Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Trail of Evidence\Gone Missing\Lethal Exposure (49 page)

“No, Mrs. Harper,” Rebecca said under her breath, willing her neighbor to back away from the window. “Stay inside.”

Jack approached Darius's car with caution, turning around continually to be ready for a possible attack from each angle. He kept his gun raised, and she knew that he would only use it as a last resort. She then did the only thing she was capable of doing to help: pray. She put her hands together and asked God to shroud Jack in a protective shield and to bring him back safe. As she finished her
Amen
, she saw him open the door of the car. In the next moment, Darius fell heavily out onto the sidewalk with arms and legs bound. She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth.

Jack stood tall, turned toward her minivan and raised his index finger, giving her the signal to leave immediately. She started up the car and cruised to the end of the street, keeping her eyes on Jack in the rearview mirror. He was freeing Darius from the tape that bound his limbs together while simultaneously trying to move him toward Rebecca's house. She pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed 9-1-1, asking them to hurry to the scene of an assault. Then she stopped the car, put it in reverse and turned back toward her house. Try as she might, she just couldn't bring herself to leave Jack's side. It wasn't as easy as she had thought.

* * *

“Rebecca,” Jack said on seeing her pull up to the curb in her minivan and lower the window. “I thought I told you to leave.” He heaved Darius against a tree trunk and let him rest against it, sitting on the grass. The chief was conscious but dazed and bleeding from his leg.

“I couldn't leave,” Rebecca called from inside the minivan. “I tried, but I can't.”

Jack stood on the sidewalk, looking between Darius and Rebecca, wondering if he was capable of protecting them both if the attacker were to reveal himself. He took a moment to catch his breath and think, while also scanning the entire area for any unusual activity. He saw nothing. He turned to the house and looked it over for signs of forced entry. The intruder alarm was silent.

“Let's get inside,” Jack said, beckoning Rebecca out of the car. “If you won't leave, I can at least get you off the street.” He squatted down to where Darius was sitting. “Can you walk, Chief?”

Darius nodded and put his arm around Jack's neck to give him enough leverage to heave him up from the ground. “It was Simon Orwell,” Darius said. “I caught him trying to break into the house, and I challenged him. Then another guy ran out of the bushes and jumped me.” He snapped his fingers like he was trying to remember a name. “It was that guy from the
Liberty News
, the journalist who followed us.”

“Peter,” Rebecca said, her face a mixture of disbelief and shock. “Peter and Simon did this to you?”

“Simon said he wanted the negatives that were dropped when you were attacked,” Darius said, gritting his teeth against the pain. “But I told him I don't have them. I said that Jack keeps them with him at all times. He got real angry and stabbed me. He called it a friendly warning and said next time he'd go for the heart. Then they tied me up and left me here.”

“No!” Rebecca exclaimed. “That doesn't sound like Simon.”

“I'm guessing that it was Peter who attacked you in the darkroom yesterday,” Darius said, hobbling to the front door with assistance from Jack. “Acting under orders from Simon. They know that some negatives are missing, and they've given you twenty-four hours to hand them over. It might be a good idea if we put them in a more secure location than Jack's pocket.”

Rebecca stopped in her tracks. “This doesn't make sense. Simon isn't the art thief.” She looked skyward and then at Jack, seemingly uncertain of anything anymore. “Is he?”

“Let's get inside quickly,” Jack said, leaning the chief against the door and returning to Rebecca's side to guide her toward the door. “The police will be here soon, and they can add Simon Orwell and Peter Allen to their arrest warrant.” He opened the door with the numerous security keys, and the intruder alarm began to beep immediately. Rebecca punched in the code while Jack led Darius into the living room and lowered him into a chair.

“Now let's take a look at that wound,” Jack said, taking a penknife from his pocket and using it to slice the fabric of the chief's pants to expose the injury. “You're fortunate,” he said. “This is just a superficial wound. We can clean it and dress it ourselves.”

He followed Rebecca into the kitchen, where she reached up to a shelf and pulled out a first-aid kit. Her tailored blouse rode up on her back, and he saw a row of bruises that had started to turn dark on her pale skin. He went over to her and pulled the fabric up a little higher to see exactly how far the bruising extended.

“You never told me you'd gotten hurt today,” he said.

She turned around and pulled her blouse down to cover her skin. “It's nothing,” she said. “We have more important things to worry about right now.”

“There's nothing more important than you,” he said, staring her straight in the eye. “So don't hide anything from me, okay?”

“I...” she started to say, but she couldn't seem to find the words.

“What?” he asked gently. “Is there something else you're hiding from me?”

She bit her lip. “Not in the way you're thinking,” she said. “It's just something that occurred to me when we were at Sarah's.”

He locked eyes with her, and his breathing became heavier. Was she talking about the exact same thing that had occurred to Sarah?

He put one hand on each side of her waist. He wasn't sure why he did it, but it felt natural. He knew he should be dressing Darius's wound, but it wasn't urgent and, at that moment,
this
felt more urgent than anything in the world. His head seemed to move all by itself toward hers, and the tips of their noses touched.

“What occurred to you?” he whispered as he felt her warm breath come in short puffs on his lips.

She didn't have the opportunity to answer as the doorbell echoed through the house, bringing them both back down to earth instantly. She sprang back from Jack like a cat walking on a hot stove and ran her hands through her hair, looking as though she was trying to compose herself.

“That'll be the police,” she said. “I'll go let them in.”

Jack rushed to walk ahead of her and stopped her in her tracks. “No,” he said, “we don't know who it is, so let me open the door.”

She looked down at the first-aid box in her hands. “I'll go see to Darius's leg,” she said quietly. She seemed to be avoiding his eyes.

Jack walked to the front door and used the peephole to see who was waiting on the other side before he slid the security chains free. It wasn't the police. It's was Rebecca's neighbor, Mrs. Harper. When he opened the door, she stood on the step, with freshly curled hair and newly applied lipstick, beaming like the Cheshire cat.

“This isn't a good time, Mrs. Harper—” he started to say.

She stopped him by holding up her manicured hand. “Your visitors have returned,” she said.

His heart skipped a beat. “Visitors? You mean the men who were here yesterday?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “They arrived earlier this evening. I called your cell phone a few times and left messages, but you never returned my calls. I tried Rebecca's cell and it was turned off.”

Jack ran a hand down his face, remembering that he had given Mrs. Harper his business card. “I forgot that my cell was destroyed in the car explosion.” He quickly corrected his words. “I mean accident. What time did the men leave, Mrs. Harper?”

“Oh, they're still here,” she replied.

A feeling of coolness rushed over his skin. “They're still here?” he repeated. “Where are they?”

“I invited them in for coffee,” she said proudly. “They're sitting in my living room right now.”

ELEVEN

“C
ome inside, Mrs. Harper,” Jack said, taking her hand and pulling her into the house. “You need to stay here with Rebecca while I go see who these men are.”

Mrs. Harper offered no resistance to Jack's firm grip, seeming to sense the seriousness in his voice.

“They said they were friends of yours, Mr. Jackson,” she said with wide eyes. “They're perfectly charming gentlemen.”

“Do they know you're here?” he asked, hearing the faint sound of police sirens in the distance.

She shook her head. “I thought I'd let you surprise them, so I snuck out the back door when I went to make more coffee and saw Rebecca's car parked in the driveway. I figured it'd be a nice reunion for you.” She put her hand on her cheek. “I'm so sorry if I did something wrong.”

He put his hand on her arm. “You did just fine, Mrs. Harper.” The sound of sirens was becoming increasingly louder, and he didn't want the mystery men to be spooked and run. He needed to confront them without delay.

“Wait with Rebecca in the living room while I go speak with them,” he said. “I'll explain later.”

He opened the front door a crack and saw a patrol car turn the corner at the end of the street. He knew he had to act fast. Darting through the door, he briefly turned and instructed Mrs. Harper to bolt it behind him. He heard the lock clunk into place.

Next, he raced up the street to stop the patrol car. He recognized the two deputies inside as the same ones who had responded to Rebecca's break-in and the attack in the darkroom: Deputies Drew and Layton. They stopped their patrol car, shut off the siren and stepped from the vehicle together.

“Where's the assault victim?” Deputy Drew asked. “Is it Mrs. Grey?”

“No,” Jack replied quickly, “the victim is a man named Darius Finch, and he's okay. He's not hurt badly.” He pointed at Mrs. Harper's house. “There are two men inside that house, and I think they may be involved with the attack in some way. I need your help to go inside and find out who they are and what they know.”

He started down the street only to feel a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. It was Deputy Layton. “Mr. Jackson, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside and let us deal with this situation. You are a member of the public, and we can't allow you to take part in police duties.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I'm a former navy SEAL. I know what I'm doing, trust me.” He looked between the two men in uniforms. “These men could be dangerous.”

Deputy Drew moved to stand with his colleague blocking Jack's path to Mrs. Harper's house. “I understand that you are a highly trained individual, but you are still a member of the public,” he said. “And we're here to protect the public, not put them in harm's way.”

“We're wasting time,” Jack said, trying not to raise his voice. “If they see you here on the sidewalk, they're likely to make an escape.”

Deputy Layton crossed his arms. “We'll go inside and assess the occupants,” he said slowly. “But only if you agree to go back to Mrs. Grey's home and wait for us there.”

Jack exhaled loudly and decided to relent. His military training had taught him when it was in everyone's interests to back off. And this was one of those times. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I'll wait with Rebecca.”

He walked back to Rebecca's house and knocked on the door. It was opened with a yank, and Rebecca flung herself into his arms. “Mrs. Harper told me about the men in her house. I'm so glad you're okay. You left without telling me.” She spied the deputies standing behind him on the sidewalk. “Are the police going in?”

The deputies made a pushing gesture with their hands to instruct Jack to go inside. He ushered Rebecca into the house and kicked the door closed with his foot.

“Deputies Drew and Layton want me to stay inside while they check it out,” he said, reaching behind his neck and uncoupling her fingers twined behind his head. “But I'll cover them out back to make sure both exits are blocked.”

“Do you need to do that?” she asked, following him to the back door. “That's the police's job.”

He stopped briefly in the open doorway and looked at her. “The police's job is to protect members of the public,” he said. “It's
my
job to protect you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he brought his finger up to her lips to silence her. “And it's not because I made a promise to Ian,” he said quietly. “It's because I care about you.”

He let his finger remain on her lips for a second or two, and he felt her mouth tremble slightly with his lightly applied pressure. She looked deeply into his eyes, and he felt he could almost hear the words in her mind, asking him to go further and explain what he meant. But he had no time. And he wasn't sure he could explain himself anyway. He just needed to say it.

Then he turned and closed the back door, jogging across the back lawn to the fence that divided Rebecca's yard from her neighbor's. He vaulted the fence easily and landed with steady feet on Mrs. Harper's smooth decking. He instantly ducked down low, seeing two figures sitting together in a room beyond the sliding patio door. Through Mrs. Harper's net drapes, it was difficult to see more than an outline, but he could make out their large frames leaning forward, talking together. One of the men rose from the couch and walked through to the kitchen, no doubt wondering about the prolonged disappearance of their host. Jack darted to the exterior wall and kept his gun held by his shoulder.

Then he heard a heavy knock on the door of the house. “Police! Open up, please.”

He flicked his head to look through the window and saw the backs of both men standing in the kitchen. They looked somehow familiar to him, with mannerisms that he seemed to recognize. One thing was certain—both of these men were in too good physical shape to be Simon Orwell.

Officer Layton's voice echoed from the front of the house again. “This is the police. Please identify yourselves.”

One of the men turned around, and Jack saw his features clearly through a gap in the drapes—strawberry blond hair, freckled skin and a neat scar that ran through his left eyebrow. The last time he had seen that face was at Ian's funeral. The man was one of five pallbearers who proudly carried the coffin to its final resting place. The missing sixth pallbearer was meant to represent Ian himself—the only absent man in a brotherhood of six.

This man in Mrs. Harper's house was Cole Strachan, and by his side was Dillon Harding, both members of the Dark Skies team. He shook his head in amazement. Mrs. Harper had been right after all—they
were
old Navy buddies. And as he watched them approach the front door of Mrs. Harper's house, he realized that he had implicated them in the attack on Darius. He rushed to the patio door, slid it open and stepped into the living room.

As Mrs. Harper's little white dog ran in circles, yapping furiously, Cole and Dillon were spread up against the wall and cuffed. They looked at each other in bewilderment before noticing Jack standing in the hallway.

Cole smiled and shook his head. “I might've known you'd send a welcoming party, Jack. What on earth is going on?”

Jack rubbed his hand down his face. “How long have you got?”

They both replied in unison. “As long as you need.”

* * *

Rebecca paced the floor of the kitchen, trying to strain her neck to see over the fence into Mrs. Harper's yard, but it was too dark for good visibility. She wrung her hands as she walked, talking quietly to herself to prevent her mind from running rampant with images of Jack hurt. Or worse. She knew it could happen. It had happened once already, and she was powerless to prevent a repeat of that fateful day. When Jack had brushed her lips with his finger, she had almost wavered and let herself believe they had a chance of happiness together, that she wasn't destined to be alone for the rest of her life. But waiting for his return was like torture, and she was reminded of the many dark days she had endured before getting her life back on track. God wouldn't want to put her through that again.

Mrs. Harper was sitting at the table. “Don't look so worried, Rebecca,” she said. “I'm sure Jack will be fine. A big, strong man like that can look after himself.”

Tears began to unexpectedly flow down Rebecca's face. She was horrified at being unable to stop them, and she quickly turned her back on Mrs. Harper and placed her hands on the kitchen counter in order to steady herself.

“I thought the same thing about Ian,” she said between big gulps of air. She tried to clench her teeth tightly shut, but it had no effect on the sobs heaving though her body. It was as if the pent-up frustration of eighteen months was coming out in one big push.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Harper,” she blurted out. “Give me a minute and I'll be fine.”

“I shall not give you a minute,” her neighbor said strongly, pulling her by the shoulder to turn her around. Rebecca felt herself tugged into a warm and soothing embrace as Mrs. Harper spoke gently. “If you can't rely on a friend in a time of crisis, then what is the world coming to?”

Darius poked his head around the kitchen door, alerted by the sound of crying. Rebecca saw Mrs. Harper wave him away with her hand, letting him know that his presence was not needed. He hobbled back to the window in the hall and resumed as lookout for Jack's return.

Mrs. Harper allowed the sobs to subside into small gasps before leading Rebecca to sit in a kitchen chair and fetching a glass of water. “Do you realize that this is the first time I've seen you cry?” Mrs. Harper asked, sitting next to her. “In all this time since Ian died, I've never had the privilege of seeing you grieve.”

Rebecca wiped the wetness from beneath her eyes, where she knew her mascara had streaked down her cheeks. “Privilege?” she repeated, questioning the odd choice of word.

Mrs. Harper put her hand on top of Rebecca's and made gentle circular motions. “Grief is such a private act, it's a difficult thing to share,” she said. “When my George died, I didn't want anyone to see me at my worst.”

Rebecca blinked back more tears. Mrs. Harper rarely discussed her late husband, George, who had died long before Rebecca moved to the street.

“Grief is kind of like being a child again,” Mrs. Harper continued in her relaxing Southern lilt. “It makes you vulnerable, and you feel safe only with the ones you love.” She smiled. “So for you to allow me to see your pain makes me feel very special.”

Rebecca smiled weakly in response. “The truth is, Mrs. Harper,” she said, “I'm not quite sure who I'm grieving for. I cried for a long time after Ian died, but now...”

“But now you're crying for someone else?”

Rebecca couldn't answer. Even speaking the word out loud felt disloyal to her dead husband. She simply nodded mutely instead.

“Ian will always be in your heart,” Mrs. Harper said. “Some days, you'll be reminded of him when you see his favorite show on TV or smell his cologne on another man in the street.”

“Or hold his blue sweater,” Rebecca added.

Mrs. Harper nodded in agreement, clearly not understanding the reference but not pressing her. “Memories of him will be constant, but don't fight them. Enjoy them. You don't need to put all those memories in a box in order to care about someone else.”

Rebecca let her shoulders slump forward until she was almost resting her head on the kitchen table. “I don't want to care about someone else,” she whispered.

“Well then, don't,” Mrs. Harper said with a flick of her wrist. “If you don't want to care about another man, then switch the feelings off. It's that simple, right?”

Rebecca pulled a tissue from her pants pocket and dabbed under her eyes. “Maybe it is that simple,” she said, wondering if Mrs. Harper had hit on a bright idea. “When I first started out photographing scenes of war and violence, I was scared out of my mind, but somebody once told me to pretend to be fearless. At first it's hard, but eventually it becomes like second nature, and you stop being afraid.” She looked at Mrs. Harper with a smile. “Maybe it would work for other emotions, as well. If I pretend they're not real, then eventually they'll go away.”

Mrs. Harper's brow furrowed with little crinkles as she listened to Rebecca talk. “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “That's not what I meant at all. You're misunderstanding me. What I'm saying is—”

Both women jumped in shock as someone rapped on the window. Rebecca looked up to see Jack at the glass, a broad grin on his face. She placed her hand on her chest to try and stop her racing heart. She had never felt relief like it before, but she closed her eyes and allowed her body to absorb the euphoria at seeing him safe and well before rising to open the back door. He stepped inside and beamed even wider.

“You were right about the men at your house, Mrs. Harper,” he said. “They
are
old navy buddies. The police would like you to come back to your house and vouch for them before they allow them to leave.” He turned to Rebecca. “They were in Afghanistan with Dark Skies.”

Rebecca put her hand on his shoulder. “This is good news,” she said, trying hard to contain her emotions. “I'm glad you've come back safe.”

Suddenly he gathered Rebecca into his arms and held her close. “I told you I would.”

Feeling his warm embrace triggered her need to implement her plan. She stiffened her body, and he released his grip. “You okay?” he asked. “You seem a little distant.”

“I'm fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “You were really brave, and I'm very proud of you.”

Jack's eyebrows danced in a quizzical manner. “What's with the formality, Bec?” he asked. “You're talking like you just met me.”

“Sometimes formality is good,” she replied, stepping back from him. “Why don't you go and explain the situation to Darius, and we'll all go to Mrs. Harper's house together, where he can make a statement about the attack to the police.”