CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1)

by Mandie Tepe

  After dinner, Isla tried talking Jimi into going home, even offering to stay the night with her there. Night had already fallen and the darkness seemed to add to Jimi’s unease, so Isla let up on her and took her to spend the night in Isla’s gorgeous refurbished Victorian house overlooking the river.

  CHAPTER 19

  The first thing Chance did when he touched down in Houston on Tuesday morning was to turn on his phone. He blinked at the number of missed calls and voicemail messages. There were dozens of them. As he scrolled through the list he noticed there were multiple ones from his brother and his mom. There was even one from his father. As surprising as those were, the half dozen or so from the Carrefour Police Department were more so. He kept scrolling and even found missed calls from some of his neighbors, but it dawned on him that there was not one from the person whose voice he most wanted to hear—Jimi. This made him very uneasy.

  Since he’d always been one to take issues head on he keyed in her number. He told himself that it was just that she’d taken it to heart when he said he’d be unreachable and so she hadn’t wanted to bog him down with messages as soon as he arrived back in the states. His call connected immediately with a message that her voicemail box was full, which meant he was unable to leave her a message informing her that he was back and would be home the next day. But worse, it meant that he wasn’t able to hear her voice.

  Now he had to decide which of his multitude of messages to listen to first. The CPD calls were most likely about his new job and he could deal with those later. He decided to call River first to see what was up with the family. If there were drama, River would be the one to put everything in perspective before he got his parents’ conflicting views on things.

  Not bothering to listen to River’s messages, he made the call.

  “Geez, bro . . . thank God you’re back,” River greeted in a tone that Chance didn’t like at all. Before he was able to respond his brother continued. “They released your apartment last evening and mom went by to check on Jimi at her office. She’s holding up. Oh! And Axel is gonna recover, but it’ll probably be a long road for h—,” River rambled on completely blowing Chance’s mind.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Chance interrupted. “What are you talking about? Jimi’s holding up? Axel’s gonna recover? My apartment? What the hell?!”

  There was a long pause before his brother asked tentatively, “You got my messages—right?”

  “I got a boatload of messages—from you, Mom, Dad, Roscoe, Willy, the CPD—but I didn’t listen to them. I’m guessing that was a mistake ‘cause you’re freaking me out right now.” He took a deep breath. “Now, can you fill me in? And try going from Point A to Point Z in an organized linear manner.”

  So River launched in, starting with Axel waking up to sounds of the break in . . . to surprising the burglars and being shot . . . to Jimi exiting her apartment to investigate . . . to the hostage situation . . . to Shad’s coming forward and cooperating with the police investigation . . . to the arrests . . . to the rundown of Axel’s injuries and recovery. By the end of the story (thankfully River was a man of few words, so he got it out without an overabundance of them) Chance had made his way through the airport and out the front entrance. His stormy countenance and angry gait cleared the path and helped get him to the Sparta Corp van waiting to pick him up in record time.

  “I guess this explains what all of the calls from the police department are about,” he said grimly as he opened the van door, tossed his carry-on over the passenger seat and onto the back one, slid in and slammed the door behind him. He barely glanced at his supervisor behind the wheel.

  River spoke again. “So you’ll be back tomorrow—right?”

  “Hell no. I’ll be home by sometime this evening.”

  “Whoa,” Chance’s supervisor—Ramon Alvarez—exclaimed in surprise.

  Chance shot him a fiery glance. “I’ll tie up all the loose ends and see if I can get a flight out this afternoon. If not I’ll rent a car or something. I’ll be back tonight.”

  “You want me to let Jimi know?”

  “Her voicemail is full. I tried calling her first.”

  River offered, “I’ll go by and tell her in person if you want.”

  “Let’s wait until I know for sure what my arrangements are,” Chance decided.

  Under his breath Ramon stated, “I believe they are that you have a debriefing before you head home tomorrow. Same drill as always.”

  Chance ignored him and spoke into the phone. “I’ll try to keep you posted. Thanks for being there for Jimi, bro.”

  “No problem. Safe travels.”

  “Yeah.”

  They signed off and Chance proceeded to play his messages in consecutive order and on speaker so Ramon would understand what Chance was dealing with and why he needed to be fast-tracked and get home ASAP. By the time they arrived at Sparta Corp’s headquarters Chance had Carrefour PD’s Detective Xavier on the phone and was being updated on where things stood with the case.

  Once the powers-that-be at Sparta understood the situation, they were on board with fast-tracking procedures. It helped that Chance’s mission of escorting a U.S. official on a clandestine meeting went smoothly . . . mainly because the meeting fell through when the official’s Central American counterpart was a no-show. The non-meeting hadn’t bothered Chance, but the U.S. official was so ticked off that he’d been stood up that Chance was surprised that what was left of the man’s hair didn’t catch fire. Chance’s feelings on the matter were very different now that he was aware of what had gone on at home while he was on the mission that never was. Now he could relate to the guy’s anger about being jerked around.

  After the meetings in which Chance basically had no reports to give were rushed through, his severance interviews completed and paperwork filed, Ramon drove him back to the airport. Ramon’s assistant had booked a flight and, once at the airport, Chance had to run at full speed to make the gate in time.

  After he was settled in his seat onboard he realized he hadn’t had time to contact anyone back home that he was on his way. Oh well . . . he’d be on the ground again in only a little over two hours.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  At that very moment Jimi sat next to Ben Tyler in one of the juvenile detention center’s visiting rooms. How she came to be there still shocked her.

  Ben had shown up at the church office, metaphorical hat-in-hand, and informed her that Shad was asking to see her. To say she’d been surprised was putting it mildly.

  She had heard that Shad was cooperating with the prosecution, but she was also aware that had he not been involved, it was likely that none of the burglaries would have happened. Jimi was grateful that he’d seen the error of his ways and was trying to make things right, but she really had no desire to speak with him.

  She felt her blood boil every time she thought of the previous Friday morning when she’d apologized to him for the things he’d overheard her say to Bethany. And the whole time he’d lied about how he—along with his friends—had trashed her apartment, killed her fish, shattered her pottery, shredded her pop’s tartan, and did a number on her peace of mind. Of course that damage was nothing compared to how broken her sense of security was after being held hostage by a group of out-of-control kids holding her at gunpoint. That gun being the same gun that had critically injured her cousin right outside her door.

  She’d sat behind the reception desk and studied Ben who appeared surprisingly more broken than she’d expected he was capable of being. Jimi looked into the man’s eyes—they were the same rich brown as his son’s, although they weren’t the same lushly lashed almond shape—and was unable to flat out turn him down. So she hedged and told him she’d try to make it if she could. Ben nodded shortly, thanked her and slunk out of the building.

  Once he’d gone, she’d turned to the high school youth minister for counseling about the right way to handle the situation. That was one of the
perks of working among such a wonderful group of God’s people. She always had good counsel around her, and this time Jimi had been reminded of God’s call for his people to forgive and show grace through His words in Colossians, Matthew and Ephesians.

  So here she sat next to a man who could barely meet her eyes, but had seemed relieved when she’d arrived.

  The door in the wall opposite from where Jimi and Ben had entered opened and Shad came through it accompanied by a middle-aged detention officer. She watched Shad shuffling toward them wearing gray blue scrub-style pants and top with a long sleeved white thermal underneath. She guessed his shuffling had to do with his green rubber scuff slippers being too large even though he wore heavy white socks with them. Taking note of the ID band fastened around his wrist, she was reminded of her cousin who wore a similar band. They were both being kept careful track of in much the same way, but for very different reasons. The detention officer stood by until Shad sat down at the narrow table across from them, then he turned and settled in a chair in the corner.

  Jimi studied Shad who was sitting with his head down so his shaggy hair covered his face. She guessed he was not being a problem inmate because he wasn’t cuffed. He’d been brought in with no restraints at all.

  Ben broke the silence. “You doing okay, son?” he asked in a shaky voice as he reached across to squeeze his boy’s shoulder.

  Shad seemed to square those shoulders before looking up. “Yeah, Dad.” He paused a brief moment before asking, “Mom didn’t come with you?”

  “She left for inpatient rehab yesterday. Out near Columbia.”

  “Really?” Shad breathed. What little Jimi could see of his face seemed to transfix with hope.

  “Yeah. She wanted me to explain she wasn’t abandoning you and your situation, but she thought it was time to get sober so she’d be strong for when you’re out and need her.”

  “I understand. I’m glad she’s finally doing it,” Shad assured Ben. “How long will she be away?”

  “Six to nine weeks, depending on how long the detox takes and how she does completing the program.” Ben shifted in his seat. “I’m gonna be making some changes too. I haven’t been around the way I should have been, so . . .” He paused. “Well . . . I’m sorry about that and it’s going to change. I’ve looked into family counselors so I can get started and you and your mother can join in when we’re all together again.”

  Jimi wished she were anywhere but there at that moment. These issues were way too personal and intimate for her to be listening in. She must have instinctively shifted back from the table just enough to catch their notice because that’s when Ben drew her into the conversation.

  “Jimi was good enough to come along with me like you asked, Shad.”

  Shad cringed, but straightened those shoulders again and even reached up to push his hair out of his face. “Thanks for coming,” he croaked.

  She didn’t know what to say or why she was there, so she simply went with, “You’re welcome.”

  “I really wanted to see you to make sure you’re okay,” Shad said, taking the bull by the horns.

  “I’m okay,” she assured him.

  “I need to apologize for everything . . . for the other night, but for trashing your apartment earlier too . . . and then lying about it.” He looked intensely into her eyes. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt. Looking back I don’t even understand why I went along like that.”

  She nodded. “I can see that.”

  “When I get out I’m gonna get a job and buy you some new fish. I didn’t do that part and I never would. They were really cool fish. But Fitz wouldn’t have been there to do it if I hadn’t brought him with me. And the weaving stuff. I wouldn’t do that either. Your weaving was really awesome. I’ll replace some of your yarn too. If you let me know what kind was destroyed. I don’t know much about yarn. Anything really. I don’t know anything about yarn.”

  Jimi’s lips twitched in humor, and the fact that she found humor in the yarn discussion—or anything to do with related events at all—surprised her. “You don’t need to worry about the yarn,” she assured him. “But some new betta fish would be nice.”

  Shad heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn’t gone off on him. “You can let me know if I owe you to replace anything else. It’s really all my fault. Neither me or Fitz should have been in your apartment at all, but it was me that caused us to be.”

  “What about Mrs. Wilson’s jewelry? Was that you too?”

  “Yeah. I’ll figure out how to replace the ring. The police got the necklace from Pilar, so Mrs. Wilson will get that back, I think.” He took a deep breath. “I heard Axel is gonna be okay. Eventually. I haven’t figured out what I can do to make it all up to hi—” His words broke off, his voice breaking.

  Jimi reached out to where his forearms rested crossed on the table in front of him. She squeezed his forearm just above the wrist encircled with his laminated ID. His head was down again so she said, “Look at me, Shad.” It took a long moment, but when he did she continued, “We all make mistakes in life. It’s how we handle them that determines our true character . . . whether we take responsibility and try to make things right or not. When a good person makes mistakes that hurt other people, they beat themselves up and punish themselves more than anyone else ever could. You’re taking responsibility and trying to make amends and that tells me you’re a good person. But don’t beat yourself up and punish yourself too much. Keep doing what you’re doing. Helping the police and prosecutors is a rough road for you. It’s definitely the hardest thing, but it’s the right thing. But now—after this talk about wanting to make things up to me and to Axel—I know you’re a good person . . . a strong person who is willing to take the hard road and make things right. I admire you for that.”

  Shad’s eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t know how you can say that about me . . . that I’m a good person . . . that you admire me. This is all my fault.”

  “Some of it’s your fault. Not all of it. Not the worst of it. Cut yourself some slack, but never stop being a man that—no matter his mistakes—makes it right.” She looked over at Ben and noticed his eyes were wet as well. She pretended not to notice as he quickly looked away to hide the tears. “Your dad—and mom too—seem to be trying to do the right thing. You can all help each other to make things right before this is all said and done. I’ll be praying for all of you.”

  Ben croaked, “Thanks for that.”

  Jimi shot him a crooked grin. “You never have to thank me for that. Praying for people is one of my favorite things.” She looked back at Shad and changed the subject—sort of. “You remember Jamal from the church? The high school youth minister?”

  Shad nodded. “Well, he comes in here once a week and chaplains a lunch prayer service with the kids who are interested. I told him I was coming to visit you and he wanted me to be sure to invite you. He’d love you to join them. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, he’d at least like to be able to visit with you.”

  “I guess I’d like for him to visit.”

  She turned to Ben. “You may have to put him on the list of your approved visitors, being Shad’s custodial parent.”

  “I can do that,” Ben agreed.

  Shad asked, “Can he put your name on the list too . . . in case you want to visit again?” He blushed and added quickly, “Not that you have to if you don’t want to. I was ju—”

  “No, I’d like to if it’s alright with your dad and the administrators here,” she assured him, putting him at ease. She teased, “I could spend our visits schooling you on yarn and all kinds of mind numbing subjects like that.”

  She almost got a grin out of him before he said with feigned nonchalance, “Or what it was like growing up with the Vagabonds. That must have been cool.”

  “Oh, Lord . . .” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “If the officers,” she flung a hand out toward the one sitting in the corner, “overheard that they might arrest me for contributing to the delinquency of
a minor.”

  Everyone—including the guard—burst out laughing at her teasing exaggeration. The visit continued in a much more lighthearted manner than it began for a bit.

  That was until Ben informed his son that he’d resigned from his job and he’d be moving them out of the Crosswinds in a couple of weeks. Shad immediately went into a dark mood believing it was his fault that his dad was losing his job, but Ben assured him it was his decision. He felt the family needed a fresh start and he was working on getting them on that road.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Late that evening, the hinges of the heavy metal door leading into the warehouse-turned-art studio squealed when Chance pulled it open. It clanged shut behind him as he stood just inside taking stock. He looked up to see a large skylight had been cut into the roof. It was after dark now, so there was no light flooding into the space filled with easels, work-in-progress sculptures, and pottery wheels. The concrete floor sported colorful paint blobs over by the easels, dried clay in the pottery space, and all kinds of metal scraps littering the sculpture area. There were heavily laden storage shelves and worktables filling in space around all of this.

  Chance could smell the acrid scent of recent welding, as well as dust, turpentine, and clay. There were heavy tarps hanging like curtains here and there, but they were all pulled back so the entire space was in view.

  Greta Van Fleet’s Highway Tune was pounding through the room. This was fitting because when the band’s lead vocalist began singing about his girl being “so sweet, so fine, so nice” Chance was looking at his own pretty, sweet, fine, and nice girl sitting under a circle of light in the otherwise dim room. Jimi was bent over a spinning pottery wheel. Her back was to him and with the wheel’s motor running and the music being cranked up she hadn’t noticed his somewhat noisy entrance.

  He drew in a deep breath as he watched her and willed away the thought of all the ways what had happened while he was gone could have gone sideways . . . how he could have lost her and what that would mean . . . the way it could have affected his future. Because he had definitely been thinking about his future and she had factored prominently in every scenario flashing through his mind of late.