Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (53 page)

She had good advice.

And a gentle touch.

He liked that. Probably too much.

“That's good news.” Vance's voice could be heard from the hall. “I'll be right there.” He burst back through the doorway of Patrick's room.

Both Patrick and Amber's attention turned to Vance.

“Darrell Ott has been squawking like a windbag filibusterer since he got there. Finally he gave us something we could use. And wouldn't you know, good ole Randall Becker's name came up. The officer tailing Randall just arrested him. He's being hauled into the station now.”

“Kicking and screaming, I'm sure.” Patrick would have loved to be there to greet the man. “Did Ott say Randall referred to himself as the General?”

Vance gave a quick shake of his head. “He's holding fast to his claim that he doesn't know who the General is.”

“Keep pushing him,” Patrick said.

“You know I will.” On that note, Vance headed toward the door, then stopped short and glanced back at Patrick. “Get some rest, Wiley. Don't worry, we've got this one.”

Patrick smiled. He had full confidence in Vance. But rest and not worry? Easier said than done.

FIFTEEN

A
s Amber finished washing up in Patrick's hospital room bathroom, she cupped her hands and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to rejuvenate her sagging spirit.

She shivered against the chill, but instead of feeling refreshed, despair hung in her heart, achy and heavy.

Grabbing a handful of paper towels, she blotted the moisture from her face.

Just moments ago she'd been keyed up with optimism knowing that Randall Becker had been picked up and was being brought in for questioning. Clues were coming together. The case was progressing and hopefully coming to a close. But now, as she readied to leave for the safe house, she felt an all-too-familiar tug in her chest. A reminder that once her assailant was caught, she would slip back into her old life.

And Patrick would slip back into his.

Considering all the grief she'd caused Patrick, he should be thankful—and she should be relieved. She never wanted an opportunity to hurt him again.

A logical statement. But her emotions continued to play tug-of-war in her chest. She told herself to be glad she was leaving for the safe house. She needed some time alone to process the myriad emotions writhing through her.

Fairy-tale endings never came true, she reminded herself.

Sighing, she crumpled up the paper towels and threw them into the trash. She found her thoughts returning to Patrick's earlier statement.
Stop feeling guilty and let go of the past.

In short—move on.

More than anything she wanted to do that. But one look at Patrick and that theory was blown to pieces.

She needed to accept what her heart already knew: Patrick would never be the man for her. There was too much history. Too much time apart.

Amber breathed deeply, and as she grabbed her bag to leave, the mirror above the sink caught her reflection. She grimaced at the pallid image staring back at her. She leaned closer. Was it the lighting or did she always looked this washed out?

Fighting another sigh, Amber pinched her cheeks to rouse some color and moistened her lips with her tongue. Then after combing her fingers through her tangle of curls, she took a step back. Rechecking her appearance, she arched an eyebrow at her reflection. Now she looked washed out and disheveled.

Plunging her hand into her purse, she fished out a few clips. Then, lifting her hair, she twisted it into a loose bun and gave another assessing glance in the mirror.

Not great, but better. Although, she reminded herself, she had no one to impress. She snatched up her bag and flung it onto her shoulder.

She walked out of the bathroom to find Patrick asleep. His breathing, soft and rhythmic, filled the tight space. She tiptoed past his bed and sank into the same chair that had been her bed for the night. Uncomfortable then. Uncomfortable now.

She shifted softly, eyeing her watch, wondering what time the officer would arrive to whisk her off to safe housing. Her heart pinched in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to stay with Patrick. For once, to be the one to watch over him.

But that wasn't going to happen. And she needed to accept that.

Closing her eyes, she lifted a prayer.
Father, I want to trust You. Please guide my thoughts and show me the path You want me on and help me to stay on it.

A gentle warmth draped her heart and cocooned her soul.

She knew from experience how much easier it was to stray than to follow. But for the first time in forever, she was willing to fully put her trust in the Lord.

As she opened her eyes, Tony emerged from the hospital hallway. “Morning, kiddo,” he said in a whisper.

Amber got to her feet and pressed a finger to her lips.

He nodded in understanding.

She padded softly toward him.

Are you okay?
Tony mouthed, his gaze stormy, his rigid body language exhibiting unease.

She nodded.

“Let's talk.” He gestured toward the door. “Would you like to go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat?”

“I can't.” She kept her voice low and glanced toward Patrick's bed and him sleeping in it. “An officer will be here any minute. He'll be taking me to a safe house.”

“A safe house?” Tony whispered back.

Amber nodded. “I'll be there hopefully only a few days.”

“Good. Things are getting pretty dangerous for you out here.”

Amber's breathing accelerated as she thought about the dangerous situations she'd already been in. A little seclusion was sounding better all the time. “Patrick and the other detectives feel as though they're close to a break in the case.”

Tony grinned, pulling her into a quick embrace. “That's good news. Exactly what we're all hoping for. This nightmare to soon be over.”

“Excuse me.” The nurse, whose name badge read Jane, entered, letting the door swing closed behind her. With a syringe in her hand, she walked up to Patrick and started to raise the head of his bed. “Mr. Wiley, I have some medication for you.”

For a split second, Patrick jolted upright, before collapsing back against the pillow, his complexion chalky. “Ow!”

The urge to run to Patrick's side and comfort him overwhelmed Amber, and she had to stop herself. It was the nurse's job, not hers.

“Sorry to startle you, Mr. Wiley,” the nurse said, pulling an alcohol wipe from her scrub pocket. “But I have some pain medication for you.”

Patrick's answer came quick. “No, just bring me some ibuprofen, please.”

The nurse tore open the package. “Ibuprofen won't be enough to keep your pain under control.”

The nurse's statement sounded logical, but Patrick didn't appear to even consider it.

“My pain is under control. I just need some ibuprofen.” The tight grimace on his face completely refuted his claim.

“Patrick, it might be a good idea to take the medication.” Amber jumped in and tried to reinforce the nurse's advice. “It will help you rest.”

Patrick shook his head, his color slowly returning. “The last narcotic they gave me hit me like a tranquilizer dart.”

“That's why the doctor ordered it.” The nurse was curt. “To help you rest, as well as control your pain.”

Patrick didn't miss a beat. “I believe as a patient I have the right to refuse any medication that's ordered.”

Nurse Jane exchanged a look with Amber.

Amber gave a half shrug. “He's pretty hard to convince.”

“Okay. The doctor will be in shortly. He can discuss pain-management options with Mr. Wiley.” The nurse directed her comment to Amber as she made for the door, obviously inferring that Amber had some influence over Patrick—like maybe a wife or a girlfriend. A very wrong assumption. “In the meantime, I'll get an order for ibuprofen. There's a call bell, if he changes his mind.”

“All right.” Amber nodded.

“I sure hate what happened last night, Patrick.” Tony's voice made her refocus. She twisted around as Tony approached Patrick's bed. “I had second thoughts about Amber going to the appointment at the community center. I wish I had offered to go myself.”

Grief struck Amber, as did the reminder that she should have canceled the appointment altogether. “Tony, you're not responsible at all. Both you and Patrick asked me to postpone the fund-raiser. I should have listened.”

Tony and Patrick stared at her.

“I thought I was doing the right thing—the brave thing,” she went on, feeling the need to explain. Not that her admission would change anything. But hopefully her motivation made sense, not only to them, but also to herself. “This guy pushed me into a tailspin once eleven years ago, and I never wanted to give him that leverage again.”

* * *

Patrick listened as Amber poured out her heart, wishing there was something he could do to ease her pain. Every time she reiterated her guilt, it just hammered home how violated she'd felt by what happened to her.

After eleven years she was still trying to make amends. Her redemption? To help others like herself. She was the bravest woman he knew.

And beautiful, both inside and out. Now with her hair swept up in a messy bun, he could barely think straight.

Before Patrick realized what was happening, Tony sidled up to Amber and slipped his arm around her shoulder. As he whispered something to her, she responded by leaning in closer. For a long moment they stood there together, quiet and serene.

Patrick's heart rattled against his ribs—he was not at all comfortable with what he was seeing. A week ago he might have not been this unnerved, telling himself he was glad Tony was there for her. But after being around her the past few days...nothing was that black-and-white anymore.

Several heartbeats passed, and Patrick breathed relief when Amber shifted away from Tony. She drew herself up tall, as if gaining composure.

“Amber, I'll be looking in on Patrick while you're away. I'm sure he'll keep me abreast on everything that's happening.”

Amber nodded at Tony. “Hopefully I'll see you in a few days.”

Patrick's phone rang, and Amber reached for it before he had the chance. She handed it to him.

“Thank you.” He smiled, and was pleased when she reciprocated.

Officer Blake Carson was on the line. Patrick listened as Carson fed him a long-winded explanation of why he was running late to pick up Amber. Getting the gist of it, Patrick halted the conversation. “Just finish up with whatever you have to do. I hope to see you soon.”

“It shouldn't be too long, sir.”

“Thanks.” Patrick clicked off the receiver.

“Is everything okay?”

Patrick met Amber's concerned gaze. “Nothing critical.” Patrick tucked his phone in the pocket of his hospital gown. “The officer who will be taking you to the safe house arrived about thirty minutes ago and somehow got pulled into a security issue with one of the patient's family members here at the hospital. After he finishes up some paperwork, he'll be right up to get you.”

“Actually, I'm about to leave,” Tony said. “I wouldn't mind walking with Amber to the security office.”

Patrick started to say he'd rather Amber wait for the officer, then he remembered the doctor would be in to speak with him soon. And he had a few questions he preferred to discuss with him in private—mainly how soon he could get out of there. “Tony, that would be great.”

He glanced back at Amber. “I'll let security know you're on your way. And leave your cell phone on until you get to the safe house.”

“All right.” Amber started gathering her things, and then halted. “I don't have my cell phone. I must have left it in the bathroom.”

As Amber took off for the bathroom, Tony hoisted up her messenger bag.

“This thing feels like a ton of bricks.”

“I believe it's her survival kit.” Patrick's attempt to laugh came out like a groan. He blew out a breath and repositioned his shoulder.

Patrick's phone rang again. This time it was Vance. As Patrick listened to the latest update, Amber passed quietly out the door with Tony with only a slight wave. He'd hoped to have a final word with her. Remind her to stay safe and not worry.

Maybe even hug her goodbye.

Where had that come from? He'd crossed enough lines already.

Gripping the receiver, Patrick kicked that idea aside and pushed his thoughts into investigator mode.

SIXTEEN

A
mber hiked the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and slipped into the elevator behind Tony. The hospital patient transporter who shared the tight space maneuvered his oversize wheelchair to the left, offering them a little more room. Amber leaned against the wall and fought off a yawn. Tony pressed the necessary button and they started to descend.

A wave of nausea rolled through her. She pressed a hand on her abdomen and drew in a steadying breath. She was exhausted, and desperate for the truth and for her perpetrator to be caught.

The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors slid open with a hollow ding. The man in blue scrubs nodded. “Go ahead. This isn't my floor.”

Amber pressed by the man and followed Tony out and down a long hallway, a blank slate of stark white walls, closed doors and dark speckled floors.

“It's this way,” Tony assured her, as if he could read her mind.

A hushed, almost cave-like silence permeated the corridor. Not a single employee or patient was anywhere to be seen. She directed her curiosity to the area around her, searching for the security office, wondering if they'd gotten off on the wrong floor.

They stepped through a set of sliding doors and beyond the threshold where the hallway came to an end. A red exit
sign beamed above a single door to the left.

The sliding door slowly coasted shut behind them, and Tony paused. “Oh, I just remembered that you'd stepped out of the room when security called Patrick back. There was another delay, and Patrick asked if I could drop you by Kim's house. Another officer will meet us there. He suggested we use this back exit so you leaving would be less conspicuous.”

It took Amber a moment to process that. “But Patrick didn't want me to leave without an officer present.”

Tony gave an offhanded shrug. “I'm not sure what all transpired. But I do know he wants you at the safe house as soon as possible.”

Second thoughts raced around in her head, weakening her resolve to comply with Patrick's wishes for her to leave for the safe house right then. It didn't make sense for her not to wait until someone could pick her up there. The hospital was secure.

As if reading her mind Tony added, “I think it's hard for Patrick to rest when he's worried about you.”

Reality blasted any thread of rationale she could muster about why she should stay. Patrick didn't need her there; he was well taken care of. And with her gone, maybe he'd take some of those pain meds. “You're right, Tony. Patrick does need his rest.”

And she had no plan to rob him of that.

“Ready?” Tony pushed open the door, holding it for her to go ahead of him. “I don't want to keep the officer waiting.”

Amber swallowed and walked out the door, anxiety building like gathering storm clouds. She had no idea what she'd be in for next.

But the moment Amber sank into the plush leather seat in Tony's dual-cab truck, the tension knotting her back and shoulders started to ease. Maybe it was time for a little hiatus, to distance herself from the threats against her, from Patrick.

“Relax and try to rest some before we get to Kim's house.” Tony's soft words paralleled her own thoughts.

“Thank you.” Settling deeper against the buttery leather, Amber crossed her arms and allowed her eyes to drift shut. The drive wouldn't be long, but a few minutes of rest sounded wonderful.

* * *

Patrick sat in his hospital bed, mulling over the data and clues for the case and making an outline for himself, trying to pull the pieces together. From what his gut told him, Carl and Randall had close drug ties, and the General was the local kingpin they answered to.

The narcotics investigative unit was on it, looking into the local drug rings, trying to find a link to Randall or Carl. It was a tight-knit world of drug lords, mules and dealers, dirty money and greed. And they liked to stay under the radar. Incriminating facts were hard to come by and proving them was even harder.

And Randall knew that.

Vance's report that a belligerent Randall had arrived at the station and had stayed uncooperative didn't surprise Patrick. He had no doubt Randall would fight to the bitter end, declaring his innocence without emotion or insight. And so far, he was doing a pretty good job of it.

Nonetheless, Vance's interrogation methods were top-notch, and if anyone could get something out of Randall, Vance could. That fact made being holed up in a hospital and out of commission more tolerable for Patrick.

Although, not much.

Leaning back, Patrick rested against his pillow, ignoring the pulsating pain in his shoulder. He found himself wondering where Darrell Ott fit into all of this. He was curious to see the ballistics results being run on the bullets fired yesterday and match them against those fired at the counseling center.

Ott blatantly denied killing Carl, or making any other attempts on Amber's life.

In Patrick's gut he believed him. Which meant Amber's assailant had hired Ott, a lowlife assassin, to finally get the job done that he couldn't do himself.

This was personal for whoever was after Amber. Someone who knew her.

Maybe someone who hadn't even popped into the picture yet?

A disturbing scenario.

He buried that thought for the moment.

Patrick shifted again and pressed a hand against his thick shoulder dressing, cringing against another spasm of pain. It lasted only a few long seconds, though it was brutal.

He blew out a long breath and pressed the call bell. Maybe he did need something stronger than ibuprofen. At the same time his cell phone buzzed. At first his heart kicked with hope when he saw it was Vance calling, and then skepticism settled in. Vance couldn't be finished talking to Randall already.

Patrick clicked on the phone, pressed it to his ear, hoping against hope for good news. A fact. A clue. A new lead. Something.

“What do you got, Vance?”

“Besides a headache?”

Patrick nodded. “Ditto on that.”

“Randall Becker is a tough nut to crack,” Vance huffed out.

“But?” Vance had something or he wouldn't have called.

“Well, I painted Becker a pretty grim picture of what his future held if he intentionally withheld information from the police, and the creep clammed up even tighter.”

“I was hoping for good news.”

“Well, at least Ott's in custody. We're following up on a few of his leads.”

“What about the General? Did Ott own up to knowing any more about him?”

“Still denies knowing anything.”

“Do we have enough from Ott to keep Randall behind bars for a few days?”

Vance hesitated, so long, in fact, that Patrick finally said, “Randall's out, isn't he?”

“There was nothing conclusive to hold him on. Hearsay from a hired gun doesn't go far. I had hoped Randall might slip up, tell us something.”

Randall was smarter than that. That was what scared Patrick. “Let's keep a tail on him.”

A deep chuckle. “You know I will.”

“Thanks, Vance.” Patrick hung up the phone and dialed Amber's number, grateful she'd agreed to go to the safe house. Hopefully, she was on her way by now.

On the sixth ring, his call went to voice mail. “This is Amber Talbot. I can't pick up right now. Please leave your name and—”

Patrick hung up the phone. Maybe she was already there? He punched Redial for the officer assigned to take her.

“This is Officer Blake Carson.”

“Officer Carson, this is Investigator Wiley. Could you put Amber on the line?”

“Amber?”

Patrick straightened in bed so abruptly he jarred his wounded shoulder. He bit his lip against the pain and sharpened his tone. “Yes, Amber Talbot. The woman whom I hope you're in the process of escorting to the safe house.”

“Sir, I'm not with Miss Talbot yet. I just finished here and was about to come up there to get her.”

“What?” Patrick glanced at the time. “She left here almost an hour ago to meet you in the security office. I called down there and spoke to you, letting you know to expect her.”

“Yes, sir, you did. However, she never showed up.”

“What do you mean, she never showed up?” Patrick barked into the phone, frustration egging him on, fear twisting his gut. “Run plates on a Tony Hill. See if his vehicle is still in the parking garage. And call a code yellow. Get this hospital on lockdown!”

As Patrick jumped out of bed, he banged his shoulder on the bed railing. Pain blasted through his extremities and stars flashed in his eyes. As his legs nearly buckled, he gripped the edge of the bedside table, bracing himself against the crippling pain.

“Can I help you?” The nurse's voice crackled through the call bell.

Gritting his teeth, Patrick didn't answer. He fought to focus. He needed to get out of there, needed to find Amber.

Exhaling a pent-up breath, he crossed the floor and grabbed the bag Vance had left him. He had no idea what was going down, but he didn't plan to sit around and wait to find out.

He punched Amber's number again. Wedging the phone between his shoulder and jaw, he ripped the brown paper bag open and pulled out his clothes.

No answer still.

Swallowing a groan, he worked past the pain and pulled on his clothes.

His greatest mission was about to begin.