Love Inspired Suspense September 2015 #1 (12 page)

With a shadow in his eyes, he swung toward Lydia. “How's Brutus doing?”

“I think better than you. He's sound asleep and probably will be through the night. Which is what you need to do.”

“I can stay through the night with Chance,” Don said. “Then we can figure out tomorrow.”

“I appreciate that, but, Don, this isn't going to change anything.” Jesse waved his hand toward his bandaged arm. “I had minor cuts. No big deal.”

Chance shook his head but remained quiet.

“There'll be a lot to do sifting through the house tomorrow. This may be the break we needed.” Jesse looked from Don to Mary. “Thanks for staying late. You don't need to be here until nine. I'll make sure Kate gets to school.” He turned his attention to her sister. “We have a few things to discuss on the way.”

Kate waited until Jesse trod into the living room before she spun on her heel and stormed down the hallway toward their bedroom. Her sister didn't think rules applied to her. Lydia was glad she could count on Jesse to stand strong.

Chance saw the two police officers out locking the front door. When he came into the living room, deep frown lines bracketed his mouth. “I believe I heard the ER doc telling you to rest for the next day or so.”

Jesse sat on the floor near his K-9, stroking him. “I'll rest when we catch this guy. He set a trap for any police that came to search that house. If it hadn't been for Brutus being there, we wouldn't have had enough time to get out.” He zeroed in on Lydia. “And I don't think the bomber is a seventy-year-old man with a limp. I think our bomber has been wearing disguises. With that in mind, Thomas wants you down at police headquarters tomorrow to give a description of the guy. Then we'll use the sketches we have to see if we can guess what he might look like. There's a computer program that looks for similarities.”

“What if one of the sketches is really the bomber?” Lydia asked, still feeling as if she saw something she shouldn't have at the bistro.

“That's possible, and of course, each one is being taken seriously. Chance, I'm too wound up to go to sleep right now. I'll take the first watch.”

His friend clamped his lips together, started for the spare bedroom but stopped. “Okay, but I'm relieving you in three hours. No arguments. You won't be worth anything if you don't get some rest.”

Jesse nodded, then pushed to his feet, wincing once.

“Sure, you're fine.” Lydia placed her hands on her waist. “If that's the case, why did you wince?”

He averted his gaze and headed toward the kitchen. Lydia followed. She wasn't going to bed until she knew he had. This happened because of her. If she hadn't gone to the animal hospital, the older gentleman wouldn't have come with Calvin. If only she could remember what the bomber thought she knew and help the police put him in jail.

Jesse stood at the counter, fixing a pot of coffee.

“It's obvious you aren't as wired as you think or you wouldn't need caffeine to stay up.”

He threw her a scowl and plugged in the pot. “Chance is volunteering to help. He still has his day job to go to.”

“And you shouldn't be doing anything tomorrow, but you are. Your stubbornness hasn't changed.”

“I call it ‘resolve.' Earlier today my foster mother phoned me to ask if I thought it was safe for her to go to the grocery store. I told her about one that's delivering.”

“I've heard of other businesses doing that, but not everyone can.”

Jesse leaned against the counter as the coffee perked behind. “Did you notice the traffic today? It's probably half of what it would be normally. The Laughing Bomber Task Force has doubled in size. We have help from the FBI on profiling this guy. ATF is also involved.”

The tense set of his shoulder and the lines of exhaustion on his face prompted Lydia to bridge the distance between them and grasp his right forearm. “I'll bring you your coffee in the living room. At least sit on the couch where you'll be more comfortable and near Brutus.”

He didn't move for a moment. Then he covered her hand for a few seconds before pushing away from the counter and trudging out of the kitchen.

When he left, Lydia tucked her hands under her armpits, closed her eyes and tried to picture the bistro when she arrived that day. She opened the door and collided with...who? A man. What did he look like? Was he a regular? Did she know him? A vague image of a middle-aged man wearing a hoodie. Odd? Usually she saw young people doing that. As much as she concentrated on bringing his features into focus, she couldn't.

Okay, she entered the bistro and made a beeline toward Bree. Then what? Who did she pass? Was the pharmacist from the drugstore sitting with...? The picture in her head faded and a black screen filled her thoughts. Her eyes popped open, and disappointment slumped her shoulders.

Lord, please. This needs to stop. Help me to remember
.

But nothing came to mind.

The coffee was ready, so she poured a mug for Jesse and walked into the living room to find his head resting on the back couch cushion, his eyes closed. Quietly she put the coffee on the table and took the chair across from him. She still wanted to watch Brutus for another hour as the anesthetic wore off to make sure that he didn't try to scratch his stitches.

The urge to caress Jesse's bruised face overwhelmed her. A mistake she'd made all those years ago still haunted her with so many regrets. If she hadn't fallen for Aaron's charms, would she have ended up married to Jesse? Now she was in the middle of a horrific situation, in danger—but so was Jesse. Yes, it was his job, but if anything happened to him she'd feel it was her fault.

In that moment she realized she'd never stopped loving Jesse. He would always have a piece of her heart. But she didn't think he would ever forgive her. Like her father? He certainly hadn't forgiven her, and she had no way to repair that relationship.

She'd begun to think returning to Anchorage was a good thing in the end, especially for Kate, but also for her renewed friendships. She'd missed their support. She'd missed Jesse but hadn't realized it until they spent so much time together. They were different people, but the person she fell in love with all those years ago was still there.

Which meant he didn't share himself. He always had a part of himself he guarded closely, and she knew it stemmed from his parents' death and never really having a home. She'd pieced that much together but never from him.

Brutus stirred. Lydia rose and went to the Rottweiler to make sure everything was still all right. She placed her hand on his neck, and he settled down. She checked his wound, then stood. Her gaze collided with Jesse's.

“Is he okay?” A huskiness entered his voice.

“Yes. He's a trouper.”

Jesse leaned forward and picked up the mug. “Thanks. I need this.”

Lydia sat on the coffee table and stilled his hand from moving the cup to his mouth. “Don't. Take Chance up on his offer. You fell asleep just now.”

“I was resting my eyes. I heard you come in.”

“Really, Jesse. Don't play that macho act with me. I need you back to one hundred percent because we have to figure out who this guy is.”

One of his dark eyebrows hiked up. “We?”

“Yes, tomorrow I want to talk about the bistro bombing until my memory is triggered.”

“It doesn't work that way.” He sat forward and put his mug on the coaster next to her.

His arm brushed hers and sent a jolt through her. What if he'd been inside the house when the bomb went off? He could have died. She covered his hands with hers. “Why not? I was waiting for the coffee to perk and I had another memory of what I witnessed in the bistro before the bomb went off.”

He sat up straighter. “What?”

She told him about the people she remembered so far. “I want to look at those photos of the people killed in the bombing.”

“I'll get them.” He started to stand.

She halted his progress. “Sit. I'll go. Where are they?”

“On the desk in the kitchen.”

She retrieved the pictures, and this time sat next to him on the couch. As she flipped through them, she was acutely aware of the man beside her, their shoulders touching. “I remember the pharmacist from the drugstore across the street, but he isn't here. He was with someone, but I can't remember her. Her! I didn't know that before, but I'm sure it was a woman, but I didn't get a good look at her—at least that I remember.”

“Then we'll interview the pharmacist. I wonder why he didn't come forward. Some people did who had been there although they couldn't help us.”

“Did a middle-aged man come forward? I can't remember much about the guy in the hoodie. I just thought it odd.”

“I'll check with Thomas. If you can remember him, we'll have an artist draw a sketch of him.” He shifted to face her. “See, you're recalling facts. Both of these might lead somewhere.”

“How are you feeling, really?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “I've had better days, but looking at you has definitely improved it.” His voice and expression softened, his golden-brown eyes fixed on her face as though he were memorizing every line.

“Good. Because waiting for you to return from the ER made me a nervous wreck.”

“Now you know what I went through when you were taken from the bomb site. I wanted to go in the ambulance, but I had a job that had to be done.”

She ran her hand down his arm, then threaded her fingers through his. “I don't know how you did that job. I've been at search and rescue sites, but not that kind with those results, knowing most of the people you found would be dead.”

“But there was always the hope we'd uncover a live person. That makes it all worth it to me, especially when Brutus found you.”

Warmth suffused her face. His dreamy look held her riveted. Maybe when this was over with, they had a chance. She didn't realize how much she wanted that until that second.

He lifted his hand and cradled it against her cheek. “How are you doing through all this?”

“I'm getting better each day, but I want this to end now.”

“We all do.” His eyes smoldering, he combed his fingers through her hair and cupped her nape, then dragged her toward him. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been alive,” he whispered, his mouth an inch from hers.

Every part of her wanted him to kiss her. She inhaled sharply and let her breath out slowly as the moment hung between them. What was he waiting for?

ELEVEN

J
esse wanted to kiss her but hesitated. He felt the brush of her breath against his lips. He smelled the fruity scent that he'd come to associate with her. It comforted him—as if he'd come home.

He held her face and settled his mouth on hers. As she clasped his sides, he deepened the kiss, wanting to pour so much into it, but a part of him held back. The part that remembered the hurt. The part that had wanted to marry her and have a family with her. The part that had felt discarded every time he moved from one foster home to another.

He pulled back, his hands slipping from her face. When he did, she withdrew her touch and scooted away a few feet. She lowered her gaze and sat forward on the couch. A barrier fell between them, much like right before they broke up in December when they were seniors.

“We shouldn't have—” he said in a husky voice.

“Kissed? Why?”

“Because...because...” He didn't want to tell her he was beginning to fall in love with her.

“Never mind. It's not important. People say actions speak louder than words, and with you, that's the only way I know what's going on with you. That's not changed.”

Anger shoved his doubts away. “Don't make me the bad guy in what happened between us. If actions speak louder than words, you made it clear how you really felt about me all those years ago.” He pushed off the couch, grabbed his mug and left the living room.

If he hadn't, he might have said more than he wanted to. He didn't want her to know how close he'd come to telling her he wanted another chance to see if they could work out. Who was he kidding? Too much in their past stood in their way.

In the kitchen, he put the photos back on the top of the desk, then placed a call to Thomas. He'd been out of the loop and wanted to know if they discovered anything at the newest crime scene. He needed to keep his focus on the case to end this nightmare and get back to the way his life was before—what? Before Lydia came back to Anchorage? Before he was a teenage boy who fell in love with her?

“I'm glad you called,” Thomas said the second he answered his phone. “I was debating whether to wait until the morning or chance waking you up. I knew you left the ER so I figure you're okay. Right?”

“I'm fine.” Jesse sat back against the hard chair and flinched, making a mockery of his words. “They had to stitch a couple of my cuts up otherwise they cleaned them and sent me home.” After checking his hearing and doing a CT scan on his head. “Did you go get checked out?”

“The paramedics did on-site. I was ahead of you.”

“And they didn't tell you to go to your doctor.”

A long pause, and then Thomas chuckled. “Okay, they did mention that, and I will when we have this guy behind bars.”

“Lydia remembered a couple of things today that happened before the bomb went off.” Jesse relayed what she'd told him. “I want to interview the pharmacist tomorrow. Okay?”

“Fine, but I want you to encourage Lydia to keep remembering. There's a reason the bomber has come after her and the waitress. And after today, he might be going for law enforcement. There was a message written on the only wall that withstood the blast today, ‘Back off or you'll regret it.'”

“So you think it was directed at us?”

“Yes. We're checking around at other vets about an American Eskimo named Calvin since the dog seems to respond to that name. Nothing so far.”

“Have you tried the pound?”

“That's next as well as putting out a picture of Calvin and asking anyone if they have seen this dog. The bomber will make a mistake. He's getting bolder and reckless. But we've got to stop him before someone else dies.”

“I'll interview the pharmacist and then take Calvin by the pound. Maybe seeing him will help someone recognize him. I'll be in touch after I do that tomorrow.” When Jesse hung up, he turned toward the entrance from the dining room and glanced at the clock.

He had an hour and a half until he would wake up Chance. Better get another cup of coffee.

Then he peeked into the living room, wanting to see if Lydia went to bed. She hadn't—well, not exactly. She'd gone back to sitting in the lounge chair, which gave her a good view of Brutus and Calvin, but her eyes were closed and her feet propped up in the recliner.

Taking his mug of fresh coffee, he walked through his house, checking the doors and the alarm system. He hoped Lydia was still asleep. He didn't have any more emotional energy left to deal with what was going on between them.

* * *

Lydia stood in the entrance to the bistro, the dark shadows slowly evaporating as though the haze was finally lifting from her brain. Part of the restaurant she saw clearly. Melinda standing near the counter with a man she'd seen in the place before. The look on Melinda's face shouted distress, but she kept her voice low. Was the man complaining about an order? Or something else? Her boyfriend?

When Lydia spied tears in Melinda's eyes, she wanted to comfort her friend. The man shoved away from the counter and pivoted toward Lydia. His featureless face made her remain in her chair. He came toward her. She tried to see anything—eyes, mouth, nose. Nothing. But he brushed against her, and a chill flash froze her.

Lydia shot straight up in the recliner, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her gaze crashed into Jesse's. He sat across from her on the couch.

He rose and came toward her. “What's wrong?”

For a long moment, she couldn't form her words to explain the dream—no, nightmare. “Some guy was arguing with Melinda when I came into the bistro.”

“What did he look like?”

“I couldn't see his face. He came right toward me, but it was blank. That's all I saw, but there was something wrong with that guy.”

“What?”

“I don't know.” She ground her teeth together. “I've seen him before?”

“Okay. It'll come to you.” Jesse sat on the coffee table. “How tall was he?”

Lydia tried to picture the man leaning against the counter, almost in Melinda's face. “Maybe about five-ten.”

“What color hair did he have?”

“Brown.”

“Long, medium, short?”

“A little long. I saw it sticking out of a ball cap.”

“Anything on the ball cap?”

“I don't remember.” Frustration churned her stomach. That was all she'd been saying lately.

“Body build?”

Lydia closed her eyes and recalled the faceless man coming toward her. “Lean but not skinny.”

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. When she looked at Jesse, there was no reproach in his gaze, only kindness.

“If you just recalled that, you'll remember more. It'll come.”

“But in time?”

“This case doesn't hinge on you. You're only one part of it. Thomas is digging into the man who was renting that house. He might have a tie to the bomber. Tomorrow I'll be following up on the pharmacist and visiting the animal shelters about Calvin.”

“Can I come? I can't sit home doing nothing.”

“Not to the drugstore, but I think it might help if I take Calvin with me to the shelters. Seeing him might trigger someone's memory, and I know the dog responds to you.”

“You're letting me go?”

He cocked a grin. “Besides, it'll take a day for the windows to be replaced in my SUV. I was hoping you would let me borrow your car to use.”

She chuckled. “You're sneaky but thanks for letting me help with Calvin. Now that I know that the guy who brought him in is the bomber, I could see him getting a dog from the pound and then poisoning him. But I have an argument about coming to see you with the pharmacist. Seeing him might jar my memory.”

“I've got a way for you to watch him from a safe distance. I'll have him come into the station for questioning. He won't see you, but you can see him.”

“Thanks.” She put the footrest down and stood. “I was going to stay up with you, but obviously I need my sleep. And you should get some, too.”

Jesse glanced at his watch. “I have an hour. It'll give me time to think about what we do know so far in this case.”

Lydia knelt by the two dogs and reassured herself they were doing well. When she rose, she noticed Jesse had moved back to the couch. After Jesse's response concerning the kiss, she didn't think he was capable of sharing himself with anyone. She had to accept that and quit dreaming they might have a chance after all.

At least she finally had hope that she might recall what she saw in the bistro that would cause the bomber to target her. It had to be that she could identify him. Unlike her relationship with Jesse, which seemed hopeless, it was starting to seem likely that she'd remember...but would it be soon enough?

* * *

Lydia sat next to an FBI agent working on the Laughing Bomber Task Force while Thomas and Jesse interviewed Phillip Keats, the pharmacist. Thomas sat across from Phillip, but Jesse was right next to him with Brutus on the man's other side, as if the man were boxed in. When the pharmacist had come into the interrogation room, the dog had sniffed him but didn't indicate anything. Jesse crowded Phillip who leaned as far from Jesse as he could get without getting up and moving his chair.

“I understand you were in the bistro not long before it was bombed. Why didn't you come forward to help us with identifying the people who could be victims?” Thomas asked.

Phillip slid a look toward Jesse, then Brutus. “Am I safe with him not on a leash?”

“He would only attack if I gave the command. You didn't answer the detective's question. Why didn't you come forward?” The fierce expression on Jesse's face even gave Lydia pause.

Phillip swallowed hard. “I don't go in there much and didn't know anyone.”

“Ah, that's interesting when you were seen talking to a woman. And from what I understand that woman didn't survive the blast. Didn't you think the police needed to know she was in there?” Thomas's calm voice held only curiosity, not blame.

Sweat coated Phillip's forehead and began rolling down his face. He lowered his head.

Jesse hit his palm against the table. “It's a simple yes or no question.”

The pharmacist jumped and leaned even farther away from Jesse. “I couldn't come forward,” the man mumbled.

“Why not? You left before her. Why?” Again Thomas's soft tone was meant to calm the man down.

While Phillip wiped his hand across his brow, the FBI agent asked, “Do you remember anything else? Anything that would help with the questions to ask Mr. Keats?”

She shook her head. Something nagged at her, but she couldn't pinpoint it.

Finally Phillip looked right at Thomas. “Okay. I was there with Miss Prince. You knew she was in there. Her name was listed as one of the victims, so what was I going to tell you that you didn't already know?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe who else you remember being there? Don't you want us to find the bomber? What if you saw him?” Jesse's taunts made the man wince.

“I don't remember anyone. I was there to see—my friend. That was all. I had limited time before I had to be back at work. I'm not a criminal because I didn't say anything.”

“So why didn't you?” Jesse asked.

The pharmacist's eyes grew narrow. “Because I'm a married man.”

Thomas wrote something on a pad. “Ah, are you saying you were having an affair with Miss Prince?”

“She was a friend, but someone might mistake us eating lunch together as something more.”

“While you were there, did you see anything suspicious?” Jesse snapped his fingers, and Brutus came to his side.

“I saw a man storm out of the bistro after talking to the owner.”

Then her dream last night was true. Lydia felt it was but couldn't be sure until now.

Thomas cleared his throat. “I thought you didn't go to the bistro much. How do you know who the owner is?”

“I saw her picture on the news. That bombing was plastered all over the place. Kind of hard to avoid.”

“What did the man look like? Is he one of these?” Thomas laid an array of pictures on the table.

“Nope, I don't think so. I never saw his face. I just heard him say something to the owner. I wasn't sitting too far from them.”

Lydia leaned forward as Thomas asked, “What?”

“You're going to pay for this.”

She'd known the man was angry, but this was a whole new level.

“When did you leave the restaurant?” Jesse asked, pulling the man's attention to him.

The pharmacist shrugged. “I don't remember. I do know I was back at the drugstore when the bomb went off.”

“How long?” Jesse fired back.

Phillip sighed. “I... I guess maybe a minute.”

“Did you see him leaving?” the FBI agent asked Lydia.

“No. Maybe he left while I was in the bathroom.”

“How long were you in the restroom?”

“A few minutes.”

When she turned back to the screen, Phillip Keats was on his feet, looking at his watch. “I have to get to work.”

Both Jesse and Thomas rose at the same time and Thomas passed a card to the pharmacist. “If you remember anything later, please call me no matter how unimportant you think it is.”

Phillip pocketed it. “Sure. I want this guy caught like everyone else in Anchorage.”

Lydia stared at the screen, watching the three leave the interview room. It hadn't triggered her memory, but it had given her an uneasy feeling as though something he said should have sparked a memory of that day. What did the man with Melinda look like?

The FBI agent stood. “Did you remember anything else?”

“No.” The answer was just out of her reach. She knew something but couldn't access it. Every time she tried to, her mind shut down. Jesse was right. Forcing her to remember wasn't helping. Other than a nagging feeling, she hadn't gotten anything from the interview.