Broken Silence. Annslee Urban

slamming it one more time. “I’ll try to ease up some,” he said between breaths.

      “Yeah, sure.” Vance snorted, breathing heavily. He swung his racquet, sending the ball whizzing past Patrick and into the front wall. “Take that.” A triumphant grin spread over his flushed face.

      Maintaining his grip, Patrick turned sideways and smashed the ball again, sending it echoing around the hollow space.

      “Okay. Game!” Vance jumped out of the way once more.

      “What? Already?” Patrick tried to catch his breath.

      “Yeah. I’m going to be nice and let you win before you bring the walls down.”

      “Well, thank you.” Patrick peeled off his goggles and stepped off the court. He grabbed a towel from a bin. “Not often do I get three games on you.”

      “Don’t get used to it.” With his towel Vance dabbed at the sweat running down his face. “Once this case is over, we’ll get back on track. Until then, I’m just going to have to make excuses not to play with you.”

      Taking a swig of water, Patrick almost choked on a laugh. “Maybe I’m just getting better.”

      “Let’s hope not,” Vance teased. “But seriously, Patrick, you seem pretty keyed up lately. My guess is, this car-bombing case is really getting to you. Or maybe it’s seeing Amber again?”

      Right on both counts. “No comment, Captain.”

      Vance snorted, his face redder than usual with the exertion of an hour of hard play. “You just answered my question. But like we discussed before you accepted the position, I don’t want you taking the job home with you.”

      “Yeah, right.” Patrick laughed. “Seven years as a navy SEAL. Trained to be ready. On call 24/7. Even sleep was an option.”

      Vance unzipped his bag and dropped his racquet in. “Patrick, I recruited you because I thought you’d be the best man for the job. I can’t risk you getting burned out.”

      “No worries. I actually relax while I’m in the problem-solving mode.”

      Vance swung his towel around his neck. “Killing the racquetball and nearly your opponent doesn’t exactly indicate relaxation.”

      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