Summer Rain (Lightning Strikes Book 3)

by Barbara Freethy

  Dani waited for her opportunity to speak to the Kanes on behalf of Senator Dillon, but the line was long and never-ending, so she decided to take a walk around the park. Two basketball courts and the kids' playground took up most of the front end of the park, then a small incline led up to a barbecue and picnic area and new restrooms. Behind that building was a beautiful flower garden with grassy areas and benches placed in between the flowers, giving the area a serene and peaceful look.

  Not many people had made it to this part of the park, and as she wandered along the path, inhaling the thick, floral scents, she started to relax. The past few days had been so busy. First, she'd had to work overtime to finish up projects before the weekend. Then the wedding chaos had consumed every second of her time. Finally, she had a chance to breathe, and it felt good.

  She paused by a rose bush and leaned forward to see a perfect yellow rose. She gently fingered the petals, wondering how the flower was doing so well in the Texas heat. She'd always found it a little hard to bloom here in Corpus Christi. She'd tried, but she'd felt trapped, not just by the limitations of the job but also by the past. She didn't like to own up to the fact that her father's death still weighed on her mind, but it was the truth. In Corpus Christi, she couldn't get away from the memories, so she'd been thrilled when the job in DC had come along.

  She'd finally felt like she had the opportunity to live her own life, to find her own way, whatever that way would be.

  A chorus of voices drew her head up. She let go of the rose as three young girls approached. She gave them a smile and then made her way back to the front of the park. The line for Patrick and his father was down to one person. Thank goodness. She could pay her respects and go.

  When the elderly woman in front of her finished her conversation with Harris, Dani stepped forward.

  "Hello. I'm Danielle Monroe," she said, shaking Harris's hand. "I'm here on behalf of Senator Dillon. He asked me to give you his regards and tell you how happy he is to have the park finally open. He knows how much it meant to your wife."

  Harris nodded, his eyes gleaming with gratitude. "I appreciate the support the senator has given us over the years. Please let him know that."

  "I will. He told me that Jackie was an amazing woman, and he admired her very much."

  "She was one-of-a-kind," Harris said. As he finished speaking, a female reporter from the local paper interrupted them.

  "I'm sorry to bother you," the woman said. "But the paper wants to get a few more photos with you by the placard if that's all right, Mr. Kane."

  "Yes, of course." He smiled at Dani. "Thanks again for coming. Please excuse me."

  As Harris left, she gave Patrick a tentative, wary smile. "Your speech was very moving, Mr. Kane."

  "Call me Patrick. My father is Mr. Kane. And it wasn't easy to follow my dad's speech. As a teacher, he's used to inspiring people with his words."

  "He was very articulate," she agreed. "He painted a wonderful picture of your mother."

  "They were madly in love for twenty-five years. He still misses her every day."

  "You said he's a teacher?"

  "A professor of English at Texas A&M."

  "My alma mater. Did you go there as well?"

  "No, I went to Northwestern in Chicago. At the time, I was eager to go to college somewhere other than Texas. Now, I sometimes wish I'd stayed home, that I'd been around those last few years of my mother's life."

  She could see the pain in his eyes, and her heart went out to him. She knew how he felt. While she hadn't left home, she'd been living in an apartment near the university when her father's plane had gone down. So she hadn't spent that much time with her dad in the weeks preceding his death.

  "So you work for Senator Dillon?" Patrick asked.

  "Yes, I'm a legislative assistant in his DC office."

  "I'm surprised he didn't send one of his local staffers."

  "I used to be one of his local staffers, and I was in town for my sister's wedding. I know he wishes he could have come himself, but his schedule is extremely busy."

  "Perhaps that's why he hasn't returned any of my calls."

  "You've been calling him?"

  "I have. I've left several messages with his chief of staff and also her assistant."

  "His call-back list is a mile long," she said, automatically going on the defensive. "Was your question about this event?"

  "No, it wasn't. It was about my mother's death. I have some questions about the plane crash that took her life, and I think he might be able to help me."

  His words shocked her. "Why would Senator Dillon know anything about that? He wasn't in office then."

  "But he was very good friends with Senator Owen Stuart, who died alongside my mother. Senator Dillon and Senator Stuart went to college together. I'm sure your boss followed the investigation very closely."

  "Oh. I suppose that would be true," she said, feeling a little unsettled by the conversation. She felt like she needed to be on her guard, but she wasn't sure why.

  "How long have you worked for him?"

  "Seven years. I came on board shortly after he won the seat."

  "Would you be able to help me get a meeting with him?"

  "I would be happy to pass along the request, but if you've already spoken to his chief of staff, there's not much I can do."

  "I'm not trying to cause him any problems, but I lost my mother, and some information has recently come to light that's made me question what I know about her death. I really won't take up much of his time."

  His words resonated deep within her. Not only because she'd lost her father, but because she'd also been given information in the past year that had brought back all the pain of her father's death. They'd both lost parents in plane crashes, and apparently Patrick had unanswered questions, too. It was an odd connection they had.

  "Sometimes there are no answers—or at least no good answers," she said, talking as much about her own situation as his. "The truth doesn't always set you free. It's a nice sentiment for a card, but it's not reality."

  "That's a cynical point of view."

  "I'd prefer to think of it as realistic. I know what it's like to lose a parent. I lost my dad in a plane crash, too, and they never found his body. We've spent years looking for answers and there just aren't any. I've seen my sister, and most recently my brother, get completely caught up in a search for a reason that just doesn't exist."

  His eyes blazed at that piece of information. "Who was your father? When did he die? Where did the crash happen?"

  She frowned at the rapid fire of questions. "His name was Wyatt Monroe. You wouldn't know him. He wasn't anyone important. He flew small planes for a charter service, and he was in one of those planes when he got caught in a monster storm over the Gulf of Mexico."

  "Did he make a distress call?"

  "No, he didn't."

  "There was no call from the plane my mother was on, either. When did he die?"

  "Ten years ago. Two years before your mom. You're making it sound like there's a link between their deaths, but there isn't one."

  "Probably not."

  "No probably about it." She frowned, deciding she'd had enough of the conversation. "I should go. It was nice to meet you."

  "I'd really like to talk to Senator Dillon. Can you give me some tips on how to get through?"

  "Not really. I can tell him what you've told me, but it's up to him on whether or not he wants to return your call."

  "I can be very persistent."

  She shrugged. "That's not really relevant."

  A gleam entered Patrick's eyes. "You don't know anything about me, do you?"

  "I know you're Jackie Kane's son. Beyond that, no. Why? What should I know?"

  "It doesn't matter. Let's just say I'm good at getting to the truth, no matter how many people want to cover it up."

  "Is someone covering up the truth?" she challenged.

  "I'm not sure yet." Patrick paused as his father called his name.r />
  "Looks like you have to go," she said.

  "I do, but we should talk again, Ms. Monroe." He held out his hand.

  As his fingers wrapped around hers, sharp, nervous, worrisome tingles ran through her body. The man was potent—no doubt about it. She was really happy she was getting on a plane to DC in a few hours. She needed to put some distance between herself and Patrick Kane.

  Their hands clung together far too long. She didn't know why she felt like she couldn't let go—or why he was still hanging on to her. But finally she pulled her hand free.

  As Patrick went over to join his father, she walked quickly out of the park, her heart beating way too fast. Fortunately, her car was parked a half mile away, so by the time she slipped behind the wheel, her pulse was heading back to normal. She needed to get out of Texas so she could get back on her game.

  She grabbed the bottle of water she'd stashed in the console and took a sip. It was hot, but she didn't care. She needed something to wet her dry lips.

  As she set the bottle down, her phone buzzed. It was the senator's private number. That pumped her heart back up again. She rarely spoke to the senator directly these days. Since he'd replaced his old chief of staff six months ago with Erica Hunt, all staff members were requested to go through Erica for things they used to take directly to the senator.

  "Hello?"

  "Dani, how are things going? Did you speak to the Kanes?"

  "Yes. I gave Mr. Kane and his son Patrick your regards. The park is beautiful. It's going to be really good for the community."

  "How was the turnout?"

  "At least a hundred people or so."

  "Excellent. Happy to hear that. Was Davis Parker there?"

  "He was."

  "I bet he was posing for a lot of pictures," the senator said dryly. While he and Congressman Parker worked on some local issues together, they weren't friends.

  "He's never seen a camera he doesn't like," she said.

  "That's true. What did the Kanes have to say?"

  "Harris Kane said he was grateful for the support you'd given him."

  "It was a worthy cause. And his son?"

  Was there something behind the senator's question? Or was she imagining things?

  "Patrick told me that he's been trying to get in touch with you. He has some questions about his mother's death, the investigation of her plane crash. He thinks you may be able to help him."

  "I wondered why he was calling me so frequently."

  "Yes. He's very determined to connect with you."

  "I sympathize with his pain. I lost a good friend on that plane. Owen was in my wedding. We were as close as brothers, but I can't get bogged down in that old story. Patrick is looking for dirt and controversy, and that's the last thing I need."

  "Is there any dirt to find?" she asked tentatively. "I thought the crash was caused by mechanical failure."

  "That was the conclusion, but Patrick Kane is making a name for himself digging into what he considers cover-ups. He's a troublemaker. I like his father, and I was a big admirer of his mother, but my support for the family ends there. I helped them get the park to completion. That's all I can do."

  "I understand."

  "I hope so. I've spent the last few months dealing with the fallout from the problems at MDT. I don't need another distraction. I want to move ahead with new legislation, not old problems. If you see him again—"

  "I won't. I'm leaving the park now."

  "Good. All right then. Thank you, Dani. I appreciate you taking the time. How was the wedding?"

  "It was wonderful. It went off without a hitch."

  "I'm happy to hear that. I'll see you when you get back to DC."

  "Yes." She let out a breath as she ended the call, a little disturbed by the conversation.

  It was clear that the senator wasn't just too busy to call Patrick back; he was definitely avoiding him. But what had he meant by saying Patrick was making a name for himself digging up cover-ups?

  She clicked on the Internet icon on her phone and searched for Patrick's name. A dozen results came up, and she felt like an idiot.

  How had she not realized that Patrick Kane was the author of the bestselling book Medical Roulette? His exposé on the rapidly growing counterfeit drug industry was now being made into a movie. She hadn't read the book, but she'd definitely heard about it. She just hadn't paid attention to the author's name. But now she understood why the senator was wary of speaking to Patrick.

  She set the phone down on the console as thunder rumbled through the air. She suddenly became aware of the first drops of rain hitting her windshield. The storm had arrived. Time to go.

  As she started the car, her gaze fell on her right hand, and her jaw dropped open in shock.

  The ring was gone. Her great-grandmother's ring was no longer on her finger. What the hell?

  She looked around the car and saw nothing. She searched her bag. Then she got out and checked underneath the seat and on the pavement. The ring was nowhere to be seen.

  Where had she lost it?

  It could have been anywhere. She'd walked through the entire park.

  And then she remembered the roses. Had the ring come off when she'd touched the petals of that perfect rose? Or had it come off when she'd had a hard time letting go of Patrick's hand?

  She stood next to the car, debating what to do. She didn't like the ring. She'd wanted to get rid of it ever since she'd received it. But she couldn't lose it like this. It felt wrong. Alicia would kill her if she didn’t at least try to find it.

  She grabbed her keys and handbag and walked back down the street.

  By the time she reached the park, the lot had emptied out and people were headed back to their homes and out of the rain. She searched the area where she'd shaken hands with Patrick and found nothing. Then she walked up the hill.

  Thunder cracked the air and her nerves tensed.

  She didn't care about lightning and thunder, she told herself. It was just a storm, not an omen. She wasn't Alicia. She didn't think the lightning was trying to show her something. Unless, of course, it illuminated where her ring was. That would be helpful.

  As she walked behind the restrooms, the sky grew even darker. She had a feeling a downpour was coming, something worse than the random drops hitting her head now. She walked more quickly, entering the flower garden. As she turned from one path to the next, a jagged bolt of lightning ran down the sky, spotlighting the area in front of her.

  She'd thought she was alone. But she wasn't. There were two men in the garden, and they were fighting each other with intensity and purpose.

  She was shocked to realize one of those men was Patrick.

  The other was unrecognizable, wearing dark jeans and a navy-blue hooded sweatshirt.

  Lightning flashed again. It hit something metal. There was a knife in the hands of the man attacking Patrick.

  Oh, God!

  Her breath caught in her chest. She felt paralyzed with fear. She needed to help or run or do something.

  Patrick swung a fist into the man's face. The other man took the blow but came back with a deadlier punch, knocking Patrick to the ground.

  As a stunned Patrick struggled to get up, the man raised the knife. He lunged forward. Patrick tried to move, but the knife slashed his shirt. He put a hand to his chest as he lurched to his feet, and she saw blood covering his shirt.

  Thunder ran through her, echoing the pounding of her heart.

  The man raised the knife again.

  Patrick was trying to get away, but it was clear he was too hurt to move fast.

  Instinct propelled her forward. She had her keys and on the ring was a container of pepper spray. A one-two punch she thought, remembering what a self-defense instructor had once told her. Use what you have and don't hesitate. She didn't have much, but she had surprise on her side.

  She ran forward as lightning struck again, giving her a good look at her target. She swung her large, heavy handbag at the back of th
e attacker's head.

  He went down on his knees, the knife flying out of his hand.

  She hit him again as he tried to reach for it.

  He scrambled a few feet away, then got back on his feet. He turned toward her, and she aimed the pepper spray at his eyes.

  He screamed and put his hands to his face.

  She hit him again with her bag as Patrick grabbed the knife from the ground.

  The attacker hesitated for one second, then turned and ran.

  She let out a breath in relief. Once he was gone, she turned to Patrick, who had one hand pressed against his chest, blood dripping from his fingers. "Are you all right?"

  He stared at her in confusion. "I…I… Why did you come back?"

  "That's not important. We need to get you to the hospital." She could see he was dazed and probably on his way to losing consciousness. She had to get him out of the park as fast as possible. She put her arm around him and helped him down the path.

  As they passed the rose bushes, lightning flashed again, blinding them with a bright light. She stopped for a second to get her bearings. That's when she saw the glint of gold on the ground.

  "Hang on," she said, letting go of him for just a second. Her ring was on the ground, right under the perfect yellow rose she'd admired earlier in the day.

  She slipped it onto her finger, shivering as she realized the ring had brought her back to Patrick. It was supposed to bring her luck, but tonight it had brought Patrick luck. If she hadn't come back for the ring…

  She couldn't go there—at least not right now.

  She helped Patrick down the street to her car. It seemed to take forever to get there. On her way to the hospital, she called 911 to report what had happened. The dispatcher told her that officers would meet her in the ER.

  As she ended the call, she gave Patrick a worried look. He was slumped in his seat, but his eyes were still open, and his gaze was on her.

  "You saved my life," he said heavily. "Why were you there?"

  "I was looking for my ring."

  "But why didn't you run?"

  "I don't know. I should have," she murmured. "What happened? Who was that man?"

  "I have no idea."