Love Inspired Suspense June 2014 Bundle 1 of 2: Undercover Marriage\Collateral Damage\Forgotten Past (19 page)

A quick check of the incoming number sent a shiver down Nick's spine as it had the last time he'd answered a call from Emma Russell—the name
Mark Russell
flashed on the tiny screen. As if he was receiving a message from a dead man.

For that fraction of a second, as before, Nick's mind ricocheted through the grief, blackness and shock. Then he answered the phone, fully expecting to hear young Emma's voice again. She'd called him and emailed him after he'd sent the girls flowers and a sympathy card, and she'd called again today. The kid had an uncanny sense of compassion for one so young. It surprised him that he didn't mind talking to her.

“Hello, Nick?”

He hesitated. Not Emma. Too mature for a sixteen-year-old. He found his voice, but only barely. “Is this...Sarah?”

For a moment, there was no reply. Sarah was the quiet one, the twin who'd always remained in the shadows at her own insistence. Though he hadn't heard her voice for many years, he recalled the beautiful script on her sympathy card after the tragedy.

“I'm sorry to bother you.” Her voice continued to wobble.

Not how he remembered her at all. “Bother? You? Never.” Her loss had obviously taken a heavy toll. “Kind of startled. I thought it was Emma. I saw your father's...uh...name on the caller ID.” Oh brother, just what she needed.

“Yeah, Dad had all of us on a family plan for our cells. He wanted his name to show up when we called anybody, especially when Emma called boys. Leave it to Dad to be overprotective.”

“I remember Mark could be intimidating when boys came around.”

“Not with you, of course. Listen, um, I need to warn you that you might have company soon, if you don't already.”

“Company?”

“Emma.”

“She's coming here?”

“I'm on my way there, too. She told me about your theory.... The explosions? Murder?”

He wanted to bang his head against the wall in self-reproach. “I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't mean for this to reach you or Emma. You're struggling enough. I was looking for help from neighbors and friends here in Jolly.” That was how a newly minted recluse did things—online.

“You believe it.”

“I...have my suspicions.”

“Too coincidental to have two explosions like that.” As she spoke, her voice regained the steadiness he remembered from their teen years. “Two days in a row.”

“Exactly.” Why hadn't he crawled from his hidey-hole here at Dad's and gone door-to-door and faced all those neighbors instead of setting up that blog? “I was hoping to talk to you about all this after I'd found out more. You're sure about Emma? She called me today, a little after noon, and she didn't say anything about coming here.”

“You'll understand better once you meet her. She thinks she's going to help. She left me an extended email explaining it, which I didn't receive until I got home from work tonight. I'm sure that was her intention.”

“I'm sorry. I knew that controversial blog could stir up trouble, but not for you.”

“So you were trying to gather information from the community?”

“Exactly.” And it was the very community that was never the same after Sarah was gone. The weight of seventeen years dropped from his shoulders for a few seconds, and he recalled with exquisite clarity the impact of Sarah's presence in his life—and the dark pit that remained in his heart after Mark Russell moved his family away to St. Louis. By the time Nick was in college, he heard they'd moved to Sikeston so Mark could take a job as pastor of a congregation again.

After a brief hesitation, Sarah said, “I don't understand. Didn't the investigator blame the explosions on gas leaks from faulty pipes?”

“Two gas leaks in two days? Not likely. The investigator was a new kid, not only wet behind the ears, but as slick as if he'd just hatched. His father's a local judge, and the kid—his name's Chaz Collins—missed some inspection reports that showed no cracks where he indicated. He's off the case, and right now there's no one to fill his shoes. The sheriff's busy chasing meth labs, and you know Jolly Mill's always been low priority.”

“Chaz inspected both explosions?”

“Yep. He wouldn't look me in the eye when I spoke with him.”

“Could he have had something to do with it? You know, start a fire, cause an explosion so he could make the judgment and prove his worth?”

“And kill people in the process? Chaz and his family attend Dad's church.”

“Just because he's a churchgoer doesn't mean he's a good boy.”

Nick hesitated. Emma was on her way here and Sarah was following her; they'd find out the worst as soon as they arrived. “The problem is, Sarah, Chaz is nowhere to be found.”

There was a soft intake of breath.

“There's a search under way. His parents called yesterday, and they're frantic.”

“You think he did find something incriminating?” Sarah asked.

“Judging by his behavior, I'm almost sure of it.”

For a moment Sarah didn't speak, and Nick recalled her tendency to choose her words carefully. In that way she was very different from her twin, who would chatter to anyone and everyone in school—Shelby, the popular twin.

“You think someone might have threatened him,” Sarah said.

“Seems possible.”

“A gas leak could have developed after the last inspection,” she said.

Nick shook his head, though of course she couldn't see him. “Leo Larner constructed that conference building above code thirty years ago. Dad even did his own inspection before each event. He's cautious that way. There were no faulty pipes.”

There was a soft sigh. “But why our parents?”

“I don't know yet. You know they always stay to clean up after the others leave, but Dad just happened to get a call on his cell while they were working, and walked outside—that building never had good reception. That's when the place exploded. It's eating at him.”

“Who called?”

“He said it sounded like someone crying, but when Gerard Vance—he's an ex-cop—had a check run on the number, it was from a burn phone. No name connected to it.”

There was another long silence. “So it was an attack on either Mom or Dad or Aunt Peg by someone who definitely wanted to spare Edward. But why him specifically? Does he have any ideas?”

“No, and it's torturing him.”

“Why the nurse in the infirmary the next day?”

“All I can figure is that she might've been close enough to look out her window and see something before the explosion at the conference center.”

“So she could've been killed because she was an eye witness?”

“It's all wild conjecture at this point. She wasn't even from here—she was from Texas—so unless someone followed her here...I just don't know. It's why I got involved, and Gerard Vance is helping me. He was the nurse's employer.”

More silence.

He gave Sarah time to assimilate what he'd told her, then frowned as the silence continued. “Hello? Are we disconnected?”

“I'm...here. I'm trying to grasp it all, and I can't yet.” Sarah sighed. Sniffed. It was a wet sniff that told him how hard this was hitting her, and then it hit him, too. Again. As it did several times a day. Mom was gone. “I know Edward's got to be torn up about this.”

“He just got out of the house for the first time last Sunday. Your cousin and her friends are all worried about him, bringing food.” Carmen Delaney, Mrs. Russell's cousin, had been good about keeping friends and neighbors abreast of how the Russells were doing since they left Jolly Mill.

Carmen was also the one who'd broken the news about Emma's birth nine months after their family left Jolly Mill. There were still moments when Nick wondered about the timing of her birth, and tried to weave his mind through the cloudy memories of Sarah's twin, Shelby, on the night of the party. Nothing had ever come of his attempts. “I hear from Carmen that Emma's an impulsive, intelligent, inquisitive kid.”

Sarah gave a soft groan. “Emma. She's...amazing. She's also a handful. I'm afraid you'll find out what I mean soon.”

“Headstrong, obviously. I can't believe she would let you worry like this.”

“We had a little spat last night, and that doesn't often happen. In her note she told me she needed more information about how Mom and Dad died. I haven't been able to reach her on her cell.”

He leaned back in the chair, focusing, for a moment, on the gentle wave of Sarah's voice—recalling her quiet but welcome presence from their teen years. That voice had a musical quality that always soothed the soul, though he couldn't miss the distress in it now. “The girl has her mother's stubborn streak.”

There was a soft gasp, and then, “What?”

“Sorry, Sarah. I didn't mean to diss your mother. I just remembered my mom always talked about Lydia Russell and her determination to get things done. Mom admired her.”

“Oh. Thank you. Yes, Dad always said Shelby and I inherited Mom's strong will.”

“As did Emma, obviously.”

“I need to get her back home to Sikeston,” Sarah said.

“Meaning I've frightened you.”

“You'd better believe it. I can't believe the sheriff's department isn't even investigating.”

“He has very little manpower with all the budget cuts, and there's a lot for him to cover in our county. Don't worry, Gerard's got a good eye on things, and if Emma shows up I'll take care of her.”

What was it about Sarah's vulnerable presence over the phone that brought out his old protective instincts? What was it about connecting with her that made him see the man—or lesser man—he'd become? He wanted to be that former man, who could be counted on for help, who actually wanted to help instead of search for ulterior motives behind every word. Divorce and the lawsuit had changed him, and he disliked the curmudgeon he'd become.

“Sarah? I'm serious about this. You're not alone.”

There was another sniff. “Thanks, Nick. I'm glad I called.”

He closed his eyes at the memories Sarah's voice resurrected. It sounded as if he might have company at any time, and he couldn't help remembering her eyes—the color of the ocean on a cloudy day—and the tenderness of her heart, which she'd taken such pains to conceal behind her dyed-black hair, Goth makeup and clothing as a teenager.

Why had he allowed Shelby's effusive, chatterbox ways to distract his attention from Sarah for even a few moments? And what kind of kid had he been to momentarily fall for externals at exactly the wrong time?

For the first time in many months, Nick found himself thinking about someone besides himself and his personal battles. “It's going to be okay.” He only had to convince himself of that, and it was threatening to become an impossible task.

TWO

T
he shadows of the night whipped past Sarah's headlights as the depth and warmth of Nick's reassuring voice continued to echo in her head. The rhythm of his words soothed her into a near-trance. Her eyes were half shut when a deer flitted across the road in the far reach of the high beams, shocking her awake. She hit the brakes, glad the lateness of the night had emptied this highway of most automobiles. This part of Missouri was notorious for its nightlife; nocturnal animals could outnumber cars on the road.

Another deer leaped past the beams, and another, and she braced herself, pressing harder on the pedal.

The chirp of her cell phone claimed her attention as the small herd disappeared into the blackness of forest south of the road. When she answered, she heard John's wide-awake voice.

“Got something, Sarah. Are you hands-free?”

“No, but there's no traffic.”

“Pull over so we can talk. I'll wait.”

“John, stop being such a policeman. I'm practically stopped already.” No need to mention the deer. She pulled far off the shoulder into the grass beyond. “Just tell me what you've got.”

“Listen, how much time does Emma spend online? I've warned her about the danger of predators.”

Already startled awake by the deer, Sarah felt her muscles tense. “What did you find?”

“I've got a couple more names and addresses for you. Did you know a man by the name of Alec Thompson? His comment on Nick's blog was, ‘Emma, I know your family.' It was as if he was trying to lure her into a conversation. I'm getting ready to call Sheriff Moritz over there to give him a heads-up on—”

“No, don't. Alec's okay.” The lack of sleep, the worry about Emma, the reconnections to the past were all catching up with her.

“You know the guy?”

“His family owned several businesses in Jolly Mill when we lived there, and he dated a friend of mine. You know, I haven't been there in over sixteen years, but I still think of Jolly Mill as my hometown. We're talking about a small community, where everyone knows practically everyone else. The thought that someone I might have known could've been a killer—”

“And that Emma's headed there?”

Sarah gritted her teeth. Yes. Exactly. “And she won't answer her phone.”

“Sorry she's doing this to you. I know you think your old hometown's the best place on the planet, but things change over the years.”

“Not so much. Those explosions would have stirred up the whole community, even though we've been gone since Emma's conception. People are going to talk, and when they talk, some questions might be answered. Nick's blog was a good idea.” Sarah opened the window and allowed the cool night air to rush into the car. “Emma wasn't there when I called Nick.”

“I'm sorry, cuz. You know we'll all be praying for you to have a safe trip.”

“I'm not even sure I can make it there tonight.”

“Why not?”

Sarah took a deep breath of fresh air and watched the fog of moisture drift through the moonlight when she exhaled. “I barely slept after a little tiff with Emma last night. It's catching up with me now.”

“Where are you?”

“Close to Cabool.”

“Only halfway. You'd better get thee to a safe hotel and get some rest. You won't do Emma any good if you have a wreck.”

Sarah needed coffee. The clock in her dashboard told her it was nine-thirty. Two and a half more hours of driving, and she still had no idea if she would find Emma when she arrived at her destination.

“I checked out Nick a little more thoroughly,” John said.

“How?”

“It's all about computers these days, cuz. It's there—you just have to find it.”

“So...what did you find?”

John chuckled. “Can't help yourself, can you? I have a feeling you might be carrying some glowing embers for the guy.”

She felt herself smiling in spite of everything. “John.”

“Sorry, but if Nick wants you to know about
his
business, he'll have to tell you himself.”

“Did you read his blog?”

“Yep. Cuz, don't freak, but I'm afraid he might be onto something. He asked for information about a toxin leak many years ago in a river about twenty miles from Jolly Mill, but unless he comes up with more there, I think that's a no-go. Still, something's up.”

“Nick didn't say anything about that.” She shoved open the door, stepped out into the cool night air and was nearly sideswiped by a speeding motorcycle. She ran around the front of her car and into the ditch on the other side, her footing precarious.

“Breathe, Sarah.”

“I'm breathing.” But this was feeling too real.

“What's wrong?” John asked.

“Someone intentionally called Edward just before the explosion. Everyone in town probably knows about the bad cell reception in that conference center, so they must have known he would step outside. Our parents were best friends. Those meetings they had every year? They used to hold them in a place on Spring River until that toxin scare. After that, Dad made the decision to change the venue to the conference center at Jolly.” She stepped from the soggy, weed-filled ditch into the heavier darkness of the woods. “The man who owned the place on the river killed himself after the dioxin spill at Verona, and Dad blamed himself.”

“What? Why?”

“Because when Dad withdrew from the Spring River center, others did, too.”

“That's no reason for Uncle Mark to blame himself. He was protecting people.”

“What if someone else blamed him for that poor man's suicide? The guy lost his income and lost hope.”

There was a hesitation. “Okay, listen, Sarah, I've got some vacation days coming to me. I could call the chief, see if—”

“No, you don't need to go to Jolly. You need to get that detective position.”

“This is getting a little too much for nonprofessionals to handle.”

“Nick told me there's an ex-cop he's working with.”

There was a heavy sigh. “Guess you know where to find Nick.”

“I practically lived at their house half the time when I was a kid.”

“I'll update you if I find anything else. You stop and rest. And, Sarah—”

“I know. You've got my back.”

“That's right, cuz, I've got your back.”

* * *

The gentle melody of Sarah's voice echoed in Nick's mind instead of the scrape of the hasp he eased over one of the push mower blades. She was coming here. The last time he'd seen her in person she'd had long, Goth black hair and her beautiful eyes had been overwhelmed by the heavy makeup. How would she look as a grown woman?

He realized he wanted to see her, looked forward to it.

Once again breathing in the scent of motor oil, dried grass and gasoline in the two-car garage, he glanced at the clock and wondered where Dad was. For the time being, both of them had been parking their vehicles in the driveway so there would be room for Nick to work on the mowers and lawn-care equipment he'd purchased two weeks ago. Dad had pulled Mom's car around back to a shed where he wouldn't have to look at it every time he stepped to the kitchen window. He refused to drive it. Instead, he continued to rattle around in the twenty-year-old Ford pickup he'd always driven. Small-town pastors didn't bring in millions from their congregations.

Nick's thoughts returned to Sarah and the stress evident in her voice, her sorrow over the loss of her parents, the love he'd heard between the lines for her younger sister. Nothing felt quite real tonight. Except for Sarah.

Like Dad, Nick was still grieving hard over Mom's death. After the shocks in life these past couple of years, he was still scrambling to catch up with a lot of things. Maybe he was grasping for something from the past—something of comfort. If nothing else, Sarah's presence, even over the airway, had served to take him back to a gentler time when she was his friend and confidante, solid and serene and capable of gentle humor. Her twin had the infectious giggle and quips that kept everyone else laughing, but sometimes it was at the expense of others. Sarah never did that.

He was turning the rotary to the next blade when he heard the unique murmur of a Volkswagen Beetle engine pull to a stop outside the house. The engine died. He frowned. He'd neglected to ask Sarah what kind of car Emma drove.

A car door closed, and he was waiting for the chime of the doorbell when a knock against the garage door three feet away startled him.

“Dr. Tyler?”

Young. Feminine. Sounded a little shaky. And he couldn't ignore the title. Respectful, as she'd seemed online and on the phone. Emma. He hesitated, relieved beyond expectation that she'd arrived safely, but for Sarah's sake unwilling to make her entrance an easy one. She must have seen his work lights seeping out from beneath the big door. It was why she hadn't gone to the front.

“Hello?” she called.

“Yes?” He drawled the word slowly.

“Um, I'm Emma? You know, Russell?”

He waited for more explanation.

“We emailed and talked to each other a few times about our mothers?” she continued. “They were friends. And you went to school with my sisters. The twins? Do you remember Shelby and Sarah Russell?”

Shaking his head, amazed she'd think he wouldn't remember, he grabbed a slightly stained work rag and wiped as much grass and oil as he could from his hands. “Don't you live in Sikeston?”

“Well, yeah, but I came here to see you.”

Sarah was right: this one was a handful. “And Sarah's waiting for you in the car?”

“Um, no. I'm by myself.”

“What! How old are you, young lady?” He allowed disapproval to reflect in his voice and made her wait and wonder, the way Sarah was waiting and wondering.

“I've got my license.”

“You don't say.”

“I've been five hours on the road—well, okay, six, no, wait, seven, because I got lost a couple of times trying to find Jolly Mill—and I didn't stop. I thought I'd run out of gas before I could find your place.” She giggled nervously. “You people sure like to keep to yourselves, don't you? You got a bathroom? I really have to—”

“Does Sarah even know where you are?” He was tempted to keep stalling. Sweet and genuine as she seemed, the kid could use some discipline.

“Um, yes?”

“You don't sound so sure of that.” He reached for the button to raise the door but didn't push it. “You're trying to tell me she sent you driving across the state all by yourself? I would never have believed the Sarah Russell I knew would be so irresponsible.” He silently apologized to Sarah.

“Um, well, no, she didn't. But she knows where I am now, anyway. I'm sure she does, because I sent her an email.” There was a soft moan.

Nick grinned, relenting at last, though Dad was still gone and it was totally against the unwritten rules of preacher-kid conduct for a teenager to visit a single, grown, male nonfamily member alone in a house.

He pushed the button that started the garage door's slow and noisy ascent. Light from the garage revealed bare legs to the knees—though the temperature certainly didn't warrant shorts this late at this time of year—and bare arms. He could practically see goose bumps from twenty feet away.

Then her shoulders and head came into view. Long, dark brown hair; deep, familiar brown eyes; the slight curves of a girl younger than sixteen. Those curves were covered demurely enough. She had the wide, uncertain gaze of a teenager who knew she was probably in trouble and was having second and third thoughts about acting out. She was the image of her older sister, Shelby—would be the image of Sarah at that age, as well, of course, if Sarah had kept her natural hair color and wiped the glop from her face.

He sucked in his breath as memories accosted him—fuzzy memories of a party and of Shelby Russell and once again a haunting at the back of his mind over Emma's birth nine months later, despite being assured she belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Russell. He'd seen pictures of her and wondered, but Shelby had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Had that night even happened? Maybe Sarah could clear things up.

“You wanted to talk to me, remember?” Emma rushed into the garage, hugging herself and doing the girly dance of urgency. “You said so in your last post.” She sounded like Shelby, too, and her voice held that breathless, excited quality that Shelby had used when she was cheerleader their sophomore and junior years.

“I said I wanted to talk to you and Sarah. Big difference. You should have waited until she could come with you. Why didn't you tell me you were coming when you called?”

She continued to dance and hug herself, the dainty lines of her face making it clear she was struggling with guilt and agony. “I'm sorry. If I'd told you, you wouldn't have let me come. And I know Sarah wouldn't have come. She always has some excuse to stay home. A-always better to do the deed and then apologize later than to ask for permission first and then disobey, r-right?” She was trying to sound so blasé, and failing so prettily.

He suppressed a grin. “Really? I always heard that was the coward's way out. You couldn't have learned that from the Sarah Russell I knew.”

“From a cousin in Sikeston. You got a jacket or something? You didn't tell me you lived on the North Pole.” She was still trying to brave it out, though he could read her emotions from the quick blinking and sniffing, the wobbling of her dimpled chin.

“I live on the same latitude as you, so you should have known better.” He grabbed his sweatshirt and tossed it to her, then glanced out the door. Every resident along Capps Creek would know about this visit before breakfast in the morning, not that any of their neighbors would think ill of him—not that he even cared for his own sake. He did care about Dad, however. As good and kind as most folks were in this town, at least one sin dwelt in abundance in this place: gossip.