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

by Shirlee McCoy

  “You’re sorry?” he asked. “I’m the one who should be sorry. No spare weapon? That Glock carried me through the war. It was always dependable. Until today. I’ll know better next time.”

  Before she could respond to that, Patrick latched on to the metal side rail and tried to pull himself up. An inch or two from the mattress, he clenched his teeth, crumbling back against the sheets with a groan.

  “Let me help you.” Amber pressed the button to raise the head of the bed.

  Loosening his grip on the railing, Patrick blew out a breath. “Thank you. Maybe you should call the nurse.”

  Amber pressed the call bell and, as they waited for the nurse to bring some medication, she adjusted Patrick’s blankets. “It’s just horrible what happened.” She stuffed another pillow behind his head.

  He cut her off from saying more with a shake of his head. “Amber, I don’t blame you for me getting shot. In fact, you saved my life. So thank you.”

  He was thanking her? The poor man was delirious. “Patrick, I didn’t save your life. I put you in danger. You gave me good advice and I didn’t listen. Not since this case started. Not eleven years ago. And because of that you were almost killed.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch.” He winced as he shifted slightly. “So what you’re telling me is since you didn’t take my advice, that makes the man that shot me not guilty.”

  “Yes… I mean no.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “You obviously don’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

  “What I do understand is that you’re not responsible for the actions of others.”

  For a moment Amber let those words circulate in her thoughts. The pause that followed was intense, filled with Patrick’s unwavering gaze. She had to admit he was right.

  She managed to nod.

  “I have some more advice for you, and I want you to take it very seriously.”

  Bracing herself, she held her breath as Patrick lifted his good arm and reached up to run his thumb down her cheek. His gaze warm on hers, he said, “Stop feeling guilty and let go of the past.”

  It was very good advice…something she was working on. “But—”

  “No buts,” he said, a little too authoritatively, still cradling her cheek.

  She finally managed a weak “Okay,” too frazzled to argue. At the moment, breathing was enough of a challenge.

  “We still have a case to solve. A killer is still on the loose and possibly an accomplice. And we need to get you set up in a safe house.”

  She nodded her assent. Considering Patrick’s injury, Amber was surprised by his resolve to continue on the case. Apparently, he took his police oath seriously. No, she amended, honor and integrity were what drove him.

  Once again she couldn’t help be impressed with this man.

  *

  A few hours later, Patrick sat in bed, propped up with pillows and caught in a midmorning funk. He had a million things he should be doing, and here he was laid up in the hospital for the next… He sucked in through his teeth, hating to even guess.

  Outside of his incredibly sore shoulder, he wasn’t feeling too bad, except he was starving. And this hospital food was a far cry from…well, food.

  Patrick picked at the powdered scrambled eggs on his tray. Way too salty. His failed attempt to spice them up backfired. Now they were barely edible. He took a bite of grits, and almost gagged. Something about lumpy grits.

  A swig of coffee helped wash it down. He laid down his fork. “How’s your breakfast?” He directed his question to Amber, whose hospital-issued breakfast tray sat on a small rolling table beside her, roughly untouched. Not that he blamed her.

  She glanced up at him, her eyes weary. Dark circles bore witness to her sleepless night. She looked exhausted. “It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”

  “You need to eat something.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded, the shadows beneath her eyes deepening. She picked up a plastic fork.

  Patrick barely shifted, attempting to reposition his arm, and winced. He was gaining a whole new respect for bullets.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’d be better without this sling thing.” He tugged with his free hand on the fabric. “It’s uncomfortable and awkward. I’m not even sure how it’s helping.”

  “It’s there to support your shoulder.” Amber set down her fork and instantly she was at his side. She adjusted the Velcro strap on the sling, allowing a little more give. “It that better?”

  “Yes. Very.” Somehow having Amber dote on him seemed to make everything better. It was not something he needed to get used to, but for now he’d enjoy it.

  “By the way, I sent Vance a text and asked him to arrange for an officer to come by to take you to the safe house.”

  “The safe house? Today?” Amber parted her lips to say more, but he shot her a warning look.

  “You’re exhausted and you can rest there. Right now it’s the safest place for you.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He hadn’t expected such a compliant response so quickly. He thought at least she’d argue to stay and take care of him. Not that he’d reconsider that.

  Still, his ego deflated some.

  “I’ll have the officer drop by Kim’s house and let you pick up a few things.”

  She nodded again.

  The door opened and Vance appeared with a brown paper grocery bag in one hand and a white take-out sack from Gus’s in the other. “Here are the clothes that you asked for, and I thought you might like this.” He dropped the white sack next to Patrick’s breakfast tray on the rolling bedside table.

  “Vance, you’re a lifesaver.” Patrick unwrapped a biscuit and offered Amber a piece.

  “No, thanks.” She held up a hand.

  “Where do you want these clothes?” Vance held up the paper bag.

  “Over there is fine.” Patrick gestured with his biscuit to the corner of the room.

  “Clothes?” Amber said. “Won’t you be in the hospital for another couple days?”

  “That’s the plan.” Patrick swallowed his food.

  “Actually, I’m making it an order.” Vance hiked up a thick brow. “I talked to the doctor and asked him not to discharge you until you were one hundred percent ready. Although I must say you look more rested than I feel.” He smirked, then said to Amber, “You look pretty tired, too.”

  “I am,” she said softly.

  “Painkillers make for a restful and sound sleep,” Patrick said. Actually, a little too sound. He’d fallen asleep to the gentle sound of Amber talking to him, and the next thing he knew three hours had passed.

  “How is your pain?” Vance sprawled into a nearby chair, yawning.

  “Good.” Patrick lifted his arm as a show of good faith. Then immediately regretted it when a surge of pain shot through his shoulder like a knife. “That is,” he corrected through clenched teeth, “as long as I don’t move my arm or my shoulder.”

  Vance’s phone rang.

  “That’s what I figured. So take it easy.” Vance’s deep-set eyes narrowed, then he stood up and slipped out of the room to answer the call.

  “Let me help you.” Amber went about adjusting his pillows again. “Remember, you don’t want to overdo it. If you don’t take the time to heal, you’ll be right back in here and my case will never get solved.”

  She had good advice.

  And a gentle touch.

  He liked that. Probably too much.

  “That’s good news.” Vance’s voice could be heard from the hall. “I’ll be right there.” He burst back through the doorway of Patrick’s room.

  Both Patrick and Amber’s attention turned to Vance.

  “Darrell Ott has been squawking like a windbag filibusterer since he got there. Finally he gave us something we could use. And wouldn’t you know, good ole Randall Becker’s name came up. The officer tailing Randall just arrested him. He’s being hauled into the station now.”

  “Kicking and scr
eaming, I’m sure.” Patrick would have loved to be there to greet the man. “Did Ott say Randall referred to himself as the General?”

  Vance gave a quick shake of his head. “He’s holding fast to his claim that he doesn’t know who the General is.”

  “Keep pushing him,” Patrick said.

  “You know I will.” On that note, Vance headed toward the door, then stopped short and glanced back at Patrick. “Get some rest, Wiley. Don’t worry, we’ve got this one.”

  Patrick smiled. He had full confidence in Vance. But rest and not worry? Easier said than done.

  FIFTEEN

  As Amber finished washing up in Patrick’s hospital room bathroom, she cupped her hands and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to rejuvenate her sagging spirit.

  She shivered against the chill, but instead of feeling refreshed, despair hung in her heart, achy and heavy.

  Grabbing a handful of paper towels, she blotted the moisture from her face.

  Just moments ago she’d been keyed up with optimism knowing that Randall Becker had been picked up and was being brought in for questioning. Clues were coming together. The case was progressing and hopefully coming to a close. But now, as she readied to leave for the safe house, she felt an all-too-familiar tug in her chest. A reminder that once her assailant was caught, she would slip back into her old life.

  And Patrick would slip back into his.

  Considering all the grief she’d caused Patrick, he should be thankful—and she should be relieved. She never wanted an opportunity to hurt him again.

  A logical statement. But her emotions continued to play tug-of-war in her chest. She told herself to be glad she was leaving for the safe house. She needed some time alone to process the myriad emotions writhing through her.

  Fairy-tale endings never came true, she reminded herself.

  Sighing, she crumpled up the paper towels and threw them into the trash. She found her thoughts returning to Patrick’s earlier statement. Stop feeling guilty and let go of the past.

  In short—move on.

  More than anything she wanted to do that. But one look at Patrick and that theory was blown to pieces.

  She needed to accept what her heart already knew: Patrick would never be the man for her. There was too much history. Too much time apart.

  Amber breathed deeply, and as she grabbed her bag to leave, the mirror above the sink caught her reflection. She grimaced at the pallid image staring back at her. She leaned closer. Was it the lighting or did she always looked this washed out?

  Fighting another sigh, Amber pinched her cheeks to rouse some color and moistened her lips with her tongue. Then after combing her fingers through her tangle of curls, she took a step back. Rechecking her appearance, she arched an eyebrow at her reflection. Now she looked washed out and disheveled.

  Plunging her hand into her purse, she fished out a few clips. Then, lifting her hair, she twisted it into a loose bun and gave another assessing glance in the mirror.

  Not great, but better. Although, she reminded herself, she had no one to impress. She snatched up her bag and flung it onto her shoulder.

  She walked out of the bathroom to find Patrick asleep. His breathing, soft and rhythmic, filled the tight space. She tiptoed past his bed and sank into the same chair that had been her bed for the night. Uncomfortable then. Uncomfortable now.

  She shifted softly, eyeing her watch, wondering what time the officer would arrive to whisk her off to safe housing. Her heart pinched in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to stay with Patrick. For once, to be the one to watch over him.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. And she needed to accept that.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted a prayer. Father, I want to trust You. Please guide my thoughts and show me the path You want me on and help me to stay on it.

  A gentle warmth draped her heart and cocooned her soul.

  She knew from experience how much easier it was to stray than to follow. But for the first time in forever, she was willing to fully put her trust in the Lord.

  As she opened her eyes, Tony emerged from the hospital hallway. “Morning, kiddo,” he said in a whisper.

  Amber got to her feet and pressed a finger to her lips.

  He nodded in understanding.

  She padded softly toward him.

  Are you okay? Tony mouthed, his gaze stormy, his rigid body language exhibiting unease.

  She nodded.

  “Let’s talk.” He gestured toward the door. “Would you like to go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat?”

  “I can’t.” She kept her voice low and glanced toward Patrick’s bed and him sleeping in it. “An officer will be here any minute. He’ll be taking me to a safe house.”

  “A safe house?” Tony whispered back.

  Amber nodded. “I’ll be there hopefully only a few days.”

  “Good. Things are getting pretty dangerous for you out here.”

  Amber’s breathing accelerated as she thought about the dangerous situations she’d already been in. A little seclusion was sounding better all the time. “Patrick and the other detectives feel as though they’re close to a break in the case.”

  Tony grinned, pulling her into a quick embrace. “That’s good news. Exactly what we’re all hoping for. This nightmare to soon be over.”

  “Excuse me.” The nurse, whose name badge read Jane, entered, letting the door swing closed behind her. With a syringe in her hand, she walked up to Patrick and started to raise the head of his bed. “Mr. Wiley, I have some medication for you.”

  For a split second, Patrick jolted upright, before collapsing back against the pillow, his complexion chalky. “Ow!”

  The urge to run to Patrick’s side and comfort him overwhelmed Amber, and she had to stop herself. It was the nurse’s job, not hers.

  “Sorry to startle you, Mr. Wiley,” the nurse said, pulling an alcohol wipe from her scrub pocket. “But I have some pain medication for you.”

  Patrick’s answer came quick. “No, just bring me some ibuprofen, please.”

  The nurse tore open the package. “Ibuprofen won’t be enough to keep your pain under control.”

  The nurse’s statement sounded logical, but Patrick didn’t appear to even consider it.

  “My pain is under control. I just need some ibuprofen.” The tight grimace on his face completely refuted his claim.

  “Patrick, it might be a good idea to take the medication.” Amber jumped in and tried to reinforce the nurse’s advice. “It will help you rest.”

  Patrick shook his head, his color slowly returning. “The last narcotic they gave me hit me like a tranquilizer dart.”

  “That’s why the doctor ordered it.” The nurse was curt. “To help you rest, as well as control your pain.”

  Patrick didn’t miss a beat. “I believe as a patient I have the right to refuse any medication that’s ordered.”

  Nurse Jane exchanged a look with Amber.

  Amber gave a half shrug. “He’s pretty hard to convince.”

  “Okay. The doctor will be in shortly. He can discuss pain-management options with Mr. Wiley.” The nurse directed her comment to Amber as she made for the door, obviously inferring that Amber had some influence over Patrick—like maybe a wife or a girlfriend. A very wrong assumption. “In the meantime, I’ll get an order for ibuprofen. There’s a call bell, if he changes his mind.”

  “All right.” Amber nodded.

  “I sure hate what happened last night, Patrick.” Tony’s voice made her refocus. She twisted around as Tony approached Patrick’s bed. “I had second thoughts about Amber going to the appointment at the community center. I wish I had offered to go myself.”

  Grief struck Amber, as did the reminder that she should have canceled the appointment altogether. “Tony, you’re not responsible at all. Both you and Patrick asked me to postpone the fund-raiser. I should have listened.”

  Tony and Patrick stared at her.

  “I thought I was doing the
right thing—the brave thing,” she went on, feeling the need to explain. Not that her admission would change anything. But hopefully her motivation made sense, not only to them, but also to herself. “This guy pushed me into a tailspin once eleven years ago, and I never wanted to give him that leverage again.”

  *

  Patrick listened as Amber poured out her heart, wishing there was something he could do to ease her pain. Every time she reiterated her guilt, it just hammered home how violated she’d felt by what happened to her.

  After eleven years she was still trying to make amends. Her redemption? To help others like herself. She was the bravest woman he knew.

  And beautiful, both inside and out. Now with her hair swept up in a messy bun, he could barely think straight.

  Before Patrick realized what was happening, Tony sidled up to Amber and slipped his arm around her shoulder. As he whispered something to her, she responded by leaning in closer. For a long moment they stood there together, quiet and serene.

  Patrick’s heart rattled against his ribs—he was not at all comfortable with what he was seeing. A week ago he might have not been this unnerved, telling himself he was glad Tony was there for her. But after being around her the past few days…nothing was that black-and-white anymore.

  Several heartbeats passed, and Patrick breathed relief when Amber shifted away from Tony. She drew herself up tall, as if gaining composure.

  “Amber, I’ll be looking in on Patrick while you’re away. I’m sure he’ll keep me abreast on everything that’s happening.”

  Amber nodded at Tony. “Hopefully I’ll see you in a few days.”

  Patrick’s phone rang, and Amber reached for it before he had the chance. She handed it to him.

  “Thank you.” He smiled, and was pleased when she reciprocated.

  Officer Blake Carson was on the line. Patrick listened as Carson fed him a long-winded explanation of why he was running late to pick up Amber. Getting the gist of it, Patrick halted the conversation. “Just finish up with whatever you have to do. I hope to see you soon.”

  “It shouldn’t be too long, sir.”

  “Thanks.” Patrick clicked off the receiver.