Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #2 (7 page)

“That's it? That's all you got?” Reggie said.

“That's it,” Mick confirmed. “Ginny's her name, and I just texted you the photo.”

“Not much to go on. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Do what you can. I'll do the same.”

Reggie paused. “I think we're getting off track here. Tucker's the bad guy. Even if he found a little friend to share snack cakes with, he's still the target.”

Mick drummed fingers on the table. “Other angle we can take is the rooftop diagram.”

“Where will we get with that?”

“Dunno, but Tucker had some reason for being interested in it.”

“Do whatever you want, but I think you're spinning your wheels,” Reggie said.

Keeley could hear exhaustion in his voice.

“I'm going to monitor the police radio,” he said. “They might stop him at a roadblock. In the meantime, I've got feelers out with some of my buddies, ears to the ground, that sort of thing. When he pops up, I'll get him.”

Keeley wasn't so sure. He'd eluded police for months already.

“Hey, uh,” Reggie started. “Listen. Um, Keeley, I apologize for putting you at risk today. I saw Tucker there and I forgot about anything but taking him out. It was wrong and it won't happen again.”

“Your motives were good,” Keeley said. “No harm done.”

“Aww, my motives are rarely good,” he said with a laugh. “Just ask Mick.” Reggie yawned. “I've got to get some sleep. Talk to you mañana.”

“Good night, Reg,” Mick said.

“Not until Tucker's caught.” He disconnected.

“He doesn't sound like he's going to follow the Ginny lead,” Keeley said. “Are you sure he's on our side?”

“He's on his side, which happens to be our side because we both want Tucker captured, only...”

“Only what?”

“Reggie would be fine if Tucker wasn't taken alive.”

She felt a chill at hearing it spoken aloud. “He wants Tucker dead.”

“Don't you?”

The notion surprised her. “I never thought of it. I always wanted him in prison, far away from Junie, and I wanted him to pay for the rest of his life for taking LeeAnn's, but I don't wish him dead.”

His brow furrowed. “Why not?”

Why not? Why shouldn't she want the man to die who'd taken her sister's life? The grief and anger pooled inside as she thought about LeeAnn and how much she'd lost. Life was unfair—tragically, hopelessly unfair. “Because I don't want my heart so filled with hate there's no room for anything else.”

Mick examined her face as if he was reading the pages of a book. His brown eyes were soft and searching, tender pools in a mountain of a man.

“Your sister would have been proud of you, I think.”

She was dismayed to find that his words triggered tears that she quickly blinked away, and went for her camera. “I have to go take pictures.”

“Now?”

“I didn't get the shot of the great horned owl, remember? I'm actually getting paid for delivering pictures of raptors in action, and if you don't meet your deadline, well, they don't call back, you know?”

“Yes, ma'am.” He stood. “Let's go.”

“I can...”

“Go yourself and you don't want me mucking up your shot, yes, I know.”

“But you're coming anyway?”

He answered with a shrug.

“Seriously,” she said. “If you're going to follow me everywhere, can you at least string some sentences together and stop calling me ma'am?”

He considered. “I'm familiar with bird photography. If you ever want some amazing bald eagle pictures, our Hudson Raptor Sanctuary is the place to go.”

“Wow. Two full sentences. That must have taken a lot out of you.” She admired the note of pride that had crept into his voice. “Can you stay out of my way tonight?”

He nodded, and she frowned. “Sorry. I meant to answer with ‘I will endeavor to do that, ma'am.'” He gave her a mock salute.

“I'll get my jacket.” She went to the back bedroom. Though she wanted to tell him no, to have him depart and leave her raw emotions to heal, she wasn't eager to go prowling around in the dark, and the aggravating, silent man was the only way she would get her pictures tonight. The feel of Tucker's knife at her throat made her shiver.
I want what's mine
. “For Junie, just until we catch him,” she told herself.

Her little bedroom was cold, always prone to drafts that required several tatty blankets to offset and still left her needing to wear woolly socks at night. Funny how when Junie stayed over, they snuggled together and the chill didn't seem to bother them. With a sigh, she moved to close the heavy curtains that muffled the cold. It took her a moment to realize the shadow looming in the glass was not from her own approach. Keeley screamed. The gleam of light from a pair of eyes shone in the darkness.

SEVEN

M
ick heard a cry from Keeley and he was in motion, sprinting down the hallway, arriving just as something punched through the glass with a loud crack. He had no time to do anything other than put his body between hers and the window in case something else was going to follow. Shards of glass rained down on the flooring. The bottle projectile broke, the flaming rag inside ignited the gasoline with which the bottle had been filled. Flames spilled across the flooring, heading for pillows stacked in the corner.

He shoved her to the door. “Get the fire extinguisher from the kitchen.”

Despite the shock, she did not hesitate, pounding away down the hall. He kicked the pillows far from the approaching flames, coughing against the acrid gasoline fumes. Pulling the blankets off the bed, he tossed them away.

The fumes stung his eyes, flames undulating like predators looking for something to devour.

Keeley returned, thrust the extinguisher at him, and he tried to douse the fire. At first the flames resisted, but Mick had decided this fire was not going to win. He stubbornly went at it, approaching so closely the flames singed the tips of his boots and his face felt like a well-done fillet.

Finally, the fire relented. When it was down to a bare flicker he shoved the extinguisher back at Keeley. “Stay here and keep watch.”

She nodded, eyes enormous.

“You okay?” he could not stop himself from adding.

“Uh-huh,” she breathed.

“Call for help.” He made for the front of the house. No cars, no motorcycles. Staying low, he stuck to the shadows, moving as quickly as he could to the back. The backyard was nothing more than a small patch of grass enclosed by a wood fence that had seen better days. A few of the boards had been kicked in. Easy access. The yard had a gnarled apple tree, a small patch that was probably the beginnings of a vegetable garden and an old camper with two flat tires, parked on a section of gravel.

Heart thumping he stayed still and waited. No sound. No whisper of feet in the grass.

“Are you waiting out there, Tucker? Be a man and come out of the shadows,” he murmured. He did a slow sweep of the yard, first visually then step by step. Taking a penlight from his pocket, he eased up along the side of the camper. It was the only place Tucker could be if he'd had the nerve to stick around.

Back pressed flat against the cold metal siding, he crept up to the door, ready to test the handle. Slowly, he pulled the latch. The hinges creaked. Either Keeley left it unlocked, or...

Without warning, the door shot open, knocking him on his back on the gravel. He saw the incoming foot just in time to throw up a shielding arm. The kick jarred his forearm and glanced off the side of his head, sending an explosion of pain through his skull.

“Stop,” Keeley screamed from across the yard.

Mick rolled over and got to his feet. By the time he made it to the fence, it was too late, as his attacker squeezed through the gap in the fence. He bit back the disappointment that cut at him.
Too slow, Mick. Again
.

“Was it Tucker?” Keeley asked, face milk white.

“Probably. He's gone.” Mick rounded on her. “What happened to staying inside?”

“The fire is out. My cell is dead, so I had to call from the kitchen phone. Besides, I figured two of us had a better chance against Tucker than one.”

He sighed. “We're striking out so far.”

“But I'm armed this time.” She raised a frying pan to the light.

In spite of the tension roiling in his gut, he laughed. “Good to know.”

The sound of sirens broke the silence. They trudged back to the house, and Mick checked once again to be sure the fire was completely out.

The arriving police swept the yard, just as Mick had done. They found no trace of either Tucker or anyone else. Nonetheless, the officers took extensive photos and dusted for fingerprints.

“Plenty of prints,” Mason said. “We'll see if any of them are Rivendale's.”

There was the slam of a car door and John Bender ran in. “I was working late at the office, and I heard the sirens.”

Uttley gave him a cursory update.

“I knew he must have come here,” John said. “What happened?”

Keeley chewed her lip. “He threw a Molotov cocktail through the window and ran away.”

John shook his head. “Please come stay with me. I can't stand worrying about you every minute. I know you don't sleep well as it is.”

Mick saw color flame into Keeley's cheeks. “LeeAnn was the insomniac. I sleep just fine.”

John must have seen it, too. “I have a spare room,” he said defiantly. “It's not safe to stay here alone.”

“We'll put an officer outside,” Uttley said.

“Should have been here already,” John snapped. “Why wasn't anyone watching her?”

Uttley fixed steely eyes on John. “Because, Dr. Bender, this is a small department and we've already increased the patrols in the area. The officers have other duties, too. I've got to arrange for some off duty people to come back in and bring in some mutual aid.” His glance shifted to Mick. “Plus it seems she's got someone watching her back already.”

Mick didn't like the look, nor the tone. “Happened to be here, but like you've reminded me, I'm not a cop. She needs police protection.”

“She needs to come stay with me,” John said. “I'll make sure nothing happens to her. LeeAnn would want it that way.”

“How do you know what LeeAnn would have wanted?” Mick could not believe he'd said it, actually used her name out loud, but there was no turning back the anger that ticked up inside. What did this scrawny neighbor know about anything?

John's chin went up. “Because she loved me.”

In your dreams
. Mick caught himself before he said it aloud.

“It's not your call, Dr. Bender,” Uttley said.

His chin went up. “I'll do whatever I have to do to keep Keeley away from Rivendale.”

“Enough.” Keeley shouted the word that stopped all three men in midsyllable. She fired a withering glance at them. “I am not leaving this house. I am going to do whatever I can to help capture Tucker so I can have my life back. Whoever wants to play bodyguard can jolly well pitch a tent in the front yard, but Tucker took away my sister and separated me from Junie and I'm not, let me say it again,
not
going to let him drive me out of this house.”

Uttley blinked. Mick stilled the smile that threatened. Tough as steel. Lovely as a sunrise. Keeley Stevens continued to surprise him.

“I'm trying to keep you safe,” John said, taking hold of her forearms.

Mick itched to move him forcibly out the front door.

“Thank you,” she said. “But it's not your job to keep me safe.” She added in a lower tone, one filled with compassion. “And it wasn't your job to protect LeeAnn, either.”

No, Mick thought with a sudden stab of pain.
It was mine.

John fell back a step, breathing hard through his nose. Without another word he turned on his heel and left.

Mick didn't mind that one little bit.

* * *

The police finally departed. Keeley felt the fiery courage that had filled her only a few moments earlier ebbing away. She caught sight of her precious camera and groaned. “And I still didn't get my picture.”

A beeping noise sounded from the kitchen, but she could not move from the sofa where she had collapsed.

After a moment's hesitation, Mick snapped into action. With a pot holder, he removed the browned loaf of bread from the machine and set it on the counter, whacking it gently loose from the pan.

“Butter's in the fridge,” she said automatically.

“Do you want a slice now?” he said.

“Yes. With butter, please. Lots.”

He duly slathered a slice for her and carried it to her on a piece of paper towel.

“You eat a piece, too,” she said.

“Not...”

“Please.”

He cut another slice, sans butter.

They ate.

The warm, tender bread, studded with cinnamon and raisins and glistening with melted butter settled her nerves. “Do you like it?”

He gave her a thumbs-up.

For some reason it pleased her to know it. “It makes the best toast in the morning. Junie loves raisin toast.” A rush of grief surged through her body, and it took every ounce of self-control for her not to cry again. “I want my baby back.”

“Good news is Tucker doesn't know where she is, or he wouldn't have bothered busting your window.”

She stared at him. “You sure know how to cheer a girl up.”

He sighed. “Sorry. I could try to help.”

“How?”

“Tomorrow, I can drive you up to our sanctuary. You can get some amazing photos there, I promise.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“I hear an ulterior motive in your voice.”

“And my father's a retired private investigator. He might be able to help us get a lead on Ginny.”

She examined him closely. Broad shoulders, fingers drumming on the knees of his jeans, square jaw tight with some kind of tension. “What I really want is to do this alone, Mick. I know you're trying to help, but having you here, it's hard for me.”

He did not look away, merely accepting. “I understand.”

“But I will do what it takes for Junie, and if your father can help, then I'll go see him.”

He nodded, and she could see neither relief nor satisfaction in his eyes, only a flat, wide expanse of darkness, like a long stretch of bad road. She sensed it had been a torturous journey for him since LeeAnn died, too. That was something they had in common.

He got up. “Got any duct tape left?”

“Why? Is the bread machine letting loose?”

“For the window.”

The window, of course. It was now smashed, her room smelling of gasoline. She fetched some cardboard and tape, and while Mick patched over it, she cleaned up the glass and fire extinguisher powder. The room still stank, so it would be the couch for her tonight.

Was Mick going to make the long drive back to the sanctuary? Or stay with his friend Reggie? She wondered why she cared. He was so closed off.

He answered her question later, as he returned the tape to the kitchen drawer. “An hour and a half to the Sanctuary. Best birding is in the morning. Leave at 5:00 a.m.?”

If he expected her to flinch at the time, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She checked her watch. “Sure. It's only eleven. That will give me a whole six hours of sleep.”

“You need more than that?”

He wasn't joking, as far as she could tell. “No,” she said. “Where are you going to get your six hours?”

“Don't need six. Gonna sleep in the truck, since I didn't bring my tent.”

A glimmer in his eyes revealed a hint of humor there.

“Why don't you stay in the camper out back?” she heard herself saying.

“Appreciate that,” he said, straightening as if he was standing at attention. “The truck's adequate.”

And you don't want to take anything from me, more than you already have.
Good
, she thought,
because I don't have anything to give you
.

He closed the door behind himself and she locked it. Then she rolled into a ball on the couch, covered herself with as many blankets as she could and prayed.

* * *

It hardly seemed like six hours before her phone alarm beeped. She staggered into the kitchen and started the coffeepot. While it perked she threw on some clothes. The house was dead quiet. Mick must have not woken up. It gave her some small satisfaction to realize the guy was not as iron tough as he seemed.

Until she looked out the front window and saw him sitting on the front step, ramrod straight, long arms perched on his knees. How extremely awkward. After several minutes of wrangling, she finally yanked open the door. “Well, come in already, I've got toast, and don't try to tell me you aren't hungry.”

He followed her inside and sat stiffly at the kitchen table. He accepted two slices of raisin toast without butter and a cup of coffee, which he appeared to be trying to sip yet managed to down in three swallows. She refilled it, examining him. His face was scratched, but he didn't appear to be as tired as she felt. There was no dark shadow of stubble across his chin. How had the man possibly managed a shave?

“You can call her from the road,” he said.

Keeley plunked her mug down so abruptly the coffee sloshed out. “What?”

“Call the child.”

“Her name is June. How in the world did you know that's what I was thinking?”

“You've checked the clock three times since I sat down. And that's what a parent would do, I gather.”

She huffed out a breath. “Sometimes I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that I actually am a parent.”

His smile was sad. Wistful?

Something unexpected stirred in her mind. “Mick, do you have kids?”

The mug looked small in his big hand. The silence drew on for what seemed like a very long time. “No,” he finally answered. “I don't.”