Broken Silence. Annslee Urban

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      Reclaiming her hand, Amber crossed her arms tightly against her thumping chest.

      “Even if you get a gut feeling, call me.” Patrick turned to leave and Amber nodded, discreetly wiping her clammy palm on her skirt. Next time she’d settle for a quick wave.

      She drew in a shaky breath and watched as Patrick headed out the door. He moved with the same assertive gait and athletic agility of the young man she remembered. But now he was even more fit, stronger, a capable and skilled soldier and detective.

      There was a part of her that was happy he was willing to stay on her case. He could have easily passed it off to another detective. But there was also a part of her that wished he had. If the car bombing turned out to something other than a random act, the investigation would be prolonged and Patrick would be around a lot.

      Both scenarios sent her heart jumping to double time.

      “You okay?”

      Caught up in her musings, Amber hadn’t heard anyone walk in the room. She spun around and found Tony framed by the doorway, his thick eyebrows furrowed. She wondered how long he’d been there. Not that it mattered. Tony knew her story—one of the few people who did. After years of holding on to the dreadful memories, she’d recently had the courage to tell someone. It was a healing move, something she encouraged her clients to do. Talk about the hurt and pain with someone they trusted. And she trusted no one more than Tony. He had been her preceptor for her internship during her last year of college. He was a little older, nonjudgmental and wise beyond his years. With his burly physique, he looked more like a defensive lineman than a counselor, but he was good at his job. She knew that from experience.

      “I’m fine.” She smiled.

      “You’ve had a rough couple of days. Remember, I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

      She nodded. He was so compassionate.

      “By the way, this Detective Wiley, is he the same Patrick Wiley you told me about?”

      And perceptive.

      “Yes.” She nodded.

      Tony scratched his bearded chin and his left eyebrow arched. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

      “I think it will be fine.” She smiled, projecting a confident composure she didn’t quite feel and at the same time hoping for a speedy resolution to the car-bombing case.

      Her heart couldn’t take too much time with Patrick Wiley.

      * * *

      Forty minutes later, Patrick ducked into his office and dropped into his leather swivel chair behind his desk. Grabbing the phone, he punched in the crime-lab extension. Hope for finding clues for a possible motive had fizzled about two minutes into his conversation with Amber. He couldn’t figure out if she was in denial about her safety or just wasn’t opening up because he was on the case.

      He guessed the latter.

      Maybe there was an old boyfriend she didn’t want to mention or... No. He derailed that train of thought. Surmising never got him anywhere.

      He tapped a pen against the desk as he waited for the lab to answer.

      “Busy?”

      At the female voice, Patrick’s gaze went to the doorway. He hung up the phone. “Liza. I was just calling you.”

      Liza walked in the room, waving a large manila envelope. “I thought I’d drop this by and see if you were free for lunch.”

      “Lunch?” Patrick checked his watch, his brain racing for a good excuse. “Actually I was going to grab something quick. I’ve got a ton of paperwork—”

      “Then how about dinner tonight?”

      He gave a quick shrug. “Racquetball with the captain.”

      She arched a fine brow and handed him the envelope. “Coffee after?”

      More than once he had explained that he wasn’t interested in a pursuing a relationship. She didn’t seem to get it. He took the envelope from her. “Hey, remember, I just want to be friends.”

      Liza turned her head and tilted it, and one eyebrow rose even higher. “Is it a crime for friends to get together for coffee?”

      She had a point. And although he wasn’t crazy about the idea, he conceded, “I could meet you around seven for a quick cup.”

      “Perfect.” She smiled. “How about Jake’s Café?”

      “That will work.”

      “Now, take a look at what I dug up on your victim, Ms. Talbot.” Liza stood beside his desk and crossed her arms.

      Patrick sat forward and peeled open the envelope, pulling out several pages. If nothing else, Liza was good at her job. A detailed outline stretched from Amber’s college graduation to the present. Places she worked, volunteer jobs and organizations she’d interned with. Even coworkers and old roommates were mentioned. Patrick skimmed through the list. He couldn’t help looking for a current or ex-boyfriend. None were listed.

      “Amber Talbot has a pretty clean past,” Liza said, making him refocus.

      “It appears so.” Patrick continued to peruse the outline.

      “Currently, she’s heading up a charity fund-raiser for the women’s shelter.”

      Patrick glanced up and gave a simple nod. “Yes. She’s trying to raise awareness for violent crimes against women.”

      “I see you’ve done your homework, as well.” Liza gave him a lazy smile. “The fund-raiser is in a couple weeks at the Port City Community Center in Savannah. A big crowd is expected. Amber is the keynote speaker.”

      “Keynote speaker?” Patrick lifted his eyes again, this time meeting hers. “She didn’t mention that.”

      Liza shrugged. “She’s one of several speakers. Maybe she didn’t think it was big deal.”

      Patrick shoved the pages back in the envelope and clasped it shut, his brain churning through the new information. Rocking back in his chair, he crimped his lower lip between his forefinger and thumb, wondering if and why someone wouldn’t want Amber to speak at the fund-raiser.

      “Do you think you’re on to something?” Liza asked.

      “Not sure.” He nodded slowly. “But I feel as though we’re moving in the right direction.”

      In fact, his gut was reeling and he had a niggling suspicion that someone was after Amber. And whoever that was would have him to contend with him first.

      * * *

      At Southern Heights Gym later that day, Patrick ran around the racquetball court, breathing hard, blood pumping. He thwacked the ball coming at him, sending it screaming against the high concrete court wall.

      “Dude. You don’t have to kill СКАЧАТЬ