Annslee Urban - Broken Silence

Patrick continued walking beside her. “Well, I thought you’d like to meet Liza, since she’s working on the case with me.”

“I don’t want to seem unappreciative. I’m just holding out hope that this whole ordeal will blow over soon.”

“That’s all of our wishes. But in the meantime, we need to work together.”

Obviously an easy feat for him, but for her... Well, not so easy.

Amber stopped at the street corner, waiting for the light to change green. Eyes forward, heart thumping, flustered that Patrick stood so close.

She could feel the intensity of his gaze and the tension sizzling like electricity between them.

“I feel as if we’re missing something,” Patrick said after a moment. “Some vital component to this crime that’s right under our noses. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

Guilt swamped her. She felt blood rush to her cheeks, probably turning them the color of the red glowing traffic light. She had a million things to tell him. But not here. Not now. And not about the bombing incident. She sent him a glance and fought not to squirm under his speculative gaze.

“Patrick, honestly, the whole bombing thing baffles me as much as it does you. If that changes, I promise to call.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, his brow furrowed. “Okay. Let me walk you to your car.”

“No need. I’m just in the parking garage across the street.” The light changed. “Have a good night.” With a wave, she broke into a jog, refusing to look back.

A half hour later, Amber pulled into her driveway as the night sky twinkled to life. Five steps took her to her covered front porch. As she plunged the key into the lock, her mind was already plotting her evening. Number one on her list: narrow down the fund-raiser’s agenda and finish working on the speech she’d started.

She blew out a breath. Good thing she’d left the café when she did.

Once inside, she flipped on the hall lights and locked the dead bolt.

Creak.

The sound split the silence, sending an icy tendril of fear skipping up her spine. Amber froze. Fisting her ring of keys, she held her breath, cocked her head to listen, hoping it was nothing. Ten...twenty seconds, then a floorboard creaked again.

A footstep!

Nerves sputtering, Amber whirled around as her brain maniacally chanted, Get out of here!

The lights flickered a split second before the power went out, thrusting her in total darkness.

The rush of blood pounding in her ears merged with the thud of approaching footsteps. Frantically, she grabbed for the dead bolt. As she untwisted the lock, a steely, gloved hand grabbed on to her wrist.

“You’re not going anywhere!” the man barked as he whipped her around and jerked her hard against his muscular chest.

The bloodcurdling scream scuttling up her windpipe quickly abated when a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

“Amber, it has been a long time,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, distorted. He tightened his hold on her.

She desperately clawed at her memory, trying to recognize the gruff voice. Nothing registered.

“Yes, long enough, dear, for you to forget. And if you had been smart, you would have.”

Forget what? Her attempt to make sense of the man’s words was interrupted by his husky growl in her ear. “Eleven years of silence. Now you’re an advocate for assault victims. Do you really think you can make atonement for past regrets?”

Panic seized Amber as clarity seeped into her brain. Her assailant was back. He knew she was speaking at the Silence No More fund-raiser and feared her story would go public. Immediately, she began to fight—she kicked out her legs, and her body bucked against his. She screamed into his hand, but it was cut off, coming out as a squeak.

Muscled arms tightened around her, crushing her lungs, stopping air flow. “Remember, Amber, some secrets are best taken to the grave.” His garbled whisper was hot and fast on her neck.

As her lungs struggled for a breath, she clawed at the man’s hand hard enough that he slackened his grip from her mouth. She then spluttered, “I don’t even know who you are.”

His harsh laugh jarred her eardrums.

He didn’t believe her. A jolt of disbelief morphed into terror, catapulting her back to a dark and cold frat house bedroom. This man was here to kill her.

Fear suddenly dissolved into rage. No way was she going to let him take her life.

From deep inside her, survival instincts kicked into gear. Biting her lip, she kicked the heel of her shoe into his shin, then jerked back her head so it connected with his jaw.

“You little—” His wail pierced the air.

With dreadful memories spurring her on, Amber broke away. She spun around, lifted the pepper spray on her key chain and sprayed the man in the face.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall with a thud.

Gasping and dizzy, Amber burst out the front door and into the street.

* * *

Patrick climbed into his SUV, and before he even started the vehicle a shrill ping on his cell phone announced the arrival of a new text message. He grabbed his handset from the clip on his belt and read the text from Liza.

Enjoyed tonight. Let’s do it again soon.

“Let’s not.” Patrick shook his head. It was impossible to just be friends with the woman. He clicked off the phone and tossed it on the seat beside him.

Another ping.

Really. Ignoring the pesky tone, Patrick plunged the key into the ignition and fired up the powerful V8.

A third ping.

“Relentless woman.” Debating whether to silence it, he grabbed the cell phone and glanced at the message. It wasn’t from Liza. It was Amber.

The police are swarming my house. Someone had broken in and was waiting for me when I got home. Apparently the bomb was meant for me after all.

Frustration exploded in Patrick’s chest. Yanking the gearshift into Reverse, he peeled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of Amber’s house. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

He scrolled through the contacts on his phone, punched on Amber’s name.

“Come on. Come on.” Patrick turned down a side street, taking a shortcut, waiting for her to answer.

Finally, “Hello.”

“Amber?”

“No, this is Kim, a friend—”

“Kim, this is Patrick Wiley. I met you this evening.”

“The detective?”

“Yes. Where’s Amber?”

“She’s talking to some of the officers here. Don’t worry, she’s okay.”

Thank You, God. “I’ll be right there.”

Someone cut in front of him and he leaned on the horn, the thrum of blood pounding in his ears. Ten minutes later he slammed on his brakes and nosed his SUV in between two patrol cars outside Amber’s bungalow.

As soon as his boots hit the pavement, he saw her. Surrounded by a handful of patrol officers, she stood there with her arms locked around her waist, her face expressionless beneath the glow of police flashlights.

Patrick approached the small group. His jaw tightened along with his fist when he thought about someone trying to harm her. Even after eleven years, he felt a need to protect her.

“What do you know, Gil?” Patrick directed his question at one of the officers.

“It seems somebody broke into Miss Talbot’s house. Got in through the laundry room window. He was waiting for her when she got home.” He nodded toward Amber. “Fortunately, she got away without being hurt.”

Patrick’s gaze bounced to Amber. “Did you get a look at him?”

Amber shook her head. “No, the lights were off and it was too dark.”

“So her attacker got away?” Patrick asked the officer.

Gil removed his hat, scratched at his sparse hairline. “Yes, sir. Once Miss Talbot got away from him, the crook didn’t hang around. But we’ve got the forensics team working on fingerprints.”