Читать книгу Small Town Protector - Hope White - Страница 11

Two

Garrett automatically slid his hand inside his jacket to reach for his gun. The room went suddenly quiet except for the sound of the baby fussing in the booth next to him. He couldn’t open fire, not with all these civilians in the room. The perp could easily use one as a shield.

“Money, yeah, don’t we all,” Lana joked. “I was about to have a plate of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes, but it’s always too much food. Wanna split it with me?”

The kid looked confused. “What?”

“Pancakes, you know, flour, milk, butter, lots of butter. Come on. Anna, put in an order of Boomer’s for me, ’kay?” Lana wandered to the front booth, away from other customers.

Smart girl. One of the men in the booth up front shifted—the navy SEAL. Not good. If he jumped to the rescue, he could spook the kid. The thought of the teenager pressing the blade to Lana’s throat made Garrett grip the Formica table. He had to get up there and diffuse the situation.

Lana sat down and smiled up at the teenager, actually smiled at a kid who was waving a knife in her face.

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving,” she said. “Haven’t eaten since scones at lunch. Mom makes the best cranberry nut scones. Spread a little clotted cream on them and you’re a fan for life. You’ve gotta try them sometime.”

As she rattled on, Scooner started to shift out of the booth. Lana glanced at him and shook her head, encouraging him not to come to her rescue. Scooner hesitated on the edge of his seat.

“Anna, how about some tea?” she called across the restaurant, then redirected her attention to the kid. “Or do you prefer soda? They make the best cream sodas, my personal kryptonite. I could drink them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And gain ten pounds in a week. Not good for someone who’s barely five-three.” She tapped on the table with her fingertips. “Come on, sit down.”

The kid took a step toward the table, clutching the knife. Garrett’s hand tingled with the need to draw his firearm.

“Don’t you like pancakes?” she asked with innocent eyes.

“I don’t have any money,” the kid croaked.

“No problem. I’ve got a little extra tonight. We had a really good week on my tour boat. I take people over to Salish Island. Do you live around here? I’m a lifer but I don’t remember meeting you. Sorry, I was probably your babysitter or something, right?” she joked.

“I’m not from here.” The kid closed the knife and shoved it in his pocket.

Scooner stood.

“Sit down,” Lana said.

The kid joined her in the booth, figuring she was talking to him.

“You, too, Scooner,” she ordered, not breaking eye contact with the teenager.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Well, besides having the best blueberry pancakes in the state of Washington, our state park has awesome trails if you like hiking, and sailing on Puget Sound is a blast. You ever been sailing?”

Was it just Garrett, or was she being incredibly trusting? Either that or he should hire her for his team.

The kid seemed to have calmed down, but Garrett couldn’t be sure he’d stay that way. As Garrett swung his leg out of the booth, the front door opened. Deputy Finnegan stepped into the restaurant and approached Lana’s table.

“Everything okay here?” he asked.

“Great. We’re about to have pancakes, right?” She eyed the teen.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. He took out the knife and placed it on the table.

Deputy Finnegan motioned Lana out of the booth. She took a few steps toward the counter, but she wasn’t far enough away for Garrett’s taste.

“Anything else in your pockets?” Finnegan asked the kid.

The teen pulled his pockets inside out. They were empty. Finnegan pocketed the knife.

“You’d better come with me.”

The kid stood, head hung low, and Finnegan cuffed him.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” Lana said.

The kid glanced at her through long bangs. “Michael.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael. I’ll bring pancakes by the police station.” She turned her attention to the deputy. “Is that okay, Scott?”

Garrett leaned back in his booth, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

“Sure,” Deputy Finnegan said, shaking his head.

“Cool. I’ll see you later, okay, Michael?”

Michael glanced over his shoulder, and that’s when Garrett saw the tears streaming down the kid’s face.

“You have something you want to say to Lana?” Finnegan asked.

“Thanks,” he choked.

“Something else?” the cop prompted.

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Lana said.

The deputy led Michael out of the restaurant.

Dead silence filled the restaurant. Lana glanced at the customers. “What?”

“What were you thinking?” Scooner challenged.

“I was thinking you were going to freak the kid out with your macho karate moves, and kick me in the head by mistake.” One of the other guys at the table chuckled.

“Lana, I can’t believe you did that.” Anna darted around the counter and gave her a hug.

The young couple packed up their baby and left cash on the table, the teenagers burst into a frenzied discussion about what just happened, and the man at the counter pulled a small flask from his jacket and poured something into his coffee. Garrett couldn’t blame him.

Nor could he take his eyes off Lana Burns. She went to her table and leaned back against the booth.

Why did she put herself at risk like that?

Anna suddenly blocked his line of vision. “Did you need cream and sugar?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he said, then caught himself. “I mean, no, thanks. I take it black.”

“It’s gonna be a few minutes for the pancakes because of the distraction, but it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Thanks.” A distraction? Is that what they called it?

Garrett got out of his booth and started for Lana’s table, but Scooner and his friends beat him to it. Garrett wished he’d gotten there first. Scooner shifted next to her in the booth.

“I’m fine, go on.” She shoved at Scooner’s shoulder. “Stop hovering.”

“I’ll escort you home.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t eaten my pancakes yet and you guys are done with your meal.”

“I’ve got this,” Garrett said, shifting into the booth across from her. “I need to ask Miss Burns a few more questions anyway.”

He held her gaze, trying to figure out if she was relieved or more irritated that yet another man was strong-arming his way into her protective services.

“And who are you?” one of Scooner’s friends asked.

“He’s the FBI agent I told you about,” Scooner explained to his friend. “Agent Drake, this is Anderson Greene and Bill Roarke.”

Garrett shook hands with the men.

Anderson wore wire-framed glasses and leaned on a cane, and Bill had jet-black hair, trimmed short, and a mustache and had a notebook tucked under his arm.

“If there’s anything we can do to help with the case…” Anderson offered.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“For the record, I made sure Lana was safe in her apartment and figured she’d stay there for the night,” Scooner said in apology.

Garrett glanced at Lana for an explanation.

“Mom called, worried sick about what happened so I had to go calm her down. Then I was too hyped up to sleep, so I took a walk and stopped in for some pancakes.”

“Gentlemen, thanks for your concern, but I’ve really got this,” Garrett said, hoping they’d take the hint.

Scooner didn’t move at first. The kind of guy you definitely wanted on your side.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Garrett said.

“Good luck keeping her there.” Scooner slipped out of the booth, and the men wandered out of the restaurant.

Garrett directed his attention to Lana, who looked oddly calm considering what just happened. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or…”

“Or…?”

“Your interaction with Michael could have gone a completely different way.”

“I suppose.” She glanced out the front window and fingered a silver cross dangling from her necklace. He noticed her hand tremble slightly, probably from the adrenaline rush.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She cracked a wry smile. “I’m fantastic.”

“Miss Burns, I study human behavior for a living. Try again.”

* * *

The handsome agent wasn’t letting Lana off that easy. Handsome? Really, Lana? After what happened to you, you’re crushing on the enigmatic agent with the intense brown eyes?

“Lana?” he prodded.

She stretched out her hands on the Formica table to ground herself. “For someone who found a dead body earlier tonight, and had to order pancakes while being threatened at knife-point, I’d say I’m doing pretty good.”

“What made you do it? Talk to him like that?” he said, his voice softer than before.

“I couldn’t risk him threatening someone else who’d pull a stupid move and get hurt. Like Scooner.” She shuddered. “He means well, but that could have been a disaster.”

“Let me get this straight. You put yourself in danger to protect a former navy SEAL, trained to do battle with the enemy?”

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound wacky.”

“And you assumed you could talk the teenager out of stabbing you because…?”

“You said I had good instincts,” she shot back.

With a frustrated shake of his head, he sipped his coffee.

Truth was, only now did she realize what could have happened. But Lana believed in the human spirit and the grace of God. She knew danger when she saw it, and Michael wasn’t dangerous. He was desperate.

“Michael didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she offered. “He was hungry.”

“And you knew this how?”

“I saw it in his eyes.” She shrugged. “He made a bad decision, but we all deserve a second chance.”

“You could have been seriously injured. Are you always this impulsive?”

“Impulsive, huh? I’ll have to add that to the list. It’s a long one depending on who you ask. If you asked my sister, she’d say I was disorganized, overly trusting and persuasive, bordering on manipulative, whereas the ex-boyfriend said I was controlling, too frugal and obstinate about the wrong things. At least in his opinion they were the wrong things.”

She was rambling. She knew it. With Michael she’d kept talking to distract him from doing something he’d regret but now, well, the full weight of what had just happened twisted her stomach into knots.

“But then, what do ex-boyfriends know, right?” she continued. “He also thought I should stop giving tours, sell my snack shop and get a real job, you know, like working at a call center or selling insurance. I could go back to school I guess, but I’ve only got a few thousand in savings and—”

“Breathe,” Agent Drake interrupted.

“What?”

“You’re going to pass out if you don’t take a breath. Am I making you nervous again? I could…” He motioned to get up.

“No.” She automatically reached out, but her hand came up short of his fingers, looped through his coffee mug handle.

Anna delivered Lana’s tea and glanced at the agent. “Oh, so you’re over here now?”

Agent Drake hesitated before answering.

“Yes, he’s joining me for dinner,” Lana said.

“You mean breakfast?” Anna smiled.

“That, too.”

“Pancakes should be out shortly.” Anna winked and breezed off.

Truth was, Lana hated eating alone and since her breakup with Vincent, she’d been doing a lot of that lately. Flying solo.

Flying solo? You could have had your wings clipped, girl.

But Lana had to help Michael. She recognized something in the teen’s eyes and it wasn’t the desire to hurt anyone. She’d seen it in Sketch’s eyes, her talented, seventeen-year-old computer assistant.

“I’m going with impressed,” the agent suddenly said.

She eyed him. “What?”

“I’m impressed by how you handled that teenager.”

“Wow, can I get a junior FBI badge or something?”

“Don’t push it.”

He looked surprised, like he hadn’t meant to utter the playful retort. She thought he might have even cracked a smile but couldn’t be sure. It would be a vast improvement on his permanent frown, his lips stretched into a thin, straight line.

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Promise me you’ll never do that again?”

“You mean…”

“Insinuate yourself into a dangerous situation like that.”

Lana dunked her tea bag in the hot water and sighed. He was asking the impossible. She couldn’t turn her back on someone who was in so much pain they were blinded to the beauty of life and the grace of God. She knew how precious life was, and how short it could be.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make that promise,” she said.

“May I ask why?”

“You may ask.”

“But you won’t tell me, will you?”

She shrugged.

“Ignoring a direct order. You’re definitely not getting that junior agent badge.”

She smiled to herself at his unexpected response. He wasn’t berating her for not answering; rather, he respected her space.

“Two orders of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes.” Anna slid a plate in front of Garrett, and a double order in front of Lana.

“Whoa, that’s a lotta pancakes,” Lana said.

“The hero of the evening gets a double order. On the house.”

“I knew risking my life would pay off.” She snapped her attention to Anna. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s okay.” She touched her shoulder. “You’ve had a stressful night.”

“Yeah, nothing like a plate of Boomer’s to make it all better. Can I get a to-go box? I’m bringing half of this to Michael.”

“That kid who—”

“Yep, that one.” Lana stuck her fork into the pancakes and cut the pile in a perfect half. “Thanks,” she said to her friend who hovered, probably dumbfounded that Lana was serious about bringing dinner to Michael.

“A to-go box. Check,” Anna said.

Agent Drake slid the tray of syrups in front of Lana. “Can I try for another favor?”

“Sure.” She squirted maple syrup on her half of the stack.

“Once I drop you off at home, can you promise not to go out again tonight?”

“Now that, I can do.”

* * *

When her alarm went off the next morning at six-thirty, Lana didn’t even bother hitting the snooze button. She lowered the volume on a Jonny Diaz song and let the soulful timbre of his voice lull her back to sleep. Just for a little while. She’d earned it. She knew once she started her day the phone would ring nonstop with questions about last night’s drama: a dead body, a teenager threatening a restaurant full of people…

A handsome FBI agent joining Lana for dinner, taking her by the police station to drop off pancakes, then escorting her home. She didn’t want to think about how that story was going to evolve by lunchtime.

There was no story, just a Federal agent doing his job. And last night he’d made it his job to get Lana home safely, to make sure she did not “encounter any more personal threats.” His words.

During their meal he’d asked if she’d meet with a sketch artist to create an image of the man who’d tried to force his way onto the tour boat last night. Lana was pretty sure the guy was a pushy businessman used to getting his way. She’d encountered a few of those since she’d started Delightful Tours.

But she’d rarely encountered men like Agent Drake, sophisticated and imposing in his crisp dark suit, with intimidating eyes that challenged her whenever he glanced in her direction. He did the whole “brooding male” thing exceptionally well. Probably came with the job description.

Yet last night, after Lana talked a teenager out of stabbing her, the agent offered Lana a compassionate shoulder. He’d even teased her a few times. An image of his slight smile drifted across her thoughts… .

She imagined sitting at the Turnstyle across the table from him, sharing a plate of pancakes, only this time he wore a knit shirt and jeans. His hair wasn’t perfectly combed, rather it was mussed in front, and he had a sparkle in his eye… .

Pounding made her jackknife in bed. Heart racing, she scanned her bedroom and realized she’d fallen into a deep sleep. She glanced at the clock. It read 7:14.

Persistent knocking echoed through her apartment. Someone was trying to wake her up.

She slipped on her robe, fastened it in front and hesitated at the front door. She checked the peephole and spotted Agent Drake hovering in her hallway. She stepped back. He knocked again. With a quick breath she opened the door.

“Good morning,” she said, surprised to see him at her place so early.

“It’s not too early, is it? I was able to get a sketch artist. He’ll be here in half an hour.” He cast a quick glance at her robe, then averted his eyes. “Sorry. Chief Wright said you’re always up by seven.”

“I usually am. Do you want to come in?”

“No, I’ll wait by the car. I have to make some calls.”

“Oh, okay. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Take your time.” He turned and went down the stairs.

“Hey, wait a second, isn’t that the same suit you had on last night?”

He turned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“You mean you were up all night?”

“I’ll be in the car.”

“I’ll bring coffee.”

“Great, thanks.”

She shut her door and rushed into the kitchen to put the coffee on. Talk about a man dedicated to his job. He hadn’t slept? He was up all night? Doing what? You couldn’t interview potential witnesses at three in the morning.

Whatever the reason, she felt safer knowing how determined he was to find whoever killed the man who’d washed up on Salish Island.

* * *

Lana showered and was dressed in fifteen minutes. She filled two travel mugs with coffee and pulled a couple of Mom’s cranberry-nut scones from the freezer and defrosted them in the microwave. She bagged them, grabbed her purse and coffees and headed out.

When she opened the apartment building door, she spotted the agent’s car across the street in the exact spot he’d parked it last night when he’d accompanied her upstairs.

Wait a sec, he couldn’t have stayed there all night, could he? Watching her? He was taking a swig from a blue, reusable water bottle when she crossed the street and handed him a coffee. “This will wake you up faster than water.”

“Thanks.” He opened the car door and put it in the cup holder.

“Don’t tell me you slept in your car last night.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He went around the front of the sedan and opened the door for her.

“If you weren’t a federal agent, I would be seriously creeped out.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a federal agent.” He shut her door.

He was worried about her, his potential witness. Garrett probably figured Lana was his best lead on this case. As she shifted the bag of scones onto the console between them, she reminded herself his interest in her was strictly professional.

He got into the car and she motioned toward the bag. “I brought scones for breakfast.”

“When did you have time to bake scones?”

She smiled. “I baked them in my sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“They’re my mom’s. She’s always trying to outbake her friend Caroline, who owns the Port Whisper Inn.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he pulled away from the curb. “Thanks, I’ll have mine when we get to the P.D.”

“You didn’t really sit outside my apartment all night, did you?”

“Not all night.”

No, Garrett stopped by his former mother-in-law’s place early this morning, hoping to get the awkward encounter over with. No one answered when he knocked, which seemed odd since she ran an inn out of her home. Maybe she didn’t have any guests.

More likely she saw him from an upstairs window and chose not to open her door. He couldn’t blame her. There was too much history there, too much pain.

“You okay?” Lana asked.

“Yep.”

He’d be better once she gave a description to the sketch artist and Garrett could get traction on this case.

“I may not study people for a living, but I’m going to make an educated guess that you’re really not okay,” she said.

“I’m tracking a serial killer.”

“No, it’s something else.”

How on earth was this woman able to read him so easily? Not good. Garrett prided himself on being able to keep the ugly corners of his mind private, hidden, even from his own team.

“I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “It’s not your fault.”

“You were sleeping in your car because of me.”

“Partly, and partly because I didn’t have time to get a room. So, how about loading up a scone on a napkin for me?” he said to divert her.

Truth was, he shouldn’t have slept outside her place, but something was nagging at him. And not just her captivating golden-green eyes.

She reached into the bag and grabbed a scone with a pale blue napkin. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed against her soft and delicate hand. He snapped up the scone and took a bite.

“You know where to turn?” she said.

He swallowed. “Yep.”

“Is it too dry?”

“What?” He turned onto Third Street.

“The scone?”

“It’s perfect.”

Like the woman sitting next to him. Whoa, he was suffering from a serious case of sleep deprivation. Regardless that she seemed pretty perfect—strong, confident and beautiful—Garrett wasn’t in the market, not now, nor in the foreseeable future. Not as long as he worked for the BAU.

She pulled out a scone for herself. As they drove through town, he realized they must look like a couple eating in companionable silence on their way to work. He placed his scone on the console and sipped his coffee.

“How long do you think the meeting with the sketch artist will take?” she asked.

“Depends on you, I guess. Why?”

“I’m supposed to take a tour group out to the island.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to cancel your tours for a few days. It’s still a crime scene.”

“Oh, right. I’d better notify my customers.” She pulled out her phone.

Was the killer scheduled to be on Lana’s tour boat today? No, now Garrett was completely drifting off course. Red Hollow was about kidnapping, demanding ransom and killing very specific victims: aggressive, domineering men. He didn’t randomly choose victims so there was no reason for Lana to be in personal danger.

Unless Red Hollow considered her a threat.

Garrett pulled into the police parking lot and spotted a familiar car. Georgia must have brought the sketch artist. Garrett hoped she left the rest of the team back in Tacoma to work the case. There was no reason to relocate to Port Whisper until they knew for sure they were dealing with Red Hollow.

As they approached the door, a teenage girl with flushed cheeks raced up to them. “Lana! He’s gone. I’ve been texting all night, and he hasn’t answered and—”

“Shhh, calm down, Ashley.” She motioned to Garrett. “This is Agent Drake.”

“Hi,” Ashley croaked, turning her attention back to Lana. “Sketch is missing and I’m afraid he did something stupid, like try to find out who killed that guy and—”

“Hold on, take a deep breath.” Lana placed her hands on Ashley’s shoulders and they both took a deep breath together, then another. “Okay, start from when you guys got home last night.”

“We went to Sketch’s house and my parents came over and talked with his gran about the dead guy. My dad said he heard that an FBI Agent named Drake was at the scene, and everyone started freaking out that the killer is local and his gran was really upset and Sketch said not to worry, that he’d protect her, and she, like, flipped out and ran upstairs. We left, but Sketch texted me later and said he was going to find the killer.”

“How was he going to do that?” Garrett asked.

“I don’t know. Go back to the scene? Check out security footage?”

“How could he get access to security footage?”

“He’s a computer genius,” Lana offered. “He can find anything, anywhere, online.”

“In other words, he’s a hacker,” Garrett said.

“He’s helped the local police with cases,” Lana argued. “You can ask Morgan.”

Great, what Garrett didn’t need was a complication in the form of a meddling teenager. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but Lana needs to meet with a sketch artist for the murder case. She’ll have to help you find your friend when she’s done.”

Lana squeezed the girl’s hands. “Did you call his grandmother?”

“No one’s answering.”

“She goes for her morning walk around this time. Try her in half an hour, okay?”

The girl nodded, but still looked shaken.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lana said. “He probably fell asleep at the pier and that’s why he isn’t returning your texts. He’s done that before, right?”

“I guess.”

“Would you feel better if we said a quick prayer?”

The teen nodded.

Lana held Ashley’s hands and closed her eyes. Garrett automatically took a step back, afraid he’d somehow ruin the divine moment.

“Dear Lord, please keep watch over our friend, Sketch,” Lana started. “He’s a brave young man who deeply loves his family and wants to protect them. Help him avert danger and find his way back home to us. Amen.”

Lana opened her eyes and shot Ashley a smile that warmed even Garrett’s numb heart. “Keep the faith, sweetie. He’ll be okay.”

Ashley nodded and seemed to have calmed down. Too bad Garrett couldn’t feel that kind of inner peace from a prayer. He escorted Lana into the police station and was greeted by Georgia and Chief Wright.

“Georgia, thanks for bringing the sketch artist,” Garrett said.

“I figured we had to move fast.” She eyed Lana. “Is this the witness?”

“Yes. Lana Burns, this is Agent Hunt,” Garrett introduced.

“Nice to meet you,” Lana said, then gave the chief a hug. “Hey, Morgan.”

Georgia leaned toward Garrett. “Friendly town.”

“He’s married to her sister.”

“Ah. People still do that, huh? Get married?” Georgia teased.

“That’s what I hear.”

But not Garrett, or Georgia, or anyone else in their line of work.

“Why don’t you two sit over here?” Chief Wright led Lana and the forensic artist to a quiet corner.

“What do you want to do while she’s working with him?” Georgia asked.

“Why don’t you interview other passengers from last night’s cruise? I’m going to stay with Lana.”

“Lana?” Georgia raised an eyebrow at his use of her first name.

“That’s her name,” he shot back.

Georgia’s expression faded. She was being coy, but Garrett wasn’t in the mood for anything but finding a killer and getting out of town.

“I texted you contact information for tourists this morning.”

“Yep, got it.”

“It’s nearly eight. Shouldn’t be too early to question them.”

“What about forensics?”

“They’ll call when they have something.”

“I’ll check in later, then.”

Garrett sensed she wanted to catch his eye, but he was focused on Lana. A part of him hoped she’d seen the killer; another part prayed she didn’t because it would make her a target.

Prayed? Really, Garrett? You have no right to pray.

Garrett spent the next hour checking leads through emails and phone calls. Everything led to dead ends.

“Wow, that’s really good,” Lana said from across the room.

The sketch artist flipped the pad around so Garrett could see it. “I’ll send this—”

The door swung open and a frantic woman rushed into the station. Not just any woman—Garrett’s former mother-in-law, Caroline Ross. She rushed up to the chief, so upset she didn’t even notice Garrett.

“Morgan, I can’t find Sketch. He didn’t come home last night and Ashley said he stopped texting around two, and she said he was going to—”

She spotted Garrett and froze. An eerie silence blanketed the room.

Garrett stood. “Hello, Caroline.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t talk to you right now.” She motioned the chief outside.

“What was that about?” the sketch artist asked.

“She’s upset because her grandson is missing,” Lana offered.

“Her…grandson?” Garrett’s heartbeat sped up. The room seemed to tip sideways.

“Yeah, Sketch is her grandson,” Lana said.

It was the same nightmare that haunted his dreams for more than ten years, even after the serial killer was dead.

Only, this nightmare was real: his son was missing. Taken? Brutalized?

“You mean…Steven?” Garrett said, gripping the back of an office chair.

“How did you know his name?” Lana asked.

“Because he’s my son.”