Annslee Urban - Broken Silence

Patrick only smiled. Vance chuckled, shaking his head while he grabbed his water bottle. “Well, if that’s the case, you should be pretty chilled out.”

Patrick couldn’t recall the last time he’d chilled out. Maybe never.

“But seriously—” the humor in Vance’s voice morphed into a professional tone “—not every detective is a good fit for every case. Sometimes it’s prudent to back away, let someone else have it.” He paused, and Patrick fixed him with a challenging stare. “What I’m trying to say, Patrick, is that if you’re not comfortable investigating Amber’s case, I don’t mind putting another detective on it.”

“I hope you’re kidding.” Patrick threw his towel in a bin. “I can do my job. A lack of clues and trying to find a runaway car bomber is the stress I’m dealing with.” He picked up his racquetball bag, ready to change the subject. “I need a shower.”

“I’m not questioning your ability to do your job.” Vance grabbed his bag and matched Patrick’s steps on the way to the locker room.

“Good.”

“I just remember that you and Amber didn’t exactly part on the best terms.”

“That’s water under the bridge.”

“Well, sometimes the water under the bridge is still turbulent.”

Patrick didn’t respond to that as they entered the locker room.

A moment passed. On a sigh, Vance added, “Patrick, if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“You’re as obstinate as ever.”

“Which is why you wanted me for this job.” Patrick clapped a hand on Vance’s shoulder before walking toward the showers.

“True, but...”

Patrick cranked on a shower faucet and pulled the curtain, drowning the rest of Vance’s speech. He appreciated his friend, even if he did hover a bit much at times. Nonetheless, Vance’s lecture held one valid point: Patrick shouldn’t take his job home with him. He needed to leave work at work and learn to relax. That was one thing he promised himself that he would do when he traded military life for civilian.

Patrick scrubbed shampoo into his hair, determined to do just that. Not let his job interfere with his personal life.

Even as he firmed up those plans in his head, a dozen questions roared to life about the car bombing case. About Amber.

Then again, learning to chill out may have to wait.

THREE

Amber sat at a small iron table outside the Riverfront Bistro, and her best friend, Kim Livingston, sat across from her. Amber settled back in her chair, cradling her cup between her palms as a gentle, warm breeze rustled her hair. Street-side dining was a favorite of hers, especially on such a nice evening. A reprieve from the prolonged chilly temperatures.

If only she could shake the uneasy chill she’d been experiencing since the bombing incident and seeing Patrick again.

“You okay?”

Amber glanced up, eyeing Kim across the pastries on the table between them. “Yes. Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. ” Kim set down her cup with a clink. “What’s up? You’re usually chatting like a magpie, but you’ve barely said two words since we sat down.”

“Sorry, I’ve just been enjoying my pastry and coffee.” Amber lifted her cup and took a sip. “Delicious. Hazelnut latte. My favorite.”

Kim’s light brows arched over her wide, inquisitive stare. “I thought you ordered caramel?”

That might explain the richer flavor. Amber took another sip. Kim was right. “Yep, definitely caramel.”

Kim leaned in, brow creased. “This must be your way of dodging my question—talking about coffee flavors.”

Giving a slight shrug, Amber cracked a small smile. Kim had the uncanny ability to see right through her.

“If it’s the car bombing that’s got you down, don’t worry. It was probably just some crazy prank by an overzealous troublemaker. In another week or two this whole thing will blow over.” Hope shone in her blue eyes and her smile went wide.

Always thinking on the bright side. That was what Amber loved about Kim. “A crazy troublemaker is definitely what I’m hoping for. But, actually, I’ve had a lot of other things on my mind, including the upcoming fund-raiser.” And Patrick Wiley. She spared Kim that tidbit.

She hated the way thoughts of Patrick stayed lodged in her mind. His sturdy physique, easy movements, the way his deep-set gaze swirled with questions. Which made her wonder—was the bombing incident the only thing on his mind, or were questions from eleven years ago rumbling around in his head?

Uneasiness settled heavier in her chest, followed by an immediate prick of conscience. She probably owed him some answers.

“I finally rounded up enough sponsors for the fund-raiser’s silent auction.” Kim’s optimistic tone jerked her back to the present.

Amber blinked. “That’s wonderful. Thank you so much for taking that on.”

“Anything for my best friend. Besides, as an ER nurse I’ve seen too many abuse victims. Your efforts to bring awareness and support to those women are a blessing to me.” Kim forked a cream-cheese tartlet and popped it in her mouth.

Where had Kim been during Amber’s emergency room visit eleven years ago? Cold and alone. Battered and bruised after being drugged and assaulted. No one believed her story—

Stop it! Amber pushed away the dreadful memories. Buried them. She wasn’t going there again.

She took another sip of coffee, trying to calm her now thumping heart.

“So what else needs to be done for the fund-raiser?”

Amber lowered her cup. “Not much...except maybe round up some volunteers to set up the reception hall and tear it down. So if you have any able-bodied friends who would like to help, let me know.”

Kim paused between bites. “I’m sure I can convince a few of my coworkers to help.”

“That would be wonderful. “ Amber added more cream and gave her coffee a stir. “I almost forgot. I have my speech to write, too.” Something she wasn’t looking forward to. The topic was so close to her heart, yet it was a story she remained reluctant to share. What would be gained by her unearthing the painful memories? Her audience knew pain and guilt; what they needed was encouragement.

She picked up her cup and leaned back in the iron chair, eyeing the horse-drawn carriage trotting down the street carrying tourists on a tour of Savannah’s historic district. “Isn’t it nice to see spring tourists trickling in?”

At that, Kim chuckled. “As much as I’m happy to have the winter weather behind us, warmer days and tourists make for a busy ER and, if you haven’t noticed, more traffic.”

Amber noticed, but didn’t care. She enjoyed this time of year. She sipped her coffee, watching the beautiful shires clip-clop past them, and as the carriage moved out of sight what came into view made her heart stop.

Patrick and his date seated at an outside table across the street. Amber sucked in a mouthful of air to hold in a sigh and twisted in her chair, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

Kim eyed her with raised eyebrows. “You look as though you just saw a ghost.”

Worse. She set her cup on the table. “It’s just someone I don’t want to talk to right now.”

Kim craned her neck to see around her.

“Don’t look,” Amber snapped, and then softened. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge.”

“No kidding. So who is it that you don’t want to see? The blonde or the gorgeous hunk she’s with?”

Actually, Patrick with anyone was what she didn’t want to see. Crazy. It had been years. Unfortunately, at the moment emotion overrode logic.

Amber picked up the laminated dessert menu on the table and used it as a fan. “The hunk is the detective who is investigating the car bombing.”