Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (44 page)

Her accepting words were completely at odds with the catch in her voice.

Sadness seized his chest like a giant fist clenching on to his heart when he thought about how long she'd kept this bottled up. Accepting the guilt for a crime in which she was the victim.

He knew it was a bad idea, but with her standing there, endeavoring to be strong, the need to comfort her catapulted to a new level. Patrick couldn't keep himself from taking her in his arms. “I know this is difficult for you,” he whispered against the top of her head, “but please trust me. I'm going to walk with you through this and keep you safe.”

Nodding against his chest, she emitted a small sob. And then gingerly, she looped her slender arms around his waist, and in that split second, the world skidded to grinding halt.

Suddenly he couldn't breathe. His mind was foggy with memories. He was eighteen again. The future was limitless, dreams firmly intact.

So quickly everything changed, setting them both on separate life paths.

He tightened his hold on Amber, allowing her to cry. He was glad she finally was able to release emotions she'd held on to for so long. At the same time, the pounding in his heart told him to keep his guard up. He was definitely treading on dangerous soil.

As she sobbed, Amber buried her head in his neck. He held her close, and the way she melted against him felt so right.

Too right.

This wasn't good.

Patrick took a deep breath and gave her a hard squeeze before loosening his hold on her. “I know it's been a tough few days.”

“Yes, it has been,” she muttered, separating herself from him. Instantly he missed the feeling of her warmth.

Digging deep for composure, Patrick shoved his hands into his pockets, conflicting emotions eating at him. There was a crazy person after Amber, and his job was to take that creep down. The last thing he needed was the distraction of his emotions.

Amber wiped away the last of her tears, and a slight smile appeared on her face, though it was tinged with sadness. Her stoic demeanor slipped back into place. “Thank you, Patrick, for everything you're doing to get this crime solved. It means a lot.” She was looking up at him with those wide, beautiful eyes—twin pools of captivating warmth.

“You're welcome.” Patrick nodded, searching for that professional facade he needed to keep himself focused. All the while he was kicking himself for caving to an emotional moment.

He shouldn't have taken her in his arms.

And he wouldn't let it happen again.

SIX

C
avalier High School was located just outside the Savannah city limits. Patrick knew the route well, having gone there for four years. He took a side street off the highway, and then traveled several more miles before the school came into view. Amazingly, after all these years, it hadn't changed a bit. Even the designated areas for parking. He steered past the student lot and parked his SUV in a space marked for visitors.

As he approached the entrance, he felt an uneasy twinge. It had been eleven years since he'd left Cavalier as a high school track-and-field star with hopes of a bright athletic future. At that time, his classmates had pegged him to have a string of endorsement deals by the time he was twenty-two. They'd also voted him and Amber as the most likely couple to get married and add a half dozen little athletes to the world population.

He almost laughed at the silly polls. A lot had happened since then, and his classmates couldn't have been more wrong. Although at the time he half believed it.

In the school office, Patrick showed the receptionist his detective badge and asked to see Carl.

“Mr. Shaw is in class.” The lady, whose name tag read Margie Hopper, frowned. “If you need to see him now, I'll have to send someone down to the gym to supervise his students while he talks to you.”

Patrick wasn't dissuaded. “Okay.”

With a sigh, Ms. Hopper pushed herself up from her chair and made her way to the back office. A step from the door she stopped, glanced back. “I hope this isn't about another speeding ticket he didn't pay.”

Patrick gave a slight shrug. “I can't say, ma'am.” Though Carl should be so fortunate.

He took a seat by the window to wait. The area was sparsely furnished. To his left sat a round table littered with college pamphlets. To his right, a few vinyl chairs were pushed up against the wall. This, too, looked like he remembered. Funny how some things never changed.

In contrast, his life was in a perpetual state of change. He never knew what God had in mind next.

Ten minutes into his wait Carl wandered into the office. He wore his blond hair military short, and a Cavalier High T-shirt clung to his muscular torso. “Margie, someone wanted to speak to me?”

Ms. Hopper said nothing, only jutted a finger in Patrick's direction.

“Good morning, Carl.” Patrick stood.

Carl registered a look of surprise when he first turned, and then his face eased into a more pleasant expression. “Patrick Wiley. What on earth are you doing here?” He crossed the tile floor in two steps and extended his hand. “I had heard you joined the military.”

Patrick shook Carl's hand. “You heard right. I served my time and now I work for the Savannah-Chatham Police Department.”

“Good for you.” Carl planted his legs apart, hands on his hips. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is there some place private that we can talk?”

Carl narrowed his eyes warily. “Yeah. Sure. Everyone should be in class. We can talk outside if that's okay.”

Patrick nodded.

As they walked out of the building, Carl glanced over both shoulders and in front of him. “You know how rumors fly. I'm careful to keep my private business out of the gossip pool.”

He obviously hadn't talked to Ms. Hopper. Patrick let that thought slide. “I understand.”

Patrick followed Carl along the covered walkway, stopping when they got to the far side of the building.

Carl leaned up against a redbrick pillar, crossing his arms. “Okay, I know why you're here. But—” he flicked another nervous gaze around the area before meeting Patrick's head-on “—I can assure you that my attorney told me all charges had been dropped. I mean, if I missed the court date or something, I'm completely unaware.”

Now Patrick was curious. The quick background check Liza had run on Carl revealed nothing significant. “What charges are you referring to, Carl?”

Carl leaned in. “The DWI.” His voice dropped another octave. “I've had a few speeding tickets, but I swear to you, that DWI charge was bogus—”

“Woo, Carl.” Patrick held up a staying hand. “This isn't about a DWI.”

Carl drew back in surprise. “It's not?”

Patrick shook his head. “No. I'm here to talk to you about a particular party that your fraternity hosted.”

“A college party?”

Patrick nodded. “One that took place your freshman year of college. It was an end-of-the-year bash.”

“Freshman year?” Carl echoed, his voice slightly rising. “That's been forever ago. Why are you asking questions now?”

Patrick shifted his weight, half agreeing with Carl. The questions he needed to ask should have been addressed years ago, as well as bringing the culprit to justice. His stomach roiled at the thought. It was something he hoped to rectify soon. Patrick crossed his arms, kept his voice even. “We have reason to believe something that happened that night may be tied to the recent car-bombing case.”

“Car bombing?” Carl straightened and pulled away from the pillar. “The one that involved Amber Talbot?”

“That's correct.” While Patrick spoke, he studied Carl, searching his face, watching his body language. “I see you've been following the story.”

Carl widened his stance, drew up his shoulders. “Yeah. I mean, it's been big news around here. Everyone's talking about it. I also read that Amber was attacked at her home by some unknown assailant.” His brows scrunched together. “I feel bad for her, but I don't understand how any of that involves me.”

That was what Patrick wanted to know, too. He shifted, cleared his throat. “Did you recall attending your fraternity's end-of-the-year party?”

Carl lowered his eyes and then looked straight at Patrick. “Yeah, I was there. Along with about half the freshman class.”

Patrick held Carl's gaze boldly. “Tell me what you remember about that night in terms of Amber.”

In a nonchalant move, Carl rested against the pillar again, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops. “Well, I guess, like the rest of us, Amber drank a little too much. She was stumbling around, not making any sense. A few of us guys started razzing her, you know, asking what you'd think about her out partying. That kind of stuff.”

Patrick's hackles rose at the mention of Amber stumbling around. How many others that night assumed she'd had too much to drink? No one helped her, but someone definitely tried to take advantage of her. “So tell me, Carl, when you finished
razzing
Amber, what happened to her? Did she pass out? Leave the party? What?”

Shaking his head, Carl shrugged. “I don't know. Like I said, there were a lot of people there. I don't even recall seeing her after that.”

“Did you ever hear anything about her afterward?”

Carl took a moment and then shrugged again, his bushy eyebrows low. “No, not that I can think of. Well, actually,” he quickly amended, “I did hear that you guys broke up. Not that I was surprised, with her out partying like she was without you.” He jutted a thick finger at Patrick. “You guys back together?”

Suddenly cold all over, Patrick felt the fine hairs on his neck spike. He was equally surprised and annoyed by the question and even more so by his reaction to it. He took a deep breath, putting his erratic emotions on hold. Something he'd have to deal with later.

“No, Amber and I are not back together.” His tone had more bite than he intended. “However, I am the investigator on her case.”

With a chuckle, Carl spread his hands, palms out. “Hey, I get it. Too personal.”

He felt as if a fist had gripped his chest at Carl's flippant attitude. Then he saw it for what it was—a cheap attempt at diverting the conversation. That was not happening. “So, Carl, besides you, who else was harassing Amber at the party that night?”

“Harassing? Patrick.” Carl's laugh was dry. “We never harassed her. We were just having a little fun.”

At Amber's expense. Patrick's annoyance intensified. The muscles in his arms bunched. “Who are you referring to when you say
we
?”

Carl gave an offhand shrug. “Bruce Austin and Randall Becker. That's about it.”

As expected. “Do you recall if either of them was ever alone with Amber? Or maybe offered to take her home?”

He shook his head. “We all stayed together. We actually ended up going to another party down the street later that night.”

Patrick wasn't buying it. “So what's up with Randall these days? Do you see much of him?”

Carl hesitated for a split second then shook his head again. “Actually, I haven't seen much of Randall since college. After Bruce passed, well, we sort of lost touch.” Carl spoke calmly, but his eyes and face couldn't hide his discomfort. “What's going on with Amber anyway?”

There he went again, diverting the conversation. Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Someone attacked Amber the night of the frat party, and we have reason to believe that person may be after her now.”

Carl jerked away from the pillar, his body rigid. “And you think I might be involved?”

Patrick didn't answer that. Instead, he put on a crooked smile and met Carl's eyes. “I'm just trying to get the facts together, Carl.”

Relaxing his stance some, Carl nodded and carefully averted his gaze. “Good. Because I'm not privy to anything that happened to Amber Talbot eleven years ago or anything that's going on now. But I'm glad you're on the case. I have no doubt you'll catch whoever's been harassing her.”

Harass.
An interesting choice of words. Patrick gave Carl a firm pat on the shoulder before he turned to leave. “Rest assured, Carl, we're keeping an eye on everyone who had any contact with Amber that night. Including you.”

* * *

Amber stapled the last Silence No More
fund-raiser packet of information together. Settling back in her office chair, she flipped through one, skimming the list of vendors and pricing details while waiting for her colleagues Tony and Pam to arrive. She'd spent weeks compiling the data and it felt good to finally be finished.

By the time Tony walked into her office she had read through everything and was jotting a note, reminding herself to schedule a meeting with Penny, the community center's event planner, to firm up the agenda for the evening. Things were finally coming together—at least on paper.

Holding a half bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, Tony settled into an armchair across from her, crossed one leg over his knee. “Afternoon, Amber.” Before she could return the greeting, he lifted a brow. “It is a good afternoon, isn't it?”

“So far.” Amber smiled. “No bombs or lurking bad guys. And plans for the fund-raiser are falling into place.”

“That's great,” Tony said around a mouthful of bagel. He washed it down with a swig of coffee. “You seem as if you're doing better, too. Good attitude in spite of the chaos going on in your life.”

“I'm trying.”

He lifted his cup in a toast. “Good for you. But if you need to talk, you know I'm here for you.”

She nodded. It was a blessing to have Tony on staff at Safe Harbor. He was a true asset.

“Hope I'm not late.” Pam Ralston poked her head into the office, a little out of breath. She worked part-time and was notoriously late. With two small kids and a pastor husband, she always had more to do than she had time for. Still Amber was happy to have her on staff.

“We're just getting started. Come on.” Amber waved her in.

Pam took the chair beside Tony.

Amber handed them each a stapled packet. “This is an updated list of vendors, caterers, advertisers and such for the fund-raiser. I've also added names and contact information for the speakers and volunteers.”

“Looks as though you have everything covered,” Pam said, flipping through the packet.

Amber leaned in, folding her hands on the desk. “The itinerary for the evening is on the last page.”

“Nice lineup.” Tony nodded.

“Wait a minute.” Pam caught Amber's gaze. “Your name isn't listed. Keynote speaker, right?”

“I'm still undecided on the right time to speak. Before dinner? After?” Amber tried to answer casually, although knowing someone from her past didn't want her to speak at all dampened her enthusiasm.

“Are you still considering sharing your story?” Tony always zeroed in on the heart of her issues. As if he could read her mind.

Amber gave a quick shrug.

Originally she'd planned a simple, informative talk. One that focused on recovery and preventative safety and shared her team's treatment styles and community resources. She'd tossed around the idea of sharing her own story. But what would be the point? Every victim in the audience understood abuse.

But now with her darkest memories exposed, maybe she should reconsider.

Anxiety twisted her stomach like a pretzel.

Then again, maybe not. She remembered how difficult it had been to open up to Tony a few weeks ago. Talking about that part of her life still wasn't easy.

“Why don't you speak while the bids are being tallied for the silent auction?” Pam suggested.

“That would be perfect, right before dessert.” Tony grinned. “You'll still have a full house. Nobody leaves before cheesecake.”

Amber laughed and grinned back at him. “Sounds good. At least I'll know you'll still be there.” As she penciled it in on her itinerary, Pam added, “Hopefully by the fund-raiser, your elusive stalker worries will be over.”

Pam's comment brought Amber back to reality. The fund-raiser was in less than two weeks. What if her worries weren't over by then?

“Yes, let's hope so, Pam.” Amber kept writing, her eyes trained on her paper as she scribbled more notes than were necessary, trying to regroup, think positively.

She couldn't remember ever working so hard or so long. Ten months of planning had gone into this fund-raiser. It had taken her weeks just to find someplace to hold it after talking to umpteen venues trying to secure the best prices. And she couldn't forget advertising. Brochures and pamphlets, stopping by businesses, making phone calls. Gritting her teeth, she scribbled harder.