Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (77 page)

“If I had to guess, I'd say Wade Cameron knew you guys are being watched by whoever is after him. Smart move, calling the two of you away. Anybody watching would follow you, leaving him free to come here. The question is why.” She leaned her head back and squinted against the bright light of morning. “Either that or you're being set up.”

“Set up?” Josh pulled his gaze from Andrea and tried to gauge the emotion behind the detective's words. “You know we didn't do this. So you're clearing Andrea of everything?”

“Yet another thing I didn't say. I'll be honest with you, Walker. To my thinking, this isn't about Wade Cameron. Yes, he's dead. But every single incident aside from this one has been directly aimed at Andrea Donovan. Either somebody thinks she knows something, or she's knee-deep in everything that's going on and somebody wants her quiet.”

“They want her to shut down. And they think she knows something.” He knew Andrea, knew how much she loved her brother and how that love extended to every person who suffered from PTSD and addiction like he did. He would lay his life down on the belief that she was innocent. “If somebody killed Cameron, it's because they're cleaning house and running scared. They'll take care of anyone who could point fingers at them.”

“Already floated that theory. Off the record, it's my favorite.”

For the first time, Josh believed Detective Simmons had a heart and that it was on Andrea's side. “Did you tell her that's Cameron in the truck?”

“No.” She turned to walk away but looked back at Josh over her shoulder as she did. “I told
you.
”

Even though she hadn't said it, Josh knew her implication was right. Andrea would take the news better from him. He ran his hand down his face and along his chin, wondering when the last time was he'd let a razor hit his face. The last day he'd worked. Whenever that had been. Right now, it felt like two lifetimes ago.

Josh braced his hands on the car behind him to push up, but his right elbow collapsed under the pressure and set him back hard against the vehicle. To be perfectly honest, he was tired of being mocked and reminded of his weakness every time he moved.

He heaved himself up and put one foot in front of the other as Andrea looked down and met his gaze.

A reverberating crack split the air. A shout echoed off the trees as the glass between them shattered and Andrea slipped from view.

FOURTEEN

B
lood. Andrea stared at her fingers as strong hands yanked her up and pulled her across the carpet into her kitchen against the cabinet.

Josh. Where was Josh?

Shouts and pounding feet ebbed and flowed around her as hands gripped her face and turned her head, forcing her to meet the concerned eyes of the paramedic she'd chatted with moments before. He scanned her face then shifted out of her line of vision. Wet warmth trickled its way down her temple to her cheek, but her arms felt too heavy to lift them and swipe it away.

Someone slid into place beside her. “Andrea, look at me. Did they hit you?”

Breath entered her lungs all at once, and she realized she'd held it until that moment, waiting for him. Josh knelt beside her, pale and breathing hard. “You okay?” Her words felt and sounded like cold molasses.

“I'm fine.” He stretched a hand toward her forehead then stopped and let it hover between them. “You're bleeding.”

The young paramedic reappeared, his hands sheathed in disposable gloves. He pressed a stinging compress to her temple. “I think she got hit by glass from the window. I don't see anything else, no other wounds.” His voice shook slightly as he checked beneath the compress and pressed more firmly. “We should have had you away from that window. Letting you stand there with all that's happened wasn't smart.”

“Everybody's okay?” Josh was fine, here beside her as always, but Andrea needed to know, needed assurance that no one else suffered because of her. Enough was enough. All she wanted to do was shove the paramedic aside and march into the center of the parking lot with her hands over her head. When bravado had led her to tell Josh they'd never shut her down, nobody had died, no other shots had been fired. But now someone was dead. She had to find the way to end this. Now.

“Fine, as far as I know.” The young paramedic taped a bandage over the wound, handed her a stack of wet wipes, then vanished from her narrow field of vision. It was like she couldn't get her head on straight, like she was swimming through maple syrup.

“There was only the one shot.” Josh took the packets from her hands and ripped two open, then started gently wiping her blood from her fingers.

Her blood. How close had she come to being hit this time? She wanted to verbalize the question, but the words stuck between her head and her tongue. All she could do was sit mute and watch Josh's fingers on hers.

Gradually, her body calmed, but everything focused with laser precision on the warmth of Josh's fingers. That seemed to be the center, the thing that pulled her into reality and knocked back the shock of gunshots and flying glass. She drew in a shaky breath but didn't look up. “Was that Wade? In the truck?” It had gnawed at her since they backed away and called the police, taking refuge in her apartment.

Josh ripped open another wipe. “You got a carpet burn on your palm.” He reached for her other hand and turned it over. “This one, too.”

“Josh.” She tried to pull away from the electricity his hand conducted even in the middle of chaos, but his grip tightened. “It was him, wasn't it? And then they waited for me.” The words choked on the edge of sobs. The answer was the last thing she wanted to hear, even though she already knew it.

Josh's fingers stilled. Slowly, as though he felt her need to know that she was still alive, that he was still alive, even in the face of a brutal murder, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then he raised his eyes and they focused straight in on hers. His grip on her fingers tightened, and he reached up with his free hand to brush the hair from her bandage, then found her eyes again.

The rest of the chaos faded away. They were already alone in her kitchen, but the shouts from outside and the police radios died away until the only sound was their breathing. The tiny voice that told her Josh was in danger if she let him get any closer grew more and more distant as he let his fingers trail down her face, his eyes asking for permission she shouldn't give but couldn't stop herself from granting.

With a deep inhale Josh leaned forward and pressed his lips beside the bandage on her forehead.

Unwanted disappointment coursed through Andrea. Even though she knew they didn't need the distraction now, she'd wanted him to kiss her with everything in her being.

Now was not the time. It would be wrong, when Wade's body lay downstairs, when grief threatened to shred the last ounce of her sanity. She slid closer to Josh and buried her face in the solid wall of his chest. Andrea willed herself not to cry, but when his arm slipped around her and he whispered, “It's okay,” all of the barriers holding back her tears failed.

Her muscles melted along with her emotions, sagging her against him. Josh's arms tightened around her, his chin resting on her head, snuggling her deeper against the hollow of his throat. In that quiet haven, she poured out the shock of Wade Cameron's death, though in her mind, he had her brother's face. Grief over Brendan and Wade melted together and erupted in a storm of tears and sobs that should have scared Josh straight into the next county. Instead, he held her closer.

As her tears ebbed, a new resolve crept in. She needed Josh. There was no denying it now. In spite of days and years worth of pain, the emotion refused to be beaten back.

But saying that to him now was only asking for trouble for both of them.

Andrea gently pushed away and swept her hair from her forehead, then wiped her eyes. She brushed off her shirt, then moved to stand. She had to get out of here, away from him, away from anybody else who could be caught in the crossfire. When this was over, then she could look him in the eye and tell him how deep her feelings ran.

Josh reached out and caught her wrist, wrecking her balance and settling her right back to the floor. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Out. To make sure everyone's okay.”

He shook his head and released her hand to brush a stray tendril behind her ear. “I can't let you go out there. That shot was aimed straight at you, and there's no telling whether or not the shooter is still waiting. The police are clearing the area. Give them time before you paint a bull's-eye on your forehead and walk through that door.” In the living room, the blinds clicked in the warm breeze of an ironically perfect July morning. “You're safe in here. Don't make me hog-tie you to a chair, because I will if it will keep you alive.”

Andrea eyed him. She ought to defy him and march right out that door, but he was right. At least in the windowless kitchen, the shooter couldn't get a bead on her. They played visual chicken for a moment before she settled back against him. “Why do you think they want me to shut down? Why listen in on my sessions? How does this all tie in to Wade?”

Josh hesitated, then slipped an arm around her and drew her head to his shoulder. “They're pretty sure that was him in the truck.”

“What do you mean by that? Can't they just look at him and tell?” It hadn't dawned on her till now that Josh had never really answered her question about Wade.

Josh shook his head, and cold realization ran down Andrea's spine. Her life was officially the worst horror story ever written. Thugs and bullets and men without faces, theoretically and actually.

She fought back tears. Crying was getting old. Trembling was getting old. Fear was getting old. “Well, I'm no good to anybody dead.” She shook her head and nestled deeper into his shoulder, willing to believe the lie that she was safe right here.

“Something doesn't make sense.” Josh squeezed her closer. “Why not take the shot when you were in the open, close to Cameron's truck? Why wait all this time for the police to show up then aim through a partially covered window?” The last word trailed off, as though swallowed by a thought Andrea couldn't follow. He slipped his arm from her shoulder and looked down at her. “They aren't trying to kill you.”

“So bullets are the new way to say ‘I can be your friend?'”

“You hide behind that sarcasm when you're scared.”

Her mouth opened, but the planned denial didn't come.

“If they wanted you dead,” Josh went on like he hadn't just laid a finger on her emotional pulse, “you'd be dead. In front of the PX two days ago.”

“They tried to hit me with a car.”

He nodded. “I watched it play out. The driver swerved away from the direction you jumped. And yesterday, at the church, they gave us time to see them before they opened fire. I'd already pulled you out of the way when the bullets started flying.”

Andrea squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the too-bright room. “You're not making any sense.” Maybe she was woozier than she'd originally thought. Maybe the shock of flying glass and blood and bullets had dragged her into a panic attack that completely wiped out reality, but Josh's words didn't compute. “Why go to all this trouble if they don't want me dead?”

“Because of what you just said. You're no good to them dead, but for some reason they want you scared.”

Andrea pulled away from Josh and stood, pacing her kitchen. She felt exposed, even in this windowless room with policemen outside her door. She picked up a spoon rest and let the cool weight press against her palm. “Scared of what?” Metal clanged against granite as she slammed it to the counter. The utensils in the drawer beneath jumped and rattled.

“Nothing else makes sense.”

“Nothing at all makes sense.” She leaned against the counter and stared at the front of the refrigerator, where a picture of her and her parents at graduation hung beneath a magnet. The urge to rip it from the door and tear it into pieces made her fingers ache. How good a therapist was she when the client she was most proud of dove into this kind of ridiculous situation and got himself killed?

“These are people who aren't thinking rationally. But think about it. Now is the perfect time to come at you. Your parents are on vacation. Grace is out of town, too. You're alone.” He opened and shut two cabinet doors, as if he was taking out his frustration on the wood. “They just didn't count on me showing up.”

Andrea's head couldn't take the banging anymore. “What are you doing?”

“Where are your glasses?” He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “You need water or something. You're still shaking.”

Balling her fingers into fists to stop the tremors she hadn't realized were so obvious, Andrea nodded toward the cabinet beside the sink. “Up there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “So what do I do? How do I make this stop?”

The silence drew tight, and Andrea looked up at Josh.

He stared into her cabinet at her coffee mugs. “I think we just got one step closer to our answer.”

* * *

Josh lifted a finger toward the back wall of the cabinet then stopped, mindful of the dangers of contaminating the evidence. There, scrawled across the wood in the same red marker as the hidden message from the wall locker were the numbers
00 12 30.

Andrea studied the writing. They'd been staring at it for the past two minutes, but so far she hadn't said one word. She looked tense, as if the ink were a coiled rattlesnake that could strike at any moment.

“Andrea, do you have your phone? I left mine in the car.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket and automatically snapped a picture of the numbers before slipping the phone back into place.

“Could you take a picture of it?” Josh bumped her shoulder with his. He was trying to draw a smile, a chuckle, from her, anything but the silent stoicism that had her locked inside herself. When she didn't respond, he scanned her profile. Nearly colorless lips pulled tight against her teeth. He contemplated having the paramedic check for shock again when her voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Will you stop staring at me?” She didn't look away from the cabinet in front of her, though the corner of her mouth tipped up. “You're wrecking my focus.”

“What focus? I thought you'd gone out of your head.”

She nodded toward the writing. “I know I've seen this someplace before. It's just not kicking in. There's an emotional memory tied to it, but it doesn't make any sense.”

Josh turned and leaned back against the counter so he could be free to watch her face as she puzzled out the riddle. “What is it you're remembering?”

Her eyes flicked to him and back to the cabinet as an embarrassed little blush pinked her cheeks. “Gym socks.”

Josh drew his head back and suppressed a smile. “Gym socks are not an emotion, Donovan.”

“I know. But it's almost carefree and happy to me. For some reason, when I look at this I see and feel—”

“Sweat?”

“Not helping.”

“Well, neither is gym socks. Although I could go for a long workout to clear my head if they ever let us out of here.” Josh couldn't stop himself. He ran a hand down her hair and tucked a lock of it behind her ear, pulling back the curtain that shaded her face.

She didn't spare him a glance. “How did it get here? It sure wasn't there when I came home last night, and trust me, nobody came through that door before you got here.”

“It had to be while we were on our wild goose chase at your office.” The detective's earlier comments whispered against the edges of his thoughts. “This wasn't a setup. It was a chance for Cameron to communicate with you. He's trying to tell you something.”

“Why me?” She tipped her head back, and Josh had to look away from the curve of her neck. After a second of looking for answers in the popcorn ceiling, she sighed. “We have to tell Detective Simmons. See if she can figure it out.”

“That's a different tune than you were singing earlier.”

“Yeah, well, that was before somebody died and I nearly got killed. Again.” Her eyes hooded, like she was about to retreat. If this kept up, he might lose her forever to that dark room that fed off the fear in her heart.