrell Ott,” the man grunted out.

  Still holding him down, Patrick leaned in closer, just an inch from his ear. “Darrell, the nice lady here asked why you were shooting at her.”

  Darrell squirmed and Patrick clamped down harder. “Okay, man! I got a call a couple hours ago. Got instructions. Time. Location. The target’s name. You know the drill.”

  “Who called you?” Amber took over.

  “The General,” he spat out. “I work for the General.”

  Patrick’s interest piqued. “Who is the General?”

  Sirens blared, loud and approaching. Finally.

  Light-headed, with his head pounding, Patrick steadied his grip on Darrell, his limbs getting weaker by the moment. He was in trouble. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Darrell,” he growled, using every bit of energy he could muster. “The General. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know, man. He calls himself the General, that’s all I know.”

  “Patrick, you don’t look good. Are you all right?” Amber’s panicked voice echoed in his ears.

  Patrick glanced down. Blood continued to gush down his shirt and onto his pants. Pressure built against his lungs as he fought for a full breath. “Just keep holding the gun, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

  A mob of police officers burst onto the deck through every exit door.

  “Get an ambulance!” Amber called out. “Now!”

  That was the last thing Patrick heard before he crumpled onto the concrete, striking the floor with an echoing thud.

  FOURTEEN

  Amber disliked hospital rooms even more than she loathed cold, lonely ER cubicles, or being transported in EMS vehicles. Although she did her best to avoid each, during the past sixteen hours she’d been unfortunate enough to experience all three.

  Only this time, she hadn’t been the patient. Instead, she was the unscathed target the maniac shooter had missed, all because Patrick had taken the bullet in her place.

  At St. Joseph’s Hospital in downtown Savannah, Amber sat quietly in the corner of Patrick’s room, curled up in one of those uncomfortable oversize hospital chairs, watching him sleep. Her heart crimped at the sight of Patrick in the hospital bed, with bandages covering his shoulder and his arm in a sling, because of her.

  She took a deep breath, wiped a tear from her eye. Patrick had put his life in danger to save hers.

  The only thing keeping her from a complete meltdown was the knowledge that he hadn’t been killed.

  She’d stayed with him in the ambulance, and then in the ER, where he was stabilized before being taken to surgery. More than two hours had dragged by as she and Vance had sat and waited to hear from the surgeon. Every passing second had heightened the sadness and growing concern.

  She’d tried to relax, even managed to pray, but the waiting had been brutal. Finally after three hours the doctor had walked in, dressed in green scrubs with a surgical mask dangling from his neck.

  Both she and Vance had been out of their seats and halfway across the waiting room before the doctor had a chance to look for them. Swiftly and succinctly the doc had gone over Patrick’s condition, detailing the challenges of the meticulous surgery. The bullet had fractured Patrick’s scapula, and barely missed his subclavian artery, a major vessel that if nicked could have caused him to bleed to death.

  Patrick had lost plenty of blood, but after three units of packed red blood cells and multiple bags of saline, the doctor had given him a positive prognosis. Something she would be eternally grateful for.

  Now Amber shifted uncomfortably against the vinyl cushion. She felt exhausted and drained, but the numbness that had possessed her since the shooting was finally wearing off. A menacing ache filled its place as she pondered the events of the past sixteen hours.

  It had been a whirlwind. Everything had happened so fast. From the gunfire, to the crazed man coming at her with a gun, to Patrick getting shot.

  Patrick had gotten shot.

  Amber rubbed her hands over her face. She still couldn’t believe it.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes for the umpteenth time since Vance had left her a couple of hours ago to head home to get some sleep. She blinked them back.

  Sleep wasn’t on her agenda for the foreseeable future. She wondered if she could ever really rest again knowing what she’d put Patrick through.

  With her heart sinking fast in her chest, she summoned up the protective numbness that she’d relied on over the years. Facing reality had never been easy.

  But never had reality hurt like this.

  A gentle snore broke through the hush in the room.

  Shaken out of her funk, Amber got to her feet and padded softly to Patrick’s bed. She adjusted his blankets, mindful not to disturb the pillows supporting his shoulder or the blue sling and swathe immobilizing his arm. Bracing herself against a rush of emotions, she thanked God that he was safe. A soft glow breathed down from the small light on the wall. Shadows faintly danced over Patrick’s features. He looked relaxed and peaceful, thanks to the pain medication. Which hopefully wouldn’t wear off for hours.

  Until then, she’d continue to watch him. Kissing the tips of two fingers, she brushed them along his cheek. She hoped he could forgive her.

  She made her way back to the corner of the room and melted back in the chair. She unfolded the blanket the nurse had supplied her with and wrapped it tightly around her. Night was always the worst, but no other night compared to this one.

  Time crawled by, until finally early-morning sunlight filtered in through the window. She closed her eyes, feeling a sudden warmth on her face, an odd contradiction to the pervasive chill that had settled deep in her bones.

  She had managed to do the one thing she never wanted to do again—hurt Patrick Wiley. She’d made one complicated mistake that continued to snowball, and here she was, eleven years later, still hurting him. And he had a bullet-size hole in his shoulder as a remembrance of her.

  A tear leaked down her cheek and she brushed it away. As much as she cared for Patrick, even l
oved him, he was much better off without her around.

  Last evening’s incident had proved that fact.

  Heaving a sigh, she chastised herself for being impulsive. After all this time, she hadn’t learned. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to keep her fund-raiser on track, she’d never stopped to consider that by Patrick’s commitment to keep her safe, she’d put him in danger, too.

  Why had she been so selfish? Why hadn’t she listened and postponed the fund-raiser? Why hadn’t she jumped at the chance of going to a safe house, instead of marching into the community center? Why hadn’t she trusted her gut eleven years ago and said no to the party?

  Why? Why? Why? She slouched back in her chair, rubbing her face. Stubborn. Impulsive. Lord, forgive me.

  A trickle of peace seeped through her.

  God did care.

  And more than anything she wanted Him to walk with her through this. Be with her forever.

  She’d spent too many years living in denial, enveloped in a dark cloud of guilt and sadness. Alone and afraid to trust, love or even believe.

  A place she didn’t want to be anymore.

  “Good morning.”

  At Patrick’s soft greeting, Amber looked up. Suddenly the morning seemed brighter. “Good morning, Patrick.”

  She pushed up from the chair and walked to him, almost dizzy with relief when she caught his wan smile. But her relief was short-lived, cut short by the painful grimace tightening his face as he shifted in bed. “Patrick, shall I call the nurse?”

  “No, I just moved too quickly.” Patrick’s voice stayed low but strong as he carefully repositioned his shoulder against his pillows. “Okay, that’s better.”

  Blinking hard to hold back tears, she said a simple prayer. Lord, be with Patrick. She swallowed. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “I’m pretty sore. But even worse than the pain is my frustration and anger about what went down last night. And, I also hate the idea of being cooped up in this hospital.”

  She felt the same way, minus the pain. That was unless she counted the ache in her heart. “Patrick, I’m so sorry about last night…” The rest of her apology stuck in her throat. She couldn’t truly express how badly she felt.