Kitabı oku: «Protecting Her Own», sayfa 3

THREE

The next morning, Cara paced in front of the Clear Branch Hotel on Main, waiting for Connor to pick her up. She glanced at her watch. 7:55. She’d come down early because she hadn’t slept. Her body had protested every position she’d lain in. Finally she decided staying in the room one more minute would cause her to run down the hall stark raving mad.

Another sleepless night. Images of a killer stalking her father flitted in and out of her mind the whole time she lay in bed and stared at the light from the hotel’s sign dancing across the ceiling as it swung in the breeze. Although her relationship with her father had been rocky, she didn’t want anything to happen to him. She still hoped to feel accepted by him one day. No matter how much she tried not to care, she did.

Her car had checked out. No more bombs had been planted there. Although she didn’t think she was the target, as a onetime investigative reporter she knew that she couldn’t totally dismiss the idea that she was the one the bomb was meant for. What if something she’d done had brought danger to her father? She had enough self-inflicted guilt, no need to add more on top of it.

Her instinct, which had served her well in the past, told her that her father was the target. In his line of work, he’d made some powerful enemies. But knowing all that didn’t mean she would let down her guard, especially since she felt this wouldn’t be the only attempt if they didn’t discover who was behind the bombing.

What was she going to do when the doctor released her dad from Sunny Meadows? After escorting her to her hotel room the night before, Connor had left her with that question and an invitation for both of them to stay with him and his grandfather. The picture of all of them in the same house—yes, a large Victorian, but not big enough for her and Connor—plagued her the whole time she got ready for bed. She would be near him all the time. That realization she couldn’t squash long enough to rest her exhausted body and mind.

But what choice did she have? If her dad hadn’t had a stroke that affected his ability to talk, he would never agree to coming to Dallas and staying with her. His house wouldn’t be ready for weeks. And it would be hard to protect her father and try to solve who wanted him dead.

Okay, maybe she should consider staying at Mike’s house when her father was released. Somehow she had to ignore how seeing Connor again played havoc with the fragile threads of her life. She was so close to all those threads snapping. From what the sheriff told her last night, he couldn’t spare a twenty-four-hour guard detail for long and Connor was very good at his job. Sean was relieved Connor was helping him with the case.

The sight of Connor’s black Jeep Cherokee, covered in dust and mud, coming around the corner halted her pacing. She moved to the curb and climbed into his vehicle when he came to a stop.

She hadn’t even closed the door when he said, “What were you thinking? Standing outside like that?”

She slanted a look toward him. “What did you think? The killer would do a drive-by and shoot me?”

“First, you were advertising where you’re staying by being out front. I know there aren’t many hotels around here, but a little doubt wouldn’t hurt for as long as you could manage. And second, we don’t know what the assailant’s going to do next. Yes, he could drive by and shoot you. Who knows? Why take the chance?”

“Good morning to you, too.” She buckled her seat belt. “I’ll try to remember that, but you forgot one important thing. I’m probably not the target. Yes, there’s a slim chance, and we need to find that out, but more likely my father is. I gave it a lot of thought last night, and I believe that even more now.”

He snorted and pulled away from the curb. “And Sean agrees. That’s why there’s a deputy at Sunny Meadows guarding his room.”

“What made you so grumpy this morning?” Cara noted the clean interior, in stark contrast to the exterior of the Jeep.

“No sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“I don’t like you staying at that hotel.”

“Because you can’t control the situation?”

“Yeah.” The tension emanating off him decreased, and his hands loosened their tight grip on the steering wheel. “I kept expecting to get a call in the middle of the night telling me you were dead. It’s that small chance it could be you I can’t shake.”

For a moment Connor sounded as if he cared what happened to her. The way she’d run out on him would challenge anyone’s forgiveness. She’d been a chicken, so out of character, all those years ago when she’d left Clear Branch without seeing him again or telling him goodbye. She now realized why. If she had, she’d been afraid he would convince her to stay and give them a chance. She couldn’t risk that because she would have regretted it. Maybe not right away but later. She’d needed to do what she’d done, in spite of what happened in Nzadi.

“I’m sorry, Connor.”

His heavy sigh dissipated the silence. “Until we know who sent the bomb, it’s best to think you and your dad are both in equal danger. I know you’ve been in dangerous situations and obviously made it through unscathed. Use those same skills and think before you do something here. Just in case.”

Unscathed? Hardly. She was a wounded individual even if those wounds weren’t visible. The hurt deep inside wouldn’t leave her. She didn’t even know how to begin healing. Had she done the right thing? Yes, she had saved her client, but others had been put in danger and one woman had died. It was as though the incident in Nzadi forced all her past horrific experiences to come crashing down on her and make her question the skills and instincts she’d honed from years of experience. Now she felt buried by them.

In the middle of all that, an image of her mother lying on her bed, lifeless, after taking sleeping pills on top of drinking several glasses of wine, ruined her composure. No, she couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else. With determination she shoved that picture back into the dark recesses of her mind.

“I wasn’t saying sorry about this morning,” Cara finally said into the quiet. “I was talking about thirteen years ago. I shouldn’t have left without saying a word to you. I was—wrong.”

A tic in his jaw twitched. His grasp tightened around the steering wheel as the silence lengthened. “I’ve accepted we aren’t meant for each other.”

“We were young and there were so many possibilities in front of us. I never wanted to look back and have regrets.”

He pulled into the driveway of her father’s home. “And you don’t have any regrets?”

“Did I say I was naive, too?” She looked away, pretending a great interest in the handle as she thrust the door open. “Yes, I have regrets. I can’t imagine going through life and not having them.”

Thankfully he didn’t ask her what regrets, or she was afraid she would break down in front of him and actually tell him. Because one of the biggest regrets was not having someone to share her life with. She felt so utterly alone. Living out of a suitcase and moving from assignment to assignment around the world wasn’t conducive to having a long-term relationship. And she would never do what her father had done. Marry then leave a spouse home continuously as he covered breaking news in the United States, as well as other countries.

But even more so, she didn’t think she was capable of committing to a lasting relationship because of what she’d witnessed in her parents’ marriage. Her father had often been gone, and she was the one who dealt with her mother’s loneliness and sorrow that he wasn’t there. Her mom’s grief had led to her suicide. Why couldn’t Cara have been enough of a reason for her mother to want to live? Coming back had been such a mistake, she thought, staring at her childhood home.

Connor came around the front. “Are you ready for this?”

She nodded. Her throat closed at the sight of the destruction visible on the lawn, not really remembering it from yesterday. She’d walked through bombed buildings before and thought she knew what to expect until she entered her home and saw what the bomb had done. In this very foyer where she’d played as a young child with her dolls, there was little left she could recognize. In the dining room the table she’d placed the packages on was gone, blown to bits, some impaled as tiny stakes in the walls that remained. She glanced toward the boarded-up window, with slits of light leaking through to illuminate the room. The stench of dust and black powder clung to the house, refusing to release their hold.

Among the debris that was strewn about the floor so heavily that she couldn’t tell if there was tile, hardwood or carpet beneath it, she picked out a few pieces of what would have been birthday presents. What if the bomb hadn’t been the package that had been delivered right before the explosion?

“I’ve always assumed that the package that blew up was the one that had just arrived, Connor. What if it had been one of the other ones or something else? For all I know someone could have come in and put another gift among the pile. I didn’t keep count. We know it was a pipe bomb from the fragments found, but everything has been destroyed, so how do we know exactly which package carried the bomb?”

Connor swung around and faced her. “Which again stresses that we don’t know who the intended target was. We should know more about the bomb when the forensic report comes back. We do know the point of origin is the dining room table. ATF is good at their job.”

She shook her head. “After this, I need to go see Dad at the rehabilitation center. He can’t talk much and his hand isn’t steady enough to write legibly, but maybe he can answer some simple questions.” She wished she’d kept better tabs on her father’s activities. She wasn’t even sure she would ask the right questions.

“Do you remember what the deliveryman looked like? What company he was from? We still need to check into that. It’s a possibility the last gift contained the bomb. It’s our best lead at the moment.”

She replayed the scene where she opened the door and took the present, then signed for it. “He had on a white shirt, but honestly I can’t remember anything else. I was on my cell with my employer, and my concentration was on what she was saying.” She closed her eyes and again tried to bring up an image of the man. “He was wearing a blue ball cap and blue shorts. Blond hair. He had on sunglasses and I couldn’t see his eyes. That’s all.” She released a deep breath. “That doesn’t say much for my observational skills. Usually they are much better than that. Do you think he’s the guy?” Her shoulders slumped, the weight of what they were discussing—her father’s life—crushing her. “This feels personal.”

“We need to track down the deliveryman. I’ll have Sean ask the neighbors specifically about seeing a vehicle at your house about that time, or a deliveryman. We’ll explore every possibility.”

“When I opened the last package, the present was wrapped in black paper. I thought someone used black paper as a joke because it was Dad’s sixtieth birthday.”

“What was on the outside of that box?”

“The return address was Global Magazine, so if that was where the bomb was, Dad has to be the target.”

“Anyone can put any kind of return address on a package. I doubt a person would announce where they work after sending a bomb.”

The tension in her shoulders intensified. “I know.”

“Let’s get what you came for, then visit your dad at Sunny Meadows.”

“First, I’d like to check his home office. I haven’t been in there since I came home.” The memories of the room left a bad taste in her mouth. That was where her father would let her know how disappointed he was with her. In high school she’d been valedictorian, but he’d never said a word about it and certainly hadn’t congratulated her. In fact, during her graduation, he’d been in Russia.

“Sean took your father’s computer and files down to the station. There may be something in them that points to who might want him dead. Later you can help us go through them. Maybe we can even get your father’s input.”

“Dad encrypts his computer files. I might know a few of his passwords. His communication is limited, but I want him involved. He can at least answer yes and no questions.”

“Good. That’s a start.”

“Dad has a safe. There might be hard copies of notes and files in there. I know the combination.” That was one of the few things her father had ever shared with her. “That is, if he hasn’t changed the code.”

Connor swept his arm across his body. “After you.”

As she picked her way toward the back of the house, a sense of loss inundated her. There was more damage than she’d thought. It would take weeks to restore the house to the way it was. Inside the office she stood by the entrance, remembering the last time she’d been in here. The day she’d left Clear Branch after she and her father had fought. Actually, more like had a screaming match. He’d rarely raised his voice to her. Usually he had always been cold, unemotional. That day he’d informed her yet again how disappointing she’d been to him, that she wasn’t reaching her full potential.

The accusation resounded in her mind from thirteen years ago. “How can you throw your life away staying here and marrying a local? You were meant for more than that.” Disillusionment had dripped off each of his words.

She’d stormed away from the house, from Clear Branch, to finish her senior year at college. She’d never told her father she’d already made the decision not to marry Connor, but not because she was meant for more or because he was a local. She hadn’t been ready to settle down into marriage. At that time, she’d needed to fulfill her dream to see the world, as if that would finally be the connection between her and her dad. As if she would finally understand why her father was always gone and had little time for his family. As a child, she’d imagined traveling all over the world like her father, seeing the same places. What was it about the rest of the world that kept her father away? What was better than home and family?

“Cara?”

Connor’s deep husky voice intruded into her thoughts. She blinked and focused on him and the concern in his expression.

“Are you all right?”

She tried to shrug away the emotions drenching her. She couldn’t. Anger and even sadness at her father hugged her in a suffocating embrace. “I’m fine.” She marched over to the safe covered by a portrait of her mother, a long-suffering woman who had died heartbroken during Cara’s first year of college. “I don’t understand why he kept this in here. He didn’t love her.” She swung the picture aside to reveal the safe and punched in the combination on the keypad. When she opened the safe, its empty contents surprised her. “Dad used to keep important documents in here. I guess he could have changed his habits, but this doesn’t bode well.”

“So someone could have come in here and broken into the safe? If that’s so, we’re talking about a person with a certain amount of skill or a top-notch accomplice because it doesn’t look like it’s been touched.”

She turned at the same time Connor stepped closer. She collided into him. He steadied her, his hands on her arms branding her. His gaze captured hers and held it for a long moment; the thundering of her heart drowned out all common sense.

Why else would she wonder if he still kissed as good as he did when they were dating?

She pulled away from his grasp and hurried toward the exit. “Let me get my clothes and then we can leave.”

“I’m going to check this room some more. It’s beginning to look like someone may have been in here, which means the files we have might not be all of them.”

A minute later Cara collapsed on the bed in her old childhood bedroom. She was too vulnerable. She should flee back to Dallas and let Connor and Sean figure everything out. But what if it wasn’t really about her father? Besides, she’d never run from a fight since that day she left Clear Branch. She wasn’t going to start now.

And even more importantly, if someone was after her father, she should be the one to protect him. She’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t take this assignment.

She flipped open her cell and called her boss. When Kyra came on the line, she told her what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. “I may be here longer than I thought. Will you let Mr. Richards know I’ll contact him when my father is safe?” She couldn’t deal with the guy from the State Department right now.

“Yes. Is there anything else I can do? Send someone to protect you and your father?”

“No, I have everything under control. We’ll be all right.” At least she hoped what she said was true. “But I appreciate the offer. There is something you can do for me. Although my father is most likely the target, I want to rule myself out totally. I’ve thought of three men who went to prison because of my testimony and actions. I’d like to know where they are. David Adams, Tom Phillips and Nelson Dickerson.”

“I imagine both Adams and Dickerson are still in prison, but I’ll check to make sure and give you a call. I think Phillips was released for good behavior. Again, I’ll double-check.”

“Thanks. If he’s out, find out where he’s been lately, if he’s traveled to Washington, D.C., or Virginia.”

“I’ll do more than that. If he’s around here, I’ll pay him a visit.”

That was what she was grateful for about her employer. Kyra went the extra mile for her employees. After promising Kyra she would keep her informed of what was going on, Cara pocketed her cell, grabbed her gun and holster and quickly threw her clothes into her one piece of luggage. She was coming out of her room when she met Connor in the hallway.

“I was getting worried about what was taking you so long.” He took the suitcase from her.

“I called my boss and brought her up to speed.”

“Okay.” Connor weaved his way through the mess to the front entrance, a temporary makeshift door with a padded lock. “While we’re driving, you can tell me about who you think might come after you. Did you make that list last night?”

Stepping out onto the porch, Cara waited until Connor secured the door before pulling out a sheet of hotel stationary and handing it to him. “I thought of three people. I’m having Kyra check to see if they are still in prison. If not, she’ll find out where they are.”

He tossed her suitcase onto the backseat, then opened the front passenger door for her before rounding the front of his Jeep and climbing inside. She was so used to doing everything for herself that the polite gesture took her by surprise. In the past he’d always made her feel like a lady. That part of him hadn’t changed.

When Cara settled into the vehicle, she angled toward him. “Kyra says she heard Tom Phillips is out of prison, but she doesn’t think the others are. She’ll let me know for sure.”

“Good. I’ll do my own checking into these men.” Connor backed out of the driveway and headed toward the edge of town where the rehabilitation center was, halfway between Clear Branch and Silver Creek.

“Out of those three, if I had to say who would come after me, I would say David Adams. He wasn’t too happy with me after the conviction came down, but he was sent away for twenty years and even with good behavior he won’t get out anytime soon.”

“He could have paid someone to come after you.” At a stop sign, Connor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I agree and could see that, but he didn’t have any money left after paying for the lawyer. However, there are other ways to pay for a hit, and the look he gave me certainly said he would do what he could to make sure I wasn’t around for long.”

As he crossed the intersection, he gave her an assessing look. “You used to not be so cynical. What happened?”

“Life happened. I was young when I knew you before. I didn’t know all about the evil there was in the big, wide world.”

“Your father’s articles and stories weren’t a clue?”

“Reading about it is one thing. Living it is entirely different. People have constantly disappointed me in my line of work. How can you not say that, too? You’re in law enforcement and you’ve most likely seen more horrific things than I have.”

He stopped at a red light and slid his gaze to hers. “I have. There are times I haven’t been sure I can continue. That’s when I turn to the Lord for guidance and solace.”

“How can He sit by and let evil exist?”

“The evil exists because people chose for it to. We have free will. We can give in to temptation or fight it.” When the light turned green, he pressed on the accelerator. “I gather you have stopped going to church.”

“It got harder and harder with traveling, and then the things I saw just overwhelmed me. I couldn’t see praying to a God who let those things happen.” She’d become tougher, but over the years her experiences had chipped away at that hard armor that held her emotions in check.

Connor pulled into a space in the parking lot next to the rehabilitation center wing of Sunny Meadows, turned the engine off, then shifted toward her. His gaze seized hers. “The Lord offers hope that there is a better way, but a person has to want to believe in that hope. He never guaranteed us an easy life, but He did guarantee us He would be with us always, loving us no matter what.”

Is that what I need? She didn’t know. Confusion had ruled in her ever since her time in Nzadi, Africa. She certainly didn’t have much hope.

He took her hand on the seat between them and clasped it between both of his. “If you need someone to listen, I’m here. After my first year as a police officer in Richmond, I’d walked away from the Lord. I felt exactly like you. But a fellow officer listened to me and helped me see the destructive path I was starting down.”

The feel of his hands cocooning hers brought back all the happy times they’d had in the past. For a moment she wished she could go back to that time. But that wasn’t reality. She tugged away and threw open the door.

He made her think that all she had to do was believe in the Lord and everything would be all right. Life wasn’t like that. She strode toward the building. Or was it? That question niggled her mind as she entered Sunny Meadows and found her father’s room with a young deputy outside the door. The sight of the officer brought relief to her, but she still wanted to find a safe place and bring her father there so she could protect him. Was that Connor’s grandfather’s house?

When Cara entered her father’s room, he sat in an electric wheelchair, looking out the window. His arms lay listlessly in his lap with his shoulders hunched. The edges of his mouth turned down as though a permanent scowl etched his features. A curl of his jet-black hair contrasted with the pasty white of his face. He’d always loved the outdoors and to see him confined like this was painful. Maybe she could cheer him up. The last time she’d been here two days ago he’d been very agitated and upset as though seeing her brought to the foreground all the things he couldn’t do anymore.

“Happy birthday, Dad. How are you today?” she asked in a forced tone of cheerfulness.

He glanced toward her, his gaze straying behind her. His eyes narrowed on Connor coming into the room. She didn’t need to turn around to know that was who stepped through the doorway. A ping of awareness jolted her.

Her father faced forward, not looking at her, not looking out the window anymore, either. She drew in a fortifying breath and approached him. As she knelt in front of him to capture his attention, she winced at the pain caused by the action. Her sore hip plagued her but she couldn’t give into it. She had too much to do.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday, but there was a lot to take care of after the bomb went off.” He didn’t need to know that she’d been hurt in the blast. When Sean had talked to him last night to explain about the deputy, he had assured her father that she was all right. She pasted a smile on as though her body didn’t ache.

Agitation deepened the grooves on her dad’s face. He tried to speak, but the words came out unintelligible. He curled his good hand into a fist.

“I understand that you’re going to write your memoir. Have you started it?” Cara tried again to get some kind of response from her dad other than anger.

Her father shook his head slightly.

“I’m going to talk to the doctor about when he’s going to release you. When he does, Mike Fitzgerald has offered to let us stay at his place until the house is restored. We’ll celebrate your sixtieth birthday proper then.” She decided not to say anything about the safe being empty until later. He didn’t need more bad news after the shock of the bombing. He wasn’t the tough man she’d become accustomed to over the years. Instead he was frail. Confused. Not in control.

A sound out in the corridor drew her and her father’s attention. Connor stepped out of the entrance and pivoted toward the noise. A nurse’s aide emerged with a large male orderly from the room across the hall. The young woman pushed a cart full of what appeared to be someone’s personal belongings.

Her father groaned and tried to say something, but it came out in a garbled spew. He lifted his left arm, the one not affected as much by the stroke, and plopped it down onto Cara’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed at the look of panic in his eyes. Her father never used to panic. He’d always handled things calmly. The stroke had changed a lot for him. Made him feel vulnerable. And now the bombing had only reinforced that feeling.

Her dad managed to point toward the door with his left hand, but again she couldn’t understand the words coming from his mouth. After a couple of attempts, he clamped his lips together, anger shooting from his eyes.

Strangely, Cara didn’t feel the anger was directed at her. “Are you upset that the man across the hall died a couple of days ago?”

He blinked once for yes.

“Did you know him? Were you two friends?”

He shook his head, again only slightly. Frustration marked his expression.

Cara covered his hand in his lap. “I know this isn’t easy for you. You’re used to doing what you want when you want. I’m going to get you out of here as soon as Doc says I can.” Seeing her dad so disturbed by the death of a stranger disconcerted her. His reaction reminded her of his behavior right after her mother had died. Which didn’t really make any sense. He hadn’t known the man across the hall. According to the nurses, her dad rarely left his room, preferring to be alone.

Her father tried to talk again. She still couldn’t understand him. It was as if he conversed in a foreign language.

“Dad, do you want me to get some paper and pencil and see if you can write better today?”

He gave her a yes.

She retrieved the pad from the nightstand, her gaze catching Connor’s. Concern for her dad cloaked Connor’s features, and yet her father had done nothing to deserve that. In fact, he had loudly disapproved of Connor when she was dating him. A warmth around her heart spread outward for Connor. She shouldn’t let it grow and take over because they were worlds apart now.

As she gave her father the paper and pencil, even helping to place the writing instrument correctly in his hand, the orderly came back wheeling a gray-haired woman slumped in her chair, her chin nearly touching her chest. They went into the room across the hall.

“It looks like you’ll have a new neighbor,” she said, hoping to lift her father’s spirits.

He gripped the pencil and painstakingly tried to write something. But since he was right-handed, the scrawl ended up in a jumbled mess. The only letters legible were ger at the end of what he wrote. In frustration, her father knocked the pencil to the floor.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my room. The hotel is full of people and there are security cameras all over the place. I don’t think anything is going to happen to me. Did you see the crowd in the lobby?” Cara stopped at her hotel room door.

“Don’t play naive with me. You know good and well anything can happen in a crowd, including murder.”

After the long, tiring day at the rehabilitation center then at the sheriff’s and a contractor’s, she hadn’t wanted to argue with Connor. She wasn’t even sure she could string a series of coherent sentences together to form an intelligent conversation. All through dinner at a diner, she’d hardly said anything. But then, neither had Connor.

“I know today wasn’t easy for you. The C. J. Madison I knew wasn’t like that man at Sunny Meadows. I figure he wasn’t too happy for me to witness his lack of ability to communicate.”

Not even an impromptu birthday celebration at the center with cake had brought a smile to her father’s face. Birthdays had always been a big deal to him. “I think that may be the problem with me being there, too. He always seemed so powerful, in control, and to see him like this pains me. But I suspect it pains him more. Every time he has seen me he’s been agitated. When I first visited him in the hospital right after the stroke, he wasn’t very responsive and not really aware of too much. But now that he is, he’s so angry, which is understandable, but hard to deal with.” She expelled a long breath. “I understand from the speech therapist he won’t recover his speech quickly and may always have some trouble communicating his thoughts, since the stroke affected the left side of his brain.”

“Tell you what. I’ll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow before you go to see your father, and we can go over what we have so far. I’m hoping some of the results will come back from the lab soon.”