Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #2 (41 page)

FIVE

“M
y camera! I was taking pictures with it in the parking garage just before Brian was shot!” If there were photos of the Faceless Crew on there, Vince would be sure to run them on the front page of the paper. Then, the police would have to take Vince seriously when he pressured them to answer their questions, and her place in the
Torchlight
family would be secure.

“Sorry, I didn't realize it was there. I thought I'd handed over all of your stuff at the hospital.” Daniel picked it up. The lens was cracked and the view screen was smashed. “Pretty badly damaged, but hopefully the police will still be able to get something from it.”

“I'll give it to the tech wizards at the newspaper first thing on Monday. Or actually, maybe Ricky can work on it tomorrow. I'll ask him as soon I figure out where he's gone. Once we get downloaded whatever's on it, Vince will make sure it gets handed over to the right contact person within the police. He'll know the best channel.”

Daniel set the camera down on the front seat of the truck and led her across the floor to the workbench. “Except that now is no time to be thinking like a reporter. You've potentially got evidence of a murder. What we need to do is we hand it over to an officer, any officer. Right away. We can't afford to wait around for your newspaper to do their thing.”

She bristled. He might be a good foot and a half taller than she was, but that was no reason to talk to her like a child. “Yes. But you don't just hand over evidence to the police without making a copy of it. How would that be responsible? You also don't just hand something this important for a news story to any random cop, because they have no reason to ever give it back to you and you're all but guaranteed never to see it again. Not that I've got anything against the cops. My sister, Chloe, is a detective. But there's a way that journalists handle sensitive, potentially explosive information. They make a backup copy of everything. They get their editor to send it up the correct channels.”

Sure, she was in his garage, in the middle of nowhere—not to mention her arms were practically screaming in pain from the zip ties around her wrists—but she was still a reporter. He was going to take her seriously.

“Well, I'm sorry, but I don't have a computer here, I don't have an internet connection and it's almost eight o'clock on a Friday night. You're just going to have to explain to your editor that I insisted we give the camera to police and there was no way to back up any of the pictures.” They reached the workbench. “Now turn around and I'll cut the cuffs off you.”

“Hang on.” She practically dug her heels in. “You've saved journalists' lives before when you were a bodyguard. You told me so back in the diner. So you've probably been in an actual war zone and known with certainty that reporter you were escorting had pictures or video with them of a bombing or a terrorist attack. Maybe you've even been present for an interview with insurgents or with a tribal warlord. Right?” It wasn't a question. She could see the answer in his eyes. “Did you ever not trust their newspaper to handle that information professionally? Or say that you were just going to take their camera from them and hand it over to police?”

He frowned. “Obviously not. But this is different.”

“Why? Why is this different?”

“Look, can't we just get your handcuffs off? You've got to be in pain.”

“Fine.” She was. She'd been practically gritting her teeth not to let it show. “But that doesn't mean I'm agreeing with you.”

Thunder rumbled around them. Rain pounded the roof above.

“I get that.” Dark eyes met hers. “Now, if you'll just turn around for me, I'm going to grab a knife and free your hands. Stay as still as you can, okay?”

He stepped behind her. She heard him pick something up off the table, then felt one strong hand grab both of hers and hold her firmly still. There was the quick flick of something brushing against her skin.

Her hands fell free. The relief that flooded through her body was so intense it almost knocked her breathless. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Thank you for trusting me.” Daniel gently turned her toward him. “Can you feel your fingers? How's your range of motion?”

She let him take her hands in his. Carefully, he brushed his fingers along the insides of her wrists. Then he linked his fingers through hers and gently moved each wrist around in a circle before letting them drop. Pins and needles shot painfully up her fingers. But the sensation of blood rushing into her hands felt so good it more than made up for it. “I'm sore. But it's not that bad.”

“I'm glad.” His hands brushed her shoulders, as if he was debating whether or not to hug her. Then his gaze ran over her shoulder and out toward the house. “First things first, we call 9-1-1. The dispatcher will take down our details and get someone to call us back about giving a statement. Either they'll come here or we'll go to whichever station they tell us. Or maybe, because it's late, they'll take our statements over the phone. You tell the cops whatever you want. But when I'm giving my statement, I'm telling them about your camera. Fair?”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

He stepped back and picked a cordless phone up off the workbench. “We'll try this first. The battery is pretty low and there's a landline in the house if we need it. But I'd rather we call from out here.”

“Why?”

Why stand out in the garage when he had a house right there, even if only a handful of the rooms were finished? Presumably, the kitchen had chairs they could be sitting on. If not a coffeemaker. But he'd already dialed 9-1-1 and within moments was talking to the emergency dispatcher, who passed him through to a police call taker. Daniel relayed the basic details of what had happened, along with his phone number and address. Then he handed her the phone and Olivia did likewise.

“Someone will call you back shortly to take further details.” The call taker's voice was female, elderly and somehow managed to hit that perfect spot between professional and comforting. “They might schedule an interview with you for tomorrow instead of dispatching an officer to your location tonight, unless someone is in imminent danger. Are you somewhere safe right now? Do you feel certain that the threat has passed?”

Daniel walked over to the window and looked out at the rain.

Olivia studied the strong lines of his form. “Yes.”

“Do you feel safe?”

She closed her eyes. Even with Daniel's back to her it was as if she could feel his presence in the room. “Absolutely.”

The phone beeped to warn her that the battery was dying. She quickly ended the call. “They'll get someone to call us back. But I gave them my cell phone number, too. So if you'd be so kind as to give me a ride back to civilization, they can still reach us that way. I don't know where the closest bus terminal is. But there was some hotel on the highway where we turned off. The clown-themed one with a campsite and some kind of little fairgrounds? I could spend the night there and find my way back to Toronto in the morning.”

“That place is a rat trap. Trust me, you want to stay away from that place.”

“Okay. Then, what do you suggest?”

“Give me a minute. I'm thinking.” His shirt was still so wet from the downpour it practically clung to him. While she had to admit soaking wet wasn't exactly a bad look on him, this was hardly a “fall into some strong man's arms” kind of moment.

She straightened her top, walked over to the truck and picked up the remains of the camera. It was the type of model where all the pictures were saved digitally on a memory card. But the card was wedged in and didn't want to come out. She pinched hard with her fingers and yanked it loose. It looked bent. She slid it into the pocket of her jeans. Hopefully, once she found Ricky, it'd still be possible to get the pictures off it.

“Well, I can't read your mind,” she said. “So how about you start by telling me what you're thinking? I still don't know why you asked me to come out here and meet you, or why you were waiting for Brian Leslie in that parking garage.”

Daniel ran both hands through his hair and for a second it looked as though he couldn't decide whether she frustrated or amused him. “I've got to go into the house to check up on something. Then we'll discuss where to go from there. It might be best if I just drive you all the way back to Toronto tonight.” He started toward the garage door. “I'm sorry if this sounds rude. But the thing I've got to sort out is kind of personal and I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed out here. I'll be back in a second.”

“Seriously?” She didn't even try to keep the indignation from her voice. “Look, I've been pretty understanding about respecting both your privacy and your boundaries. But don't you think asking me to hang out alone in your garage, in the dark, like some kind of stray when there's a house with at least a few usable rooms right there is pushing it just a little too far?”

The garage door rattled. There was a banging sound, as if someone was throwing his or her weight against the metal. The door rolled up slowly.

In an instant, Daniel had stepped in front of her, shielding her body with his.

Her body tensed, waiting to either fight or run. Her eyes stayed locked on the rolling garage door. A pair of sturdy brown boots. Skinny legs in tight blue jeans. Long flowing blond hair slipping through the hood of a raincoat. Beautiful full lips twisted in a scowl. Olivia gasped. Daniel sighed.

“Olivia, meet Sarah Leslie, Brian Leslie's niece.” Daniel took a deep breath. “My ward and former stepdaughter.”

* * *

“I was married to her mother, Mona, for about two years a very long time ago,” Daniel said. Although considering she'd just left him and never sought a divorce, they were still technically married when she died. “I'm now Sarah's guardian.”

Shock didn't even begin to describe the look that crossed Olivia's face. He regretted not telling her sooner. But Sarah could be temperamental, and while she'd seemed to really like the idea of meeting Olivia and being interviewed by her, he hadn't wanted to just waltz into the house with the reporter without first talking to Sarah and filling her in. She'd already been frustrated enough when he'd insisted they get out of the city for a few days.

“Legal guardian.” Sarah's lips turned up in an expression that was halfway between a smile and a smirk. “See, the law's kind of fun when it comes to being orphaned. You can move out and live on your own at sixteen. But I can't touch a cent of my inheritance until I turn eighteen.”

“So November,” Olivia said.

He wasn't even sure Olivia realized she'd said that out loud.

“Yeah...” Sarah's eyes scanned Olivia's face. Then her gaze cut to Daniel. “So what is this? You pulled up ages ago, but instead of coming into the house you hide out here?”

She said it as though he'd done something wrong. As though she was the parent and he was a teenager who'd sneaked a date into the garage.

“Sorry.” He extended one hand toward each of them. “Sarah, this is Olivia. She's the reporter we talked about. I know I'd told you we'd talk about it first before I saw about introducing her. But when I went to tell her about the situation, someone tried to attack her after she left the diner. So I brought her here to call the police.”

Sarah's shoulders rose and fell. She might be three months away from turning eighteen, but somehow the giant hood and baggy coat engulfing her body made her look several years younger. Before he could say anything more, she turned and started back toward the house.

A long pause spread out in the garage. Olivia's face was still pale in the dim light. Her eyes stared out into the darkness beyond. The rain had tapered off completely. Either the heavy storm was no longer coming or the weather had decided to give them a break before it hit in full force.

“I never thought to check Mona's marriage records,” Olivia said, more as if she was talking to herself than him. “I did try to find out who Sarah's legal guardian was. But that information was confidential. I just assumed it was Brian.”

“I met Mona when I was eighteen and she was seventeen. Sarah was just a tiny baby then and Mona was struggling to cope. I felt needed. We got married when I was nineteen. She quickly decided she wasn't cut out for married life and left me for good when I was twenty-one. It all happened rather fast.”

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. His heart ached faintly at the memory of a very old wound. Everything to do with Mona had been fast. It was a mistake he'd never make again.

“Four years ago, I got a call from her lawyer saying she'd died. I was in Egypt at the time and still don't know how he tracked me down. But Mona and I had never legally divorced. I believed I'd made a commitment to her forever so it never occurred to me to ask for a divorce, and for whatever reason, she'd never filed. Her will still named me as the person she hoped would take custody of Sarah. It also gave me guardianship of Sarah's inheritance, which was and is quite considerable. When I married Mona, I promised I'd do whatever I could to help her take care of Sarah. Mona never trusted Brian, and her closest friends on the construction crew had the kind of criminal backgrounds that made social services think twice. She didn't really have anyone else. So I came back.”

It had been tense. Sarah had been barely more than a toddler when he'd left. Now, as a highly independent teenager who'd grown up surrounded by drinking and partying and had just lost her mother, Sarah had pretty much accepted his guardianship as a kind of necessary headache that kept her from falling into the foster system. He just hoped he'd done right by her.

“As you can imagine, Sarah's been getting calls nonstop from media outlets who want to interview her ever since Brian was arrested. They've tripled now that he's died. Being a typical media-generation kid, she's really eager to do some interviews. But she's so naive. She's angry at how her name is being trashed in the mainstream press and thinks no harm can possibly come going on a media interview blitz to set the record straight. She worked part-time in the office at Leslie Construction, so she thinks all the people Brian stole money from are really her friends. She knows they're upset, but she thinks they only hate her now because of some big misunderstanding and will forgive her once she explains none of Brian's actions were her fault. I'm not sure she gets that the kind of anger they're feeling won't blow over quickly. She's even talking of running the company herself.”