Broken Silence. Annslee Urban

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СКАЧАТЬ them, a grimace etched on his suntanned face. “And you have no clues as to who might have done this?”

      “Not yet.”

      “What about the car owner? Or witnesses?”

      Patrick finished chewing. “There was one eyewitness and he gave us a statement. He said he’d heard the blast, saw the explosion, but denies seeing anything suspicious. And interestedly enough, the owner of the vehicle was Amber Talbot. She walked away with a few bruises and lacerations but has no idea why someone would want to harm her, nor does she believe anyone was trying to.”

      Vance stopped, looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “Not the Amber Talbot from high school? Your old flame?”

      Patrick nodded, hardly believing it himself. “Yeah. Definitely a surprise.” Truth be told, he’d half expected to run in to her at some point now that he was back in town. However, not as part of a case he was investigating, especially one of this nature.

      “I’m sure you were surprised.” Vance wagged his head. “What do you think? Was this bomb meant for Amber?” He shuffled through the pictures again, studying them closer. “Or do you think this is the work of some criminal prankster?”

      The question pricked the hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck. He’d been up most of the night asking the same question. “I’d like to say it’s random. However, my gut doesn’t buy it.”

      Vance’s eyes settled and met Patrick’s. “Then Amber mustn’t be fessing up to something.”

      Patrick paused, wondering what—if anything—Amber would be hiding. She’d always been a by-the-book kind of girl, not one who got involved in things on the wrong side of the law. Then again...

      His pitched the biscuit wrapper into the trash, aware that he really didn’t know Amber Talbot anymore. And he’d be foolish to believe otherwise. She’d surprised him once by walking out of his life. No telling what Amber was really like. He turned sharply in his chair and stood up. “I’ll dig around and see what I can come up with.”

      Vance tossed the photos back on the desk. “If there’s dirt, Wiley, I’m confident you’ll find it.”

      A shudder racked between Patrick’s shoulder blades. That was what he was afraid of.

      * * *

      Patrick gave a sharp triple knock on the crime-lab door. When a buzz sounded, he twisted the knob and let himself in. Liza Jenson, police criminologist, rose from her desk.

      “Patrick Wiley.” She smiled, pushing a hand through her short blond bob. “I was beginning to give up on you. I can’t remember the last time you answered one of my texts with anything other than ‘Sorry, working late,’ or ‘Too busy.’”

      That was because his “I’m not interested” statement seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Patrick let her comment ride. After a couple casual dates, Liza had started dropping hints about diamond rings and dream honeymoon destinations. He’d put the brakes on that budding relationship real fast. He’d determined a long time ago he wasn’t the marrying kind. Eleven years ago, to be exact. And he had a princess-cut solitaire sitting in a bank deposit box to remind him of that.

      He was better off alone. And life was easier. More predictable.

      “Sorry, Liza, this isn’t a social call. I heard you were on this weekend and I’d like to enlist your help on a case I’m working on.”

      Sauntering across the tile floor, Liza worked her way toward him. “Let me guess, yesterday’s car bombing on River Street.”

      Perceptive. He grinned. “That’s the one. See what you can find out about the car owner’s past. What she’s been up to the past few years. Friends, hobbies, enemies. I’ll do the same.”

      Beaming a bright smile, Liza leaned a hip against the worktable and crossed her arms. “Amber Talbot. Twenty-nine. She graduated from Trinity University, majored in psychology. She earned a graduate degree in counseling from the same school. I don’t have her complete work history yet, but she recently opened Safe Harbor Counseling Center on River Street.”

      Impressive. Although nothing Patrick didn’t already know, except for the part about Trinity University. So that was where she’d ended up after leaving College of Coastal Georgia in Brunswick. She’d traded a small state school for a private one. Patrick scratched the side of his jaw, mulling that over. “How about a husband or boyfriend, ex or otherwise?”

      He held his breath, hoping his name wouldn’t pop up.

      Liza shook her head. “I haven’t done all the checking yet, but from what I can see, she’s never been married. And, right now, I’ve got nothing on a boyfriend.”

      Good. “Concentrate on the past few years and look into her financial information. Relationship issues. Consumer complaints. If something jumps out at you, let me know. I’ll dig in to college and before.”

      “All right.” Liza ran a fingernail down his arm. “Maybe we can discuss my findings over coffee or dinner.”

      Patrick pulled away and gave a cautious smile. “Sorry, I don’t have time. Why don’t you give me a call when you have something. And sooner is better.” He made his way out the door.

      * * *

      On Monday morning, the black SUV parked several spots down was the first thing Amber noticed when she stepped out of her rental car at work. It was a rather common vehicle. Plenty roamed the streets of Savannah, but instinct told her Patrick Wiley was in the vicinity.

      Patrick. She took a deep breath, ignoring the chill seeping through her, and started down River Street toward the Safe Harbor Counseling Center. Could he possibly have more questions?

      Before the thought fully penetrated, the answer came. Detectives always had questions. And that was what Patrick was—the detective on the case. Nothing more.

      Buoyed by that thought, Amber shouldered her messenger bag and pushed through the narrow double doors of the center. The cozy ambience wrapped around her like a warm blanket. The place was small—only had a quaint waiting area and hallway that led to three offices. And the simple decor of overstuffed seating and antique tables, framed pictures of Savannah’s old harbor and a comfortable array of potted plants warmed her further.

      Just being at the center made her feel better. After a long weekend of nursing her wounds and musing over Friday’s bombing and Patrick Wiley, her nerves were about shot. But common sense reminded her to stop being ridiculous. Even if Patrick did show up, she would be fine.

      Shedding her jacket, Amber hung it on a hook on the wall. Then she picked up a bundle of mail from a wicker basket by the front door and headed to her office, determined to have a good day as she chastised herself for her paranoia.

      Two steps from her office, Amber paused when a masculine and very familiar voice sounded from behind her colleague’s closed door. She bit back a gasp as her stomach did a crazy flip she couldn’t explain.

      Patrick.

      Wrong. She wasn’t fine.

      The urge to put on a good face and properly welcome him to her center quickly abated, switching instead to a desire to turn СКАЧАТЬ