Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (31 page)

The restaurant wall clock read nine fifteen. She wondered what Will was serving his girls for dinner. Probably something healthier than the cheeseburger and fries sitting on the counter in front of her. Would Will read Claire and Marissa a bedtime story? Work on their Christmas lists?

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with black hair pulled back, came by with a water pitcher. “How was the burger?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Need more water?”

“No, I'm good.”

“Can I ask you something? I mean, if I'm being rude just tell me.”

“Go for it.”

“Are you her? The woman who fell off the mountain and was rescued by Will Rankin?”

Success! Word had spread. They knew who she was.

“Yes, that's me.”

“Where are you from?”

“Seattle.”

“Ah, so hiking was a new experience for you.”

Sara shrugged. She'd hiked plenty as a kid.

“Good thing Will happened to be out there,” the waitress offered.

“Yep.”

But not so good in Sara's book. Finding Sara had sent Will's life into a tailspin of trouble.

“Will's a nice man,” the waitress said.

“Exceptionally nice.”

“He's been through a lot.”

“Yes, he has.”

“So you know about his wife?”

“Yes, Will and I have become friends.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. A customer caught her eye and she walked away.

Sara's phone buzzed with a text. It was from Will.

You okay?

She responded.

All is well. How are the girls?

She glanced over her shoulder toward the door. The waitress stood beside a table of customers, three elderly couples who seemed to be glaring at Sara.

Oh, boy. Her friendship with Will was causing her to be the most disliked person in town. She redirected her attention to her phone. Will hadn't responded. She didn't want to look back at the locals in the corner. Their message was clear. “You should be ashamed of yourself for involving Will.”

Oh, she was very ashamed of herself for putting him in danger. Yet, she kept hearing Will's voice:
I wish you'd stop trying to push me away
.

He appreciated their friendship, or whatever you could call what was developing between them. Every time she tried drawing a boundary line, he'd reach right across and hold on tighter. What kind of man did that?

A compassionate, generous man.

One who deserved better than a damaged friend like Sara Vaughn in his life.

The waitress returned and placed the check on the counter. A hint that Sara had overstayed her welcome?

“Thanks,” Sara said.

With a nod, the waitress walked away. Sara flipped over the check, and noticed a message written in ink: “Meet me out back.”

She scanned the restaurant. A few people still stared at her, but chances were none of them had written the message. She placed cash in the bill sleeve and shifted off the barstool. Cradling her sprained wrist against her stomach, she went down the hall leading to the bathroom. At the end of the hall was a bright red exit sign over a back door.

This could be it. Either Petrellis waited outside for her, or it was a local wanting to give her a lecture about staying away from Will. She pulled out her phone to text Nate, and hesitated.

Once Petrellis was brought in for questioning, he'd clam up like his kind usually did, hiding behind his lawyer.

She couldn't let that happen.

Pocketing her phone, she pushed the door open. A gust of wind sent a chill across her shoulders.

“Hello?” she called down the dark alley.

Her voice echoed back at her. Anxiety skittered across her nerve endings.

She knew what she was doing, she told herself. She was a smart agent who was going to get information out of Petrellis.

Suddenly someone gripped her shoulders hard, and shoved her forward.

“You don't have to restrain me,” she said. “It's not as if I'm in any shape to fight back.”

He led her to his car and pushed her into the driver's seat, then across into the passenger seat. She hit the record button on her new phone, hoping maybe this time the evidence wouldn't be destroyed.

Aiming the gun at her chest with one hand, Petrellis started the car and pulled out of the alley.

“Where are we going?” she said.

“Someplace we can talk.”

“About?”

“Who you really are.”

She stilled. Did he know? Had her cover been blown?

He shot her a side-eye glare as he headed out of town. “Because you're not some random trail assistant or you'd be terrified of this.” He waved his gun. “But you're not. Which means you have experience with guns.”

“I was taught to shoot as a kid.”

“Let's cut to the truth. Who sent you and what did you hear out there in the mountains?”

“So they did hire you to find me.”

“What are you after?” he demanded.

“It was a job, that's all.”

“You killed David Price, why?”

Whoa, so LaRouche and Harrington were telling their own people that Sara had killed him?

“I didn't kill him. LaRouche did.”

“Stop lying. I need the truth!”

“I told you the truth.”

“No, you didn't, but you will.”

He turned onto a farm road and hit the accelerator. The car sped up, the speedometer needle reaching sixty miles per hour.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried.

“I have nothing to lose. My life is over.”

The car sped toward an abandoned barn in the distance. Faster. Faster.

“Slow down!”

“Either I get answers from you or we both die. Makes no difference to me.”

ELEVEN

G
reat, Sara had been kidnapped by a man with a death wish? No, there was more to this.

“What have they got on you?” she said.

“Tell me who hired you!” he countered.

“Are they blackmailing you? What? I know you're a cop—”

“Not anymore I'm not.”

“I heard you had to retire early because of family issues. Have they offered you money?”

He sped up. Seventy miles per hour.

“Okay! I'm FBI!” she cried.

He shot her a look of disbelief.

“LaRouche and Harrington are the enemy here, not me,” she protested.

The flash of police lights lit the car from behind.

He eyed the rearview, then refocused on the barn in the distance.

“You might want to die, but don't be a coward and take me with you. And what about the people who will die because of a faulty drug?”

He looked at her again.

“They didn't tell you about that, did they?” she said.

His foot eased up on the gas.

“You were a cop, a good cop,” she said. “Getting the bad guys is in your blood. Help me stop them.”

“I can't.”

“Then, don't stop me from putting them away!”

She was grasping at the wind, but she had to try to get through to him. As the sirens wailed louder behind them, her heartbeat pounded against her chest. She didn't want to die this way.

Use your training
.
Talk him down
.

“Innocent people will die. Do you want to be remembered as a murderer by your family? Your wife and kids?”

An ironic chuckle escaped his lips. “My kids don't care about me.”

Okay, she'd hit a nerve. She was getting through to him.

“I don't believe that. They're going to be devastated when their father dies and is branded a criminal. There's still a chance to save yourself, Petrellis. Help us nail these guys.”

A tear trailed down his cheek.

“Remember why you put on your uniform in the first place,” she continued. “I could really use your help here, Stuart,” she said, remembering his first name from the file she'd read at the police station.

He eased his foot off the accelerator. The barn loomed in the distance. He pressed down on the brake. The car came to a stop.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and started to raise his gun.

To his own head.

She lunged, wrestling the gun away.

It went off, shattering the front windshield. Officer McBride whipped open the driver's door and pulled Petrellis from the car. Nate opened Sara's door. She shoved the gun at him and stumbled away from the car, trying to catch her breath, trying not to throw up.

She'd almost been killed. Twice. First by the suicide crash into the barn, then when she'd disarmed him.

What was she thinking?

That she couldn't watch a man die because of criminal jerks LaRouche and Harrington.

“Take a deep breath,” Nate said.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” Her face felt hot and cold at the same time.

“Why didn't you text me when you saw him?” Nate said.

“Didn't want him lawyering up.”

“You could have—”

“Don't leave him alone. He's suicidal. He tried shooting himself in the head. They've got something on him, Nate. Find out what it is. I think he'll help us if you can destroy whatever they've got on him.”

“Okay, okay, breathe. You're going to hyperventilate.”

“How's Will? Is he okay?”

“He's fine. Let's get you out of here.”

* * *

As Will fed the girls dinner, he tried to stay present and engaged in their stories about the museum, and their grandpa ordering monster hash for lunch.

Thoughts about what was happening with Sara's plan to draw out Officer Petrellis kept taunting him.

A few hours later, as he tucked them into bed, little Marissa asked, “Are you mad at us?”

Both girls looked at him with round green eyes.

“No, why would I be upset with you?” he said, glancing across the room at Claire.

“Because you've got that grandma look on your face,” Claire said.

“What look?”

“You know, like this.” Claire scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips in the patented grandma, disapproving frown.

Will smiled. “I look like that?”

Marissa nodded that he did.

“I'm sorry, girls. The fact is, I'm distracted because I'm worried about a friend.”

“Miss Sara?” Claire asked.

“Yes. She's having a tough time and I think she could use a friend or two right about now.”

“Doesn't she have any friends?” Marissa asked.

“I don't think so. She works so much and has no time for friends.”

“That's sad,” Claire said.

“But God's her friend,” Marissa offered.

“Let's say a prayer for her.” Claire climbed out of bed and kneeled, interlacing her fingers. Marissa followed suit, and Will's heart warmed. They were such good, loving girls.

He interlaced his fingers. “Who wants to lead?”

“I do, I do!” Marissa said.

The room quieted.

“Give us this day our daily bread—”

“Wrong one,” Claire corrected.

“Oh, yeah.” Marissa cleared her throat. “Dear God in Heaven, we are praying for our friend Miss Sara, who can't draw, and has no friends, but she's really nice and we like her anyway. We pray that she...” Marissa hesitated and looked at Will.

“Is safe,” Will said.

“Is safe,” the girls echoed.

“Is at peace,” Will said.

“Is at peace.”

“And will open her heart to the wonder of grace. Amen.”

“Amen,” the girls said.

“Okay, back into bed. I've got a surprise for you tomorrow after church.”

“What kind of surprise?” Claire said.

“It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you.” He tucked her in and kissed her forehead. “I think you're going to like it.”

He went to Marissa's bed and tucked her in, as well.

“Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, pumpkin.”

Will went to the door and switched off the light; the ceiling lit up with the twinkling of glow-in-the-dark stars.

He shut the door, appreciating the moment, realizing in a few years Claire wouldn't want to share a room with her little sister.

Will had plenty of work to catch up on, which he hoped would keep his mind off Sara. He fixed himself a cup of tea and went into the living room to enjoy the colorful lights on the Christmas tree while he worked.

He opened his laptop and forced himself to focus. One of his best clients, Master Printing, had had their website hacked and taken down by search engines. He'd rewritten the code and corrected the problem, so he signed on to check if their website was back online. There wasn't much an SEO specialist like Will could do to force the search engines to reupload the pages. Still, he let them know the situation had been rectified.

A soft knock sounded from the door. He wondered if he'd imagined it. He stood and peeked through the window. Sara stood there with Nate behind her.

Will opened the door. “Thank God you're okay.”

Sara wrapped her arms around Will and squeezed. Tight.

“Let's go inside,” Nate said, looking over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Sara said, releasing Will.

“Why? I was thinking of doing the same thing.” He put his arm around her and led her to the sofa.

“Actually, could I use the bathroom?” Sara asked.

“Sure, at the end of the hall on the right,” Will said, and offered a smile.

It looked as if Sara tried to smile, but couldn't get her lips to work. She disappeared around the corner.

“You got Petrellis?” Will asked Nate.

“We got him.”

“You don't sound happy about it.”

“She went rogue on me, Will,” Nate said, frustration coloring his voice. “I told her to text me when she saw Petrellis. Instead, she got into his car, and he...” Nate shook his head.

“He what?” Will fisted his hand.

“He almost killed them both, then tried to shoot himself in front of her.”

“Oh, Sara,” he whispered.

“She disarmed him, but she shouldn't have been there in the first place,” Nate said, frustrated. “I apologize for bringing her here. She was insistent.”

“No, it's okay,” Will said. “I would have been up all night worrying about her anyway. At least I can see she's okay, sort of.”

“The chief is trying to get Petrellis to work with us. The guy's pretty messed up. I guess his wife's in bad shape.”

“How so?”

“She's got multiple sclerosis. Living in a nursing home in Bellingham, very expensive. LHP's security chief tracked Petrellis down and offered him a boatload of money to find Sara and figure out what she was up to. Petrellis needed the money to keep his wife in the Bellingham facility.” Nate hesitated. “I had no idea she was so sick.”

“How did LaRouche and Harrington track him down so quickly?”

“Companies like LHP employ top-notch IT specialists who probably went through bank records and personal histories to identify someone they could manipulate. I wonder who else they targeted in town.”

“And no one knew about Petrellis's wife?”

“Nope. I feel bad about that. Why didn't he talk to the chief?”

“Sometimes if you don't talk about it, you can pretend it's not happening,” Will offered, speaking from personal experience. “What I still don't understand is how LaRouche and Harrington discovered Sara was in Echo Mountain.”

“The whole town knew she'd been rescued by SAR. Wouldn't be hard for them to figure it out.”

“What happens next?”

“Waiting to hear from the chief,” Nate said. “I still want to move you and the girls to the resort. Did you speak with Bree?”

“She graciously invited us to move into her cottage.”

“And Aiden's holding a private room for Sara at the resort.”

“So you'll set her up there, as well?”

“That's the plan, not that she'll take orders.” Nate's phone buzzed.

“You get that. I'm going to check on Sara,” Will said.

“Detective Walsh.” Nate wandered to the front window.

As Will headed for the hall, he heard the echo of little girl voices.

“I like those the best,” Marissa said.

“That's because they're little, like you,” Claire said.

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

It was Sara's voice. Will hesitated, not wanting to interrupt the moment.

“She always teases me about being little,” Marissa said.

“I was little when I was a kid,” Sara offered.

“You were?” Marissa said.

“Yep. Sometimes kids made fun of me, but my dad used to call me his little darling, which made it all okay.”

“Does he still call you that?” Claire asked.

Will took a step toward the bedroom, wanting to intervene.

“My dad's in Heaven,” Sara said.

“With Mommy.” Marissa hushed.

The room fell silent. Will stepped into the room and froze. Sara was lying on the floor between the girls' beds, her hands folded across her chest.

“Hey girls,” Will said.

Marissa jackknifed in bed. “Sara was little, too, Daddy.”

“No kidding?”

Sara sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “Sorry, they spotted me when I was walking by and asked me to come say good-night.”

“I'm glad they did.”

“Will you be here tomorrow, Miss Sara?” Claire asked.

“Maybe. We'll see. I'd better go so you can get some sleep.”

“Daddy has a surprise for us tomorrow.” Marissa clapped her hands in excitement.

Sara reached for Will, and he extended his hand to help her up. When she stood, they were only inches apart.

“Be careful of the mistletoe in the hallway,” Claire said in a singsong voice.

Marissa giggled.

“Okay, girls, bedtime. For real,” Will said. He motioned Sara out of the room and shut the door so adult voices wouldn't disturb them.

“They're so...” Sara started. “Precious.”

“You sure you don't mean precocious?”

She stopped in the hallway, inches from the dreaded mistletoe, and placed an open palm against his chest.

“You're right, you are so—” she hesitated as if she struggled to form the word “—blessed.”

In that moment, everything seemed to disappear: the danger, his anxiety about his in-laws and the fact that his best friend stood in the next room.

Will leaned forward and kissed Sara on the lips—a brief, loving kiss.

When he pulled back, her blue eyes widened and she pressed her fingertips to her lips.

Giggling echoed behind him. He turned and spotted his girls watching from a crack in their door.

“Bed,” he ordered.

They slammed the door. When he turned around, Sara was walking into the living room.

Will sighed. Had he upset her?

He followed her into the living room where Nate continued his phone call.

Will sat next to Sara on the couch. She studied her fingers in her lap.

“So...am I in trouble?” Will asked.

She snapped her gaze to meet his. “No, but I am.”

He studied her blue eyes, trying to discern the meaning of her words. Had something happened with the case, or was she referring to the kiss? Did she share the strong feelings he was developing for her, and decided that was unprofessional?

“Okay, I'll figure it out. Thanks, Chief.” Nate ended his call and turned to Will and Sara. “Petrellis has been medicated for now. He went nuts on the way to lockup and they rushed him to the hospital. The chief likes our plan about relocating you at the resort, but suggested Sara head back to the station with me and spend the night in a cell.”