Too Close to Home Page 19

  Instead, she sighed and leaned back. “I’m sorry it’s so late. I’ve been meaning to come by, but we’ve been . . . tying things up. Fortunately, Andrew knew his . . . death—” she bit her lip and closed her eyes, then sucked in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly—“that his death was a real possibility and was prepared. Everything was in order. He left some things for you.”

  Connor’s throat clogged. He stood, walked to the window, and stared out into the night. “I don’t want any thing. I want Andrew back.”

  He heard her breath hitch on a sob and the familiar feeling of guilt stabbed him. He wasn’t making this any easier for her.

  Crossing to her, he settled on the couch beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Aw, Angie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I want to make it better and I can’t.”

  She leaned into his embrace for a minute, then pulled back with a sniff. “I know, Connor. It’s not your fault. None of it is. Andrew should have had his vest on, but he just . . . walked out without it that morning. I’m not even sure why. He just . . . did. And to be honest, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had it on. That bullet would have gone right through it. Maybe Andrew just figured, why bother?”

  “Andrew marched to his own drummer, did things his way, the way he wanted to.”

  “Yeah.” Angie nodded. “Which is why he left you this.” She rummaged in the bag. When she pulled her hand out, she had her fingers curled around into a fist which she held out toward Connor. “Here.”

  Confused, he held his hand out. Angie unfurled her fingers and dropped a key into his palm.

  Grief nearly doubled him over. “Angie, no . . . I can’t . . . it was just a joke . . . I . . . I . . . no . . .”

  Her fingers stilled his lips. “It’s fully paid for and all the paperwork is in the glove compartment. Along with something else he wanted you to have.”

  His throat worked, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t make his lips form the words.

  Angie’s hand covering his jolted him. He lifted his gaze from the key to meet her eyes, not caring if she saw his own were filled with tears.

  “I miss him,” he whispered. “And I feel so selfish saying that, because I know your heart’s been ripped out too.”

  Finally, she let the tears swimming in her eyes fall to drip a salty path down her cheeks. And Connor couldn’t hold his back anymore either. Giving in, he touched his forehead to hers, his best friend’s wife, and joined her in shared grief for the man they’d both loved and lost.

  Hidden on the steps, Jenna turned from the scene in her den to climb back up. She’d heard the knock on the door and thought it might be Patty. Coming downstairs to investigate, she’d heard Angie’s voice and stopped to listen. Now, she wished she hadn’t eavesdropped. Her dad’s grief reached out to her all the way across the room.

  Tears blurring her vision, and constricting her breathing, she entered her room and shut the door with a faint click. Her dad was really hurting. Wow. She’d known he was mad, furious with the man who’d shot Andrew, but the raw grief she’d just seen threw her. Of course, she’d known her dad was upset, grieving, but she hadn’t realized exactly how bad he was hurting. And to see him actually cry . . .

  Wow.

  She slumped on her bed, wishing she could share his heartache. Just like she wished she could have poured out all of her grief on his strong shoulder after her mother died. All this pain. Would it ever end?

  What if she ended it herself? Killed herself? It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it.

  What would happen to her? Did she really have a soul? Did she believe all that stuff about heaven and hell? About a God who cared about her? Her grandparents did. Her grandmother was always reading the Bible, trying to get Jenna to listen to her, to make right decisions, she said, that would affect the rest of her life.

  If she killed herself, that would certainly impact the rest of her life. Too afraid to think along those lines very long, she stuffed the hurt down deep and pressed the power button on her computer.

  Sighing, she grabbed her cell phone off the dresser and sent a text to 2COOL asking him if he could talk. While waiting for his reply, she pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. The envelope sitting there mocked her. Addressed to her, it held ten one-hundred-dollar bills.

  One thousand dollars. She felt so . . . grown up. Yet, sneaky too, even though she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’d already sent in her medical records and gone to have the physical at that doctor’s office. And they paid her just for signing a contract saying she’d be available for whatever gig came up in the next twelve months.

  All this without meeting anyone officially. Everything had been done online, via telephone and text messaging. Danny said he would contact her soon, and they would meet and do her portfolio pictures. She was to use some of that money to buy herself the perfect outfit for the shoot.

  Very cool. Yet, a touch of uneasiness whispered through her. Something seemed a little . . . off. Wishing she could put her finger on what it was that bothered her, she pulled out the contract. She’d asked for a copy and they’d mailed one to her. It all seemed straightforward to her, just two pages of stuff like they’d pay her this to do that and she agreed to follow their guidelines or she’d have to give the money back.

  Sounded like a good deal to her.

  A glance at her phone showed no response from 2COOL.

  The door downstairs shut. Angie must have left. Her grandparents would be home soon and her dad would leave for his apartment. Maybe. Or maybe he was planning on staying here.

  Jenna remembered her home in North Carolina. The place where her dad had lashed out and told her mother what a horrible person she was and what a bad influence she was being on Jenna. That had been where her mother had stormed out in anger, climbed into the car, and then wrapped it around a tree.

  No one knew if it was an accident or not. Jenna liked to believe her mother hadn’t killed herself, but deep down doubts niggled.

  Not that it mattered at this point. Her mother was dead and there was nothing that was going to change that.

  But maybe she could do something to mend the rift between her father and herself. Maybe she could try to forgive him for driving her mother out of the house that night.

  Possibly. Maybe then her dad would want to spend time with her. Would love her again.

  Or maybe it was just too late.

  20

  Samantha closed her Bible, stood, and stretched out the kinks. Her kitchen table wasn’t exactly the most comfortable spot in the house, but she’d started reading 1 Peter as she waited for her coffee to brew and hadn’t been able to stop. Verse 8 in chapter 5 stopped her in her tracks. “Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”

  How true. How scary. How comforting to know God was on her side and she held power against that evil, could fight it not only with her profession, but with her prayers. And when it seemed like evil was winning, she just had to believe that God had everything in control.

  Sometimes it was hard, though. Like today. Normally, she loved Saturday mornings, but with all the stress of trying to find a killer while staying out of his line of fire, she didn’t exactly doubt God, but she sure did wonder why he continued to let it go on. The evil in the world. Wouldn’t it be better to put them all out of their misery? To come back and dispense justice? To end the evil?

  She supposed that’s where faith came in to play. Faith and the fact that God wanted every person to have the opportunity to know him. What if he came back now? Where would Connor end up? Tom? She shuddered and decided she was glad she wasn’t God.

  Samantha picked up her phone and dialed Connor’s cell number.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Connor. How’s your Saturday going?”

  “Much better now that you’re on the other end of the line.”

  Sam felt herself flush, a little disconcerted to realize she felt exactly the same. Clearing h
er throat, she said softly, “Yeah, I know how you feel.”

  Silence greeted her and she grinned to herself. She’d thrown him.

  “We’ll talk about that one later.” The husky touch to his voice sent shivers down her spine. He continued, “I’m tracking down that receipt you found in Miranda’s closet.”

  “The one from that fancy boutique downtown?”

  “Yeah. Rene’s.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “The woman working remembers Miranda coming in. She came alone with a fistful of cash and bought that dress.”

  Sam poured herself a cup of the steaming brew. “Did Miranda tell her anything about what she was doing? Where she was going?” She took a sip and closed her eyes as she swallowed. Delicious.

  “Unfortunately, no. But she said she’d had one other girl come in and do the same thing. One of the girls who’s still missing.”

  “Which one?”

  “Sydney Carter.”

  “So, do we need to be checking all the high-class dress shops and see if any of the other girls had cash to spend?”

  “That’s my next move. You’ll be proud of me. I delegated.”

  Samantha gave a light chuckle. “You’re right, I am proud of you. Good job.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I . . . wanted to ask you something. Something that might be really painful for you to do.”

  A pause. “All right.”

  “Would you be willing to bring Jenna and come to church with me tomorrow?”

  Another significant pause. “If Jenna wants to go, I’ll let her. I’m not interested.” Another pause. “Actually, I think she’s going to go to that sleepover with the kids from the church, so . . .”

  Sadness pierced her heart. If he absolutely refused to give God another try, she’d have to do something to distance herself from him. As much as she liked him, could easily see herself falling in love with him, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—tie herself to him. She needed a man who shared her faith, her love for God, and her need to worship that God. And if Connor wouldn’t . . .

  Samantha forced a smile into her voice. “So you haven’t sent her off yet?”

  He groaned. “No, but I haven’t given up on the idea yet. I know she’ll fight it with everything in her, and I . . . well, I don’t really want her that far away from me unless it absolutely has to be that way.”

  “I understand and don’t blame you a bit.”

  “I’ve warned her about taking extra precautions and being supercareful. I’ll confess that I’ve got someone watching her during the time she’s away from the house. I don’t worry so much when she’s at home.”

  “Ooh. Bet that went over well.”

  He cleared his throat. “I didn’t exactly tell her, but I don’t expect it to be long before she notices. If Jenna decides not to go to the sleepover and agrees to go with you, just bring her back to Mom’s when you’re finished.”

  “You know, Connor, this could be time you spend with Jenna.”

  He didn’t say anything at first, then, “I’ll . . . think about it. I just don’t know how I’ll feel . . . going back there.”

  “I know. I have to admit, I’m struggling with that myself, but one of the reasons I think we all need to go back is to face the evil that happened there . . . and . . . and . . . defeat it, I guess is the right way to put it. I know there will be people who’ll never set foot on that property again, but the majority of us want to. We don’t want the ‘bad guy’ to win. It might help you to have a good experience there. One with your daughter.”

  “Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay, I’ll quit pushing. I just . . . care about you and Jenna. I hate to see the two of you hurting.”

  His voice was husky when he thanked her and hung up.

  Samantha looked heavenward. “Please help him, Lord. They both need you so much.”

  Connor hung up. After hitting a dead end with the boutique, he’d stopped at a small café on Main street to order a latte and call Samantha, but she’d beat him to the call.

  Staring at his phone, he thought about what she’d said. About going back to the church where Andrew had been killed. It wasn’t the property’s fault, it probably wasn’t even God’s fault. And that was hard to admit, because even as angry as Connor was at the way things were happening, he still believed in an all-powerful God. Which meant God could have stopped it all from going down the way it did.

  Samantha had said not to make Andrew’s death about him. He swallowed hard. She was right. That would be a pretty selfish thing to do. And yet . . . if God hadn’t let Andrew die to punish Connor, why had it happened? Why had his wife died? Why was someone out there killing kids? Why was his relationship with Jenna slowly circling the drain?

  Andrew’s voice came back to him. “You’re going to lose her.” His mother’s blunt words. “You’d better do something or you’re going to lose her.” Even Samantha’s insight. “I’m worried about you and Jenna.”

  He stood, reached into his pocket to grab some change for a tip. Tossing the coins on the table, he saw the Corvette key mixed in with them. The grief came out of nowhere, hitting him hard. Picking up the key, he studied it, remembered the joking and laughing with Andrew. Connor had given Andrew such a hard time about that car, making Andrew promise to will it to him.

  Laughing about death seemed to keep it . . . distant, like it couldn’t touch them if they mocked it. And now . . .

  Pocketing the key, Connor walked from the café to climb in his black Ford Mustang. The car Jenna made him promise she could have when she started driving. He’d actually bought it with her in mind.

  And then an idea started to form, and as he thought about it, for the first time in a long time, he felt anticipation. Excitement. And a way to spend some time with Jenna that not even she would say no to.

  He dialed her number. “Hello?”

  “Hey, I had an idea.”

  “What?”

  Connor winced at the flat sound in her voice, but held steady. “Are you ready to learn to drive?” Complete silence echoed across the line. “Hey, you there?”

  “Are you serious?” she blurted. Suppressed excitement shivered in her voice.

  “Yep, it’s Saturday. And . . . I . . . want to spend a few hours of it with you, teaching you to drive. That is, if you want. I know I haven’t exactly—”

  She cut him off. “When can you be here?”

  “In about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Oh, Jenna, Samantha called and wants to know if you want to go back to church with her tomorrow. I know it might be too soon, but she asked so I wanted to let you know.”

  “I . . . I don’t know. That girl from the youth group, Maria, called me, too and asked me to come. I liked it up until . . .”

  “Well, if you want to go, call Samantha.” He rattled off her number. “And be ready to drive. See you in a few.”

  “Okay. And Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um . . . thanks.”

  Warmth centered in his heart. “You’re welcome, darling.” He hung up, a new purpose filling him. Maybe it wasn’t too late after all.

  Samantha hung up and grabbed her keys. It was still early and things were looking up. Jamie wanted to meet for brunch, Jenna had decided to go on the sleepover and sounded excited about it. During the conversation with Jenna, Samantha had also learned that Connor’s parents attended a small church not far from their home, but they didn’t have much of a youth group, and Jenna refused to go, calling it the blue hair worship center.

  However, she admitted she’d enjoyed meeting the kids her age last week at Samantha’s church before the shooting. She was willing to give it another try when she returned from the sleepover.

  And Jenna was beyond excited because her dad was on his way home to teach her how to drive. Satisfaction filled Samantha. Connor was trying, reaching out. Keep working on him, Lord.

 
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of The Smooth Berry and walked inside to see Jamie sitting in a corner booth—facing the door, of course. She waved and grinned.

  Tom sat beside her. Annoyance at his presence slid through Samantha. Not that she didn’t like Tom, but she’d been looking forward to a little one-on-one sister time. Oh well. She kept the smile on her face and headed toward them.

  “Hey, Tom, how are you doing?”

  “Well, my nerves have finally settled down. How about you?” He plucked a chip from his bag. The rest of his food had yet to come.

  “The same.” She looked at Jamie. “Did you order for me?” Jamie nodded. “Chicken Caesar salad, right?”

  “Yep. I think I can handle one of those at 10:30 in the morning.”

  Jamie shook her head in amusement at her sister’s eating preferences and Samantha kicked her under the table. They grinned at each other.

  “Anything come back on that bomb?” Tom asked, immediately sobering the lighthearted mood.

  “Nothing yet. I guess the lab guys are still going over everything.”

  “Come on, you guys, can we talk about something else?” Jamie looked ready to burst.

  Samantha laughed. “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “I’m graduating. In December.”

  “What?!” Samantha squealed, jumping up to lean over and give her sister an awkward hug. “That’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you.” She settled back into her seat just as the food arrived.

  “Jamie, that’s great.” Tom beamed at her, and Samantha once again saw more than just friendship in his eyes.

  Hmm. Worry twinged her. She liked Tom, but she’d seen Jamie’s interest piqued by a certain FBI man and didn’t think Tom had a chance of capturing Jamie’s attention while she was enjoying getting to know Dakota.

  “Jamie, you’ll be a doctor! I’ll have to call you Dr. Cash. My sister, a forensic anthropologist. Oh my goodness, that’s just crazy.”

  Jamie’s face flushed at Samantha’s praise, but she laughed, her eyes dancing with joy and pride in herself.