Читать книгу Broken Silence - Annslee Urban - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe distant toll of the Chatham County, Georgia, clock tower rang twelve noon as Amber Talbot left the Safe Harbor Counseling Center and headed down River Street to her car.
The forecast had called for late-afternoon thunderstorms here in Savannah, but already dark clouds hovered low in the sky. A rising breeze swept the tree-lined streets, rustling spring foliage and delivering a sudden chill to the air. Turning up her collar, Amber eyed the murky waves that boomed against wooden docks. Boats tied to their posts bobbed like corks in the water. Curling whitecaps crashed over their bows.
Amber pulled in a breath of humid air and picked up her pace. Perfect weather to snuggle up with a good book. Exactly what she needed. After weeks of being bogged down at work, she was treating herself to a restful weekend.
With those thoughts echoing in her head, Amber jogged up a short flight of steps to the parking lot. Lengthening her strides, she dug out her key fob and unlocked her car with a click.
“Ma’am, did you drop this?”
Amber spun in the direction of the male voice and found an older gentleman waving a manila envelope with her name sprawled across it.
She glanced at her open messenger bag, crammed full with her purse, client files and notes for her fund-raiser. How careless, she chastised herself, for forgetting to zip it closed.
Tucking the bag under her arm, she started toward the man. “Thank you, sir—”
A deafening blast filled the air.
Amber flew backward, landed hard on the pavement. Black smoke plumed in front of her. The ground shook as glass and metal rained down like a hailstorm. Scrambling to her knees, she hurled her arms over her head to protect it from the shower of stinging objects. A whoosh sounded, then she heard crackling as heat blanketed her. She willed herself to move but couldn’t.
I’m going to die!
“Lady, are you okay?” The man’s distant shriek filled her ears. “You need to get away from the flames!”
Amber’s body pulsed with pain. Smoke raked across her eyes like claws. She squeezed them shut as coughs racked her lungs. She pulled herself forward, crawling in the direction of the man’s voice. Shrapnel bit into her palms and knees, but adrenaline kept her moving until the man grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.
“I called 9-1-1. Help’s on the way,” the older man screeched between hacks. “Was that your car?”
Amber’s lungs burned. She worked to breathe. On shaky legs she managed to turn.
The smoke had subsided some, but the car was engulfed in flames. Panic grew; her mind spun with shock.
“Yes,” she said, disbelieving. “That was my car.”
* * *
“Possible car bomb off River Street,” the police radio blared.
Detective Patrick Wiley forgot about the lunch meeting with his boss, swung his SUV around and headed that way.
His years as a navy SEAL had taught him one thing: get to the scene when the evidence was fresh. Facts and data meant a lot when he put his senses to the test.
Pulling a small siren from under his seat, he slapped it on the roof of the vehicle and sped onto the Talmadge Memorial Bridge. Cars swerved out of his way, and in moments he was over the Savannah River and nearing River Street.
He knew about car bombings—shrapnel, flying debris, collateral damage, innocent bloodshed. A coward’s weapon of destruction.
Unlike his days in Afghanistan, this, he surmised, was likely faulty mechanic work resulting in an engine fire.
He came to a stop at the scene and leaped from his car. His positive rationale faded, and a dire feeling settled in his gut. Dark smoke blanketed the sky, the smell of destruction in the air. Rescue vehicles crammed into the small parking lot. Lines of fire hoses snaked every which way from multiple trucks.
Fortunately the parking lot hadn’t been full. The tourist season had yet to take off, due to the looming storm and cooler-than-usual spring temperatures. A blessing in disguise, as it turned out.
Patrick wove his way around rescue and police vehicles, moving closer to the scene. Firefighters battled the last of the flames biting at the charred skeleton of the small sedan. A dozen yards away, paramedics tended to a young woman sitting in the back of an ambulance.
He gave another assessing glance of the area. No other casualties came into view.
Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a clap of thunder. Hopefully the forensics team could collect any evidence before the storm hit.
Officer Bill Robinson hurried toward him, stepping around the tangle of hoses. “That was some explosion. We got calls from folks who felt it ten blocks away.” He jerked his head toward the woman sitting in the back of an EMS vehicle. “Somebody really wanted that girl scared, or dead.”
By the looks of the damage and scattered debris, Patrick didn’t doubt it. “Is she the only victim?”
“As far as we can tell,” Bill said, taking off his hat and shaking his head. “She was fortunate. If she hadn’t dropped something and went back to get it...” He didn’t finish, just wagged his head.
Patrick got the picture. “Did she give you any information about who might be responsible?”
Bill shook his head again. “Shocked and confused is all I got out of her. She’s pretty cut up, too. Probably needs a little time to process everything.”
“I’ll talk to her and see what I can find out.” Patrick patted Bill on the shoulder, then made his way to the ambulance.
* * *
As a paramedic cleaned the wounds on Amber’s hands, she watched firefighters douse the remaining flames from her car until the charred piece of metal smoldered. Nausea rolled through her abdomen. Forty-eight months of payments up in smoke. Literally.
Amber drew a deep breath. What am I thinking? At least she hadn’t been in it.
“You really need to get to the ER,” the paramedic reiterated for the fourth time.
She clenched her fist against the sting of alcohol and settled her gaze back on the man. “Do you think I’ll need stitches?”
“You’ve got some pretty good lacerations on your hands and knees. If nothing else, you’ll need to get a tetanus shot.”
Amber looked at her palms and grimaced. The bloody gouges in her flesh looked as painful as they felt. “I’d really like to just go home. A hot shower and antibiotic cream sounds more appealing than a trip to the ER.”
“Your call, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Of course not. She stretched out one leg and winced. Then glanced at her hands again. He probably was right. “Okay. I suppose I should go.”
“Great. We’ll get packed and be on our way. Since you’re stable, you can buckle up where you are on the bench seat. We won’t need to strap you onto the gurney.”
“I really appreciate that.” More than he could imagine.
Still, the mere thought of the ambulance ride made her uneasy. It was something she’d never wanted to experience again. Let alone a trip to the emergency room. She flexed her fingers and cringed against the pain. She was being ridiculous. Nearly a decade had passed. The nightmares had faded.
But the memories lingered—along with the guilt.
“Ma’am, could I speak to you for a moment?” The rich deep timbre of the man’s voice raised goose bumps along her arms.
She jerked her head up, and her breath caught as a tall figure stepped to the door of the EMS vehicle. Broad and muscular, he had a bewildered look on his face that probably mimicked her own. “Patrick?”
“Amber?” Patrick cocked his head to the side, his dark, velvety eyes and strong, chiseled features as intriguing as ever. Little had changed over the past eleven years. If anything the years had only enhanced his good looks.
“I sure wasn’t expecting to find you here.” The glint in his brown gaze was unexpectedly warm. So unlike the last time she’d seen him.
Ditto. She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Got home about a year ago. I work with the Savannah-Chatham police department violent crimes unit.” He flashed his badge, very detectivelike. “How are you?”
“Happy to be alive.” She tried for a smile, but hated that just the sight of him caused her pulse to rev. He shouldn’t have that effect on her, especially after all she’d put him through. Her guilt alone should have tamped those emotions years ago.
“I’m sure you are happy to be alive. That was a pretty violent explosion.” Patrick gestured to the remains of her car. “Who do you think did this?”
Shaking her head, she shrugged. “No idea. Maybe a random act. I don’t know.”
His head moved in an agreeable nod, but she could just imagine his churning thoughts. He didn’t buy it. He hadn’t changed one iota. Always suspected the worst. Still, she held on to the hope that her car had been a random choice by some wayward lunatic.
Patrick turned his head and stared back at the charred debris. “Did you see anyone in the parking lot or notice anything unusual before the bomb went off?”
“No. The parking lot was nearly empty. With the storm approaching, this area of town has been pretty deserted.”
His gaze met hers again, his eyes narrowing. “What about the man who found the item you dropped?”
“I dropped a file on the sidewalk leading to the parking area. Thankfully, that gentleman was around, otherwise—” Amber choked on the last word, suddenly dizzy. She could have been killed.
“Detective, are you about finished with your questions?” the medic asked as he placed the orange plastic supply box into the back of the emergency vehicle.
“For now.” Patrick gave the medic a nod, then returned his attention to Amber. “I’ll let you get to the hospital and catch up with you later.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Call me if any new revelations come to you.”
Amber took the card, breathing relief when the paramedic closed the doors. A siren roared and the ambulance maneuvered out of the tight parking lot. She lolled her head back against the vinyl seat, ignoring the pain streaking through her extremities. Tears welled in her eyes just before she squeezed them shut.
This was definitely not her day.
* * *
Patrick watched the ambulance ease through the crowded parking lot and then pull away. Catching his breath, he felt his insides reel from the sucker punch that caught him the moment Amber’s crystal-green gaze collided with his.
She hadn’t changed at all. Sill had the same delicate features—straight little nose, high cheekbones, luscious full lips. And a tumble of dark mahogany curls, soft and flowing about her shoulders.
She was still mesmerizing.
Seeing her had unearthed a whole host of emotions he had no business feeling, given their history. Feelings he’d thought he’d buried the night she’d walked out of his life the summer after their freshman year of college. Just weeks after she’d accepted his ring.
Waves of emotion shuddered through Patrick as memories of Amber flooded his mind. Sweet memories still outnumbered the bad, which made seeing her sting that much more. Crazy, he thought. It had been eleven years.
He tilted his head back and deeply inhaled, trying to calm the turbulent pulsing in his veins. Instead, adrenaline kicked him into overdrive as the stench of smoke entered his lungs. He stiffened his posture. Refocused. This was not the time to deal with the irrational emotions knotting his gut. Someone had blown up a car. Amber may have been the target.
He had a crime to solve.
* * *
The next five hours passed in a blur. Amber sat on the edge of a stretcher in the ER and studied her hands wrapped in gauze. She wiggled her fingers. Tender but tolerable. Somehow not seeing the wounds made them smart less.
Not so with her legs. She straightened one. The wounds had been cleaned and left open to air, with several jagged stitches on each knee. The black tights she’d been wearing had offered nothing in the way of protection, as the deep abrasions on her now-bare legs attested. Not pretty and painfully sore.
The events of the day still struck her as surreal, even impossible. Why would someone plant a bomb in a nearly deserted parking lot?
In her car?
Thoughts tumbled around her mind, but no answers emerged. Amber rubbed a knuckle against the pounding in her temple, where a tension headache had taken hold. She’d grown up in Savannah. It was the one place she felt safe.
Until today.
A nurse walked into the room carrying a small syringe. She pulled gloves from a box mounted on the wall. “After I give you this tetanus shot, you’ll be ready for discharge.”
“Thank you.” Amber nodded, happy to be nearing the end of her visit. Although her dreaded time in the emergency room hadn’t been as difficult as she’d imagined in terms of invoking memories.
A near miss with a bomb had taken care of that.
Her blood chilled at the thought.
“Right arm, please.” The nurse pulled off the plastic tip of the syringe.
Amber flinched a little as the nurse gave her the shot.
“It may be sore for a few days, so just use a warm compress for the pain. I’ll be right back with your paperwork.” The nurse left the room.
The pain from a tiny shot was the least of Amber’s concerns.
“How about a ride home?”
At the sound of the deep voice, every fine hair on her neck rose to attention. She glanced up. Detective Patrick Wiley stood there, his commanding presence filling the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and one shoulder leaning against the door frame.
“A ride?” Amber blurted, startled more than she was surprised to see him again. She’d thought he’d wait at least until she got home and settled.
“The hospital called and said you were ready to be released.”
Amber instinctively tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The sooty film on her hair reminded her how terrible she must look, while Patrick stood there looking...well, incredible. “Someone from the hospital called you?” She barely kept her voice from cracking. She sat up straighter, trying to look somewhat together, although after the day she had, she could hardly be expected to look calm and collected. It wasn’t every day a bomb blew up her car, or Patrick Wiley popped back into her life.
He nodded. “I asked them to. I still have a few questions. So if you haven’t called for a ride already, I can give you one.”
Hesitating, Amber scoured her brain for an excuse. Then again, what excuse could she have? She hadn’t called anyone. She blew out a breath. “Okay...if you don’t mind.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
Which would be never.
Patrick pulled keys from his pocket and Amber blinked. The man at the door was not just her old boyfriend, he was a law enforcement officer, here to do his job. That truth alone should have calmed her.
Instead, a fresh burst of regret exploded in her chest. Regret for choices she’d made and the results they’d caused.
* * *
Patrick pulled his SUV to the curb in front of Amber’s wood-frame bungalow and killed the engine. Gusty wind whistled and raindrops pelted the windshield, punctuating the awkward silence that had settled in the air between them.
As eager as Patrick was to jump-start the investigation, he could tell Amber was still shell-shocked. Even as he’d updated her on the bomb squad’s initial report for the explosives involved in the blast, she’d stayed rather apathetic, acknowledging his comments with a nod, but not saying much else. He had hoped to engage in a fact-finding conversation, but so far, that was not happening.
And after he spent two solid hours at the station poring over data collected at the crime scene, he realized very quickly that this wasn’t going to be a slam-dunk investigation. And, as with most crimes of this magnitude, time was of the essence, meaning, like it or not, he needed to dig more into Amber’s personal life.
Patrick flicked on the car’s interior lights. He twisted in his seat and rested his arm on the center console. Not an easy feat for his large frame, but he wanted to give Amber his full attention. “I need to ask a few questions about your relationships. Is there anyone, in the past or presently, who might be nursing a grudge of some kind? Ex-boyfriend, spouse or otherwise.”
She took a deep, silent breath. “Well, I’ve never had a spouse, and I can’t think of any looming relationship issues.”
Good. Not that it had any bearing on him personally, but it might make working with her a little less awkward. “How about outstanding debt? Do you owe anybody anything?”
She shook her head. “No, I live pretty frugally. Other than my house, I’m debt-free. Well,” she amended, “I guess I’ll be buying a new car.”
Patrick caught the subtle tremble of her body, but she kept any emotion off her face. He admired the way she was trying to stay strong, but he got a knot in his gut thinking about what she’d been through. A need to comfort her welled up inside of him.
He quickly stifled the impulse to pull her into his arms and offer her support. That wasn’t his place anymore.
“I’m sorry about your car.” His eyes captured hers, hoping to provide some solace, yet feeling ineffective against any stress she was dealing with.
“Thank you.”
He shook his head, thinking back to the destruction the bomb had left. “It was only by God’s grace that you made it out alive.”
As Amber acknowledged his remark with a small nod, her gaze drifted away to the storm raging outside. “Yes, things could have been much worse.”
It wasn’t just her averted eyes, but the fleeting look of remorse tightening her features that made him wonder what kind of storm was raging inside her.
Patrick hesitated, giving her a moment. “Amber, are you okay?”
She returned her gaze to him, shapely brows drawn together. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.” She pushed hair from her face. “Are you finished with your questions?”
“No, I have a few more.” Patrick shifted in the seat and switched modes, turning his focus once again on solving this case. “You talked about recently opening a counseling center. What kind of clients do you cater to?”
At the mention of her place of business, she brightened some. “Well, I work with two other counselors and we offer a variety of services, geared mostly toward women in crisis situations. We deal with everything from marital and family discord to substance abuse and mental health issues.”
Patrick nodded to himself. “Okay, how about a family member or significant other of one of your clients—anyone seeking revenge for your intervention?”
Amber hesitated, brushing another stray lock of hair from her cheek. “It’s possible, I guess. But most of my referrals come from the women’s shelter or hospital social workers. It’s a very confidential climate. I stay pretty much under the radar.”
“I understand,” Patrick said, although he did not completely dismiss the theory. “Have you received any unusual phone calls or messages lately?”
She shook her head. “No. Not that I can think of.”
“How about someone threatening harm or making you feel unsafe?”
There was a short pause as she folded her hands in her lap. “No.”
Patrick lifted a brow. “No one?”
She shook her head again.
Patrick gestured toward her house. “Do you feel safe staying here alone?”
Amber cast him a cool look, her eyes glinting amid the dim glow of the car’s interior lights. “Why wouldn’t I feel safe? You said yourself the bomb was crudely made. The work of an amateur.”
“Amateur or not, someone planted it. In your car.”
“In an almost empty lot.” Her tone took on a bit of a defensive tenor. “I understand, Patrick, that it’s your job to consider every angle. But I can’t imagine anyone targeting me.”
He nodded, hoping she was right.
A moment passed between them. Amber fiddled with her bag, and he was close enough to feel her discomfort.
She’d had a rough day and probably enough questions. “I think you’ve answered everything for tonight. Let me get an umbrella and walk you to your door.” As Patrick reached into the backseat, his arm brushed hers. Something in the way she pulled away made a shiver run down his back.
“Thank you, Patrick. I really appreciate the ride, but I can see myself in.”
Before he could remind her of the pouring rain, she jumped out of the vehicle and scampered down the sidewalk, her jacket pulled over her head.
He stared after her, waiting until she disappeared inside the house, the front door closing behind her.
She was hiding something.
A couple of fragmented thoughts pushed through the fog in his head. None of which had anything to do with a car bomb.
He had to stop himself. If he gave in to the urge to march to her door and ask a few questions, he’d be treading on unprofessional territory.
Patrick took a deep, bracing breath and started the engine. Personal issues would have to wait.
* * *
Soaking wet, Amber slumped against the door, her ears still ringing from the explosion, her knees throbbing. Not the best start to her weekend.
Seeing Patrick again definitely didn’t help.
Taking a shaky breath, she turned around and engaged the dead bolt. She heard Patrick’s SUV start up. The loud engine noise melded with the steady downpour. She waited a moment more until only the remnants of the storm filled her ears. Patrick was gone.
The one man in the world she never wanted to see again. And here he was, the investigator for a crime that she, unfortunately, had gotten pulled into. Professionally polite, professionally impersonal, giving her no indication if he’d grown to forgive her or despise her for what she’d done.
Her mind wanted to go numb with the memories of the last time she’d seen him. The wounded look in his eyes when she’d told him she wasn’t ready to commit. She’d needed time. She’d needed space. He hadn’t responded well. Not that she’d expected him to.
That day she’d held him for the last time. Walked away. Grieved every step.
She’d made a sacrifice, penance for a mistake he couldn’t understand.
Painful memories stabbed her, sending an icy shiver up her spine. Skin pebbling, she squeezed her eyes shut to block them, but instead more memories flooded in, and with them came the grief.
Indescribable grief that clung to her spirit was as fresh now as the night an unknown assailant had brutally attacked, drugged and attempted to rape her.
Although another student’s intervention had halted her attacker’s plans, her honor and dignity would remain tarnished. Forever.
Amber expelled a sharp sigh.
She had no one to blame but herself.
Patrick had warned her about the campus parties. But with him attending college on the other side of the state, she’d assumed he was being protective. And as her freshman year had neared the end, curiosity and boredom had outweighed good sense and she’d accepted a roommate’s invitation to attend an end-of-the-year bash at a local fraternity.
The repercussions of that choice had changed the course of her dreams and sent her life spiraling into a sea of shame and regret.
No! Not tonight! Amber’s jaw tightened as she willed the memories to cease.
Just thinking about the past, about Patrick, made her crazy. Especially since the path she’d paved for herself could never be erased.
Amber blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to wallow in self-pity.
Lifting her chin, she hung her coat on a hook by the door and then trudged to the bedroom and dropped her bag on the floor. Her chest heaved with exhaustion. A shower might relax her and then maybe she could sleep. What she needed was a new day. Fresh thoughts.
Twenty minutes later, she crawled into bed, closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable while listening to the gentle howl of the wind and the last remnants of the rain patter on the window. Even as every fiber of her being cried for rest, insomnia settled in.
Time crawled, ticking unhurriedly in the darkness. The storm outside abated, leaving the shadows, the room, the air around her draped in a cold and eerie silence. Peace and quiet used to be a commodity she yearned for. But tonight it seemed more of a paradox than a possibility as thoughts of car bombs and explosions, of the upcoming charity fund-raiser and even Patrick Wiley wrestled in her mind.
Amber sat up, pumped her pillow, curled it into a ball and stuffed it back under her head. Okay, especially Patrick Wiley.
Emitting a groan, she wrenched up the blankets and pushed the disturbing thoughts aside, allowing pleasant ones to fill her mind.
Moments trickled by and finally her body and mind started to unwind. Her eyelids grew heavy and at last sleep pulled her in.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a movement. She jerked her head. Eyes flickered back at her from the shadows.
“Amber.” His voice was low, distorted.
Goose bumps pebbled her skin. “Who’s there?”
“The man of your dreams.” His low, chilling laughter echoed in the small space.
Dark. Claustrophobic. Panic stole her next breath. She needed to run. Needed to get out of there.
“Where’s Boy Wonder now?” The man gave another laugh, his booted footsteps moving closer. “Who’s going to save you now, Amber?”
Dread building, a scream rose in her throat. She tried to run, to get away...
Amber shot up with a gasp, her breathing short and rapid as her heart pounded like a sledgehammer in her chest.
Where am I?
Trembling, she sat there, chilled and clammy with sweat, her mind spinning. For long seconds she worked to steady her breathing, control the adrenaline pumping through her.
Her pulse slowed as reality trickled in.
It was just a dream. She sagged against the headboard and shakily daubed the moisture from her brow. Of course it was. Just a dream.
For over a year, she’d been free of the nightmares. The haunting dreams, reeling like slow-motion pictures in her head. Terrifying and so real—pulling her back into that small, dingy frat room.
She crunched her eyelids against the memories and yanked up the comforter to her chin. It was only a bad dream. No one can hurt me. I’m safe. Amber mentally chanted those thoughts over and over again.
A streak of lightning flashed outside the window, and distant thunder boomed, rattling the glass.
She sat straight up as all of her senses shot to full alert. She held her breath, listened. A creak. A pop. Another rattle.
What if she was wrong? What if she wasn’t safe?
Throwing back the bedspread and sheets, she clambered out of the bed and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. She flipped up the switch and the lamp flickered on, chasing away the darkness and sending twisting shadows dancing on the pale walls and textured ceiling.
Icy chills rippled across her skin. Her gaze darted frantically around the room. What if someone was trying to get in? Even as she reminded herself that every door and window was bolted shut, she had to check again. It was a ritual she remembered well. Her voice of reason was lost in the memories. She groped the flashlight from the nightstand, ignoring the sting of cuts on her palm, and passed quickly from one room to another turning on lights and making sure everything was locked tight.
After a thorough search, she breathed relief when nothing looked out of the ordinary. As she turned out the lights, her gaze snagged on the laundry room window. The old wooden frame hung askew. Night air eerily whistled through the small gap.
She took a step closer. One of the two latches on the window was unlocked.
Someone had tampered with that window. Heart galloping, Amber tugged on the wood frame and engaged the lock, then spun on her heel, her mind reeling, grappling for a plan. Instinct told her to call the police, but what if they took too long to arrive? Maybe call a neighbor first, seek refuge—
Amber came to a screeching halt as she suddenly remembered her handyman, Charlie, had been by and cleaned her windows. He mentioned there were a couple warped window casings. He must have forgotten to latch that one.
That had to be it. She took a deep breath, rubbing her hand against the tension in her neck and scolding herself for overreacting. She’d call Charlie next week and set up a time for him to replace them.
Stalking back into her bedroom, she collapsed in the overstuffed chair by the bed, willing away the irrational fear that ripped through her like barbed wire. It was pure insanity, she knew, to be so unnerved by a dream.
Still her heart pounded to a rib-cracking beat. Over the years, she had worked hard to push past the memories. She’d done well. The nightmares had faded.
Until tonight.
Lord, if You are still near, please help me.
Amber took a steadying breath. God could protect her, she reminded herself, but at the same time she struggled to believe. Blind faith didn’t seem possible anymore.
Hadn’t for eleven years.
The exhaustion she’d felt earlier was gone, replaced with a restless energy, fueled by unwanted images and thoughts bouncing around in her head. She tried to tamp them down, but they wouldn’t let go.
Great. Now she’d never get back to sleep. Scrubbing her hands through the thickness of her curls, she tugged her hair. She wanted to fault the chaos of the day for bringing back the nightmares and stirring the past to life, but the answer was far more complicated than that.
Patrick.
