Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection Detail\Hidden Agenda\Broken Silence (52 page)

Still holding him down, Patrick leaned in closer, just an inch from his ear. “Darrell, the nice lady here asked why you were shooting at her.”

Darrell squirmed and Patrick clamped down harder. “Okay, man! I got a call a couple hours ago. Got instructions. Time. Location. The target's name. You know the drill.”

“Who called you?” Amber took over.

“The General,” he spat out. “I work for the General.”

Patrick's interest piqued. “Who is the General?”

Sirens blared, loud and approaching. Finally.

Light-headed, with his head pounding, Patrick steadied his grip on Darrell, his limbs getting weaker by the moment. He was in trouble. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Darrell,” he growled, using every bit of energy he could muster. “The General. Who is he?”

“I don't know, man. He calls himself the General, that's all I know.”

“Patrick, you don't look good. Are you all right?” Amber's panicked voice echoed in his ears.

Patrick glanced down. Blood continued to gush down his shirt and onto his pants. Pressure built against his lungs as he fought for a full breath. “Just keep holding the gun, sweetheart. You're doing great.”

A mob of police officers burst onto the deck through every exit door.

“Get an ambulance!” Amber called out. “Now!”

That was the last thing Patrick heard before he crumpled onto the concrete, striking the floor with an echoing thud.

FOURTEEN

A
mber disliked hospital rooms even more than she loathed cold, lonely ER cubicles, or being transported in EMS vehicles. Although she did her best to avoid each, during the past sixteen hours she'd been unfortunate enough to experience all three.

Only this time, she hadn't been the patient. Instead, she was the unscathed target the maniac shooter had missed, all because Patrick had taken the bullet in her place.

At St. Joseph's Hospital in downtown Savannah, Amber sat quietly in the corner of Patrick's room, curled up in one of those uncomfortable oversize hospital chairs, watching him sleep. Her heart crimped at the sight of Patrick in the hospital bed, with bandages covering his shoulder and his arm in a sling, because of her.

She took a deep breath, wiped a tear from her eye. Patrick had put his life in danger to save hers.

The only thing keeping her from a complete meltdown was the knowledge that he hadn't been killed.

She'd stayed with him in the ambulance, and then in the ER, where he was stabilized before being taken to surgery. More than two hours had dragged by as she and Vance had sat and waited to hear from the surgeon. Every passing second had heightened the sadness and growing concern.

She'd tried to relax, even managed to pray, but the waiting had been brutal. Finally after three hours the doctor had walked in, dressed in green scrubs with a surgical mask dangling from his neck.

Both she and Vance had been out of their seats and halfway across the waiting room before the doctor had a chance to look for them. Swiftly and succinctly the doc had gone over Patrick's condition, detailing the challenges of the meticulous surgery. The bullet had fractured Patrick's scapula, and barely missed his subclavian artery, a major vessel that if nicked could have caused him to bleed to death.

Patrick had lost plenty of blood, but after three units of packed red blood cells and multiple bags of saline, the doctor had given him a positive prognosis. Something she would be eternally grateful for.

Now Amber shifted uncomfortably against the vinyl cushion. She felt exhausted and drained, but the numbness that had possessed her since the shooting was finally wearing off. A menacing ache filled its place as she pondered the events of the past sixteen hours.

It had been a whirlwind. Everything had happened so fast. From the gunfire, to the crazed man coming at her with a gun, to Patrick getting shot.

Patrick had gotten shot.

Amber rubbed her hands over her face. She still couldn't believe it.

Tears stung the back of her eyes for the umpteenth time since Vance had left her a couple of hours ago to head home to get some sleep. She blinked them back.

Sleep wasn't on her agenda for the foreseeable future. She wondered if she could ever really rest again knowing what she'd put Patrick through.

With her heart sinking fast in her chest, she summoned up the protective numbness that she'd relied on over the years. Facing reality had never been easy.

But never had reality hurt like this.

A gentle snore broke through the hush in the room.

Shaken out of her funk, Amber got to her feet and padded softly to Patrick's bed. She adjusted his blankets, mindful not to disturb the pillows supporting his shoulder or the blue sling and swathe immobilizing his arm. Bracing herself against a rush of emotions, she thanked God that he was safe. A soft glow breathed down from the small light on the wall. Shadows faintly danced over Patrick's features. He looked relaxed and peaceful, thanks to the pain medication. Which hopefully wouldn't wear off for hours.

Until then, she'd continue to watch him. Kissing the tips of two fingers, she brushed them along his cheek. She hoped he could forgive her.

She made her way back to the corner of the room and melted back in the chair. She unfolded the blanket the nurse had supplied her with and wrapped it tightly around her. Night was always the worst, but no other night compared to this one.

Time crawled by, until finally early-morning sunlight filtered in through the window. She closed her eyes, feeling a sudden warmth on her face, an odd contradiction to the pervasive chill that had settled deep in her bones.

She had managed to do the one thing she never wanted to do again—hurt Patrick Wiley. She'd made one complicated mistake that continued to snowball, and here she was, eleven years later, still hurting him. And he had a bullet-size hole in his shoulder as a remembrance of her.

A tear leaked down her cheek and she brushed it away. As much as she cared for Patrick, even loved him, he was much better off without her around.

Last evening's incident had proved that fact.

Heaving a sigh, she chastised herself for being impulsive. After all this time, she hadn't learned. She'd been so wrapped up in trying to keep her fund-raiser on track, she'd never stopped to consider that by Patrick's commitment to keep her safe, she'd put him in danger, too.

Why had she been so selfish? Why hadn't she listened and postponed the fund-raiser? Why hadn't she jumped at the chance of going to a safe house, instead of marching into the community center? Why hadn't she trusted her gut eleven years ago and said no to the party?

Why? Why? Why?
She slouched back in her chair, rubbing her face. Stubborn. Impulsive.
Lord, forgive me.

A trickle of peace seeped through her.

God did care.

And more than anything she wanted Him to walk with her through this. Be with her forever.

She'd spent too many years living in denial, enveloped in a dark cloud of guilt and sadness. Alone and afraid to trust, love or even believe.

A place she didn't want to be anymore.

“Good morning.”

At Patrick's soft greeting, Amber looked up. Suddenly the morning seemed brighter. “Good morning, Patrick.”

She pushed up from the chair and walked to him, almost dizzy with relief when she caught his wan smile. But her relief was short-lived, cut short by the painful grimace tightening his face as he shifted in bed. “Patrick, shall I call the nurse?”

“No, I just moved too quickly.” Patrick's voice stayed low but strong as he carefully repositioned his shoulder against his pillows. “Okay, that's better.”

Blinking hard to hold back tears, she said a simple prayer.
Lord, be with Patrick.
She swallowed. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I'm pretty sore. But even worse than the pain is my frustration and anger about what went down last night. And, I also hate the idea of being cooped up in this hospital.”

She felt the same way, minus the pain. That was unless she counted the ache in her heart. “Patrick, I'm so sorry about last night...” The rest of her apology stuck in her throat. She couldn't truly express how badly she felt.

“You're sorry?” he asked. “I'm the one who should be sorry. No spare weapon? That Glock carried me through the war. It was always dependable. Until today. I'll know better next time.”

Before she could respond to that, Patrick latched on to the metal side rail and tried to pull himself up. An inch or two from the mattress, he clenched his teeth, crumbling back against the sheets with a groan.

“Let me help you.” Amber pressed the button to raise the head of the bed.

Loosening his grip on the railing, Patrick blew out a breath. “Thank you. Maybe you should call the nurse.”

Amber pressed the call bell and, as they waited for the nurse to bring some medication, she adjusted Patrick's blankets. “It's just horrible what happened.” She stuffed another pillow behind his head.

He cut her off from saying more with a shake of his head. “Amber, I don't blame you for me getting shot. In fact, you saved my life. So thank you.”

He was thanking her? The poor man was delirious. “Patrick, I didn't save your life. I put you in danger. You gave me good advice and I didn't listen. Not since this case started. Not eleven years ago. And because of that you were almost killed.”

“That's a bit of a stretch.” He winced as he shifted slightly. “So what you're telling me is since you didn't take my advice, that makes the man that shot me not guilty.”

“Yes... I mean no.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “You obviously don't understand what I'm trying to say.”

“What I do understand is that you're not responsible for the actions of others.”

For a moment Amber let those words circulate in her thoughts. The pause that followed was intense, filled with Patrick's unwavering gaze. She had to admit he was right.

She managed to nod.

“I have some more advice for you, and I want you to take it very seriously.”

Bracing herself, she held her breath as Patrick lifted his good arm and reached up to run his thumb down her cheek. His gaze warm on hers, he said, “Stop feeling guilty and let go of the past.”

It was very good advice...something she was working on. “But—”

“No buts,” he said, a little too authoritatively, still cradling her cheek.

She finally managed a weak “Okay,” too frazzled to argue. At the moment, breathing was enough of a challenge.

“We still have a case to solve. A killer is still on the loose and possibly an accomplice. And we need to get you set up in a safe house.”

She nodded her assent. Considering Patrick's injury, Amber was surprised by his resolve to continue on the case. Apparently, he took his police oath seriously. No, she amended, honor and integrity were what drove him.

Once again she couldn't help be impressed with this man.

* * *

A few hours later, Patrick sat in bed, propped up with pillows and caught in a midmorning funk. He had a million things he should be doing, and here he was laid up in the hospital for the next... He sucked in through his teeth, hating to even guess.

Outside of his incredibly sore shoulder, he wasn't feeling too bad, except he was starving. And this hospital food was a far cry from...well, food.

Patrick picked at the powdered scrambled eggs on his tray. Way too salty. His failed attempt to spice them up backfired. Now they were barely edible. He took a bite of grits, and almost gagged. Something about lumpy grits.

A swig of coffee helped wash it down. He laid down his fork. “How's your breakfast?” He directed his question to Amber, whose hospital-issued breakfast tray sat on a small rolling table beside her, roughly untouched. Not that he blamed her.

She glanced up at him, her eyes weary. Dark circles bore witness to her sleepless night. She looked exhausted. “It's fine. I'm not that hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

“You're right.” She nodded, the shadows beneath her eyes deepening. She picked up a plastic fork.

Patrick barely shifted, attempting to reposition his arm, and winced. He was gaining a whole new respect for bullets.

“Are you all right?”

“I'd be better without this sling thing.” He tugged with his free hand on the fabric. “It's uncomfortable and awkward. I'm not even sure how it's helping.”

“It's there to support your shoulder.” Amber set down her fork and instantly she was at his side. She adjusted the Velcro strap on the sling, allowing a little more give. “It that better?”

“Yes. Very.” Somehow having Amber dote on him seemed to make everything better. It was not something he needed to get used to, but for now he'd enjoy it.

“By the way, I sent Vance a text and asked him to arrange for an officer to come by to take you to the safe house.”

“The safe house? Today?” Amber parted her lips to say more, but he shot her a warning look.

“You're exhausted and you can rest there. Right now it's the safest place for you.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He hadn't expected such a compliant response so quickly. He thought at least she'd argue to stay and take care of him. Not that he'd reconsider that.

Still, his ego deflated some.

“I'll have the officer drop by Kim's house and let you pick up a few things.”

She nodded again.

The door opened and Vance appeared with a brown paper grocery bag in one hand and a white take-out sack from Gus's in the other. “Here are the clothes that you asked for, and I thought you might like this.” He dropped the white sack next to Patrick's breakfast tray on the rolling bedside table.

“Vance, you're a lifesaver.” Patrick unwrapped a biscuit and offered Amber a piece.

“No, thanks.” She held up a hand.

“Where do you want these clothes?” Vance held up the paper bag.

“Over there is fine.” Patrick gestured with his biscuit to the corner of the room.

“Clothes?” Amber said. “Won't you be in the hospital for another couple days?”

“That's the plan.” Patrick swallowed his food.

“Actually, I'm making it an order.” Vance hiked up a thick brow. “I talked to the doctor and asked him not to discharge you until you were one hundred percent ready. Although I must say you look more rested than I feel.” He smirked, then said to Amber, “You look pretty tired, too.”

“I am,” she said softly.

“Painkillers make for a restful and sound sleep,” Patrick said. Actually, a little too sound. He'd fallen asleep to the gentle sound of Amber talking to him, and the next thing he knew three hours had passed.

“How is your pain?” Vance sprawled into a nearby chair, yawning.

“Good.” Patrick lifted his arm as a show of good faith. Then immediately regretted it when a surge of pain shot through his shoulder like a knife. “That is,” he corrected through clenched teeth, “as long as I don't move my arm or my shoulder.”

Vance's phone rang.

“That's what I figured. So take it easy.” Vance's deep-set eyes narrowed, then he stood up and slipped out of the room to answer the call.

“Let me help you.” Amber went about adjusting his pillows again. “Remember, you don't want to overdo it. If you don't take the time to heal, you'll be right back in here and my case will never get solved.”