Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (48 page)

“Thanks. But it wasn't exactly the information I'd hoped for.”

“No, but selling heroin? Who would have thought? People never cease to amaze me.”

“Yeah. Handy, isn't it? A popular high school coach moonlighting as a drug dealer.” Patrick shook his head. “Consider the customers he had at his fingertips.”

“Unfortunate.” Vance snickered. “But even if his attorney gets a bail bond for him today, this felony isn't going away. He'll do time. In the meantime, what are you thinking his ties are to Amber's case?”

Patrick inhaled, trying to stay calm, although sitting on the razor-sharp edge of frustration. While Carl stayed mum, Amber's life was on the line. “I don't know how much Carl is involved, but my gut tells me there's someone else, someone shrewder, more devious behind this. And Carl knows who that is.”

* * *

Gus's Diner, known for its Southern cuisine and friendly service, was a mom-and-pop establishment close to the police station. Patrick bragged that they made the best comfort food around. And right now comfort of any kind sounded good to Amber.

The decor inside the diner was rustic, but tasteful, with dark, distressed wood-plank floors, lots of wood beams and a large stone fireplace in the center of the dining area. Crisp white linens graced the tables and local artist paintings dotted the walls. The place was packed. The tantalizing aroma of home cooking wafting in the air told her why.

Amber's stomach growled. The appetite she'd lost while waiting for Patrick suddenly returned.

“Table for two—Wiley.”

The waitress showed them to a table by the window.

After a cursory glance at the menu, Patrick set his down while Amber continued to peruse hers. So many options. After narrowing down her selections, she peeked over at Patrick.

He was seated back in the chair with his arms firmly folded across his chest. She recognized the encompassing sweep of his eyes as he took in the room. So very cop-like. She couldn't stop a smile. He just couldn't help himself.

That was another quality she loved...liked about him. She picked up her water, took a drink.

“So what did you decide on?”

Unease prickled her skin as he turned his dark, assessing gaze on her. “Some kind of seafood, I think.”

“Good choice. They have some great shrimp dishes.”

She glanced at the menu again. “Broiled shrimp with creamed spinach and black beans does sound good.” Her grumbling stomach agreed.

Patrick gave a wry chuckle. “I was thinking more like fried Bayou shrimp and mac and cheese. But you always did like veggies on everything. Pizza, subs—”

“—salads.” She smiled.

“Yep. Piled high, if I recall.”

She nodded. “And I suppose beef is still high on your list of food staples.”

“Oh, yeah.” He held up a hand a couple inches over his height. “Real high. Unbeknownst to Popeye, red meat is what builds muscles.” His smile was teasing, but his words held some truth—that was, if his powerfully muscled physique was any indication.

She breathed a silent sigh.

After the waitress took their orders, Amber started to unwind some and Patrick appeared more relaxed than he'd been an hour ago, after he'd finished talking to Carl. Interrogation had to be stressful, even more so when he didn't get the answers he wanted.

Patrick rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “So how's your family been? I heard your brother's living somewhere in South America.”

He heard about her brother? She wondered if he'd heard anything about her, too. Or maybe he'd avoided topics that involved her, like she had about him? Amber twirled the straw in her drink, making the ice clink. “Jason and his family live in a small village on the coast of Chile. He runs a mission there. Actually, my parents are down there now and will be working with him for the next couple months.”

“That's great. I'm sure they're making quite an impact.”

“They are.” She nodded. “How about your family?”

“Well, my big sister is working on her third master's degree. Communication or information technology something or other.” After a slight pause he chuckled. “And she still hasn't decided on a career path.”

“Tori must really like school.” Amber couldn't imagine. One master's degree was plenty for her. “And your parents—are they doing okay?”

Patrick nodded his head. “My dad's semiretired from the post office. And my mom started working at the day care at church. With no grandkids in the foreseeable future, or maybe never, she's finally getting her baby fix by being a surrogate grandma.”

Never?
Amber was still processing that statement when Patrick added, “She actually asked about you a couple days ago. She's been keeping up with your situation thanks to the local media.”

Amber's face heated and her stomach quivered at the memory of how disappointed Tina Wiley had been after she and Patrick had broken up. Tina had been good friends with Amber's mother, but now they didn't even speak. So many lives had been affected by her one mistake.

Amber swallowed hard, trying not to dwell on the past. “That's nice,” she uttered, not really sure how to respond to his mother's renewed interest in her, or to the newspaper's generous coverage of the latest perils in her life.

Patrick sat back against the wood chair. “
Nice
will be when there's nothing left for the paper to report.” Though his tone was almost joking, worry darkened his eyes, and her heart stalled in her chest.

She gave a gentle nod. The character of this man was incredible. Instead of scorn, he genuinely cared about her, about her safety, making not falling back in love with him that much harder. For fleeting moments she imagined with more clarity than logic that one day there might be a future for them.

Fortunately she had enough common sense to understand what her heart refused to accept. The only thing on Patrick's agenda that involved her was cracking this case. Then it was back to life as usual, for the both of them.

Shaking off a sense of foreboding, she tore her gaze away and glanced back at the menu, concentrating on something worth thinking about. “So what would you recommend for dessert?”

She needed comfort food of the best kind.

A short time later, Amber sat back in her seat, completely full and satisfied. The food was delicious and the company...wonderful. She swallowed a sigh.

The topic of the death threats against her hadn't even come up.

“All finished?” The waitress dropped the check folder on the table and gestured to Amber's half-eaten dessert. The hot fudge sundae cake was awesome, but she was stuffed.

“Yes.” Amber nodded, rummaging through her purse.

Patrick took out his wallet and, ignoring Amber's objection, handed the waitress his credit card.

“Patrick, you don't have to do that.”

“My pleasure. Besides, I owe you one for breakfast.”

A warm feeling washed through her. No small deed went unappreciated by him. Although, he owed her nothing.

On their way out the door, the waitress caught up with them. “Miss, I think you dropped this.” She handed Amber a rather crumpled copy of one of her fund-raiser brochures.

Amber hiked the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. You'd think she'd learn to keep her bag zipped. “Thank you.”

“Hey, let me see that,” Patrick said as she started to stuff it into her bag.

“It's just one of my fund-raiser brochures.” She held it up for him to see.

She blinked in surprise when he snatched it out of her hand, his mouth pulling into a grimace.

“Patrick?”

He shook his head, worry shadowing his face.

Amber scrambled beside him. “Oh, my...” She gasped, her heart beating a frantic rhythm as she glanced at the paper in his hand. The title of the fund-raiser,
Silence No More, had been crossed out and in its place was scribbled No More Silence Equals Death
.

A sick feeling settled like a rock in Amber's stomach. Not only did some crazy man want her dead, but he was also getting close enough to tamper with her things.

TEN

T
he next morning, Amber poured herself a second cup of coffee and stared out the window above the sink to Kim's small front lawn shimmering in the morning sunshine. The trees were starting to bud, and spring bulbs poked through the brown mulch in the flower beds by the cobblestone walk. Another week and daffodils and tulips would be abundant.

She raised her cup, savoring the hazelnut scent as she took a sip. Spring had finally arrived. Warmth and sunshine. Brilliant colors. Her favorite time of year.

Well, maybe not this year.

Instead, a deeper distress joined the anxiety twisting away at her insides. Not merely because she was on someone's hit list, or at the prospect of finding the identity of her attacker, not even the stress of having Patrick back in her life, but the recent news they'd heard from the forensics team last night. The police had finished their investigation of the attack made on her counseling center.

Now it was time to assess the damage.

The day of the attack she'd been whisked out of the building by officers so quickly she hadn't gotten a good look around. Today was the first day she was allowed back on the property. She couldn't wait to get there.

Patrick, on the other hand, seemed to be in no hurry. After breakfast he remained at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and checking emails on his phone. Kim had already left for work. And with her laptop, client notes and files in the messenger bag buried somewhere amid the glass rubble at the center, she had nothing to do except wait.

On a sigh, Amber sought refuge in her cup of coffee. Patrick had a crime to solve. Of course he had more on his mind than Safe Harbor Counseling Center.

Still, she wanted it back up and running again very soon.

How long would it take? She swallowed the last of her drink, rinsed out her coffee cup and then loaded it into the dishwasher. Days? Weeks? Disappointment puddled in her stomach. She still couldn't believe someone had shot up the building. She shut the dishwasher and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

“Are you ready to go?”

Patrick's voice pulled her back to the present and brought her around sharply. She tossed the dish towel on the countertop. “Absolutely.” She took off across the kitchen, brushing past him in pursuit of her jacket.

“I just received a message from Vance stating the landlord had the front of the building boarded up. However, the inside will be in the same disarray as when we left. Pretty rough condition. You sure you want to see it like that?” Just by Patrick's tone, she could imagine the concern in his eyes.

“I'll be fine.” She put on her jacket. “Besides, Tony emailed me this morning. He wants to stop by also to take a look around and pick up a few things from his office. I told him I'd text him when we're on the way.”

Twenty minutes later, ignoring the no-parking zone, Patrick rolled his SUV to a stop outside Safe Harbor Counseling Center. Amber climbed out of the truck and stood outside the yellow police crime tape on the edge of the sidewalk. Her stomach did a little twist as she took in the shell-pocked siding and boarded-up window. Even the sign by the door was riddled with bullet holes. She remembered the rush of pride she felt the day that sign had gone up, the finishing touch to a dream come true.

“You sure you're okay?” Patrick came up beside her.

She nodded. “Yes.” Like it or not, she had to be.

As they leaned under the police tape, she mentally prepared herself for what she would find.

Two steps inside, she halted and tried to keep from gasping as Patrick stepped past her and ventured into the thick of the damage. She couldn't believe the destruction before her. There was broken glass everywhere. The floor and the tables, even the top of the lone framed picture still hanging on the wall. The beautiful overstuffed sofa and chair that she'd special ordered and waited five months to get was riddled with bullet holes, and even her favorite potted plant lay amid the rubble.

Overwhelmed by the sight, Amber took a step back, her heart knocking against her ribs. She worked to regulate her breathing. This whole incident only added to the edginess she'd been experiencing since the car bombing. Her nerves were about shot, frazzled from bouncing between fearing for her life and wallowing in the regret of what had gotten her to this point in the first place.

Today something else welled up inside her: a surge of defensive anger. Nobody deserved to be a victim of somebody's hate. Someone so sinister and unwilling to comprehend the lasting destruction of their actions.

This emotional response was new, although a concept she firmly believed in and reinforced in her clients. After years of blaming herself and even God for what had happened to her, she was ready to accept that truth for herself. She wasn't to blame for the vicious choice someone else had made.

Amber took an elongated breath, filling her lungs and reveling for a moment in an odd sense of peace. Maybe she was starting to heal?

“Wow, this is a disaster.”

She turned enough to see Tony grimace as he hovered in the doorway. His statement summed up the situation perfectly. “It is amazing how destructive a few little bullets could be.”

“Few? It looks as though the building got hosed by a machine gun.”

“A military-style semiautomatic assault rifle, actually.” Patrick stepped back through the rubble with her leather messenger bag in his hand. “It's not as powerful as a machine gun, but it can spray large areas with a hail of bullets.”

Tony gave a slow whistle. “That it did.”

Amber's heart pinched. This was what the men and women who served in the armed forces were up against. She gained a new appreciation for them and for Patrick. He'd risked his life for his country, and now he was doing so again for her.

“I believe this is yours.” Patrick handed her the messenger bag.

“Thank you.” She took it from him, feeling a bit of relief. At least she could get some work done now.

“If you'll excuse me...” Tony stepped carefully around the glass rubble. “I need to grab a few things in my office.”

Patrick moved aside, allowing him to pass by.

As Tony headed down the hallway, he glanced back. “Do you need me to get anything of yours, Amber?”

“No, but thank you.” Amber shook her head. “I have my laptop and notes. I should be fine.”

“All right.”

Well, maybe
fine
wasn't the right word. Amber turned her attention to Patrick and motioned to the mess around them. “Can you believe all this damage?”

“I've seen worse.” Patrick stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze skimming the area.

Of course, things could be worse. She needed to hold on to that perspective.

The structure itself, part of a run of historical buildings, had survived hurricanes, tornados and fires over the years. Safe Harbor would survive, she assured herself. “I hope it won't take long to make repairs.”

“It shouldn't. We'll get a crime scene cleanup crew in. And once things settle down you can meet up with the landlord and get things going.”

Confused, Amber looked from the gunfire rubble to Patrick. “Once things settle down? I'd like to get started immediately. I need to get back to work.”

“Amber.” Small frown lines rippled across his forehead and he narrowed his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about this after we left today, but I'll mention it now. I'd like to get you set up in a safe house. An undisclosed location where there is round-the-clock security.”

“A safe house?” Amber straightened, already disliking the idea. “Clues are coming in. Randall and Carl are being watched. Patrol cars are monitoring Kim's neighborhood and you haven't left my side...” Her words petered out as a revelation exploded in her mind. Of course, he had to be tired of hanging around. He had a personal life he'd been neglecting.

“Amber, listen—”

“No, Patrick.” She held up a hand. “I know you're a busy man. I can't expect for you to stand guard over me. I can't afford to pay for security on my own, but I can talk to my parents.”

“That's not what I'm trying to say.” He put both hands on her shoulders, holding her gaze and sending a shiver down the length of her arms. “I just want you to be safe. I can't make you go to the safe house, but just think about it. Once we get this case figured out, you can go back to life as usual.”

She heard the words, but they didn't truly register in her mind. She was too affected by the heat of his touch. A sizzling warmth she'd not felt since the last time he'd touched her. She swallowed again and tried hard to rein in her thoughts. She couldn't let this man get to her.

“...a short hiatus won't kill you. Being distracted and not watching your back just might.”

“A hiatus?” Amber blinked and inched back, out of his grasp, her thoughts finally kicking in. “But I have the fund-raiser to plan. A business to run.”

“You can still work while you're at the safe house.”

“What about Pam and Tony? And my clients?”

“Pam and Tony can work from home. And your clients, well...this is a temporary situation.” Patrick leaned closer, his gleaming brown eyes holding traces of concern. “This guy is getting bolder. Who knows what desperate plan he has next? In fact, if we aren't any closer to finding him by next week, you should postpone the fund-raiser.”

She deflated like a leaky balloon. “That is exactly what that creep wants, for me to give up and run into hiding. If there's no fund-raiser, his concerns are alleviated about me telling my story as part of my keynote speech.”

“Fear of you going public may indeed be his motivator, however, he also wants you dead. That's the part I'm wor—” Patrick halted midsentence when the ringtone sounded on his phone. He pressed it to his ear. “This is Patrick Wiley.”

Amber brushed back a wisp of hair with shaky fingers, quietly rejoicing at the distraction. If she had to, she'd hire more security, but no way was she giving in to her assailant. Whether his identity was known or not, or even if the fund-raiser had to be postponed, she planned to tell her story. To publically encourage women not to hang on to the guilt and shame of abuse—like she had.

Tears blurred her eyes. Blinking to clear them, a sense of freedom washed through her.

Closure.
She breathed. That was what she needed.

“Patrick is right, Amber.” Tony stepped toward her, glass crunching beneath his boots. “I overheard what he said about the fund-raiser, and like I mentioned before, it might be a good idea to just postpone it.”

“That topic isn't up for discussion,” she snapped a little too quickly. She hated to sound unreasonable, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. Surely by next week this whole nightmare would be behind her.

“Okay.” Tony waved his hand with dismissal. “Your call. But keep it in mind.”

“I will.” She nodded, softening her inflection. “I just think the fund-raiser is important, both for the community and for me.”

“For you?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “You're not still considering sharing your story, are you? Not with all this nonsense going on.”

There was a moment's hesitation as Amber swallowed around the lump lodged in her throat. “I think it's time.”

“When and where?” The spike in Patrick's tone made her shift focus.

Wheeling around toward him, she noticed the muscles in his jaw clench as he wound up the call. “I'll meet you there in an hour.” He pocketed his phone, his eyes darkened, narrowed on her. “That was Carl Shaw. I'm meeting him at a bar and grill south of here at noon.”

Amber's heart stopped. She glanced at Tony, who was following the conversation with wide eyes.

“Sounds as though something's about to go down.” Tony gave an impressive arch of his brow and a thumbs-up. “Keep me posted, Amber.” He tucked his laptop case under his arm and headed out the door.

“All right.” She breathed deep, hoping this was the break they needed. She turned back to Patrick. “Did he give you any indication if he was going to confess? Or just give you information?”

“Nope. He didn't specify.” He cupped her elbow, shepherding her toward the exit. “But whatever information he has is sure to help us.” Optimism rang in his tone.

And in her heart.

* * *

After dropping Amber off at the station house, Patrick punched the gas and headed toward Moe's Grille, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant located in one of the low-rent districts on the outskirts of Savannah. When he'd suggested for Amber to hang out in his office while he was gone, first she balked at the idea. He couldn't think of a safer place, and didn't have time to come up with a better alternative. He wondered if she truly understood the danger she was in.

Patrick didn't even bother to ponder that question. He kept a steady hand on the steering wheel and pulled onto the highway ramp. The radio dispatcher had reported an earlier accident with cars backed up for five miles. To his relief, traffic flowed steadily on both sides of the thoroughfare. The last thing he wanted was to keep Carl waiting.

Seventeen miles down the road, he took the exit for Tallwater Boulevard, a four-lane street on the neighborhood's main drag.

Patrick pulled into a public parking lot two buildings down from Moe's Grille and checked the clock on the dash. Noon. Right on time. He slowly maneuvered his SUV through the tight rows of cars and scanned the lot for the yellow pickup Carl had said he'd be driving.

He could see why Carl had picked this place, a popular local restaurant off the beaten path. It was easier not to be noticed in a crowd. Carl Shaw was afraid of something, and Patrick was itching to hear what that
something
was.

After he took a second loop around the lot, Patrick's heart sank a bit when he didn't see the yellow truck. He hoped Shaw hadn't chickened out.