Shadow Of Suspicion. Christy Barritt
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SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Laney Ryan paused, her fingers poised over her keyboard midstroke. A noise outside her suburban home caused her spine to clinch and a moment of fear to seize her thoughts.
She was being silly. The sound was probably her neighbor across the street returning home. Or maybe a deliveryman was dropping off a package. It was nothing to be concerned over.
Her instincts blazed, and she was unable to believe either of those scenarios. Something was going on outside her house—something she needed to prepare for.
Quickly, she turned off her computer and stashed it in the locked drawer hidden beneath her desk. Wasting no time, she stood. She had to get to her bedroom to grab her gun.
She’d only taken one step in that direction when her front door burst open.
A flash bang exploded in her entryway, and smoke filled the house. Feet stampeded across her floor as an unseen army invaded her space. As enemies breached her territory. As danger closed in.
She ducked by the dining room table and stifled a scream, unwilling to give away her presence even though panic rushed through her. She grabbed the edge of a chair, unable to see. Smoke blocked her vision, filled her lungs, burned her eyes.
What was going on? Had someone discovered what she did for a living? Would they try to make her talk using whatever means necessary?
Fear trembled through her bones. She’d known this day might come, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t. Prayed it wouldn’t.
More smoke stung her eyes. A cough caught in her throat, and she tried to hold it back. Shouts sounded around her.
How many of them were there? How many men had infiltrated her home? How long would it be before the smoke cleared and they found her?
Her house—her haven—suddenly felt like a war zone. She swallowed hard, trying to remember all the training that had been drilled into her in case she was ever captured and interrogated. Silence was of the essence. She knew secrets that could bring this country down. And in the wrong hands... She shuddered to think about what would happen.
A man in SWAT uniform appeared in front of her, his gun raised. “Laney Ryan, you’re under arrest.”
“For what?” she demanded.
Another cop pulled her to her feet and jerked her arms behind her with enough force to snap her bones as he pressed handcuffs around her wrists. Her body instantly ached.
“You’re the prime suspect in the disappearance of Sarah Novak.”
Her heart plunged. Sarah? What had happened to her sweet neighbor? The girl was only fifteen, and Laney thought the world of her.
“What’s wrong with Sarah? What happened?” Her voice trembled as she braced herself for whatever news was about to come.
No one answered her. The cop behind her shoved her toward the front door as more officers invaded her home, searching every nook and cranny. Probably looking for evidence of what had happened. But why there? Why her?
Each step felt surreal, like something that happened on a TV show, but not in her real life. Panic threatened to engulf her as reality set in. She was being arrested. She had to stop this before it had a domino effect on her future.
“You’ve got this all wrong. I would never hurt Sarah,” she rushed to tell them.
The cop behind her didn’t seem to hear anything. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will...”
The words faded as a haze came over her. Laney had just seen Sarah that morning. She and her father, Sol, had stopped by and asked for help hemming a skirt for a school event that weekend.
Sarah was only fifteen. She had so much of life ahead of her. What if she was hurt? Or worse? The thought caused Laney’s heart to lurch.
Please, Father, let her be okay. Watch over her. Protect her.
A shock of cold air hit her as the cop shoved her onto the front porch. The stay-at-home mom across the street stood in her front yard, gripping her toddler’s hand as she watched everything unfold with a look of horror on her face.
That wasn’t even Laney’s biggest concern at the moment. She couldn’t care less about what her neighbors thought. Her biggest concern was Sarah.
Shouting sounded in the distance. Laney pulled her gaze toward the noise. What now?
Sol, she realized.
He stood on the edge of her lawn, between her house and his. His face was red with anger, and a female cop restrained him from lunging at Laney. His body language clearly screamed that he was in attack mode.
“Where’s my daughter? What did you do with her?” the slight man shouted. He looked ready to spring. “You’re a monster!”
Laney’s heart plunged. How could Sol think she had anything to do with this? She loved Sarah as if she were her own daughter. She would never, ever do anything to put her in jeopardy.
She opened her mouth. She wanted to say something. To convince Sol of her innocence. To explain that she had no idea where Sarah was.
But no words would leave her throat.
Poor Sarah.
Had she seemed okay that morning? No. Now that she thought about it, Sarah had seemed melancholy when she was at her house.
She’d whispered to Laney before she left, “Can we talk sometime?”
Laney had smiled and told her, “Of course.” She figured it was the typical teenage problems: boys, college, grades, pimples even.
Would things be different right now if Laney had taken the time to listen to her then? But she hadn’t been able to. Sarah had to go to school, Sol had been there, and Laney had to start working. She knew the dilemma would haunt her, though. The what-ifs were the worst.
She’d experienced them many times before. She’d lost sleep over questions like that. Nearly lost her mind, for that matter.
The officer shoved her into the back of a brown police sedan and slammed the door. At least the inside of the vehicle was warm, a stark contrast to the brittle winter day outside. The scent of evergreen filled the air, strangely comforting. But only for a moment.
The man in the front seat turned toward her, his eyes perceptive and hard—yet disturbingly beautiful with their crystal coloring. He was broad and imposing with light brown hair, a square jawline and a five-o’clock shadow.
“Ms. Ryan,” he started. “My name is Detective Mark James. We need you to answer a few questions.”
“Of course.”
“What did you do with Sarah Novak?” His voice sounded all business, like he wasn’t the kind of person to be messed with or questioned or who you wanted on your bad side.
“Nothing. I have no idea where Sarah is,” she told him, sagging into the seat.
Laney needed to contact her boss, Nicholas Mclean. He would be able to explain who Laney was, why she was trustworthy and incapable of this. Her job with the CIA was classified, and they even used a different company