Blind Trust (31 page)

Working with the Revell team on this series continues to be a fabulous experience. A huge thanks to each one of the many, many staff members who have a part in getting my books into readers' hands. You are tremendous encouragers and a delight to work with.

Thank you to Eileen Astels, Wenda Dottridge, and Amber Perry for your insightful suggestions at the critiquing stage, and to Kathy Pilkington, the NRP officers, and Meridian Credit Union staff who answered all my power of attorney/guardianship, counterfeiting, and police questions and some I forgot to ask.

My deepest thanks go to the Lord for bringing all these wonderful people into my life and for inspiring the stories I write, and most especially for blessing me with incredibly supportive family and friends.

And thank you to you, my readers. I've said it before but can't say it enough: with more books than ever vying for your time, I feel truly honored that you chose to spend a few hours reading this one.

1

Squinting against the bright grow lights, Kate Adams slipped into her fruit cellar in the back corner of her basement and shut the door behind her. She couldn't risk anyone discovering her little greenhouse. Enough people had already died.

The humidity in the room squeezed her chest. She hated to think of the mildew problems it would cause, but it was a price she'd happily pay if it meant getting her dad back.

Ignoring for a few minutes the paint job awaiting her upstairs, she pressed her fingers into the soil of the nearest pot to gauge its dampness. She smiled at the sight of a few new buds. The plants her dad had missed digging up were thriving in the tropical microclimate she'd re-created since sneaking back into Verna Nagy's woods for them. A big part of her didn't want anything to do with the plants that had cost her twenty years of separation from her father. But after Detective Parker's “executive decision” to send Dad back into hiding, figuring out what gave them such extraordinary curative properties might be her only hope of ever seeing him again.

The thought of Dad alone, lying in a coma somewhere, preyed on her mind night and day. If only that guy hadn't driven him off the road in a rash attempt to recover the plants, they might be enjoying a sweet reunion even now.
Why
, Lord? I don't understand why you brought him back
into my life, only to take him away again.

No answer came. Not that she'd expected one. Lately, it felt like even God had abandoned her.

Guilt niggled her at the irreverent thought. As much as it felt like it, her dad hadn't really abandoned her by faking his death twenty years ago. He'd been trying to protect her the only way he thought possible. And as for God, hadn't Daisy taught her to trust in the authority of his Word, not emotions that surged and ebbed like the tide?

The Bible said God would never leave her or forsake her.

She let out a sigh and rubbed her knuckles over the ache in the vicinity of her heart. If only every other person she'd ever trusted hadn't lied to her face or hid things from her—big, monumental things, like the fact her dad was alive—maybe she'd have an easier time taking God at his word.

Shoving aside the thought, she snatched up her spray bottle and misted the succulent dandelion-shaped leaves. “What's your secret?” she whispered to the plants as she deadheaded a spent aster-like flower.

She could scarcely imagine what could be so special about this plant that a multinational pharmaceutical company would burn down a remote Columbian village to control it. So special that her father would sacrifice a lifetime with his family to keep it out of their hands. So special that all these years later, his former employer, GPC Pharmaceuticals, would track it down to Port Aster and kill a man to safeguard its existence.

Kill her, if they found out she had it.

Her chest squeezed tighter, cinching off her breath. With GPC still vying to partner with the research facility where she worked, she didn't dare tell anyone about the plants.

Detective Tom Parker least of all.

If he'd separate her from her comatose father to ensure her safety, he'd never allow her to experiment with the plant responsible for Dad's fate. But if she could figure out what was so special about it, maybe she'd have the leverage she needed to force them to let her see him.

Did Tom already know why GPC wanted the plant? Was that something else he'd kept from her? Like the fact her father was alive?

She jerked the mist bottle's trigger. Anger at Tom's betrayal still blindsided her every time she thought of him keeping her from her father. “For her own protection,” he'd said. And she appreciated his concern. She sincerely did. But she couldn't trust him not to do the same thing again.

The doorbell sounded.

She froze. Who'd come around on a Saturday morning? Especially this early?

Glancing down at the painting clothes she'd tugged on first thing, she palmed the perspiration from her brow.
Pull yourself together
. No one's gonna suspect you're up to anything
.

The doorbell chimed a second time.

She closed the fruit cellar door and hurried upstairs, still puzzling over who could be here. Tom would call first.
Unless . . .

Her steps quickened. Had he finally brought good news? That her father was out of his coma, that she could see him again?

She peeked out the peephole and her chest deflated. She
turned off her security alarm and unlocked the deadbolt. “Patti, what brings you by on a Saturday?” Kate did a double take at her lab assistant's faded jeans and the ratty T-shirt straining at her ample hips. Since Patti started dating the mayor's son, Kate hadn't seen her in anything that wasn't designer fashion. “What's wrong?”

Laughing, Patti pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail and snapped on an elastic. “Nothing. You said you were finally going to paint your bedroom this weekend. I came to help.”

“Really?”

“Don't sound so shocked. I do know how to paint.”

“No, I—” Kate motioned her in and relocked the door. “I just assumed you'd be hanging out with Jarrett. You two have been inseparable lately.”

Patti shrugged. “A girl's got to spend some time with her girlfriends. Right?”

Kate nodded, speechless. Patti was her assistant, her co-worker. She'd never really thought of her as a girlfriend. A shadow crossed Patti's eyes, and a niggling suspicion struck Kate that there was more to the visit than a little altruistic bonding.

Kate shook off the thought. Goodness, she'd grown as cynical as Tom! “I'd love some help. Thank you.” She led the way to the empty room. “I laid old bedsheets over the carpet so I wouldn't have to worry about paint splatters.”

“Smart idea.” Patti grabbed the stepladder and set it up along the far wall. “I can do the top and bottom edges with a brush if you want to handle the roller.”

“That would be awesome.” Kate poured half of the lemongrass green paint into the paint tray, then set the can on the ladder's holder for Patti's easy access.

Patti started in immediately, saying little, except that she liked the color.

Kate loaded her roller and concentrated on making long, smooth strokes. “You seeing Jarrett later?”

Patti shrugged.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“No, nothing like that,” Patti said. Only her brushstrokes grew jerky, as if it was
exactly
like that.

A real girlfriend would commiserate with her. But Kate couldn't. She'd be happy to see the pair break up. She didn't trust Jarrett. It was too coincidental that he'd started dating Patti at the same time Kate took her on as a research assistant, especially when his mayor father was so set on helping GPC partner with the research station.

Patti jabbed her brush into the paint can and glanced Kate's way. “Whoa. You might want to wear a ball cap. You're speckling your hair green.”

“Red and green. Terrific. I'll be all set for Christmas.” Kate set down her paint roller and ran her palm over her long waves. Yup, she could feel little wet spots.

Patti muffled a giggle.

“What?” Kate pulled away her green-smeared hand and groaned.

“At least it's not speckled anymore.” Patti returned to her painting, still chuckling.

Kate went to the bathroom and washed out the paint as best she could, then squashed a ball cap over her hair. By the time she got back to the bedroom, Patti already had the top of three walls edged. “Wow, you paint like a pro!”

“Thanks.” She climbed down to move the ladder and swayed precariously.

“Watch out!” Kate dropped her roller and lunged for the ladder, scarcely stopping it from toppling, along with the can of paint.

Patti stumbled off the bottom rung and struggled to recover her balance. “I'm sorry.” She pressed her palm to the side of her head. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep getting these bizarre dizzy spells. Last night I tripped up my porch steps.”

“No harm done, but you really should see a doctor. Have it checked out.”

Patti dropped her hand and straightened. “I don't think it's that serious. Probably just low blood sugar or something.”

“Then let me get you a glass of apple juice.”

Patti retrieved the roller Kate had dropped on the bedsheet. “That's okay. I can get it. How about you finish edging the top of the wall and I'll take over the roller?”

“Okay, but”—Kate pried the roller from Patti's hand and set it in the tray—“first get yourself that juice. There's a bottle in the fridge.”

Patti saluted and headed down the hall.

Kate climbed the ladder and continued painting where Patti had left off. But when Patti still hadn't returned by the time she reloaded her brush for the fourth time, she called out, “You okay?”

When she didn't respond, Kate dashed down the hall. An empty juice glass sat on the table, but Patti was nowhere in sight. Kate skidded to a stop at the top of the basement stairs beside the kitchen. “Patti?”

Halfway down the steps, Patti whirled at her name. “Ahhh!” Her arms windmilled, and for a sickening millisecond the sheer panic of knowing she was going to fall and not being able to stop herself blazed in her eyes. She tumbled backward, catching
her heel on the tread, and slammed her head on the cement floor, half her body sprawled on the steps.

She shifted awkwardly and her screams escalated.

“Don't move!” Kate raced down. “You might have broken something.”
Oh, no.
Kate swallowed the bile that stung her throat at the sight of Patti's badly broken leg. She was lying at such a horrible angle. Kate prayed her leg was all that was broken.

Patti collapsed back against the floor. “I can't believe this. I saw you'd left a light on, and”—she gasped for air in short, painful sounding gulps—“I was just coming down to turn it off for you.”

Kate's gaze shot to the fruit cellar, her breath caught in her throat. The door was closed like she'd left it. But no light that she could see seeped around the edges.

Was Patti lying? Had she really gone in? Had she seen the plants?

The abandoned Potter farmhouse sat a quarter mile in from the road. Tom Parker parked at the end of its overgrown driveway, not willing to risk busting an axle to save himself a walk. He checked his gun in his shoulder holster and shrugged into his sport coat before climbing out. Calls about a squatter weren't normally his territory, but he had a hunch this particular squatter might be the missing teen he'd been trying to track down.

He scanned the horizon for any sign his arrival had been noticed. The young Conner family, who'd made the call, lived north of the property. Their youngster stood on a tire swing, pointing Tom's way. Shading her eyes, Mrs. Conner followed
the direction of her son's finger. Tom waved, then radioed dispatch to alert them, in case Mrs. Conner mistook him for another trespasser thanks to his unmarked car.

A weed-infested field lay south of the Potter house, bordering Patti Goodman's property with its six-foot high walled perimeter. If this squatter wasn't his missing teen, he could be someone scouting out the wealthy estate she'd recently inherited.

Too bad it was Saturday. Questioning Kate's research assistant about any suspicious activity she might have noticed on the adjoining property would have been a great excuse to stop by Kate's work.

A sense of sadness crept over him, followed by the memory of her parting words: “There is no
we
.”

He kicked the dirt. Yeah, wake up and smell the weeds. Stopping by wouldn't change anything. If he weren't the
only
connection to her father—as tenuous as that connection was—she probably wouldn't talk to him at all. Never mind the danger he believed she might still be in.

Despite his certainty that GPC must have recovered the plants Vic Lawton stole from her father, the pharmaceutical company was still vying for a stake in Port Aster's research center. And Lawton's murder proved that they didn't leave loose ends.

He returned his attention to the task at hand. Multiple bicycle-sized ruts through the grass confirmed someone had been around. He scoped the area for any evidence he might be walking into more than he bargained for, like some gang's hideout. A cool breeze whispered through the timothy fields. A murder of crows, perching on a dead tree, cawed noisily as if to warn of his arrival.

But no shifting shadows at the windows betrayed a response to the birds' alarm call.

He tried the front door. It held fast, and from the look of the crusted edges, it hadn't been opened in years. He peered through the dirty window. An old sofa, its stuffing puffed out the corner, sat in the otherwise bare main room. A staircase with ratty carpet curling on the treads stretched to the second level. In the dim light, it was impossible to tell if anyone had traipsed across the floor recently.