Читать книгу Hidden in Shadows - Hope White - Страница 10

Here she was, knocked on the ground again. Not exactly how she pictured her first night home. She’d hoped to get into a bubble bath to wash the plane scum from her skin, sip a cup of chamomile tea and crawl beneath her down comforter.

Instead, someone was shooting at her.

“Stay here.” Agent McIntyre stood and pressed his back against the wall.

“But the cat—”

He pressed two fingers to his lips to shush her. His expression was fierce, intense. She was glad she wasn’t on his bad side. She started to get up.

“Right there,” he ordered, slipping a gun from inside his jacket.

Her breath caught at the memory of little Armando Morales. Images of the little boy covered in blood, moaning in pain, made her freeze in place. Armando had been an innocent bystander caught in a territorial shoot-out among drug dealers.

Yet he was just a child.

The whole experience reminded her how lucky she was. She may not have had a father or siblings, but she lived a safe, healthy life in Wentworth.

At least she had…until tonight.

The stairs creaked as Agent McIntyre went to investigate. She scooted to the door and leaned into the doorjamb, wishing that this was some kind of crazy dream brought on by exhaustion. Sure, she’d returned home, downed a few scoops of casserole and had crawled into bed. The peas in the casserole didn’t agree with her, sparking nightmares that began with her being chased down by her garage stalker.

Another popping sound shattered that wishful thinking. It sounded farther away than the first, definitely from outside. Her windows hadn’t been shattered by the shots.

“Anastasia?” she whispered, needing a hug, even from a crazy cat.

Hugs were something she sorely missed since Gran passed away and Mom moved to Florida with Lenny. Krista missed a lot of things and had hoped to fill that emptiness with her missionary work with kids, and maybe, in the not too distant future, a loving husband and children of her own.

Only, she was a disaster in the relationship department and had decided to stop looking so hard. She prayed about her life, asked God to help her find inner peace.

Kind of hard to find peace when people are shooting at you.

“Miss Yates?” Agent McIntyre called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes?”

“It’s safe. You can come down.”

She headed downstairs where the intense, yet handsome, agent was waiting for her. Her eyes caught on the gun in his hand and she froze.

He glanced at his weapon. “Sorry.” He shoved it into its holster and pulled his jacket over it to conceal the weapon.

“The gunshot?” she asked.

“A neighbor was trying to scare off a raccoon. The chief’s out there talking to him now.”

“Probably the Bender kid. Someone should tell his dad to lock up the rifle.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Come on, let’s take your statement about the man in the garage before you fall asleep on us.”

She ambled through the living room. “With all this adrenaline rushing through my body I doubt I’ll ever sleep again.”

Anastasia raced past her into the kitchen.

“How about some tea?” she offered over her shoulder.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Was he ever. Agent McIntyre was good at being there to protect Krista, acting confident and unshakable. He was pretty nice to look at, too.

Warning! Sleep alert!

She was not one to ogle a stranger, but she was tired, hungry and confused. A man had broken into her house and garage. Looking for what? And wait a second, why was a federal agent at her house?

She turned to him. “Hey, you never told me why you’re here.”

“First things first. Let’s get ice for your cheek.”

She touched her face. “It looks bad?”

“Not yet, but it will if you don’t ice it.” He took a kitchen towel from the rack, opened the freezer and dropped a handful of cubes in it. He reached out to place it on the bruise and she took it from him.

“Thanks,” she said, holding it in place and leaning against the counter. “You’re an expert at first aid?”

“I’ve been knocked down a few times.”

Yeah, she could see that. He was tough, the kind of man who stayed focused and didn’t back down from a fight.

“Ready to give a statement?” he said.

“Sure.”

Chief Cunningham stepped into the kitchen from the back door. “I gave the Bender kid a lecture about firearms. Took away the rifle for the time being, until his dad gets back from his business trip.”

“I was about to question Miss Yates,” Agent McIntyre said.

“Please call me Krista. Miss Yates makes me feel like an old maid.”

“Okay, Krista.” Agent McIntyre sat at the kitchen table and opened a small notebook.

Good, he looked less intimidating sitting instead of towering over her. The man had to be over six feet tall, dwarfing her five-foot-three-inch frame. His good looks and hard-edged demeanor made her uncomfortable. He was different than the few men she’d dated in Wentworth.

Not just different. He was a cynical man who’d chosen a violent career.

She sighed and found a bag of chamomile tea. She’d lost her dad to violence and saw what violence did to innocent children on her mission trips. Krista believed in discussing problems, praying about them. She wondered if a man like Luke McIntyre ever prayed. She doubted it.

“Can you describe the man in your garage?”

“No, I’m sorry. He was wearing a skeleton mask.”

The agent hesitated in his note taking. Why?

“Did anything unusual happen at the airport in Mexico before you boarded?” he continued, focusing his blue-green eyes on his notepad. She’d noticed their brilliant color when he’d helped her trap Anastasia.

“Nothing unusual other than missing my first flight, which meant missing my connection in Chicago, and then losing my luggage.”

“Did anyone talk to you at the airport?”

“Not really.”

“Anyone at all. The slightest, seemingly insignificant conversation could help us.”

“I chatted with a young mother. She had the cutest little newborn.”

“Any men?”

“I don’t like talking to men.”

The agent snapped his eyes to meet hers. “You don’t talk to men?”

“Strangers. I don’t trust them.”

“Smart girl.”

Irked, she turned her back to him and poured hot water into the cup. “Thank you, Agent McIntyre, but I stopped being a girl ten years ago.”

Silence filled the room. She’d overreacted. She couldn’t help it. Being called a “girl” hit a nerve.

It reminded her of when she was a little girl, innocent and trusting. When she made the mistake of talking to a stranger.

“Anyway, no talking with strangers,” she said, turning to Agent McIntyre.

Chief Cunningham stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. He knew the story, the loss and devastation to the Yates family. The chief was the only one who knew the truth, knew that Mom and Krista had fled to Wentworth from California because the little girl had been so close to a killer, looked him in the eye, even shook his hand.

Krista had been only five when she’d told the stranger that Father was still at work in the Lincoln building. No one could have anticipated how that bit of information would change everyone’s lives. It led the disheartened investor to Dad’s office where an argument turned violent and Dad was killed.

After Dad’s death, Mom fretted that the killer would come back for Krista since she’d seen him, so Mom packed up their belongings and moved to Gran’s house in Michigan. A year later they got word that Dad’s killer had been caught and sentenced to life in prison.

Krista was safe, but Mom and Gran couldn’t drop the overprotective parenting style. Mom probably would have objected to Krista going on the mission trip if she’d still been living in Wentworth.

“And when you landed in Grand Rapids?” the agent asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I got paged.”

“For what?”

“Someone found my license, but I had my license so it was a mix-up. By the time I got to baggage claim, I discovered they’d lost my luggage.”

“Did you get there as luggage was coming out on the conveyor belt?”

“No.”

“So someone could have taken your luggage?”

“I guess, by accident, sure.”

The agent and police chief exchanged glances.

“I don’t have anything worth stealing, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

“You might have had something you didn’t know you had,” Agent McIntyre said.

Then again his job was to see conspiracy around every corner.

“Why are you here again?” she asked and sipped her tea with one hand, while holding the ice to her cheek with the other.

“I’m investigating drug trafficking from Mexico into the Midwest.”

“You think they used my suitcase to smuggle drugs?” she said, her voice pitched with disbelief.

“It’s not that simple,” Agent McIntyre said.

“What, then?”

“We got a tip that the leader of the drug cartel sent men to Michigan to tie up some loose ends with a church group. The tip came shortly after your group left Mexicali.”

“So, you think someone in the mission group was smuggling drugs?”

“It’s a possibility, yes,” McIntyre said.

“No. It’s not. I know you’re used to dealing with criminals, Agent McIntyre, but people like us don’t break the law.”

“Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Luke. You don’t have to call me Agent McIntyre.”

“Oh, okay.” But it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want to call him by his first name, didn’t like the fact he was accusing someone in her church of smuggling and she didn’t like that he was still here at nearly one in the morning.

“Is that all?” she said.

“You didn’t recognize anything about the assailant?”

“The man in the garage? No. He could have been some teenager fooling around for all I know.”

“Krista, I want you to stay with me and Jane tonight,” Chief Cunningham said.

“Thank you, chief, but I’m fine here.”

“You’re really not,” Luke interjected.

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Why risk it?” he said.

“What about staying with your friend, Natalie, or the Sass family?” the chief suggested.

“Look, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in nearly two weeks. I need to sleep in my own bed!” she shouted, then slapped her hand to her mouth. She didn’t mean to lose it like that. “Sorry, I get cranky when I’m tired.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Luke said to the chief.

“No, really, that’s okay.” She wasn’t sure what scared her more: the stranger jumping out of her garage or the handsome agent offering to sleep under the same roof.

“Krista, you either stay at our house or with the Sasses, or let Agent McIntyre bunk on your couch. You pick.”

No one had spent the night since Mom came back for Gran’s funeral two years ago. Mom had moved to Florida with Lenny, and since Gran’s death Krista had been in the family house alone.

And tonight they were asking her to share it with a stranger.

“I won’t let a strange man stay in my house,” she said.

“I’m a federal agent and I’m here to protect you. What’s the problem?”

“It doesn’t look right,” she said.

Agent McIntyre glanced at the chief.

“Small town, people talk,” the chief explained. He glanced at Krista. “We’ll tell them Agent McIntyre is my nephew from upstate New York.”

“I don’t like lying,” Krista said.

“Undercover work isn’t the same as lying,” Luke said. “It’ll help me figure out who’s behind all this.”

“I understand, but—”

“How about I stay in the loft above your garage? I noticed a room up there.”

“Great idea,” Chief Cunningham offered. “It’s well insulated and heated since the previous owner ran his mechanics business out of the garage.”

“It’s pretty gross up there,” Krista said, feeling bad that she couldn’t offer better accommodations.

“I’m sure I’ve slept in worse.”

She wondered what could be worse than a cold, damp garage.

“It’s a good compromise,” the chief offered. “He can keep an eye on the house from the garage.”

True, he could see her bedroom window from the garage. A thought that was both comforting and unsettling.

“It’s either your garage or my car,” Luke said. “And I don’t want your neighbors to think I’m stalking you from the street.”

“Okay, fine. There’s a cot up there, although we haven’t used it in years.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping much anyway.”

Of course not. He’d be watching the house. Watching her.

“I’ll have patrol swing by every hour.” The chief shook Agent McIntyre’s hand. “You’ll check in tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good night, Krista.”

“Good night. Thanks, chief.”

The chief walked out to his cruiser and Luke hesitated at the back door.

“You should have better security. Anyone could pop one of these windows and—”

“This is not New York City,” she argued.

“You’re right about that.” He turned to her, scribbling something in his notebook.

Probably that she was a smarty-pants, disagreeable, cat-obsessed, crazy woman.

“You ever consider getting a dog?” he said.

“Not really, why?”

“They make great alarm systems.”

“You’re a dog person?”

“That surprises you?” He looked at her.

It did actually. Dog people were loving and kind. This man seemed guarded and cynical.

“Kind of, I mean, Anastasia adores you and she usually hates dog people.”

“Told you that, did she?”

Was he joking with her? No, she was just exhausted and imagining it.

He glanced out the window and back at Krista. “Good night, then.”

“Wait, I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.” She went upstairs to the hall closet and pulled out pink linens. She guessed not his usual color, but pale pinks and purples were her favorite and she’d decorated the house accordingly.

She wasn’t used to having company and wondered what else he needed.

He’s not company. He’s a cop after a criminal.

What did the man look like? What color was his hair? His eyes? What did he say?

Childhood memories assaulted her. She’d tried to describe the man who came looking for her dad, but she was too upset that Daddy wasn’t coming home. Ever.

She hugged the linens and made for the stairs. She thought she’d put it behind her, buried the memories and the fear so deep that they wouldn’t rise to scare the wits out of her.

But danger was back, in the form of the DEA agent bunking in her garage.

How on earth did she get embroiled in this mystery? She refused to believe someone on the mission trip had a connection to a drug organization. She just wouldn’t accept it.

“Here,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Agent McIntyre was eyeing photos lined up on the window ledge.

“Your mom and…?” he asked.

“Grandmother. We moved here when—” She stopped short. She couldn’t even talk about it. “We moved here when I was five.”

He turned and eyed her with speculation. She shoved the linens at him. “This should keep you warm. Sorry about the color.”

He took the blankets and pillow. “Hopefully I won’t break out in hives.”

He was teasing again? She wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure of anything right now.

“Yes, well.” She opened the back door. “I’m up and out by eight to prep the tea shop for customers.”

He stepped onto the back porch and turned to her. “I’m right outside if you need me.”

He shot her a half smile, his blue eyes sparkling with color. Oh, heavens, she was tired all right.

“Thanks, good night,” she said.

“Lock up behind me.”

She shut the door and clicked the lock. He nodded his approval through the window and headed out to the garage.

He’s just doing his job, Krista.

Sure, intellectually she knew that, but emotionally? Emotionally she heard Gran’s and Mom’s worried voices, felt the iron hand of control clamp down on her shoulders. They’d meant it out of love, but sometimes she just couldn’t breathe.

Where are you going, Krista? What did you do today? Who did you talk to?

It wasn’t until she was in her late teens did they explain that the protective habit was born out of love. They loved her so much they didn’t want to see her hurt by a stranger. They’d developed the habit because years ago they’d feared for her safety after her father was killed.

Agent McIntyre wasn’t motivated by love, but rather by duty. He’d stay over Krista’s garage and unravel this threat before anyone got hurt. She sensed he was a warrior type, a controlling force.

Krista turned off the kitchen light and headed upstairs. She didn’t want a controlling force in her life. She’d fought long and hard for her independence. She’d practically begged Mom to relocate to Florida with Lenny. Krista didn’t want Mom missing out on wonderful years of retirement with her new husband because she had some irrational fear about Krista being hurt.

The past was the past, long gone, buried with the news that Dad’s killer had died in prison.

It had been years since the nightmare resurfaced to haunt Krista. Yet tonight, thanks to a stranger breaking into her house and the DEA agent sleeping in her garage, the violence was back in her life.

Along with the memories.