Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (41 page)

Drawing in a slow breath, Amber tried to detach herself from the equation and objectively consider Patrick's hypothesis. As much as it probably made sense to him, it still didn't feel right to her. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Actually, the women I work with spend more time with social workers or staff at the women's shelter. Why target me?”

“Well, we have to start somewhere.”

Amber fought not to shrink under Patrick's speculative stare. “Yes. That's true, but—” she held up a hand “—I was home alone all weekend. If someone wanted to hurt me—”

“It's not that simple, Amber.” The grooves on either side of his mouth deepened into a frown. “This perpetrator may be lying low until the news dies down. And if he turns out to be someone from one of your clients' past, that client may very well be the next victim.”

Amber's stomach lurched at the thought. She hadn't considered that. “That would be terrible.”

Patrick leaned closer. So close that she caught a whiff of his cologne. Still so familiar and clean. She slid back in her seat. “Yes, it would,” he concurred. “I'd like to talk to any of your clients who feel particularly threatened by someone.”

Rubbing her nose, Amber sat up straighter, determined to not let him blow this incident out of proportion. “The majority of my clients feel threatened by someone. However, I have client confidentiality to consider. I can't just hand information over to you.”

As a cop, Patrick should understand that.

Patrick frowned at her. Guess he didn't. “I need your help on this, Amber. I'm sure you work with a lot of vulnerable women. If any of them feel in danger, they should welcome an investigation.”

Amber took a moment and considered his request, still not buying the idea, but also remembering how persistent Patrick could be. She didn't have time to argue his theory. “I guess it couldn't hurt to run the scenario by a couple of my clients. However, I don't want to start a chain of panic.”

Patrick's already grim expression darkened further. “Some lunatic just blew up your car. The chain of panic has already started.” He flipped the file closed and got to his feet. “Do you still have my card?”

“Yes,” Amber said, standing.

“Good. Keep it with you and call me if you come up with anything.”

Surely he didn't think she was being uncooperative. She simply didn't see the situation the way he did. There was no motive. No prior threats. It didn't make sense that someone was after her. Random crimes happened all the time. But apparently until Patrick exhausted his hunch, he wasn't going to consider anything else.

“All right.” She nodded and offered her hand. “Thank you.”

Patrick hesitated, then accepted her outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake that sent an unexpected tingle spiraling through her.

Reclaiming her hand, Amber crossed her arms tightly against her thumping chest.

“Even if you get a gut feeling, call me.” Patrick turned to leave and Amber nodded, discreetly wiping her clammy palm on her skirt. Next time she'd settle for a quick wave.

She drew in a shaky breath and watched as Patrick headed out the door. He moved with the same assertive gait and athletic agility of the young man she remembered. But now he was even more fit, stronger, a capable and skilled soldier and detective.

There was a part of her that was happy he was willing to stay on her case. He could have easily passed it off to another detective. But there was also a part of her that wished he had. If the car bombing turned out to something other than a random act, the investigation would be prolonged and Patrick would be around a lot.

Both scenarios sent her heart jumping to double time.

“You okay?”

Caught up in her musings, Amber hadn't heard anyone walk in the room. She spun around and found Tony framed by the doorway, his thick eyebrows furrowed. She wondered how long he'd been there. Not that it mattered. Tony knew her story—one of the few people who did. After years of holding on to the dreadful memories, she'd recently had the courage to tell someone. It was a healing move, something she encouraged her clients to do. Talk about the hurt and pain with someone they trusted. And she trusted no one more than Tony. He had been her preceptor for her internship during her last year of college. He was a little older, nonjudgmental and wise beyond his years. With his burly physique, he looked more like a defensive lineman than a counselor, but he was good at his job. She knew that from experience.

“I'm fine.” She smiled.

“You've had a rough couple of days. Remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk.”

She nodded. He was so compassionate.

“By the way, this Detective Wiley, is he the same Patrick Wiley you told me about?”

And perceptive.

“Yes.” She nodded.

Tony scratched his bearded chin and his left eyebrow arched. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

“I think it will be fine.” She smiled, projecting a confident composure she didn't quite feel and at the same time hoping for a speedy resolution to the car-bombing case.

Her heart couldn't take too much time with Patrick Wiley.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Patrick ducked into his office and dropped into his leather swivel chair behind his desk. Grabbing the phone, he punched in the crime-lab extension. Hope for finding clues for a possible motive had fizzled about two minutes into his conversation with Amber. He couldn't figure out if she was in denial about her safety or just wasn't opening up because he was on the case.

He guessed the latter.

Maybe there was an old boyfriend she didn't want to mention or...
No.
He derailed that train of thought. Surmising never got him anywhere.

He tapped a pen against the desk as he waited for the lab to answer.

“Busy?”

At the female voice, Patrick's gaze went to the doorway. He hung up the phone. “Liza. I was just calling you.”

Liza walked in the room, waving a large manila envelope. “I thought I'd drop this by and see if you were free for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Patrick checked his watch, his brain racing for a good excuse. “Actually I was going to grab something quick. I've got a ton of paperwork—”

“Then how about dinner tonight?”

He gave a quick shrug. “Racquetball with the captain.”

She arched a fine brow and handed him the envelope. “Coffee after?”

More than once he had explained that he wasn't interested in a pursuing a relationship. She didn't seem to get it. He took the envelope from her. “Hey, remember, I just want to be friends.”

Liza turned her head and tilted it, and one eyebrow rose even higher. “Is it a crime for friends to get together for coffee?”

She had a point. And although he wasn't crazy about the idea, he conceded, “I could meet you around seven for a quick cup.”

“Perfect.” She smiled. “How about Jake's Café?”

“That will work.”

“Now, take a look at what I dug up on your victim, Ms. Talbot.” Liza stood beside his desk and crossed her arms.

Patrick sat forward and peeled open the envelope, pulling out several pages. If nothing else, Liza was good at her job. A detailed outline stretched from Amber's college graduation to the present. Places she worked, volunteer jobs and organizations she'd interned with. Even coworkers and old roommates were mentioned. Patrick skimmed through the list. He couldn't help looking for a current or ex-boyfriend. None were listed.

“Amber Talbot has a pretty clean past,” Liza said, making him refocus.

“It appears so.” Patrick continued to peruse the outline.

“Currently, she's heading up a charity fund-raiser for the women's shelter.”

Patrick glanced up and gave a simple nod. “Yes. She's trying to raise awareness for violent crimes against women.”

“I see you've done your homework, as well.” Liza gave him a lazy smile. “The fund-raiser is in a couple weeks at the Port City Community Center in Savannah. A big crowd is expected. Amber is the keynote speaker.”

“Keynote speaker?” Patrick lifted his eyes again, this time meeting hers. “She didn't mention that.”

Liza shrugged. “She's one of several speakers. Maybe she didn't think it was big deal.”

Patrick shoved the pages back in the envelope and clasped it shut, his brain churning through the new information. Rocking back in his chair, he crimped his lower lip between his forefinger and thumb, wondering if and why someone wouldn't want Amber to speak at the fund-raiser.

“Do you think you're on to something?” Liza asked.

“Not sure.” He nodded slowly. “But I feel as though we're moving in the right direction.”

In fact, his gut was reeling and he had a niggling suspicion that someone was after Amber. And whoever that was would have him to contend with him first.

* * *

At Southern Heights Gym later that day, Patrick ran around the racquetball court, breathing hard, blood pumping. He thwacked the ball coming at him, sending it screaming against the high concrete court wall.

“Dude. You don't have to kill it.” Vance jerked backward, missing the shot.

When the ball arched toward him again, Patrick took another wild swing, slamming it one more time. “I'll try to ease up some,” he said between breaths.

“Yeah, sure.” Vance snorted, breathing heavily. He swung his racquet, sending the ball whizzing past Patrick and into the front wall. “Take that.” A triumphant grin spread over his flushed face.

Maintaining his grip, Patrick turned sideways and smashed the ball again, sending it echoing around the hollow space.

“Okay. Game!” Vance jumped out of the way once more.

“What? Already?” Patrick tried to catch his breath.

“Yeah. I'm going to be nice and let you win before you bring the walls down.”

“Well, thank you.” Patrick peeled off his goggles and stepped off the court. He grabbed a towel from a bin. “Not often do I get three games on you.”

“Don't get used to it.” With his towel Vance dabbed at the sweat running down his face. “Once this case is over, we'll get back on track. Until then, I'm just going to have to make excuses not to play with you.”

Taking a swig of water, Patrick almost choked on a laugh. “Maybe I'm just getting better.”

“Let's hope not,” Vance teased. “But seriously, Patrick, you seem pretty keyed up lately. My guess is, this car-bombing case is really getting to you. Or maybe it's seeing Amber again?”

Right on both counts. “No comment, Captain.”

Vance snorted, his face redder than usual with the exertion of an hour of hard play. “You just answered my question. But like we discussed before you accepted the position, I don't want you taking the job home with you.”

“Yeah, right.” Patrick laughed. “Seven years as a navy SEAL. Trained to be ready. On call 24/7. Even sleep was an option.”

Vance unzipped his bag and dropped his racquet in. “Patrick, I recruited you because I thought you'd be the best man for the job. I can't risk you getting burned out.”

“No worries. I actually relax while I'm in the problem-solving mode.”

Vance swung his towel around his neck. “Killing the racquetball and nearly your opponent doesn't exactly indicate relaxation.”

Patrick only smiled. Vance chuckled, shaking his head while he grabbed his water bottle. “Well, if that's the case, you should be pretty chilled out.”

Patrick couldn't recall the last time he'd chilled out. Maybe never.

“But seriously—” the humor in Vance's voice morphed into a professional tone “—not every detective is a good fit for every case. Sometimes it's prudent to back away, let someone else have it.” He paused, and Patrick fixed him with a challenging stare. “What I'm trying to say, Patrick, is that if you're not comfortable investigating Amber's case, I don't mind putting another detective on it.”

“I hope you're kidding.” Patrick threw his towel in a bin. “I can do my job. A lack of clues and trying to find a runaway car bomber is the stress I'm dealing with.” He picked up his racquetball bag, ready to change the subject. “I need a shower.”

“I'm not questioning your ability to do your job.” Vance grabbed his bag and matched Patrick's steps on the way to the locker room.

“Good.”

“I just remember that you and Amber didn't exactly part on the best terms.”

“That's water under the bridge.”

“Well, sometimes the water under the bridge is still turbulent.”

Patrick didn't respond to that as they entered the locker room.

A moment passed. On a sigh, Vance added, “Patrick, if you change your mind—”

“I won't.”

“You're as obstinate as ever.”

“Which is why you wanted me for this job.” Patrick clapped a hand on Vance's shoulder before walking toward the showers.

“True, but...”

Patrick cranked on a shower faucet and pulled the curtain, drowning the rest of Vance's speech. He appreciated his friend, even if he did hover a bit much at times. Nonetheless, Vance's lecture held one valid point: Patrick shouldn't take his job home with him. He needed to leave work at work and learn to relax. That was one thing he promised himself that he would do when he traded military life for civilian.

Patrick scrubbed shampoo into his hair, determined to do just that. Not let his job interfere with his personal life.

Even as he firmed up those plans in his head, a dozen questions roared to life about the car bombing case. About Amber.

Then again, learning to chill out may have to wait.

THREE

A
mber sat at a small iron table outside the Riverfront Bistro, and her best friend, Kim Livingston, sat across from her. Amber settled back in her chair, cradling her cup between her palms as a gentle, warm breeze rustled her hair. Street-side dining was a favorite of hers, especially on such a nice evening. A reprieve from the prolonged chilly temperatures.

If only she could shake the uneasy chill she'd been experiencing since the bombing incident and seeing Patrick again.

“You okay?”

Amber glanced up, eyeing Kim across the pastries on the table between them. “Yes. Fine.”

“You don't seem
fine.
” Kim set down her cup with a clink. “What's up? You're usually chatting like a magpie, but you've barely said two words since we sat down.”

“Sorry, I've just been enjoying my pastry and coffee.” Amber lifted her cup and took a sip. “Delicious. Hazelnut latte. My favorite.”

Kim's light brows arched over her wide, inquisitive stare. “I thought you ordered caramel?”

That might explain the richer flavor. Amber took another sip. Kim was right. “Yep, definitely caramel.”

Kim leaned in, brow creased. “This must be your way of dodging my question—talking about coffee flavors.”

Giving a slight shrug, Amber cracked a small smile. Kim had the uncanny ability to see right through her.

“If it's the car bombing that's got you down, don't worry. It was probably just some crazy prank by an overzealous troublemaker. In another week or two this whole thing will blow over.” Hope shone in her blue eyes and her smile went wide.

Always thinking on the bright side. That was what Amber loved about Kim. “A crazy troublemaker is definitely what I'm hoping for. But, actually, I've had a lot of other things on my mind, including the upcoming fund-raiser.”
And Patrick Wiley.
She spared Kim that tidbit.

She hated the way thoughts of Patrick stayed lodged in her mind. His sturdy physique, easy movements, the way his deep-set gaze swirled with questions. Which made her wonder—was the bombing incident the only thing on his mind, or were questions from eleven years ago rumbling around in his head?

Uneasiness settled heavier in her chest, followed by an immediate prick of conscience. She probably owed him some answers.

“I finally rounded up enough sponsors for the fund-raiser's silent auction.” Kim's optimistic tone jerked her back to the present.

Amber blinked. “That's wonderful. Thank you so much for taking that on.”

“Anything for my best friend. Besides, as an ER nurse I've seen too many abuse victims. Your efforts to bring awareness and support to those women are a blessing to me.” Kim forked a cream-cheese tartlet and popped it in her mouth.

Where had Kim been during Amber's emergency room visit eleven years ago? Cold and alone. Battered and bruised after being drugged and assaulted. No one believed her story—

Stop it!
Amber pushed away the dreadful memories. Buried them. She wasn't going there again.

She took another sip of coffee, trying to calm her now thumping heart.

“So what else needs to be done for the fund-raiser?”

Amber lowered her cup. “Not much...except maybe round up some volunteers to set up the reception hall and tear it down. So if you have any able-bodied friends who would like to help, let me know.”

Kim paused between bites. “I'm sure I can convince a few of my coworkers to help.”

“That would be wonderful. “ Amber added more cream and gave her coffee a stir. “I almost forgot. I have my speech to write, too.” Something she wasn't looking forward to. The topic was so close to her heart, yet it was a story she remained reluctant to share. What would be gained by her unearthing the painful memories? Her audience knew pain and guilt; what they needed was encouragement.

She picked up her cup and leaned back in the iron chair, eyeing the horse-drawn carriage trotting down the street carrying tourists on a tour of Savannah's historic district. “Isn't it nice to see spring tourists trickling in?”

At that, Kim chuckled. “As much as I'm happy to have the winter weather behind us, warmer days and tourists make for a busy ER and, if you haven't noticed, more traffic.”

Amber noticed, but didn't care. She enjoyed this time of year. She sipped her coffee, watching the beautiful shires
clip-clop
past them, and as the carriage moved out of sight what came into view made her heart stop.

Patrick and his
date
seated at an outside table across the street. Amber sucked in a mouthful of air to hold in a sigh and twisted in her chair, hoping he hadn't seen her.

Kim eyed her with raised eyebrows. “You look as though you just saw a ghost.”

Worse. She set her cup on the table. “It's just someone I don't want to talk to right now.”

Kim craned her neck to see around her.

“Don't look,” Amber snapped, and then softened. “Sorry, I'm a little on edge.”

“No kidding. So who is it that you don't want to see? The blonde or the gorgeous hunk she's with?”

Actually, Patrick with anyone was what she didn't want to see. Crazy. It had been years. Unfortunately, at the moment emotion overrode logic.

Amber picked up the laminated dessert menu on the table and used it as a fan. “The
hunk
is the detective who is investigating the car bombing.”

“He's a cute one. Too bad. It looks as though he's already taken.”

Amber fanned faster.

“Oh, dear.”

Amber slanted a glance at Kim. “
Oh, dear
, what?”

Kim's eyes grew wide. “Detective Hunk and his friend got up from their table and are heading this way.”

“Both of them?”

Kim nodded.

Amber's glance flickered to the two people across the street waiting for the light at the crosswalk. Patrick was dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt and stood next to a beautiful young blonde wearing slacks and a black sequined sweater. Everything about her exuded elegance and grace.

Amber had expected no less.

Still, her heart slipped.

She yanked her gaze away, hoping they were heading on a walk by the river and not coming her way. Yes, a nice evening stroll sounded like a fun couple's activity. She chastised herself for being paranoid. Of course that was what they were doing.

Concern fell away but memories swam to the surface. Of long walks along the riverfront, she and Patrick, hand in hand, talking and laughing as they glanced out across the water and admired the wave runners and colorful sailboats bobbing in the shifting seas while a light breeze rippled around them.

A simple pleasure that now Patrick probably enjoyed with someone else.

Casting an inward sigh, Amber picked up her cup and shot a forged smile at Kim, who was nibbling on a cookie and eyeing her warily.

“You sure you're okay?”

Amber nodded with more hope than conviction.

But within the next heartbeat she made a conscious decision to forget about Patrick Wiley and his personal life. No doubt a lot had changed in his life since she'd handed him back his ring.

People move on, so why shouldn't he?

Amber perked up in her seat and blew out a breath as common sense reasserted itself. Actually, she was happy for him, even if her own prospects of finding love again looked rather bleak.

“Amber.”

Her heart clenched when Patrick called her name.

Shifting in her seat, she looked up as he walked over to her, his friend at his side.

“I thought that was you.” He grinned widely.

Too bad he was right. “Hi, Patrick.” Amber pasted on a smile and then gestured across the table. “This is a friend of mine, Kim Livingston. Kim, Patrick Wiley.”

“Nice to meet you.” Patrick's gaze shifted from Kim to the woman next to him. “This is Liza Jenson. She's a police criminologist who will be helping on the case. I thought you'd like to meet her.”

Even up close, Liza was lovely. Great smile, even teeth. She and Patrick made a nice couple. Amber's heart slipped further, yet she sat up straighter and held her smile, pretending that seeing him with Liza—or any woman—didn't rattle her in the least. “Nice to meet you, Liza.”

Liza nodded. “Patrick and I were just talking about you.”

Her smile fled. “Oh?”

“Actually we were discussing your case and trying to decide what direction to pursue next,” Patrick said, curbing any speculation that his conversation with Liza involved anything about their past relationship.

The breeze intensified, blowing strands of hair against Amber's cheeks. Reaching up, she tucked them behind her ear and attempted to remain calm and put on a good face. But one look at Patrick's strong, chiseled features and her stomach did an irrational juvenile tumble. “Well, I appreciate both of your efforts to solve the case.” She glanced at her watch. This little tête-à-tête was going nowhere. “Look at the time. I should get going.”

“You haven't even finished your dessert.” Kim shot her a questioning glance.

“Sorry. I still have things to do tonight and I'm not very hungry.” At least not anymore. Amber abandoned her coffee on the table, and as she launched to her feet, her knee banged into the table leg, sending her cup crashing onto the brick pavers. Curious glances shot her way.

Amber sucked in a gasp and stumbled forward as searing pain shot through her knee and it buckled. Her ability to stand was further compromised as she tripped over her messenger bag that had slid from her shoulder.

“Amber!” Patrick called out as his strong arms wrapped around her, catching her before she hit the ground.

Patrick's solid arms kept her steady but sent her heart into palpitations. She stiffened against him, working to catch her breath as the familiar scent of his aftershave wrapped around her senses. Calm never seemed possible again.

“Are you okay?” Patrick slanted her a wary look, probably wondering why she was gasping for air like a beached trout.

She gazed into his dark eyes and nodded, her cheeks hot. “Yes, just clumsy.”

Kim jumped up, grabbed a chair and scooted it forward. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, that's okay.” Amber waved off any help as her sense of equilibrium returned. She pulled out of Patrick's hold and willed her heart to slow.

She took a step; glass crunched. She glanced down and noticed the broken china at her feet. “Oh, dear, I better clean that up.” She reached for some napkins, but Patrick grabbed a handful first.

“I can get it.”

Amber's pulse kicked higher as she watched Patrick, who was down on one knee, pick up shattered glass and wipe up the puddle of coffee. “Thank you for doing that.”

“No problem.” He easily grinned.

Her chest went tight at his sense of chivalry. So attentive and helpful. When was the last time she'd met a guy like Patrick Wiley?

Never.

Suppressing a sigh, she picked up her large tote, clutched it to her side and pulled her focus back on her plans to get going.

As Patrick got to his feet, he sent her a nod. “How's your knee?”

“Better.” She smiled and said, “Thank you again for taking care of the mess.”

Before he could comment, she whirled around. “Good night, everyone.” She left with a little parting wave, sending Kim a reassuring smile. “We'll talk soon.”

Amber hiked the strap of her bag on her shoulder and headed down the sidewalk in the direction of her car, wincing at the sharp pain in her knee and doing her best to avoid limping while hoping her sutures stayed intact.

As she made a turn onto Mulberry Street, she heard someone behind her. She hated feeling paranoid, but the sound of heavy boots clapping against the pavement made her pulse race. She quickened her gait, her eyes pointed forward.

The boot steps accelerated, moving closer, then came up directly behind her. She was suddenly struck with an eleven-year-old memory. Her pursuer's thudding footsteps the night she was attacked. So quickly he came at her and once he grabbed her—

A hand caught her arm and panic exploded in her chest. As a silent scream ballooned in her throat, she wheeled around, adrenaline surging...and saw Patrick. Catching her breath and willing her heart to slow, she felt equal parts disappointment and relief.

“Amber, what happened back there?”

“Back at the café?” She pulled away and started walking again, trying to regulate her breathing. “Do you mean why I left?”

Patrick kept pace with her. “You didn't just leave. You took off like a scared jackrabbit.”

So she had been that obvious? Amber didn't slow down, but cast a sidelong glance his way. “I didn't mean to be rude. I just have a lot on my mind.”
Patrick Wiley included.

“I understand that you don't like to dwell on what happened, but the truth is, a bomb blew up your car and we need to figure out who did it.”

Even on his night off, didn't this man rest? “I understand your need to investigate the crime, Patrick. I just didn't expect to see you when you're off duty.”

Patrick continued walking beside her. “Well, I thought you'd like to meet Liza, since she's working on the case with me.”

“I don't want to seem unappreciative. I'm just holding out hope that this whole ordeal will blow over soon.”

“That's all of our wishes. But in the meantime, we need to work together.”

Obviously an easy feat for him, but for her... Well, not so easy.

Amber stopped at the street corner, waiting for the light to change green. Eyes forward, heart thumping, flustered that Patrick stood so close.

She could feel the intensity of his gaze and the tension sizzling like electricity between them.

“I feel as if we're missing something,” Patrick said after a moment. “Some vital component to this crime that's right under our noses. Is there anything you need to tell me?”