Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (42 page)

Guilt swamped her. She felt blood rush to her cheeks, probably turning them the color of the red glowing traffic light. She had a million things to tell him. But not here. Not now. And not about the bombing incident. She sent him a glance and fought not to squirm under his speculative gaze.

“Patrick, honestly, the whole bombing thing baffles me as much as it does you. If that changes, I promise to call.”

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded, his brow furrowed. “Okay. Let me walk you to your car.”

“No need. I'm just in the parking garage across the street.” The light changed. “Have a good night.” With a wave, she broke into a jog, refusing to look back.

A half hour later, Amber pulled into her driveway as the night sky twinkled to life. Five steps took her to her covered front porch. As she plunged the key into the lock, her mind was already plotting her evening. Number one on her list: narrow down the fund-raiser's agenda and finish working on the speech she'd started.

She blew out a breath. Good thing she'd left the café when she did.

Once inside, she flipped on the hall lights and locked the dead bolt.

Creak.

The sound split the silence, sending an icy tendril of fear skipping up her spine. Amber froze. Fisting her ring of keys, she held her breath, cocked her head to listen, hoping it was nothing. Ten...twenty seconds, then a floorboard creaked again.

A footstep!

Nerves sputtering, Amber whirled around as her brain maniacally chanted,
Get out of here!

The lights flickered a split second before the power went out, thrusting her in total darkness.

The rush of blood pounding in her ears merged with the thud of approaching footsteps. Frantically, she grabbed for the dead bolt. As she untwisted the lock, a steely, gloved hand grabbed on to her wrist.

“You're not going anywhere!” the man barked as he whipped her around and jerked her hard against his muscular chest.

The bloodcurdling scream scuttling up her windpipe quickly abated when a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

“Amber, it has been a long time,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, distorted. He tightened his hold on her.

She desperately clawed at her memory, trying to recognize the gruff voice. Nothing registered.

“Yes, long enough, dear, for you to forget. And if you had been smart, you would have.”

Forget what?
Her attempt to make sense of the man's words was interrupted by his husky growl in her ear. “Eleven years of silence. Now you're an advocate for assault victims. Do you really think you can make atonement for past regrets?”

Panic seized Amber as clarity seeped into her brain. Her assailant was back. He knew she was speaking at the Silence No More fund-raiser and feared her story would go public. Immediately, she began to fight—she kicked out her legs, and her body bucked against his. She screamed into his hand, but it was cut off, coming out as a squeak.

Muscled arms tightened around her, crushing her lungs, stopping air flow. “Remember, Amber, some secrets are best taken to the grave.” His garbled whisper was hot and fast on her neck.

As her lungs struggled for a breath, she clawed at the man's hand hard enough that he slackened his grip from her mouth. She then spluttered, “I don't even know who you are.”

His harsh laugh jarred her eardrums.

He didn't believe her. A jolt of disbelief morphed into terror, catapulting her back to a dark and cold frat house bedroom. This man was here to kill her.

Fear suddenly dissolved into rage. No way was she going to let him take her life.

From deep inside her, survival instincts kicked into gear. Biting her lip, she kicked the heel of her shoe into his shin, then jerked back her head so it connected with his jaw.

“You little—” His wail pierced the air.

With dreadful memories spurring her on, Amber broke away. She spun around, lifted the pepper spray on her key chain and sprayed the man in the face.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall with a thud.

Gasping and dizzy, Amber burst out the front door and into the street.

* * *

Patrick climbed into his SUV, and before he even started the vehicle a shrill ping on his cell phone announced the arrival of a new text message. He grabbed his handset from the clip on his belt and read the text from Liza.

Enjoyed tonight. Let's do it again soon.

“Let's not.” Patrick shook his head. It was impossible to just be friends with the woman. He clicked off the phone and tossed it on the seat beside him.

Another ping.

Really.
Ignoring the pesky tone, Patrick plunged the key into the ignition and fired up the powerful V8.

A third ping.

“Relentless woman.” Debating whether to silence it, he grabbed the cell phone and glanced at the message. It wasn't from Liza. It was Amber.

The police are swarming my house. Someone had broken in and was waiting for me when I got home. Apparently the bomb was meant for me after all.

Frustration exploded in Patrick's chest. Yanking the gearshift into Reverse, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Amber's house. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of.

He scrolled through the contacts on his phone, punched on Amber's name.

“Come on. Come on.” Patrick turned down a side street, taking a shortcut, waiting for her to answer.

Finally, “Hello.”

“Amber?”

“No, this is Kim, a friend—”

“Kim, this is Patrick Wiley. I met you this evening.”

“The detective?”

“Yes. Where's Amber?”

“She's talking to some of the officers here. Don't worry, she's okay.”

Thank You, God.
“I'll be right there.”

Someone cut in front of him and he leaned on the horn, the thrum of blood pounding in his ears. Ten minutes later he slammed on his brakes and nosed his SUV in between two patrol cars outside Amber's bungalow.

As soon as his boots hit the pavement, he saw her. Surrounded by a handful of patrol officers, she stood there with her arms locked around her waist, her face expressionless beneath the glow of police flashlights.

Patrick approached the small group. His jaw tightened along with his fist when he thought about someone trying to harm her. Even after eleven years, he felt a need to protect her.

“What do you know, Gil?” Patrick directed his question at one of the officers.

“It seems somebody broke into Miss Talbot's house. Got in through the laundry room window. He was waiting for her when she got home.” He nodded toward Amber. “Fortunately, she got away without being hurt.”

Patrick's gaze bounced to Amber. “Did you get a look at him?”

Amber shook her head. “No, the lights were off and it was too dark.”

“So her attacker got away?” Patrick asked the officer.

Gil removed his hat, scratched at his sparse hairline. “Yes, sir. Once Miss Talbot got away from him, the crook didn't hang around. But we've got the forensics team working on fingerprints.”

“Good.” Although Patrick wouldn't hold his breath. Criminals today were savvy. Too many seasons of
CSI
. Whoever was after Amber meant business and wouldn't be careless.

“And Roberts and his team have their dogs out scouring the area,” Gil added.

Patrick nodded. “Have you gotten a complete statement from Miss Talbot?”

“Yes, sir, we did.”

“Then I'll take it from here. Thanks for your work, guys.”

The group started to disperse, leaving Amber standing beside him.

“How are you doing?” He draped his arm around her shoulder, breaking his own rule on getting personal with victims. But he had to admit, for the second time in one day, it felt good having Amber in his hold.

Amber shuddered slightly beneath his touch, but didn't pull away. “I've had better evenings.”

He was experiencing the same feeling. “Do you have a new revelation on why someone would want to hurt you?”

After an endless moment, Amber took a deep, quavering breath and nodded weakly. “Yes.”

Patrick raised a brow. Now they were getting somewhere.

FOUR

A
corner booth at the Riverside Café was the most private place Amber could think of to talk to Patrick. She no longer felt safe in her home and didn't feel comfortable going to the police department—Patrick's stomping ground. The private matter she had to discuss with him was better said in a neutral environment, over a cup of coffee.

That was if there even was a good place.

Thankfully, Patrick agreed to hold any questions until after they arrived.

Amber dropped her bag on the booth seat and scooted in beside it. Patrick settled into the seat across the table from her, and his gaze, full of questions, met hers. He was waiting for her to tie up the loose ends of the case. She inhaled slowly to calm her nerves.

Patrick propped both elbows on the table, clasped his hands. “So you think you know who your attacker is?”

“Yes and no.” She adjusted herself in her seat, the vinyl squeaking beneath her, as she gave a slight shrug.

He raised his eyebrows. “You've lost me already.”

Not a surprise. The breath she'd just sucked in sputtered out in a rush, snarling her nerves again. She was grateful that the waitress arrived to take their orders.

“You guys know what you want?”

“Amber.” Patrick gestured to her.

Forgoing her usual favorite, a decaf latte, she ordered a nice, strong cup of black brew. Somehow she felt as though she'd need it.

“I'll take the same.” Patrick nodded at the waitress, then turned his gaze back on Amber. “Why don't you start at the beginning.”

A wave of emotion burned in Amber's eyes.
The beginning
. He made it sound so simple. She took a slow breath, feeling the heat of his gaze on her, but finding it difficult to meet the dark cop stare. Persistent. Unwavering. No doubt, he was successful in the art of interrogation for suspects and criminals alike. He'd always had a knack for being perceptive. It was impossible to keep things from him.

That was why she couldn't have stuck around after being attacked at the frat party. And here she was eleven years later having to explain that to him.

She placed a finger to her temple and rubbed where a dull pain started to thump.

“Amber.” By the coaxing in his voice it was evident he was waiting for answers. Answers he deserved. Not because he was the detective on her case, but because he was the man she used to love.

Amber met his gaze, trying to stay calm and downplay the agony roiling inside her. “The man who attacked me tonight mentioned something that sent me back eleven years.”

“Eleven years?” Patrick's jaw visibly tightened, telling her she'd hit a nerve. “And what would that be?”

Amber breathed deep again, before she went on, “He said some secrets are best taken to the grave.”

“Secrets?” Patrick leaned in, an edge of curiosity in his tone. “What kind of secrets?”

“A very difficult secret...” Her voice dropped several octaves as a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it back.

A little pool of silence engulfed the booth. She was trying to keep it together and best phrase her thoughts without stirring up more emotion between her and Patrick. But as she looked back into her past, neither the horror of her attack nor the shame she'd suffered since seemed good enough reason for her decision to keep what had happened that night from him. Not even her concern over how he would react when he heard the story.

She looked up and Patrick's gaze linked with hers, causing her to sit up straighter and stiffen her spine. It was time to get this over with. She opened her mouth, then closed it as the waitress plunked their coffee down on the table.

“Cream or sugar?”

“No,” they both said in unison.

“Thank you, though,” Amber added.

“No problem.” The waitress spun away, and Amber picked up her coffee, reaching for courage that still eluded her.

“Please continue.” Patrick's coffee sat untouched, steam rising from the cup. He sat back in the booth and folded his arms.

A searing sensation washed over her eyes. She blinked, keeping the tears at bay, wishing she could do the same with the darkened memories. But there was no going back. “Patrick, before I get into this, I want you to know that you were the last person I ever wanted to hurt.”

The perplexed look was back.

Guilt ate at her. This was Patrick's investigation. And here she was, about to put a personal spin on the case.

Patrick's brows knit as he narrowed his gaze. “I'm not sure what's going on or how it ties into your case, but I'm getting vibes that what you're trying to tell me is that you broke our engagement for another guy.”

His assumption hit her like a blow to the stomach. “No,” she said automatically, meeting his accusatory stare. “I can't believe you'd even consider that.” Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Well, I can't lie and say that scenario hadn't crossed my mind in the past,” Patrick said, his mouth compressing to a tight, razor-thin line.

Swallowing the sour taste in her throat, Amber willed herself not to cry. Patrick was frustrated and angry. And he had every right to be.

This confession was even more difficult than she envisioned.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she picked up her coffee and took a sip.

* * *

Patrick felt his patience waning. If Amber hadn't left him for another guy, what else would she be hiding that could be worse than that? He searched her anguished expression for answers to years of pent-up questions.

He came up with nothing. Except... A horrifying thought took hold as his detective instincts kicked in, replacing any speculation and doubt. Suddenly, the pieces started to meld together. Their abrupt breakup. The way she'd walked out of his life with barely a civil goodbye.

Pressure built in his chest until he could barely breathe around it. The hurt and rejection that gripped him eleven years ago had kept him from seeing the truth.

Until now.

Oh, Lord, no.
He hoped his assumption was wrong, but...

“Amber, did somebody hurt you?” His voice pulsed low. “Did they—”

She nodded quickly, sparing him from having to finish the question. Her lips parted just enough to inhale a breath of air. No words came forth.

“Amber.”

She swallowed quickly, tried again. “I set myself up, Patrick.” Her lips compressed when her voice wavered some. “You warned me more than once not to get sucked into the social scene at college. To stay away from the parties.”

For good reason. A sheltered girl reeking of innocence had no business hanging out in those circles. Intoxicated partygoers and drug seekers who lived for the thrill of the moment. He took a deep breath of his own. “You always looked for good in everyone. Trusted easily.”

“Too easily.” Amber shook her head. “Every weekend my roommates invited me to attend a party with them. And the one time I gave in...” She closed her eyes, took a moment before continuing. “I ended up getting drugged, assaulted and dumped in an alley.”

Patrick's lower jaw went slack. He was speechless, incensed. Who would have done such a terrible thing? “When you say
assaulted
, Amber, was it a physical assault or se—”

“Fortunately, no,” Amber interjected sharply, holding her hand to her chest as if she was trying to keep her heart from jumping out. “He was interrupted before it got that far.”

Patrick thanked God for that. Although the strain in Amber's voice told him the creep had done plenty of damage. A muscle angrily pulsed in his jaw. He couldn't wait to bring her attacker to justice. “Amber, who did this to you?”

She gave a quick shrug, wiping the tears from her eyes with a napkin. “That's the crazy part. I don't know.”

“Don't know? Or don't remember?”

“I don't know...exactly.”

“But you suspect someone?”

A gloominess crept into Amber's eyes as she nodded weakly.

Patrick gave her a moment, silently praying for God's strength to be with her. He knew this had to be difficult for her to talk about.

“When I first arrived at the party three guys I knew from high school paid a lot of attention to me.” Amber sighed, absently running a hand through her dark curls. “At first we were just reminiscing, and then they asked about you. How you were enjoying UGA and how your track season went. They even knew you were in Europe doing a training clinic. I remember thinking how much they'd grown up. They were so jealous of you in high school.”

“These guys... Were they by any chance Carl Shaw, Bruce Austin and Randall Becker?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Patrick's heart tripped wildly in his chest. If one of those guys had touched her... He gritted his teeth, forced himself to stay calm and not start throwing darts until he had the facts. Still, he recalled his rivals well, and those memories weren't fond. “What about your roommate? The girl you attended the party with?”

“Once we got there everyone scattered. The house was packed with people. Everyone was drinking. It was hot and stuffy. Someone offered me a bottle of water.”

Patrick shook his head. He knew where this was going.

“It tasted like regular water.” She broke off, breathing deep. “It was cold, refreshing at first, then I started feeling woozy. Everything started moving in slow motion. That's when Carl's, Bruce's and Randy's demeanors started to change. They went from being friendly to taunting me about you. Asking me things like ‘Does Boy Wonder, the gold-medal dreamer, know he's dating a party girl?'”

She stopped, blotted her eyes again with the crumpled napkins. Her silence told him what he needed to know. His throat went tight as a picture began to form in his mind of what she'd gone through—frightened and alone, unable to fend off her attacker. Heat swarmed his body.

“I was so sick,” she finally squeaked out. “So disoriented. Somehow, I ended up in one of the fraternity bedrooms.”

“Alone?”

“No.” She sighed, her voice hollow. “It was dark. Cold. Someone was laughing. Deep. Sinister. He kept asking the question, ‘Where is Boy Wonder now? Now who's going to save you?' I remember panicking, trying to get to the door, but he caught me, slammed me against the wall. He threatened to kill me if I said a word.”

Patrick swallowed, fury building in his chest as she went on.

“Thankfully a few minutes later someone pounded on the door, screaming that a fight had broken out and police had been called. The last thing I remember is a hand clamped over my mouth and the prick of a needle in my arm. When I woke up I was in an ambulance on my way to the hospital. My clothes were torn, my body battered and bruised.”

“Did you tell anyone what happened?

She nodded. “I informed the paramedic, the nurse, even the doctor. I was pretty groggy and disoriented. I'm sure they thought I had just been out partying. I was found in an alley behind a bar in the low-rent side of town after the manager called 9-1-1, with the needle still in my arm.”

“They left the needle in your arm?” The very idea turned Patrick's gut. They'd been trying to make her look like a strung-out addict who'd overdosed.

“A urine screen found fentanyl in my system.”

A very potent opiate. Patrick took a deep breath. “So no one believed your story?”

Shaking her head, Amber brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “Once I was stable, I was given a pamphlet on the risks of IV drug use and the address of a local rehab facility.”

Well, that answered that. Patrick rubbed the cords of tension at the back of his neck. A lot of college-aged partiers used opiates for their euphoric effect, and ER workers probably saw their share of unintentional overdoses, but still it burned his gut that they'd disregarded Amber's story.

But what hurt even more, she hadn't told him.

He hauled in a deep breath. “I know you went through a terrible experience. But I don't understand why you kept it from me.”

The corners of Amber's mouth quivered into a grimace. “I couldn't.” Her tone was anguished.

The earth felt as if it shifted beneath him. “You couldn't?”

Shaking her head with a sigh, Amber lowered her gaze to her coffee and slowly ran her finger along the handle of her cup. “I was so broken, Patrick. Embarrassed, tired, scared. I had hoped by the time you got back from Europe, I could have put what happened behind me. But...” Amber kept trailing the rim of the cup, still carefully averting her gaze. “The closer it came to your returning home, the more I realized it would be impossible for me to keep a secret from you.”

Well, she'd done a pretty good job of that for the past eleven years. Then the truth hit him, pounding at his temple with the force of a sledgehammer.

“You broke up with me because you thought I would blame you?”

Disappointment sparked bright in her gaze. “No, I'd never think that.”

“Then what?” He worked to keep his voice even in spite of the boulder sitting in the pit of his stomach.

“It's just that...” Amber's voice cracked as her eyes clung to his. “You would have muscled every guy who attended the party until you found out who my attacker was. And once you found him...” She paused, drew in a shaky breath. “Patrick, none of those guys would have had a chance against you. A charge of assault and battery, regardless of the reason, would have jeopardized your college scholarship and your athletic dreams.”

Cold sweat erupted on his skin. She'd tried to protect him. He wanted to discount her words, to be furious, but her concerns held some validity. He'd been a star athlete out to conquer the world. Cocky, impulsive and known for a quick temper. Nobody messed with him.

Foolish bravado. He shook his head. And for what?

False hope in a dream he'd never realized. After years of hard work and training, impressing his coaches and trying to stay on top of his competition, all it had taken was a broken leg to knock him out of the US track-and-field trials.