Hope White - Small Town Protector

A threat to his son’s grandmother.

The pain of losing his family rushed to the surface. Being back in Port Whisper where he’d asked for Olivia’s hand in marriage, where they’d planned a future they’d never have, was messing with him. Big-time.

It was distracting his focus from tracking a killer and protecting a fragile innocent, Lana Burns. The best thing he could do for her and everyone in town was leave the past behind and focus on the case.

Yet he needed to stop by his former mother-in-law’s place. He owed Caroline more respect than to have her find out about his presence in town through the gossip mill.

The experience wouldn’t be a pleasant one. He was sure she hadn’t forgiven him, and he couldn’t blame her. His ambition, his workaholic nature inherited from his father, put his wife and, at the time, three-year-old son in danger fourteen years ago.

“Agent Drake?”

Garrett snapped his attention to Deputy Finnegan.

“This is our forensic investigator, Oliver Marsh,” he introduced. They shook hands.

With a slow, deep breath, Garrett shoved his personal connections to this town away, locking the door. Analyzing his mistakes and regrets would only distract him from his most critical goal: finding the elusive killer before he struck again.

* * *

An hour later the forensic investigator offered his preliminary opinion: time of death was between 3:00 and 7:00 p.m.; there was dirt and blood under Washburn’s fingernails as if he had tried to claw his way out of something; and he’d most likely drowned. He wasn’t strangled like the rest of the victims.

That change in pattern disturbed Garrett the most. His team relied on the profile, designed to help them determine what the killer might do next, to whom and where.

They docked at Port Whisper and the forensic techs took the body to the lab where they’d continue their analysis. The chief took Garrett to meet with the teenagers who found the body, but they couldn’t offer anything helpful. They were still traumatized by the image of the dead man’s eyes staring up at them.

It was quarter past eleven. Garrett was tired, hungry and frustrated.

“I don’t suppose anything’s open this time of night?” he asked as the chief drove Garrett back to his car.

“Actually, the Turnstyle is open until midnight. Up Main Street about four blocks.”

“Thanks.”

The chief pulled over. “I’m assuming you’ll come by the office in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“I’ll find something.”

“You could always try Caroline Ross’s place, the Port Whisper Inn. It’s quiet and homey.”

And loaded with land mines.

“Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow.” The chief shook Garrett’s hand.

Garrett sensed the man was honorable and had decent instincts for a small-town cop. “Good night.”

Walking through town to the restaurant, Garrett called team member Georgia Hunt and told her to send a forensic artist to Port Whisper, but there was no reason the entire team should join him just yet. They should stay in Tacoma and continue to work leads from the previous murder.

Garrett, on the other hand, wasn’t going anywhere until he felt confident his former mother-in-law wasn’t in danger.

He could swing by the inn now, but it was late and he didn’t want to alarm her. Like a morning visit would be any less alarming? She probably never expected to see or hear from him again, maybe even hoped…

But he knew in his heart that sending Olivia and Steven into protective custody had been the only way to protect them from the serial killer that had made Garrett a target.

A year later, Olivia had filed for divorce. Truth was, their marriage started to crumble about the same time his career took off, shortly after Steven was born. Garrett threw himself into work to provide for his family, and Olivia accused him of being a workaholic, absent, aloof.

Like his old man.

Garrett hadn’t planned to become a workaholic like his father, but the job quickly consumed him. They’d solve a case, and another would pop onto the radar. They’d save a victim, but lose three more.

His work ethic intensified once the divorce was final and Garrett had no one to think about but himself.

That wasn’t true. He thought about Steven. Every single day of his life.

Three years after he’d put his wife and son into the program, the killer who’d targeted Garrett was shot eluding police. The threat gone, Garrett could safely see his son, who’d just turned six. Yet Olivia said if Garrett truly loved Steven, he’d let her new husband raise him as his own. Garrett couldn’t walk away that easily.

Heart pounding, he’d swung by Steven’s baseball game and stood by the fence, watching as his son scored the winning run. The little guy was swarmed by teammates and when he broke free he rushed to his stepdad, Kurt, and slapped him a high five.

At that moment Garrett knew it was selfish to insinuate himself back into Steven’s life. Steven had a new dad, one who’d always be there.

Garrett’s son was better off without him, without a workaholic father unable to give him the time, guidance and love he so desperately needed. Garrett retreated, as Olivia had requested.

It was the right thing to do. His former mother-in-law had to respect him for putting Steven’s needs first, right?

“This town,” he muttered, shutting off the flow of memories, questionable decisions and regrets. He couldn’t let his emotions distract him from finding a serial killer.

The glow of florescent lights spilled onto the street from the Turnstyle Restaurant up ahead—a lot of activity for a small town this late at night. Then again, if they’d heard about the murder, they probably needed to get together and process. More like gossip. Garrett knew how small towns worked.

He pushed open the door to the restaurant and hesitated, fearing someone would figure out he was the federal agent and ask him questions. A few people glanced up.

A female server with a name tag that read Anna approached him. “Table for one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? So formal.” She smiled and he tried to offer one in return but couldn’t. She was not quite thirty with long, auburn hair tied back.

“Do you have a booth in the back?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He followed her to the rear of the restaurant, slid into a booth, and she handed him a menu.

“Are you serving breakfast this time of night?” he asked.

“You bet. Boomer’s blueberry pancakes are amazing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Start you off with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular, please.”

She breezed off and he glanced at the menu, trying to look like a tourist in town for some R & R, something he’d rarely experienced in his adult life. Dressed in his crisp navy suit, starched white shirt and maroon tie, he looked nothing like a man on vacation.

From this vantage point he could see everything: a man in workman’s clothes seated at the counter; Scooner Locke and two middle-aged men deep in conversation; a table of four raucous teenagers; and a young couple in the booth next to Garrett, blindly eating while an infant slept in a baby carrier next to them.

Anna returned with his coffee. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll try the blueberry pancakes.” He passed her the menu and closed his eyes, trying to relax the muscles coiling in his neck.

“Lana? Weren’t you supposed to stay home tonight?”

Garrett opened his eyes and caught sight of the ethereal Lana Burns standing just inside the door.

One of the men at Scooner’s table waved her over. “Come over here and give us the scoop on the…” He glanced around the restaurant and thought better of announcing to the room that a dead body had been discovered. “Come join us.”