“I’m going to keep you safe, Laney.”
“I’m certainly not going to let anybody run me out of town. Not when we have a job to do.”
His lips tilted into a smile. She’d always been the strongest person he knew—maybe ten years hadn’t changed everything.
A couple of minutes later, he pulled the car under the canopy outside the hotel and shut off the engine. Laney opened her door and climbed out.
He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment. “Do you feel comfortable staying here, after what happened?”
“I’ll be fine.” She flashed her cell phone. “The police department is only a phone call away.”
He set the suitcase off to the side and closed the trunk. “I know, but—”
Their only warning was a sudden, sharp hissing noise from the suitcase. Adrenaline flooded his system and he yanked Laney’s arm, smacking her into the back of the car as he flung himself between her and the bag.
The suitcase exploded.
Kellie VanHorn is an award-winning author of inspirational romance and romantic suspense. She has college degrees in biology and nautical archaeology, but her sense of adventure is most satisfied by a great story. When not writing, Kellie can be found homeschooling her four children, camping, baking and gardening. She lives with her family in western Michigan.
Books by Kellie VanHorn
Love Inspired Suspense
Fatal Flashback
Buried Evidence
Buried Evidence
Kellie VanHorn
Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.
—Psalm 91:14
For those who have suffered the long-lasting pain of ambiguous loss.
With my unending appreciation to my agent Ali Herring, my editor Dina Davis, and my critique partners Michelle Keener and Kerry Johnson, who all helped shape this book into a story worth reading, and also for my family—I wouldn’t be an author without your love and support.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Lethal Cover-Up by Darlene L. Turner
ONE
Laney Hamilton couldn’t shake the feeling she was being followed.
Adjusting the leather strap of her messenger bag, she glanced over her shoulder as she walked down the regional airport’s long ramp leading to the baggage claim on the lower level. Only the same handful of ticketed passengers who’d shared the bumpy flight from Indianapolis trailed behind her. The plane had been tiny—the kind with just one seat on each side of the aisle—and aside from the harried mother dragging along her infant and screaming toddler, everyone kept to themselves.
Maybe the jitters came from being back here in southern Indiana again, ten years after she’d shaken the proverbial dust off her boots and sworn never to return. Or maybe it was knowing who might be waiting with the squad car to drive her back to her hometown of Sandy Bluff.
Lord, please let it be anyone but Ryan Mitchell.
A decade hadn’t been long enough to erase the memory of his broken expression when she’d told him she was leaving.
Which was just stupid, considering they’d been only teenagers. As if a pair of eighteen-year-olds could make a relationship work for a lifetime.
At the bottom of the ramp, she spotted a sign for the ladies’ room. She’d better take a moment to freshen up and make sure she didn’t appear as frazzled as she felt. The heavy door swung shut on silent hinges as she slipped inside one of the stalls. Hopefully whoever the police chief sent would wait outside the terminal, giving her a few extra minutes to mentally prepare. Of course, half a day’s worth of travel from Washington, DC, hadn’t been enough, so maybe that was wishful thinking.
A latch clicked shut somewhere inside the bathroom, startling Laney out of her thoughts. Another one of the passengers, no doubt. She glanced around the space as she stepped up to the sink to wash her hands but didn’t see anyone.
Time to get this over with. Letting out a tense sigh, she stuck her hands beneath the dryer. Hot air blasted over her skin like a tornado.
As she pulled her hands back and the noise died, something hard and sharp pricked the center of Laney’s back. A knife? Her heart skyrocketed into her throat, but before she could call for help or think through the haze of panic, a low, muffled voice spoke. Male or female, she couldn’t tell.
“Don’t move and don’t make a sound. I know why you’re here. Get on the next flight and leave now, or you won’t get another chance. Now count to fifty.”
Laney sucked in a few rapid breaths and started counting. “One, two, three...” The knife point disappeared from her back, followed by barely audible footfalls.
Should she risk turning around? Curiosity won by the time she reached fifteen. She kept saying the numbers aloud but pivoted on her foot, glancing around the bathroom. The tile floor was empty, leading past the bank of sinks and mirrors and vanishing around a corner into another section of stalls. In the distance, a soft whumph sounded—her attacker leaving through a second exit.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Laney turned to the door she’d entered. The latch had been flipped shut, locking it from the inside—the click she’d heard. She jerked it open and escaped into the freedom of the airport’s corridor, then darted past the restroom to glance down an adjoining hallway. Surely the exit had led out here, but there was no sign of her attacker.
Time to find security.
No one was in sight, so she dashed through the sliding doors into the baggage claim area. One of the conveyer belts had started up, and passengers from her flight gathered around it, waiting for their bags. An airport security guard stood nearby.
Relief fluttered through Laney’s chest as she dashed up to him and spilled out her story like a soda falling off an airplane-tray table. His brown eyebrows pinched together, but he pulled out his radio immediately and rattled off a series of commands.
“If you’re okay, ma’am, I’m going to check that restroom.”
She nodded, tucking a few strands of her short dark hair back behind her ear. “Thank you.”
“Wait here. I’ll need you to fill out a report.”
The man disappeared back through the sliding doors, and Laney held her breath, wishing the glass wasn’t frosted. After a couple of minutes in which nothing happened, she glanced over at the nearby moving conveyer belt.
Bags had started lurching their way up out of the murky depths of the cargo area and now dropped onto the belt. She kept an eye out for her black Samsonite carry-on, watching as one passenger after another claimed a suitcase and retreated through the doors toward the parking lot.
She’d packed light for this trip. Lieutenant James Mitchell, Ryan’s father and chief of the Sandy Bluff police, had assured her they needed her expertise for only a few days. As a postdoctoral fellow in the Physical Anthropology Department of the Smithsonian, Laney was used to assisting local law enforcement with forensic analysis of human remains, but southern Indiana w
asn’t exactly local.
Not anymore.
But when she’d asked Jim why he wanted her out of all the forensic anthropologists available, he’d merely said, You’re the right one for this case, Laney. We need you here.
If it had been anybody else asking her to come back here, she would’ve said no. Too busy with work. Too many other cases. Too many projects to complete if she was going to make a name for herself among the stellar staff of the Smithsonian.
She grimaced as the last of the passengers plucked a bag off the conveyer belt and it groaned to a halt. Great. No suitcase. A quick glance at her phone showed no word from her ride yet either.
A few minutes later, the frosted doors slid open and the security guard returned, claiming her attention. The downturn to his lips didn’t bode well.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said as he walked up to her. “We couldn’t find any trace of your attacker. We’ll get someone looking at the security footage, though.”
Laney swallowed. Jim hadn’t said much about the case, but he had mentioned wanting to keep her arrival quiet.
Apparently it was too late for that. A little chill tracked down her spine as she followed the security guard to his workstation, where she recounted the story one more time. The laptop keys clicked away under his fingers as he entered the details.
After assuring her they’d be in touch, the guard escorted her back to the now-desolate baggage claim area. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”
Laney glanced back at the empty belt that had conveyed the bags from her flight. They’d checked her carry-on at the gate in Indianapolis because the tiny plane’s overhead bins were too cramped. She’d wheeled it to the end of the boarding ramp herself. How could it not have made it on the plane? “As a matter of fact, my bag didn’t arrive. Can you direct me to the baggage claim office?”
He pointed past the silent conveyer belts. “I’d better escort you down there myself.”
Laney smiled gratefully. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor as they walked past the belts toward the office at the far end of the hall. A glance out the exit sliders as they passed showed only an empty loading area.
Where was her ride? As soon as she took care of the luggage problem, she’d text Jim. Find out what was going on. Because texting Ryan was going to happen never and she’d cut ties with all her other old friends. Her one connection left in Sandy Bluff was her mother, still living in that horrid, tumbledown trailer Laney had vowed she’d never set foot inside again. She made phone calls on Christmas and on Kim’s birthday and sent occasional Facebook messages. That was it.
Ten years and she’d never visited, not once. And if she could avoid it now, all the better. No reason to traipse back down that trail of misery and regret after how hard she’d worked to escape. Some memories were better left buried and forgotten where they couldn’t hurt you anymore.
Laney crinkled her nose as she peeked inside the open office door. The single desk chair was empty, the computer apparently off.
The guard stepped inside and pointed at a couple of beat-up bags bearing pink claim tickets, standing against one wall. “Is it one of those?”
“No.” So much for that idea. “I guess I can go ask one of the ticketing agents.”
She backed out of the doorway, her heart lurching as she collided with someone who hadn’t been there a second before.
A hand gripped her elbow. Laney jerked her arm free, spinning on her heels to face a brown-haired man in gray pants and an orange safety vest.
He raised the hand that had been touching her a second before. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Airline employee, judging by the Delta emblem emblazoned on his uniform. She swallowed. “Of course. It was my fault.” Having a burly security guard at her back made her feel a whole lot better.
“Someone missed loading this one on the belt. I’m dropping it off for baggage claim.” He glanced down at a familiar black Samsonite carry-on with green luggage tags.
“It’s my bag.” She pressed a hand against her stomach as some of her anxiety deflated. “Thank you so much.”
The man smiled, his weathered skin crinkling around hazel eyes. “Happy to help, ma’am.”
She reached for the handle of the bag, expecting him to let go, but when he didn’t, her fingers brushed against his hand. A chill tracked down her spine, and the man’s smile deepened as something shifted in his gaze.
Like he’d recognized her. He tilted his head to one side, finally releasing the handle. “Welcome home.”
As he turned away, Laney could swear he winked at her. But it had to be her imagination. She’d never seen him before in her life. How could he know her?
By the time she wheeled her bag out of the office, he’d melted back into the shadows.
“Are you all set now, ma’am?” her security escort asked once they reached the sliding exit doors. As he spoke, a pair of headlights turned into the loading line. Glare from the streetlights glinted red and blue off the top of the car as it rolled to a stop in front of the doors.
Her phone buzzed as a text came through, the caller ID showing a Sandy Bluff area code.
Laney, just pulling up outside.
Good. She wouldn’t be trapped at this desolate airport all night.
“Yes, thank you. There’s my ride.”
Muggy summer air slapped her in the face as she walked out onto the sidewalk, bringing back a hundred memories of late nights swimming at the quarry and playing tag in the farmers’ fields. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stem the flow. Ryan lurked in nearly every one of those memories, and even though she’d done her best to make her brain forget, her heart still hadn’t. But as far as romance was concerned, he was absolutely out of the question. Not with the secrets she’d kept all these years.
The driver’s-side door opened, and a man stepped out.
He walked around the front of the car, where the headlights revealed dark blue pants, a heavy gun belt and a blue shirt but obscured his face. His build wasn’t familiar, but the voice she knew immediately.
“Hey, Laney.”
She swallowed.
Jim had sent Ryan Mitchell. Only he wasn’t a lanky teenager anymore, he was a man. Even with her heels on, she was a good six inches shorter than he was. And he hadn’t grown only in height—his broad shoulders stretched beneath the protective vest, and the short sleeves of his uniform revealed solid muscle in his arms.
He’d been tall, dark and handsome at eighteen. Now he was model-worthy gorgeous.
She was in serious trouble.
* * *
Knowing he was here to pick up Laney Hamilton and seeing her in the flesh were very different things, Ryan decided. He’d even had a few seconds to collect himself as he pulled up to the curb, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he had two left feet as he walked up to where she stood with one hand clutching the strap of her shoulder bag and the other gripping the handle of her suitcase.
“Hi, Ryan.” Her gaze swept over him, starting at his boot-clad feet and up to his head, and he couldn’t help swiping a sweaty palm across his uniform.
“You cut your hair,” he said, then bit the inside of his cheek. Surely he could’ve come up with something better.
She’d kept it long in high school, nearly reaching to her waist. Now she wore it in a pixie cut that suited her delicate cheekbones and short stature. If he had to guess, he’d say she was still five foot three, the same height as the last time he’d seen her. Whether or not she was the same tiny firecracker remained to be seen.
She tucked a dark strand behind her ear. “Yeah. It...got in the way.”
Silence stretched between them. What did you say to a former girlfriend after so many years? Especially when you’d never really moved on?
Not that he hadn’t tried dating other girls. His friend
s took every opportunity to set him up. But no woman had captured his heart the way Laney had.
Had, being the key word there.
He’d be wise to remember that every time he thought about her. Their relationship was a thing of the distant past, and she was here only to do a job.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Sandy Bluff. “The highway’s down to one lane, and the traffic was awful.”
It sounded like a stupid excuse, and he regretted it the instant the words left his mouth. If this conversation was any indicator, the ride home was going to be horribly awkward. Why had he agreed to pick her up?
Oh, right. Because this was his case. Human remains had been found in the bog, east of town. He and his father had taken one look at the visible bones—stripped clean and blanched to a dull gray—and decided to leave them in place until they could bring in outside help. Choosing Laney had been his father’s call, and Ryan knew exactly why.
His twin sister Jenna had vanished while on a long bicycle ride on a perfect summer day ten years ago. The only clue they’d ever found was her bike, its frame twisted and both tires flat, a hundred yards off the road at the bottom of a long, tree-covered slope. Laney had left two months later when they’d called off the search.
And now she was back, watching him with those big brown eyes, dressed in black slacks and a jacket and heels, all grown up and more beautiful than ever.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “That’s okay. I didn’t wait too long.”
He cleared his throat and opened the passenger-side door. “Here, let me get your bag.”
She relinquished her grip on the rolling carry-on and slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind her, the movement both foreign and terrifyingly familiar at the same time. How many times had he helped her into a car like this before? And yet everything was different now. There could be no going back.
After depositing the suitcase into the car’s trunk, he climbed in behind the wheel and pulled away from the airport. The drive to Sandy Bluff would take a solid thirty minutes. He needed some common ground for conversation besides their past, which she was obviously as keen to ignore as he was.
Buried Evidence Page 1
