Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (51 page)

Patrick thought so, too.

He turned on his heel and followed Vance out the door. “Thanks, Liza,” he called over his shoulder. “You've been a great help. If you find out anything else, let me know.”

“There is one more thing, Patrick.”

Midstride, Patrick halted, turned back.

Liza stared at him for a moment, twirled a pen in her hand.

Patrick shifted, quirked an eyebrow. “What is it?”

She rested an elbow on the desk. “I did find one more interesting tidbit.” Her slender eyebrows pulled slightly together. “It seems Amber Talbot once had a fiancé. She broke their engagement after the frat party incident.”

A story he knew well. But the reminder still cut like a knife. “That's correct.”

“So sad. One traumatic event changed everything.” A beat passed. “Why didn't you tell me, Patrick?”

“That I used to be engaged to Amber?” Patrick shrugged. “If I thought it was relevant to the case, I would have.”

“This case is personal to you.” She dropped her pen and crossed her arms over her chest. “All the work I've done, and you already knew most of it. I wish I had known I was just filling in the blanks.”

“Actually, I knew very little.” Patrick raised his hands, palms out, warding off a lecture. “Amber never divulged anything about a frat house party or what had happened until she was attacked at her house.”

A frown tightened Liza's brow further. “Are you talking about her attack a few days ago?”

“I am.” Patrick nodded.

“Eleven years after the frat party incident?”

“Unfortunately.” It was a fact he wasn't proud of.

Her eyes narrowed. “Seems odd that she wouldn't share something so traumatic with you.”

Guilt swelled Patrick's chest, but he didn't let it show on his face. “The dynamics of our relationship at the time weren't as strong as they should have been.”

“What about now?”

He lifted a brow. “Now?”

“The dynamics of your relationship now? I couldn't help but notice the time you're spending on her case and with her.”

“I'm doing my job. She's in a dangerous situation.”

“So you've assigned yourself as her personal bodyguard—”

Patrick didn't wait for her to finish. “I'm a detective and yes, I'm doing my best to keep her safe. Amber is still a friend.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A friend? Is that all she is to you?”

Infuriated by the surge of emotion that her question brought, Patrick inhaled a long breath through clenched teeth. “I need to get going. Whoever is after Amber is a loose cannon. We need to get him off the street.” Before Liza had the opportunity to agree with him or question him further, he turned and walked out the door.

Twenty minutes later, Patrick pulled up to the front of the battered-women's shelter, parked by the curb and climbed out of his truck, trying his best to dispel Liza's perception, but having a hard time doing so.

He
had
taken on the role of Amber's personal bodyguard.

He had definitely stepped out of his professional scope. It wasn't his place to take on the task to personally protect her.

Even if the tug in his heart told him differently.

Maybe it might be time to back off some. He'd already beefed up patrols in her area.

Then again, nothing seemed to deter her attacker.

Patrick continued at a steady clip down the walk toward the building, his mind at war with his emotions.

He barely got enough rest now. He'd never sleep at night if he had to wonder if Amber was safe.

His emotions winning, he pressed the doorbell. He would do as much for any friend, he told himself.

“Can I help you?” the voice crackled through the intercom on the wall beside the door.

“Detective Patrick Wiley, here to pick up Amber Talbot.”

He had a job to do, and his mission objective was to keep Amber safe.

THIRTEEN

A
fter Amber slid into the passenger seat of the SUV, Patrick rounded the front and slipped in behind the wheel.

She dropped her messenger bag on the floor by her feet and buckled her seat belt.

“I've been meaning to ask, what's in that thing?” Patrick's amused look made her smile.

“What? My little tote?”

“Little?” He broke into a full-fledged grin, sending her heart skittering. “I'm surprised you can even pick it up.” He started the SUV and pulled away from the curb.

Ah.
He underestimated her. She bit the inside of her cheek to hold in a chuckle. She loved it when Patrick relaxed. And that smile. She almost sighed.

Amber blinked, sat more erect. “Actually, it's not too heavy and just big enough for everything I need. My purse, a few files and notes, makeup, a hairbrush, toothbrush, gum and mints, pens, markers, my computer tablet and an umbrella.”

He glanced over at her, and she added, “Oh, and a granola bar.”

“Is that all?”

“Pretty much.”

“I figured something like that. Or a bag of bricks.” He laughed as he pulled onto the thoroughfare and headed down the road toward the community center.

“Feels like it sometimes.” She loved this side of Patrick. “So how did your day go?”

“Well, we're piecing things together. Liza dug up some new information that looks promising.”

“Liza... She must be good at her job.”

“She great. Don't know how I'd get by without her.”

Amber swallowed, a sudden thickness in her throat. She glanced out the window. “She's quite lovely,” she said after a moment. “You're fortunate to have someone like her in your life.”

A stunned silence followed the comment.

She glanced at him just long enough to notice his furrowed brow.

Great. He was probably wondering how to respond. Even more, wondering why she was prying into his personal life and making assumptions—like a nosey ex-girlfriend.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Heat swarmed Amber's body and her pulse kicked up. Chagrin inched in. She drifted down in her seat.

Up ahead the traffic light turned red. Patrick braked and the SUV slowed to a stop. As they waited for the light, Patrick glanced at her. “About Liza—”

“Patrick, I'm sorry.” Amber waved off any explanation. “You don't have to explain anything. It's none of my business,” she concluded, hoping to put a plug in the conversation.

“Well, thank you. Although, I'm not sure what I have to explain.”

Of course he didn't owe her an explanation for anything. She stared out the window, willing the light to turn green.

“I'm just curious. How did you...um, put me and Liza together?”

Great. Apparently he did want to talk about this. “Well...” Anxiety raised her voice to a crackly high pitch. “You were out with her the day you introduced us.” Okay, that sounded lame, even to her own ears. Although better than admitting that she had an overactive imagination and the thought of seeing him out with any woman made her stomach knot. Nope, not a confession she wanted him to hear or believe herself.

“Ah, you assumed we were on a date?”

Her heart pounding, she managed a nod.

“You know, it's never safe to assume, because I'm not dating Liza.” There was a teasing reprimand in his voice.

Her face got hotter. Her gaze snapped to his. “You're right. Sometimes my imagination gets the best of me.” Because that didn't sound any better, she clamped her lips.

The twinkling in his eyes told her he was enjoying watching her squirm. Her heart that was sputtering before was now doing laps in her chest.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't interested in Liza. An arctic chill rippled through her body, giving an unnerving jolt of reality.

It was hard enough to be around him assuming he was involved with someone. But single and unattached, a whole new battle began—between her heart and her head.

Right now her emotions were winning.

She swallowed and forcefully tamped down her feelings. “So what information did Liza supply you with today?”

Patrick flipped the blinker on and turned down the road leading to the community center. “Well, it has to do with a drug ring, offshore trust accounts and Randall and Carl.”

As if her mind wasn't already clogged with information, confusion took on a whole new meaning. “I'm not sure where I fit into all this.”

“We're still in the speculating mode. I'll bring you up to speed a little later.”

Good. Because as of now, her mental capacity was about shot.

* * *

Inside the Port City Community Center in downtown Savannah, Amber took Patrick on a tour of the reception hall, where the fund-raiser was slated to take place. It was a huge open room, with a high domed ceiling, glittering chandeliers and gold velvet curtains. The elegant setting was a stark contradiction to the gritty topic of the Silence No More
fund-raiser—the prevention of violent crimes against women.

For the next thirty minutes, Patrick stood on the sidelines and waited as Penny Roberts, the community center's event planner, walked Amber through the planned itinerary for the evening. The glint of enthusiasm in Amber's wide green eyes snagged his heart. This was a personal venture for her, and he would do anything to ensure that the fund-raiser would go on as planned.

But deep inside he knew every passing day decreased the likelihood of that happening.

“I believe we've covered everything.” Penny Roberts's voice cut through his meandering and redirected his thoughts. She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “Do you have any questions, Ms. Talbot?”

“I can't think of any. Everything sounds perfect.” Amber nodded. “Thank you.”

“You've put a lot of work into this fund-raiser, and I expect it will a nice evening,” Penny said as she turned to leave.

“I can't wait.” Amber's lips curved into an appreciative smile. That smile wasn't directed at him, but it touched something inside him. Her loveliness was so evident. Her innocence and humility. His throat tightened. For a moment he forgot the reason he was there.

Memories washed over him. Sweet remembrances of Amber, of their life together. And with each fleeting memory his heart squeezed, bumping up his pulse and weakening his ability to think clearly. He missed Amber. Missed the relationship they'd once had. What he wouldn't give to turn back the clock.

Amber turned slowly to face him. “What do you think, Patrick?”

Patrick ignored the sudden surge in his pulse as Amber's engaging green gaze latched on to his. Suddenly embarrassed by his erratic reflections, he kicked them aside, relieved when rational thoughts that had momentarily deserted him started to form in his brain.

All romantic notions instantly drained from his mind. Losing Amber once had been hard enough. Some things were better off left alone. Like love and relationships.

Widening his stance, he managed a deep breath, then covered his unease with a grin. “What do I think about the fund-raiser?”

Amber shook her head, chuckling. “Yes, does everything sound all right to you?”

Except for the timing
. But that was a subject he'd broach again in a few days. “The room is really nice. The itinerary sounds great. I look forward to attending.”

Her eyes went wide, and the lethal smile was back. “So if the creep who's after me is behind bars and the fund-raiser goes on as planned, will you still attend?”

Patrick kept his rational thoughts in the forefront of his mind. Still, the playful twinkle in Amber's gaze warmed him deep inside, and he said, “I wouldn't miss it.”

Daylight was dying around them as they headed back to his SUV on deck four of the parking garage. Patrick cast an assessing glance around the area, which was half-full with staff and visitor cars. The few dimly lit fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Amber stayed close beside him. So close he was tempted to slip his arm around her.

Crazy the way his mind worked. Even scary. Inhaling slowly, he bridled the emotion and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“So, Patrick, tell me about the drug ring and offshore-account theory you're working on.”

“Well, we now believe both Carl and Randall were involved in the drug trade. If that's true, then we suspect there's somebody in a higher position who doesn't want his name out.”

Amber's steps stalled. She glanced up, her dark lashes a feathery surround to the solemn look in her eyes. “So you think someone besides Carl and Randall wants me dead?”

Patrick stopped, gave a simple shrug. “It's beginning to look—”

He never finished the sentence. Before he could say another word, the parking garage exploded in whirr of gunfire. Three rapid blasts rang out against the aged cement walls.

Amber shrieked, and instinctively Patrick grabbed her, whisking her behind a concrete pillar. He pulled his Glock from his holster. “Get between those two cars,” he shouted to her, gesturing to the row of vehicles to his right. “Stay down and call 9-1-1.”

Amber hurried forward, slipping into the cramped space between a truck and sedan.

Weapon ready, heart racing, Patrick's gaze swept the parking deck, taking in any potential threat. No movement. No one in sight. He yelled, “I'm with the Savannah-Chatham Police Department. Step out with your hands in the air.” His voice echoed around the hollow space like a boomerang.

No reply came. Patrick stared down at the long row of cars. Whoever was out there had to be behind one of the vehicles or inside one.

He slowly moved forward, watching for any movement, listening. Tightening his grip on his gun, he leveled it solidly in front of him.

A hush settled in the air, spine-chilling, deafening. His adrenaline was skyrocketing. It was time to take this guy down.

A deep grunt broke the silence, then the echo of footsteps.

Patrick searched frantically for the shooter. He caught a flicker of movement in the shadows. The hint of a person edging toward the north exit of the parking deck. “Step out and put your hands in the air!” Patrick barked the order for a second and final time.

Another crack of gunfire rent the air.

Patrick spun and took refuge behind a parked car. He swiveled in a crouch and fired back.

The air settled. Silence crept in again.

Patrick took several deep breaths, waiting and listening for the man to make another move. Twenty seconds was long enough. He peeked around the car bumper, saw nothing, ducked back. Then he turned, casting a quick look toward the area where Amber was hidden. He couldn't see her, but prayed she was still huddled low and safe.

The scent of lingering gunpowder assaulted his nose. His nostrils flared and he got moving again. Heart hammering, he kept his back plastered to the concrete wall and positioned himself to watch the exit door and keep Amber's location in his periphery.

Another sharp pop ripped through the air, and Patrick pulled back as a bullet whizzed past him, burying itself into the wall an inch from his head.

Dropping low, he gritted his teeth. That was too close.

Long shadows fell across the parking deck. Patrick surveyed the area, mopping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Eighty feet away, on the far side of the deck, the ominous figure made his way toward the elevator. But Patrick would not let his assailant get away.

As if reading Patrick's mind, the figure stopped and fired again, the blast ricocheting around the space.

In response, Patrick aimed through the opening of two concrete barriers and squeezed off two rounds.

He heard a shriek, followed by a loud grunt of pain.

Got him.
“Okay, creep. It's time to give up!”

A feral growl, then the tall, burly man, waving two pistols, one in each hand, came stumbling down through the row of cars, screaming, “I'm not finished with you yet!” His eyes were wide and crazed. His face was bloodied, but only from what looked to be a superficial head wound. The bullet had only grazed him.

“Where is she?” The man picked up speed and was aiming his weapon in Amber's direction.

Patrick jumped to his feet. “Amber, stay put!”

Another round of gunfire rang out.

Patrick had no choice. He aimed his Glock and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

What?
Heart ready to explode, Patrick made a decision. He took off in a run toward the madman that was shooting in Amber's direction. “Freeze! Police.”

Amber's frantic scream echoed around him as the man shifted his aim and fired at Patrick.

The bullet caught him in the shoulder. The force flung him against a car, and blood spewed from his ripped muscle, spreading rapidly across his shirt.

“No! No! Patrick!” That was from Amber.

A lancing pain splintered through Patrick's shoulder, and he gritted his teeth. Pushing past the sting, he lunged toward the man, taking him down in one clumsy swoop. The guns flew out of the thug's hands and went spinning across the concrete floor.

Patrick drove his knee into the man's spine and locked his uninjured arm around his adversary's thick neck. “Who are you?” Patrick spat out, praying the blood pouring from his shoulder wouldn't cause him to pass out before backup got there.

“Get off me, man!” The thug writhed against Patrick's hold.

Patrick held him in place, digging his knee deeper into the man's back. “I'm going to ask you one more time. Who are you?”

Still the man continued to wrestle.

“He asked who you were.”

Patrick looked up to find Amber holding one of the man's guns. Her grip was shaky, but she kept the weapon trained on the goon.

“Go on. Tell him who you are. And why are you trying to kill me?” He detected some heat in her voice now.

Patrick was so proud of her, he could almost smile.

“Okay. Okay. I'm...Darrell. Darrell Ott,” the man grunted out.