Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #1 (28 page)

He rubbed the dull throb at his temples. Forgoing a pain pill for his head this morning might've been a mistake. His doctor had warned him the concussion could get worse before it got better and had advised him to take off a couple more days, but with the investigation into the attacks on Sherri rapidly growing cold, that wasn't a prescription he was willing to stomach. He needed to convince Sherri to open up more. To trust him.

She was holding something back. He'd sensed it when he first interviewed her at the ambulance base. It had been obvious at the hospital. Not that he blamed her for clamming up about Luke. But he had an uneasy feeling that there'd been more to her silence than just grief.

Like something that could point him to who was really targeting her.

Somehow he needed to convince her to trust him with every suspicion, no matter how remote.

Last night Zeke reported he'd visited all the Rottweiler owners on the list—a mixed group ranging from geeky businessmen, who, according to Zeke, were probably hoping a Rottweiler would butch up their image, to brawny construction workers who could double as motorcycle gang members. Their wives, too, from their tattooed-to-the-hilt descriptions. Cole got the impression Zeke could've found a few things to arrest more than one of the owners for, but they'd all had a Rottweiler at home to alibi out of the attack on Sherri.

Which had left Sherri's dead partner's dog as the only suspect.

Cole winced, recalling her shattered look when he'd asked her if the dog had been Luke's. But
oh, man
,
that look had been easier to take than her cringe when her mother had eagerly greeted him with a matchmaker's glint in her eye.

He'd been pleasantly stunned by how pleased her mom had been to see him, but by the sour note of her father's, “You're Al's boy?” he clearly didn't share his wife's enthusiasm for an alliance between him and Sherri.

Not that Cole blamed him. What father would want his only daughter attached to the son of a guy who'd pretend to be an upstanding believer on Sunday mornings and cheat on his wife the rest of the week? Let alone to the brother of a druggie.

Shaking off the thought, he turned into their subdivision. It wasn't as if he was vying for a relationship anyway. Except, given how quickly her family had changed the subject, he clearly hadn't put on a stellar performance of appearing unaffected by their reactions. He guessed he'd missed having a whole family more than he'd realized.

At least Sherri had a family who'd look out for her now that they knew how serious the situation was.

Cole took the long way to their house to take another pass by Luke's father's place three blocks east of it. A quick internet search had caught Cole up on the particulars of Luke's tragic death. And after Zeke's investigation had turned up nil, Cole had paid the old man a visit. But the Rottweiler lying in the backyard had squashed his theory that the grieving father was taking out his anger on his son's surviving partner.

Slowing his truck as he passed the shabby house, Cole slanted a glance down the side yard toward what was visible of the backyard's fence.

The sway of honey-blonde hair caught his attention.

He slammed his truck into Reverse and glanced down the shadowy narrow strip between the house and a six-foot hedge.
Sherri?
What on earth was she doing here?

His heart dropped. She must've suspected Luke's father, too. And hadn't trusted him enough to confide in him.

Cole pulled to the curb as barking erupted from the backyard. He jumped from his truck and charged in the direction he'd last seen her, pounding out his irritation that she'd come here alone.

Suddenly registering that the barking was a high-pitched yap, not the deep bass of the Rottweiler that had occupied the yard the day before, Cole skidded to a stop. Had the old man duped him? Anticipated they'd check on licensed owners and rustled up an imposter?

The hedge swished, and he spotted Sherri at the corner of the five-foot chain-link fence, shrouded by overgrown boughs. She threw a piece of meat into the yard and the yappy white terrier finally shut up. But from the angle of Sherri's head tilt, she was only interested in the mammoth doghouse by the back door. The doghouse where Luke's Rottweiler—at least the canine Cole had assumed was Luke's—had been contentedly sleeping the evening before.

Cole stole up behind her, trying not to notice how beautiful she looked in her billowy white blouse. “What's so interesting?” he whispered in her ear. The delicate fragrance of her hair caught him off guard, almost as off guard as he'd caught her.

She yelped and spun around on her heel, palm to her chest. “Cole, what are you doing here?”

Head pounding from his dash up the side yard, he lost his cool. “If you suspected Luke's father of siccing his dog on you, why didn't you tell me?”

“What? No, I didn't!”

“No? Then why are you sneaking up to his backyard to spy on—?”

The back screen door slammed open, and her panicked gasp sliced off the last of his question.

“He can't see me here.” She bolted through the hedge and skirted along it on the neighbor's side.

“Sherri, wait,” he hissed.

Her former partner's sour-faced father stalked across the backyard with a pronounced limp, his cane in one hand. The notion that he'd housed a Rottweiler impersonator to fool investigators last night had been ludicrous. There was no way he'd have been able to outrun Eddie and him in the woods yesterday.

The man glared at him through the fence. “What are you doing on my property—” his gaze traveled down Cole's uniform and back to his face “—deputy?”

“Yes, I'm Deputy Cole Donovan. We spoke last night. Remember?”

“Of course I remember. I'm not addled. What are you doing skulking around my property?”

“I apologize. I heard the dog barking and—”

“What do you want?” His arthritic hand fisted on the top of his cane.

“I was wondering where your son's Rottweiler is this morning.” Cole paused, watching for a nervous twitch that might give away this man's involvement after all. Yesterday, he'd said the dog never went in the house. Yet, the doghouse was empty and the yappy terrier was the only canine in the yard. “Does someone walk him for you?”

Atkins flexed the fingers bunched over his cane. “What are you really asking?”

Cole stiffened at his defensiveness. “I'm asking where your dog is, sir.”

Atkins scrutinized his yard's perimeter and then jutted his chin toward a freshly dug trench in the back corner. “He dug his way out again.” His scowl darkened. “Check the cemetery. My son's grave is five rows from the back under the oak tree. That's where the dog goes when he gets out.”

Cole nodded, his empathy for the man's pain warring with his fear the man would do anything to make Sherri pay for it. “Thank you. Sorry to have bothered you.” Cole strode back alongside the stucco house toward the street and almost bowled Sherri over as she stepped around the hedge. She was clearly shaken from what she'd overheard.

“I'm so ashamed of myself for ever suspecting him. See, that's why I couldn't tell you. I've already hurt him enough.”

Cole gripped her shoulders and tilted his head until she finally met his gaze. “Luke's death wasn't your fault,” he said firmly. Except Atkins blamed her even though the man who'd squeezed the trigger—their patient's husband—was behind bars. Atkins had made that abundantly clear last night.

And Rottweiler accounted for or not, Atkins's attitude worried him.

Cole guided her toward his truck. “C'mon, I'll give you a ride back to your folks' place and fill you in on the investigation. You shouldn't be out walking alone these days.”

She rammed her fisted hands into her hips. “I'm not going to let this creep beat me by cowering inside day and night. There are lots of people about this time of day. I don't think—”

“A dog could run out of anywhere and attack you?” Cole bit out. At her flinch and panicked glances to neighboring yards, he immediately closed his eyes and murmured an apology. Scaring her was not the way to win her trust. “I'm sorry. I don't want to see you hurt again.”

Her expression softened as he opened the truck door for her. “I do appreciate your help.”

His heart twisted at the vulnerability in her eyes, seriously messing with the professional distance he needed to keep. He strode around the hood, focusing instead on how to use her vulnerability to help him help her. Maybe he needed to do more than update her on the investigation. Maybe he needed to let her accompany him, since she was clearly going to investigate anyway. She'd be safer with him than out on her own. He could even take that extra day or two off work the doctor had suggested and investigate with her on his own time. He started the truck and turned toward the cemetery.

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“Let's stop by the cemetery first and verify Atkins's story.”

She nodded, averting her gaze back to the road, her throat working a visibly nervous rhythm.

He gritted his teeth against the ache building in his chest. Until a few days ago he'd managed to banish Sherri—the girl who'd bandaged his bruised heart along with his hand—from his thoughts most of the time. Now he couldn't get Sherri—the amazing woman she'd grown into—out of his head.

Or the uncoplike urge to mete out his own justice on her stalker.

SEVEN

S
herri couldn't stop the sob that burbled up her throat at the sight of Luke's beloved dog lying on his grave. Terrified of becoming completely unglued in front of Cole, she stumbled out of the truck and blindly hurried toward the grave. The dog shifted sad eyes toward her without raising his head, and let out a soulful whimper. She dropped to her knees at his side and buried her face in the fur at the back of his neck. “I miss him, too, boy. I'm so sorry. So very, very sorry.”

The dog twisted his head and licked the tears streaming down her face. She forced a smile. “He loved you. He didn't want to leave you. You know that, don't you?” Lifting her gaze, she reached out and traced the letters of Luke's name etched in cold stone as the dog whimpered once more.

Cole coaxed her up from the damp ground and, unable to stop herself, she turned into his arms.

“He was a good man,” she blubbered into his shirt. “Always helping people.”

Cole rubbed her back. “Tell me about him.”

She palmed tears from her face. “I'm sorry. I don't usually cry.”

“There's nothing wrong with crying for someone you cared about.”

“I wouldn't be a paramedic anymore if it weren't for Luke.”

“How's that?”

She ducked her head, not really wanting to remember.

Cole recaptured her gaze, silently urging her.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she said, “We had a call to a little girl trapped in the back of a car. As firefighters worked to free her legs, I crawled in beside her under a blanket and sang songs to her and told her it was going to be all right. But she was in really rough shape, so when she asked about her mommy, I couldn't stop myself from telling her that her mommy was waiting for her, even though she'd died on impact.”

Sherri choked up, the sound of the firefighter's power tools echoing through her mind. “A few seconds later, the little girl shouted, ‘I see her. I see Mommy.' We were still under the blanket. She couldn't see anything and I felt horrible for giving her false hope.”

Cole murmured something, but all she could hear was the phantom whir of a power saw.

“The next moment the little girl was gone, too.”

Cole's arms tightened around her. “You made those final moments happy for her, instead of terrifying.”

“That's what Luke said when I told him the next day I was quitting. That I couldn't handle watching another child die. He told me I'd made a difference. That I had a gift, and God wouldn't want me to throw it away. No one had ever told me that before. He made me promise I wouldn't quit.”

“It sounds like he was a special man.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “His death was so senseless.”

Cole smoothed her hair. “I don't pretend to know God's reasons, but I do believe that somehow He can bring good out of the tragedy.”

She nodded, bumping her forehead against his chin. “I do believe that.” She swiped at the last of her blasted tears. “I do.” It was why she kept getting up every morning and not quitting. She had to believe that God had let her live for a reason. That he wanted her out there helping people.

Cole cradled her face in his palms and brushed the dampness from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “You okay?”

She squirmed at the empathy in his voice. “Yes, thank you.” And surprisingly, it was the truth. He'd witnessed her grieving the loss of a friend. That's all. Nothing worrisome about that. Nothing that would raise red flags about her fitness to return to work. Self-consciously she patted his damp shirt. Grief was natural. He'd said so himself.

He even sounded as if he might understand why she was so desperate to work every shift she could get. His thumb grazed her bottom lip and her gaze shifted to his lips, her heart galloping. Did he feel more than—?

“Sherri?” a high-pitched voice squealed. “Is this the young man your mother was telling me about?”

Cole's hands dropped to his sides, amusement dancing in his eyes. But he must've noticed her mortification, because he instantly sobered and turned to the elderly woman, hand extended. “Good morning, I'm Deputy Cole Donovan. I'm investigating the dog attack on Sherri.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Spiece shook his hand, her gaze bouncing from Luke's dog to Sherri's cheeks, which had to be flaming if the giddy smile that returned to Mrs. Spiece's lips was anything to go by. “Of course you are.”

Sherri cringed at her lilt. Mrs. Spiece was the sweetest woman, but she was also the biggest storyteller in town.

“Nice to meet you. I must run. Tootle-loo.” The woman waggled her fingers and headed back to her car, still carrying the flowers she'd arrived with.

“I'm sorry,” Sherri blurted. “I'm afraid your innocent consoling hug will take on a life of its own by lunchtime.”

He chuckled. “As long as they don't send a lynching party after me, no harm done.”

“Are you kidding me? My mom adores you. But—” she tugged her bottom lip uncertainly between her teeth “—your girlfriend might not if she catches wind of their tall tales.”

The grin that lit Cole's eyes said she hadn't fooled him by slipping in that little aside. He clearly knew she was fishing, and actually seemed flattered. “No girlfriend.” The slam of a car door yanked their attention to the driveway. “Uh-oh.”

Sherri's stomach bottomed out.
Luke's father.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud as Mr. Atkins drilled Cole with a caustic glare. “What are you doing bringing
her
here?”

“She misses your son, too, sir.”

He stalked toward them, glaring at her. “It should've been you.”

Her knees buckled.

Cole's arm clamped securely around her waist, but he couldn't shield her from the image streaming across her brain. A vision of Luke's blood seeping over her hands.

Luke's father snapped a lead on the dog's collar and tugged him toward the car.

Cole curled his fist, looking as if he wanted to hurt the man. “He's wrong.”

Her breaths were coming too fast and shallow. She forced herself to breathe slow and deep, already regretting how far she'd let Cole inside her head. “He's grieving,” she rationalized, almost managing to sound unaffected by the man's appearance.

“That's no excuse.”

Cole's palm came to rest comfortingly at the small of her back. “For the record, Atkins is still on my suspect list. He may not have pulled any of the stunts against you, but he could have masterminded them.”

Sherri drew in a fortifying breath. If they were going to work together to figure out what was really going on, she needed to tell him everything. “You should know that my colleagues blame me for Luke's death, too. Not as overtly as Mr. Atkins. But I hear them whispering. That's the real reason I've always figured they were behind the pranks. To goad me into quitting. And that's why I was determined not to let the incidents ruffle me. I promised Luke I wouldn't quit.”

“We're way past pranks, Sherri. And trust me, your colleagues are on my radar.” He prodded her toward his truck.

“So what do we do now?”

“We pull in every piece of data we can get our hands on. We'll cross-reference the date and time of each incident with the schedules of every potential person who could've helped orchestrate them, starting with your colleagues, 9-1-1 operators and dispatch. And every person you can think of who could have the slightest motive—ex-boyfriends, wannabe boyfriends, patients or family members of patients who didn't like your treatment.”

“I already told you—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand and motioned for her to climb in. “You'll be surprised how many names we can come up with after we're through brainstorming.”

Her gaze snapped to rustling in the bushes on the far side of the cemetery. Across the street, a man sat behind the wheel of an idling car.

This was crazy. Cole was making her paranoid.

“We need to look at anyone you might've crossed some time before the incidents started, from the guy you cut off on your way to work to the fellow tenant whose parking spot you usurped.”

“What?” Her attention snapped back to Cole. “I never took anyone's parking spot.”

“It was just an example. Nutcases have killed for less.”

“Killed?” The word came out scarcely above a whisper. She suddenly felt lightheaded. Sure, that drug guy blew up the house they'd been called to, but...

As if Cole had read her thoughts, he said, “I suspect the house explosion was as much a surprise to our man as it was to us. If he wanted you dead, he would've ordered the dog to go for your throat.”

She flinched, and Cole winced. “Sorry. You didn't need to hear that, but if my theory's right, he's trying to terrorize you. Except the escalation in attacks has me worried, he's growing impatient with the game.”

Game?
Cole honestly thought some psycho was toying with her like a cat with a mouse? Could Luke's father be that sick? Could her colleagues?

Cole could've died in that house explosion. That dog could've torn Dan and the guy with the stick to pieces. How could she go back to work and put others in danger?

Except...

The image of Luke filled her vision, his last breath seeping from his lungs with his plea—
Don't forget your promise.

She couldn't
not
go back.

* * *

Cole parked in front of Sherri's parents' house early the next morning. Masses of purple, pink and white overflowed the front flowerbeds, a colorful welcome banner against the backdrop of the yellow bungalow. The scent of fresh-cut grass and children's laughter drifted through the truck windows. Across the street a husband kissed his wife goodbye, next to a car packed with kids, triggering a twinge of longing that tightened Cole's chest.

Comforting Sherri yesterday morning, holding her close to his heart as if he had the right, as if she belonged in his arms, had turned his world upside down. For the past seven years he'd tried to convince himself that their youthful embrace hadn't been a world-tilting experience.

He'd been deluded
.

But he couldn't let it happen again. She was a victim in a case he was investigating. He needed to adhere to professional boundaries.

Never mind that everything in him wanted to soothe away her pain. Still wanted to. He had no business entertaining romantic thoughts about her. She was still grieving for Luke. She'd clearly cared deeply for him. No doubt he'd been worthy of her affection. Cole glanced at his father's barren yard next door. Far more worthy than he could ever be.

The truck's passenger door suddenly burst open, and Sherri climbed in. “Have you been waiting long? I didn't hear you drive up.”

“No, just got here. I'd intended to come in.”

She reached for the folder in his hand. “It's probably better if we work somewhere else today. Are these the pictures of the frontline workers we narrowed in on?”

At the graze of her fingers, his insides jumped. He jerked back his hand and cleared his throat. “Yeah, the six likeliest are on top.” For the better part of yesterday, they'd pored over staffing schedules of firefighters, paramedics and sheriff's deputies. They were the people most likely to know when Sherri would be in the next ambulance to be called to a scene and would know how best to manipulate paramedic protocol to their advantage.

After going back two months to try to find a pattern that fit with the timing of the attacks, they'd only found one definitive common factor—a woman, Bev Lucey, who'd been on dispatch at the time of every incident.

Sherri picked up the picture on the top of the stack. “This is Bev?”

“Yeah, you recognize her face?” Sherri hadn't recognized the name last night and they hadn't been able to find a picture of her online or find out much else about her even from her social media accounts, except that she'd moved to Stalwart and had started the job only a few months ago.

Sherri stared at the picture, cocking her head one way, then the other. “No, I don't recognize her at all.”

“Maybe we'll find a connection between her and one of the patients you've tended.” Reviewing patients' names was on the top of today's to-do list after they finished with the pictures of the frontline workers. “Take a look at the rest of the photos. The next two are guys who were on duty at the same time as eighty percent of the incidents.” Cole figured that one or two of the incidents could have been coincidences, accounting for the less than 100 percent.

Sherri leafed through the next three photos, shaking her head. “These are the three who were off duty when most of the incidents happened?”

“Yeah.” He was leaning toward them since they would've been freer to make the bogus 9-1-1 calls. Cole glanced up at her parents' house. Her father stood at the window looking out at them. Then the curtain dropped back, shielding him from Cole's view. Yeah, Cole couldn't blame him for being watchful. If he had a daughter like Sherri, he wouldn't have even let her climb in his truck. Maybe she hadn't told them about his brother holding a knife to her throat.

He admired how she didn't seem to hold a grudge against Eddie, only wanted him to get well. Without thinking, he swept back the silky hair that cascaded off her shoulder as she bent over a photo. Snatching back his hand, he glanced back at the house and reminded himself not to admire anything else about her, because clearly her father wouldn't approve.

“Did Eddie recognize any of these guys?”

“No. I showed him the stack last night, but he said none of them looked like the guy who told him to raid your ambulance.” Although, he wasn't 100 percent confident his brother had been telling the truth. When he'd first arrived at the house last night, Eddie wouldn't let him in because he'd still been steamed that Cole had turned in his phone. Dad had shown up as he'd searched under rocks for the spare key they used to keep in the flowerbed—when there'd actually been flowers in it.