Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (47 page)

He looked nervous. “What is that place, Bec?”

“As my very good friend,” she said, trying not to let her breath catch in her throat. Why was it so hard to say these words? “You'll always be special to me, Jack.”

“But not special enough to keep things as they are?” he asked.

She felt a wave of heat come over her, and she took off her jacket. It bought her some time to think. “We can't keep things the way they are, Jack,” she said. “What we have isn't real.”

He reached out and took her fingers in his. “It feels real to me.”

“But it's all pretend,” she blurted out. “We look like a family and we act like a family, but we're not a family. Not really. It's not fair to the girls to maintain the status quo. They've grown so close to you. They see you like a...”

He finished her sentence. “Like a father.”

“Exactly. And imagine how they'll feel if you meet someone and get married and start your own family.” She turned around quickly, desperately trying to stem the flow of tears. People were milling around the church entrance, and she felt a sudden need to get away, so she quickly darted down the stone steps and walked briskly into the parking lot. She didn't need to look behind to know that Jack was following her closely.

“That's a big
if
, Rebecca,” he said, stopping her by putting his hand on her shoulder. “We can't plan our future on what might happen.”

“Yes, I can,” she said turning around. “I have to do what's best for all of us—you, me and the children.”

Jack put his hands into his pockets. “And you think it's best that we spend more time apart?”

“I do,” she said quietly. “As soon as we're all safe from harm, we should make some changes.”

“Do I get a say in this?” he asked, his voice betraying a note of irritation.

“No,” she said. “Because I know you'd never break your promise to Ian. I know you won't walk away from me unless I force you to.”

“I don't want to walk away from you, Bec,” he said. “And that's not because of my promise to Ian. That's not why I'm here.”

“Then why are you here?” she challenged him. She didn't know why she was angry with him. She had no right to be.

“Because there's no place else I'd rather be.”

Her anger dissipated under her skin, and she gave a long sigh. She knew he had intended the statement to be taken in a positive way, but she couldn't help but see the flaws in it.

“But how long will you feel that way, Jack?” she asked softly. “You have no idea how you'll feel in six months or six years.”

He didn't miss a beat. “Yes, I do. I'll still want to be here for you.”

She imagined how it would feel to share Jack's time with someone else. If he married and settled down, he would be part of another family; his loyalty would be to his wife. It was like waiting for an axe to fall.

While she mulled over these thoughts, Jack was obviously doing some thinking of his own. “Neither of us knows what the future holds,” he said. “You could find someone and settle down yourself. It's not all about me, you know.”

She shook her head. “No. That will never happen.”

He tilted his head to the side. “How do you know that?”

She didn't want to elaborate too much. She didn't think Jack would understand. “I had a husband once already.”

“And he died,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “That's no reason to spend the rest of your life alone.”

She brought her hands up to her face, palms together, unable to contain her bubbling emotions any longer. “Why would God take my husband in the first place unless I'm meant to spend the rest of my life alone?”

Jack looked at her for a long time. Finally he quietly said, “I think that's a question you need to discuss with your pastor. Don't bottle things up.”

She nodded mutely. Roger had often tried to encourage her to open up and talk freely about her bereavement, but she worried that her pastor would judge her harshly for her failings. She felt inadequate. She suddenly remembered the blue sweater neatly folded on her dresser and her inability to make a simple decision regarding donating it to charity. She was holding on to so much negative emotion that it was eating her up inside.

“You're right,” she whispered. “I am bottling things up.” She looked up at the church. “I'll arrange a time to speak to Roger and talk it through.”

Jack smiled, revealing his gleaming white teeth. “Good.” He took his hands from his pockets and came closer. Her heart skipped a beat when he brought his hand up to her cheek and let his palm rest there. “I know this is hard for you,” he said quietly. “But it's worse when you push me away.”

She closed her eyes. At that moment, it felt so natural to lean in and press her lips on his that she almost did it. But when she realized what her mind was contemplating, she snapped her eyes open and took a step backward.

“Everything I said still stands,” she said, affirming her belief that she was doing the right thing by putting space between them. She delved into her purse and pulled out her minivan keys. Darius was leaning against a tree, chatting and laughing with a redheaded young lady. As the woman turned her head, Rebecca saw that it was Claire from the office, and she was gazing at Darius with puppy dog eyes. It seemed to Rebecca that everybody was happy except her.

“We should go,” she said. “I told Sarah I'd visit the girls after church.”

She turned and walked away from him, knowing well enough that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation wasn't over. But she had nothing more to say.

* * *

Jack stood in the church parking lot, watching Rebecca's slender legs stride away from him. For a second, she had swayed gently toward him, and he'd instinctively leaned forward, waiting for her to kiss him. He rubbed the back of his neck, telling himself he was being stupid. She didn't feel that way about him. Did she? What did it matter anyway? She'd made up her mind already.

He began to follow her to the car and spotted Darius in the shade of a tree, talking with a woman Jack recognized from the previous day. It was Claire Monaghan, Simon's secretary from the
Liberty News
. He hadn't noticed her in church, but she was now giggling like a schoolgirl while Darius whispered something into her ear. It looked like the chief had a romantic character after all, and he had clearly succeeded in gaining an admirer in Claire.

Darius noticed Jack heading toward him and said a hasty goodbye to Claire. She ducked through the trees and headed off on the sidewalk.

“Are we ready to go?” Darius asked.

Jack jerked his head in the direction of the street where Claire had disappeared from view behind the wall of the adjacent building. “Does she have any new information? Is that why she's here?”

“Unfortunately not,” Darius replied. “She was attending church, and I happened to run into her. She believes that Simon still has the photographs and is planning on publishing them with a front-page headline next week.”

“Does she have any evidence of this?” Jack asked. “Because Simon seems pretty desperate to get hold of another set of prints.”

“It's just a hunch at the moment,” Darius said. “But let's keep a close eye on Mr. Orwell, just to be on the safe side.”

“I agree, if only for his own safety. Rebecca and I need to visit her mother-in-law and drop off some items for the girls. We'll meet you back at the house at five o'clock.”

Darius looked at Rebecca's minivan. “Sure, but where is she?”

Jack spun around, expecting to see Rebecca walking toward her car, just where he had last seen her. Only her brown leather purse lay on the ground, its contents spilled on the pavement.

Rebecca was gone!

NINE

J
ack ran to Rebecca's minivan and circled it. He spun back around to Darius.

“Did you see anything?” he shouted. “How did she just vanish? Why didn't she call out?” He looked accusingly at the chief. “You were supposed to be acting as a lookout, and instead you were chatting with a girl.”

Darius skirted around the edge of the parking lot, looking behind each car. “I thought she'd gotten into her minivan to wait for you,” he said. “I didn't see her leave.”

Panic started to swell inside Jack's chest. He had taken his eyes off her for barely a few moments, but it was long enough to expose her to attack. He began to call her name, hoping that she had simply gone to the bathroom or to speak to a friend. Many of the congregation had gathered on the porch of the church to greet one another after the service, and his shouts attracted their attention. The pastor came rushing over with a look of concern on his face.

“Is everything okay, Jack?” he asked. “Has something happened to Rebecca?”

“I don't know,” Jack replied. “I don't have time to explain, but I think Rebecca's life may be in danger. We need to find her. Quickly.”

Roger seemed to sense the urgency in Jack's voice and didn't waste time asking unnecessary questions. He simply took Jack at his word and sprang into action, racing back to the church steps to gather the congregation around him.

“Rebecca is missing,” he shouted into the throng. “Please, somebody call 9-1-1. There's a chance that sinister forces may be at work, trying to cause her distress. If we work together, I'm sure we can find her before she comes to harm.” He looked over to Jack, who had joined the group. “Let's offer up a quick prayer and get going. There's no time to lose.”

Ripples of shock spread through the crowd of people. The parishioners asked each other who had seen Rebecca last. Nobody had any useful information to offer. Jack stood among Rebecca's spiritual family as Roger asked God for His help and guidance. He tried to still his beating heart and give himself up to God also. It felt alien to him, but it also felt right. At that moment, Rebecca needed everybody's prayers, even those of the skeptical.

The congregation scattered in every direction, young and old, the able-bodied and the infirm. Rebecca's name could be heard flying back and forth as people searched in the foliage, around cars on the street and in every nook and cranny. Meanwhile, Jack seemed to be frozen outside the church, not knowing which way to turn or where to look.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Roger. “Don't worry, Jack. The Lord will help us find her. He won't abandon her.”

“I can't believe I let this happen,” Jack said, raking a hand down his face. “I'm supposed to be taking care of her.”

Then a voice pierced the air, shouting. “I see her! Come quickly.”

Jack's limbs freed up instantly, and he jumped the church steps all at once, running hard toward the source of the voice. It was coming from a woman standing on the sidewalk, pointing to a small wooded area close to a playground, where a white van was parked under cover of the trees. A few members of the church were headed toward the van, but they didn't possess Jack's level of fitness, so he was able to overtake them quickly, pounding on the sidewalk like an athlete. Approaching the van, he could hear Rebecca calling his name, and it sounded like she was struggling.

He found her at the back of the vehicle, kicking and flailing against a man attempting to shove her through the open doors. She had positioned her feet firmly on either side of the doors and was pushing back with all her might.

Jack grabbed the collar of the man and yanked him back with force—he was wearing overalls, like a mechanic, dirty and stained with grease. The strength of Jack's grip restricted his airway, and he made retching noises. The man was forced to let go of Rebecca and turn his attention to Jack. Rebecca fell to the ground, and Jack heard her palms slap onto the pavement to break her fall. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, ready to take on her attacker, but Jack had it under control. The man was big, yet he was out of shape and slow. It wasn't difficult for Jack to overpower him—the only difficulty was pinning him down to the ground until the police arrived. Jack hadn't felt it appropriate to take his gun into church, so he had left it in the minivan. That made this match one of pure strength.

As if on cue, the members of the church arrived in a large group and assisted in restraining the man, pushing him to the ground while several people held his limbs down. After a few seconds, the guy realized that resistance was futile and he gave up the struggle, allowing his body to go limp in their collectively firm grip.

The sound of sirens in the distance brought welcome relief, and the pastor flagged the patrol car down in the middle of the street. As soon as the police had the suspect cuffed and under control, Jack went to Rebecca and gathered her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and breathed out hard. He felt the warmth penetrate through his white cotton shirt, and he put his hand on the back of her head, lightly stroking her hair, now disheveled from the tussle.

“I'm so sorry I let this happen,” he whispered.

“It's not your fault,” she said, pulling away to watch her attacker being placed in the patrol car by the police. “I was tricked.”

“Tricked?” he repeated. “How? By who?”

“It was Claire,” she answered. “She asked me to help her find an earring she'd lost in the bushes. Once I started looking, somebody grabbed me from behind and dragged me away.”

Jack couldn't quite believe it. “Claire?” he asked. “But why would she do this? She doesn't seem the type.”

“It just goes to show that you can't judge a book by its cover,” Rebecca said, nervously glancing around. “It makes me wonder who else we can't trust.”

“One thing is always certain,” Jack said. “You can trust me.”

* * *

The county sheriff's office in Bristol was stuffy, and Rebecca fanned herself with an old magazine. Perfume samples stuck between the pages sent a flowery fragrance billowing through her hair, creating an aromatic haze where she was seated in front of a desk. The heat was turned up too high, and she wriggled uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. The sheriff's office was located in the town's beautiful, colonial-style courthouse—a place she visited often as a newspaper photographer.

Jack appeared with a cup of ice water. “Drink this,” he said, putting the cup on the table in front of her. “You look a little warm.”

“I'm getting antsy,” she admitted. “I'd really like to leave.” She sipped the water gratefully. “I already told the detectives everything I know, and I'm late for my visit to Sarah's house.”

“I called her,” Jack said. “I told her we were having car trouble. She'd worry if we told her the truth.”

Rebecca shook her head sadly. “I can't believe Claire would betray me like that. We've been working together for five years. I thought we were friends.” She sighed and let her shoulders droop forward. The shock of the day was finally catching up with her.

Jack pulled his chair across the rough carpeted floor and settled himself close to her. “Are you okay?” he asked, resting his palm on her back. His hand was hot and felt like fire though her thin blouse.

“I just want to leave,” she said quietly. “I need to see Charlotte and Emily.”

“All in good time,” Jack said soothingly. “Let's be patient.”

The door to the adjoining office opened up, and two male, middle-aged detectives entered the room. She had already given Detective Harman and Detective Smith her detailed statement about the attack. They came and sat on the opposite side of the desk.

“We apologize for the wait, Mrs. Grey,” Detective Smith said. “There are just a couple more questions we need to ask before you leave.”

“Did you arrest Claire Monaghan?” Rebecca asked, anxious to know that Simon's secretary was in custody and incapable of causing any more harm.

“I'm afraid we haven't managed to locate Miss Monaghan,” the detective replied. “But we have some information on the man who attempted to kidnap you.”

“You do?” Rebecca asked, running her hand through her hair. “Who is he?”

Detective Smith looked over his notes. “His name is Thomas Drummond. He's a motor vehicle mechanic over on Industrial Park Drive. His business is in severe financial difficulty, and he told us he agreed to kidnap you for the sum of ten thousand dollars.”

“And it was Claire Monaghan who asked him to do it?” Rebecca asked, wondering how on earth Simon's shy secretary was capable of this.

“Mr. Drummond confirms that Miss Monaghan gave him half the money up front and was due to give him the second half after the job was completed,” Detective Smith replied. “He claims he wasn't told of the motive for the kidnapping. He says he just needed the money.”

Rebecca found herself suddenly feeling cold in spite of the warm room. She pulled her jacket from the arm of the chair and put it around her shoulders. Jack looked at her with concern, and she was glad that he sensed her need to stay quiet for a while. He picked up the conversation on her behalf.

“Detectives,” Jack said, addressing them both with a solemn face. “It seems pretty clear to us that Claire is somehow involved with the stolen art. The photographs that were in her possession went missing yesterday, and the kidnap attempt today is intended to prevent Rebecca from taking reprints to the authorities.”

The detectives looked sympathetic. “We appreciate your concern, Mr. Jackson,” Detective Harman said. “But this is all based on supposition. Until we can locate and interview Claire Monaghan, we can't truly know what her motive was.”

Rebecca shook her head. Something didn't feel right. “Claire would never plan this alone,” she said. “She must've been manipulated by somebody. I've never known her to be a bad person.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Simon Orwell?”

“I called Mr. Orwell just a few moments ago, and he strenuously refutes any involvement in this,” Detective Harman said. “And we have no evidence to contradict his statement.”

“What will happen to Thomas Drummond?” Jack asked.

“He's being charged with attempted kidnapping,” Detective Harman replied. “And he'll stay in custody until the preliminary hearing. Even if he's granted bail, I doubt he'll be able to afford it, so I don't think he'll be out anytime soon. Don't worry—you'll both be the first to know if he's released from police custody.”

“That's a relief,” Jack said. “At least we know he's behind bars for now.” He leaned across the desk. “But Rebecca still isn't safe. What did the forensics team find yesterday in the darkroom? Were there any fingerprints?”

Detective Smith shook his head. “I'm afraid they found nothing except Mrs. Grey's prints. But the police department received a report from the accident investigators today, and they found evidence of an explosive device in your vehicle, Mr. Jackson. It looks like a fairly sophisticated one.” His face turned grave. “I've formally asked the FBI to take over this investigation. It seems to be escalating pretty fast, and this county simply doesn't have the resources for round-the-clock protection.”

“How long will the Feds take to move on something like this?” Jack asked.

“Probably a couple of days,” the detective replied. “They'll consider what's happened so far and review your claims about the stolen artwork. If they think there's a case, it'll be handed over to the War Crimes Unit. In the meantime, we're doing all we can to find Claire Monaghan and get some answers from her. But please rest assured that you can call 9-1-1 at any time for assistance. The sheriff's deputies will be able to respond to any emergencies.”

These words did not reassure Rebecca in the slightest, but she knew the detectives were doing their best to make her feel at ease. “Thank you,” she said. “Can I leave now? I'm late for an appointment.”

The detectives stood up. “Of course,” he said. “If we have any updates for you, we'll telephone immediately.”

Rebecca reached for Jack's hand, and he gripped it as she rose from her seat. He smiled at her in a way that made her feel a little calmer inside. If the police were unable to protect her, she would have to put all her faith in Jack.

* * *

Jack drove along Highway 20 on high alert, determined to be supervigilant. Rebecca had been insistent on continuing with her plan for the day—to visit her daughters at Sarah Grey's house—and he certainly didn't want to be followed to such an important location. He had woven through the streets of Bristol before turning onto the highway, using evasive maneuvering techniques to ensure that no one could possibly be on their tail. Darius had asked to accompany them, but Rebecca hadn't wanted his presence there. Jack could understand why. Darius was often intense and overwhelming, and Rebecca was clearly in need of quiet family time. In this instance, Jack had assumed that he counted as family.

“Do you think Simon put Claire up to the kidnapping attempt?” Rebecca asked. “I can't believe he would do something like that, but maybe I don't know him as well as I thought.”

“If the police say Simon's not involved, I think we have to trust in their judgment,” Jack replied. “I'm certain that the FBI will find good enough cause to open an investigation. Until then, let's continue with our plan to visit the professor at the museum in Tallahassee.” He reached over to touch her hand but thought better of it. “Stay close to me at all times.”

“I intend to,” she said. She looked down into her lap, where her fingers were tightly wound together. “At least for the time being.”

He steeled himself to say the words that he'd been storing up since their earlier conversation. “I understand why you said those things to me after church this morning. I'm glad you explained how you feel. I can see you're struggling with your faith.”