Daisy stared bitterly through the windshield. Yellow tape glowed in the bright lights, the only color in a grim world, and a flimsy barrier between good and evil.
A familiar trembling invaded her body. She drew a breath to fight it, but the air refused to leave her lungs. One dry gasp led to another until she was panting like a little dog running from a bigger one. She’d been running her whole life, or hiding, because she didn’t know how else to stay safe. Unable to stand up for herself, she’d done the tricks—sit, roll over, take off your clothes, play dead.
Why couldn’t she fight?
“I’m weak.” Tears stung her eyes. “I brought everything on myself. Everything that happened—it was my fault.”
“Daisy. Stop.” Lyn spoke with all the authority Daisy lacked. “You made a mistake when you went in the garage to see those kittens—an innocent one. You were what? Fourteen?”
“Yes.”
“What those boys did was criminal. They should have been arrested for sexual molestation of a minor. They tricked you, and they manipulated you.”
Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. “I guess.”
“I know.” Lyn took Daisy’s cold hand in both of hers and rubbed gently to warm her fingers. “You made a mistake. Don’t compound it now by blaming yourself for what happened.”
“But I—I didn’t say no.”
“You didn’t know how to say no. It’s time to forgive, Daisy—both yourself and others. We can forgive, because we’ve been forgiven. Jesus paid the price for all of us, even Eric and Shane.”
Jesus . . . Lyn’s God with a name. Daisy couldn’t make that leap. “I don’t know how.”
“Talk to God. He’ll meet you right where you are, and he’ll answer your prayer.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Lyn paused. “Forgiveness is yours for the asking. It’s also yours to give to others—including Shane.”
Daisy shook her head. “I can’t. It’s just too hard.”
“Harder than staying sober?”
The question burrowed deep into Daisy’s heart, curled up, and stayed there trembling. She carried her thirty-day chip everywhere, and soon she’d add a sixty-day chip to her collection. She was powerless over alcohol, and the chips reminded her to lean on God, not herself. Lyn’s logic was obvious. “You’re saying I can’t work things out with Shane on my own. I need God’s help.”
“Exactly.”
“Right now, I don’t even want to forgive him.”
“That could change.”
Daisy didn’t know what to think. She could talk to the God in the empty chair, but Lyn’s God with a name—the one who offered mercy—was bloody, messy, and confusing. Even more difficult, he seemed to want something from her, namely her trust.
Across the street, a policeman climbed into a patrol car and drove away. The helicopter was gone now, and so were the rescue vehicles. Only the detectives and coroner remained at the scene. And the victim. And the gawkers waiting for a glimpse of the body.
If Daisy had stayed with Eric, she might have been in a scene just like this one—and on her way to the morgue.
Pieces of a puzzle snapped into place. As misguided as Shane had been, he had bullied her out of love. He’d been trying to save her from forces of evil like the ones walled off by the yellow tape. He hadn’t meant to hurt her any more than Daisy had meant to steal the watch. Lyn had forgiven her, and now Daisy was in the same position to show mercy to Shane.
Still wounded and furious, she forced the words through gritted teeth. “I forgive him. I forgive my brother.” Her heart rebelled, but for Lyn’s sake, she tried to smile.
“You can call him right now.” Lyn held out her iPhone. “I put his number in my contacts.”
Daisy stared at the black screen, her chest tight and her foot tapping the floor mat. How much did Shane know about her life? Had the detective told him about the abortion? Would he call her a murderer? She tried not to think about the baby, but she’d forever wonder if it had been a boy or a girl.
Tears stung her eyes. “I’m not ready for that.”
Before she confronted Shane, she needed to talk to the empty chair. She wanted to know if her God had a name, and if that name was Jesus, because her life was as bloody, messy, and painful as his.
Chapter 23
The building that housed Dr. Hong’s clinic was a far cry from the Beverly Hills high-rise where seven months ago Shane had consulted a team of knee experts. A fresh coat of yellow paint covered the chipped bricks that formed two stories, but nothing could disguise the 1970s architecture. Junipers spilled onto the cracked sidewalk, and the wood shingles curled like the prongs of a dried pine cone.
Not that a building mattered. All the wisdom in the world had failed to repair Shane’s knee. Like Humpty Dumpty, he’d had a great fall. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, God had put him together again, albeit with a few cracks to keep him humble.
The nursery rhyme remained in his mind as he stepped with MJ into Dr. Hong’s waiting room. In the car she had thanked him three times, but after five minutes, they had lapsed into an awkward silence that followed them now.
While she checked in at the window, he riffled through a stack of women’s health magazines, then eyed a table with a toy made of wire and beads. On the other side of the room, two very pregnant women happily complained about kicks to their bladders, while a trio of toddlers wrestled with each other.
When MJ finished at the reception desk, she sat a chair away from him and picked up an old copy of People.
The seat—as well as his understanding of her nature—stopped him from slipping his arm around her. MJ didn’t want to be coddled any more than he did. She had a job to do today, a battle to fight. Admiring her fortitude, he scrolled through sports news on his phone. The time to fight—either for her heart or at her side—would come later.
After ten minutes, MJ closed the magazine and sighed. “I’m sorry you have to wait.”
“I don’t mind.” Good, she’s talking. He put his phone in his pocket. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, but I’d rather be at the beach.” Her toes tapped in a nervous way he recognized.
“So let’s go.” He leaned back in the chair and draped a foot over his knee. “How about an imaginary drive up the coast?”
MJ gave a soft hum. “I’d like that.”
For the next ten minutes, they mentally traveled up the Pacific Coast Highway to Big Sur, with Shane describing places he had visited but MJ had not. He wanted to make that trip with her in real life, but for now the game provided a welcome distraction until a medical assistant stepped into the waiting room.
She glanced at her clipboard. “MJ Townsend?”
MJ launched to her feet, took a few quick steps, then turned back to him. A smile graced her face. “Thanks for the drive up the coast. I had a good time.”
He answered with a nod, his heart brimming as she left with the assistant dressed in maroon scrubs.
Settling in to wait, he lifted his phone from his pocket and saw a missed call from Troy. Surprised, he stepped outside to call the detective back. But when Shane reached the sidewalk, he hesitated.
Lyn had impressed him over that cup of coffee. She would neither confirm nor deny knowing Daisy, but she’d been blunt about Shane honoring his sister’s wishes. “Confidentiality is pivotal to our program. As long as a woman is safe, what she needs more than anything is respect. The decision to speak with family and friends is hers alone.”
“In other words, you’re saying it’s up to Daisy to call me.”
Lyn merely smiled. But she also had quizzed Shane relentlessly about his motives, the past, and what he wanted from his sister. In the end, she had counseled him to give God time to work.
Was it time to cut Troy loose out of respect for Daisy? Or was he right to continue the search for her? Still weighing the facts, he called Troy.
“So what’s up?” Shane asked.
“I met Markham.”
“Wher
e? When?”
“I staked out his apartment last night. Around ten o’clock, he went to a bar and I followed him inside. He must be a regular, because a female server called him by name.” The detective described sitting a few stools away and listening while Markham bragged to the bartender about being in the new George Clooney movie. At that point, Troy buddied up to him. Markham didn’t mention Daisy, but the bartender made a crack about Markham’s girlfriend dumping him for Clooney.
“The joke set him off on a rant,” Troy said. “Apparently Daisy filed for a restraining order and got it.”
Good for you, Daisy. “Did he make threats?”
“Nothing direct.”
“Troy, you have to find her.” Pacing, Shane spoke over the traffic noise. “A restraining order’s a public document. It has to have an address.”
“Yes, but not hers. She filed through a legal aid office in Santa Monica. I called and explained the situation to one of the attorneys. If Daisy’s a client, he’ll relay the message.”
“Good.” Daisy was close. But so was Markham. And so was Lyn Grant. Santa Monica and Venice Beach were just a few miles apart. A coincidence, or God’s providence? Shane considered his conversation with Lyn and her questions. Did she know Daisy? Very possibly. But Shane wouldn’t pressure her. As Lyn had said, it was a matter of respect. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t speak with her later.
As long as Daisy was in danger, the detective had a job to do. “Keep on it, Troy. Ask if anyone at the bar has seen her lately.”
“I plan on it.”
“And keep an eye on Markham, okay?”
“I will.” The detective paused. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Have you seen this guy’s website?”
“Unfortunately.” Shirtless pictures showed off Markham’s six-pack abs and a tattoo of a serpent wrapped around his torso. His biography made him out to be the next Robert De Niro, but at least a few of his movie credits sounded like porn. Shane had been disgusted when he first saw the website, and he was disgusted now.
Troy’s tone stayed professional. “With his priors, we have to be careful. If you ask me, the guy’s a powder keg.”
“I can see that.” Lyn’s last bit of advice came back to Shane in a whisper. “Give God time to work.”
But what if Daisy didn’t have time? His skin crawled at the thought of Markham hunting her down and hurting her, punishing her for standing up to him with that restraining order. What if she was scared and hiding, even wishing someone would help her? And what if God had called Shane to be that person?
No way could he back off now. “Keep a low profile, but stick with it. We have to find her before Markham does.”
“Will do.”
“And Troy?”
“Yeah?”
“Work fast. I have a bad feeling.”
Shane put away the phone, squeezed the back of his neck, and considered changing the travel plans for the return to Refuge. He and MJ had first-class seats booked for Sunday morning, but he didn’t want to leave Daisy. On the other hand, what could he do? A misstep on his part could inspire Daisy to run again.
Shane also had track practice and a classroom waiting, and MJ had a son who needed her. There was only one logical thing to do—go home to Refuge and leave the search to Troy and Lyn.
He returned to the waiting room and sat. A newborn wailed until the mother offered a bottle. A couple in their thirties sat with their hands locked on the armrests, their eyes hopeful. Behind the closed door, MJ was having a procedure that shouldn’t have been necessary.
And somewhere in Los Angeles, Daisy was hiding from Eric Markham—and from Shane.
Troy would help with Daisy, but Shane was on his own with MJ. He had to convince her that he loved her, and that the effects of HPV made her no less desirable. It wouldn’t be easy, but he wouldn’t quit until he found a way.
The LEEP was harder on MJ than she’d expected. Even without general anesthesia, she felt wobbly as Shane helped her into the rental car. With the sun nearing the horizon, they picked up Chinese food to take to his apartment. When Shane went into the restaurant, MJ called her mother. Olivia didn’t answer, so MJ left a voicemail saying everything went well and she’d call that evening.
Thirty minutes later, she was seated next to Shane on the couch in his apartment, a two-bedroom boasting a massive flat-screen and sports memorabilia belonging to Shane and his roommate. Plates of cashew chicken, beef and broccoli, and white rice sat in front of them. MJ nibbled at her meal, but Shane devoured his like a starving man.
Neither of them said much. The plan called for Lyn to pick up MJ after her evening AA meeting.
In the meantime, MJ was stuck here with Shane and his good intentions—a painful blessing, because he knew just what she needed. He didn’t hover or nag like her mother, or worry like Cody. Today he had simply driven her to the appointment, bought her dinner, and acted as if taking a woman for a LEEP was something he did every day.
But it wasn’t. She needed to keep the friendship line firmly in place, even make it thicker, but her body took priority.
She set down her plastic fork and pushed the plate away. “Thank you. That was good.”
He glanced at her half-eaten food and raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I finish that?”
“Not at all.” Except sharing food on a plate was something a couple did, not two people who were merely friends. She needed to use the bathroom, so she lifted her purse off the floor and pushed to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
“That way.” He indicated the left half of the apartment.
She walked down the short hall. The bathroom was on her right, but her gaze went to the bedroom on the left. One of Shane’s shirts hung over a treadmill, and the king-sized bed was rumpled, a sign he had slept in it last night—and a reminder that he’d had a life before moving to Refuge. MJ had never asked about past girlfriends. As long as they weren’t dating, it wasn’t any of her business. But now she was curious. And a little angry that he knew all her intimate secrets and she knew none of his.
Sighing, she went into the bathroom and took care of business. Disposing of the sanitary pad embarrassed her, but that was silly under the circumstances. The cramps she anticipated were starting, so she took a couple of ibuprofen. Needing a pick-me-up, she brushed her hair and rubbed some color into her cheeks.
When she returned to the living room, the table was clear and Shane was standing by the sliding glass door with his back to the room, hands propped on his hips and feet planted wide.
She longed to approach him, to lean her head on his shoulder, but instead she dropped down on the couch. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” His voice came out soft, but she didn’t hear pity.
Her middle hurt more with each beat of her heart. She wished the ibuprofen would kick in, but so what? She wished a lot of things but settled for hugging a throw pillow to her middle.
Shane turned slowly, head first, then shoulders, then chest and hips until he was fully facing her. An odd look clouded his eyes. “We have to talk.”
“I’d rather not.” She hugged the pillow tighter. “But I really do appreciate what you did today.”
“MJ?”
“Yes?”
“If you thank me one more time” —he clipped each word but let his eyes twinkle—“I’m going to howl like a dog.”
Relief flooded through her. Maybe they could keep the evening light after all. Her lips quirked upward. “Now that I’d like see. So thank—”
“No.” His eyes blazed into hers. “I feel like howling, and not just because of the thank-yous. How are you feeling?”
I hurt. I’m worried. I love you, but I can’t tell you. “I’m all right. The pain’s about what I expected.” A little worse than last time, but she didn’t want to share the details with him.
He studied her face for several seconds, maybe taking in the color on her cheeks and gauging her recovery.
“If you’re feeling okay, there’s something I need to say.”
Another apology? Something about the tryout? Curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?”
“I love you.”
Her heart hitched into her throat. Why would he say those words now, when her insides were a mess and she felt like damaged goods? She longed to say the words back, but instead she shook her head. “Shane—no. Please don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.” A cramp seized her abdomen. She wanted to run out the door and never come back. But she knew Shane as well as he knew her. He’d follow her, lagging behind at a safe distance until she exhausted herself. Then he’d scoop her into his arms and carry her forward. No way did MJ want to be followed down this road. HPV was her cross to bear. Not his.
Let the battle begin. If she had to play rough, so be it.
She set the pillow aside, squared her shoulders, and sat with her spine rigid and not touching the back cushions. “I have feelings for you, too. You know that. But right now I have to look out for myself.”
His eyes flashed as if she’d tossed down a gauntlet. “True, but you don’t have to do it alone.”
“Yes, I do.”
He stayed on his side of the room, eight feet away. “Have you heard of a Hail Mary pass in football?”
The sports talk took her by surprise. “The quarterback throws the ball as far as he can and hopes for the best.”
“Exactly. It’s a last-ditch effort. Today’s LEEP was a Hail Mary, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The ball’s just been thrown.” He faked a pass. “It’s going to hang in the air for months, maybe years, before we know the results. I’m willing—make that determined—to be at your side while this plays out. I love you, MJ. Game over. I win.”
“You didn’t win anything.” She jumped to her feet, ready to fight. The ache in her middle swelled like a water balloon, but she refused to sit, or even let the pain show. “I’ve talked to Dr. Hong about all this. It’s unlikely I’d pass this strain of the virus on to you, but those are just statistics. Who knows?”
When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1) Page 23