Love Inspired Suspense April 2015 #1 (32 page)

SIXTEEN

R
ick's blood pounded behind his ears. Allie's accusation left him so enraged, he was speechless. His eyes darted to Stephanie. What was she thinking? If he didn't have to worry about blowing Shelton's little soap opera charade, he would be in Allie's face and have it out with her right there on the sidewalk.
I broke your heart? Are you kidding me?

His hands shook as he swung open the glass door for the two women to walk into the crowded coffee shop ahead of him. Before he stepped inside, his eyes settled on the shiny new BMW across the street.
Married life appears to be treating her well.

He had been with Allie when she bought her old blue Honda Civic. It was right after she closed her first big real estate deal. He had never seen her prouder than she was using that commission as a down payment on the car. Apparently a five-year-old Honda was beneath her current social status.

A little bitter, aren't we?
Well, why not? Wasn't he due a little bitterness? “I can't do this anymore” were the last words she had spoken to him when he was lying in a hospital bed, followed by zero contact until today's phone call dropped on him out of nowhere. The size of the engagement ring that she had left sitting by his hospital bed had been laughably small compared to the gaudy diamond she was flaunting now.

When she had introduced herself to Stephanie as Allison Townsend, he almost corrected her. She had always been Allie Driscoll to him. Allie Driscoll was the girl in the eighth grade who stole his heart and gave him his first kiss. She was the girl he had thought he wanted to marry. This angular, pretentious woman named Allison Townsend was foreign to him. Her hug out on the sidewalk had felt bony and cold compared to the softness and warmth he had felt holding Stephanie.

Stephanie.
There was nothing cold about her. Her smile alone could raise the temperature in a room. It took all his willpower not to look over at her.
Shelton said to ignore her.
Even though he doubted that Hale could see into the coffee shop, Rick still needed to get into character, to play the part of the smitten ex-fiancé. He cleared his mind and let the hissing steam, the baristas' shouts of ready orders and the other patron's chipmunk-like chatter barrage his senses. He had been so tuned in to protecting Stephanie, it was difficult to give in to the noise and chaos and let it distract him.

But when Allie started rattling off her long-winded order for a one-pump, no whip, skinny, tall, vanilla, soy
thingamajig
drink, Rick couldn't help but meet Stephanie's gaze and roll his eyes. She giggled and put her hand over her mouth to stop it. Somehow he expected that Stephanie's order would be much less complicated.

He stepped close to Stephanie and said quietly in her ear, “That girl deserves a raise if she can remember all of that order.”

“For sure,” Stephanie agreed, her blue eyes dancing with delight.

Drinks in hand, the three of them searched but couldn't find a seat in the standing-room-only shop. Outside, one tiny bistro table with two chairs, not three, remained open. It was too small for the three of them to fit.

One table over from them, a North Face–clad customer sipped his drink as he read a tablet. There was nothing particularly noticeable about the guy—he looked like everyone else out today—but Rick recognized him. He had worked with the guy before.
Nowhere open for all three of us to sit together. Well played, Shelton.

“I, uh, should, um, let you two catch up.” Stephanie stammered.

Warning bells rang in Rick's head.
I don't like this, I don't like this.
Out loud he said, “Are you sure you don't mind?”

Stephanie's face paled. “Not at all.”

She pointed down the sidewalk to a clothing boutique. “I'm sure it's been a while since the two of you have talked, and I wanted to check out the store next door, anyway.”

Allie plopped down and scooted her chair up to the table. “That's sweet of you, Stephanie.” Then she dismissed Stephanie with a blatant head-to-toe perusal of her clothing and said, “Have fun shopping.” Rick gritted his teeth. Had Allie always been this snooty?

The empty chair across from Allie would leave his back turned to the direction Stephanie was about to walk. The seating situation would please Shelton, and would maybe tempt Hale out of hiding, but it was mutiny to Rick's training and instincts. As Stephanie moved past him, Rick reached out and stopped her. The bright sun made her eyes a brilliant sapphire, and the hurt feelings he could see in them tempted him to abandon the plan altogether. She had honest eyes that were easy to read. There was never any pretense in Stephanie. He had been such a jerk to her after Axle got hurt. He would need to make it up to her somehow.

“Be careful,” he said, and dropped her arm. He willed himself to keep his eyes on Allie instead of turning to watch Stephanie walk away. He had to trust his team to take care of her.

To Allie he said, “Tell me what this is all about.”

With his back turned, Rick couldn't see it, but he knew the moment Stephanie was out of earshot because Allie's calm and collected facade melted. She leaned forward and whispered, “Maybe you should tell
me
what's going on, Rick.”

“You called me.”

“I watch the news. I've seen the coverage of that killer on the loose and heard about that bomb going off at that hotel. I know you're involved. Don't deny it. You can't stay away from that kind of drama.”

His chuckle was stiff. “Yeah, that's me, always on the lookout for drama.” He drained his coffee cup with one long, exaggerated drink. “So you called to tell me you were worried about me?” He couldn't help the sarcasm.

“Of course I have been worried about you, Rick. Contrary to popular belief, I do not hate you.” She sat back in her chair. “But that's not why I called.”

Allie dug into her handbag and pulled out an envelope that looked similar to the one that had carried Stephanie's threatening photos from Hale. Rick poured the contents onto the table. Two items fell out: a black-and-white glossy photograph and a small square slip of paper with typed print on it. The photograph was of Rick and Axle walking into the hotel, the place that was supposed to be a “safe” house, on Sunday evening. A crude target had been drawn over top of his image with a red paint marker. The slip of paper had typed notes about Allie:

Allison Townsend (née Driscoll)

Owner of Puget Sound Realty Execs/SeaHome Property Management

Husband: Attorney, Timothy Townsend

Children: None

Along the bottom, Hale had written the phrase
unresolved heartbreak
in the same chicken-scratch handwriting he'd seen on Stephanie's envelope.

“He called our house, Rick.” Allie's year-round tan paled around her mouth as she whispered the words. “It's him, isn't it? It's that killer on the news.”

Rick inhaled and exhaled through his nose, trying to get professional control over his rage. “I'm sorry you were dragged into this, Al, I really am.”

“That's not the worst of it.” Tears pooled, threatening to run her mascara. “He said...” Allie choked down a sob. “He said that I had to tell you he would be willing to make a trade.”

“A trade? What kind of trade?”

She quit trying to hold back the flow of tears, and let them streak black down her cheeks. “He said to tell you he didn't mind trading me for Stephanie if you wanted her to live instead.” Allie's voice shook again as it had on the phone earlier. “He said to tell you he wasn't picky as long as he gets one of us.”

Rick tried to cover one of her hands to comfort her, but she swatted it away. “No. This is what I walked away from, Rick. I told you I wasn't cut out for this.” She paused, and then added in a quieter voice, “I'm not brave like you.”

“No one is going to die, Allie. Hale isn't getting either one of you. I won't let him.”

“Well, he's not getting me. I'm leaving town tonight.” She opened a compact and wiped away the mascara mess. She smoothed her hair. When she was composed she said, “Timothy has arranged a trip for us to Cancun.” Allie dropped her compact back into her bag and dug out a business card with “Timothy Townsend, Attorney-at-Law” embossed along the top. “Here's Tim's number. Call us when it is safe to come home.”

She stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. She squeezed her arms tight around her waist. “Rick, I know you think I'm selfish...”

“Wanting to be safe isn't selfish, Allie...”

“I never meant to hurt you like I did. But it is what it is.” Her brown eyes were full of regret. “And we both know you are better off without me. I only came here to warn you so you could keep her safe, but it looks like you are already doing that.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Stephanie and I aren't seeing each other...”

“Well, you should be. She seems like a nice girl. Treat her right, okay?”

He heard the
better than you treated me
part that she really meant. Rick stood and gave Allie a sideways squeeze on her shoulders. “I will. Thank you, Al.”

“I mean it. You deserve to be happy.”

He watched her leave. He could see her dark hair bouncing as she jogged back to her car. “Goodbye, Allie.” In his mind it was a forever goodbye.
We are done. Go on with your life. I'm free.

There had been a time when Allie's very presence in a room consumed him. He had loved her. She had broken him, but her power was gone. It was the one good thing in this bleak, stress-filled week, knowing that his heart belonged to himself again. Hale had been so wrong.
Heartbreak resolved.

Hale had meant to play with Rick's emotions, but instead he had given Rick the gift of closure and clarity. He could see Allie for who she really was now. Comparing her character to the caliber of a woman like Stephanie made him question for the first time whether or not his failure at love had less to do with his career and a lot more to do with the type of woman he had chosen.
Thank you, God, for unanswered prayers.

His cell phone rang, followed by the monotone voice announcement, “Call from...Gary Shelton.”

Rick answered it, spinning in circles as he searched for Stephanie. “Shelton, you had better have good news for me.”

* * *

Stephanie fingered the hem of a dress hanging on a sale rack outside the boutique. The silk fabric was smooth and the blue color would look good on her, but her mind was far from clothes. Her attention was locked on the cozy-looking couple sitting outside of the coffee shop down the street.
Stop stalking them, Stephanie.

Her face flushed as she remembered all of the unknown eyes of the cops who were watching her at that very moment. To Rick's coworkers, she must look like a lovesick puppy. She dropped the hem and turned her back on Rick and Allie.
Rick and Allie.
She imagined their picture in their high school yearbook with the “Cutest Couple”
caption underneath it.

She stepped around a seagull hopping on the sidewalk and walked uphill to the bookstore next door. She did not like this jealous monologue playing out in her mind. Shouldn't someone dedicated to serving God overseas as a missionary have her mind set on more noble things? She must have something to think about other than the cute boy and his former girlfriend on their little date. She needed to get a grip.

Scanning her surroundings for a possible threat was becoming second nature to her.
Which one of you is watching me?
It was so weird to know she was being monitored, but to still be unable to identify who was doing the watching. Whoever they were, they were good at making themselves invisible.

At first her eyes almost completely missed the man standing a block away on the other side of the street. Other than the bright red ball cap he wore, his drab clothing blended into the crowd. It was his stillness contrasted with the pedestrians streaming past him that finally caught her attention and caused her to squint into the distance to try to see his face.

Warm fear spread to her fingertips, making her feel weightless and outside her own body. He was here. Shelton's plan had worked. She couldn't see well enough to make a positive ID, but every cell in her body screamed that that was Julian Hale watching her.

Her heart hammered, demanding to be released from her chest. She averted her eyes and made herself walk forward.
Play it cool. Make him believe that you don't see him.

She picked up a book off one of the clearance tables on the sidewalk and pretended to be engrossed in the story of one man's trek across the Sahara on his motorcycle. The words melded into a blurry string as she tried to swallow her panic. She couldn't stand it any longer; she looked up. Where was he now? She couldn't find the red hat. He had moved, but where?

Stephanie slammed the book closed and held it to her chest, clutching it like a life preserver. She searched for Julian, but couldn't find him. She frantically scanned the crowds, moving farther away from the bookstore.

“Hey lady, you going to buy that book, or what?” yelled the store clerk.

“Oh, no, sorry,” she mumbled and tossed the book onto the nearest table. She had to locate Julian. Why had she looked down for so long? She should not have lost track of him.
Look natural. He'll bolt if he thinks you are onto him.

At that moment, a heavy hand lit on her shoulder from behind her. The touch caused an unhindered scream of terror to burst from Stephanie's mouth. She spun around, fist raised, but instead of Julian Hale, she found a flinching Rick ducking away from her before she swung at him.

He pulled her fists down and wrapped his arms around her. “It's me,” he crooned into her ear. “I'm sorry. It was stupid to sneak up on you like that.”

Stephanie squirmed to get out of his embrace. “Rick, he's across the street. I just saw him.” She frantically spun around and around in circles, searching everywhere for the red ball cap. It was gone. “He was there, I saw him!”