“Scared of what, Carl?”
This drew a dark scowl from Attorney Stu. “You don’t have to answer that, Carl.”
Carl ignored him. “Maybe scared isn’t the right word. I was just caught off guard.”
“You ran from the police, because you were caught off guard?” Patrick leaned in, his palms on the table. “Carl, in about two hours you’re going to an arraignment hearing. Unless you come up with a better excuse than that, you’ll have plenty of time to think of one in the county lockup.”
“I refuse to have my client subjected to threats.” Stu went rigid in his seat, his annoyance obvious.
“Just stating the possibilities, Mr. Gilbert.” Patrick kept his eyes on Carl as he addressed the attorney.
“Okay.” Carl’s voice went low. “I’d had a couple drinks. I didn’t want another DWI.”
Mistrusting his explanation as well as his placid expression, Patrick looked at him square in the eye. “Interesting concept, Carl, except that your breath-alcohol level came up under the legal limit.”
“I know that now.”
“Come on, Carl, there’s something missing to this puzzle. No one takes a cop on a high-speed chase for a possible DWI. Maybe it has more to do with the loaded guns in your trunk?”
Carl raised his head, eyes rounded. He looked over at Stu and then back at Patrick. “The guns were a gift from an old girlfriend. They’re registered to me. I use them for target practice.”
“Target practice?” Patrick shook his head and leaned forward. “So you drive around town with loaded guns in your trunk to use for target practice?”
“I was at the shooting range over the weekend and I had forgotten about the extra baseball practice I’d scheduled for my team. Once I remembered, I left in a hurry.”
“Seems like a rather careless maneuver, don’t you think, tossing loaded guns in your trunk?”
“Yeah…probably.” Carl shrugged again.
“Of course, so does running from the police.”
“Carl.” His attorney’s voice was low, but firm. “You’re not helping yourself here.”
Carl looked back and forth from his attorney to Patrick. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “Doesn’t anyone understand? If I get another DWI, I can lose my job.”
Crossing his arms, Patrick studied Carl a minute, watching the overhead light play over his grimacing features. After four hours locked up in a holding cell and another waiting for his attorney to arrive, he looked haggard, with bags under his eyes. Sure, he was tired, but he had to be sobered up completely by now. Which should make him sharp enough to recall that he was being investigated in the recent murder attempts on Amber. Yet he was rambling about a possible DWI.
“Carl, do you understand why you’re being questioned today?”
Carl sniffed and took a swipe at his nose. “You think I have something to do with the murder attempts on Amber Talbot.”
“That’s right, and running from police coupled with having loaded guns in your trunk doesn’t look good for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Before Stu could open his mouth to object to the comment, Carl jumped up and slammed his broad palm down on the table. “No, Wiley! Listen up and understand this—I’m not your man!”
Good. Patrick bit back a smile, glad to see a fracture in Carl’s victim facade.
“Carl, calm down. I think you’ve said enough.” Stu half rose from his seat and gestured with his hands for Carl to sit back down.
Breathing heavily, Carl hesitated for a second and then reclaimed his seat.
His jaw clenched with his next argument. “Wiley, do you really think that if I was trying to kill someone, I would keep the evidence in my trunk?”
Patrick calmly sat there, folded his hands on the table. “People have done crazier things, Carl.”
“Well, not me.”
“Then why would you run?”
After a minute of hard silence, Carl fell back against the chair. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Drugs. Okay?” he mumbled. “Marijuana. Black tar heroin. I threw the bag out the window when I turned onto the highway.”
Drugs? The unexpected confession jerked away any hope of a speedy resolution to Amber’s case. Patrick took a deep breath, restraining his disappointment. “Do you sell or use?”
Carl sat up, gave him a pointed look. “Do you know how hard it is to live on a teacher’s salary?”
That answered it. And Patrick wasn’t about to tread down that path. He’d leave that up to the narcotics task force. Now for a last-ditch effort for his case. “Have you been trying to kill Amber Talbot, Carl?”
“No!”
“Then who, Carl?”
“Carl, that’s enough.” There was some heat in his attorney’s voice now.
Carl shifted in his chair. His gaze flicked to the older man, then back to Patrick. “How could I guess that, Patrick?”
“No hunch?”
“None.”
They were getting nowhere. “All right,” Patrick conceded. “What about the frat house party?”
“I told you before. I don’t know anything about that, either.”
“Come on, Carl, spare me the litany of denials.” Patrick raised his voice on that one. “Guys talk. You lived at the house. You had to have heard something.”
Carl sat silent for several seconds, his thick brows pulling tight over his eyes. “Even if I did, who believes rumors anyway?”
Patrick scooted to the edge of his seat. “What kind of rumors, Carl?”
“Just rumors,” Carl said with a shrug. “Big talk. Who knows what’s true.”
“Some people do believe rumors, don’t they, Carl?”
His face went blank, wiped clean of all expression.
“Carl, don’t say any more.” Stu’s warning went unnoticed and Patrick barreled forward.
“It’s fair to assume that if Amber spoke publicly about what happened to her the night of the frat party, even without names, somebody might be able to fill in the blanks. And that would scare somebody with something to hide. Wouldn’t it, Carl?”
Carl’s cold eyes locked on Patrick for a second. “Whatever Amber chooses to speak about wouldn’t involve me.”
“Who would it involve, Carl…based on rumors?”
Carl gave a noncommittal sigh. His gaze cut to his attorney. The older man stood and pulled on his coat jacket. “Come on, Carl. You’ve said enough. We’ll discuss this more after your arraignment and bail is set.”
Patrick waited, giving Carl time to comment and set the record straight. He didn’t.
Heading to his office, Patrick bit back a groan. His hope for a break in Amber’s case had been overly optimistic. Even before Carl’s pathetic confession, Patrick had been getting uneasy vibes.
Carl had never been the cunning one or the brains behind any clash in high school. He was a follower. Muscle when needed. And by his own confession, a drug dealer now. He was careless, reckless. But was he a killer? And if he was, he wouldn’t be acting alone.
“Patrick.”
Hearing Vance’s deep voice, Patrick stopped short and waited for his boss to catch up to him.
Vance gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good job. I watched your interrogation on the video monitor. You really pulled the information from Shaw. Even with his attorney present.”
“Thanks. But it wasn’t exactly the information I’d hoped for.”
“No, but selling heroin? Who would have thought? People never cease to amaze me.”
“Yeah. Handy, isn’t it? A popular high school coach moonlighting as a drug dealer.” Patrick shook his head. “Consider the customers he had at his fingertips.”
“Unfortunate.” Vance snickered. “But even if his attorney gets a bail bond for him today, this felony isn’t going away. He’ll do time. In the meantime, what are you thinking his ties are to Amber’s case?”
Patrick inhaled, trying to stay calm, although sitting on the razor-sharp edge of frustration. While Carl
stayed mum, Amber’s life was on the line. “I don’t know how much Carl is involved, but my gut tells me there’s someone else, someone shrewder, more devious behind this. And Carl knows who that is.”
*
Gus’s Diner, known for its Southern cuisine and friendly service, was a mom-and-pop establishment close to the police station. Patrick bragged that they made the best comfort food around. And right now comfort of any kind sounded good to Amber.
The decor inside the diner was rustic, but tasteful, with dark, distressed wood-plank floors, lots of wood beams and a large stone fireplace in the center of the dining area. Crisp white linens graced the tables and local artist paintings dotted the walls. The place was packed. The tantalizing aroma of home cooking wafting in the air told her why.
Amber’s stomach growled. The appetite she’d lost while waiting for Patrick suddenly returned.
“Table for two—Wiley.”
The waitress showed them to a table by the window.
After a cursory glance at the menu, Patrick set his down while Amber continued to peruse hers. So many options. After narrowing down her selections, she peeked over at Patrick.
He was seated back in the chair with his arms firmly folded across his chest. She recognized the encompassing sweep of his eyes as he took in the room. So very cop-like. She couldn’t stop a smile. He just couldn’t help himself.
That was another quality she loved…liked about him. She picked up her water, took a drink.
“So what did you decide on?”
Unease prickled her skin as he turned his dark, assessing gaze on her. “Some kind of seafood, I think.”
“Good choice. They have some great shrimp dishes.”
She glanced at the menu again. “Broiled shrimp with creamed spinach and black beans does sound good.” Her grumbling stomach agreed.
Patrick gave a wry chuckle. “I was thinking more like fried Bayou shrimp and mac and cheese. But you always did like veggies on everything. Pizza, subs—”
“—salads.” She smiled.
“Yep. Piled high, if I recall.”
She nodded. “And I suppose beef is still high on your list of food staples.”
“Oh, yeah.” He held up a hand a couple inches over his height. “Real high. Unbeknownst to Popeye, red meat is what builds muscles.” His smile was teasing, but his words held some truth—that was, if his powerfully muscled physique was any indication.
She breathed a silent sigh.
After the waitress took their orders, Amber started to unwind some and Patrick appeared more relaxed than he’d been an hour ago, after he’d finished talking to Carl. Interrogation had to be stressful, even more so when he didn’t get the answers he wanted.
Patrick rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. “So how’s your family been? I heard your brother’s living somewhere in South America.”
He heard about her brother? She wondered if he’d heard anything about her, too. Or maybe he’d avoided topics that involved her, like she had about him? Amber twirled the straw in her drink, making the ice clink. “Jason and his family live in a small village on the coast of Chile. He runs a mission there. Actually, my parents are down there now and will be working with him for the next couple months.”
“That’s great. I’m sure they’re making quite an impact.”
“They are.” She nodded. “How about your family?”
“Well, my big sister is working on her third master’s degree. Communication or information technology something or other.” After a slight pause he chuckled. “And she still hasn’t decided on a career path.”
“Tori must really like school.” Amber couldn’t imagine. One master’s degree was plenty for her. “And your parents—are they doing okay?”
Patrick nodded his head. “My dad’s semiretired from the post office. And my mom started working at the day care at church. With no grandkids in the foreseeable future, or maybe never, she’s finally getting her baby fix by being a surrogate grandma.”
Never? Amber was still processing that statement when Patrick added, “She actually asked about you a couple days ago. She’s been keeping up with your situation thanks to the local media.”
Amber’s face heated and her stomach quivered at the memory of how disappointed Tina Wiley had been after she and Patrick had broken up. Tina had been good friends with Amber’s mother, but now they didn’t even speak. So many lives had been affected by her one mistake.
Amber swallowed hard, trying not to dwell on the past. “That’s nice,” she uttered, not really sure how to respond to his mother’s renewed interest in her, or to the newspaper’s generous coverage of the latest perils in her life.
Patrick sat back against the wood chair. “Nice will be when there’s nothing left for the paper to report.” Though his tone was almost joking, worry darkened his eyes, and her heart stalled in her chest.
She gave a gentle nod. The character of this man was incredible. Instead of scorn, he genuinely cared about her, about her safety, making not falling back in love with him that much harder. For fleeting moments she imagined with more clarity than logic that one day there might be a future for them.
Fortunately she had enough common sense to understand what her heart refused to accept. The only thing on Patrick’s agenda that involved her was cracking this case. Then it was back to life as usual, for the both of them.
Shaking off a sense of foreboding, she tore her gaze away and glanced back at the menu, concentrating on something worth thinking about. “So what would you recommend for dessert?”
She needed comfort food of the best kind.
A short time later, Amber sat back in her seat, completely full and satisfied. The food was delicious and the company…wonderful. She swallowed a sigh.
The topic of the death threats against her hadn’t even come up.
“All finished?” The waitress dropped the check folder on the table and gestured to Amber’s half-eaten dessert. The hot fudge sundae cake was awesome, but she was stuffed.
“Yes.” Amber nodded, rummaging through her purse.
Patrick took out his wallet and, ignoring Amber’s objection, handed the waitress his credit card.
“Patrick, you don’t have to do that.”
“My pleasure. Besides, I owe you one for breakfast.”
A warm feeling washed through her. No small deed went unappreciated by him. Although, he owed her nothing.
On their way out the door, the waitress caught up with them. “Miss, I think you dropped this.” She handed Amber a rather crumpled copy of one of her fund-raiser brochures.
Amber hiked the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. You’d think she’d learn to keep her bag zipped. “Thank you.”
“Hey, let me see that,” Patrick said as she started to stuff it into her bag.
“It’s just one of my fund-raiser brochures.” She held it up for him to see.
She blinked in surprise when he snatched it out of her hand, his mouth pulling into a grimace.
“Patrick?”
He shook his head, worry shadowing his face.
Amber scrambled beside him. “Oh, my…” She gasped, her heart beating a frantic rhythm as she glanced at the paper in his hand. The title of the fund-raiser, Silence No More, had been crossed out and in its place was scribbled No More Silence Equals Death.
A sick feeling settled like a rock in Amber’s stomach. Not only did some crazy man want her dead, but he was also getting close enough to tamper with her things.
TEN
The next morning, Amber poured herself a second cup of coffee and stared out the window above the sink to Kim’s small front lawn shimmering in the morning sunshine. The trees were starting to bud, and spring bulbs poked through the brown mulch in the flower beds by the cobblestone walk. Another week and daffodils and tulips would be abundant.
She raised her cup, savoring the hazelnut scent as she took a sip. Spring had finally arrived. Warmth and sunshine. Brilliant colors. Her favorite t
ime of year.
Well, maybe not this year.
Instead, a deeper distress joined the anxiety twisting away at her insides. Not merely because she was on someone’s hit list, or at the prospect of finding the identity of her attacker, not even the stress of having Patrick back in her life, but the recent news they’d heard from the forensics team last night. The police had finished their investigation of the attack made on her counseling center.
Now it was time to assess the damage.
The day of the attack she’d been whisked out of the building by officers so quickly she hadn’t gotten a good look around. Today was the first day she was allowed back on the property. She couldn’t wait to get there.
Patrick, on the other hand, seemed to be in no hurry. After breakfast he remained at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and checking emails on his phone. Kim had already left for work. And with her laptop, client notes and files in the messenger bag buried somewhere amid the glass rubble at the center, she had nothing to do except wait.
On a sigh, Amber sought refuge in her cup of coffee. Patrick had a crime to solve. Of course he had more on his mind than Safe Harbor Counseling Center.
Still, she wanted it back up and running again very soon.
How long would it take? She swallowed the last of her drink, rinsed out her coffee cup and then loaded it into the dishwasher. Days? Weeks? Disappointment puddled in her stomach. She still couldn’t believe someone had shot up the building. She shut the dishwasher and wiped her hands on a dish towel.
“Are you ready to go?”
Patrick’s voice pulled her back to the present and brought her around sharply. She tossed the dish towel on the countertop. “Absolutely.” She took off across the kitchen, brushing past him in pursuit of her jacket.
“I just received a message from Vance stating the landlord had the front of the building boarded up. However, the inside will be in the same disarray as when we left. Pretty rough condition. You sure you want to see it like that?” Just by Patrick’s tone, she could imagine the concern in his eyes.
“I’ll be fine.” She put on her jacket. “Besides, Tony emailed me this morning. He wants to stop by also to take a look around and pick up a few things from his office. I told him I’d text him when we’re on the way.”
Love Inspired Suspense March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: Protection DetailHidden AgendaBroken Silence Page 49
