Midnight Shadows (Love Inspired Suspense)

by Post, Carol J.

  But the answers she really wanted wouldn’t come out in testimony. Namely, did his life turn out as he had hoped, or did he kick himself for the choices he had made? Had she invaded his thoughts as much as he had hers over the past five years? And why did he blame her for what went wrong between them, when he was the one who messed up?

  Mr. Daniels finished his questioning, and Attorney Edwards began his cross-examination. Thank goodness, it was almost over. Sitting next to Chris for the past thirty minutes was like slowly tearing the scab from a wound, which made no sense. Any wounds he had inflicted had long since healed over. At least she thought they had. It was easy to convince herself she was over him when he was three hundred miles away.

  “No further questions.” Mr. Edwards laid down his pen.

  A familiar uneasiness crept over her, that hollow-gut-compressed-chest sensation she used to get before a presentation or big test. Lord, please don’t make me have to talk to him. She hauled in a stabilizing breath. If she took her time packing up her equipment, Chris would be gone before she reached the parking lot.

  Or not. Mr. Daniels addressed him. “How’s the marine business?”

  “Pretty busy, actually, in spite of the poor economy.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m a regular customer of yours. I’ve been restoring an old Chris-Craft, so Jamison Marine has become a regular entry on my credit card statements. You know the definition of a boat—a hole in the water you throw money into.”

  Chris laughed. “You got that right. ‘Boat’ is an acronym. It stands for ‘break out another thousand.’” He leaned back in his chair, lips curved into a relaxed smile, warm and friendly. That smile wasn’t for her. But her heart answered with an unexpected flutter anyway.

  She dropped her gaze and slid her steno machine into its case. Keep talking. It didn’t matter who left first, as long as they didn’t leave together. If she got her equipment packed up quickly enough, he would still be knee-deep in boat talk.

  That wasn’t unusual for Chris—both the topic and the ease of conversation. He had that smooth, simple manner that encouraged openness, even from total strangers. And a smile that could charm the slippers right off an ice princess. But she wasn’t going to think about that.

  Soon her notice, pen and tape recorder were tucked away, along with the steno machine. And that was the moment the conversation died. Chris stood to leave, and because she had no other choice, she did, too.

  He followed her into the hall. “I thought you were living in Atlanta.”

  “And I thought you were in Tennessee.”

  “I was till three weeks ago. My dad died suddenly, so I came back to wrap things up.”

  “I’m sorry.” She really was. “I didn’t know.”

  “It was unexpected. He was fine one minute, dead of a heart attack the next.”

  He swung open the heavy oak door and held it for her. The instant she stepped through, a wall of heat and humidity pressed into her, sucking the air from her lungs. The day’s sporadic rain showers had finally stopped, and the sun was out full force, transforming the parking lot into a concrete sauna. She sucked in a steamy breath. Fall was less than two weeks away. But someone forgot to tell Florida.

  He let the door swing shut. “I’ve taken a three-month leave of absence from the force, but hopefully it won’t take that long to find a buyer for the house and store.”

  “I see.” She unclipped her keys from the D-ring on the side of her purse and started across the parking lot. Azaleas blazed hot-fuchsia against a white vinyl fence, and palm trees stood at attention, fronds waving lazily in a gentle breeze, whispering that all was right with the world. The scene was deceptively serene. At the moment, her world was anything but.

  “How long have you been back?” he asked.

  “Four months.” Plus one week and three days. And she still hadn’t stopped looking over her shoulder. Eugene didn’t know where she had gone. He had no idea where “home” was or that she had changed her name. She even got her mail at a post office box in another town. But none of those precautions took away the nightmares or brought back her former carefree life.

  Chris cleared his throat and pulled his own keys from his pocket. “So when did you get married?”

  She looked at him sharply. “Huh?”

  “Morris?”

  “Oh, that.” She shrugged. “I’m not married.”

  He arched one brow and tilted his head in silent question—one she left unanswered.

  “So what brought you back?” he asked.

  “Some friends got transferred and didn’t want to leave the house vacant.” Of course, there was more to it than that. Being given use of the Tylers’ four-bedroom, three-bath house on five acres for nothing more than upkeep and utilities costs was tempting enough. But when the offer came right when she was planning her escape from Atlanta, that clinched it.

  His brows again arched upward. “And you picked up and moved from another state just to help them out? That’s pretty generous of you.”

  “It was time for a change.” She opened her passenger door and put her equipment on the seat. When she turned back around, he stood studying her with those probing eyes. She closed her door and brushed past him. He could save his detective work for the Memphis P.D. She didn’t need his help.

  He followed her around to the driver’s side. “Take it easy.”

  “You, too.” She opened her door and slid into the seat. “I’m sorry about your father. I hope it all goes well for you, getting the store sold and everything.”

  “Thank you.” He closed her door and dipped his head in farewell. His eyes glinted golden in the fading afternoon sun, stirring to life embers long since burned out, and she fought against the effect. After all that had happened between them, she shouldn’t feel anything except bitterness.

  As she started the car and put it in Reverse, a scene flashed into her mind, so vivid she wanted to retch—Chris in the arms of her best friend. Oh, yes, the bitterness was still there. One didn’t easily forget that kind of betrayal.

  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

  The verse intruded unexpectedly, and she reached for the radio dial, pushing the thought aside. Soft rock filled the car, some seventies love song written long before she was born. She focused on the words, clinging to the distraction they offered. It didn’t help.

  Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.

  After only three months in the faith, she was no scholar. But she had a nagging suspicion that “debtors” might somehow include Chris. What exactly did God expect?

  I don’t hate him. Isn’t that good enough?

  A gentle nudge told her it wasn’t.

  The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and she eased to a stop. Moments later, deep bass rattled her windows and reverberated in her chest. She glanced at the rusted Dodge next to her and reached for her own radio dial. Blaring music wasn’t such a bad idea. Anything to drown out that nudge that wasn’t so gentle anymore.

  She didn’t want to listen to that still, small voice. In fact, she wanted to leave God out of the whole situation. Because if she asked in earnest, He would probably give her an answer, one she didn’t want to hear. He would likely demand that she let go of the past and forgive the unforgivable.

  And she just wasn’t ready.

  * * *

  Chris pulled from the parking lot, following the same route Melissa had taken. Except his would end a few blocks down, at the Lakeland home where he grew up. Since his return, he had avoided the little town of Harmony Grove, some thirty minutes away. And tonight was no exception. Even more so now that Melissa was back.

  Walking into that attorney’s office and seeing her sitting there had left him reeling. That was a part of his life he had neatly bundled up and locked away. Maybe if he could have had some
warning, some time to prepare... Who was he kidding? Facing Melissa again would have knocked the foundation out from under him no matter how much advance notice he got.

  Five years ago, she’d broken his heart. For two years he hated her. Then he found out how wrong he’d been.

  And he’d spent the next two years hating himself.

  He shouldn’t have doubted her. He should have believed her when she insisted there was nothing between her and her ex-boyfriend Lance. But the signs were there—plans postponed because “something came up,” a stream of excuses for why she was late. And her best friend only fed that doubt. But Adrianne had an agenda. He’d just been too naive to see it. So when she told him Melissa had reignited sparks with her high school sweetheart, he believed her. That was his mistake.

  But Melissa had thrown it all away so easily. She hadn’t loved him enough to fight for what they had. And that was her mistake.

  He pressed the brake and eased to a stop in front of the double garage door. Inside was his dad’s Cadillac...along with fifty-five years of life. So until he got around to cleaning out the garage, his Blazer would remain in the driveway.

  He stepped from the vehicle with a sigh. As much as he wanted to just push Melissa from his mind, as a cop, there were alarms he couldn’t ignore. She was in trouble, and it was taking its toll. Oh, she looked as good as ever, with that thick, dark hair that went halfway down her back, even when braided, and those expressive blue eyes. But worry marked her features, and an undercurrent of tension flowed just beneath the surface, evidence of a constant state of being on guard. Even though she did her best to hide it, she was afraid of something.

  What kind of trouble had she found? Or a more accurate question would be, “What kind of trouble had found her?” Melissa was a by-the-book kind of girl, not likely to end up on the wrong side of the law. But she was running from something. She’d changed her name and abruptly left Atlanta. Maybe she’d witnessed a crime. Or maybe she was trying to escape some psycho ex-boyfriend.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t his problem. He was off duty, on leave of absence from police work for three whole months. He didn’t need to concern himself with whatever mess Melissa had gotten into. Harmony Grove had police officers. Let someone else worry about her. Someone who could do his job and not make it personal. That someone wasn’t him.

  But he couldn’t let it go that easily. He had to know what she was up against. Tonight he would call his partner and have him pull up everything he could find on both names—Melissa Langston and Melissa Morris. What he would do with the information, he had no idea. But at least he would know.

  He jammed the key into the lock and swung the front door inward. Inside the house, his father’s presence was everywhere, from his favorite afghan draped over the back of the recliner, to the World War II titles lining the bookshelves, to the stale, sweet scent of his pipe. A wave of loneliness washed over him, shot though with a pang of guilt. In the past five years, he’d been back only twice—once last year and once the year before that. He shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Weekly calls just weren’t the same as visits.

  The ringtone sounded on his phone, and he pulled it from its pouch, thankful for the distraction. It was Roger Tandy, longtime friend and one of Jamison Marine’s best customers.

  “I called the store, and they gave me your cell number,” Roger began. “I’d like you to come and take a look at my boat. I’m thinking of having you sell it on consignment.”

  He agreed, because he really had no choice, and set it up for Monday afternoon, all the while wishing Roger would just bring the boat to him. The thirty-minute drive was no problem. The fact that the Tandys lived in Harmony Grove was. It was a quaint, pretty town right off the set of some fifties movie, with nostalgic shops, a park at its center and people who actually stopped to chat. At one time, it was a place of magic, where love bloomed and dreams came true. Then in a brief instant, it became the embodiment of everything he had lost.

  For three weeks he had avoided it.

  Maybe it was time to face his demons.

  TWO

  Melissa eased to a stop, doing her best not to grimace. With the windows up and the A/C on, though, a prolonged groan was probably safe. Carolyn Platt stood on the sidewalk in front of BethAnn’s Fabric and Craft Shoppe, squinting in the afternoon sun and waving frantically. As much as Melissa wanted to keep driving, she was stuck—she had already made eye contact. She lowered the window and Carolyn waddled into the street, platinum curls piled high atop her head.

  “Melissa, dear, I’m so glad I caught you. Guess who I saw drive past not ten minutes ago, headed toward your place, I might add.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Don’t you?” Carolyn waggled her brows, something she always did when poised to collect or disseminate some juicy gossip. “It was Chris.”

  “Well, I can assure you, he’s not here to see me.”

  Carolyn nodded her head. “Mmm-hmm.” But neither the nod nor the murmur fooled Melissa. Carolyn was busy planning how she was going to spread this newest juicy tidbit. It wouldn’t be difficult. In Harmony Grove, gossip flowed like water down a steep slope.

  Melissa started to ease off the brake and roll forward, but Carolyn’s hand on the open window stopped her.

  “I actually flagged you down to see if you would make some of your mother’s cookies for the Busy Bees Bake Sale next Saturday. We could really use some of those famous Langston double chocolate chip cookies. Even though you’re not a Langston anymore.”

  Melissa smiled, ignoring the jab. All Carolyn knew was that she came back with a different last name and no husband. No amount of dropping hints had given her the information she wanted. And it was killing her. “I’ll be happy to. So who’s getting the proceeds this time?”

  “This year we’re helping the Polk Shelter for Abused Women and Children. They’re trying to expand their facilities.”

  “Glad I can help.”

  Each fall, the Busy Bees Quilting Circle held a huge bake sale at Harmony Grove’s arts and crafts show and donated the money to a different charitable cause. The amount was nothing to sneeze at—people came from all over the county, thanks to full-page ads in every newspaper within a fifty-mile radius, all generously funded by Dr. Stephens.

  “I’ll get those cookies baked,” she promised, starting to ease forward. But Carolyn waylaid her once again.

  “How is your mother, by the way?”

  A mess. Still searching for something she’s unlikely to find. At least where she’s looking. But she would never tell Carolyn that. “Mom’s fine.” The words were partially true. She was in good health, and her current man seemed to be taking better care of her than her last ones had.

  Carolyn nodded and dropped her hand. “Well, I don’t want to hold you up. Thank you for the cookies.”

  “No problem,” she responded, but Carolyn had already turned her back and was hurrying toward the opposite sidewalk. She got around extremely well, considering her girth and her age—whatever that was. No one knew for sure. It was the best-kept secret in Harmony Grove. Actually, it was the only secret in Harmony Grove, thanks to Carolyn.

  When Melissa reached the end of Shadowood Lane, the long gravel driveway was empty. Disappointment settled over her, and she silently scolded herself. Regardless of what Carolyn said, she didn’t really expect him to be there. And she didn’t want him to be there. Eventually he would head back to Memphis. In the meantime, the less she saw of him the better.

  She stopped next to the house and walked the path she had just driven. Monday was trash collection day, and the big green can waited for her at the end of the driveway. It was a long trek—the house was far from neighbors on either side. Maybe one day she would appreciate the privacy. That day seemed light years away.

  She grasped the handle and began wheeling the can
back up the gravel drive. In another life, the setting would feel like paradise. Colorful flower beds flowed into one another in graceful curves, and in their midst, the two-story house stood majestic and proud with its columned porch and cheery red front door. All around, a gentle breeze whispered through the massive oaks, compelling the world to be still and listen.

  But one quality stood out more than all the others—seclusion, that sense of total aloneness. And it was anything but comforting.

  She rounded the back corner of the house, ready to deposit the trash can in its usual spot on the patio. When her gaze slid past the kitchen door to the span of wall beyond, an icy blade of fear slashed through her.

  The family room window was shattered. Someone had broken into the house.

  For several moments, she stood frozen. Her brain shouted orders to run. But her leaden limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

  Eugene couldn’t have found her. Not so soon. Dear God, please, no.

  The wind picked up, rustling the branches overhead, and as if on command, crickets came to life, their song a warning, filling the air around her. She stood frozen, praying she was alone but wishing to God she wasn’t. She couldn’t go into the house.

  Her car beckoned, and she fought the urge to get in and drive, to leave Harmony Grove far behind and not stop until she found somewhere safe. If such a place existed. But she didn’t start the car. Instead, she pulled her cell phone from her purse. Maybe it was nothing more than vandalism, or someone looking for quick cash. But she wasn’t budging until she saw flashing blue-and-red lights.

  Minutes later, a Harmony Grove police car pulled in behind her. The driver’s door opened, and a familiar figure unfolded and straightened to his full height. It was Alan, Adrianne’s little brother. She stepped from the car and waved a greeting. She couldn’t hold him accountable for the sins of his sister.