Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (59 page)

“You're hurt!” She motioned to a paramedic, who grabbed her bag and headed toward them.

“It's not serious.”

But Laney insisted he push up his sleeve and allow the paramedic to take a look.

“You've got a nasty gash,” she said, removing a sterile pad and some gauze from her medical kit. “You need to have this properly cleaned and sutured. Looks like you've lost a considerable amount of blood, so I can't clear you to drive yourself.”

Just then, Kent and two officers came out through the warehouse door, ushering the handcuffed kidnapper out into the alley and the waiting patrol car.

Kent jogged over to him as the paramedic finished field-dressing the wound and called for a gurney to be brought over. “Well, DeMarco, it looks like you're a little worse for wear.”

“It's just a flesh wound. I'll be fine.” Especially now that he knew Laney and the children were safe.

A second paramedic wheeled over a gurney. “It's time to go, sir.”

Grayson sighed. “It looks like we're in for an ER visit,” he said, reaching his hand out to Laney.

“We?”

“If you think I'm leaving you here on your own, you can forget it.” He rubbed her palm with his thumb. “With your track record, that's much too risky—I need a vacation before I allow you to pull me into the next case.”

Laney smiled, shaking her head. “I guess I had that coming.” Her green eyes filled with laughter as she followed along for the ride.

TWENTY-ONE

A
lmost two weeks later, thanks in part to the computer forensic work Arden had performed on both the FBI networks and Ethan Conrad's personal computers and cell phone, there was enough physical and forensic evidence to get an indictment against Ethan and seventeen other accomplices. Charges spanned from murder to child trafficking. The previous night, Ethan, who had been stopped after crossing the border into Mexico and extradited to Maryland, had been charged with three counts of child abduction in Maryland, plus the thirteen others in Boston and California.

That was great news. Laney was glad Ethan was behind bars where he'd be unable to tear another family apart.

She smiled as she brushed her hair into a high ponytail and fingered the purple scar near her hairline. The staples had been removed, but it would be a while before the scar looked less raw and angry.

She didn't care.

All that mattered was that Olivia and the other kids were safe, and that there was hope of more children being recovered.

That Grayson...

She smiled again, because thinking about him always made her do that.

He'd recovered from his gunshot wound.

It might take a little while longer for him to get over Ethan's betrayal. Ethan's computer logs had revealed that he'd also been part of a money-laundering scheme his stepson had discovered. When Rick had confronted him, Ethan had killed him. Fearing that Rick had revealed information to Grayson, Ethan made an attempt on Grayson's life, too. His bullet had missed its mark and killed Andrea instead. Pinning the murders on two high-level gang members, he closed up the case while Grayson mourned his fiancée and friend, then continued, without missing a step, with his mentorship of Grayson.

It was a sad story that had come out in bits and pieces of forensic information—bank account records, phone records, the testimonies of some of Ethan's coconspirators.

Since the children had been recovered, there had been a whirlwind of activity—interviews with the press, law enforcement, judges and a prosecutor. Between that and work, Laney barely had time to think, but when she did, she found herself thinking about Grayson. Obviously he'd spent some time thinking about her, too. He called or visited almost every day. He'd even made it to the ceremony that morning.

Laney glanced at Jax, smiling at the little medal attached to his collar. The FBI had honored Jax, Arden and Laney for their part in recovering the children.

“But you're the only one who got a medal, Jax,” Laney said, walking out onto the porch and taking a seat on the swing. Jax padded along beside her and found a comfortable spot in the sunlight. They'd trained hard the day before, and they were both tired. It was worth it, though. Being out of retirement made Laney feel more alive than she'd felt in years.

A car drove toward the house, and Laney recognized it immediately. Grayson had said he'd stop by when he finished work for the day.

One thing she was learning about him—he always kept his word.

Jax stood as the car parked, excited to see his new friend.

Grayson jumped out, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight, his face soft with his feelings for her.

He walked up the steps and took both her hands in his. “I've been waiting to do this all day,” he said, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

She would have begged for more, but Jax nosed in between them, looking up with dark eyes and a silly grin.

“He looks great in his medal,” Grayson said with a grin.

“Yes.” She laughed. “He's been strutting around shamelessly since they put it on him.”

“You, on the other hand,” he said, “don't need a medal to look great. You're beautiful in fuzzy dog sweaters and weird leggings, with staples in your head and bruises on your face. You're beautiful out in the field with sunlight dappling your hair. And you're beautiful here, with your hair up and your face scrubbed clean.”

“Grayson, I...”

“Don't make me stop, Laney. I might chicken out. There's something I want to tell you. I need to tell you. When I lost Andrea, I decided that was God's way of showing me that my plans for a family had to take second place to my career. For the past ten years, I've dedicated myself to this purpose God had for me.” He touched her cheek, his fingers trailing down to her collar bone and resting there. “But something happened two weeks ago. It took a punch in the jaw from a pretty girl to bring me to my senses.”

Laney laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that, but in my defense, I was concussed.”

He smiled. “I had decided that because Andrea was taken from me, I wasn't meant to have a wife and family—to make promises to a woman that I might not be able to keep. I convinced myself it was God's plan for me to focus solely on my career, but the truth is, I was protecting myself from the possibility of finding someone and possibly losing them. I didn't want to hurt again the way I'd hurt when I lost Andrea. Her death left a hole in my heart.”

“I'm so sorry, Grayson.”

“I don't want you to be. I want you to know that you woke me up to the possibility that God might intend more for me. Everything happens according to plan, Laney, and meeting you, working together on this case, was all part of His plan.

“I can't promise you happily-ever-after, because the future isn't written in stone. But what I can promise you, Laney Kensington, is that if you take a chance on me, I will put your needs before my own, and I will protect you, and cherish you for the wondrously special and unique person that you are, for as long as I live.”

Looking into his ocean-blue eyes, she saw the sincerity in them. His faith and strength of character were a constant, steadfast testament to who Grayson DeMarco was. And she knew that she believed him and trusted him with all her heart. Something that she never thought possible. She felt a tear fall before she realized she was crying.

He gently whisked the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying? Have I said something, done something...”

She shook her head and smiled. “I've never believed in happily-ever-after, Grayson, and I wouldn't believe anyone who offered it to me. But then again, I never used to believe in tears of joy, either, but you just wiped one off my cheek.”

He kissed her then, gently, pulling her into his arms, then resting his chin on her hair. “Who knows, Laney? Maybe one day we'll both believe that happily-ever-after really is possible.”

“Truthfully,” she answered, “I think I already do.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from TRAIL OF EVIDENCE by Lynette Eason

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Laney and Grayson's story,
Into Thin Air
. This story is near to my heart for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, it is a story of faith and finding God's purpose in our lives. Laney has fallen into the trap that many of us stumble into—she has learned to rely on herself rather than God and closed herself to the possibility that God really did have a plan for her.

Second, this story speaks of the importance of trained and dedicated local, state and federal law enforcement officers and search and rescue personnel in times of crisis. Like many public servants, Grayson has found his purpose—to help bring justice and closure to families during their darkest hour. God's purpose for public servants is an honorable one that often requires sacrifice. This story not only delves into the sacrifices made by selfless, paid professionals but also highlights the important role that volunteer search and rescue teams and their dogs have in the quest to bring home the lost and missing.

Most of us will never have to deal with circumstances like those presented in this story, but my hope for you is that you will never forget God is faithful, His love is real, and His purpose for you will prevail, even in your own darkest hours.

Blessings,

Mary Ellen Porter

http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

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ONE

V
eterinarian Jonas Parker jerked from his slight doze and lay still in the recliner where he'd crashed only a few minutes earlier shortly after midnight. He'd spent the night treating a longtime client's Doberman, who'd gotten hit by a car. A few lacerations and a couple of broken bones later, the dog now rested in the kennel at the office and Jonas had come home to get some much-needed rest. Only now he was hearing things. His ears honed in on the noises of his house and he frowned, wondering what had awakened him.

Silence echoed back at him.

Annoyance rushed through him. He'd just gotten relaxed enough to maybe fall asleep, and his house settling had disturbed him. He snorted. Earplugs might be a good investment. He closed his eyes and let out a low breath.

Crash.

Jonas shot into a sitting position as his blood pounded through his veins.

That wasn't the house settling. Someone was
in
his house. Upstairs.

Felix!
He had to get to Felix, his thirteen-year-old son. He froze, his thoughts scrambling. No. Wait. It was Saturday night. Felix was sleeping over at a friend's. A flash of relief, then determination made his heart kick up speed.

Who was it? What did the intruder want? Money? Jewelry? Moving as silently as possible, Jonas rose from the recliner and stood, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.

A weapon.

He needed to be able to defend himself.

Where was his phone? He had to call for help. And get out.

The stairs creaked. He stopped at the edge of the room.

To get to either the front door or the back, he would have to go through the kitchen. Which meant passing the stairs.

While his adrenaline pounded, Jonas thought hard. His cell phone was on the kitchen counter. He didn't have a landline.

Soft footfalls on the steps reached his ears as though someone didn't want to make a lot of noise, but wasn't very skilled at being quiet.

Jonas grabbed the nearest thing he could use as a weapon from the built-in shelf. Felix's track meet trophy, his son's pride and joy. Hefting it in his left hand, he decided to bolt for the kitchen, grab his phone from the counter and keep going out the back door. He'd avoid a confrontation if at all possible but he needed to get help on the way.

Grab the phone, get out and call for help. A good plan. He slipped past the bottom of the steps, praying the darkness hid him from whoever was on them. In the kitchen, moonlight filtering from the window over the sink illuminated the way.

The floor creaked behind him.

A hard hand centered itself in the middle of his back and a hard shove propelled him into the kitchen table. Jonas bounced, stumbled and crashed into the refrigerator. Felix's trophy tumbled from his fingers. Fury boiled through him and he spun, striking out, praying to hit something. He landed a hard fist on his attacker's face.

A hiss of surprise and a curse reached his ears.

Jonas managed to grab the trophy once more. Then the feel of something hard and cold against his left cheek froze him. “I have a son,” he whispered. “He needs me.”

“Give me the phone.”

“What phone?” Jonas clutched the trophy, his mind racing.

“Give me the phone!”

The weapon moved, slipping from his cheek. Jonas brought the base of the heavy trophy up and moved sideways at the same time. He connected with the attacker's stomach, heard a whoosh, then the gun clattering on the floor. The man cursed, swept his hand out and grabbed the gun. Jonas swung the trophy once more, connected. The intruder gave a harsh cry and bolted for the door.

Jonas panted and rose to go after him. Then thought of his son and stopped.

He grabbed his cell phone from the counter and dialed 911.

* * *

Brooke Clark pushed the laptop away and rubbed her gritty eyes. One in the morning and she was on her laptop? She needed to be sensible and get some sleep. But her adrenaline was still high even though her eyes longed to shut.

She'd just walked in the door an hour ago from a crime scene where Mercy, her very skilled K-9 golden retriever, had done her job well. She'd recovered some key evidence in a bank robbery and once testing was done on the glove, Brooke knew the DNA would put the criminal away.

Unfortunately, sleep would have to wait. She groaned, settled into the recliner and decided to keep working on the case that had caused her and her team no end of frustration.

Congressman Harland Jeffries continued to pound home the fact that his son's murder still wasn't solved. Late one night two months ago, someone had killed Michael Jeffries. Michael wasn't just the congressman's son, but was also a well-respected lawyer. The congressman had come upon the scene, his son on the ground, shot, and the murderer standing over Michael's body. The killer had turned the gun on the congressman and shot him, leaving him for dead. Only Harland hadn't died. He'd lived to tell the story and demand justice for his son. Unfortunately, darkness had prevented the congressman from seeing the murderer's face, so the hunt was still on to find the person responsible.

She and the other members of the Capitol K-9 team wouldn't be granted rest until the case was solved. Brooke loved her job, but frustration built at the lack of progress when it came to finding answers. She flipped the page in the file. Rosa Gomez, Congressman Jeffries's housekeeper, was also connected to the case. Shortly before the shooting, Rosa had been found dead at the base of the cliffs in President's Park. “Which hasn't been technically proved to be murder. It could have been an accident,” she told Mercy. The dog yawned, then gave a low whine and nudged against her hand. The animal's affection made her smile and run her hand over Mercy's silky soft ears.

Mercy, her sweet—and super smart—golden retriever. Highly trained, Mercy and Brooke were partners in the elite Capitol K-9 Unit based in Washington, DC. Mercy specialized in retrieving evidence. Brooke sighed. She wished there were some evidence to be retrieved in either Michael Jeffries's murder or Rosa Gomez's death. “It's all right, girl. Just because I'm up doesn't mean you have to lose out on a good night's sleep.” Mercy heaved a sigh and settled at Brooke's feet. Then rose to pad to the door and back.

“You're restless, too, huh?” Brooke got up from the recliner and went to open the door for Mercy. The dog bounded into the fenced yard, and Brooke stared out into the dark night. She shivered at the chill. March was a cold month in DC, and Brooke hadn't grabbed her coat. She watched Mercy sniff and weave in and out of the bushes lining the fence. The trees beyond offered a sense of privacy and security, one of the reasons Brooke had purchased the home.

She pulled the door shut behind her and sat on the cement steps, wrapping her arms around her middle. Maybe the cold would revive some of her dead brain cells. Her thoughts were like a dog with a bone. She couldn't keep her mind from gnawing on the Jeffries case.

Harland Jeffries was about to push Gavin, her captain, over the edge. Gavin was a good man, a professional in every sense of the word. Brooke respected how he had managed to hold on to his temper when it came to the congressman's incessant demands on Gavin's time. She stood. “Mercy, come.”

The dog bounded over to her and sat at her feet, ears perked. Brooke gave those ears a good rub and let the dog back into the house. Poor Gavin. He was really torn. She knew he was between a rock and a hard place. He had a lot of respect for the congressman. Harland had been a mentor to Gavin, and Gavin loved the man like a father. It was tearing him up not to be able to give him some answers.

She forced herself to head to bed. She'd count sheep if she had to. Or review the case notes while snuggling under the warm down comforter. Maybe then she'd doze off.

And maybe pigs would start flying.

* * *

Jonas shut the door as the police officers headed toward their squad car. He appreciated the fast response to his 911 call, but the officers had basically checked out the scene, taken a few pictures of the dumped drawer in Felix's room, then told him to be thankful he wasn't hurt and nothing was missing. Oh, and to call if anything else happened.

Right.

He sighed and reached back to massage the area at the base of his skull. He needed a vacation. A stress-reducing getaway. But Felix was in school for another three weeks before his spring break.

Maybe then.

He trudged up the stairs to Felix's room and took another look around. The drawer on the floor, the unmade bed, an unfinished 3-D puzzle of the capitol building. He sighed and picked up Felix's favorite sweatshirt and tossed it across the footboard of the bed. A pair of jeans and a hoodie joined the sweatshirt.

His eyes caught on the picture on his son's nightstand. Felix had been about two years old. He was laughing up at Shannon, his mother and Jonas's ex-wife. It had been a happy time in his young life, Jonas's life, too. Neither Felix nor Jonas had known the trouble that would come just a few short years away. Trouble brought on by Shannon and her commitment-phobic ways.

Jonas sighed, flipped off the light and headed to his own room. He crawled between the sheets, forcing his muscles to relax, his mind to drift into prayer. Until he remembered the crash he heard. The drawer to Felix's nightstand had been yanked out and dumped. His heart thudded. The officers had come to the same conclusion he had. The intruder had already been in his house when he'd arrived home. Either the man hadn't heard him come in and drop into the recliner—or he hadn't cared and just continued his search.

Jonas debated whether to get up and clean up the drawer or wait until later.

It would wait. He drifted. Sleep beckoned.

At least until the strange beeping jerked him awake again.

Jonas sat straight up, his adrenaline spiking once more. Heart thundering in his chest, he grabbed the baseball bat he'd placed on the floor near his bed and swung his legs over the side. He stood and padded on bare feet to the door.

The faint beeping sounded again. Then all was silent.

Jonas's fingers flexed around the bat. He grabbed his cell phone with his left hand and shoved it into the waistband of his knit shorts.

More beeping.

Jonas followed the sound into his son's bedroom two doors down from his. He stood in the doorway and listened.

Nothing.

And then he heard it again. Louder this time. He was definitely closer.

Jonas flipped the light on and blinked against the sudden brightness. When his eyes adjusted, he dropped to his knees on the hardwood floors and scanned the area under Felix's dresser. Finding nothing, he rose and moved to his son's bedside table. The drawer still lay on its side. He grabbed the small flashlight and went to his knees once again.

Jonas flashed the light under the bed. The beeping sounded right next to his ear. He lifted the mattress, separating it from the box springs, and froze, puzzled. A cell phone? He snagged it and dropped the mattress back into place. Fingers curled around the phone, he lifted it up to study it. “Who does this belong to?” he muttered. One of Felix's friends? But why would Felix have it hidden under his mattress? Had he stolen it?

Jonas snapped the light off and carried the phone into his bedroom. He flipped on the lamp and sank onto the bed, his eyes still on the device. Low battery. Hence the beeping.

He touched the screen to bring the phone to life. A picture stared back at him. A woman holding a baby. He frowned as recognition hit him. He knew that woman. He'd seen her on the news, hadn't he? And in the papers. He got up and strode into the kitchen to grab the newspaper from the counter.

There. Right on the front page. Housekeeper for Congressman Harland Jeffries, Rosa Gomez had been found at the bottom of the cliffs in President's Park approximately two months ago and the investigation continued to make front-page news as new evidence came to light. The Capitol K-9 Unit had been working the case and the story had stayed hot, the media constantly reminding everyone that this case hadn't been solved yet.

And someone had just broken into his house looking for a phone. He stared at the device. Could he have been looking for this one?

His thoughts went immediately to Brooke Clark, a Capitol K-9 Unit team member who was working the case.

An officer and a beautiful woman. He pushed aside the personal thoughts and focused on what to do about this phone. Right now, he couldn't worry about how Felix had gotten ahold of it, he had to turn it in.

And he knew just the person he wanted to give it to.

* * *

Brooke jerked out of the light sleep she'd managed to fall into sometime between her last sip of warm tea and a prayer for divine help in solving her case. She rolled to grab her phone from the end table. “'Lo?”

“I woke you up. I'm sorry.”

Sleep fled. She sat up. “Jonas Parker?” Her heart stuttered. Just saying his name brought back a flood of memories. Both wonderful and...painful. Along with boatloads of regret. The same feelings that rushed through her every time she saw or spoke to him. Which hadn't been too long ago. Maybe a month? Amazing that she had no trouble pulling the memory of his voice from the depths of her tired mind. But then why would she? She often dreamed of him, their past times together. And they hadn't even dated. Not once. She blinked. “What's wrong?”

“You're working the case about the congressman's son's death, aren't you?”

“Yes. Michael Jeffries.” She cleared her throat. “You called me at four o'clock in the morning to ask that?”

“No, I called to tell you that I think I found something that you might need for your investigation.”

“What?”

“A phone with a picture of Rosa Gomez and her two-year-old son as the wallpaper.”

Fully awake now, Brooke swung her legs over the edge of the bed. At the foot of the bed, Mercy lifted her head and perked her ears. “Where did you find the phone?” she asked.