by Jan Thompson
“What do you mean?” Beatrice really wanted to know.
“For instance, are you or are you not the adopted daughter of Imogen Wright, also known as Molyneux?”
Might as well come clean. “Yes, but you knew that already.”
“I had my suspicions. Yet back at the cabin I did not recall you saying you were—not a single time.”
“I wasn’t sure myself.”
“What makes you think you are now?”
“When I talked to Molyneux in Dad’s office.” Back in Eureka the evening before, Beatrice had told her team about her conversation with Molyneux in the office, but she did not mention the leather pouch in Jake’s presence because she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him.
“Were you surprised she talked to you?” Jake asked.
“I thought she wasn’t going to kill my brother or me. However, she confessed to killing Dad. So I’m not sure we’re off limits anymore.” Beatrice groaned. “What a messed-up family.”
“If you need support, I’m here.” Jake extended his hand across the table, palm up.
It reminded her of the driveway scene at the cabin, when he was trying to get to her.
Beatrice placed her hand in his. His fingers and palm were warm to the touch.
“The good news is that I’m not her biological daughter.” Beatrice retracted her hand. “I was afraid I might be. I don’t know about Benjamin, though. We were both told that we were adopted.”
“And yet I’ve said before that your smile reminded me of Molyneux. Maybe it’s possible for adopted children to take after the traits and characteristics of their adoptive parents.”
“I don’t know.” Beatrice dared not entertain the idea that Molyneux and her Dad might have lied about her parentage.
“Sometimes God brings families together in ways we don’t understand.”
Beatrice laughed. “I don’t understand why my parents are thieves, robbers, killers, murderers.”
“We can’t choose our parents, but we don’t have to be like them.”
Beatrice nodded. “I should like to think we’re not like our parents, but I have a confession—or a few.”
“Uh-oh.” Jake put down his iPad and waited.
“I took something from the cabin office before it blew up,” Beatrice said.
“What?”
“It’s a small leather pouch. Inside, I found an old San Francisco postcard and a golden key—maybe medieval, but I need to have it analyzed.”
“How old is the postcard?”
“Maybe from the fifties.”
“When your dad was a kid? Where was he born?”
“He was born in Connecticut to diplomat parents who then returned to Britain.”
“Has he been to San Francisco a lot?”
“He would have lately, but the postcard was old—although I buy old things all the time.”
“Right. So the age might not mean anything.”
Beatrice didn’t tell him that she had planned to scan the postcard soon.
“Where are you going to stay in Charleston?” Beatrice asked.
“Near your office so it won’t take too long to get there when we plan our next move.”
“I don’t think we’ll be in Charleston long. I hope my brother will come with us, but he’s such a homebody.”
“You seem to look up to him.”
“I love him with all my heart. I feel that I need to protect him, even though he’s five years older. I suspect he’s been looking out for me in more ways than I know.” She didn’t say that she also believed that Kenichi worked for Benjamin.
“Your brother sounds like a nice guy. I’d like to meet him.”
“He doesn’t like to meet people.”
“A recluse?”
“You know, sometimes parents don’t realize the repercussions they leave in their children’s lives.” Beatrice sighed. “Ten, twenty years later, we still feel it.”
“God can help us to rise above the chaos.” Jake smiled. His dimples showed again. “We look to Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith.”
“Hebrews 12:2. You know your scripture.” Beatrice was impressed. He wasn’t the only one who knew the scripture passage that make up the complete thought in Hebrews 12:1-2.
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.
“Are you a praying person?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Without God, I wouldn’t have survived all those years of being undercover.”
Beatrice studied him. He seemed to have said that with confidence—or he had been compartmentalizing his undercover work.
“How do you live like this?” she asked. “You’re one person in real life, and another undercover as part of your job.”
“If I look at myself as an actor on stage, I can see that my undercover job is a role I play. When the curtain falls, the job is done. I go to another play.”
“Interesting. Are you in theater right now? Are you playing a role with us? Infiltrating my team?”
Jake looked surprised. “No. I’m all me here. Jacob Gavin Kessler. Look it up. Take my fingerprint. DNA.”
“Why do you keep wanting to go after Molyneux—spare me the save-the-world talking points—when you’ve lost your badge, your job, your salary due to her?”
“Are you saying I’m an underdog and I have no chance against Molyneux?”
“At this point, none of us seems to be making progress.”
“So we pray for success.” Jake offered his hand again.
She did not take it.
“Prayers against my wicked adoptive mother.” Beatrice finished her bottled water. “Enough about my broken family. Tell me about yours.”
“I come from a big family of five boys and one girl. My parents have been married for almost fifty years. They still live in Florida where they grew up. They farm the land their grandparents left them.”
“Really? What do they farm?”
“Strawberries.”
That surprised Beatrice. “How did a farm boy end up as an FBI agent?”
“Florida is a tourist place, as you know. Being exposed to the world at large opened our eyes to all kinds of job options. My siblings are in many professions. One missionary, one soldier, one tour guide, one teacher, one farmer—and then there’s me.”
“The runt?” Beatrice laughed.
“No, no. I meant that not only are my siblings happily working in the jobs they like, they are also married, and some with kids. I’m thirty-eight and single and—why am I telling you this?”
“Let me take a stab at it.”
“Ouch.” He winced.
“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean...”
“Don’t worry about it. I was only kidding. You were saying?”
“Your family sounds like it’s intact. You don’t have drama or disasters. Yet you’re trying to say that you have problems too.”
Jake nodded. “No matter what your family is, there are always problems because we live in a world where there’s sin all around us. Sin causes trouble for everyone.”
“Sin nature, you mean.”
“Yeah, that being the root.”
“It’s a good reminder for us that the battle is bigger than flesh and blood. There are forces of good and bad just duking it out.”
“And we’re in the middle of the warfare.” Jake brightened up. “But if we can send Molyneux to jail, maybe the world will be a safer place.”
“Someone else will simply fill her place.”
“Not if we can help it.”
“We?” Beatrice raised her eyebrows.
“We’re together, remember?”
Beatrice shrugged. “I had
to say something to prevent the man you called John Doe from killing you back at the cabin.”
“For that, I thank you. However you meant it, don’t you agree that we are indeed in business together?”
“Technically speaking.”
Jake got up slowly, carrying an empty coffee mug. He shuffled on his good leg. That knife wound in his thigh must still be raw, in spite of the stitches and painkillers.
“Going for a refill?” Beatrice asked.
Jake nodded.
“Sit down. Let me get it for you.” Beatrice was on her feet. She took the cup from him.
And she felt something warm on her free hand. His fingers wove into hers. His other hand reached up to touch her chin, then her neckline.
He dipped his forehead toward hers.
He smelled like fresh soap.
They stayed that way for a while, forehead to forehead. Beatrice wondered if he was asking for permission.
She lifted her lips and touched his briefly. He tasted like coffee with cream.
He took that as a “yes, you may,” and bathed her with warmth that spread from his full lips to hers. The warmth lingered across her face, through her chest, and down to her toes.
Beatrice had never felt this way before with any other man. Well, it had been a while since she had a date, let alone a boyfriend.
And here was Jake, tugging at her heart.
Most unexpected.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
San Francisco had been where Beatrice and Jake first met, albeit under less than ideal circumstances. Secrets hidden from each other made it hard for Jake to take Beatrice at her word.
He looked out the window of the rental car, wondering how to respond to what she had just told him to do. Maybe he was tired from the lack of sleep in the sleeper coach. Maybe his growing feelings for her interfered with his train of thought.
After arriving at the San Francisco Airport, they had moved their luggage from the entertainer coach to the Gulfstream. Beatrice and Jake rented a car to go back to the city to retrieve their brooches while Kenichi and Helen Hu’s team began collaborating.
Jake’s bank where he had kept the one-amber brooch was their first stop. As soon as it opened at nine o’clock, he went in. Wearing a wig under a baseball cap, Beatrice waited in the lobby.
Then they went to Beatrice’s bank. This time, she did not want him to go with her.
“You want me to sit out here while you open your safety deposit box?” he asked.
“They won’t let you inside the vault anyway.”
“I could sit in the AC.” The weather was warm this May, although not hot. The breeze from the Pacific Ocean helped.
Yeah, Jake could sit out here and wait.
Beatrice unbuckled her seat belt. She handed Jake the car key.
“Technically, Philomena meant to give the three-amber brooch to me.” Jake rolled down his window.
“Technically, she stole it from my dad. His will stated that all he ever owned belonged to my brother and me—including the one-amber brooch you now have in your pocket.”
“Apparently, your dad didn’t die twenty-five years ago. Does that make his will null and void?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Kessler?”
“So it’s Mr. Kessler now, huh? I thought we were getting to know each other on a first name basis.” Jake grinned. “Tell me one thing before you go.”
Beatrice waited.
“Did our kiss last night mean anything to you? Or were we caught in the moment?”
Beatrice leaned toward him, placed her palm around his neck, and gently pulled him toward her. She touched her lips to the edge of his.
It was feather light, but Jake felt it down his spine.
Wow. “Should I be careful about you, Miss Glynn?” He smiled giddily.
“Always. If you know anything about our family, you know we love passionately.”
“Then why are you still single?”
“Because I haven’t found the right man. I don’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did. I’m waiting for the right man God sends my way.”
“Am I the one?” Maybe Jake shouldn’t have asked that. A kiss did not a relationship make. Not one, not two.
“We just met—sort of. So I don’t know. I need to pray about it some more. We both need to pray.”
“Sort of?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “Have we met before San Francisco?”
Beatrice pursed her lips. She got out of the car, shut the door, and joined the crowd of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Jake watched her go.
Sort of how?
It gave him food for thought. On the sidewalk outside the car windows, a couple of homeless dudes were panhandling. One tall man was wearing too-big jeans and scruffy boots with broken shoelaces. The other man was shorter, but more muscular—like he was perhaps newly homeless and hadn’t starved off those muscles yet.
Up and down the sidewalk they went. Somehow they knew who looked like tourists and who were locals.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes.
The bank door opened two doors away.
Beatrice came out carrying a colorful floral crossbody bag and wearing a different baseball cap. Jake wondered if those two items had been in the safe deposit box alongside the three-amber brooch.
She looked to her left and right, and made her way toward their parked car.
As Jake watched her, he noticed the two homeless men ambled her way. They brushed past her, and one of them produced a pocket knife—
“Watch out!” Jake yelled from the car. A sharp pain seared his thigh and he could not get out of the car.
The man with the knife took off running with the bag as Beatrice shouted for help.
Jake pulled himself out of the car. He leaned against the car and winced. When he looked up, Beatrice had the other homeless man in a chokehold as she kicked him in the groin.
The homeless man doubled over on the sidewalk and moaned.
“Help! He stole my purse!” Beatrice sprinted after Mr. Knife.
Hobbling toward the homeless man on the sidewalk, Jake called 911. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Fortunately, several tourists saw the situation and came to his aid.
They pinned down the homeless man until the SFPD arrived mere minutes later.
“He and his buddy tried to steal that lady’s purse.” Someone pointed toward Beatrice, who was jogging back.
“Lost him. My purse is gone.” She leaned against a pole to catch her breath.
After they gave their statements to the police office, Beatrice and Jake left for the airport.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I should have gone into the bank with you.” It might be one of the few things he regretted in life, but Jake felt it all the more now that his feelings for Beatrice had grown stronger. “Next time don’t tell me no.”
“It’s my fault now?” Beatrice kept her eyes on the road as she drove the rental car.
“I’m not blaming you. After what happened at the cabin…” Jake shook his head. “I should have gone with you.”
“Like you said, I told you no.”
“Thank God you’re okay.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Tell me your three-amber brooch isn’t in the stolen purse,” Jake said as Beatrice stopped at a red light.
“In my jeans pocket.” Beatrice didn’t show him, though.
He didn’t press for it. “Whew.”
“You don’t trust me? Did you assume I put it in my brightly-colored crossbody bag?” Beatrice talked as she listened to the navigator on her phone telling her how to get to the private airport.
Jake sighed. “I’m guessing there’s more.”
“There’s something valuable in the crossbody bag.” Before she could continue, her hands-free phone rang. It was Ken.
“Got it, Bee.” Ken hung up without fanfare.
“Isn’t it nice to have employees who instinctively know that I’m driv
ing and can’t read text messages so they call me to tell me three words and then hang up?”
Jake brushed aside Beatrice’s question to ask one of his own. “What did he get, exactly?”
“There are two brooches in a pretty box inside the crossbody bag. That’s what Molyneux wants.”
“A box? The brooch box that no one could find?”
“I didn’t spend the last five years looking for that box for nothing.” She paused. “Let me correct that. My brother, my team, and I. I don’t usually operate alone.”
“The real box?”
“Yes, with some modifications.”
Jake understood. “You inserted a GPS tracker into the box.”
“Ken did.”
“The two brooches in there, though…”
“Are fake, of course.”
“Will it blow up?”
“No. You can’t board a plane with an explosive.”
“I knew that, but how sure are you they will fly out of the country?” Jake asked.
“Because the rest of the Amber Room is not in the United States. At least we hope not.”
So many unanswered questions. “Let’s backtrack a bit. Did you know those two homeless men were fakes?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I figured as soon as Molyneux knows I’m here, she will deflect her personnel toward me.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
What did she mean by that? Jake waited for an explanation, but Beatrice drove on in silence.
Jake did not push her. He could be a patient man. He had been hunting for Molyneux for a few years now. He had been trained to wait patiently—for a few more minutes.
“I saw those two men as I was entering the bank.” Beatrice went in another direction with the conversation. “However, I could not assume they were not genuinely homeless, you know?”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t nimble on my feet.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and rest that leg for a few days? I’ll text you if we find anything.”
Jake laughed. “Not a chance. I’ll just wrap more gauze on it, and pray to God the stitches will hold.”
“I don’t want you to take too many painkillers. Maybe you should switch to Tylenol or something OTC.”