Silent Sabotage

by Susan Sleeman

  “What’s that?” she asked as she approached.

  Archer turned to look at her. “You should be resting.”

  “Don’t worry so much. I’m fine.” She smiled to emphasize her words. “So what are you looking at?”

  “A man’s shoe print.”

  The tech stood up. “Hiker. Size eleven I’d say. Not something you’d wear if you thought you might need to take a jog through the woods.”

  “You’ll run it through OSP’s database, right?” Jake asked.

  Archer faced Emily. “The Oregon State Police keep an extensive database of shoes and tires, giving us a good chance at determining the manufacturer and style that fits this print.”

  The tech pointed at the cast. “If we can find the shoe, matching it to the unique features of the cast should be easy.”

  “I don’t understand,” Emily said, wondering if this was a simple concept that she couldn’t grasp because of the injury or if it was more complicated.

  “The cast shows the sole’s inside edge is worn down so the guy overpronates. Means his foot turns in more than normal when he walks or runs, putting excess wear on the inside of the shoe.”

  “So what you all are saying is that you think there was a man here tonight,” Emily clarified. “Couldn’t it be an old print?”

  “Ignoring the fact that I suspect not many men stand at the river in your private garden sanctuary,” Archer said, “if the print was old it would have filled with water and been degraded. This is fresh and prime.”

  He was right. Men didn’t come down there. At least not that she knew of.

  A sharp pain stabbed through her head, and she closed her eyes. She listened to the gentle lapping of the stream against the bank. The whisper of the wind through the trees. Smelled the sweet scent of honeysuckle traveling on the breeze.

  Her mind suddenly flashed in brilliant colors, like a flickering video. Flashes of the water. The feeling of hands on her shoulders. Falling. The rock in front. Trying to turn to avoid it. Her face in the water and thoughts that it was the end, and her beloved Birdie would be all alone to cope with her dreaded disease as Emily blanked out.

  “He pushed me.” She forced the words from her throat. “I remember now. His hands on my shoulders.” Despite the muggy heat, she shivered. “The hands were big. Thick. So I know it was a guy.”

  “Apparently a guy who wears size-eleven hikers,” Archer said, barely controlled anger in his tone. “Shoes I will find, and this man will pay.”

  So much anger today. She was worried about him. Wanted to take his hand. To help calm him down. But they were with his law enforcement coworkers, and she doubted he’d want her to coddle him in front of them.

  Besides, thoughts like that only led to caring about someone and only a few hours ago she’d reaffirmed her stance that she wasn’t going there.

  Not tonight. Not ever.

  FOURTEEN

  Emily tried to put the previous night’s incident out of her mind as she packed the picnic basket for the Beckers in the B and B kitchen. Normally she loved working in the big kitchen, but her head ached from last night. Fortunately, the dizziness was gone, but the side of her head remained swollen and tender. And if that didn’t distract her enough, Archer paced like a caged animal in the kitchen, making her nervous. She’d asked him to sit down, and he did. For a moment. Then he hopped to his feet and started pacing again.

  She loaded fresh fruit, homemade potato salad and thick turkey sandwiches on whole grain bread. All she had to add were dishes and a tablecloth and she’d be ready to hand over the basket to the Beckers.

  Archer marched past her.

  Her irritation mounted. “Your pacing is driving me nuts.”

  “Sorry. I guess I’m kind of jittery. I want to find the creep terrorizing you, but we don’t have anything other than the boot print to go on.”

  “How long will it take to process the print?”

  “Jake texted me an hour ago to say the lab guys were running it through the database, so I should hear something any second. Guess that’s why I’m so jumpy.”

  His phone signaled a text, and he shoved his hand into his pocket to draw it out.

  She watched him as he read it and his eyes lit up.

  “It’s a picture of the boot.” He crossed the room to her. “Does this look like the one Fallon was wearing when we talked to him?”

  He held out his phone and for a moment, she didn’t want to look, but she forced her focus to the screen.

  She stared at the picture, but didn’t know what to make of it. “Yes, he was wearing them, but half the guys in Oregon Free have a pair of these.”

  “Say what?” Archer’s voice rose.

  “One of our members is a designer at Nike. He arranged for our members to get a good deal on this boot.”

  “How many guys have them?”

  “From what I can remember from a hike we all took a while back, most of the guys were wearing them.”

  “Okay so we have a lot of guys who own this boot,” Archer said, sounding like he was thinking aloud. “Not a problem. Remember last night when the tech mentioned overpronating?” Renewed excitement was building in his voice. “We all walk differently and wear down our soles at a different rate, so our shoe prints are about as unique as a fingerprint.”

  “Which means even if a lot of the guys have these boots, an ID can still be made,” she said, catching his drift.

  “Plus you remember them taking soil samples last night?”

  She nodded.

  “Most of the soil around here is what you would expect to find in this area of the county. So if our suspect picked it up on his boots when he pushed you, even if we located his boots and they had soil particulates from your garden in the treads, it wouldn’t tie him to this specific location. But if he carried soil on his boots from another location to the stream, it might be mixed with the soil we gathered. If so, we could match the unique blend to soil found in the suspect’s boot treads and that could be another way to identify him.”

  “So we should have a suspect soon, then.”

  He frowned. “Problem is, we’ll either need our suspects to willingly hand over their boots or probable cause to confiscate the boots for comparison. Right now, all we have are suspicions and little else.”

  Archer’s phone chimed in his hand and he looked at the screen. “It’s from Jake again. He just got an update on the last victim from the mall shooting. He’s out of the ICU, and the doctors are optimistic for a full recovery.”

  “Praise God for that,” she exclaimed and took a moment to silently thank the good Lord for His answers to their prayers before turning back to the basket.

  “On the negative side, this means Withrow will be released from jail sooner,” Archer added. “But he’ll be brought up on attempted murder and a plethora of other charges. He’ll most certainly be going to prison for a long time and can no longer hurt you.”

  She was glad to hear that, but... “After hearing what the group said about Stan last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if Delmar connects with Stan and manages to convince him to do his dirty work for him.”

  Archer grimaced. “That’s still a possibility. One we don’t need to think about unless we’re told that Stan visits Withrow or calls him.”

  She tried to put the thought out of her mind as she placed napkins on top of the old-fashioned wicker basket and latched the lid. “There. It’s ready.”

  Archer tapped a finger on a container of potato salad she’d made first thing that morning. “Please tell me we’re going to be eating this same meal for our lunch.”

  “So you like potato salad?”

  “Growing up, we had fancy meals. Nothing as American as potato salad, and I’ve come to appreciate some of the more basic recipes.” He grinned, eras
ing the tension in the room. He nodded at the other container. “I like those brownies more.”

  He tried to open the container and she swatted his hand. He snatched it back, and his grin widened.

  The moment was so intimate, like a couple at home, relaxed and having fun with each other, that she grabbed containers and rushed to the refrigerator before she let herself want that very thing.

  She stowed the containers and took a moment to clear her thoughts before going back to the island. “I need to deliver the basket to the Beckers. I suppose you’re planning to walk with me.”

  “Did you even need to ask?”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed the basket handle, but he took it, his hand brushing against hers. She was so aware of his touch and her need to avoid it, that she nearly bolted out the door and down the steps.

  The wind had picked up and whisked over them as they crossed the lawn. The sun was warm and yet not stifling this early in the day. Birds chirped from the trees, and if this man who was getting under her skin despite her defenses wasn’t walking beside her, she’d take a moment to enjoy the weather.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” she said, hoping the small talk would redirect her thoughts.

  “For a day out in the country, sure.”

  She looked up at him. “Not that all Oregonians like the outdoors, but I’m suspecting you’re not from our fair state.”

  “New York City born and raised.”

  “Wow.” Her feet came to a halt, and she gaped at him for a moment. “Talk about the direct opposite of Oregon. How did you end up out here?”

  He stared at her with a funny look in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher. “As I mentioned, I wanted to find a job where I could make a difference.”

  “They have no police in the Big Apple?” she joked.

  A curtain came down over his eyes, dulling the electric-blue color. He planted his feet. His jaw squared obstinately, he gestured ahead. “We should get out of the open.”

  Fine. He didn’t want to talk about his past. She got it, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Most of the men her mom dated were the same. They seemed to be a perfect choice at first, and then, once she’d invited them into their home, the secrets came out. The abuser. The drinker. The gambler. All of them had something that her mother chose to overlook and keep overlooking until they decided to leave.

  Emily could never trust a man who wasn’t open.

  She stepped off and he kept up with her as she hurried across the yard.

  A scream originating from the cottage suddenly pierced the silence.

  “Where’s Birdie?” Archer asked, already picking up speed.

  “Sleeping at the main house,” Emily answered.

  “Then it has to be your guests.”

  “No...” Emily whispered, but knew he was right.

  It was bad enough that someone was targeting her, but her guests didn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire. Guilt snapped at her as she ran with Archer to the door, her head throbbing with every step. He pounded hard.

  Wallace soon answered and made eye contact with Emily. “Good. You’re here.” He stood back and let them in.

  They found Patsy cringing behind the sofa, her mouth hanging open. She looked up, terror rampant in her gaze. “He was there. Outside that window. Wearing a black mask and then he stepped inside. He had a gun. A real gun. He pointed it at me. Then backed out and took off.”

  Emily fired a horrified look at Archer and implored him to help.

  “I’ll check it out. You all need to move away from any windows. The bathroom is perfect.” He drew his sidearm and looked at them pointedly until they tromped to the bathroom.

  Inside the small room, Wallace spun on her. “What’s going on here?”

  Emily opened her mouth to reply to his demand for answers, but suddenly everything that had occurred in the past few days hit her hard and she couldn’t form any words. Could only offer a silent plea.

  Help me, Father. Please. I don’t know what to do. I’m at the end of my rope.

  * * *

  Archer stood next to Emily at the cottage door as the Beckers stormed toward their car. He’d made a thorough search of the property, but struck out in finding the masked man and had called in reinforcements. The uniforms had also searched the property to no avail and Carothers had taken statements while forensics searched for evidence. Patsy gave a description of the man’s size, which fit Fannon’s build, but it fit Lance Taylor, as well. The only suspect ruled out at this point was Baumann because the man didn’t limp.

  At her car, Patsy turned and fired an angry look at Emily. Emily looked like she might crumple on the spot so Archer moved closer, hoping his nearness would give her strength to weather yet another storm.

  “Our stay may have been free,” Pasty said through clenched teeth, “but expect to hear from our attorney. Taking guests while you were in danger is reckless. Very reckless. You will pay for our emotional distress.”

  A small gasp came from Emily, but she recovered quickly and apologized again. Archer had come to know her well enough to tell that she was more upset that her guests had suffered because of her than the threat of a lawsuit.

  The engine revved on their modest sedan and Wallace peeled out faster than necessary.

  Emily rubbed her forehead, her fingers roving toward the bruised side. She winced, then dropped her hand and looked so defeated. He wanted to help her get through another incident, but he could think of only two options open to him. The first was to hold her until this mess was resolved. The second, to find the guy who was making her life a living nightmare.

  He couldn’t do the first without telling her about his background. About his money. Having gotten to know her, he was sure under normal circumstances his money would mean nothing. But her life was far from normal now. After the loss of additional guests, she was even more desperate, and desperation made people do outlandish things. So he’d keep his mouth shut and work on option two. Find the guy.

  She took a deep breath and let it out. “I really don’t think I can take any more.”

  “You’re strong, honey,” he soothed. “And you’ll get through this for Birdie’s sake. I know you will.”

  She seemed taken aback by him calling her honey, but it had just slipped out and he wouldn’t apologize. She chewed on her lip. “Maybe this is God’s way of telling me that Birdie and I need to throw in the towel and close the B and B.”

  “But you still don’t want to give up,” he said.

  “No.” She faced the building and tears pooled in her eyes. “This is my home. The only home I’ve known. I can’t imagine it not being part of my life.”

  A physical ache clutched Archer’s heart. He’d warned himself to stay away. To keep from getting involved, but he couldn’t stand by any longer and let her suffer all alone. He reached out for her, laying his hands on her upper arms and drawing her closer. He expected her to resist, but she willingly let him pull her into his warm embrace, and rested her head against him.

  He tightened his arms around her and she snuggled even closer, burrowing her head on his chest. It felt so right, natural, to hold her, and he hoped she felt the same way. Though he doubted she was thinking about how they fit together. Not now when her shoulders shook and the tears started flowing.

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. He handed it to her.

  A surprised look flashed across her face.

  “My upbringing again,” he said drolly. “I was taught never to leave home without one.”

  She wiped her eyes, then stared up at him with a wobbly smile. “You’re this strong, tough guy and then you go and do something like carry a handkerchief. I love all the nuances to your personality.”

  His heart soared at her words, but he didn’t know what to say in
return without moving them closer to a relationship that neither of them wanted or needed.

  Her smile vanished and she looked down, then tapped a large wet ring on his chest. “I’m sorry I made a mess of your shirt. I know how much you like to be neat and pressed.”

  “You’ve picked up on that, huh?” He grinned.

  “Would be hard not to.” She laughed, but then their eyes met in a lingering gaze. He searched deep within hers and she didn’t back away. The laughter stilled between them. Fire burned across the space. His heart rate skyrocketed, and he tightened his hold before lowering his head, thinking of nothing but what it was going to feel like to kiss her.

  His lips met hers, the spark between them everything he’d imagined and more. She didn’t resist, and for a moment, she even deepened the kiss, giving him hope that she felt the same way he did. That she wanted the kiss to go on forever.

  She suddenly pulled back. He whipped his eyes open to look at her.

  Unease had darkened her eyes, and she planted her hands on his chest, then pushed out of his arms. “I should check on Birdie.”

  She walked away, moving toward the main house.

  “Emily, wait,” he called after her.

  She didn’t stop, and in fact, it looked like she was picking up her pace.

  His emotions firing on high, he charged after her and gently turned her by the shoulder to face him. He knew the next words from his mouth were important, and yet, his mind went blank and he simply stared at her.

  She jerked her gaze away. “I really have to get going.”

  “I can lend you the money you need to keep the business going,” he blurted out and regretted the words the instant they came out.

  “Money?” She lurched back. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Sure you can,” he rushed on, hoping to keep her there so he could explain. “My family is quite wealthy. I have a huge trust fund just sitting around. I don’t need it and you could use it. You can pay me back or not. It’s up to you.”

  “No,” she said, her eyes filled with confusion. She continued to peer up at him and her eyes darkened into a similar gut-wrenching pain he’d seen when Withrow first attacked.