Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2

by Susan Sleeman

  “You’re going to pay for that!” he growled.

  He lunged forward, the tire iron arcing toward her head.

  She ducked, swung the pole again. He grabbed the end and tried to rip it from her hands.

  “Laney! Where are you?” Kent called from the other side of the kennels.

  “Here, Kent! Quick! Help!”

  At the sound of Kent’s voice, the man dropped the catching pole and darted toward her. The tire iron whizzed through the air.

  She felt it glance off her arm as she ran toward Kent’s voice.

  She thought she’d feel it again, slamming into the back of her skull or the side of her head. She was sure that at any moment, the man would be on her.

  Instead, she felt nothing. Heard nothing. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him disappearing into the woods.

  She was safe.

  But she didn’t feel safe.

  She felt terrified.

  Kent called out again, and she managed to respond, her heart in her throat as she turned back and knelt beside Riley. He groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He was alive. She was thankful for that. She had to keep him that way. Keep Rose and Bria safe.

  A task that seemed to grow more difficult by the hour. If something happened to any of them, she’d never forgive herself. She was all too familiar with that scenario. Her failure to protect them would haunt her dreams. And her waking hours.

  *

  A fire truck, an ambulance, two police cruisers and a K-9 unit were still in the yard when Grayson navigated the gravel road. Andrews had called and briefed him on the attack and Grayson’s mind was racing as he parked quickly, jumping out of his sedan and opening the passenger door for the sketch artist.

  “Slow down,” Willow Scott demanded, her curly blond hair pulled into a loose bun, the hairstyle matching her no-nonsense business suit perfectly. “Rushing isn’t going to change what’s already happened,” she said, her long stride easily keeping up with his as he jogged toward the house.

  “Moving slow isn’t going to keep more from happening,” he growled, frustrated with himself, with Kent, with the two officers who’d left their post to respond to the falsified report of an armed robbery.

  The door flew open as he jogged up the porch stairs, and Kent Andrews appeared, a streak of soot on his cheek and a scowl deepening the lines in his face. “This the sketch artist?” he asked, gesturing to Willow.

  “I am,” Willow responded, moving past him and into the house, adjusting a bag of art supplies she had slung over her shoulder. “Where’s the witness?”

  “In the kitchen. She thinks the guy who was out here today might be one of the kidnappers from last night.”

  “How’d he get away?” Grayson asked.

  “I’m pretty sure he had an accomplice parked out on the highway. Murphy and I scoured the woods. No sign of anyone, though Laney clearly saw him disappear into the trees.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I really want to ID these guys quickly,” Grayson responded.

  “Well, if Laney is as good a witness as you think she will be, we’ll be able to run a sketch through the system before the day is out,” Willow interjected. “If the partial prints or DNA profile from the gun recovered at the scene pan out, your case will be airtight—and if either of the kidnappers is in the system, we’ll have a positive ID in no time.”

  Grayson was banking on it. The FBI’s new facial recognition program was able to compare surveillance images and even sketches against the FBI’s national database of mug shots in minutes. That’s why he’d brought Willow in. She’d had a hand in developing the system and the highest hit ratio of any artist using it. “Let’s hope both perps have criminal records.”

  “There’s a good probability they do. You don’t get involved in this type of crime overnight. I’m betting these guys are career criminals.”

  “Let’s get this done, then.” Grayson said, leading the way to the kitchen.

  The house bustled with activity. Firefighters, police and ambulance personnel were all milling around, eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that Rose was passing around on a platter. Despite the cookies, the air was still ripe with the scent of smoke, the sliding glass door open, cool air tinged with a hint of moisture drifted in.

  He scanned the room and found Laney seated in a chair at the table. She caught his eye and smiled. She looked young, her hair scraped into a ponytail, her eyes shadowed. “You made it back,” she said.

  “Better late than never, I guess.” He took a seat beside her, the acrid stench of smoke heavier there. Though her clothes were smudged with soot, her face and hands looked freshly scrubbed.

  “You’re not late,” Rose cut in. “You’re just in time for a cookie.” She handed him one, and Grayson ate it.

  It tasted like dust. Or maybe mud.

  “Good?” she asked, beaming as she held out the platter. “Have another.”

  “Thanks, but we’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe you could—”

  “Say no more!” she interrupted. “Bria and I will check on the dogs, but we’ll go see Riley first. He’s conscious but the paramedics want him assessed at the hospital. His parents just arrived and they’re planning to head over there with him. Bria, grab that platter of cookies in case anyone needs a snack.”

  Seconds later, Kent had cleared the rest of the room, then joined firefighters and police outside. Willow took a seat on the opposite side of Laney, smiling as she introduced herself. She was good at what she did. Great at it, and part of that gift was in her ability to make the witness feel comfortable and confident.

  She emptied her bag of supplies onto the kitchen table.

  Grayson had seen her in action before, but he pulled up a chair and watched, anyway. He needed this sketch to match something in the database. Despite the police presence, he was worried. Laney had been attacked again. Both times she’d been under the protection of the MPD. Both times, he was not around.

  Had the attacker known Grayson would be at the airport picking up the sketch artist? The timing of the fire seemed to indicate that, but only a few people had known when Willow would arrive.

  Was the leak in the FBI or in the local PD? It was a question Grayson needed answered. Until then, he’d be taking extra precautions. And unless it was absolutely necessary, he wouldn’t be leaving Laney’s side.

  He’d confirmed the FBI protection detail had been processed and should arrive before the day was out. It couldn’t come quickly enough for Grayson.

  His phone vibrated, and he glanced at his caller ID.

  Ethan Conrad.

  Good. Grayson needed to run a few things by him.

  Though retired, Ethan remained an influential and well-connected force in the FBI. He had lobbied for Grayson to be assigned the kidnapping ring case when the Boston field agent stepped down. He’d been Grayson’s sounding board during the past few months, helping him weed through and make sense of dozens of reports and reams of information from field offices in California and Boston.

  Grayson didn’t bother excusing himself, didn’t want to interrupt the flow of Willow’s work. Instead, he stepped out the sliding glass door. “Grayson here. What’s up?”

  “Just making sure Willow arrived as scheduled. I spoke with Michael this afternoon, and he’s antsy to get a sketch of the perps into the system.”

  “Same here,” Grayson responded. “Willow’s working with Laney Kensington now. The sooner we can identify our suspects, the better. There’ve been additional attempts on Laney’s life.”

  “I thought you requested twenty-four-hour protection.”

  “I did. MPD’s been covering so far and FBI is on the way. But our perps seem to know my schedule, and they use it to their advantage.” He explained briefly, and Ethan sighed.

  “Your theory seems accurate, then. We’ve got a leak. In the bureau or in the police precinct.”

  “I’m inclined to think it’s in our office. Who else would have known what time Willow would arri
ve?”

  “Anyone with access to airport databases can search for a name and find out when that person’s flying in or out of a city. Willow is one of the most sought-after sketch artists in the country, and this kidnapping ring is savvy enough to pinpoint who you’d likely bring in and follow that person’s activities. It would be easy enough to figure out what time she’d be arriving.”

  He was right, but Grayson couldn’t shake the feeling that the leak was somewhere in the FBI’s house. “I’ve got Arden coming in to take a look at the computer system at the local police department. If any information is being filtered out or in there, we’ll know it.”

  “You’ve got that right.” Ethan chuckled. “She won’t miss anything.”

  “Do you have time to look through some case files for me, see if there’s something I missed?” Grayson asked.

  “Send the files to me over the FTP site. I’ll grab them from the server and start reading through them tonight.”

  “Thanks. And Ethan, let’s keep our suspicions quiet. If the leak is a federal agent, we don’t want to give him a chance to cover his tracks.”

  “You know me better than that. I’ll call if anything jumps out at me from the files. In the meantime, stay focused. This kidnapping ring has got to be stopped before any more families are destroyed.”

  Disconnecting from the call, Grayson paced the length of the back deck. He didn’t want to believe the leak could be one of their own. But he couldn’t afford to bury his head in the sand. Someone was leaking information to the kidnappers. There might be a computer hacker accessing the online systems, but the information the perps had went deeper than that. They seemed to know who would be where, and when. There was no way for them to know so much without an informant.

  Worse, Grayson was beginning to believe the head of the child trafficking ring might be hiding behind an FBI badge. The cases spanned three states and international waters. It was possible someone in the state PD was on the payroll, but there was no way that person was the mastermind. It had to be a nationally connected source, and the FBI was the only agency working this case. The thought wasn’t a reassuring one, and Grayson wanted to ignore it.

  He couldn’t. Children’s lives were at stake. Families were at stake. Laney’s safety was at stake.

  He walked back into the kitchen. Laney was still at the table, eyes closed as she said something to Willow. Was she visualizing the perps? Trying to bring their faces into better focus?

  Maybe she sensed his gaze. She opened her eyes, glanced his way and offered the kind of smile that seemed to say she was glad he was there.

  She was a strong woman, determined, hardworking, energetic and obviously willing to sacrifice her safety for the safety of others.

  So why had she retired from search and rescue? His cursory search of national databases hadn’t revealed much. She’d retired early from her work, but the article he’d read hadn’t said why. He wanted to know. Not because it would help with the case, not because it mattered to the outcome of his investigation, but because he wanted to know more about Laney.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but it was a truth he couldn’t deny, one that he carried with him as he crossed the kitchen and settled in the chair next to her.

  ELEVEN

  Laney tried to focus on Willow Scott’s work as Grayson took a seat beside her.

  It shouldn’t have been difficult. Her elegant hands deftly moving across the paper, Willow was bringing Laney’s description to life. The work was fascinating, her questions as detailed as her drawing.

  Yes. Laney definitely shouldn’t have had any trouble keeping her eyes on Willow and her sketch. Unfortunately, Grayson was difficult to ignore. Especially since he’d pulled his chair a little closer, his arm brushing hers as he leaned in to get a closer look at the sketch.

  She met his gaze, her heart doing a strange little flip when he smiled.

  “So,” Willow said, turning the drawing pad toward Laney and forcing her to refocus her attention. “How’s this match with what you saw?”

  Laney’s breath caught in her throat. The charcoal drawing looked like a black-and-white photograph of the gun-wielding kidnapper.

  “Wow, that’s him.” Laney didn’t think it could be any more perfect—down to the small scar on his left cheek and the slightly crooked nose. Willow had captured him perfectly.

  Grayson leaned over to look at the drawing, his closeness oddly comforting. “I’ll run this through my scanner and feed it into the facial recognition system while you work on the sketch of his accomplice.”

  Carefully tearing the page from her pad, Willow handed it to Grayson. “Let’s stretch and grab a drink of water, Laney. Then we’ll do the next sketch.”

  “There’s probably some homemade raspberry iced tea in the fridge if you’re interested,” Laney offered, her focus still on the sketch. The guy looked mean, and she could almost picture him slinking through the kennels, setting fire to her office. Had he been the man on her property? She thought so. And it wasn’t a comforting thought.

  “That actually sounds good,” Willow replied. “I’m a Southern girl at heart, and we do like our iced tea.” Willow chatted with Grayson about new updates to the FBI facial recognition system as Laney grabbed the pitcher of tea from the fridge and tried to pour it into a tall glass. Her hands were shaking so hard, the tea sloshed over the sides of the glass, spilling onto the counter.

  “Let me help with that,” Grayson said, reaching around her, his chest nearly touching her back as he steadied her hand. The tea poured into the glass without a drop spilling, and Laney handed it to Willow, her cheeks warm, her heart racing.

  Not because of the sketch. Because of Grayson.

  The man was messing with her composure, and she didn’t like it.

  “Thanks,” Willow said, not a trace of Southern accent in her voice. She took gulp of the tea, tilting her head back just enough for Laney to catch a glimpse of a thin scar extending from the bottom of her jaw horizontally across her neck. Even to Laney’s untrained eye, it would have been a significant injury. Life-threatening, even. And definitely intentional.

  She turned away, not wanting Willow to know she’d been staring.

  Whatever had happened, it had been a long time ago. The scar was faded and old.

  “Here.” Grayson thrust a glass of tea into Laney’s hand. “I think you need this. You look a little done-in.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she responded, sipping the tea as she dropped back into her chair.

  Willow and Grayson were still on their feet, both of them tall and fit. They looked good together, seemed comfortable with one another. For all Laney knew, they were dating. Good for them. Laney had better things to do with her life than devote it to a man. Her mother had done that. She’d spent her entire adult life trying to please a man who couldn’t be pleased. Laney’s dad had been a good-looking charmer.

  When he wasn’t drunk.

  Most of the time he was. Behind closed doors, he was a mentally and physically abusive husband and father. Laney had watched her mother lose herself to depression, and she’d vowed never to be in the position where being with someone meant losing herself.

  “Okay.” Willow’s voice jogged Laney out of her thoughts. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Within an hour, Willow had completed the second sketch. It was eerie how much the charcoal drawing resembled the man. Somehow Willow had even managed to capture his menacing stare.

  In the family room, Grayson had set up his portable scanner and laptop.

  Jax, Brody and Murphy were lying by the coffee table, watching him work, when Willow and Laney brought him the second sketch.

  “This looks great,” he said. “I’ll get it scanned and entered into the system.”

  “How long will it take to get the results?” Laney asked.

  “That depends. There are thousands of mug shots in the national database. If we don’t get a hit there, the system will ping other participating s
tatewide databases according to a query I’ve set up. This search will run against the California, Boston and Maryland databases first, then hit the rest of the states until all databases are exhausted.” He carefully laid the second image down on the scanner. “I’ll queue up the next query to run when the first is complete.”

  The dogs barked, announcing a visitor.

  “Place,” Laney commanded, going to the door. An overweight, balding man dressed in a blue uniform that read Carlston Construction stood on the threshold. With barely a glance at Laney, he began his practiced spiel. “Good afternoon. I’m here to replace a pane of glass in a window…” he said, flipping through a clipboard of invoices, oblivious to Grayson, who had followed Laney to the door.

  “Looks like…back window. Double-paned glass.” He looked up, finally seemed to notice Grayson and took a step back. “I do have the right house, don’t I?” he asked, looking down at his invoice again.

  “We’ve got a broken window in the back, but I didn’t call in an order to have it fixed.”

  “It was called in by Rose Cantor.”

  Rose hadn’t returned from the kennel. Laney suspected she was camped out in a lawn chair, reading one of her romance novels while Bria tended to the dogs.

  A police officer approached the door. “Want me to show him around back, Agent DeMarco?” he asked, and Grayson nodded.

  “Yes. Don’t let him leave without a guarantee that window will be fixed tonight. It poses a security threat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The look on the contractor’s face had Laney thinking he’d replace the entire window, not just the broken pane of glass, to keep Grayson happy. Of course, she’d be glad to have the window fixed. They’d nailed a sheet of plywood across the window last night, but that brought with it other concerns in case of a fire—a real consideration in light of today’s events.

  Grayson’s laptop dinged twice as they returned to the family room.

  Willow looked over at them, a grin spreading across her face. “We have a hit—with a 94 percent accuracy rate, Grayson.”