Small Town Protector

Yet he needed to stop by his former mother-in-law’s place. He owed Caroline more respect than to have her find out about his presence in town through the gossip mill.

The experience wouldn’t be a pleasant one. He was sure she hadn’t forgiven him, and he couldn’t blame her. His ambition, his workaholic nature inherited from his father, put his wife and, at the time, three-year-old son in danger fourteen years ago.

“Agent Drake?”

Garrett snapped his attention to Deputy Finnegan.

“This is our forensic investigator, Oliver Marsh,” he introduced. They shook hands.

With a slow, deep breath, Garrett shoved his personal connections to this town away, locking the door. Analyzing his mistakes and regrets would only distract him from his most critical goal: finding the elusive killer before he struck again.

* * *

An hour later the forensic investigator offered his preliminary opinion: time of death was between 3:00 and 7:00 p.m.; there was dirt and blood under Washburn’s fingernails as if he had tried to claw his way out of something; and he’d most likely drowned. He wasn’t strangled like the rest of the victims.

That change in pattern disturbed Garrett the most. His team relied on the profile, designed to help them determine what the killer might do next, to whom and where.

They docked at Port Whisper and the forensic techs took the body to the lab where they’d continue their analysis. The chief took Garrett to meet with the teenagers who found the body, but they couldn’t offer anything helpful. They were still traumatized by the image of the dead man’s eyes staring up at them.

It was quarter past eleven. Garrett was tired, hungry and frustrated.

“I don’t suppose anything’s open this time of night?” he asked as the chief drove Garrett back to his car.

“Actually, the Turnstyle is open until midnight. Up Main Street about four blocks.”

“Thanks.”

The chief pulled over. “I’m assuming you’ll come by the office in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“I’ll find something.”

“You could always try Caroline Ross’s place, the Port Whisper Inn. It’s quiet and homey.”

And loaded with land mines.

“Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow.” The chief shook Garrett’s hand.

Garrett sensed the man was honorable and had decent instincts for a small-town cop. “Good night.”

Walking through town to the restaurant, Garrett called team member Georgia Hunt and told her to send a forensic artist to Port Whisper, but there was no reason the entire team should join him just yet. They should stay in Tacoma and continue to work leads from the previous murder.

Garrett, on the other hand, wasn’t going anywhere until he felt confident his former mother-in-law wasn’t in danger.

He could swing by the inn now, but it was late and he didn’t want to alarm her. Like a morning visit would be any less alarming? She probably never expected to see or hear from him again, maybe even hoped…

But he knew in his heart that sending Olivia and Steven into protective custody had been the only way to protect them from the serial killer that had made Garrett a target.

A year later, Olivia had filed for divorce. Truth was, their marriage started to crumble about the same time his career took off, shortly after Steven was born. Garrett threw himself into work to provide for his family, and Olivia accused him of being a workaholic, absent, aloof.

Like his old man.

Garrett hadn’t planned to become a workaholic like his father, but the job quickly consumed him. They’d solve a case, and another would pop onto the radar. They’d save a victim, but lose three more.

His work ethic intensified once the divorce was final and Garrett had no one to think about but himself.

That wasn’t true. He thought about Steven. Every single day of his life.

Three years after he’d put his wife and son into the program, the killer who’d targeted Garrett was shot eluding police. The threat gone, Garrett could safely see his son, who’d just turned six. Yet Olivia said if Garrett truly loved Steven, he’d let her new husband raise him as his own. Garrett couldn’t walk away that easily.

Heart pounding, he’d swung by Steven’s baseball game and stood by the fence, watching as his son scored the winning run. The little guy was swarmed by teammates and when he broke free he rushed to his stepdad, Kurt, and slapped him a high five.

At that moment Garrett knew it was selfish to insinuate himself back into Steven’s life. Steven had a new dad, one who’d always be there.

Garrett’s son was better off without him, without a workaholic father unable to give him the time, guidance and love he so desperately needed. Garrett retreated, as Olivia had requested.

It was the right thing to do. His former mother-in-law had to respect him for putting Steven’s needs first, right?

“This town,” he muttered, shutting off the flow of memories, questionable decisions and regrets. He couldn’t let his emotions distract him from finding a serial killer.

The glow of florescent lights spilled onto the street from the Turnstyle Restaurant up ahead—a lot of activity for a small town this late at night. Then again, if they’d heard about the murder, they probably needed to get together and process. More like gossip. Garrett knew how small towns worked.

He pushed open the door to the restaurant and hesitated, fearing someone would figure out he was the federal agent and ask him questions. A few people glanced up.

A female server with a name tag that read Anna approached him. “Table for one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? So formal.” She smiled and he tried to offer one in return but couldn’t. She was not quite thirty with long, auburn hair tied back.

“Do you have a booth in the back?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He followed her to the rear of the restaurant, slid into a booth, and she handed him a menu.

“Are you serving breakfast this time of night?” he asked.

“You bet. Boomer’s blueberry pancakes are amazing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Start you off with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular, please.”

She breezed off and he glanced at the menu, trying to look like a tourist in town for some R & R, something he’d rarely experienced in his adult life. Dressed in his crisp navy suit, starched white shirt and maroon tie, he looked nothing like a man on vacation.

From this vantage point he could see everything: a man in workman’s clothes seated at the counter; Scooner Locke and two middle-aged men deep in conversation; a table of four raucous teenagers; and a young couple in the booth next to Garrett, blindly eating while an infant slept in a baby carrier next to them.

Anna returned with his coffee. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll try the blueberry pancakes.” He passed her the menu and closed his eyes, trying to relax the muscles coiling in his neck.

“Lana? Weren’t you supposed to stay home tonight?”

Garrett opened his eyes and caught sight of the ethereal Lana Burns standing just inside the door.

One of the men at Scooner’s table waved her over. “Come over here and give us the scoop on the…” He glanced around the restaurant and thought better of announcing to the room that a dead body had been discovered. “Come join us.”

“No, you get back home,” Scooner said. “I had orders to make sure you stayed there.”

“Both of you stop bossing me around. I need to eat.” She turned to Anna, who poured coffee for a customer at the counter. “How fast can Lew make me some pancakes?” Lana asked.

She wasn’t supposed to be alone, wandering the streets late at night. She wasn’t supposed to be so…enchanting. He had the urge to jump out of the booth and scold her for not following his order to stay home, but she’d been through enough tonight. She didn’t need a lecture from Garrett. He’d wait until she’d finished her pancakes, then he’d follow her home to make sure she was safe.

Leaning across the counter, chatting with her friend, no one would ever guess Lana Burns had seen a dead body only hours ago. She cracked a full-blown smile that lit up her face. It took Garrett’s breath away.

He pulled out his notebook and fought the distraction of her gentle voice drifting across the restaurant. Maybe it was time to consider dating again, pursuing a relationship that involved more than investigative theories and hunting killers.

Who was he kidding? There was no place in his life for romance. He’d never put someone he cared about in danger again, and as long as he worked for the FBI, that’s exactly where they’d be.

Focusing on his notes, he hoped Lana didn’t decide to join him for a late-night snack. He didn’t have the energy to keep his protective shields up, and for some reason he needed them with this woman. What was it about her that rattled his focus?

She had no pretense. She said what she thought without reservation or censor. There was no guesswork with the petite beauty, no maneuvering to get what he needed. All he had to do was ask, and she’d answer him truthfully and more than a bit directly.

The restaurant door flew open and a teenage boy wearing a torn denim jacket and black baseball cap stormed inside. His bloodshot eyes frantically scanned the restaurant. Garrett’s instincts spiked.

“Table for one?” Anna asked from behind the counter.

Lana turned to him and…

The kid whipped out a knife. “I need money.”

Two

Garrett automatically slid his hand inside his jacket to reach for his gun. The room went suddenly quiet except for the sound of the baby fussing in the booth next to him. He couldn’t open fire, not with all these civilians in the room. The perp could easily use one as a shield.

“Money, yeah, don’t we all,” Lana joked. “I was about to have a plate of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes, but it’s always too much food. Wanna split it with me?”

The kid looked confused. “What?”

“Pancakes, you know, flour, milk, butter, lots of butter. Come on. Anna, put in an order of Boomer’s for me, ’kay?” Lana wandered to the front booth, away from other customers.

Smart girl. One of the men in the booth up front shifted—the navy SEAL. Not good. If he jumped to the rescue, he could spook the kid. The thought of the teenager pressing the blade to Lana’s throat made Garrett grip the Formica table. He had to get up there and diffuse the situation.

Lana sat down and smiled up at the teenager, actually smiled at a kid who was waving a knife in her face.

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving,” she said. “Haven’t eaten since scones at lunch. Mom makes the best cranberry nut scones. Spread a little clotted cream on them and you’re a fan for life. You’ve gotta try them sometime.”

As she rattled on, Scooner started to shift out of the booth. Lana glanced at him and shook her head, encouraging him not to come to her rescue. Scooner hesitated on the edge of his seat.

“Anna, how about some tea?” she called across the restaurant, then redirected her attention to the kid. “Or do you prefer soda? They make the best cream sodas, my personal kryptonite. I could drink them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And gain ten pounds in a week. Not good for someone who’s barely five-three.” She tapped on the table with her fingertips. “Come on, sit down.”

The kid took a step toward the table, clutching the knife. Garrett’s hand tingled with the need to draw his firearm.

“Don’t you like pancakes?” she asked with innocent eyes.

“I don’t have any money,” the kid croaked.

“No problem. I’ve got a little extra tonight. We had a really good week on my tour boat. I take people over to Salish Island. Do you live around here? I’m a lifer but I don’t remember meeting you. Sorry, I was probably your babysitter or something, right?” she joked.

“I’m not from here.” The kid closed the knife and shoved it in his pocket.

Scooner stood.

“Sit down,” Lana said.

The kid joined her in the booth, figuring she was talking to him.

“You, too, Scooner,” she ordered, not breaking eye contact with the teenager.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Well, besides having the best blueberry pancakes in the state of Washington, our state park has awesome trails if you like hiking, and sailing on Puget Sound is a blast. You ever been sailing?”

Was it just Garrett, or was she being incredibly trusting? Either that or he should hire her for his team.

The kid seemed to have calmed down, but Garrett couldn’t be sure he’d stay that way. As Garrett swung his leg out of the booth, the front door opened. Deputy Finnegan stepped into the restaurant and approached Lana’s table.

“Everything okay here?” he asked.

“Great. We’re about to have pancakes, right?” She eyed the teen.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. He took out the knife and placed it on the table.

Deputy Finnegan motioned Lana out of the booth. She took a few steps toward the counter, but she wasn’t far enough away for Garrett’s taste.

“Anything else in your pockets?” Finnegan asked the kid.

The teen pulled his pockets inside out. They were empty. Finnegan pocketed the knife.

“You’d better come with me.”

The kid stood, head hung low, and Finnegan cuffed him.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” Lana said.

The kid glanced at her through long bangs. “Michael.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael. I’ll bring pancakes by the police station.” She turned her attention to the deputy. “Is that okay, Scott?”

Garrett leaned back in his booth, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

“Sure,” Deputy Finnegan said, shaking his head.

“Cool. I’ll see you later, okay, Michael?”

Michael glanced over his shoulder, and that’s when Garrett saw the tears streaming down the kid’s face.

“You have something you want to say to Lana?” Finnegan asked.

“Thanks,” he choked.

“Something else?” the cop prompted.

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Lana said.

The deputy led Michael out of the restaurant.

Dead silence filled the restaurant. Lana glanced at the customers. “What?”

“What were you thinking?” Scooner challenged.

“I was thinking you were going to freak the kid out with your macho karate moves, and kick me in the head by mistake.” One of the other guys at the table chuckled.

“Lana, I can’t believe you did that.” Anna darted around the counter and gave her a hug.

The young couple packed up their baby and left cash on the table, the teenagers burst into a frenzied discussion about what just happened, and the man at the counter pulled a small flask from his jacket and poured something into his coffee. Garrett couldn’t blame him.

Nor could he take his eyes off Lana Burns. She went to her table and leaned back against the booth.

Why did she put herself at risk like that?

Anna suddenly blocked his line of vision. “Did you need cream and sugar?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he said, then caught himself. “I mean, no, thanks. I take it black.”

“It’s gonna be a few minutes for the pancakes because of the distraction, but it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Thanks.” A distraction? Is that what they called it?

Garrett got out of his booth and started for Lana’s table, but Scooner and his friends beat him to it. Garrett wished he’d gotten there first. Scooner shifted next to her in the booth.

“I’m fine, go on.” She shoved at Scooner’s shoulder. “Stop hovering.”

“I’ll escort you home.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t eaten my pancakes yet and you guys are done with your meal.”

“I’ve got this,” Garrett said, shifting into the booth across from her. “I need to ask Miss Burns a few more questions anyway.”

He held her gaze, trying to figure out if she was relieved or more irritated that yet another man was strong-arming his way into her protective services.

“And who are you?” one of Scooner’s friends asked.

“He’s the FBI agent I told you about,” Scooner explained to his friend. “Agent Drake, this is Anderson Greene and Bill Roarke.”

Garrett shook hands with the men.

Anderson wore wire-framed glasses and leaned on a cane, and Bill had jet-black hair, trimmed short, and a mustache and had a notebook tucked under his arm.

“If there’s anything we can do to help with the case…” Anderson offered.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“For the record, I made sure Lana was safe in her apartment and figured she’d stay there for the night,” Scooner said in apology.

Garrett glanced at Lana for an explanation.

“Mom called, worried sick about what happened so I had to go calm her down. Then I was too hyped up to sleep, so I took a walk and stopped in for some pancakes.”

“Gentlemen, thanks for your concern, but I’ve really got this,” Garrett said, hoping they’d take the hint.

Scooner didn’t move at first. The kind of guy you definitely wanted on your side.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Garrett said.

“Good luck keeping her there.” Scooner slipped out of the booth, and the men wandered out of the restaurant.

Garrett directed his attention to Lana, who looked oddly calm considering what just happened. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or…”

“Or…?”

“Your interaction with Michael could have gone a completely different way.”

“I suppose.” She glanced out the front window and fingered a silver cross dangling from her necklace. He noticed her hand tremble slightly, probably from the adrenaline rush.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She cracked a wry smile. “I’m fantastic.”

“Miss Burns, I study human behavior for a living. Try again.”

* * *

The handsome agent wasn’t letting Lana off that easy. Handsome? Really, Lana? After what happened to you, you’re crushing on the enigmatic agent with the intense brown eyes?

“Lana?” he prodded.

She stretched out her hands on the Formica table to ground herself. “For someone who found a dead body earlier tonight, and had to order pancakes while being threatened at knife-point, I’d say I’m doing pretty good.”

“What made you do it? Talk to him like that?” he said, his voice softer than before.

“I couldn’t risk him threatening someone else who’d pull a stupid move and get hurt. Like Scooner.” She shuddered. “He means well, but that could have been a disaster.”

“Let me get this straight. You put yourself in danger to protect a former navy SEAL, trained to do battle with the enemy?”

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound wacky.”

“And you assumed you could talk the teenager out of stabbing you because…?”

“You said I had good instincts,” she shot back.

With a frustrated shake of his head, he sipped his coffee.

Truth was, only now did she realize what could have happened. But Lana believed in the human spirit and the grace of God. She knew danger when she saw it, and Michael wasn’t dangerous. He was desperate.

“Michael didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she offered. “He was hungry.”

“And you knew this how?”

“I saw it in his eyes.” She shrugged. “He made a bad decision, but we all deserve a second chance.”

“You could have been seriously injured. Are you always this impulsive?”

“Impulsive, huh? I’ll have to add that to the list. It’s a long one depending on who you ask. If you asked my sister, she’d say I was disorganized, overly trusting and persuasive, bordering on manipulative, whereas the ex-boyfriend said I was controlling, too frugal and obstinate about the wrong things. At least in his opinion they were the wrong things.”

She was rambling. She knew it. With Michael she’d kept talking to distract him from doing something he’d regret but now, well, the full weight of what had just happened twisted her stomach into knots.

“But then, what do ex-boyfriends know, right?” she continued. “He also thought I should stop giving tours, sell my snack shop and get a real job, you know, like working at a call center or selling insurance. I could go back to school I guess, but I’ve only got a few thousand in savings and—”

“Breathe,” Agent Drake interrupted.

“What?”

“You’re going to pass out if you don’t take a breath. Am I making you nervous again? I could…” He motioned to get up.

“No.” She automatically reached out, but her hand came up short of his fingers, looped through his coffee mug handle.

Anna delivered Lana’s tea and glanced at the agent. “Oh, so you’re over here now?”

Agent Drake hesitated before answering.

“Yes, he’s joining me for dinner,” Lana said.

“You mean breakfast?” Anna smiled.

“That, too.”

“Pancakes should be out shortly.” Anna winked and breezed off.

Truth was, Lana hated eating alone and since her breakup with Vincent, she’d been doing a lot of that lately. Flying solo.

Flying solo? You could have had your wings clipped, girl.

But Lana had to help Michael. She recognized something in the teen’s eyes and it wasn’t the desire to hurt anyone. She’d seen it in Sketch’s eyes, her talented, seventeen-year-old computer assistant.

“I’m going with impressed,” the agent suddenly said.

She eyed him. “What?”

“I’m impressed by how you handled that teenager.”

“Wow, can I get a junior FBI badge or something?”

“Don’t push it.”

He looked surprised, like he hadn’t meant to utter the playful retort. She thought he might have even cracked a smile but couldn’t be sure. It would be a vast improvement on his permanent frown, his lips stretched into a thin, straight line.

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Promise me you’ll never do that again?”

“You mean…”

“Insinuate yourself into a dangerous situation like that.”

Lana dunked her tea bag in the hot water and sighed. He was asking the impossible. She couldn’t turn her back on someone who was in so much pain they were blinded to the beauty of life and the grace of God. She knew how precious life was, and how short it could be.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make that promise,” she said.

“May I ask why?”

“You may ask.”

“But you won’t tell me, will you?”

She shrugged.

“Ignoring a direct order. You’re definitely not getting that junior agent badge.”

She smiled to herself at his unexpected response. He wasn’t berating her for not answering; rather, he respected her space.

“Two orders of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes.” Anna slid a plate in front of Garrett, and a double order in front of Lana.

“Whoa, that’s a lotta pancakes,” Lana said.

“The hero of the evening gets a double order. On the house.”

“I knew risking my life would pay off.” She snapped her attention to Anna. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s okay.” She touched her shoulder. “You’ve had a stressful night.”

“Yeah, nothing like a plate of Boomer’s to make it all better. Can I get a to-go box? I’m bringing half of this to Michael.”

“That kid who—”

“Yep, that one.” Lana stuck her fork into the pancakes and cut the pile in a perfect half. “Thanks,” she said to her friend who hovered, probably dumbfounded that Lana was serious about bringing dinner to Michael.

“A to-go box. Check,” Anna said.

Agent Drake slid the tray of syrups in front of Lana. “Can I try for another favor?”

“Sure.” She squirted maple syrup on her half of the stack.

“Once I drop you off at home, can you promise not to go out again tonight?”

“Now that, I can do.”

* * *

When her alarm went off the next morning at six-thirty, Lana didn’t even bother hitting the snooze button. She lowered the volume on a Jonny Diaz song and let the soulful timbre of his voice lull her back to sleep. Just for a little while. She’d earned it. She knew once she started her day the phone would ring nonstop with questions about last night’s drama: a dead body, a teenager threatening a restaurant full of people…