Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #2 (45 page)

Then he noticed the faint glow coming from his workshop and realized the garage door was open a couple of feet. He bent down. “Hey, Olivia? You in there?”

“Yeah. Just checking something.”

“What?” He yanked the rolling door up to shoulder level and ducked in.

“Just wanted to make sure no one had done anything to your truck, considering Brian's killers apparently planted some kind of explosives on his car.” Her feet stuck out from underneath his tailgate. “But from what I can see, no one's tampered with it.” She slid out from under his truck and sat up. “How's Sarah?”

“Defiant.”
Same as always.
“She says she doesn't know for sure if Jesse wanted to make a move on her or just talk to her about the company, because all he'd really said was that they should go walk outside and join the party. She told him I was making her stay inside. He grabbed her shoulders, as though he was going to lead her outside or something. That's when you came in. At least, that's her story right now.”

“He's a fake,” she said. “I didn't buy his phony apology for a second.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Jesse can be pretty charming, but he's always struck me as entitled and a bit too high on himself. Leslie Construction has a pretty rough culture, and Sarah feels as if she has to show everyone she's every bit as tough as Mona. When I became her guardian, she was already smoking, drinking and experimenting with drugs even though she was only fourteen. I did the best I could to keep her from that. But my days of being able to protect her are almost over.”

Olivia stood up slowly. “Well, for what it's worth, a girl named Kendra told me the original party invite came from Brian's email address. She figured someone had used his machine for fun, so she passed it on.” She ran her hands down her dirty jeans. “What I can't believe is how you got them all to leave. The way you took down Hawk was pretty amazing. I thought you said you weren't a fighter.”

“I'm not. You can't control the situation if you can't control yourself.” He turned back toward the night, braced his hands on the top of the doorway and looked out. He could practically feel the questions in her eyes boring into his back. “Growing up, I was always taller than all the other kids. Quieter, too. Spent hours alone just building things. Once when I was about twelve, this other kid started picking on me. He was older than me, I think, but smaller. He was pummeling me. Must have hit me eight or nine times.” He closed his eyes. “I hit him once. Just once. But it was enough to break his arm in two places.”

He heard her cross the room behind him. Her voice was soft. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” He shrugged but didn't turn. “I started martial arts after that and learned how to protect myself and other people without seriously hurting anyone.”

Still, he'd gone and married a woman with no self-control. What a mistake that had been.

He turned back. “Anyway, it's pretty late and apparently there's still heavy rain in the forecast. I was thinking we'd sleep here and drive back to the city first thing tomorrow. I'll take the loft out here. You can have my couch in the study. I know it's not much, but Sarah's already taken the bedroom.”

She ran her hand through her wet, sweat-soaked hair. Her clothes were dirty and there was a streak of grease down the side of her face. But somehow she was still so beautiful it took his breath away. By running her hands self-consciously through her hair she only managed to spread the grease farther down her neck. “Actually, I lived out of a suitcase in a whole string of lousy little rented apartments most of my life. By comparison, this place, your home, is really rather wonderful.”

She took a step toward him and he felt his chest tighten as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room. How had everything gotten so complicated? Ever since he'd first laid eyes on her in the parking garage it had felt as though they'd both been hurtling from one crisis to another. He'd carried this woman in his arms. He'd cradled her into his chest. But they'd still never shared as much as a cup of coffee together. Yet there was something about being, simply being, in the same airspace as Olivia that made him think that maybe he'd enjoy getting to know her better.

“Everything okay? Daniel? You're staring.”

“Sorry. You've just got some grease on you. I've got something for that.” He turned away, walked over to his workbench. “You never told me about your call with the police.”

“Yeah, Constable Henry of the RCMP.” She laughed. “He was very chipper. But his questions were really thorough. Almost felt as if he was investigating me.”

Daniel ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I know the feeling. Every cop I've talked to since Brian's initial arrest made me feel as if I was being suspected of something. I can't shake the feeling there's something bigger going on than mere tax evasion. Which is honestly probably another one of the reasons why I thought to call you. I learned overseas that when chaos was breaking out and the authorities were stonewalling, sometimes an honest media source was the best friend you could have.”

She leaned back against his truck. A single light bulb suspended from the ceiling cast long shadows down her body, spreading out beneath her feet. “The cops are going to come into the office on Monday to talk to me further, so Vince can sit in. Before you ask, Ricky can meet up with me first thing tomorrow morning to duplicate whatever pictures are on the memory card.”

Which I hope means you'll turn the pictures over to the police tomorrow, too. But we can save that argument for later.

He yanked open a drawer and pulled a disposable cleaning cloth from a packet. Then he switched on his workbench lamp. “Come here. There's more light.”

She walked over to him and stretched out her hand. He took it and ran his cloth down a long grease smudge on the edge of her wrist until her skin was clean. Then he cupped her face and ran a fresh wipe down her cheek, but the grease stubbornly refused to yield. He pressed harder and leaned in closer, feeling the muscles in her neck tense from the urge to turn her head toward him. His fingertips brushed under her hair. Her eyes closed.

And for the first time in a very long time, he wondered what it would be like to take someone's face in his hands and pull her close, until he felt the warmth of her lips against his. To let himself kiss her, passionately, recklessly, in a way he hadn't kissed anyone since he was a teenager.

He leaped back, wrenching himself free from the feeling like a swimmer escaping the current as it was just about to carry him under.

She opened her eyes. “Did you manage to get it all?”

“Yeah. I did. But you'll want to wash with soap and water before you fall asleep. The cleanser on the wipes is a bit strong.” His heart was pounding so hard he was surprised she couldn't hear it.

Lord, help me keep control of my heart.

He dropped the wipe into the garbage.
“I'm sorry,” he added, “but I think I should probably pop in your office on Monday, too, and have a word with your editor. I'm going to tell him Sarah's decided she doesn't want you covering this story and ask if he can recommend a different reporter, at a different media outlet, we should talk to.”

NINE

D
aniel's words fell like cement blocks inside the darkened garage.

For a moment, Olivia couldn't believe her ears. “You're going to walk into my boss's office on Monday morning and tell him you want a different media outlet covering this story?”

“It's nothing personal.” He didn't even meet her eye. “I think you're a wonderful person and a good reporter. But Sarah's been swamped with media requests. Everyone wants a piece of the teenage heiress from the tragic, disgraced family. They'll exploit her unless she finds the right person to handle her story. I want her to talk to someone who understands where I was coming from, someone on my wavelength.”

But I thought I was on your wavelength
.

Daniel walked over to the loft and braced his hands on the low loft ceiling. “It's clear Sarah doesn't like you, for whatever reason. Maybe that's my fault. I never brought a woman to the house before, and she seems to think my reasons for calling you are suspect. While I really respect what your newspaper stands for, Sarah's acting like a kid who wanted ice cream and got offered prunes. But from everything I've seen of the newspaper and read about your boss, Vince seems like a good man. He'll be up to speed on all this, thanks to you. Maybe he can help. She'll probably balk less if the suggestion doesn't come from you. Also, I think it's best I leave Sarah out of the request and tell him it's coming from me.”

Best?
She turned toward the still-open garage door feeling tears of frustration building in the corners of her eyes. He didn't get it. Having a source from an article you're working on walk into your editor's office and say he'd rather trust the story to someone else was pretty much the worst thing someone could do to a reporter. If a journalist couldn't gain a source's trust, they had nothing.

If Daniel told Vince that despite the fact she'd scored exclusive interviews with the Leslie Crew, spent time with him and Sarah and even salvaged photos from the night Brian died, they disliked her so much they wanted the story to go to another newspaper altogether...

Then Vince really would drop her.

And Daniel would be the one who'd hammered the final nail in the coffin
.

She blinked hard to keep the tears from falling.
But Daniel doesn't know that Vince is trimming staff. He doesn't even know that saying something like that to Vince could cost me my job.

She ran both hands hard through her hair and twisted it back at the nape of her neck. She wouldn't tell him. Not now. It would be unprofessional. He was a source, not a friend—no matter how close she might have felt to him sometimes. It wasn't Daniel's job to save her career. Besides, then she'd have to tell him that she'd chased this story entirely on her own, without Vince's blessing or support, and lose whatever remaining respect he had for her.

“Vince is a really good man and he knows a lot of good people in the news industry. I'm sure he can point you in the right direction.” She tried to make herself smile, but the best she could manage was not frowning. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“At least let me walk you back to the house.”

“It's forty feet away. I'm sure I'll be fine.” She stepped out into the muggy darkness, then paused. “Thank you for everything you've done to try to keep me safe. I really am thankful. I did catch the Morse code warning you tapped on my arm when I was interviewing Hawk.” She'd just made the call not to heed it. “Good night, Daniel.”

“Sleep well, and don't forget to lock the door behind you.”

“I won't.” Gravel crunched under her steps. Pale light from the open garage door spread out at her feet. The kitchen was empty. She waved in Daniel's direction, then closed and bolted the door behind her.

She sighed and pulled the notepad out of her back pocket and dropped it on the smooth, polished surface of the reclaimed wood table. Then she fished out the photo memory card and dropped it next to the notepad. She sat down and only then realized that each chair around the table was handcrafted and unique. Her gaze ran to the cabinets. Daniel really was quite the craftsman. Even barely finished, with a foundation pit for a living room and two uninhabitable floors above her, his home really was beautiful.

His home. His life. That she'd accidentally stumbled into without ever having been invited. From his bravery in the face of the jeering thugs in the driveway to his concern for his ward, Sarah, in a few short hours, she'd gotten an up-close, personal, even intimate look into the measure of the man who seemed to have worked so hard at keeping everyone out.

She'd felt so close to him that her eyes had closed and her heart had fluttered when he'd brushed his hand slowly along her cheek back in the garage. But the closeness they shared was an illusion. When he'd scooped her up and run for his truck, it had been because he was a brave and good man. Not because he'd wanted her in his arms. When he'd driven her here, it was because he was doing what it took to get her out of harm's way, not because he was welcoming her into his home. When he'd invited her to spend the night at the house, it was because it was the simplest option logistically, not because he wanted to see her face at this table over morning coffee.

She was still just a suitcase girl who'd landed in another temporary place she didn't actually belong.

“I can give you what you want, you know.” A voice came from behind her. “But you have to do something for me.”

Olivia spun around. Sarah was standing in the bedroom doorway.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know you were there.”

The young woman crossed the floor and stopped on the other side of the table. She looked at Olivia a long moment. Not smiling, not frowning, just looking.

“Look, no hard feelings, all right?” Sarah said. “I know you're a decent writer. I read your stuff when Daniel gave it to me, and it's not bad. You had my back when Jesse wouldn't take a hint. You're all right and I'm sorry if I seemed a bit harsh on you back there.” Sarah's hands gripped the back of a chair. “You just don't know what it's like to turn on the television and see your face on every channel, with some terrible old picture the media took off the internet, or see stupid, totally wrong articles about you in all the papers with some line tacked on the end about how you ‘refused to comment.' I just want to take control of my own life back. Set the record straight.”

“I get it.” Olivia remembered all too well what it had felt like to have her own life totally out of her control. A flush of sympathy filled her heart. “I know what it's like when other people are making huge decisions for you. I don't blame you for trying to control what you can.”

“Thanks.” Sarah ran her fingers through her hair. “As weird as this sounds, I'm actually kind of protective of Daniel. He was really there for me when I needed someone. My mom, Mona, she totally did a number on him. She was the one and only love of his life. He's never gotten over her. To be honest, I don't like how you look at him. It's as if you want something from him.”

Olivia felt a flush rising to her cheeks. She slid the photo memory card and notebook back into her pocket to keep her hands from fidgeting. Had her attraction to him really been that obvious?

“Anyway.” Sarah's arms crossed over her chest. “I've been thinking about it and I've changed my mind. I'll do an interview with you. A full, exclusive thing, and you can run it in the paper right away. Sure, your paper's small, but it'll get picked up online by other sources, right? At least I know you'll be honest about it and not twist my words around. Plus it will get Daniel off my back and make my life easier. But like I said, you'll have to promise to do something for me.”

“Sure. Absolutely. I mean, I'll have to clear it with my editor, Vince, but he's pretty understanding—”

“Not him. You.” Her blue eyes fixed on Olivia's face for a long moment. “You have to promise me that after you interview me you will never speak to Daniel ever again.”

* * *

It was three o'clock in the morning and Olivia couldn't sleep. She rolled over. The sofa creaked beneath her.

Why does it feel that if I agree to Sarah's terms, I'll be making the biggest mistake of my life?

It wasn't as if she and Daniel were friends or had any kind of personal relationship. He'd never given her any indication he planned to keep in touch with her. In fact, he seemed eager to get her out of his life. He wasn't hers to lose.

Yet instead of immediately agreeing to Sarah's terms, she'd just told her she needed to sleep on it. This interview could save Olivia's job and change her life. It would prove she belonged in the
Torchlight
family. It might even give her the stability she needed to stop living in a little apartment and finally buy a place of her own.

What else could possibly matter?

A wool blanket lay over the back of the couch. She pulled it down and draped it over her shoulders. It smelled like Daniel. Every time she tried closing her eyes, his face was there. Dark, soulful eyes, like hot chocolate, mocha and comfort. Gentle lips, curved into a smile. The scruff of his cheek brushing hers.

She got up and got dressed, feeling the memory card and notebook sitting heavy in her jeans' pocket. She left the light off, in case it seeped into Sarah's room, and felt her way along the planks to the front door as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Then she undid the locks and stepped out onto the front porch. Heavy rain smacked the ground like bullets. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was here and growing worse. She found a corner of the porch where the roof above wasn't leaking and sat down.

Dear God, I know I've said so many times before that I'm done praying to You. But I don't even know what I'm feeling right now and I've got no one else to turn to. Vince always says the only good reason for being awake in the middle of the night is to say those things to You that we're afraid to say in the light of the day. But, basically, I don't know what I believe anymore. About You. About me. About my job. Why I can't ever find a place where I feel like I belong...

She heard the vehicle before she saw it.

A dark van was slowly rolling down the gravel driveway without its headlights on. She pressed her back against the wall. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins. In the glow of the running lights, she could see what looked like three figures inside.

The vehicle rolled slowly down the driveway, inching its way up toward her, until it disappeared behind a tree halfway up the driveway. The engine cut. The dim glow of the truck's running lights disappeared. A door slammed. But she couldn't see anyone in the darkness.

She glanced back toward the dark house behind her. Surely Daniel in the garage was too far away to have heard any of that. The vehicle had sneaked up so slowly and quietly that Sarah might have slept through it, too.

She had to warn them.

Olivia slid to her feet and pushed the living room door back open. The hinges creaked loudly. A man's voice shouted from behind her. Her head turned just enough to see a large masked figure running toward her. Faceless and huge. “Hey! You! Stop!”

As though that was going to happen. She slipped into the darkened living room. Her feet scrambled across the maze of boards, feeling her way ahead with each step. First board. Second board. Her steps zigzagged back and forth across the room.

Heavy feet pounded onto the porch.

Then came the voice—loud, angry and not one she could remember ever hearing before. “I said stop! I'm not supposed to shoot you. But I will if you make me.”

Panicked tears flooded her eyes. A still voice inside her mind reminded her that he'd likely kill her even if she cooperated. She forced her feet forward. Just a few more steps and she'd reach where one plank ended and the last board began.

Something metallic clinked in the darkness behind her.

She jumped.

A bullet whizzed through the air. It ricocheted off the wall. Her feet landed in the dark pit beneath the boards. She pitched forward onto her hands and knees into the soft, freshly dug earth. The notepad and memory card fell out of her pocket. She bit her lip and started feeling around for them in the darkness.

The voice above her swore. “I said, don't make me shoot you!”

Her fingers brushed the notepad. She held it in her mouth for a moment and kept searching. She had to find the memory card. If these were the same thugs who killed Brian, the photos on it might be the only clues to who they really were. She felt something crack under her knees. She'd knelt on it but hopefully not destroyed it. She shoved it as far down into her front jeans' pocket as she could and stuffed the notebook in on top of it.

Now to make it out alive.

The doorway loomed above her, a pale gray shape lit by dim light filtering from above the kitchen stove. The planks above her shook. The thug swore.

She crawled forward. There was another click. A flashlight beam struck the wall beside her. She pressed herself into the shadow between the wall and the floor. The light moved back and forth through the room, bouncing off the stone walls, and she could finally get a good look at him.

He was built like a brick wall, in black fatigues and a faceless oval mask, just like the figment from her nightmares and the figure she'd sketched in her notebook. If these men really were the Faceless Crew, then he was definitely the so-called Brute and the one who thought of himself as a weapons expert and assassin.

“You know you can't escape. You're only making things worse for yourself.”

A second blast shook the air above her, followed quickly by a third. It was as if he'd lost patience for searching and started firing randomly in an attempt to scare her out. His feet pounded quickly down the boards. His shouts echoed around the room. “Get out here! Now!”