Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2

by Susan Sleeman

  “It means you’re exhausted. And you need some rest.”

  “I need to meet with that sketch artist.”

  “She’ll be here this afternoon.”

  “But will that be soon enough? The kidnappers know I’m alive. They may move Olivia and the other children sooner rather than later.”

  “Moving them early would take a lot of coordination and effort,” he reminded her, but she heard the doubt in his voice. She knew he’d hoped to lull the kidnappers into a false sense of security by making them believe she was dead. Since that plan had fallen through, he had to be just as worried as she was that the abductors would decide to cut their losses and leave the area with the children they’d already taken.

  “That doesn’t mean they won’t do it, and once the kids are out of the country, they may never be found.”

  “I suspect they have a quota of children to meet, and the kidnappers are not going to jeopardize their payday just yet. Not until they’ve exhausted all other options.”

  “As in tried everything to get rid of me?”

  “Something like that. Come on. Let’s go back to the house. You’re looking a little pale.”

  She had a feeling he was being diplomatic. If the aching exhaustion she felt was any indication, she probably looked like five miles of rough road. “I’m feeling a little pale, too, but I have dogs to take care of.”

  “Your staff can handle it.” He pressed his hand to her lower back, urging her to the house.

  He looked even more worried when she didn’t bother to protest.

  They walked to the house silently, her steps slow and a little unsteady. The adrenaline that had shot through her when she’d heard the screams of her staff was fading, leaving her drained and hollow. When she’d heard Bria and Riley calling out, her heart sunk with the certainty that she had—once again—put the people who trusted her in harm’s way. Now her mind was filled with dark memories and all she wanted was to crawl into bed and hope that sleep would push those memories away, at least for a little while.

  “You know what?” she murmured without looking at him. “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”

  She didn’t give him a chance to say he thought it was a good idea. She just walked down the hall and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  *

  Sunlight tracked along the ceiling, the house filled with noises. Rose’s voice. Grayson’s. The television blasting The Price Is Right. Dishes clanked, and the sweet smell of fresh baked treats filled the room. The dogs sniffed at the closed bedroom door. She could hear their quiet snuffling breaths, but she was too tired to let them in. She allowed herself to drift in that sweet place between waking and sleeping, that soft spot where memories didn’t intrude and circumstances didn’t matter so much.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Laney,” Rose called. “Do you want some tea?”

  It was Rose’s cure-all, and most times Laney would humor her aunt by having a cup. This wasn’t most days, and she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as the door swung open.

  “Laney, dear?” Rose whispered. The floorboards creaked as she approached the bed, and Laney caught a whiff of her aunt’s lavender body wash. “Are you awake?”

  “I’m trying really hard not to be,” Laney muttered.

  “Oh. Well, then, I’ll just leave you to it. That good-looking FBI agent is sitting in the living room having one of my famous cinnamon rolls. I thought you might like one, too.”

  “First of all,” Laney said, finally opening her eyes, “you know his name is Grayson. Second, your famous cinnamon rolls come from a can, so I’m not sure how you can even call them yours or famous.”

  “They are famous, Laney. The commercials for them are all over the television. I made them. Therefore, they are mine,” Rose huffed.

  “I’m sure several million other people have also made them.” Laney sat up, her entire body achy and old-feeling. “You didn’t just come in here to ask me if I wanted a cinnamon roll. What’s up?”

  “I’m worried about you,” Rose admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Laney’s thigh. “Since when do you lie around in the middle of the day?”

  “Since I got shot in the head?”

  “Don’t try to be funny, Laney. This isn’t the time for it.”

  “Really, Aunt Rose. You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”

  “The bruise on your jaw and the staples in your scalp would say differently.”

  “What they say, Aunt Rose, is that I survived. That’s a great thing. Not something to make you worry.”

  “I always worry about you, dear. Ever since that unfortunate incident—”

  “I think I will have one of those cinnamon rolls.” Laney stood so abruptly, her head swam.

  “You can’t keep running away from it forever, Laney.” Rose grabbed her arm, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman of her age. “Eventually, you’re going to have to do the hard work of letting go.”

  “I have let go.” She just hadn’t forgotten, would never forget.

  “Then maybe what you really need is to grab on to something worth believing in.” Rose planted her fists firmly on hips that sported bright pink running pants.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me what that is?”

  “I suppose that you’re intelligent enough to figure it out yourself! But maybe not, since you’ve spent the past few years hiding in your safe little house, ignoring God’s calling for your life!” She flung the last over her shoulder as she huffed out of the room.

  Laney sank onto the bed, her muscles so tense she thought they might snap. She didn’t like to talk about what had happened in Colorado. She didn’t like to think about it. Of course, she still thought about it almost every day. How could she not? She’d lost three well-trained team members. Not just team members. Friends. All of them gone in a blink of an eye and the wild heaving of an avalanche. She rubbed the back of her neck, tried to force the memories away.

  They wouldn’t leave her. Despite what she’d said to Rose, she hadn’t let go. She couldn’t let go. She’d been responsible for her team, and she’d failed them.

  There was nothing that could change that, nothing that could bring back the lives that had been lost.

  Not even giving up search and rescue, a quiet voice inside reminded her.

  She ignored it. She’d made the decision to retire Jax. It had been the right one to make. She was doing good things with her business, and she didn’t see how that could be construed as ignoring God’s calling.

  Whatever that calling might be.

  She frowned, eyeing the old family Bible that sat on her dresser. It had belonged to her grandfather, and he’d given it to her a few weeks before his death. She had opened it once, to read verses from it during his funeral. She touched the cover. Ran her fingers over the embossed letters that read Travis Family Bible. It was smooth as silk, decades of being handled and read leaving the old leather soft. She’d believed in God for as long as she could remember. What she hadn’t believed was that He cared, that He had a purpose and a plan for her life.

  Aunt Rose, though, was convinced otherwise.

  So, apparently, was Grayson.

  Laney wanted to believe it. She wanted to know everything that had happened would eventually lead her to the place she was supposed to be.

  “Everything okay in here?” Grayson asked from the open doorway. He’d showered and changed into a clean set of black tactical pants and a black T-shirt with the FBI logo. Her breath caught as he smiled. He looked good. Great, even. And she’d have to be blind not to notice it.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did Rose stomp into the kitchen muttering something about stubborn nieces? You’re not planning your escape, are you?”

  “Not hardly.” She laughed, her hand falling away from the Bible, the soft feel of its cover still on her fingers and in her mind. “She’s just annoyed with me.”

  “Why?” He walked in
to the room, and it felt smaller, more intimate.

  “Because I retired from search and rescue,” she admitted, sidling past him and moving into the hall. The last thing she wanted was Grayson DeMarco in her bedroom.

  “I read about that,” he responded.

  She stopped short, turning to face him. The hall was narrow, and they were close. She could see the stubble on his chin, the dark ring around his striking blue irises. “Where?”

  “A local paper did a story about you a couple of years ago, remember?’

  “Yes, but I didn’t think anyone else did.”

  “I did a little research while you were resting and found it. I told you I planned to work this morning.”

  “I’m not sure I like that you were digging into my past. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty positive that I don’t like it at all.”

  “I wasn’t digging. I was doing background checks on everyone involved in the case.”

  “You need a background check on a witness?”

  “Not every witness is an innocent bystander, Laney,” he responded, eyeing her. “Now that I’m thinking about it, Rose was also muttering something about grumpy nieces.”

  “I am not grumpy!” Laney protested, even though she probably was.

  “Sure you are. Sleep deprivation will do that to a person. Come on.” He took her arm, his strong fingers curving around her biceps, their warmth seeping through her cotton shirt. “A little sugar will perk you right up.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “What you need,” he cut her off, his expression serious, “is to let go and let someone take care of you for a while.” He began leading her to the kitchen.

  It was the second time in just a few minutes that someone had told her she needed to let go.

  Maybe it was time, she thought, but she wasn’t sure she knew how.

  TEN

  The cinnamon roll was surprisingly good, despite the slightly burnt edges. The conversation was better.

  Grayson was funny and intelligent, and Laney would have been lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed spending time with him. But Grayson’s easy banter couldn’t belie his concern. He was reluctant to leave, even after Kent arrived with Murphy, who’d greeted Laney like a long-lost friend before eying Grayson suspiciously until introductions were made. Grayson had finally given her a stern reminder to stay in the house and left for the airport.

  With Grayson gone, Laney tried not to watch the clock, counting the minutes until he’d return with the sketch artist. The armed officers in Laney’s drive, plus the curtains pulled tightly closed throughout the house, were blatant reminders of the danger she was in. If that wasn’t enough, the nagging headache and various aches and pains she had would have been.

  She watched as Rose popped opened another container of cinnamon rolls. Despite her cheerfulness, she looked tired, her skin a little pale, her hair a little less bouncy than usual.

  “Why don’t you let me do that, Aunt Rose?” she asked, and Rose scowled.

  “You think I’m too old to handle this?”

  “I think that if I’m tired, you must be, too.”

  “Well, I am, but Grayson would probably enjoy a few more piping hot cinnamon rolls when he comes back, and you’ve never been all that good of a cook.”

  “This isn’t cooking,” Laney said, taking the can from her aunt’s hands. “And you know that Grayson has only been gone forty minutes. If we bake these now, they won’t be hot when he gets back.”

  “Truth be told,” Rose admitted, “I want one. I stress-eat, dear. That’s how I got these.” She patted her hips, and Laney laughed.

  “You’ve got nothing. Now, sit down. I’ll take care of the rolls.”

  She helped her aunt to the chair, anxious to get her off her feet. The woman had more energy than most twenty-year-olds, but she wasn’t twenty, and she could easily overdo it.

  Once Rose had settled into the chair, Laney opened the container, peeled out the rolls and placed them in the baking dish. After sticking them in the oven, she did a half dozen other things that were everyday and easy. All the while, her heart slammed against her ribs. Her throat was dry. Every minute, she expected something to scratch against the kitchen window, someone to kick in the kitchen door.

  Sure, they had armed police officers outside, but that hadn’t made any difference the previous night.

  As if thinking about it made it happen, the back door flew open.

  She screamed, the sound choking off as she saw a police officer standing in the doorway.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am,” he said, his gaze shooting to a spot just past her shoulder. She glanced back and saw Kent on the kitchen threshold.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone cold, his eyes icy. Maybe he thought the police officer was a threat. Whatever the case, the young officer swallowed hard, took a step backward.

  “Mills Corner store and gas station has just been held up at gunpoint. Dispatch has called us in since we’re the closest officers. You cool with us going to the scene, Chief?”

  Kent hesitated, then nodded. “Go ahead. Call in to dispatch to have a couple of officers head out here to fill in, though. We don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Will do!” He raced back outside. Seconds later, the sound of a siren blasted through the afternoon stillness.

  “I don’t like this,” Kent said with a scowl, pacing to the front window and pulling back the curtain. Murphy, sensing his anxiety, was instantly at his side. “That gas station is so far off the beaten track, it’s nearly impossible to find if you don’t know where to look. It’s too much of a coincidence that it just happened to be robbed today. Call those kids back from the kennel, Laney. I’m going to take Murphy with me and do a sweep of the property. Make sure everything looks clear. Let the kids in, lock the door and stay inside.”

  He snapped a lead on Murphy, issued a command and opened the sliding glass door.

  As soon as he disappeared from view, Laney texted Bria and Riley, telling them to come to the house. The chief was right. The little gas station had been around for as long as Laney could remember, and as far as she could recall, it had never been robbed before. The mom-and-pop store offering cheap prices on junk food and milk didn’t look like much. It certainly didn’t look like much money could be found there.

  Riley knocked on the sliding glass door, and Laney opened it, waving the teen inside. Bria was right behind him, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?” she asked. “More trouble?”

  “Not yet,” Laney responded, keeping her tone calm. She didn’t want to scare her employees.

  “Meaning you’re expecting trouble?” Riley asked. “Because if you are, I want to go home and get my hunting rifle.”

  ‘There’s no need for that,” she cut him off. “We’re not even sure there’s actually any trouble.”

  “Then Bria and I should go back to the kennel. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He opened the slider, stepping outside. One of the kenneled dogs barked, the frantic sound a warning that Laney recognized immediately. Trouble. Danger.

  She met Riley’s eyes. “Was everything okay when you left?”

  “It was fine,” he responded. “We were…” His voice trailed off as a wisp of gray smoke spiraled up from the corner of the kennel.

  The scent of it followed, wafting into the kitchen, stinging Laney’s nostrils.

  “Fire!” she shouted. “Rose, call 911! There’s a fire at the kennel.”

  Rose grabbed the kitchen phone while Laney raced out the sliding glass doors toward the kennel, Riley and Bria close behind. They needed to get the dogs out first and then worry about containing the damage to the kennels.

  “You guys get the hose and meet me by the outdoor dog runs. We’re about to put the emergency evacuation system to the test. Remember, under no circumstances do either of you go into the facility.” Her mind racing, Laney knew she could be walking into a trap. As much as she wanted to get the dogs out safely, she could not enda
nger either Riley or Bria to do it.

  Laney was at the kennel entrance in moments. She’d had an emergency release switch designed to open all the dog runs at once. She’d tested it after it was installed but had never needed to use it again.

  Throwing the facility door open, she rushed in. Smoke billowed from under her office door. So far the flames were contained behind it. Laney knew the sprinkler heads would activate only with direct heat. There were two sprinkler heads in her office. She hoped they would contain the fire. She pulled open the dog run control panel and yanked down the emergency release lever. The grinding sound of the gates opening was an immediate relief. Now it was just a matter of getting into each run, putting a leash on the dogs and taking them to the outside training pavilion until help arrived.

  A shadow passed across the open door.

  Was someone there? “Kent?” she yelled, hoping the chief had finally arrived. The property was large, but there was no way he’d missed the thick cloud of smoke that was engulfing the area.

  “It’s Riley,” the teen responded. “I thought you could use an extra set of hands.”

  “I told you not to come in the kennel,” she snapped as Riley appeared at the threshold. She didn’t want him to become an unintended target.

  A sudden movement behind Riley caught her eye.

  A man ran toward the entrance to the kennels, a baseball cap pulled low over his face, a tire iron in his hand.

  “Riley! Look out!” Laney warned, rushing toward him. Riley turned, ducking and bringing his arm up in an attempt to block the blow from the tire iron. Though his arm took the brunt of the blow, the tire iron still caught him on the side of the head. He crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  “No!” Laney cried out as the man roughly nudged Riley with his foot, stepping callously over the body of the unconscious teenager.

  She couldn’t see the man’s face, but something about him was eerily familiar. He had the same wiry frame and runner’s build as the gun-wielding kidnapper. A familiar fear ran up Laney’s spine as he advanced toward her, tire iron poised for attack.

  Glancing around, she saw the catching pole resting against the front desk where she had left it that morning. Wielding it like a sword, she swung it at him. He dodged back to avoid the blow. She swung again, the tip of the pole hitting his hand.