Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2 (8 page)

EIGHT

M
ick briefed the on duty cop as they pulled out. The guy was not pleased at their travel plans, but he'd just have to deal with that. Hunkering down hadn't accomplished much. If it was going to be a fight, Keeley seemed intent on making it a battle of maneuver instead of a battle of encounter. She had some of the qualities of a fine marine, he thought.

Mick had already laid things out for Reggie the night before.

“You should stay put and get yourself a weapon, but I'm sure you're not going to do either of those things,” Reggie had huffed.

Mick felt uneasy about the drive. It was not so much that Tucker was possibly tracking their every move, as the fact that he knew Keeley was not the type to be able to sit silently for the duration of the trip. She would talk and she would expect him to reciprocate. There would be sharing involved. The thought made him sweat. Talking was like the embroidery his mother used to try to teach him before she died, all delicate strings that knotted and bunched against his clumsy efforts.

He'd never been much of a talker, but LeeAnn's murder left him even more taciturn, which probably explained why his girlfriend of four months has finally dumped him six months ago.

“You're a prisoner,” Beth had said the last time she'd seen him. “You let Tucker escape, and you stepped into the cell yourself.”

At the time, standing there in the exhaust fumes from her departing car, he'd berated himself for telling her about Tucker in the first place. See where sharing had gotten him, but her words prickled back through his mind. A prisoner of his mistakes.

You can't outrun shame.
His grandfather would have added,
Only God can take it away, Mickey. Only God.

Yeah, well, Mick wasn't about to go down that road. A man shouldered his own burdens, and he wouldn't ask anyone, especially God, to relieve him of a burden he deserved completely. He wasn't running after absolution. He didn't deserve it anyway.

With his game face on, he opened the passenger door for Keeley. She stared quizzically for a moment.

“Oh. Thank you. No one has done that for a long time. It's nice.” Her cheeks reddened and he swallowed hard as she climbed onto the worn front seat.

Did she think he was trying to play the part of a suitor? No, she would surely not have thought that. Had she? Great. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet and already he was confused. He got in and they drove up the highway. The silence lasted for a good half hour until he felt her looking at him.

He kept his eyes on the road.

Her gaze bored into him still.

“What?”

“You drive slowly.”

He checked the speed gauge. “Fifty-five. It's what the sign says.”

“Nobody follows that rule.”

“Almost nobody.”

She laughed, and it was a delicate sound, musical. He was glad he had somehow caused it to happen, though he didn't see the humor.

“Don't marines value speediness?”

“Not if it gets you dead. Slow means I can avoid all the nuts on the road.”

“Hmm. I think that might include me, because I'd be doing sixty-five here, easy, unless I had Junie in the car.”

He saw her clutch the phone tighter and he knew she was resisting the urge to call.
Gotta wait until sunrise
, he could imagine her saying to herself. Too early to wake the child and her aunt.

After another fifteen miles, her attention was caught by a small roadside garage with a cracked sign tacked to the front.

“Quick Stop Garage,” Keeley said, pointing.

“Know it?”

“I don't, but it was the logo on Ginny's shirt when she bought all the snack cakes.”

He goggled at her. “You remembered that from the security camera footage?”

“I notice clothes,” she said, eyes still riveted out the window. “You can check your cell phone picture if you like. Black lettering on a light-colored background. Quick Stop Garage.”

He didn't check. Instead he pulled into the minuscule parking lot, home to a car up on blocks and an ice machine that no longer dispensed anything but rust.

“You...” He was issuing a command to no one. She was already out of the car.

He hastened to join her. It was not yet 6:00 a.m. and the windows were dark.

Keeley rattled the front knob.

“They don't open for another half hour,” he pointed out.

She peered in through the window as if she hadn't heard him. “Place is pretty empty. It doesn't look as if they're doing very good business.”

He had to agree. The front window was cracked, the front step chipped. Whatever had been growing long ago in the front planter box was now browned rubble, overtaken by a scalp of wild grass. They weren't doing a whole lot to attract customers.

“There's a door around back. I'm going to check,” she said.

She trotted off on some detective mission. He sighed. Trespassing was never a good idea. He just hoped there wasn't a dog. Dogs were a marine's best friend, if you happened to be their handler. Otherwise, you might just look an awful lot like a threat. He still remembered getting on the bad side of a Belgian Malinois after some friendly roughhousing with his handler. A neat row of scars on his lower arm bore witness to that.

As he started to follow her around the corner, he heard the deep growl from behind him.

Figured.

Sighing, he turned and looked down. Way down.

A raggedy terrier no higher than Mick's shin watched him, black eyes bright, one ear flopped over.

Mick made himself smaller, extending a hand to be sniffed.

“Hello. You're not much of a guard dog, are you?”

The creature gave the question a moment of thought before he trotted up to Mick, sniffed his hand and promptly rolled onto his back for a scratch, legs scrabbling in the air. Mick complied, wondering if there was anyone alive who could deny a dog a good belly scratch. He was pleased to see the dog was nicely filled out, and, grooming aside, somewhat taken care of. He basked in Mick's patient scratching.

“What's your name, fella?”

“His name is Boots,” a voice said, and Mick turned in time to see a shovel arcing toward his head.

* * *

Keeley rubbed at the small glass window on the back door, but it did not do much good. The haze made it impossible to see inside. She wiggled the handle. Locked, of course. Since she was not about to break in, there was nothing left to do but return to the truck and wait with Mick until opening time.

The stale scent of cigarettes tickled her nose as a man emerged from a large metal storage shed. He was nearly six feet, still shorter than Mick, but broader around the middle, wearing jeans and a stained T-shirt. His black beard curled over the corners of his mouth, at odds with the bald spot on his head.

He didn't say anything, just stared.

Her stomach tightened. “Hello. I was, uh, looking to see if the garage was open.”

His lips twitched. “Can't read the closed sign?”

She forced a smile back. “I must have missed it.”

“Most people don't miss it.” He smiled, a flash of startlingly white teeth. “What do you want? Really?”

“I was looking for someone and I thought she worked here, maybe.”

“She?”

Keeley nodded. “A woman. Her name is Ginny.”

The smile flickered but did not dim. “This isn't a nice place for women.”

Her skin prickled. She inched toward the edge of the step. He didn't move.

“Okay. I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

“You didn't bother me. It's nice to see something pretty.” Now he did move, slowly, hands in his pockets, smile still on his face, drifting toward her.

“I'm traveling with someone,” she blurted out. “A man. He's looking for me. He'll be here in a moment.”

The bearded man smiled even wider. “Don't think so. My brother texted me just before I came out.”

Her pulse pounded as he finished.

“Said he was gonna go bash a prowler's head in with a shovel.” He grinned wider. “This isn't a nice place for prowlers, either.”

The panic started up in her belly. Her mind refused to work out a plan as the bearded man stepped closer. The only idea that presented itself through the rush of fear was to kick him and run the moment he laid a hand on her. He didn't, however, just tapped his cell phone on his thigh and watched her, smile in place, easing closer without any hurry.

She scooted away. There was a clear path now toward the woods that backed the property, but the man probably knew every inch of those woods, every pothole and duck blind. He would catch her...and then what? Blood pounded in her temples. She thought of LeeAnn. Had she felt fear like this before Tucker killed her?

Her body yearned to flee, but she could not bolt until she knew if there was any way she could help Mick.

A moment more of hesitation and she sprinted toward the front, not daring to check and see if the man was pursuing her. She burst around the corner, deafened by a metallic crash.

A lean man with a pitted face and a goatee recoiled from the impact of smashing the shovel into the side of the garage, the space where Mick's head had been a moment before.

Mick flicked a glance in her direction and then hurled himself headfirst into his assailant's stomach.

The impact sent them both tumbling onto the dirt. Mick's arms tensed and flexed as he fought off the blows. Still the skinny guy held on to the shovel, trying to bring it down on Mick's head.

She fumbled for her phone, but what good would 911 do? There were no rocks that she could throw, nothing but dirt and a small dog prancing on anxious feet. The truck. There was a baseball bat in the back. She'd seen it there.

Sweat trickled down Mick's face. The skinny man rolled on top and shoved his arm on Mick's throat, pressing down, trying to crush his windpipe.

“Hold on, Mick,” she shouted, running for the truck. With hands gone ice-cold she snatched up the bat and ran back, wondering if she had the strength and will to bring it down on Mick's attacker.

Just get there, her brain screamed.

She pounded back and found no one.

The dog eyed her as she looked around.

“Where are they?” she snapped.

The terrier made his way through the weeds and down into an irrigation ditch that Keeley had not seen. She waded through the clinging grasses.

Mick had the man on his stomach, hands behind his back. He was breathing hard, face glistening. The shovel was resting a few feet away. She heaved out a breath.

“Are you okay?” she called.

He stiffened. “Behind you!”

She whirled, bat at the ready, to find the bearded man grinning at her as he peered down into the ditch.

“Got the better of Bruce, huh? He's gonna be mad.”

“Stay away,” she said, readying the bat.

He laughed. “Nice bat, honey,” he said, removing a gun from his pocket. “How does it do against bullets?”

NINE

M
ick gritted his teeth, tasting blood from one of Bruce's punches.

Bruce groaned and heaved himself to his feet. Mick divided his attention between Bruce and the guy holding the gun on them both.

“Shoot him, Charlie,” Bruce said. “Shoot them both.”

“Climb up,” Charlie said, gesturing to Mick with the gun. Mick did so, taking his time, strategizing escape plans as he went. He had to pass the keys to Keeley so she could get away. He reached slowly for his pocket.

“Uh-uh,” Charlie said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Mick stopped, Bruce behind him. He wasn't surprised when Bruce aimed a kick at the back of his knee, which sent him sprawling face down in the weeds. He heard Keeley cry out. She dropped the bat and knelt next to him, but Bruce pulled her away.

“Don't touch her,” Mick growled, rolling over.

“Or what?” Bruce said. “You're gonna take me out?”

Mick got to his knees. “I did it once. I'll do it again.” Time to stir the pot. “You don't know how to fight.”

Bruce's mouth tightened in rage. Anger. Good. It made a man sloppy.

“I'll show you what I know,” Bruce spat, taking a step toward Mick.

“I'm right here, big shot.”

Charlie broke in. “Settle down, Bruce. Let's see what these good people want with us.”

“They're trespassers,” Bruce growled. “Who cares what they want?”

“Still,” Charlie said, looking at Keeley. “Why did you come here? You're looking for a girl, you said. What girl?”

Keeley eyed Mick. “A woman. We found her picture and she was wearing a T-shirt from your garage. We thought she might work here. That's all.”

“Who?” Charlie said.

“Her name is Ginny.”

Mick caught a quick exchange between brothers. “Know her?”

“No. We gave away a bunch of T-shirts a while back. She must have found one somewhere. Why are you looking for her?” he said. “She done something wrong?”

“No,” Keeley said. “Nothing wrong. We think she might have some information.”

“About what?”

Mick started to get to his feet, but Charlie waved the gun at him. “Stay on your knees. Information about what?”

What did the brothers know? “Information about a fugitive, Tucker Rivendale. He's wanted for murder.”

Charlie was ready for the question this time. His face was stony. “Don't know him. Or her.”

“I...” Keeley started to speak but he gave her a warning glance. “I'm sorry we intruded. Can we go now?”

Charlie cocked his head. “Shame for you to rush off.” The smile crept over his mouth. “As I said, we don't get pretty girls around too often.”

Mick's gut tightened. “If either one of you touch her,” he said, “things will get real ugly, real fast.”

Charlie stared at him. “Tough talk for a guy on his knees at gunpoint.”

Mick jerked his chin at the gun. “That's a .22 and it's clear you haven't been maintaining it. You've probably got powder and bullet wax residue in the chamber. Good chance you're going to have a misfire.”

“Good chance I won't.”

“Maybe, but your gun hand shakes, too. With the residue and your unsteady grip you won't hit me square the first time and I won't let you get a second shot off.”

Charlie grinned. “And you don't think Bruce is going to hold you down while I shoot you with my unsteady hand, using my dirty gun?”

“I don't think Bruce has the skills,” Mick said quietly. “I think Bruce is clear on that by now, aren't you, Bruce?”

He was playing a dangerous game and he knew it, but Keeley was smart and she'd edged closer to the bat while he'd been taunting Bruce. One good swing and she'd take Bruce out, or at least slow him down while Mick dealt with Charlie.

Charlie stared at him, dark eyes shifting in thought. Then he smiled and put the gun back in his pocket. “No need to be inhospitable.”

“They're trespassers,” Bruce snapped. “We're just gonna let 'em go?”

Charlie shrugged. “We were within our rights to go after them, but I don't want to explain to the cops about why we shot them in cold blood. Cops always get fussy when there are dead bodies to deal with.”

Bruce swore and stalked away a few feet, muttering to himself. The dog sniffed at Mick's feet as he stood.

“My brother doesn't like to lose,” Charlie said. “You're lucky I didn't let him hurt you bad.”

“He wouldn't have,” Mick said.

“Cocky. I like that. Just the same, don't come back,” Charlie said. “We don't know the girl or her friend Rivendale. You got no business trespassing, like my brother said. Next time I may just shoot as many times as it takes me to kill you.”

Mick shrugged. “Point taken. We'll get out of your hair.”

He walked toward Keeley, keeping both Charlie and Bruce in his line of sight.

Bruce glared at him with naked hatred.

She took the bat and gave the dog a caress. Her shoulders trembled under Mick's palm as he guided her back to the truck.

They drove off the lot, both brothers staring after them.

Keeley remained silent for a full four minutes. “They were lying.”

“Yes.”

“About Ginny or Tucker or both?”

“Not sure.”

“We should tell the police.”

“We can call from my dad's place. Let's get some distance in case they have friends.”

“Mick?”

“Yes?”

“What you said about the gun misfiring? Would that really have happened?”

“Not sure. Wasn't that dirty.”

“And his unsteady grip?”

“At that range, he'd have hit something.”

“Then if Charlie hadn't fallen for your bluff, you would be dead.”

“I don't think he'd shoot.”

She turned to him, eyes wide, lips taught. “Don't do that again.”

He blinked at her, uncertain. “Do what?”

“Don't risk anything for me, do you understand? I don't want you to.” Her eyes blazed blue fire. “I don't want to be indebted to you.”

“It was the only way out of the situation.”

She fisted her hands on her lap. “I don't want anything from you, of all people.”

From you, of all people. After what you did
. He trained his eyes on the road.

Her voice softened a fraction. “I'm sorry, but I can't lose my independence to you, or anyone else.”

But you don't understand, Keeley. I will protect you whether you want it or not. It's the only thing I can do
, he thought.

It's the only thing I have left
.

* * *

She pressed the phone to her ear, wishing she had a private place to make her call. Mick was already too involved in the details of her life, but she did not want to ask him to stop so she could call privately.

She kept remembering him on his knees, staring into the barrel of a gun.

For her?

No, out of some twisted sense of guilt that would get him hurt or worse, if he stuck around. She would not allow it. The idea of seeing him taken down by Charlie's gun left her insides quivering. “Aunt Viv,” she said in relief.

“Hey, Keeley. Derek tells me you're taking a day trip. Is that wise? After Tucker nearly burned your house down?”

Again, her aunt had used Chief Uttley's first name. “I'm perfectly safe.” Aside from the fact that they had just been menaced by two crazy brothers. It would just kick her worry into overdrive to get into it. “Is the chief there now? I have to talk to him.”

Viv giggled. “Actually, he stepped out to get us some coffee. My machine is on the fritz, but I suspect he just prefers the coffee-shop brew anyway. He thinks I make it too weak.”

Keeley squashed herself further against the passenger door. “Aunt Viv, are you...seeing the chief?”

Viv sputtered around for the right word. “That makes it sound so furtive. Yes, we're dating. I got to know him after he investigated my car theft.” Keeley pictured her aunt blushing a deep crimson. “It wasn't the time then, but lately we've begun to revisit the issue.”

Revisit the issue, as if it was a business merger they were discussing. She smiled. “You deserve someone nice.” Viv had been through a messy divorce with an alcoholic husband some twenty years before, which had left her financially ruined and physically depleted. Keeley had asked many times how her aunt found the strength to survive it.

“I didn't. It was His strength, not mine,” Viv had said. And Viv had been a rock for Keeley since the moment she'd learned of her sister's murder.

Keeley thought about the chief's strange reaction to their idea about the girl with the snack cakes holing up with Tucker in the newspaper building. Her stomach tightened. What if he had a compelling reason to discredit the information? “Aunt Viv, does Chief Uttley have a daughter by any chance?”

“Daughter? No. No kids. Why do you ask?”

She blew out a breath and chided herself for her rampant suspicion. “No reason. What is on the agenda for today?”

Viv detailed her plans for an indoor picnic and a Play-Doh party. Keeley's spirit sank lower with each moment. “I wish I could be there.”

“You will be soon, love, but in the meantime, rest assured we're up to our ears in cops. Safe as a couple of eggs in the nest.”

Viv put June on the phone and they spent a lively ten minutes talking about Bubbles the goldfish that Keeley had purchased for June the week before. Bubbles, it seemed, did not want to use the crayon June had deposited in the fishbowl when Viv's back was turned. Keeley could not hold back the giggles as they talked, and disconnected with the promise to buy a friend for Bubbles.

June sounded stuffy to Keeley. She prayed it was not another cold coming on, which usually kicked off an ear infection. They'd been to the ear, nose and throat specialist regularly since June was born. Maybe it was time to book an appointment. Or should she wait and see if Junie would fight it off herself? LeeAnn would know. Keeley bit her lower lip, mulling over the next of a million decisions that needed to be made for the child.

Mick drove steadily on, and she thought he was not going to speak at all until he cleared his throat some miles later.

“What color are her eyes?”

Keeley jerked. “Junie's? Blue. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, concealing what was on his mind behind that rigid mask. She had the desperate desire to crack through that impenetrable wall.

“Why, Mick?” She turned to face him. “Why did you want to know?”

He flinched, twitching on the seat. For a moment, she thought he would ignore her question, continuing on in maddening silence. She was about to turn away in aggravation when he spoke.

“Wife stepped out on me when I was deployed, divorced me shortly after I got back. She was pregnant with our child when she left, but I didn't know. Didn't even know I had a son until she called to say he'd died of SIDS eleven months later. I always wondered...” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I always wondered what color his eyes were.”

There was such a wealth of sadness on Mick's face that she reached out and touched his hand where it lay on the seat. The fingers were strong and warm under hers. “I'm sorry. That must have been terrible not knowing you had a child until it was too late.”

He looked at her hand covering his, but did not move it away. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I went to his grave every day for six months after I found out. I didn't cry once. Then out of the blue, I found a dead eaglet one day in the sanctuary. He'd fallen out of his nest.” Mick stared at the road.

“And then you cried,” she whispered. How horrible that he'd never even had the chance to know he was a father until it was too late.

A ripple of tension went through her when she realized she and her sister had kept the same secret from Tucker. But he'd been a criminal from the start, a criminal who later turned murderer. They'd done it to protect June. They were justified. Tucker did not have the right to know his child.

“If you had known about Junie when Tucker was on parole, would you have told him?” she asked.

His mouth tightened. “I would have suggested to LeeAnn that she tell him.”

“But...”

“I'm glad I didn't know.”

When they hit a pothole in the road, he returned both hands to the wheel, restoring the distance between them.

She couldn't rid herself of the image of Mick, racked with grief over the death of a tiny life left untasted, wings never unfolded. What kind of father would Mick have been? She had the sneaking suspicion he'd have been a superb one.

The last leg of the drive took them up into the mountains, forested with a thick stand of pine trees. What would have been a brilliant sunrise was colored by a bank of clouds signaling a spring storm that would arrive shortly. She itched to unpack her camera as she spotted a bald eagle cutting through the sky.

“When can we...?”

He laughed. “I'll take you to the lake now and we can talk to dad after. How's that?”

Her nerves tingled with excitement as they took the slope, eventually stopping at a bluff that overlooked a glittering lake below. The trees that fringed the shore were alive with eagles, the air heavily scented with pine and fir.

She flopped belly down on the ground, taking picture after picture, oblivious to anything but the stupendous variety of life unfolding through her lens. When she finally stopped for a moment, she looked up at Mick, who was watching the eagles, a smile of peaceful pleasure on his face.

He was more than a little handsome, she was startled to discover, when he unshuttered his emotions. The brown of his eyes mimicked the rich wood of the pines, and his strong cheekbones emphasized a mouth that looked, at that moment, both tender and prone to good humor as he scanned the glittering expanse.