Annslee Urban - Broken Silence

“I agree.” Patrick turned and stepped into the hallway. “Amber.” His eyes narrowed and his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin, sending a little fluttery sensation through her midsection and making her wish he’d stick to the stoic cop face she’d seen the other night.

“Good morning.” She tried for a smile, too.

“How are you? How are your injur—”

“Healing.” She cut him off, holding up a bandage-free hand, aware that his gaze was washing over her.

“Glad to hear you’re doing better.” He smiled more broadly.

“Amber, I wasn’t sure you’d be coming in today,” Tony interjected, hovering in the archway. “You know Pam and I could hold down the center for a couple days.”

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. Really.” Amber couldn’t bear to be cooped up in her house for another couple of days.

“Okay.” Tony tugged on his sparse goatee. He eyed her a moment longer. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Tony shut his door and Patrick moved closer. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to an office door with her name engraved in bold lettering. “I have a few questions. Shall we talk in there?”

“No,” Amber answered, immediately regretting the way her tone sharpened. She quickly added, “The waiting room is more comfortable.” She started walking as fast as her high heels and sore knees would allow, not waiting for his reply. In the lobby, she motioned for Patrick to have a seat on the couch. Then she slipped into one of the upholstered chairs, folded her hands in her lap and tried to relax. “I’m not sure what kind of help I’ll be. I don’t know any more than I did on Friday.”

“Actually, I have a hunch about something.” Patrick ignored the sofa, pulled a chair from the wall and sat down, facing her. A little too close. She took a deep breath. “I came across something this weekend that I think may tie in to your case. And although Mr. Hill answered most of my questions, I’d like to run a couple scenarios by you.”

Her stomach dropped further, but she didn’t let it show on her face. Patrick was convinced the bomb was meant for her. Why wouldn’t he buy into the random-crime theory like everyone else she knew? There was nothing to suggest it was anything other than that.

Patrick flipped open the folder and started shifting through the contents. Crime scene photos, detailed crime reports and other paperwork involving her case.

Amber swallowed. Maybe this was more serious than she’d thought. No. She tamped down the thought, reserving any speculation until there was evidence to support it.

Finally Patrick pulled a single sheet from the stack and pointed to the title with a blunt finger. “I believe this is a brochure that your center put out.”

“Yes.” Amber glanced at the flyer that featured the charity fund-raising dinner her counseling center was hosting. “I sent those to local businesses in the area advertising the event and requesting support.” She met his gaze. “I don’t understand what this has to do with the car bombing.”

Patrick set the open folder on the coffee table. “Silence No More. That’s the name of your fund-raiser?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Amber said with a shrug, “the fund-raiser is intended to raise money for the local women’s shelter as well as promote awareness for violent assaults against women. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but one in three women suffer from some sort of abuse during their lifetime. Many suffer in silence, feeling shame and guilt for something they weren’t responsible for. And the challenges they live with are innumerable, like low self-esteem, depression and trust issues.”

Patrick nodded. “Sounds like a worthy cause.”

“Yes. It is.” More than he could imagine.

Patrick scooted to the edge of his seat, arms resting on his thighs, hands clasped. “However, it brings me back to one of my earlier concerns—that the car bomb may have been planted by a revengeful abuser of one of your clients.”

Drawing in a slow breath, Amber tried to detach herself from the equation and objectively consider Patrick’s hypothesis. As much as it probably made sense to him, it still didn’t feel right to her. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Actually, the women I work with spend more time with social workers or staff at the women’s shelter. Why target me?”

“Well, we have to start somewhere.”

Amber fought not to shrink under Patrick’s speculative stare. “Yes. That’s true, but—” she held up a hand “—I was home alone all weekend. If someone wanted to hurt me—”

“It’s not that simple, Amber.” The grooves on either side of his mouth deepened into a frown. “This perpetrator may be lying low until the news dies down. And if he turns out to be someone from one of your clients’ past, that client may very well be the next victim.”

Amber’s stomach lurched at the thought. She hadn’t considered that. “That would be terrible.”

Patrick leaned closer. So close that she caught a whiff of his cologne. Still so familiar and clean. She slid back in her seat. “Yes, it would,” he concurred. “I’d like to talk to any of your clients who feel particularly threatened by someone.”

Rubbing her nose, Amber sat up straighter, determined to not let him blow this incident out of proportion. “The majority of my clients feel threatened by someone. However, I have client confidentiality to consider. I can’t just hand information over to you.”

As a cop, Patrick should understand that.

Patrick frowned at her. Guess he didn’t. “I need your help on this, Amber. I’m sure you work with a lot of vulnerable women. If any of them feel in danger, they should welcome an investigation.”

Amber took a moment and considered his request, still not buying the idea, but also remembering how persistent Patrick could be. She didn’t have time to argue his theory. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to run the scenario by a couple of my clients. However, I don’t want to start a chain of panic.”

Patrick’s already grim expression darkened further. “Some lunatic just blew up your car. The chain of panic has already started.” He flipped the file closed and got to his feet. “Do you still have my card?”

“Yes,” Amber said, standing.

“Good. Keep it with you and call me if you come up with anything.”

Surely he didn’t think she was being uncooperative. She simply didn’t see the situation the way he did. There was no motive. No prior threats. It didn’t make sense that someone was after her. Random crimes happened all the time. But apparently until Patrick exhausted his hunch, he wasn’t going to consider anything else.

“All right.” She nodded and offered her hand. “Thank you.”

Patrick hesitated, then accepted her outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake that sent an unexpected tingle spiraling through her.

Reclaiming her hand, Amber crossed her arms tightly against her thumping chest.

“Even if you get a gut feeling, call me.” Patrick turned to leave and Amber nodded, discreetly wiping her clammy palm on her skirt. Next time she’d settle for a quick wave.

She drew in a shaky breath and watched as Patrick headed out the door. He moved with the same assertive gait and athletic agility of the young man she remembered. But now he was even more fit, stronger, a capable and skilled soldier and detective.

There was a part of her that was happy he was willing to stay on her case. He could have easily passed it off to another detective. But there was also a part of her that wished he had. If the car bombing turned out to something other than a random act, the investigation would be prolonged and Patrick would be around a lot.