Hidden in Shadows Page 13

  She nodded and grabbed it out of her purse.

  “Be ready to call for help. Stay out of sight, got it?”

  “Sure.”

  A few seconds passed, her heart pounding, Roscoe dancing by the baby gate, wanting to get to Luke.

  She heard him open the front door. Then nothing. It was eerily quiet. A few seconds later the door shut, and she heard footsteps headed her way.

  Were the footsteps even Luke’s? Should she call the police? She whipped her head around and spotted a can of starch. She grabbed it and pointed at whoever was coming into the kitchen.

  Luke stepped over the baby gate carrying her suitcase.

  “They finally delivered it. Fantastic.” She reached for the black suitcase, but Luke cautioned her.

  “This is evidence.”

  “Luke, I really miss my sweater. Please?”

  He placed the suitcase on the kitchen table, grabbed a paper napkin and unzipped it, slowly.

  “Come on, come on,” she joked.

  “Look, we don’t know who dropped this off. No one asked me to sign, it was just there on your porch.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  He finished unzipping it and flipped it open.

  She spotted her sweater, all right, shredded to pieces, along with the rest of her clothes.

  THIRTEEN

  “Don’t touch anything,” Luke said, studying the suitcase. “I’ll call the chief to come get this for forensic testing.”

  Luke closed the suitcase, wanting to shut out the violence that had destroyed Krista’s things. He wanted to wipe that look off her face. Was it fear or sadness? Either way, it tore him apart.

  “Was that really necessary?” she said. “The whole shredding my clothes thing?”

  “I’m guessing they meant to frighten you.” He eyed her. “Are you frightened?”

  She leveled him with brilliant green eyes. “I’m angry.”

  “Good, then they failed.” He glanced at the bag.

  “I don’t suppose the airline will reimburse me for my clothes?”

  “It’s possible. Why don’t you call them and give it a try?”

  “After I finish uploading pictures to my blog.” She sat down at the computer.

  “I thought—”

  “I created another one.” She shot him a victorious grin.

  “Nice.”

  She went back to work on the blog. It amazed him how she was able to snap out of her anger and launch into a new project. But then in her mind, blogging about her mission trip was probably her way of taking control of the chaos.

  He admired her for that. As he pulled out his phone to call the chief, he realized he admired a lot of things about Krista. Topping the list was the fact she did not let Garcia’s men rattle her to the point of locking herself up in her house. On some level he wished she would. It would make his job a lot easier.

  “Cunningham.”

  “Chief, it’s Luke McIntyre. Krista’s suitcase was anonymously delivered to the house. Everything inside was destroyed.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Want me to get it to the forensics lab in Grand Rapids?”

  “That would be great.” Luke moved the suitcase off the table and next to the door.

  “I’ll send an officer over.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You coming to the potluck tonight?” the chief asked.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Word travels fast in Wentworth. Like a sled goin’ ninety down a luge track.”

  “I should have figured.”

  “How’s Krista doing?”

  “She’s—” he paused and glanced at Krista, focused on the computer screen. “Determined.”

  “Good. I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Yep.” Luke turned to Krista and eyed the new blog over her shoulder. She dropped in a photograph of her kneeling and talking to a little girl. “Nice shot.”

  “Thanks. That’s Maria. Her brother, Armando, was injured by a drug dealer’s bullet.”

  “Wait, so your mission work was that close to Garcia’s compound?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.”

  Luke scooted a chair next to Krista and she turned to him. “What?”

  “Maybe you saw something you weren’t supposed to, or heard something or—”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” Luke glanced at the floor and back up at Krista. “Names, do you remember hearing any names, or places or anything about Michigan?”

  She shook her head. “No, sorry. I would have remembered that.”

  The timer went off and she jumped up to pull out the scones. The kitchen smelled of home, not like a home Luke had ever known, but he imagined this is what a happy one smelled like.

  “We’ll head over to church in about an hour, after I whip up another two dozen,” Krista said.

  “They smell great.”

  She measured some flour and dumped it into a bowl. “Didn’t your mom ever bake for you?”

  “No.” A one-syllable answer. He couldn’t risk anything more.

  “Huh. I thought all moms baked.” She put cream and sugar into another bowl and blended it.

  She glanced at him, expectant.

  “My mother had—” he paused “—health problems.”

  Krista hesitated as she mixed the dry ingredients in with the creamy mixture. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  His way of shutting down. If he didn’t, he might end up in that place where he blamed himself for her drinking, and the health complications that followed. It must have been difficult raising a kid like Luke all by herself.

  “What?” Krista prodded.

  Luke glanced up.

  “You got a strange look on your face. Were you thinking about her?”

  “No, I was trying to figure out how to keep from eating all your scones before we get to church.”

  “Very funny. Like I believe that.”

  “Believe it. They smell delicious.”

  Krista smiled and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her gaze caught on the suitcase by the door and her smile faded. He wanted to do something, brush his thumb across her cheek and make her smile again.

  “What kinds of things do you need to know about people?” She snapped her attention back to kneading the dough.

  “I’d rather you not—”

  “I’m going to, so tell me what you’re looking for.”

  “A large influx of money, someone bragging about buying expensive jewelry or a new car, when you know they probably couldn’t afford it. Anyone who’s taken a trip recently, people who vacation in Mexico.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That’s a good start.”

  With a spatula she transferred the scones to a cooling rack, put scone dough on the baking sheet and slid it into the oven.

  “One more batch and we’re ready to go. Wanna taste?”

  “Sure.”

  She dropped two scones on a plate and put the kettle on.

  “Must have tea with your scone,” she said.

  Her wall phone rang and she grabbed it. “Hello. Hello. I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

  Luke stepped up beside her and leaned in to listen. Wasn’t easy to stay focused with the heat of her skin warming his cheek.

  “Who is this?”

  Heavy breathing echoed across the line.

  Luke took the phone from her. “There’s a trace on this call.”

  More breathing. Luke hung up and sat down at the kitchen table. “Is the tea ready?”

  “Almost.” She sat down and studied him. “Do you think that was…?”

  “Doesn’t matter. They can’t touch you as long as I’m here, but it wouldn’t hurt to put a trace on your phone. I’ll mention it to my supervisor when I call in.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Don’t expect much. If they’re smart, they’ll hang up before we can get a location.”

  “Well, t
hanks anyway.” She continued to study him.

  Luke patted his leg for Roscoe’s attention. He didn’t like it when Krista looked too deeply into his eyes. He feared she’d see things no one else could see, things Luke tried to hide even from himself.

  “Might as well go through some files while we wait,” he said, opening a folder. Work would distract him and keep him focused on what he was here to do, because he surely was not here to fall for a sweet, Christian woman with a generous spirit.

  She deserved better.

  “Can I help?” she said.

  “Nah, thanks.”

  Resting her chin on an upturned palm, she didn’t take her eyes off him.

  “See anything interesting?” he said.

  “Yeah, actually, I do.”

  He ignored her comment and the kettle whistled, saving him from another uncomfortable moment. Why? It’s not like she was judging him or criticizing him. That wasn’t Krista’s way. No, it seemed more like she was trying to figure him out, maybe even appreciate him. Not possible.

  She put a flowered teapot on the table, and a flowered plate with a scone in front of him. “They taste best when they’re warm.”

  He closed his file and took a bite of the scone. It tasted like nothing he’d ever tried before, the tart cranberries complemented the sweetness of the flaky biscuit.

  “You like?” She smiled.

  “This is great.”

  “Good.” She poured tea into two teacups and leaned back in her chair.

  They slipped into a comfortable silence, enjoying tea, scones and each other’s company. He shouldn’t be this comfortable or this relaxed. Luke should be on guard, waiting for the next assault. He glanced at Roscoe, who was happily lying beside Luke’s chair.

  He scanned the kitchen and his gaze caught on the photograph of Krista, her mom and grandmother. Somehow he felt the closeness and intimacy of a loving family.

  Roscoe growled low in his throat, snapping Luke out of the moment.

  “What is it, boy?” Luke rubbed his neck.

  Roscoe whined, then barked and rushed the kitchen window. Luke flipped off the light to get a better view. He stepped closer to the window and spotted a squad car pulling into the driveway.

  “Luke?” Krista said with worry in her voice.

  “It’s the officer for the suitcase. I’ll take it out to him.”

  “Great, I’ll go get ready.”

  Luke grabbed the suitcase, opened the door and met the cop on the back porch.

  “How about some I.D.?” Luke asked.

  The kid flashed his badge. It read John Fritz, Community Service Officer. Luke handed him the suitcase. “You don’t carry a firearm?”

  “Not as a community service officer.”

  “Okay, well, be careful with this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Luke watched the CSO put the suitcase into the back of his squad car and take off.

  Luke went into the kitchen and paused. He realized Roscoe could have been barking at one of Garcia’s men stalking the house instead of the service officer pulling into the drive. And Luke had been so comfortable, so relaxed, that he hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off into fantasyland.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” he warned himself.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Luke grabbed at his shirt collar, but realized he’d already unbuttoned it. The community room at Peace Church was packed. Packed with conversation, love and laughter.

  And he couldn’t take much more.

  “Here,” Krista said, shoving a plate full of food at him. “You look pale.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Only to me.” She glanced across the room. “I love these events.”

  “That makes one of us.” He couldn’t stand how all these people got into each other’s business and offered advice, butted into someone’s life without being asked.

  “What freaks you out so much?” she asked.

  “I’m not good with people.”

  She smiled up at him. “You’re good with me.”

  He opened his mouth to quip back, but couldn’t come up with the right words.

  She was right. He didn’t have to work at being comfortable with Krista, even though she scared him, especially her ability to see through his angry exterior into the heart of a little boy.

  A wounded little boy.

  “I don’t like that look,” she said. “Have a cookie.”

  She grabbed a sugar cookie off his plate and held it to his mouth.

  “Well, ain’t that sweet?” Chief Cunningham said walking up to them.

  Krista placed the cookie back on the plate and brushed off her fingertips. “Just trying to cheer up our friend with some sugar. You two talk while I make the rounds.”

  “Haven’t you already made the rounds?” Luke said, desperate to get out of here.

  “Can’t hurt to make them again.” With a smile she breezed into the crowd, touching a young woman’s elbow to join in on a conversation.

  “How you holding up, son?” the chief asked.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “No, not bad at all. Just uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not used to these kinds of things.”

  “Guessed as much.” The chief glanced across the room. “Anyone from the files look like a person of interest?”

  “Phillip Barton has relatives in Mexico. Is he here?”

  “Over by the punch bowl. Probably spiking it, if I know Phillip.”

  Phillip was mid-fifties with short, black hair and a square jaw.

  “Tell me about his business,” Luke asked.

  “Said he owns a seat on the board of trade and doesn’t need to work. Moved to Wentworth five years ago and opened a boat cruise business for tourists. Takes them out on Silver Lake and Lake Michigan. Does pretty good, I think.”

  “He fits the profile.”

  Luke spotted Alan hovering behind Krista.

  “Alan the banker is a possible,” Luke said.

  “You think he’s smart enough to be connected to a drug cartel?”

  “We’re not looking for smart. We’re looking for someone who can take orders,” Luke said.

  “Did you finish going over the mission group list?”

  “I did. All twelve seem clean to me. I’m starting to think Garcia’s men might have smuggled something into the country through someone’s luggage without their knowledge.”

  “And it was to be collected by their man in town?”

  “Makes the most sense.”

  “Which doesn’t explain why they’re after Krista.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Which is what kept Luke from getting a good night’s sleep. He not only had to figure out how Garcia’s men got drugs into the country and where the drugs ended up, but also why they were after Krista. Until he knew why, she wouldn’t be safe.

  An elderly woman with silver hair and a warm smile wandered up to the chief and Luke with a pan in one hand and spatula in the other. “Boys, did you try my blueberry streusel?”

  “Not yet, ma’am.” Luke nodded to his plate. “I’d better finish my dinner first.”

  “Nonsense.” She cut a small wedge and placed it on top of Luke’s other desserts. “So, how are things at the tea shop?”

  “Ma’am?” Luke questioned.

  “You’re the handyman, correct? How’re the projects coming along?”

  “Good, very good.”

  “I’m so glad. I don’t know what we’d do without Grace’s Tea Shop. It’s magical, you know.” She smiled.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A younger woman in her thirties approached Luke. “Hi, I’m Julie Sass. My daughters work for Krista.”

  Luke shook her hand. “Luke McIntyre.”

  “The girls say you’ve been doing wonders at the shop.” She leaned closer. “And with Krista.” She winked.

  Luke shot a panicked look at the chief, who shrugged.

  “Ah, well, I’m
pretty good with drains, but nearly killed myself hanging Christmas lights,” Luke said, avoiding the comment about Krista.

  “I heard. How’s the ankle?”

  “It’s good, thanks.”

  “Mr. McIntyre?” An elderly woman stepped in front of the streusel lady. “I’m Delores Frupp, Doe for short. If you have any pain from the ankle, I use arnica, an herbal cream that reduces the swelling.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that, but I’m really—”

  “Or aloe vera. That’s always helped me,” streusel lady offered.

  “R.I.C.E.,” Julie Sass said. They all looked at her.

  “Rest, ice, compression and elevation. That’s what the coach told Tori to do when she sprained her ankle in soccer.”

  The three women discussed the benefits of the various forms of first aid for sprained ankles. Luke glanced at his plate of food, wondering why it bothered him that they seemed to care so much about him.

  It reminded him of something, someone…

  The many someone’s from his childhood church. They’d visit once a month after services bringing food and clothes, sometimes toys for Luke.

  He’d hear the doorbell ring and he’d hide in his room as Mom welcomed the group into the living room, offering them a beverage…

  While she threw back her fourth glass of scotch.

  At one in the afternoon.

  Buried memories shot to the surface, blinding him, suffocating him.

  The women’s voices, the cacophony of the crowd rose to an unbearable pitch. His heart pounded against his chest.

  “I gotta go.” He handed the chief his plate and made for the door.

  He needed fresh air, needed to get out of here and shake the memories from his mind. Get his head back in the game.

  Mom was an alcoholic.

  He’d never admitted it before.

  Shame coursed through him.

  He stormed out the back of the church toward the garden.

  That’s why she died: because she drank herself to death. Everyone in town, all the church people knew it.

  They knew his shame.

  Which was why, after two years in foster care, he’d lied about his age and joined the army.

  He ran, just like he was now. Had to get away from the crowd of people inside who reminded him of his childhood church community, the people who knew the truth—Luke was so bad that he drove his mother to kill herself with booze.