Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (47 page)

“The pleasure's mine,” he countered, returning the handshake. He had no doubt Riley knew he was no match physically for Grayson, but he appreciated the kid's protective posture and wondered if Laney recognized his obvious devotion to her.

Bria stepped forward, pushing her glasses up on her nose and extending her hand, as well. She was taller than Laney, about five-six, and way too skinny. Her natural blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the bangs falling into her eyes. She barely met Grayson's eyes as she mumbled, “Nice to meet you,” before dropping his hand like a hot potato. Grayson had seen kids act like that before, and usually for a reason other than severe shyness. He made a mental note to ask Laney about Bria's story later.

“What's up with the cop car outside?” Riley asked.

“We had a break-in last night, and Chief Andrews thought it would be safer to leave some officers here.” A red flush crept into Laney's cheeks. She was right. She was possibly the worst liar Grayson had ever seen. The kids didn't seem too perceptive, however, accepting her explanation and going about their task of feeding the dogs.

“You're welcome to use my office if you need a place to work, Grayson. Here, let me show you where it is.”

“This is a nice setup,” he commented, following her through the facility.

“I renovated when I took over the business from Granddad about two years ago.”

Grayson noticed a sprinkler system in the ceiling, and cameras in the corners focused on the training ring.

“You have security cameras in your kennels but won't get an alarm in your house?” Grayson asked. It seemed to him that her money would have been better spent equally on the house and the kennel.

“The cameras are for recording training sessions only. They're not set up for around-the-clock monitoring.”

Grayson's phone vibrated on his hip. “Mind if I take this?”

“Why would I? You've got work to do, and so do I. My office is this way.” She led him past the reception area, down a small corridor that ended at an office and storage area as Grayson answered the phone.

“DeMarco.”

“Andrews here. The arson investigator is wrapping things up. He'll have the official report to us this afternoon, but the fuse at the hospital was deliberately blown. He confirmed his initial assessment of arson.”

Just as Grayson had expected. “What about the surveillance video?”

“No one was in or around that area except the security guard. I've sent a patrol car out to his house to bring him to the precinct for further questioning,” Andrews said.

“Good. We need to press him. Any ID yet on our perp from the break-in?” he asked, meeting Laney's eyes. She looked worried. She should be. It was obvious the kidnappers knew she had survived. There was no doubt the blown fuse, the intruder, all of it were connected with the intent of finding and silencing her.

“Prints were a match for Stephen Fowler,” Andrews continued. “Two-time loser. Just released nine months ago after serving a four-year stretch for B&E. His car was parked at his parents' house in the neighborhood, but they claimed they'd not seen him since his release. Father seemed pretty angry over a stolen family car a few years back—claims he'd cut off all ties. Mom may be maintaining contact without telling dad, but I don't think either had any knowledge of his actions last night.”

“Fowler say anything useful?”

“No. He's still clammed up. It doesn't look like he'll be able to make bail. Maybe another night in jail will loosen his tongue.”

“Maybe. We could definitely use a break. Right now I'm pinning all my hopes on Laney being able to ID a suspect,” Grayson said.

“Do you think we should reconsider moving her to a safe house?” Andrews asked.

“The problem is, I don't know who to trust. I'd feel better if she was here, with a combination of police and FBI protection for the next few days.”

“I'll support that. I'll rotate officers out front,” Andrews said. “Any word on the FBI protection detail?”

“Best case scenario, tonight or tomorrow. I'll stay around until we get more people lined up.”

“I'll be by in a few hours to drop Murphy off. You can let me know then if you think we need to take additional precautions.”

Grayson checked his watch. “Actually, I've got the sketch artist flying in soon. If you're going to be here, I'll feel better about leaving Laney to pick the sketch artist up from the airport. My plan is to bring her directly here—the quicker we get the sketches done, the better.”

“That won't be a problem,” Andrews said. “You still planning to bring in that computer-forensics guy? Because if you're not, I'm calling someone in. If there's a leak in my department, I want to know it.”

“She's coming, but she's not a guy. I called in a favor and got the leading cyber-forensics investigator in the country.” He didn't mention that Arden was his sister. No need for that. Andrews would figure it out soon enough.

“She's FBI, too?”

“No. She's brains for hire. An independent contractor. But I know I can trust her, and that's all that matters right now.”

Grayson said a quick goodbye and disconnected.

“Well?” Laney demanded, her eyes deeply shadowed, the bruise on her jaw purple and green against her pale skin.

“I think you heard most of it. The arson team confirmed that the fuse box had been tampered with, and the perp from the break-in is still not talking. Kent's planning to bring Murphy...”

A sudden commotion in the kennels, followed by a reverberating crash and a piercing scream, had Grayson on high alert, hurrying toward the office door. “Wait here,” he ordered Laney as he rushed into the kennels, pulling the door shut behind him.

Drawing his gun, he raced to the indoor training ring, scanning the facility for the source of danger.

He didn't have to look far.

Near the entry of the indoor training facility, a brown-and-black mass of fur on legs was excitedly pulling on its leash. It must have weighed a good seventy or eighty pounds. The poor owner was putting all his strength into holding it at bay as it wagged its tail excitedly and tried to reach Riley and the food cart. It had already managed to barrel over Bria, knocking her off her feet and scattering metal dog bowls all over the concrete floor. Riley was trying to pull her up, one eye warily trained on the furry menace.

Unexpectedly, the pup pulled free, launching himself in a ball of unbridled excitement toward the teens and the food cart. Grayson cringed, but it was like watching a train wreck about to happen. He just couldn't look away.

Footsteps pounded on the ground behind him, and he whirled around, ready for danger. Laney was there, wild auburn curls flying around her face, eyes wide with surprise. She held a long metal pole, her knuckles white from her grip on it.

“I guess,” she said, as he turned back and saw the furry beast had its head in a bucket of dog food, “that is Maxine.”

NINE

M
axine was a darling, but she was a wild one.

Laney barely managed to get her back into her owners' SUV after the evaluation was done.

They drove away, waving wildly, probably in gratitude that Maxine hadn't killed Bria or Riley.

Maxine stuck her head out the side window, her tongue lolling out.

“I can't believe that thing is only five months old.” Grayson commented.

“She's cute, isn't she?” Laney asked.

“Cute? I don't think anything that big can be called cute.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she responded absently, turning to clean up the mess left in Maxine's wake.

“You shouldn't have come running out of the office. You know that, right?” Grayson asked, helping right the cart and scoop what was left of the food back onto it.

“What was I supposed to do? Cower in my office, hoping and praying that the screams weren't my staff members being slaughtered?”

“You thought they were being slaughtered, and you came outside with this?” He lifted her grandfather's old catching pole, a tool used to control vicious, potentially dangerous dogs. It was a five-foot-long aluminum rod with a grip on one end and a retractable noose on the other.

She had never used one herself, and in all the years she had worked with her grandfather, she had never seen him use one, either. But when she'd prepared to leave the office to find the source of the screaming, it had been the only potential weapon within her reach.

“It made sense at the time.” She shrugged, her hair sliding along her neck and falling away from the wound on her head. She'd almost died trying to save a stranger. It shouldn't surprise him that she'd come running to rescue her employees.

“It would have made more sense to stay where I left you. I have a gun, Laney, and I'm trained to take down criminals.”

“And I'm trained to take care of the people who work for me. I'm not going to sit back and let them be hurt because I'm too afraid to act.” Her voice shook—she hoped he didn't notice.

“Okay,” he said, sounding less like he truly agreed and more like he simply didn't want to argue with her.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“It means you're exhausted. And you need some rest.”

“I need to meet with that sketch artist.”

“She'll be here this afternoon.”

“But will that be soon enough? The kidnappers know I'm alive. They may move Olivia and the other children sooner rather than later.”

“Moving them early would take a lot of coordination and effort,” he reminded her, but she heard the doubt in his voice. She knew he'd hoped to lull the kidnappers into a false sense of security by making them believe she was dead. Since that plan had fallen through, he had to be just as worried as she was that the abductors would decide to cut their losses and leave the area with the children they'd already taken.

“That doesn't mean they won't do it, and once the kids are out of the country, they may never be found.”

“I suspect they have a quota of children to meet, and the kidnappers are not going to jeopardize their payday just yet. Not until they've exhausted all other options.”

“As in tried everything to get rid of me?”

“Something like that. Come on. Let's go back to the house. You're looking a little pale.”

She had a feeling he was being diplomatic. If the aching exhaustion she felt was any indication, she probably looked like five miles of rough road. “I'm feeling a little pale, too, but I have dogs to take care of.”

“Your staff can handle it.” He pressed his hand to her lower back, urging her to the house.

He looked even more worried when she didn't bother to protest.

They walked to the house silently, her steps slow and a little unsteady. The adrenaline that had shot through her when she'd heard the screams of her staff was fading, leaving her drained and hollow. When she'd heard Bria and Riley calling out, her heart sunk with the certainty that she had—once again—put the people who trusted her in harm's way. Now her mind was filled with dark memories and all she wanted was to crawl into bed and hope that sleep would push those memories away, at least for a little while.

“You know what?” she murmured without looking at him. “I think I'm going to lie down for a while.”

She didn't give him a chance to say he thought it was a good idea. She just walked down the hall and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Sunlight tracked along the ceiling, the house filled with noises. Rose's voice. Grayson's. The television blasting
The Price Is Right
. Dishes clanked, and the sweet smell of fresh baked treats filled the room. The dogs sniffed at the closed bedroom door. She could hear their quiet snuffling breaths, but she was too tired to let them in. She allowed herself to drift in that sweet place between waking and sleeping, that soft spot where memories didn't intrude and circumstances didn't matter so much.

Someone knocked on the door. “Laney,” Rose called. “Do you want some tea?”

It was Rose's cure-all, and most times Laney would humor her aunt by having a cup. This wasn't most days, and she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as the door swung open.

“Laney, dear?” Rose whispered. The floorboards creaked as she approached the bed, and Laney caught a whiff of her aunt's lavender body wash. “Are you awake?”

“I'm trying really hard not to be,” Laney muttered.

“Oh. Well, then, I'll just leave you to it. That good-looking FBI agent is sitting in the living room having one of my famous cinnamon rolls. I thought you might like one, too.”

“First of all,” Laney said, finally opening her eyes, “you know his name is Grayson. Second, your famous cinnamon rolls come from a can, so I'm not sure how you can even call them yours or famous.”

“They
are
famous, Laney. The commercials for them are all over the television. I made them. Therefore, they are mine,” Rose huffed.

“I'm sure several million other people have also made them.” Laney sat up, her entire body achy and old-feeling. “You didn't just come in here to ask me if I wanted a cinnamon roll. What's up?”

“I'm worried about you,” Rose admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing a hand on Laney's thigh. “Since when do you lie around in the middle of the day?”

“Since I got shot in the head?”

“Don't try to be funny, Laney. This isn't the time for it.”

“Really, Aunt Rose. You don't need to worry. I'm fine.”

“The bruise on your jaw and the staples in your scalp would say differently.”

“What they say, Aunt Rose, is that I survived. That's a great thing. Not something to make you worry.”

“I always worry about you, dear. Ever since that unfortunate incident—”

“I think I
will
have one of those cinnamon rolls.” Laney stood so abruptly, her head swam.

“You can't keep running away from it forever, Laney.” Rose grabbed her arm, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman of her age. “Eventually, you're going to have to do the hard work of letting go.”

“I have let go.” She just hadn't forgotten, would never forget.

“Then maybe what you really need is to grab on to something worth believing in.” Rose planted her fists firmly on hips that sported bright pink running pants.

“I suppose you're going to tell me what that is?”

“
I
suppose that
you're
intelligent enough to figure it out yourself! But maybe not, since you've spent the past few years hiding in your safe little house, ignoring God's calling for your life!” She flung the last over her shoulder as she huffed out of the room.

Laney sank onto the bed, her muscles so tense she thought they might snap. She didn't like to talk about what had happened in Colorado. She didn't like to think about it. Of course, she still thought about it almost every day. How could she not? She'd lost three well-trained team members. Not just team members. Friends. All of them gone in a blink of an eye and the wild heaving of an avalanche. She rubbed the back of her neck, tried to force the memories away.

They wouldn't leave her. Despite what she'd said to Rose, she hadn't let go. She
couldn't
let go. She'd been responsible for her team, and she'd failed them.

There was nothing that could change that, nothing that could bring back the lives that had been lost.

Not even giving up search and rescue
, a quiet voice inside reminded her.

She ignored it. She'd made the decision to retire Jax. It had been the right one to make. She was doing good things with her business, and she didn't see how that could be construed as ignoring God's calling.

Whatever that calling might be.

She frowned, eyeing the old family Bible that sat on her dresser. It had belonged to her grandfather, and he'd given it to her a few weeks before his death. She had opened it once, to read verses from it during his funeral. She touched the cover. Ran her fingers over the embossed letters that read
Travis Family Bible
. It was smooth as silk, decades of being handled and read leaving the old leather soft. She'd believed in God for as long as she could remember. What she hadn't believed was that He cared, that He had a purpose and a plan for her life.

Aunt Rose, though, was convinced otherwise.

So, apparently, was Grayson.

Laney wanted to believe it. She wanted to know everything that had happened would eventually lead her to the place she was supposed to be.

“Everything okay in here?” Grayson asked from the open doorway. He'd showered and changed into a clean set of black tactical pants and a black T-shirt with the FBI logo. Her breath caught as he smiled. He looked good. Great, even. And she'd have to be blind not to notice it.

“Yes.”

“Then why did Rose stomp into the kitchen muttering something about stubborn nieces? You're not planning your escape, are you?”

“Not hardly.” She laughed, her hand falling away from the Bible, the soft feel of its cover still on her fingers and in her mind. “She's just annoyed with me.”

“Why?” He walked into the room, and it felt smaller, more intimate.

“Because I retired from search and rescue,” she admitted, sidling past him and moving into the hall. The last thing she wanted was Grayson DeMarco in her bedroom.

“I read about that,” he responded.

She stopped short, turning to face him. The hall was narrow, and they were close. She could see the stubble on his chin, the dark ring around his striking blue irises. “Where?”

“A local paper did a story about you a couple of years ago, remember?'

“Yes, but I didn't think anyone else did.”

“I did a little research while you were resting and found it. I told you I planned to work this morning.”

“I'm not sure I like that you were digging into my past. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty positive that I don't like it at all.”

“I wasn't digging. I was doing background checks on everyone involved in the case.”

“You need a background check on a witness?”

“Not every witness is an innocent bystander, Laney,” he responded, eyeing her. “Now that I'm thinking about it, Rose was also muttering something about grumpy nieces.”

“I am not grumpy!” Laney protested, even though she probably was.

“Sure you are. Sleep deprivation will do that to a person. Come on.” He took her arm, his strong fingers curving around her biceps, their warmth seeping through her cotton shirt. “A little sugar will perk you right up.”

“I don't need—”

“What you need,” he cut her off, his expression serious, “is to let go and let someone take care of you for a while.” He began leading her to the kitchen.

It was the second time in just a few minutes that someone had told her she needed to let go.

Maybe it was time, she thought, but she wasn't sure she knew how.