Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (67 page)

The line grew silent, the moments stretching so thin they almost groaned in protest. “Andrea?”

She sighed. “Especially in Wade.”

His fingers tightened on the phone. This conversation wasn't going the way he'd intended, but he was in too deep now to pull out. “I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral.” He was. Sorrier than she knew. But he could never tell her why.

“I've heard it was a nice ceremony.”

“You weren't there?”

“I was there.” The sound of running water and the clink of glass on metal leaked through the phone, then silence. “I don't remember any of it. All I remember is anger. Everything's colored red, like there's a haze over it.” Her voice was too matter-of-fact, too clinical.

There was no locating the source of the urge, but Josh knew he couldn't let her hide. “Anger at whom? Your brother?”

“Brendan, whoever got him started on heroin in the first place, his chain of command for not seeing it—”

“Yourself for not stopping it.” Those thoughts never should have left his mouth, echoing guilt she was bound to hear. He cleared his throat. “He cared a lot about you, you know.”
So did I.

“I know.” She sniffed. “You know what the hard part is? Not knowing. Did he do it on purpose or was that the one hit that was too much for his body to handle?”

“I think—” He stopped. Now was not the time for that discussion.

“I'm so done with thinking right now.” Her voice dragged low, like the emotion gave added weight to the words.

What was going on in her head? Did she want to talk, or had she had enough of him for one day? His presence had to be a reminder of what she'd suffered. He'd err toward not making a pest of himself. “I'll let you go and eat. I'm sure you're starved after—”

“No. Don't.”

Those short words he understood. “Anything wrong?”

The silence hung heavy. “I... Don't hang up yet, okay?”

Her request grabbed his heart in a fist. Never. After an appeal like that, there was no way he could. At the rate things were going, he'd likely never leave her alone again.

THREE

T
he midmorning sun baked the red brick of the counseling center and poured heat onto the brown metal roof of the eighties-era building. Reflected light bounced off the glass doors at an angle that obliterated the view into the lobby.

Andrea gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were the color of kindergarten paste. She twisted her fingers on the vinyl and squinted against the glare to see if anyone moved inside the building, but she could see nothing. She should have called Josh and asked him to meet her early, although that bordered on a paranoia she didn't want to acknowledge.

Acknowledged or not, it was there. The photos she'd received in the mail were safely at the police station, dropped off on her way to work this morning, but not before she'd photographed them with her phone. Andrea pulled up the most detailed image and studied it, trying to calculate the angle from which it was taken. Twisting to look over her shoulder, she scanned the wooded area across the street.

The trees were thick and dark, marking the line between Columbus and Fort Benning with thick pines and low-growing foliage. There were a thousand places to hide. Whoever took those photos could have walked into that undeveloped spot from anywhere, could have hidden behind any tree. Likely, there wouldn't be any witnesses. Worse... Was the person there even now, aiming at her again?

A shadow fell across the interior of her car as someone tapped on the driver window.

Andrea's shriek ricocheted off the windshield. She jumped sideways, away from the driver's-side door and the steely eyes of the man peering in.

“Doc, it's just me.” The voice, colored in concern, drifted toward her on a wave of familiarity. A craggy, sun-weathered face peered into the window, a sunwashed black Dale Earnhardt baseball cap pulled low over faded blond hair and concerned gray-blue eyes. “You okay in there?”

Andrea swallowed a cry of relief. “Dutch.” She pressed a hand to her chest to force her heart back into its rightful place.

The older man stepped back as she pushed the car door open and stepped out on shaky legs. He grasped her elbow to steady her as she gripped the top of the door and tried to find her wayward composure. “Didn't mean to scare you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Dutch had shown up in the parking lot of her building a couple of months ago, looking for work to help him get back on his feet. When the center grew busier as more units redeployed from overseas, he picked up the pace, showing up several days a week, right on schedule, to sweep the floors and neaten the parking lot. Andrea had no idea where he slept at night, but most of his days were spent drifting up and down this end of Victory Drive, rain or shine, picking up cans and bottles or helping shop owners with odd jobs.

“I'm fine. At least now that you're here.” Thank God for Dutch. She'd all but forgotten it was Friday, one of his regular days to drop by.

Dutch slipped his cap back and scratched his hairline. “Whatcha mean by
now that I'm here?
”

Andrea jiggled the keys in her pocket and gripped her bag tighter as they neared the front of the building, only half hearing Dutch's question. At the door, she ran her hand over her name etched there, the tangible mark of a dream years in the making. There was no way she'd let a hulking monster with a camera scare her away from her calling.

Still, as she stared through the glass at the lobby floor where she'd clawed desperately for freedom last night, her stomach tightened. It had seemed like a million miles across that floor at the time, but it was more like two feet in reality. It was amazing how fear could wreak havoc on perception.

“Doc?” Dutch's deep Southern drawl drew her out of the vision of angry eyes and a menacing figure.

The keys jingled like bells as she pulled them from her pocket. “It's nothing.” It took all of her strength to keep her hand from trembling as she unlocked the door. Once they were inside, half the battle was over. She'd done it. Crossed the threshold and not lost her senses doing it. Still, nothing could stop her from staring back through the window at the trees.

“Well, now.” Dutch glanced around the exposed lobby, pulling on his earlobe. “Looks like you don't—” He stopped, eyes focused on the floor, head tipped to one side.

“What's the matter?” Andrea followed his gaze and instantly landed on what had caught his attention.

“What is that?” Dutch knelt and studied the rust-colored smudges near the door. “Is that blood?” His head came up, jaw set. “Did somebody hurt you?” He stood and squared off as though prepared to protect her from giant robots.

“I'm fine.” She forced nonchalance into her voice. “If you want to know the truth, I drew that blood.”

Dutch took a step back. “What did you do? I'm not 'bout to be in here mopping up evidence, am I?”

Laughter bubbled up at the suspicion in his stance. “I didn't kill one of my patients, if that's what you're thinking. And the police have come and gone, so you can do whatever you'd like.”

“Well, if it's not your blood, then whose is it?” He didn't quite believe her.

“I wish I knew. A man came in here and tried to take one of my files.”
And me, if he could.
She dared not say that aloud. She might find herself with a homeless man as a permanent bodyguard. “I kicked him in the face and he left.”

“One of your patient files? Which one?”

“You know I can't tell you who my clients are.”

For a moment, it seemed he was going to ask again, then he changed course. “You kicked a man in the teeth? Was he a big guy?”

“Huge.”

“Always knew you had scrap in you, Doc.” Dutch chuckled and headed for the supply room, shaking his head. “You can take care of yourself, can't you?”

Yes, she could. But that was something she didn't want to have to prove again soon.

The door opened, scraping adrenaline against her raw nerves. That had to stop, or she'd fall to pieces.

A short, balding man stepped in, his purple uniform polo tucked into too-tight khaki pants. “Miss Andrea.” He extended a disposable cup of coffee to her.

She took the cup and smiled, the warmth of fresh-brewed coffee seeping into her fingers, up her arm and into her soul. Every morning, Mr. Miller stepped in right behind her with a cup of coffee and a dose of cheer. Just when she thought she was alone in this, God reminded her she had people looking out for her. “Mr. Miller. Always faithful with the coffee.”

“Always.” His grin nearly split his round face in two before it faded and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward his gas station next door. “My evening shift guy says he saw the police over here last night. You okay?”

“She kicked a man in the teeth,” Dutch called from the supply room.

Mr. Miller took a step back and nearly fell out the door as it opened again.

Josh slipped in behind the smaller man, nodding at her as he did.

This time, when her fingers tingled, it had nothing to do with fear. That needed to stop, too.

Glancing at Josh, Mr. Miller recovered his footing and stepped sideways from the man who was his physical opposite. Then he looked back at Andrea. “You kicked a man in the teeth?”

Josh chuckled, but that only made Mr. Miller glance back and forth between the two of them.

Dutch reappeared and started when he saw Josh. “Who are you?” The way he gripped the broom handle, it looked like he might just charge.

Andrea held up her hands, hoping to head off any misplaced protection. “Okay, everybody. I'm not used to three handsome men in my lobby at once.” Especially one in particular.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Josh winked at her.

Please, Lord, now is not the time to blush.
She cleared her throat, made introductions then took charge of her small band of defenders. “Mr. Miller, I'm okay. Someone tried to rob me, but it's fine now. The police are looking into it. Hopefully, it was an isolated incident.” Hopefully. But she doubted it. So did Josh, based on the set of his jaw.

Mr. Miller studied her as Dutch went back to sweeping in the corner. “Maybe I should aim a few of my security cameras your way. Make sure there's always eyes on the place.” He nodded. “I'll have all of my shifts keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I do.” He laid a hand on her arm, which made Josh straighten slightly. Like he should be jealous of someone old enough to be her father. “I want to. Having you next door is so much nicer than having that check-cashing place here gouging soldiers.” He patted her arm, aimed a slight smile at Josh, then stepped for the door. “I should go. It's payroll day.” He nodded at Dutch. “You coming to my place next?”

Dutch tossed a slight wave from where he leaned on his broom handle. “An hour or so?”

With an answering wave, Mr. Miller tripped on the threshold as he stepped out. “See you on Monday, Ms. Andrea.”

Josh arched an eyebrow.

Yes, Mr. Miller was awkward, but nobody treated her better. Except maybe Dutch. Her forehead wrinkled. She certainly had eclectic neighbors. “What brings you by so early?” she asked Josh. “Don't you have to work?”

“Command gave us a four-day weekend now because we were doing an extended training exercise over the Fourth of July holiday.”

“Convenient.” Andrea let herself meet his eyes and wished she hadn't. Something about him blurred the straight edges of her life until she wasn't quite sure if she was fifteen or thirty-two.

“Still don't know who you are.” Dutch's broom ceased its swishing as he drew closer.

Josh extended his hand. “Josh Walker.”

“Dutch.”

The men sized each other up as they shook, seemed to come to some agreement and parted.

Dutch drifted back to the closet and reappeared seconds later, sans broom. “Think I'll go see what Mr. Miller needs. You two look like you need to talk.” Without further explanation, he slipped out the door.

“What was that?” Andrea asked as she led Josh into her office and watched as he took in the room.

“What?”

“That. Between you and Dutch.”

“Guy conversation.”

“So you're friends now?”

“For life.” Josh grinned and leaned against her desk, his smile fading. “How long have you known him?”

Andrea sucked her upper lip between her teeth and studied the popcorn ceiling. Odd time to think of it, but she should have removed that before she moved in. “A couple of months. He does odd jobs for several businesses on Victory. For Mr. Miller, too.”

“And how long have you known Miller?”

“Since I moved in. Six months or so.” She tipped her coffee cup toward Josh. “Every day, like clockwork, he brings me coffee from his gas station next door. Why?” But even as she said it, she knew. “You suspect them?”

“I think everybody's up to something right now. Don't you?”

She hadn't thought about it. “No. And especially not them.” Rounding her desk, she dropped into her chair and waited for him to sit in one across from her. “Have you stopped to think you're the most likely suspect?” She unlocked the desk drawer and grabbed Wade's file, slipping it onto the desk like it was explosive. And who knew? It might be.

“I have.” He nodded toward the folder. “You left that here last night? Unguarded?”

“Safest place for it. The police were here and, for all anyone knew, they were watching.” She flipped open the folder and stared down at the first page. It was easier than looking at Josh.

“You took the pictures to the police?”

She nodded, flipping through the folder to find Wade's release of information form. Last night she'd realized that talking to the person he trusted the most—the one to whom he'd given permission to access his patient information—might yield a clue. It was a sheet she rarely glanced at, because it only supplied clerical details.

Her finger stilled when she located the form, then tapped the name penned there in Wade's precise handwriting. What exactly was going on here?

* * *

“What is it?”

Andrea's face paled and her eyebrows drew together so tightly they had to make her forehead ache.

Closing the file, she tapped the corner against her desk blotter. “You brought Wade here because he wanted help. But you also said Wade told you to come here if anything ever happened to him. Don't you find that odd?”

“Guys coming and going from deployment say a lot of things like that.”

She shook her head, then held the folder out to him.

It was a fight to keep his face neutral as he grasped the thick packet, careful not to get his fingers anywhere near hers. The last thing he needed was to touch her and set crazy thoughts to racing again.

The manila folder lay heavy in his hands, the name
Cameron, Wade
typed neatly on a tab above what he assumed was a reference number. “Why give this to me?”

“Open it.”

“I can't look at this, and you know it.” Heat flushed Josh's face. He wasn't a therapist or a lawyer, but everyone knew about confidentiality between a counselor and a patient. The idea that Andrea would breach that for any reason plummeted his respect for her about seven pegs, and with that drop came a sense of disappointment deeper than any he should feel. He stood and dropped the folder on her desk, ignoring her confusion. “You could have your license yanked for violating confidentiality.” Which presented a whole other dilemma for him. Did he tell someone? Or did he protect her?

“Sit down, Josh.” Her tone held authority and maybe even anger. “I should hope you'd know me better than that.” With a flick of her wrist, she flipped open the file, paged through, and jammed her finger onto a printed sheet. “Wade cleared you as the only other person who could put eyes on his file.”