Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2 (17 page)

They pulled up at the newspaper building to find it had been securely locked.

“Looks as if it's the fire escape again,” she said as she sighed. Memories of meeting Tucker and the sound of whistling bullets made her skin erupt in prickles, but she dutifully followed Mick up the ladders until they reached the top.

The afternoon sunshine finally beat back the clouds and she blinked against the sheen of the concrete. On the rooftop below, the colony of Quaker parrots bustled about, preening and tending to their tangle of nests. She remembered the green feather. “There's a man, his name is Meeker. He studies and films the parrot colonies. I think he's writing a book about them.”

Mick didn't answer. She turned to find him down on one knee, surveying. “Tucker's diagram was accurate. There's the electrical box and the ventilation vents.”

“And the air-conditioning unit. But why'd he bother? What could be here that he was looking for?”

“LeeAnn came here to tend to an injured bird, right?”

“Yes, but there was blood in the parking lot, which is where she was probably killed. There was no sign she even climbed up according to the police.”

“But what if she did? What if she saw something? Got proof of something?”

Keeley's breath hitched. “She sent me that one text telling me she was in trouble. Maybe she took a picture, too.”

Mick looked at her. “Did they ever find her phone?”

“No.”

“Okay. So if she took a picture and dropped her phone after she sent the text to you, where could it have fallen?”

They spent the next forty-five minutes trying to answer the question, moving the pallets, scouring every dirty corner of the rooftop with no success.

Keeley finally collapsed to her knees on the cement. “This is ridiculous,” she said.

“Maybe I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.” Mick rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I'm sorry if I gave you false hope that we'd find something.”

Keeley sighed. A little puff of feathers bumped across the rooftop, nudged along by a spring breeze. She watched the bit of fluff tumble along, catching for a moment on the bottom edge of the air-conditioning unit before it was blown underneath. “That's it.” Keeley scrambled over to the unit and laid down flat on her stomach.

Mick followed suit, grunting in frustration. “I'm too big to get close. What's in there?”

“I'm not sure.” She slid her hand into the gap, pushing through dirty feathers and dry leaves, hoping she wasn't about to have a close encounter with a rodent. Finally her fingers closed around a hard rectangular object, and she pulled it free.

They both stared at the pink plastic case.

LeeAnn's phone.

EIGHTEEN

K
eeley's hand shook as she pressed the phone, cracked screen and all, to her cheek. It felt both wonderful and terrible to feel it there, knowing the last person to hold it had been her precious sister right before her life was ripped away. The tears rolled unchecked, and the grief swelled so big she thought it would tear her apart. All the anguish that she'd thought had ebbed came back in one excruciating rush.

Mick pulled her to her feet and cradled her in his arms. He didn't say a word. She didn't need him to. In that moment of overwhelming emotion, she accepted the comfort and tenderness, the simple gesture from a complex man, the gentle touch of a battle-scarred soldier. He pressed his lips to her forehead, her temples and grazed her cheek. “I'm sorry this hurts.”

She breathed hard, in and out, trying to pull herself away, and not finding the strength. It trickled into her soul slowly, like a fresh stream fed by spring rains. God did not want her to be alone in her grief, and He'd put Mick in her life, in that moment, to share the burden with her. She returned the embrace, circling his wide shoulders and burying her face in the slow and steady beat of his heart.

When her crying slowed, he eased her away, bending to look her in the eye.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, returning her attention once more to the phone. “It's dead. No charge.”

“I have a charger cord in my truck. Do you... Are you able to climb down?”

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “Yes.”

“All right. Let's go see if this phone will help us find answers.”

She thought with a lurch that the answers would mean Mick would be free to be on his way. Of course. What other alternative was there? God had put Mick into her life, but it didn't mean he was meant to stay there.
And that's the way I want it
, she told herself.

They made it down and into the truck. Mick started the engine and plugged the charger cord into the phone. She found herself clutching his hand, breath held, to see if there would be any sign of life from the battered cell.

A light flicked to life, and the home screen showed hazily through the web of cracks. Keeley fought another wave of agony as LeeAnn's screen saver, a picture of Junie flashing a gummy infant grin, sprang to life. She pressed the photos icon, Mick's arm tight around her. Together they peered at the tiny images. There were only two from the rooftop. One was a close-up of a Quaker parrot, fluffed and limp winged, perched on the edge of the concrete roof.

Mick pointed. “What's he got on him?”

Keeley's pulse hammered both from the photo and the muscled arm caging her. “It's a little device.” She squinted. “A camera, I think.”

Mick's breath hitched. “You said there was a man who was filming the bird colony.”

She nodded. “Webb Meeker. Hang on. There's one more photo after that.”

The other picture caught only the edge of the ventilation shaft and a blurry shot of Tucker Rivendale.

Liar. He'd been there. He'd killed LeeAnn after all. “He was on the rooftop that day.” Keeley's head whirled. “I don't get it. Did he kill her when they climbed back down? Why climb up at all if he was that angry with her?”

Mick pointed to the edge of the picture. “There. That's somebody's shoulder. A man's, by the look of it. Tucker was on that rooftop with someone else, and LeeAnn caught them on film. Maybe that's why he killed her.”

“Or the other person killed her and Tucker was telling the truth.”

Suddenly a shadow edged into her peripheral vision. She did not have time to scream before the windshield exploded as Bruce swung a bat at the passenger-side glass. It took him another vicious swing to smash completely through, sending tiny bits of cubed glass swirling around the truck.

Bruce reached in and opened the door, dragging Keeley from the car.

Charlie went for Mick, but she could not see clearly through the flying glass as Bruce hauled her to the ground, yanking her wrist so hard she thought it would snap. She screamed and kicked, but his hold did not loosen until he flung her to the ground, driving the breath out of her while he wrestled the phone from her death grip.

He grinned. “Thought we'd left town?”

“You killed Ginny. Why?” she panted as he moved close, the bat still in one hand, the phone shoved in his pocket.

“We were schooling her, but it got out of hand. An accident.”

An accident. Ginny was a young, vulnerable girl, like LeeAnn had been. “And my sister?”

Bruce came closer. “Don't know your sister. Don't care.”

Don't care.

The words chased each other around inside, cutting and burning, igniting rage inside her like a white-hot flame. He gripped the bat, twisting his arms in preparation for the swing that would probably kill her.

No, you won't.

When he weighted back, she kicked with all her might, taking his legs out from under him. He went over backward with a grunt of surprise. She leaped up. Mick was just rounding the front of the truck, Charlie on the ground behind him, stunned.

Bruce was already scrambling to his feet, so Keeley did not need Mick to tell her what to do. Grabbing hands, they ran to the truck, and Mick hit the gas, grit spraying off the tires. Bruce appeared at the driver's door, wrenching it open.

Mick leveled a punch that connected with Bruce's temple, driving him back until he lost his grip.

Mick sent the truck shooting forward, only taking a moment to reach out and close the driver's door. Keeley was panting, her body too shaken to register much but the fact that they had escaped.

Mick clutched her fingers. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she managed to reply, trying to calm her rasping breaths. “I think they killed Ginny. To teach her a lesson of some kind. He said he didn't know my sister.”

“Could be lying, but even if he isn't, there was someone on the roof with Tucker, and that person has a connection to the psycho brothers. Could have even been them up there with Tucker that day.”

She groaned. “Bruce has the cell phone. Now we're back to having no proof again.”

“There might be proof. There was a camera on that bird.”

She nodded. “If Meeker was recording the life of the colony with the bird cams, he might have gotten something on tape. He's got a shop in Big Pines, I think. It's a long shot.”

“Better than no shot.”

He handed her his phone. “Call the police. Ask for Chief Allen.” He shook his head, seemingly talking to himself. “I should have seen it coming with Charlie and Bruce. Should have seen things going south with Reggie.”

“Is Reggie involved?”

“He was Bruce's parole officer, but he's been faking the supervision, or so he says.”

“You don't trust him anymore?”

Mick didn't answer for a long moment. “I'm not going to trust anyone until this is all wrapped up. We're going to find Meeker, and if that doesn't pan out, I will spend every waking moment tracking Bruce and Charlie with or without the police, or Reggie, or anybody else, and not out of guilt, either.” He flicked her a glance. “Been praying about it.”

Her heart lifted, a warm golden glow filling her. “You're on speaking terms again?”

“Oh, He's never stopped speaking, I just wasn't listening. I—I think I found my soul again.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her carefully into the circle of his arm. He didn't elaborate, but she knew there was something profoundly changed about him; the heavy stain of guilt was lifted from his brown eyes. They were now filled with a clean, clear determination.

“I'm going to finish this,” he said. “Before I go.”

Before I go
. She swallowed hard. The fire burning in his eyes was not for her, and she wasn't sure why she had expected anything else.

He had a mission to complete, a case to close.

No other reason to stay.

She'd just finished up her call with the police when her phone rang.

“Hey, honey. I'm going to bring Cornelius home from his wing-and-nail grooming and then I'm craving a walk to the park. Would Junie like to come along?”

Keeley explained calmly what had happened and where they were headed. “Junie's at Roberta's until five. If I'm not back by then, can you get Junie?”

“Yes, but, Keeley, this sounds dangerous. I wish I could ask Derek what he thinks we should do, but...” She sighed. “He's not taking my calls. I don't know where he is.”

Keeley understood. Ginny was dead, and he was suspended from duty. She made a mental note to pray for Chief Uttley. “I'm sorry about all of it, Aunt Viv.”

“Me, too,” she said. “My heart's a little bit broken right now.” She disconnected.

A little bit broken. Ginny dead, Tucker clinging to life, and then there was Mick. She resisted the urge to look at him—the strong chin and dark hair, the lines that had been carved into his face by love and loss.

Before I go.

Remember, Keeley
, she told herself.
You're going to be alone again in a matter of days. You're going to be all right
. She sneaked one quick look at his mouth, full lips clamped into a determined line.

She pulled her gaze away and fixed her eyes out the front windshield, just as determined as Mick to see their mission completed.

* * *

Meeker's place was an old one-story cabin set at the top of a gravel road. The tires threw rocks against the undercarriage, which Mick heard clearly, since the passenger-side window glass was gone. If he'd had his choice he would have driven Keeley back to her aunt Viv's. Bruce had come close, too close, to hurting her. He wished he could count on Reggie or even Uttley to provide backup, but he was beyond asking for help from anyone. A sense of urgency hammered away at his insides. The longer the situation continued, the more at risk Keeley became.

He parked the truck and they knocked on the front door. No one answered, so he pounded louder.

“Mr. Meeker?” Keeley called. “We need to talk to you about one of your parrots.”

Silence.

“Please, Mr. Meeker. It's urgent,” she added.

Feet shuffled to the door and it opened a few inches. A man in his fifties with a shaggy puff of hair regarded them warily.

“What do you want?”

Keeley smiled and Mick stepped back a pace, figuring his presence was probably spooking the guy.

“My sister took a picture of one of your birds almost two years ago. It looked as if the bird had a camera strapped to its body and we figure it's yours. Did you recover the camera, Mr. Meeker? Do you remember?”

“Maybe.”

“My sister was killed. We think your camera might have captured the image of her killer.” Keeley held up her hands. “Please, Mr. Meeker. My sister was a bird lover and she went to a rooftop to help one of your parrots. Do you know anything that would shed light on her murder?”

He answered by flinging the door open and retreating into the house. Mick followed him, Keeley right behind. They made their way through a hallway cluttered with books and into a tiny living room crammed with computers, more bird books and piles of papers.

“My fault,” Meeker said. “Bird got herself caught on a fence because of the camera. I check on them every few days, but I didn't know that particular female was injured until I trapped her to remove the camera. Had to wait until the cops let me into the parking lot. By then the poor thing was nearly dead.”

“So you did retrieve the camera?” Keeley's face burned with hope.

“Course I did. I'm working on a documentary about the Quaker colony.” His face softened. “Got hours of footage. Even got a tiny camera in one of their nesting holes. That mama bird hatched eight eggs after I fixed her up, and all of them survived.”

“Please can we see the footage you got from that camera, Mr. Meeker? It's vitally important,” Keeley said.

Meeker's eyes narrowed. “It's my property.”

“We don't want to take your property. We'd just like to see it.”

This was taking too long. Mick straightened, staring down at the much shorter man. “You can show us, or we can get the police here and you can show them.”

Meeker sat down on a rolling office chair and tapped his computer to life. “All right. You can look. Here's the footage.”

Meeker did not offer them a chair, so he and Keeley stood behind and watched over his shoulder. The video was jerky, capturing the little bird's journey as she took off from the communal nest to forage in the forest. She encountered several other members of her colony eating seeds on the forest floor. When she landed on a barbed wire fence, Meeker grimaced. Mick did, too, as she became caught, struggling to free herself with a frantic flapping of her wings. Finally loose, her flight became less controlled.

“Got a terrible cut on her wing, you see,” Meeker said. “And she was exhausted from her escape. She couldn't make it back to the nest right away, so she stopped to rest on the newspaper building.”

Keeley hugged herself as the footage showed the familiar rooftop.

There was no sound, only the drab cement roof. The camera lens was fixed on the side of a ventilation shaft. Two minutes passed, then three. The bird suddenly rustled to life and took off over the side of the roof, capturing a few seconds of the parking lot below, and then it went black.

“Batteries quit.” Meeker sat back. “Got what you wanted?”

“No.”

Mick heard the desperate disappointment in her voice.

“The camera didn't show anyone on the rooftop. Not even Tucker.” Her voice broke.

“Can we rewind about fifteen seconds?” Mick asked.

Meeker took the video back and played it again.

“There,” Mick said. “Stop it there.”

He froze the picture.

“It's Tucker's car,” Keeley said. “But that doesn't help. We already knew he was there.”