Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (13 page)

Cash hated how blatantly this guy wanted to nail Krista at all costs. Cash stood. “You'll be getting that official request from Deputy Skyler Brennan. She's lead on our investigation.”

“Be glad to cooperate if she goes through proper channels.”

She would follow protocol, all right. Cash would make sure of that. He dialed her number the minute he stepped outside and recounted Eason's conversation for her. Silence stretched out between them.

“Look,” Cash said to break the quiet, “I know what you're thinking. Krista's been involved in the criminal world since she was young. Even lived with a father who was on the run. But that doesn't make her a killer. Or a bomber, for that matter.”

“That's not what I was thinking.”

“Then what?” Cash asked as he crossed to his car.

“I was wondering when you called earlier to tell me about Parsons's claim, why you didn't mention that you were planning on talking to the detective.”

“Is that a problem?”

“We work as a team, Cash, and that's not teamwork.”

He dropped onto the cold seat and tried not to get mad at the lecture. “Okay, I get it. I wasn't trying to leave you out of it. I just reacted.”

“Reacting as you've been doing all along. It's not solid police work.” She sighed. “We've all gotten accustomed to having your ugly mug around, and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a woman who may have a prison stint in her future.”

Anger fired in Cash's gut, and he shoved his free hand into his hair. “That won't happen. For her or me. Not if you request that report.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “No need to get testy. I'll get the official request in the works when we hang up.”

“You'll call me the minute you get the information from Eason?”

“If it's sensitive like the detective claims, you know I can't share it with you.”

“Of course you can.”

She sighed. “You have no official role in her husband's murder investigation, Cash. Even as the lead investigator on the stadium investigation, they won't want to share Alger's details. I'll have to work hard to make them see the possible connection to my case.”

His anger burned out of control. “Of all the lame things.”

“Not lame. We can't do anything to jeopardize their murder investigation.”

“Fine,” Cash barked into phone. “I'll figure this out on my own.”

“Don't let your involvement with Krista make you do something stupid.”

Stupid? He'd already done something stupid. He'd developed feelings for a woman who was not only suspected of an attempted bombing, but of murder, as well. He couldn't do anything much dumber than that, now, could he?

SEVENTEEN

K
rista had thought about having lunch with Cash all morning, but his expression stopped her cold. He didn't look mad. More upset. She was afraid to ask about what had happened to his good mood, but she was also afraid not to.

She grabbed the lunch Opa had packed from the lounge refrigerator and joined Cash at the table. “Looks like something's bothering you.”

He met her gaze squarely. “So do I call you Krista Curry or Krista Alger? Or even Leah James? Or is there another name you've gone by that I should know about?”

No. Oh, no. It had happened. He'd learned her secret.

He shook his head, his distrust obvious. “It also would've been nice if you'd mentioned that you were suspected of murder.”

Murder.
The word whispered through her head and stole her breath. She dropped to the chair across from him.

“Why didn't you tell me, Krista?” he asked, his gaze riveted to her.

“I wanted to, but...”

“But what?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

She couldn't talk about it. Not yet. “How'd you find out?”

“Paul Parsons stopped by this morning.”

“The reporter,” she muttered as sad resignation hit. Her life was about to take an even bigger turn for the worse. “It's going to start all over again, isn't it? The stories. The accusations. The looks and finger-pointing.” She shook her head. “Poor Opa. He doesn't deserve to deal with this again.”

“I'd like you to tell me what happened.” His voice was less harsh but still skeptical.

“You already know.” She stared at her hands to keep from seeing the look of disgust on his face when she confirmed the details.

“I'm trying my best not to form an opinion here, but you're making it hard for me not to believe the worst.”

She looked up at him and tears threatened to fall. She blinked hard. She wouldn't cry. Not now. Later tonight. When she was alone. Maybe when Cash was gone from their lives and was no longer protecting her and Opa.

No. No, she couldn't let that happen. Not when the bomber was still out there. Not when he was still trying to terrorize her and when Opa could potentially be attacked again. She had to do her best to convince Cash to stay with them. To convince him of her innocence.

That meant sharing her side of Toby's investigation. She thought back to the beginning. The morning she woke up next to Toby. “I thought Toby had turned off the alarm and gone back to sleep,” she said, the memory still as real today as four years ago. “But he was cold. His lips were purple. I checked his pulse. It was...oh, man...the moment I realized. It was horrible. So horrible.”

Her voice caught in her throat and tears flooded her eyes. She didn't want to go on, but somehow she managed to start again. “I called 911. They thought he'd had a heart attack and took him away. Opa and I started making funeral arrangements. Then the detectives showed up on my doorstep.” The memory of their harsh treatment gave rise to her anger and helped slow her tears. “They said he'd been drugged. That he was a scammer and stole money from seniors. I was shocked. But it got worse. They claimed I'd moved the money.”

“
Did
you move the money? Or kill him?”

She gaped at his questions.

“I have to hear you say it, Krista.”

“No. No. No!” she shouted, then lowered her voice before it carried to the children in the back of the building. “I did not kill my husband. I did not steal the money. The only thing I did wrong was trust a man who had secrets. And I've paid for it for the last four years. Being run out of my home. Forced to leave Opa behind.”

Cash watched her and she knew he was looking to see if she was telling the truth. “You didn't know anything about this money, either, right? Your clothes are designer. I'd say you live a good life.”

She thought to deny it but she imagined his loathing at her response and she couldn't speak. She stared out the window, watching the rain pick up and cloud the glass as her life was now clouded with additional turmoil.

“No answer? Why?” he demanded.

“I don't want to see your disgust,” she replied quietly, but made eye contact.

Disappointment crowned on his face. “So you did know, then?”

“No, I didn't know about the scam. And I certainly didn't know about the half a million—I had no idea there was ever that much in our account. No...it's just... Toby was a financial analyst so he took care of our finances. I'll admit to wondering at times if he was bringing home more money than he should.”

“But you didn't ask.”

She shook her head. “I should have, but after living with my father in near poverty conditions, I liked the things the money bought. I'm not proud of it, but I liked the nice house. Nice clothes. Fancy car. If I'd asked Toby, maybe...” She ended with a shrug.

“You thought it might all go away.”

“Yes,” she said, then let out a hoarse laugh. “It went away anyway after Toby died and the police froze all of our assets. Then when they freed up the money, lawsuits from the people he swindled took everything but the clothes on my back. I'm still wearing them four years later because my minimum-wage job means I can't afford to buy more. But I don't care about that. I really don't. It was the hatchet job the reporters did on me and the cruelty of people that really hurt. Breaking into my house. Spray-painting messages of hate on the walls. I had to leave town. For mine and Opa's sake.”

“Is that when you took back the Curry name?”

She nodded.

He looked at her for a long time, searching for something. “Your credentials are impeccable. Not something the average person can obtain.”

She cringed.

“Something else you're not telling me?”

She felt as if she might throw up and didn't want to talk about this, but if she wanted Cash's assistance, she needed to be completely forthright. She clutched her hands in her lap, squeezing to keep her mind focused. “My father. He's in prison for murder.”

To Cash's credit he didn't show any surprise. “Tell me about him.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then started her story. “As far as I was concerned, he ran a legitimate auto repair shop, nothing more. Then when I was sixteen, Opa heard my dad had killed a man. Something to do with stolen car parts. Opa believed the stories and reported them to the police. They questioned Dad and he was afraid they would arrest him. I didn't believe Opa. As my only parent after Mom died, maybe I just didn't want to see that he was guilty.” Memories of the tumultuous time in her teenage life came rushing back and she fell silent.

“So what happened?”

“Dad decided to take off, and I asked to go with him. We didn't tell Opa where we went. That was the hardest part. Dad bought fake IDs and we moved to Kennesaw. We kept our first names to simplify things, but Dad didn't want me dragged into his mess if his cover was ever blown so he insisted on a different last name.”

“That's why his name was Nealy and yours Curry.”

She nodded. “We settled into our life. Dad worked as a mechanic. In addition to going to school, I worked part-time as an aide in a home child-care center to make ends meet. But I missed Opa something fierce. So when it was time to graduate from high school, I invited him to the ceremony. He showed up with evidence the police had collected, proving my dad's guilt. I was in shock. Still am, I guess. He'd really killed a man. We had no choice. We had to turn him in.”

“That must have been rough.”

“Rough?” She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “There isn't a word to describe how it felt.”

“And this is when you came back to live with Otto?”

“Yes. I took back my real last name of Fischer. Opa had my diploma switched to that name. I got my teaching degree, taught third grade and met and married Toby. After he died, I went back to Georgia. I couldn't use my degree and I knew I could easily get a job at the same in-home child-care center where I worked in high school. Then I took the preschool position here because that didn't require a degree, either. The rest you know.”

“How long were you and Toby married?”

“Three years.” She looked Cash square in the eye. “I didn't know what he was up to. And I had nothing to do with his death. You have to believe me.”

“I want to.” He settled his hand over hers, but his eyes remained skeptical. “I do. But do you know how bad this looks? It adds to the questions the team already has about you.”

She jerked back, but he didn't release her hand. “They know already?”

“Just Skyler. She's lead investigator. I had to tell her.” He squeezed her hand. “I'm trying not to let her opinion color my judgment.”

Krista thought about the men and women of the FRS she'd come to care for and how they would react the way she'd expected. It hurt that they didn't trust her. That Cash couldn't believe her. But he was trying. That was enough for now. It was more than anyone other than Opa had ever given her. She was thankful for even that little bit. Still, she could no longer hold her tears back. Big fat ones plopped onto the table, and deep sobs wrenched free.

“Hey.” Cash slid closer. “Hey.”

“S-s-sorry.”

“Oh, man.” He went around the table and drew her into his arms.

She went willingly and rested against the solid wall of his chest. Felt his heart beat. Felt the depth of her feelings for this big, tough guy who was holding her so tenderly. She remained in his arms, his care and consideration slowing her tears.

She leaned back. Peered into his eyes filled with emotions. He lowered his head and she knew he was going to kiss her. She didn't care that she was at work. The room was private, the door closed, everyone else in the classrooms. She rose up. He settled his lips on hers. It was a demanding kiss as if he had to prove something. Maybe to himself. Maybe to her. She didn't know. But then it gentled and deepened.

She wanted this. Wanted him. But all her old insecurities came flooding back.

She pulled back and looked up at him. At this man who'd been by her side through all of this. She considered his many wonderful qualities. The ones Opa kept harping about.

But he's the same man who'd just told Skyler about your past, about the detonator.

She wanted to trust him. But she couldn't. Not with her heart. Not yet.

* * *

At the end of the school day, Cash escorted Krista down the hallway in silence, not sure what to think about today's events. He'd started the day with such high hopes. With the peace of God in his life. Then he'd found out about Krista's past and it evaporated. One bit of bad news and he let that peace disappear. If he couldn't control his mood swings for even a day, what was the likelihood he could master them at all?

They reached the hallway leading to the parking lot. Sounds of a loud commotion filtered down the hallway.

He turned to Krista. “Is the school holding an event?”

“No,” she said, sounding uneasy.

“Wait here while I check it out.” He went to the front door and found a slew of reporters standing at the ready, Parsons the first in line. Obviously, he'd leaked the story about Krista's past and other media outlets had picked it up. Cash wished Krista didn't have to deal with this, but the only way to his car was through this mob.

He returned to her. “Reporters are waiting for you. Just keep your head down, stay behind me, and I'll clear a path for us.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly.

“I'll get you through this.” He squeezed her hand. “I promise.”

She didn't seem to believe him, but she nodded and pulled her raincoat tighter. He led the way to the door. The reporters descended like vultures. Cash ignored them and the cold, spitting rain and took off, checking to be sure Krista was behind him. She'd taken only a few steps before a tall blond reporter blocked Krista's path.

“Is it true that your real name is Krista Alger?” the reporter asked. “And you've been implicated in the bombing in addition to being an ongoing suspect in your husband's murder?”

Krista planted her feet and threw her shoulders back. She looked fierce and strong. Capable. She might be ignoring his directions, but he was proud of her strength and tenacity.

“I am not implicated in anything, and I did not kill my husband.” The force in her tone didn't surprise Cash. She was a strong woman who had faced each day for years despite trouble hanging over her head.

Parsons pushed past the reporter and put his microphone in Krista's face. “Our source tells us that a detonator like one used to make a bomb was found in your home.”

Krista's confidence crumbled.

Parsons smirked. “I take it from your reaction that it's true.”

“Enough.” Cash stepped in. “Ms. Cu—Alger has no more time for questions.”

Instead of starting for the car, Krista spun and went back inside.

Cash followed her. “What are you doing?”

She swiped wet hair from her face, looking angry and determined. “I'm resigning and cleaning out my things.”

“What? Why?”

“This is just beginning. Now that they've found me, they'll turn into sharks again. Stalk me at all hours. Neighbors will grow tired of the media. Tired of a murderer and bomber in their neighborhood and will threaten me and Opa.” Her voice rose with every word, sounding as if she was close to losing control. As fast as her temper flared, she calmed and her stony determination returned. “I may not be able to do anything for Opa short of leaving again, but I can prevent the church and the children from going through this.” She marched toward the office.

Cash caught up to her. “Maybe you should wait. Just take a leave of absence.”

She spun on him. “A leave? You think this is going to go away soon? Toby died four years ago, and I'm still living this nightmare. Opa's still living it.”