Untraceable (24 page)

“I sure wasn’t expecting to find you here.” The glint in his brown gaze was unexpectedly warm. So unlike the last time she’d seen him.

Ditto.
She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Got home about a year ago. I work with the Savannah-Chatham police department violent crimes unit.” He flashed his badge, very detectivelike. “How are you?”

“Happy to be alive.” She tried for a smile, but hated that just the sight of him caused her pulse to rev. He shouldn’t have that effect on her, especially after all she’d put him through. Her guilt alone should have tamped those emotions years ago.

“I’m sure you are happy to be alive. That was a pretty violent explosion.” Patrick gestured to the remains of her car. “Who do you think did this?”

Shaking her head, she shrugged. “No idea. Maybe a random act. I don’t know.”

His head moved in an agreeable nod, but she could just imagine his churning thoughts. He didn’t buy it. He hadn’t changed one iota. Always suspected the worst. Still, she held on to the hope that her car had been a random choice by some wayward lunatic.

Patrick turned his head and stared back at the charred debris. “Did you see anyone in the parking lot or notice anything unusual before the bomb went off?”

“No. The parking lot was nearly empty. With the storm approaching, this area of town has been pretty deserted.”

His gaze met hers again, his eyes narrowing. “What about the man who found the item you dropped?”

“I dropped a file on the sidewalk leading to the parking area. Thankfully, that gentleman was around, otherwise—” Amber choked on the last word, suddenly dizzy. She could have been killed.

“Detective, are you about finished with your questions?” the medic asked as he placed the orange plastic supply box into the back of the emergency vehicle.

“For now.” Patrick gave the medic a nod, then returned his attention to Amber. “I’ll let you get to the hospital and catch up with you later.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Call me if any new revelations come to you.”

Amber took the card, breathing relief when the paramedic closed the doors. A siren roared and the ambulance maneuvered out of the tight parking lot. She lolled her head back against the vinyl seat, ignoring the pain streaking through her extremities. Tears welled in her eyes just before she squeezed them shut.

This was definitely not her day.

* * *

Patrick watched the ambulance ease through the crowded parking lot and then pull away. Catching his breath, he felt his insides reel from the sucker punch that caught him the moment Amber’s crystal-green gaze collided with his.

She hadn’t changed at all. Sill had the same delicate features—straight little nose, high cheekbones, luscious full lips. And a tumble of dark mahogany curls, soft and flowing about her shoulders.

She was still mesmerizing.

Seeing her had unearthed a whole host of emotions he had no business feeling, given their history. Feelings he’d thought he’d buried the night she’d walked out of his life the summer after their freshman year of college. Just weeks after she’d accepted his ring.

Waves of emotion shuddered through Patrick as memories of Amber flooded his mind. Sweet memories still outnumbered the bad, which made seeing her sting that much more. Crazy, he thought. It had been eleven years.

He tilted his head back and deeply inhaled, trying to calm the turbulent pulsing in his veins. Instead, adrenaline kicked him into overdrive as the stench of smoke entered his lungs. He stiffened his posture. Refocused. This was not the time to deal with the irrational emotions knotting his gut. Someone had blown up a car. Amber may have been the target.

He had a crime to solve.

* * *

The next five hours passed in a blur. Amber sat on the edge of a stretcher in the ER and studied her hands wrapped in gauze. She wiggled her fingers. Tender but tolerable. Somehow not seeing the wounds made them smart less.

Not so with her legs. She straightened one. The wounds had been cleaned and left open to air, with several jagged stitches on each knee. The black tights she’d been wearing had offered nothing in the way of protection, as the deep abrasions on her now-bare legs attested. Not pretty and painfully sore.

The events of the day still struck her as surreal, even impossible. Why would someone plant a bomb in a nearly deserted parking lot?

In her car?

Thoughts tumbled around her mind, but no answers emerged. Amber rubbed a knuckle against the pounding in her temple, where a tension headache had taken hold. She’d grown up in Savannah. It was the one place she felt safe.

Until today.

A nurse walked into the room carrying a small syringe. She pulled gloves from a box mounted on the wall. “After I give you this tetanus shot, you’ll be ready for discharge.”

“Thank you.” Amber nodded, happy to be nearing the end of her visit. Although her dreaded time in the emergency room hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined in terms of invoking memories.

A near miss with a bomb had taken care of that.

Her blood chilled at the thought.

“Right arm, please.” The nurse pulled off the plastic tip of the syringe.

Amber flinched a little as the nurse gave her the shot.

“It may be sore for a few days, so just use a warm compress for the pain. I’ll be right back with your paperwork.” The nurse left the room.

The pain from a tiny shot was the least of Amber’s concerns.

“How about a ride home?”

At the sound of the deep voice, every fine hair on her neck rose to attention. She glanced up. Detective Patrick Wiley stood there, his commanding presence filling the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and one shoulder leaning against the door frame.

“A ride?” Amber blurted, startled more than she was surprised to see him again. She’d thought he’d wait at least until she got home and settled.

“The hospital called and said you were ready to be released.”

Amber instinctively tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The sooty film on her hair reminded her how terrible she must look, while Patrick stood there looking...well, incredible. “Someone from the hospital called you?” She barely kept her voice from cracking. She sat up straighter, trying to look somewhat together, although after the day she had, she could hardly be expected to look calm and collected. It wasn’t every day a bomb blew up her car, or Patrick Wiley popped back into her life.

He nodded. “I asked them to. I still have a few questions. So if you haven’t called for a ride already, I can give you one.”

Hesitating, Amber scoured her brain for an excuse. Then again, what excuse could she have? She hadn’t called anyone. She blew out a breath. “Okay...if you don’t mind.”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Which would be never.

Patrick pulled keys from his pocket and Amber blinked. The man at the door was not just her old boyfriend, he was a law enforcement officer, here to do his job. That truth alone should have calmed her.

Instead, a fresh burst of regret exploded in her chest. Regret for choices she’d made and the results they’d caused.

* * *

Patrick pulled his SUV to the curb in front of Amber’s wood-frame bungalow and killed the engine. Gusty wind whistled and raindrops pelted the windshield, punctuating the awkward silence that had settled in the air between them.

As eager as Patrick was to jump-start the investigation, he could tell Amber was still shell-shocked. Even as he’d updated her on the bomb squad’s initial report for the explosives involved in the blast, she’d stayed rather apathetic, acknowledging his comments with a nod, but not saying much else. He had hoped to engage in a fact-finding conversation, but so far, that was not happening.

And after he spent two solid hours at the station poring over data collected at the crime scene, he realized very quickly that this wasn’t going to be a slam-dunk investigation. And, as with most crimes of this magnitude, time was of the essence, meaning, like it or not, he needed to dig more into Amber’s personal life.

Patrick flicked on the car’s interior lights. He twisted in his seat and rested his arm on the center console. Not an easy feat for his large frame, but he wanted to give Amber his full attention. “I need to ask a few questions about your relationships. Is there anyone, in the past or presently, who might be nursing a grudge of some kind? Ex-boyfriend, spouse or otherwise.”

She took a deep, silent breath. “Well, I’ve never had a spouse, and I can’t think of any looming relationship issues.”

Good. Not that it had any bearing on him personally, but it might make working with her a little less awkward. “How about outstanding debt? Do you owe anybody anything?”

She shook her head. “No, I live pretty frugally. Other than my house, I’m debt-free. Well,” she amended, “I guess I’ll be buying a new car.”

Patrick caught the subtle tremble of her body, but she kept any emotion off her face. He admired the way she was trying to stay strong, but he got a knot in his gut thinking about what she’d been through. A need to comfort her welled up inside of him.

He quickly stifled the impulse to pull her into his arms and offer her support. That wasn’t his place anymore.

“I’m sorry about your car.” His eyes captured hers, hoping to provide some solace, yet feeling ineffective against any stress she was dealing with.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, thinking back to the destruction the bomb had left. “It was only by God’s grace that you made it out alive.”

As Amber acknowledged his remark with a small nod, her gaze drifted away to the storm raging outside. “Yes, things could have been much worse.”

It wasn’t just her averted eyes, but the fleeting look of remorse tightening her features that made him wonder what kind of storm was raging inside her.

Patrick hesitated, giving her a moment. “Amber, are you okay?”

She returned her gaze to him, shapely brows drawn together. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.” She pushed hair from her face. “Are you finished with your questions?”

“No, I have a few more.” Patrick shifted in the seat and switched modes, turning his focus once again on solving this case. “You talked about recently opening a counseling center. What kind of clients do you cater to?”

At the mention of her place of business, she brightened some. “Well, I work with two other counselors and we offer a variety of services, geared mostly toward women in crisis situations. We deal with everything from marital and family discord to substance abuse and mental health issues.”

Patrick nodded to himself. “Okay, how about a family member or significant other of one of your clients—anyone seeking revenge for your intervention?”

Amber hesitated, brushing another stray lock of hair from her cheek. “It’s possible, I guess. But most of my referrals come from the women’s shelter or hospital social workers. It’s a very confidential climate. I stay pretty much under the radar.”

“I understand,” Patrick said, although he did not completely dismiss the theory. “Have you received any unusual phone calls or messages lately?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

“How about someone threatening harm or making you feel unsafe?”

There was a short pause as she folded her hands in her lap. “No.”

Patrick lifted a brow. “No one?”

She shook her head again.

Patrick gestured toward her house. “Do you feel safe staying here alone?”

Amber cast him a cool look, her eyes glinting amid the dim glow of the car’s interior lights. “Why wouldn’t I feel safe? You said yourself the bomb was crudely made. The work of an amateur.”

“Amateur or not, someone planted it. In your car.”

“In an almost empty lot.” Her tone took on a bit of a defensive tenor. “I understand, Patrick, that it’s your job to consider every angle. But I can’t imagine anyone targeting me.”

He nodded, hoping she was right.

A moment passed between them. Amber fiddled with her bag, and he was close enough to feel her discomfort.

She’d had a rough day and probably enough questions. “I think you’ve answered everything for tonight. Let me get an umbrella and walk you to your door.” As Patrick reached into the backseat, his arm brushed hers. Something in the way she pulled away made a shiver run down his back.

“Thank you, Patrick. I really appreciate the ride, but I can see myself in.”

Before he could remind her of the pouring rain, she jumped out of the vehicle and scampered down the sidewalk, her jacket pulled over her head.

He stared after her, waiting until she disappeared inside the house, the front door closing behind her.

She was hiding something.

A couple of fragmented thoughts pushed through the fog in his head. None of which had anything to do with a car bomb.

He had to stop himself. If he gave in to the urge to march to her door and ask a few questions, he’d be treading on unprofessional territory.

Patrick took a deep, bracing breath and started the engine. Personal issues would have to wait.

* * *

Soaking wet, Amber slumped against the door, her ears still ringing from the explosion, her knees throbbing. Not the best start to her weekend.

Seeing Patrick again definitely didn’t help.

Taking a shaky breath, she turned around and engaged the dead bolt. She heard Patrick’s SUV start up. The loud engine noise melded with the steady downpour. She waited a moment more until only the remnants of the storm filled her ears. Patrick was gone.

The one man in the world she never wanted to see again. And here he was, the investigator for a crime that she, unfortunately, had gotten pulled into. Professionally polite, professionally impersonal, giving her no indication if he’d grown to forgive her or despise her for what she’d done.

Her mind wanted to go numb with the memories of the last time she’d seen him. The wounded look in his eyes when she’d told him she wasn’t ready to commit. She’d needed time. She’d needed space. He hadn’t responded well. Not that she’d expected him to.

That day she’d held him for the last time. Walked away. Grieved every step.