Annslee Urban - Broken Silence

She took a deep, silent breath. “Well, I’ve never had a spouse, and I can’t think of any looming relationship issues.”

Good. Not that it had any bearing on him personally, but it might make working with her a little less awkward. “How about outstanding debt? Do you owe anybody anything?”

She shook her head. “No, I live pretty frugally. Other than my house, I’m debt-free. Well,” she amended, “I guess I’ll be buying a new car.”

Patrick caught the subtle tremble of her body, but she kept any emotion off her face. He admired the way she was trying to stay strong, but he got a knot in his gut thinking about what she’d been through. A need to comfort her welled up inside of him.

He quickly stifled the impulse to pull her into his arms and offer her support. That wasn’t his place anymore.

“I’m sorry about your car.” His eyes captured hers, hoping to provide some solace, yet feeling ineffective against any stress she was dealing with.

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, thinking back to the destruction the bomb had left. “It was only by God’s grace that you made it out alive.”

As Amber acknowledged his remark with a small nod, her gaze drifted away to the storm raging outside. “Yes, things could have been much worse.”

It wasn’t just her averted eyes, but the fleeting look of remorse tightening her features that made him wonder what kind of storm was raging inside her.

Patrick hesitated, giving her a moment. “Amber, are you okay?”

She returned her gaze to him, shapely brows drawn together. “Sorry. It’s been a crazy day.” She pushed hair from her face. “Are you finished with your questions?”

“No, I have a few more.” Patrick shifted in the seat and switched modes, turning his focus once again on solving this case. “You talked about recently opening a counseling center. What kind of clients do you cater to?”

At the mention of her place of business, she brightened some. “Well, I work with two other counselors and we offer a variety of services, geared mostly toward women in crisis situations. We deal with everything from marital and family discord to substance abuse and mental health issues.”

Patrick nodded to himself. “Okay, how about a family member or significant other of one of your clients—anyone seeking revenge for your intervention?”

Amber hesitated, brushing another stray lock of hair from her cheek. “It’s possible, I guess. But most of my referrals come from the women’s shelter or hospital social workers. It’s a very confidential climate. I stay pretty much under the radar.”

“I understand,” Patrick said, although he did not completely dismiss the theory. “Have you received any unusual phone calls or messages lately?”

She shook her head. “No. Not that I can think of.”

“How about someone threatening harm or making you feel unsafe?”

There was a short pause as she folded her hands in her lap. “No.”

Patrick lifted a brow. “No one?”

She shook her head again.

Patrick gestured toward her house. “Do you feel safe staying here alone?”

Amber cast him a cool look, her eyes glinting amid the dim glow of the car’s interior lights. “Why wouldn’t I feel safe? You said yourself the bomb was crudely made. The work of an amateur.”

“Amateur or not, someone planted it. In your car.”

“In an almost empty lot.” Her tone took on a bit of a defensive tenor. “I understand, Patrick, that it’s your job to consider every angle. But I can’t imagine anyone targeting me.”

He nodded, hoping she was right.

A moment passed between them. Amber fiddled with her bag, and he was close enough to feel her discomfort.

She’d had a rough day and probably enough questions. “I think you’ve answered everything for tonight. Let me get an umbrella and walk you to your door.” As Patrick reached into the backseat, his arm brushed hers. Something in the way she pulled away made a shiver run down his back.

“Thank you, Patrick. I really appreciate the ride, but I can see myself in.”

Before he could remind her of the pouring rain, she jumped out of the vehicle and scampered down the sidewalk, her jacket pulled over her head.

He stared after her, waiting until she disappeared inside the house, the front door closing behind her.

She was hiding something.

A couple of fragmented thoughts pushed through the fog in his head. None of which had anything to do with a car bomb.

He had to stop himself. If he gave in to the urge to march to her door and ask a few questions, he’d be treading on unprofessional territory.

Patrick took a deep, bracing breath and started the engine. Personal issues would have to wait.

* * *

Soaking wet, Amber slumped against the door, her ears still ringing from the explosion, her knees throbbing. Not the best start to her weekend.

Seeing Patrick again definitely didn’t help.

Taking a shaky breath, she turned around and engaged the dead bolt. She heard Patrick’s SUV start up. The loud engine noise melded with the steady downpour. She waited a moment more until only the remnants of the storm filled her ears. Patrick was gone.

The one man in the world she never wanted to see again. And here he was, the investigator for a crime that she, unfortunately, had gotten pulled into. Professionally polite, professionally impersonal, giving her no indication if he’d grown to forgive her or despise her for what she’d done.

Her mind wanted to go numb with the memories of the last time she’d seen him. The wounded look in his eyes when she’d told him she wasn’t ready to commit. She’d needed time. She’d needed space. He hadn’t responded well. Not that she’d expected him to.

That day she’d held him for the last time. Walked away. Grieved every step.

She’d made a sacrifice, penance for a mistake he couldn’t understand.

Painful memories stabbed her, sending an icy shiver up her spine. Skin pebbling, she squeezed her eyes shut to block them, but instead more memories flooded in, and with them came the grief.

Indescribable grief that clung to her spirit was as fresh now as the night an unknown assailant had brutally attacked, drugged and attempted to rape her.

Although another student’s intervention had halted her attacker’s plans, her honor and dignity would remain tarnished. Forever.

Amber expelled a sharp sigh.

She had no one to blame but herself.

Patrick had warned her about the campus parties. But with him attending college on the other side of the state, she’d assumed he was being protective. And as her freshman year had neared the end, curiosity and boredom had outweighed good sense and she’d accepted a roommate’s invitation to attend an end-of-the-year bash at a local fraternity.

The repercussions of that choice had changed the course of her dreams and sent her life spiraling into a sea of shame and regret.

No! Not tonight! Amber’s jaw tightened as she willed the memories to cease.

Just thinking about the past, about Patrick, made her crazy. Especially since the path she’d paved for herself could never be erased.

Amber blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to wallow in self-pity.

Lifting her chin, she hung her coat on a hook by the door and then trudged to the bedroom and dropped her bag on the floor. Her chest heaved with exhaustion. A shower might relax her and then maybe she could sleep. What she needed was a new day. Fresh thoughts.

Twenty minutes later, she crawled into bed, closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable while listening to the gentle howl of the wind and the last remnants of the rain patter on the window. Even as every fiber of her being cried for rest, insomnia settled in.