Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #1 (34 page)

“Shh,” Cole soothed. “You've been afraid to show your weakness, but God wants to be your strength.” He tightened his hold. “Sometimes the greatest gift you can give to someone is to let them see your vulnerability.”

She drew in a ragged breath.

Cole stroked her back comfortingly. “Your family, your friends, your colleagues would all want to help you...if you'd let them in.”

She shook her head. “People shy away from messed-up people. They don't want to be burdened. My parents would just coddle me and wrap me in cotton batting if they could, but the rest of the family wouldn't understand. They're all cops and firefighters, and none of them have trouble coping with the job. I'd be a disappointment to the Steele name.”

Cole actually had the nerve to chuckle. Here she was baring her soul to him and he was laughing at her! She tried to pull out of his arms, but he refused to give ground. “Trust me, Sherri. We don't cope as well as you think. That's why too many officers drink too much or end up divorced. The ones who talk about whatever's eating at them and get support fare much better. I suspect your relatives fall into that category, because they have each other. Have you ever asked your cousin Jake if he had nightmares after losing his wife?”

“I couldn't do that.” She pushed away from him. “Dredge up old grief. He has a new wife now.”

“Yeah, and she's pregnant, and he lost his first wife soon after childbirth. Don't you think that might be preying on his mind?”

She gulped. “Okay, I get it. I know I'm not the only one with problems. But Jake certainly doesn't need to worry about my problems on top of his own.”

“But don't you see?” Her heart melted at the earnestness in his gaze, the tenderness in his voice. “He does anyway. Because that's what families do—share each other's burdens. It's what God wants us to do.”

His
I'm making it my problem
declaration his first day on the job, whispered through her mind. Did he consider her family?

The sheriff appeared at the back of the truck and held up a baggie containing a key ring. “These belong to you?”

“Yes.” Sherri stepped away from Cole and stuffed the keys in her pocket. “They must have fallen out when that creep searched me for drugs. Thank goodness he didn't take them.” She shivered at the thought of her attackers waiting for her in her apartment.

“We haven't found any more bombs,” the sheriff told Cole, his tone short. “But we found fingerprints on the one that didn't detonate that might give us a lead. I've sent a deputy over to Joe Martello's to bring him in for questioning.”

“What?” Dan stepped up beside the sheriff and turned a disgusted glare her way. “You think Joe did this to you?”

Sherri slanted a panicked glance at Cole. She'd specifically begged him to make sure Joe wouldn't know.

“No,
I
think he did,” Cole said. “He's the only suspect with substantial motive.”

Dan snorted. “You don't know him at all. He's turned his life around thanks to Sherri snitching on him. He's not going to throw that all away. For what? Revenge?” Dan waved off Cole's attempt to argue. “Forget it. Let's get Sherri to the hospital, and then I got to get the ambulance restocked for the next shift.”

Sherri tensed at the thought of what else Dan was likely in a hurry to do—talk to Joe. Whether he was behind the attacks or not, finding out they suspected him would only make him mad and make everything ten times worse.

TWELVE

C
ole accompanied Sherri to the hospital to ensure whoever was after her didn't get to her there.

Two hours later, the ER doc gave her permission to go home, confirming that she'd suffered no serious internal injuries. “But you'll have someone with you?”

“Yes,” she conceded, slanting Cole a sheepish glance, since it had taken a bit of arm-twisting to convince her to stay at her parents'. Of course, given her condition, Cole wouldn't be surprised if her father locked her in for good.

Cole escorted her to where Zeke was keeping an eye out for the deputy dropping off their cruiser, since they'd both ridden to the hospital in ambulances. “How are you really doing?” he whispered close to her ear. Between doctor exams and tests and his keeping tabs on the investigation status, they hadn't had another opportunity to talk. He'd noticed the mask slip back into place as soon as Dan had given him an earful about their suspicions of Joe.

“Better. I'm going to think about what you said. Is Ted okay? I want to thank him for coming to my rescue again.”

“That will have to wait. They're keeping him in for observation. But—” Cole produced a key from his pocket “—he was so eager to help us identify your attackers that he handed over his house key so I can peruse the photos he took of you.”

She jolted to an abrupt stop. “He took pictures of me?”

Cole grimaced. “That's what he said. And to be honest, I have no idea how creepy that really is until I see them. He figures we might see some familiar faces in the background.”

“Then I should come.” She squared her shoulders and jutted her chin, looking ready to argue if he said no.

Zeke joined them. “Sounds like a good idea. C'mon, our ride's here.”

Cole reluctantly conceded that it would be expedient to let her come along.

Ted's second-story apartment was only two blocks from Sherri's, but in a markedly more financially depressed neighborhood. Noisy air conditioners dangled precariously from every third window in the building. There was no front-door security, and the stairwells reeked of stale beer. The arrival of a sheriff's car wouldn't surprise anyone here.

In contrast, the man's apartment was neat and pleasant smelling.

“I feel as if we're invading his privacy coming in without him,” Sherri whispered, not straying far from the front door.

“Get over it.” Zeke strutted in like he owned the place. “He said we could. Insisted he didn't think we should wait until he was out of the hospital.” Zeke made a beeline down the hall, glancing in each room as he went. Ted had said his pictures were in the second bedroom, which he used as an office, some printed, some only on his computer.

“Whoa.” Zeke paused outside the room and shot Cole a maybe-you-don't-want-to-bring-her-in-here look.

“What is it?” Sherri asked.

“Wait here a sec.” Cole hurried to Zeke's side and all but choked at the hundreds of photographs of Sherri that papered the wall—a whole lot more than ten days' worth. “The guy's obsessed with her,” Cole whispered. He'd already known it in his gut, but he hadn't had a clue just
how
obsessed.

“Downright certifiable, I'd say.”

Cole stepped fully into the room and studied the photos. Ones of her leaving the ambulance base. Ones of her going into the coffee shop. Except they looked like they could date back a couple of years—coming out of the movie theater, out of church, out jogging on the river trail. Then there were time-stamped ones, more recent. Ones of Sherri working calls, others off duty. Each picture captured other people in the background and the odd person who appeared to be watching her. Cole sucked in a sharp breath. Unfortunately, in at least three, that odd person was his brother, Eddie.

Sherri's gasp snapped Cole's attention back to the bedroom door. She stood on the threshold, ashen and trembling.

He rushed to her and clasped her shoulders, forcing her gaze to meet his.

“He's, he's...crazy.”

“About you, it seems,” Cole added solemnly. “Do you know why?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Her voice rose hysterically. “I've never seen him before he saved me from that dog, but...but...” She walked into the room and studied the pictures, wrapping her arms around herself as if she'd been plunged into a snowstorm. “Clearly, he's been watching me for a lot longer than that.”

“Yeah—” Zeke lifted a lock of hair from a shrinelike table beneath the wall of photos and held it close to hers “—a real nut job. My guess is that his rescues were no coincidence. He's probably been setting you up just so he can play your hero.”

She swung her head away from the lock of hair in Zeke's hand. “That's crazy.”

“Yeah.” Zeke motioned to the wall and let out a snort. “That's what he is.”

Sherri's legs wobbled and her arms quivered. She almost looked in worse shape than when he'd found her in the food court. Then she'd been able to fight, but this was too personal, too insidious.

Cole eased her into a chair. “His obsession didn't come out of thin air. You saved his life three years ago. Do you remember?”

“No! And how do
you
know if I don't remember?”

“We saw him talking to his former neighbor when we were following him earlier and after he left, we asked her about him.” Cole reminded Sherri about the call and how she'd revived him. “He was apparently a lot thinner then, which would explain why you didn't recognize him.”

“Yes. I think I do remember him now. I was scared out of my wits because I'd never used the defibrillator solo on a real patient before. After I revived him, he looked at me so oddly. It was dark and we were outside. Joe said he probably saw the headlights beaming through my hair.”

“Well, apparently, he's made it his mission to look out for you.”

Sherri relaxed a little. “That's kind of sweet.”

“If it weren't so creepy,” Zeke interjected, snapping photos of the montage.

Sherri shuddered. “Yeah.”

“I'd say we've got enough here to hold him on a psych evaluation until we can prove he set up all the stunts to play her hero.” Zeke plopped into the desk chair and flicked on the computer. “We might even find his plans on here.”

“He only gave us permission to look at the photos,” Cole reminded him, not wanting to sabotage a conviction by acquiring evidence without a warrant. Not that he was quite ready to believe Ted was behind everything. How did a mall custodian win the cooperation of so many teenagers?

Okay, maybe that wasn't so hard to believe. He could've promised to sneak them into the movie theater the back way or given them tips on how to beat mall security for their own exploits. But how'd he convince some Rottweiler owner to sic his dog on Sherri? Let alone know when she'd be the one to respond to a 9-1-1 call?

Of course, who was to say there hadn't been other calls that he'd opted not to exploit because another team had responded those times?

“Jackpot.” Zeke motioned them over to the computer. “Look at these.”

The screen had thumbnails of more than fifty photos.

Sherri squinted at the screen and shivered. “This was yesterday. I had a feeling someone was watching me.”

Cole fisted his hand. He'd been watching her while on his patrols yesterday, too. But clearly not closely enough.

Zeke clicked on Slideshow and, one at a time, the photos filled the screen. Ones of Sherri walking downtown with Jake's wife, coming out of the bakery with her, talking to her outside the fire station, talking with Cole outside the sheriff's office. “Look—” Zeke pointed to the bench in front of the sheriff's office “—he even caught me watching you in that one.”

Two more photos of their argument followed in quick succession, each from different angles. “Stop on that one,” Cole said. “Isn't that Joe watching from outside the ambulance base with Dan?”

“Yeah, he'd been paying the guys a visit. He was already there when I stopped by. He couldn't have known I'd show up, because I hadn't planned to. But I'm not surprised they stepped outside to watch the show after the way I stormed out.”

Cole took consolation in the self-denigration in her voice as she looked back at their argument now. “In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that Eddie was at the mall at the time of the 9-1-1 call and subsequent bomb threat.”

Her eyes widened, then searched his. Her expression morphed from surprised to unreadable. “Do you think he was involved?”

“He claimed he was hanging with friends. I'll have to trace his movements back through every video feed that picked him up to decide if it's the truth. I'll also show him the stills of the five teens leaving the mall. Ask if he can identify them. Gauge his reaction.”

Zeke shook his head. “You'd better let me do that. Your judgment's tainted.”

Cole restrained a frustrated sigh. He was probably right, but Cole didn't like the gleam that crept into Zeke's eyes or the way his lips edged up as if it would be a pleasure to prove how tainted.

“We already know he's friends with Ted,” Zeke stated.

“Eddie is friends with him?” Fresh outrage simmered in Sherri's voice, as if she thought this was yet something else they'd kept from her.

Cole scowled at Zeke. “I don't know anything of the kind. How do you figure?”

“After the dog attack, when you and Eddie came out of the woods, he caught a ride into town with Ted.”

“Eddie stuck out his thumb, and Ted picked him up.” Cole didn't bother to hide his irritation with Zeke for reading more into the scenario.

“Or so he'd like you to
believe
...”

* * *

“I'm not crazy!” Ted yelled as Cole supervised his transfer to the psych ward. “There's no law against taking pictures, is there? If she doesn't want me taking pictures I'll stop. I swear I will.”

“I'm sure she'd appreciate that,” Cole said.

As the orderly wheeled Ted into a secure room, he grabbed Cole's hand. “You don't believe I'd hurt her, do you? She saved my life. I'd never hurt her. I was watching out for her.”

Not at liberty to question him without his lawyer present, Cole restricted his response to a nod and pried his hand free of Ted's grip.

“It's that other deputy you should be investigating. He's the crazy one, thinking I'd sic a dog on Sherri just so I could rescue her. What took him so long to get to the scene, huh?” Ted scratched his fingers up and down the arm of the wheelchair. “I heard the call on my police band at home. Heard him respond right away, too. Said he was on his way. But I still got there before him. Why's that, huh?” Ted grew more agitated, rocking in his chair. “Did he tell you I asked him that when he questioned me after the attack?”

Cole hid his shock. Not surprised that his partner had neglected to mention being quizzed about his slow response time, but that he hadn't clued in to the oddity himself. He'd been at the coffee shop across the street when Zeke phoned to report the 9-1-1 call. There was no way he should've beat Zeke to the scene, let alone by more than a five-minute margin.

“I didn't think so,” Ted went on. “He's a slimy one, that one. You can see it in his eyes. Sure, I know some about dogs. Enough to know Sherri's partner was an idiot to tell her to make eye contact and hold out her hand. But what does he think? I'm a ventriloquist and threw a whistle out to those woods to get the dog to run off? I'm telling you, he's the nutcase.”

“I assure you we'll conduct a thorough investigation and appreciate your cooperation.” Cole left Ted to the psychiatrist's care and headed back to the station. Rationally, he knew the man was lashing out, looking for someone else to blame, but Cole wasn't ready to overlook Zeke's slow response time to the dog attack, either.

As Cole pulled into the office parking lot, Zeke barreled out of the building. “You're here. Good. We just got IDs on two of the teens in the video surveillance from one of the high school teachers. They live in a foster home out on Fifth. We need to hurry if we're going to catch them before they leave for school.”

“Hop in.” Cole flipped on the sirens and careened out of the lot.

“You might want to kill the sirens before we get to Fifth,” Zeke suggested. “If they think we're coming for them, they might make a run for it.”

Deciding the kids probably already had started walking to school if they didn't intend to ditch classes, Cole cut the sirens and headed to Fifth from the direction of the school.

“There they are!” Zeke pointed to three teens—two males and a female—who took off the other way the instant they spotted the cruiser.

Cole whipped the car past them and ramped onto the curb. Before he'd rammed the shifter into Park, Zeke's door flew open. “They're getting away!”

The threesome cut across a yard.

Cole called for backup and sprinted for the next lot to try to cut them off. He hit the next street, two strides ahead of Zeke and three behind the slowest kid. The kid's baggy pants slid farther down his backside, tangling with his unlaced court shoes, tripping him up. Cole snagged the back of the shorter kid's shirt before he face planted the sidewalk. Zeke puffed after the second male and, catching him by the coat, slammed his face into the yard's chain-link fence.

“We didn't do nothin'.” Zeke's five-foot-six, jock-type kid griped, fighting against Zeke's hold.

Zeke wrenched the kid's arm higher up his back. “Sure, that's why you ran.” He patted down the kid more roughly than necessary and hissed who knows what kind of warnings in his ear as he turned the kid's pockets inside out.

Cole directed his quaking kid to hold his hands against the fence. He looked too young to fit Sherri's description of the suspects in the mall attack. He'd wet his pants, and Cole almost felt sorry for him...until Cole's fingers closed around a vial in the kid's pocket. A morphine vial.