Random Acts (6 page)

Patrick stopped pacing and his fingers tightened around the phone. “I don’t like it. We should have never allowed Jenny to serve as a drug informant.”

Silence stretched across the line. This had been a bone of contention between the men. “Jenny Carson made her own choices.”

“She was backed into a corner.” Patrick bit back his frustration.

“Do you need an investigative team over there?” Chief Parker cut to the chase.

“No, I’ve got it covered.”

“Okay. And Patrick,” Chief Parker said, his tone softening, “we followed protocol last night.”

“I know.” Patrick replayed the events in his mind’s eye. Last night, from a crowded parking lot across from the bar, he had personally watched Jenny get into her car and drive home. He’d followed at a safe distance. Nothing had indicated anyone had suspected anything. He had made sure she had gotten safely into the house and locked the door behind her. He was a man of his word.

But how had Jenny ended up in a car accident
after
she’d made it home? And why did he feel like he had personally let Jenny down? A nagging guilt pricked his conscience.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have a car go by Billy’s bar, see who’s around.”

“I’d appreciate it, sir. I want to make sure no one’s targeting Jenny.”

Something niggled at the back of his brain. Had Jenny somehow tipped her hand and become the target of a ruthless drug dealer? But why break into her home when Jenny wasn’t there? His heartbeat kicked up a notch, the way it did when he was working the elements of a case, much like a puzzle, and the pieces wouldn’t fit. Did Jenny have something the intruder wanted?
If there had been an intruder
.

The screen door slammed. Danielle stood in the driveway, feet stuffed in sneakers with the backs pushed down. At his questioning expression, she raised the dustpan in her hand and said, “Cleaning up the glass.”

“Thanks,” he said to his boss and snapped his phone shut.

“Everything okay? Is Jenny in some kind of trouble?” The moonlight reflected in her trusting eyes.

“Let me take this.” He lowered his gaze and took the dustpan from her, his fingers brushing the soft, cool flesh of her hand. He flipped open the blue lid of the garbage tote and dumped the broken glass. It landed with a sharp clatter.

“You didn’t answer me. What did you mean when you said you wanted to make sure no one was targeting Jenny?” Danielle came up behind him and placed a hand on his back. Its tenderness coiled around his heart, melting his resolve. He was glad his back was to her.

He straightened his shoulders and slammed the lid shut. He turned around and forced a smile. “It’s standard protocol in a suspected break-in to determine why a certain house may have been targeted.”

Danielle crossed her arms and lifted her shoulders up to her ears. Her teeth began to chatter. “Do you think this house was targeted?”

“You never know. Maybe with the accident someone thought the house was empty. An easy target.” He couldn’t reveal Jenny’s involvement as a drug informant for fear of further jeopardizing her safety. Or Danielle’s.

Why did he feel like a liar?

Dear God, please forgive me.

The Protector lifted his fist and drove it down onto the counter. A red cloud of anger colored his vision. “Do I have to do
everything
myself?” Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on the boy—not a man, a kid, a failure—standing in front of him.

“No, sir.”

“Then where is it? Explain to me exactly why you went into the Carson home like a bull in a China shop? Did you want to get caught?” The Protector curled his fingers into tight fists and ground his teeth, resisting the overwhelming urge to pummel the kid’s face.

“No, sir.”

As if of its own volition, his hand came up and punched the kid in the sternum. The younger man stepped back, bent over and gulped in uneven breaths. Disgust washed over the Protector. “Oh, stop being a wimp. Stand up straight. Be a man.”

The kid stood, narrowing his gaze a fraction. The Protector glared in return. “Are you defying me?”

“No, sir.”

“No one defies me.” He thumped the kid’s forehead with his index finger. “I run this place. You understand? And if you plan on sticking around, you better shape up.”

“Yes, sir.” The kid squared his shoulders.

That’s more like it.

The kid cleared his throat. “Give me another chance. I know I can find it.”

The Protector studied the younger man’s face. He had such high hopes for him. But maybe he wasn’t cut out for this after all. What a disappointment. “Another chance…” he hissed. “I don’t know if you deserve another chance.” He lifted his open hand and watched the object of his disgust flinch. He cupped the kid’s cheek and tapped it a few times gently. A deep chuckle escaped the Protector’s lips. He knew psychological warfare was just as crippling as physical. Maybe more so.

“Please, please…I’ll get it next time.” A flash of determination sparked in the kid’s eyes.
Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Not one for reassurances, the Protector shrugged. “I’ll decide soon. But either way, if they find her phone, you’re the one going down.”

Chapter Five

It was midafternoon before Patrick had the back door replaced with a more secure one without a window. For good measure, he also had the deadbolts replaced on both the front and back doors. Satisfied, he offered to drive Danielle to the hospital. After last night’s excitement, Gram claimed she was too tired to leave the house, content to sit and visit with a friend from the church who had stopped by. Patrick suspected Jenny’s condition had taken a toll on the elderly woman.

Once at the hospital, Patrick hung back as Danielle walked into Jenny’s room. She went immediately to the head of the bed and smoothed her hand across her sister’s hair. The silence grew heavy between them. He searched for comforting words but settled on something else entirely. “How’s your foot?”

Half of her mouth tipped in a small grin. “Fine. I was a bit of a drama queen. Show me blood and it’s all over.”

Patrick lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Understandable.” He didn’t want to admit he liked taking care of her, even if it involved a small cut, a Band-Aid and some gauze.

Danielle sighed softly, her expression growing sober. “I just don’t know what to do. This feeling of helplessness is killing me.” Her shoulders sagged. “There’s absolutely nothing I can do for my sister.”

“There’s one thing…” He let the words trail off.

She narrowed her gaze at him. “What?” Frustration laced her tone. “And don’t tell me prayer or I’ll hit you.”

Patrick lifted his hands as if to protect himself and smiled. He was rewarded with a slight curve of her pink lips before they flattened into a straight line.

“No,” Danielle said before he could plead his case. “I can’t pray. I’d feel like a hypocrite. I haven’t prayed in years, not really. Not since Gram used to drag us to church. How can I pray now when I need something? When I ignored God all along.”

“God understands.” His heart went out to her. How could anyone survive tragedy without faith? His faith had delivered him from the darkest days and months after his wife had died.

She shook her head and red splotches fired on her cheeks. “How can
you
pray?” she asked accusingly. “God took your wife. The mother of your child.” She nearly spat out the words as her eyes grew hard.

Patrick blinked back his shock. Her words felt like knives turning in his heart. He crossed to the window, planted his hands on the sill and stared up at the gossamer clouds floating across the brilliant-blue sky.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was heavy with regret. “I didn’t mean—”

Patrick didn’t turn around, but he felt her eyes on him. “When I was deployed to Iraq,” he said in a measured tone, “I made Lisa promise if anything happened to me, she’d raise our daughter in a happy home. I didn’t want her to waste her life grieving for me. Our faith promises us eternal life.” A yearning tore through his soul. Maybe if he had been around he could have saved Lisa. Maybe he could have convinced her to go to the hospital when her headaches first started. Maybe the doctors could have stopped the bleeding if she had gone in sooner.

He shook away the thought and continued, “I miss Lisa. I miss our family. But I made her make me a promise. Made her promise to move forward with her life if anything should happen to me. I told her to trust God’s plan.

“I never expected she’d be the first to die.” His voice broke and he bowed his head. Taking in a deep breath, he forced himself to face Danielle. A single tear rolled down her cheek, almost breaking the thin thread of control he had on his emotions. He leaned back on the windowsill. “I’d be the hypocrite if I didn’t honor the promise she made to me,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Danielle bowed her head. Another tear made a trail down her cheek. He resisted the urge to go to her. To brush the tear from her cheek. To tell her to trust God. To trust him. But something kept him rooted in his spot. His words would fall on deaf ears. Danielle wasn’t ready to hear any of what he felt in his heart.

Danielle sat in silence while Patrick prayed. Feelings of anxiety smothered her like an itchy wool blanket. She couldn’t focus on the words of the prayer. Instead, her eyes ping-ponged around the room. To the worn tile. To the white-on-white pattern on the bedspread. To the gray curtains on the window. Anything to avoid focusing on the prayer.

As soon as Patrick finished, she said, “If you need to go, I understand. I can call a cab to get home.”

“I don’t mind.” He seemed content to sit in quiet meditation. Even after his explanation, she still couldn’t understand how his faith had helped him overcome the tragedy of losing his wife.

Soft footsteps drew Danielle’s attention toward the door. A woman, no more than fifty, walked into the room. “Hello, I’m Dr. Moss.” The stethoscope around her neck and white lab coat confirmed her identity.

Patrick stood and shook her hand. “Nice to see you again.” He held out his palm toward Danielle. “This is Danielle Carson, Jenny’s sister.”

“I was hoping to talk to you today,” Dr. Moss said, her tone gentle. “Sorry I was unavailable earlier, but that’s what happens in a small town.” She adjusted the stethoscope slung around her neck. “We don’t have enough of me to go around.”

The two women shook hands. Patrick gently squeezed Danielle’s arm. “I’ll step out so you can talk.”

“I’d like you to stay.” Butterflies flitted in her stomach. Only moments ago she had tried to push him out the door, yet now she clung to him for moral support.

“Actually,” Dr. Moss said, giving Patrick a meaningful look, “I think it’s something you should hear.” The doctor flipped a paper on the clipboard, as if to double check her facts before speaking. She turned to Patrick. “What do you know about Jenny’s accident?”

“Not much more than we noted the morning Jenny was brought in. Her car went off the road and hit some trees. Our traffic investigator is still combing through the details, but best we can surmise she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

Danielle lowered her eyes, trying to shake the image of her sister’s small frame slamming against the hard edges of the vehicle’s interior. She exhaled a shaky breath and fought against the white lights floating in her field of vision.
Please, please, please, don’t let me pass out.

Dr. Moss apparently sensed her distress. “Do you need to sit down, Miss Carson?”

Danielle shook her head, fear rendering her speechless. Dr. Moss seemed to be assessing her with a professional eye before continuing, “Your sister has injuries inconsistent with a motor vehicle accident.”

Goose bumps peppered her skin. Her sister’s bruised face brought forth a new flood of guilt and fear. “I don’t understand.” She grabbed the smooth metal bar of the side rail, her legs going to jelly under her. She was only peripherally aware of Patrick’s solid hand on the small of her back, his voice reassuring in her ear.

“Can you give me more details?” Patrick asked.

“Well, for one, most accident victims who aren’t restrained have damage cross here—” Dr. Moss pointed to her midsection, “—usually where the steering wheel comes into contact…” The physician let her words trail off as she met Danielle’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard to hear.”

Danielle lifted her hand, steeling herself for whatever came next. “Go on.”

“Her broken nose may have resulted from the car accident, but she also has some bruising around the upper thighs. As if someone had kicked her. Repeatedly.”

Danielle let out a gasp. Placing two firm hands on either side of her waist, Patrick led her to the chair by her sister’s bed. Her knees bent of their own volition. “You think someone hurt my sister before she got in the car?”

“Her injuries are very suspicious. Yes.” Dr. Moss studied Danielle, perhaps sensing her full-blown panic attack. “Here, have some water.”

The physician’s awareness only fueled Danielle’s symptoms. Hyperaware, she watched Dr. Moss pour some water from the pitcher and hand it to her. She took tiny sips. Heat warmed her cheeks. The urge to run—to get out of this stifling hospital room—nearly overwhelmed her. Drawing in a breath, she locked eyes with Patrick. “You have to find whoever did this to my baby sister.”