Closer To You (Callaways Book 11)

by Barbara Freethy

  "He had a car on the road," Ian continued. "It was a black SUV. I thought the first letter on the plate was 7, but that's all I got."

  "And your name is?" Officer Stanford asked.

  "Ian Callaway."

  "Did you get a look at the guy?"

  "I only saw him from the car when I drove into the lot, and he took off fast. He was dressed in black. I don't remember seeing his hair. He might have had a hat or a hood on."

  The officer turned to Grace. "What about you? What did you see?"

  "I never saw his face. He put his arm around my neck, and he was behind me. He felt big. He was taller than me by at least six or seven inches," she replied.

  "Could you tell what he was wearing?"

  "He had on a leather jacket. I could feel the material against my skin," she said, shaking as she relived that horrible memory. "I think he had on black jeans. That's all I remember."

  "Can you show me where he took you?" Officer Stanford asked her.

  As she retraced her steps, she felt a little sick, the shock turning to nausea, but she forced herself to work through it.

  "Do you know anyone who would want to hurt you?" the officer asked. "Do you have a husband? A boyfriend? Have you gone through a divorce? A bad break-up? Has anyone befriended you online or been inappropriate at work?"

  "No, no, to everything," she said. "I'm single. I'm a teacher. Everyone is great at the school. I don't have anyone in my life who doesn't like me or has threatened me in any way. But my father was attacked in his office last week."

  "Where is that?"

  "Thousands of miles from here. He lives in Ireland."

  "Could the two events be related?" Officer Stanford asked.

  "I think so. My father is a well-known scientist, and there's a science convention in town. A lot of people he has worked with over the years are here."

  "Tell him about your house, Grace," Ian put in.

  "Right." She looked into the officer's inquiring eyes. "I felt like someone broke into my house a few days ago, but I wasn't sure. The front door was ajar, but nothing was taken, so I thought I might have left the door open. But then Ian's hotel room was trashed yesterday, and we've been together all week, so we started to think that someone is looking for something they think I have."

  "What is the relationship between the two of you?" the officer asked, giving them a speculative look.

  "We're…" She wasn't quite sure how to describe Ian. "Friends," she said. "Ian brought me a gift from my father; that's how we met."

  "What was the gift?"

  "A necklace from my youth."

  "Do you live here in Tahoe?" Officer Stanford asked, turning to Ian.

  "No, I live in San Francisco. I'm here for the conference. Her father, Professor Seamus Donelan, asked me to drop off the gift on my way into town, which is what I did."

  "You said your hotel room was vandalized," the officer continued. "Where are you staying?"

  "At Silverstone's. We spoke to the hotel manager and head of security about it. Unfortunately, there was no video footage of my floor or the elevators closest to my room for several minutes around the time of the break-in."

  Officer Stanford looked surprised at that piece of information. "You're saying someone tampered with the hotel security system? That hotel was just finished a few months ago. It has state-of-the-art equipment."

  "Yes, but still hackable by any number of people at the conference."

  "Would any of those people be holding a grudge against you or Ms. O'Malley?" he asked.

  "Not us, but her father is a different story. There seem to be a few rumors going around about some of his business dealings."

  "Okay. It sounds like this may be a complicated situation. What I'd like to do is bring in one of our detectives—Gary Johnson. He'll interview you both in more detail. He can also touch base with the police in Ireland to find out what they know about your father's assault as well as the hotel in regards to the missing security footage."

  "That sounds good," she said, relieved to have more help.

  "Are you hurt in any way, Ms. O'Malley? Do you need to go to the ER?"

  "No, I'm fine. He didn't have a chance to hurt me."

  "I would suggest that you don't go anywhere alone until we know what you're dealing with," the officer advised her.

  "Trust me, I do not want to be alone right now."

  "Give me your number and address," the officer said. "I'll have Detective Johnson contact you tonight."

  "Thank you," she said, then relayed her personal information.

  As the patrol officer got into his car, Ian gave her a sharp look. "Can you drive, Grace?"

  "I'm okay now. I don't feel as shaky as I did."

  "Still, I'd feel better if you just came with me. We can leave your car here."

  "I don't want to leave it here. I don't think it's a good idea. I'll drive home. You can follow me."

  "All right. But we're staying very close together."

  "I'm counting on that."

  She got into her car and locked the doors, then started the engine. Ian was true to his word, staying close to the back of her car all the way home. She parked in her driveway, not wanting to open the garage yet. For some reason, she felt like she might need a quick getaway, which was ridiculous, because Ian's car was parked behind hers.

  They walked up to the front of the house together, and when she saw the front door not just ajar but wide open, her heart sank.

  "I should have expected this," she muttered.

  "I should have, too," Ian said somberly. "I'll check it out."

  "Not alone. We're sticking together, remember? Should we call Officer Stanford?"

  "Let's take a look first. I don't think anyone is still here," he said, glancing around the yard and the street. "Then we'll call the police."

  She put her hand on his back as he entered the house and flipped on the lights. The same ransacked mess she'd seen inside Ian's hotel room was visible here: cushions ripped off the couches, drawers open and dumped on the floors in every room, clothes pulled off hangers and pockets turned inside out.

  She felt nauseous again. Her personal space had been completely violated, and she shivered at the thought of someone trashing her things, slashing cushions with a knife. Had the man who'd grabbed her had that same knife? Would he have used it on her?

  She started to sway, her legs weak, her head spinning.

  Ian grabbed her and pulled her back up against him. "You're all right, Grace. Breathe."

  "I—I can't."

  "You can. You're strong."

  She struggled to move her chest, to suck in the air she needed. She could not collapse now. There was work to be done. She needed to find out who had done this, who had threatened her, who had almost killed her father. That wasn't going to happen if she gave in to her emotions.

  She straightened and pulled away. "You're right. I am strong. Let's check out the rest of the house."

  They made their way through the rooms in silence. Every new view was incredibly painful, especially her bedroom. And the kitchen was a disaster. Even the flour and sugar canisters had been dumped out on the sink.

  "I don't get it," she muttered. "What are they looking for?"

  "Something small enough to fit into those containers," Ian replied.

  "That doesn't tell me much."

  "I know, but that's all I have at the moment. I do feel like someone is getting impatient, frustrated, as if time is running out."

  "Because the conference is almost over?"

  "Or because whatever it is has to be found or used before something else can happen," he replied. "It might not have anything to do with the conference."

  "But someone there is probably involved, don't you think?"

  "We don't have any evidence, Grace. It's possible that someone followed the package Seamus sent to me and then followed me to you."

  She considered his words and then realized she hadn't told Ian about her dad. "My father," she sa
id abruptly. "I didn't get a chance to tell you. My dad is awake."

  "What?" he asked in surprise. "When did you find that out?"

  "My mother called right before I left school tonight. My dad woke up. He's confused, and his memory is apparently still blurry, but they're optimistic about his long-term prognosis. I should have told the police officer that. I wasn't thinking."

  "You were shaken up. Has your father spoken to the police in Waterford?"

  "I don't know."

  "That's great, Grace." Excitement lit up his eyes.

  She wanted to feel just as excited as she had when she'd first heard the news, but now she had another worry. "I hope someone is watching over him there. He could be in danger."

  "I'm sure the police are keeping their eye on him."

  "We need to make certain." She paused. "What about your cousin—did she come up with anything?"

  "Emma hasn't gotten back to me yet, but I will call her. We need to get everyone working together: the police here, the detective in Waterford, and the security people at Silverstone's. If that isn't enough, I'll call my sister Kate. She's with the FBI. She'll want to help."

  She liked his plan of attack, but she also felt a little overwhelmed. "How did I go from being a teacher to being involved in an international problem like this?"

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. "I think that was me—doing your dad a favor."

  She sighed. "I'll call Officer Stanford back and see if he can get Detective Johnson to speak to us sooner rather than later."

  "While you're doing that, I'll see if I can reach Kate." He finished his statement off with a reassuring kiss. "We're going to figure this out, Grace."

  "We have to, and we better do it quick, because I don't think anyone has given up."

  * * *

  As Grace called the police from the kitchen, Ian moved into the living room to call Kate. He didn't trust the local guys to be able to deal with something that was looking to be of international significance.

  "Ian?" Kate said in surprise. "What's wrong?"

  "Your FBI instincts are good."

  "Actually, that's my sisterly instincts. You never call me just to chat. Is it the family?"

  He heard the alarm in her voice. "No. Everyone is fine. I just have a problem that I might need your help on. Is this a good time?"

  "Sure. Let me just turn off the stove."

  "You're cooking?" he asked in astonishment. "My kickass FBI agent sister is cooking dinner?"

  "Don't get all worked up," she said dryly. "It's after nine in DC. I was just about to make some scrambled eggs as I got off work late and Devin is working even later, so I'm on my own."

  "Got it. Scrambled eggs are good."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "Remember that package I got on Thanksgiving?"

  "Yes. The one you seemed surprised to receive on a holiday."

  He'd forgotten about that. He had wondered how the man had gotten into his building and why he'd come on Thanksgiving, but that could have just been random. Someone rang him in. Some services delivered on holidays. Whatever. He couldn't worry about that now. "That was odd, but things have gotten stranger since then. Inside my large box was a small package that Professor Donelan asked me to deliver to his daughter Grace when I went to the conference in Tahoe. That's where I am now. To make a long story short, since I've been here and gotten to know Grace, we've become targets."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Someone broke into my hotel room and trashed it. Same thing happened at Grace's house with violent slashing of pillow cushions, suitcase linings, and mattresses."

  "So more of a search than a robbery?"

  "Yes. But tonight the stakes went up. Grace was leaving the elementary school where she works when she was grabbed from behind. She was being dragged into the woods. When I showed up in my car, the guy dropped her and ran into the trees. I followed but I couldn't catch him, nor could I see him. I just got one letter from the license plate."

  "I don't like the sound of this, Ian," she said with concern. "What are you involved in?"

  "That's the problem; I don't know. Oh, and I left out what might be the most important piece of information. Grace's father, Professor Donelan, was attacked last week in Waterford, Ireland, at the university where he teaches. I didn't hear about it until I got here and one of my old college buddies told me about it. Seamus has been in a coma since the assault, but this afternoon he apparently woke up. We don't have any other information. We're talking to the police here. Grace's mom has spoken to the police in Ireland, but I think this is big, Kate. I think this has something to do with Donelan's work."

  "What kind of work?"

  "It could be anything. Before he was a professor, he worked for a number of companies involved in cutting-edge technology, some of which is of great value to our government and others. I wish I could pin it down, but I don't have enough information. I don't know what you can do, but I thought I should get your advice."

  "I'm glad you called. And it's about time you realized your little sister might actually be able to help you."

  "You're going to hold this over me, aren't you?"

  "Definitely. Let me start by finding out what I can about Professor Donelan's condition and the investigation in Ireland."

  "That would be great. Emma is actually in Ireland right now. She and Max were going to try to help me out, too, with the police there, but I haven't heard back from them."

  "What's Emma doing in Ireland so soon after the last trip?"

  "She and Max are adopting a kid we met there, the great-granddaughter of our grandmother's best friend."

  "Are you serious? She said something about trying to find that girl's father. Now she's adopting her? I feel like I've missed a big chunk of that story."

  "It's all happening very fast. The end result is we're getting another Callaway."

  "Well, that's great. Emma will be a fantastic mom. Okay, so, I'll see if I can reach Emma, although with the time change, it's probably the middle of the night there, so it may be tomorrow before I can reach anyone. In the meantime, I'm worried about you, Ian. I think you need to get out of Tahoe."

  "I'm not going to leave Grace," he said flatly.

  "Really? You're not going to leave a woman you met a few days ago?"

  He knew it sounded crazy, but it was the truth. "That's right."

  "Is she becoming important to you?" Kate asked, a curious note in her voice.

  "I brought danger to her. I feel an obligation," he said, not sure why he had to rationalize his feelings about Grace, because she was important to him. He just wasn't quite ready to share that with his sister.

  "I'll make some calls," Kate said. "I'll get back to you."

  "Thanks." As he got off the phone, the police were at the door.

  For the next half hour, he and Grace spoke to Officer Stanford and Detective Gary Johnson, rehashing everything they knew, which didn't amount to much. They had a lot of theories and speculation but no hard evidence. Their best bet would be for Seamus to be able to tell the police what he knew, but who knew when that would happen?

  When the interview was completed, he followed the officers to the door. After watching them drive away, he returned to the living room to see Grace wandering aimlessly around.

  "I don't know what to do first," she said, helpless frustration in her eyes. "Should we stay here? Should we go back to Silverstone's? I don't know if we'll be safe anywhere."

  "The hotel would probably be the best bet. There is security there."

  "Not that it did us much good."

  "It's a little more protected than here. Fewer ways to get in and out, and we do have the penthouse, don't forget." His words did little to ease her tension. In fact, he wasn't sure she'd heard him. He couldn't blame her. It had been a hellish few hours, and he couldn't begin to imagine the fear that had run through her when that guy had grabbed her from behind. If he'd been one minute later… Damn. He felt sick at the thought.

&
nbsp; "Look, Grace, wherever you want to go, we'll go. I'm not leaving you. If I have to go to school and be your assistant teacher tomorrow, I'll do that."

  She gave him a faint smile. "I suppose you'd want to teach science."

  He smiled back at her. "It is my specialty."

  "I don't know if I'm up for school. I don't want to bring danger to the kids. Maybe the odds are against that, but we don't know for sure."

  "We don't know," he agreed. "Can I throw out another idea?"

  "Please."

  "We could leave Tahoe. We could drive to San Francisco. You could stay at your mother's house."

  "I wouldn't want to bring her and her husband danger, either."

  "Then you'll stay with me."

  "You're a target, too."

  "Still, I think we need to get out of town, Grace. We can't keep reacting—we have to start taking back control. We have to make moves that whoever is after us isn't going to expect."

  She stared back at him, clearly considering his suggestion. "You're right. We do need to go on offense, but I don't want to go to San Francisco. I want to go to Ireland. I want to see my father. He's the only person who can tell me what's going on."

  "Ireland, huh?" He was surprised, but the idea actually made sense. "Okay. Let's do that."

  "You don't have to go with me."

  "Of course I do."

  "This isn't your problem, Ian. You have your work, your life—"

  "This is my problem. Where you go, I go, and if that's Ireland, then let's make some plane reservations."

  Sixteen

  After her impulsive idea to go to Ireland, Grace quickly learned that there were no flights from any of the surrounding airports until tomorrow morning at eleven through Sacramento, which was a two-hour drive from Lake Tahoe. She was itching to get on a plane immediately, but they agreed to book tickets on that flight and then figure out where to spend the night.

  "It feels odd to be here with this mess all around me," Grace told Ian as they sat at her kitchen table. "Should I do some cleanup before we go? What about the broken window at the back of the house where they came in? Do I just leave it open? Or cover it up?" She paused, her mind spinning with questions and random thoughts. "Maybe going to Ireland is a bad idea. Am I running away? Or am I running to something? Why don't I know?"