“I remember a lot. My mother took Charlotte and me to church every Sunday. Dad joined us when he could. Good memories.” His voice cracked, and he stared outside.
“So what changed? I get the impression you don’t attend anymore, that going to Hillcrest was a ruse.”
Bowen pointed to the wall of dryers. “I think your clothes are ready.”
The dryer with her delicates and lightweight tops had stopped tumbling. She slipped the Bible into her purse and held it out to him. “Hold this a minute.”
At the dryer, she pulled out the warm items and dumped them on another table near the two women. Surely Bowen had seen women’s underwear before, but having him watch as she folded hers sent heat creeping up her neck. To distract from her actions, she asked again, “What changed?”
Holding her purse under his arm like a football, he opened the other dryer door and felt the clothes inside. “Not dry.” He closed the door, jabbed the button, then raised his gaze to the TV. “I don’t know. Life, I guess. Work, marriage. Everything tugged me away.”
The women loaded their piles of clothing into plastic baskets and left the laundromat with the toddler dragging his yellow truck behind them.
With Sadie’s clothes neatly stacked on the table, she moved to a chair closer to the dryers. Her jeans and dark shirts tumbled and dried with Bowen’s things. She watched them make their circular dance. They mimicked her jumbled thoughts.
“How’d you handle it?”
She reclaimed possession of her purse. “Handle what?”
A deep frown lined his brow. “The trial. Aaron’s death. Loss of everything. How’d you keep your faith?”
“I didn’t.” She hugged her purse to her chest. “I blamed God for everything. How could He treat me that way when I’d served Him for so long? How could He take my family?” Even now the accusations struck a chord of truth.
“How’d you overcome that?”
Memories of her nights of anguish clouded her focus. She stared at the stained concrete floor. “I’m not sure exactly. I turned my back on God, but after a while, my knowledge of the scriptures knocked down the wall I’d built, brick by brick.” She glanced at Bowen. “Reece Patterson’s counsel helped, too. I realized God wasn’t responsible for the Levasseurs’ actions. We each have freedom to choose good or evil. God doesn’t force us to make that choice, either.”
A dryer buzzed, but they both ignored it.
“But if we’ve chosen evil, will he take us back?” Bowen searched her face.
Although he didn’t use the words I and me, she sensed from his tone and the intensity of his gaze that this issue was close to his heart.
“There’s a verse in the Book of Revelation. It says Jesus stands at the door and knocks. It is up to each individual to open the door. He is always ready to forgive the truly repentant.”
An arm’s length away, he whispered, “Even me?”
Although she still struggled with a weak faith herself, his question strengthened her resolve. “Even you, Bowen Boudine.”
25
Using the guide in the front of the Bible, Sadie leafed through the books of Luke, Ephesians, and Colossians. She read aloud scriptures on forgiveness while Bowen listened, fully focused.
But then he withdrew and seemed to fight a self-contained battle. While he folded his clothes, he scowled at an elderly man who entered with a plastic tub overflowing with laundry.
“Do you want me to read more?”
He turned his frown on her. Lips tight, jaw firm, he slapped his clean jeans on the table and forced out the wrinkles with his forearm. “No.” He shoved the folded pants into his bag and hefted it over his shoulder.
She picked up her bag of clothes and followed him to his truck.
Accepting Bowen’s silent treatment, Sadie stared out the side window as he drove. By the time they returned to the safe house, the stress lines had eased off his brow and his jaw muscles relaxed.
She went to her own room and deposited the clothes on the bed. When she came out, she passed Bowen’s bedroom.
He slumped on the bed, head bowed, hands clenched, his bag of clothes in a heap at his feet. He glanced up. A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, and he raised a hand as if in defense. “I have work to do. You’re on your own for the rest of the evening. Have you seen Erik?”
Her arms ached to hold him and ease away the demons their laundromat conversation had roused. But she pointed towards the kitchen. “He’s in the backyard.”
On cue, Erik tromped down the hall. “Have a good meal?” He sidled by Sadie and entered the bedroom. “Boudine, I’ve got information on the sisters.”
“Can I listen in?” Sadie asked.
“Sure.” Bowen picked up his clothes and dumped them on the bed. “I’ll pack these things away, and then we’ll meet in the living room”
Sadie returned to her own room and folded her clothes neatly into her suitcase. In the kitchen, she heated a mug of water, chose a tangerine passion teabag, plopped it in the mug, and then sat on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her.
Erik brought a pink bakery box from the kitchen. “You want a cookie?” He opened the box and held it for her to see. Aromas of cinnamon and spices escaped the assortment of chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin rounds.
“No, thanks.”
He took a handful and set the box on the side table. The recliner creaked an objection as he sank into it and extended the footrest. His black boots dangled over the end. “Hurry up, Boudine.” One cookie disappeared into his mouth.
When Bowen entered, he took several cookies and sat on the other end of the sofa. “What did you discover?”
Erik curled one arm behind his head, looking more like a sunbather than an agent ready to divulge information. “You were right, Sadie. Vicky and Irene are twins. Vicky’s married and still works at Brady Holdings. She’s in the accounts receivable department. Irene lied to Cal. She never moved to San Francisco. Lives here.”
“She could still have ties to Cal’s company. We need to warn him. Ask him about her friends.” Bowen slipped another chunk of cookie into his mouth and nodded to Sadie. “I know you want to visit him again. Maybe we can arrange a meeting in a day or two.”
“I’d like that.” She set her empty mug on the side table. “Did you find out if Vicky and Irene are related to Kyle?”
Erik chewed the last of his cookie. “You have a good eye. They’re his sisters. He used to work for the L.A. Times but got fired when they downsized a year ago. He’s writing a book on ethnic celebrations around the country. Taking photographs—“
“That’s it. That’s how he found me.” Sadie set her feet on the floor.
“How?” Bowen asked.
“Early last December, Rhodes supplied potted plants for the Travis County Holiday Festival. Glenna and I were in charge of decorating the stage and meeting hall. A reporter kept taking pictures, and I hid my face whenever he came near.” Sadie closed her eyes, sending her memory on a journey to the past. The reporter’s face and physique came into focus. “It could have been Kyle. I met him a week or so later at church.”
Bowen moved along the sofa, closer to Sadie. His large hand stilled her tapping fingers. “That’s probably when he contacted Vicky and she, in turn, told Lonnie. As a reporter in California, he knew all about the trial. Maybe sat in the courtroom.”
A shudder that started deep within raked Sadie’s body. She turned, her knees meeting Bowen’s, and let the warmth of his hand calm her nerves.
“Kyle’s book is legit?” Bowen asked.
“Yes. He has a contract with Treehouse Publishing,” Erik said.
In control of her emotions again, Sadie freed her hands. “I guess as a reporter-photographer he must have a keen eye and recognized me.” She folded her arms and focused on a bare patch in the rug. “But why didn’t he do something, then? Why wait until he saw the photograph of me with Aaron and Hannah?”
“Maybe he—”
“I thin
k I know.” Erik tapped his temple. “It’s money. How much you want to bet, Lonnie offered him money, and Kyle was waiting for the price to go up?”
“Why? What else did you discover?”
“Our friend Kyle is a gambler. Likes the ponies. He’s up to his armpits in debt.”
“Hmm. None of this came up when I researched him in Austin.” Bowen glanced at Sadie.
She raised her eyebrows.
“After I met him, I checked him out.”
Erik released the footrest and lumbered out of the recliner. “I’m needed at the office. Be back before midnight.” He grabbed his jacket and left through the kitchen.
Sadness trickled into Sadie’s mind. Kyle’s interest in the puppet ministry had nothing to do with helping children. He orchestrated the whole business, including the use of the Hands for Hannah website to engage her. She eased off the sofa and stepped to the front window. “Is there anything we can do about Vicky, Irene, or Kyle? Contact the police?” Her gaze drifted back to Bowen.
“No. We’ve got no concrete evidence. Other than Kyle pulling a gun on you, what have they done? Once you and Hannah are safe, maybe we can prove their connection to Lonnie.” Bowen joined her at the window.
At the mention of Hannah, Sadie’s stomach knotted again.
Bowen’s hands squeezed her shoulders. His warm breath fanned her neck.
She dared not turn around.
“Sadie, I don’t know how much longer I…we can keep you safe. We have all our resources working overtime.”
Tiny zaps of electricity traveled down her arms as his fingers eased the tight muscles.
“Maybe it’s time you contact WITSEC and—”
“No.” She turned, her face inches from his. “Not without Hannah.” She searched his eyes and found sympathy, along with a glint of passion.
Her pulse rate quickened; she could barely breathe.
He held her shoulders again and lowered his head, his eyes on her mouth.
No, screamed a part of her heart. Yes, yes, shouted another. She forced her gaze from his face to her hands on his chest. They rose and fell with his breath. She scrunched her eyes tight and shook her head. No. She couldn’t let his compassion and his all too masculine form tempt her. Once she found Hannah, he’d move on to another assignment, and she’d never see him again.
She pushed away and headed to the hall. “Good-bye, I mean good night.”
****
The next morning, Sadie’s somber mood continued.
After breakfast, Bowen slung his jacket and computer case over his shoulder. “I’ll be gone about three hours.” He tapped Sadie’s arm. “Erik will stay with you.”
Erik set up his laptop on the table.
What could she do? What else—the dishes.
The old house had no dishwasher, so Sadie scrubbed and wiped, aware of Erik’s murmurs and mutters as they drifted from the table.
His next words got her attention. “Sadie. Come look. News of Hannah.”
26
Bowen rubbed his temples again and focused on the computer screen. His e-mail messages blurred. A phone rang in the next cubicle. Voices mingled with traffic sounds from the street below his office window. He rolled his desk chair backward right into the divider. With coffee mug in hand, he stomped to the small kitchen and picked up the coffee pot.
Other IRO personnel milled around the office, but he ignored their chatter. He took a gulp of the stale coffee with no expectation of a hot brew this late in the morning.
Ginger strolled past and then stepped back and eyed him. “What’s up? You look like you lost your best friend.”
He took another gulp and gave her a wide grin. “Is that better?”
“You can’t fool me. Is it this job?”
“You could say that.” He refilled his mug and attempted to leave the kitchen, but Ginger blocked the doorway.
“It’s a job, Boudine. Remember that. I need you to wrap it up quickly. I’ve got a major project in Columbia that needs your expertise. I also need Wesner. I have to reassign him in a day or two. He won’t be with you much longer.”
Bowen returned to his desk. Which operative would take Erik’s place? Maybe Ginger would assign one of the women. He hoped it would be Lela Ortiz.
He plopped into his brown leather chair and rolled it back to his desk. Wrap up the job quickly? How he wished he could locate Hannah and get her and Sadie to safety. Find something criminal to connect to Lonnie so he’d be out of the picture and Sadie could resume her normal life.
The screensaver patterns swirled bright colors. Only a job. How often had he repeated those words? Sadie was no mere job.
Last night at the laundromat, he’d opened his soul to her. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d been affected by his visit to Hillcrest Church. Or how images of his early church days had remained stuck in his memory.
Charlotte hadn’t lost her way. She lived her beliefs, and attended church regularly.
Rocking back and forth, Bowen gulped the last mouthful of coffee and picked up the photograph on his desk. Mother, Dad, Charlotte and him, taken the year he’d graduated from college. So young, so full of dreams.
Sadie had read scriptures about forgiveness. Would God really forgive him? What would Sadie think if she knew the sordid details of his past?
He recalled her words of rejection in the pickup on their way out of Texas. He couldn’t blame her for reacting to his cover story of lies. But last night in the living room, she had responded—if only for a second.
A ding-ding from the computer signaled a new e-mail message.
Bowen replaced the picture, set his cup on the desk, and touched the keypad, dissolving the screensaver. The message came from Erik. He opened it and the words sent blood speeding through his veins. Have you read Smitty’s report? Good news, no?
Smitty was one of the operatives tracking Evelyn Adams. Bowen searched through his unopened messages and clicked on the one from Preston Smith. After reading the first sentence, a jolt of excitement kicked in.
Without too many details, Smitty reported evidence that Evelyn had returned to her house briefly. Had withdrawn the child from school, informing authorities she’d be home schooled. The best news—Evelyn had used her credit card at a market in Santa Clarita, which meant she hadn’t moved far. Smitty would follow up on her whereabouts.
Bowen let out a low whistle and rocked in his chair. If Smitty located her, then Sadie and Hannah…
He typed quick replies to Erik and Smitty and responded to his other messages. With that task accomplished, he called Cal and told him about Irene, reminding him to treat every conversation as if it was being monitored. Bowen also arranged for a technician to repeat the electronic bug scan of Cal’s office and home.
Just before noon, he logged off and packed up his laptop. He stopped at Ginger’s office. “I read your message about testifying in the Ullman trial. Do you know when they’ll call me?”
She stood at an open file cabinet drawer. “No, but I’ll have someone on standby to work with Sadie. Is that all?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
On the way back to the safe house, Bowen stopped to gas up the SUV. In the strip mall next to the gas station he found a florist. He parked in front and bought one carnation. Then at drugstore, he purchased a toiletry bag for Sadie. He drove around back and entered the house through the kitchen. All clear. Sadie’s and Erik’s voices drifted from the living room. In her room, he placed the white carnation in the vase with the others and then set the toiletry bag on her bed.
She hadn’t mentioned the flowers, but he hoped they cheered her.
Once in the living room he found Sadie and Erik at the coffee table playing a game of chess on a small, travel-sized board.
“Want a bowl of soup?” Erik pointed to the kitchen. “It’s on the stove. Sandwich stuff’s in the fridge.”
“Sure. I’ll join you in a minute.” Bowen headed to the kitchen where he prepared a ham and provolone sandwich and poured
a bowl of minestrone soup. He placed it all on a tray which he balanced on his lap as he sat on the sofa.
Erik moved his bishop and wagged a finger at Sadie. “See if you can counter that. Glad you’re back, Boudine. I need to check on the other house. They need my help.”
Bowen swallowed a spoonful of soup and gave Erik a mock salute.
“Sorry, Sadie. Maybe Boudine can finish this game with you.” Erik left through the kitchen, the door banging shut behind him.
Without the wig, Sadie’s face seemed fuller. Although the fake hair gave her a sophisticated air, he preferred the natural look.
“Did Erik give you the good news? About Evelyn still being in Santa Clarita.”
He almost missed her small nod.
“What’s wrong?”
“One minute I’m ecstatic to be here, the next, the tension is about to drive me insane.”
“Drive you? I thought you were—”
“Quit making fun of me.” A brief twinkle in her eyes took the edge off her words.
“I didn’t know you played chess.”
“You never asked.” She rubbed her temples. “But I don’t want to finish the game right now. I’m going to my room.”
“I have a surprise for you. A toiletry bag. It’s on your bed.”
“Thanks.”
Bowen drained his glass and then scanned the chessboard. If Erik had continued the game, Sadie would have won.
Bowen despised this waiting game. He took the tray to the kitchen and then flopped into the recliner and turned on the TV.
Later, Sadie joined him and settled on the sofa, where she hunkered by the armrest, her legs folded beneath her. Her body language warned him to stay away.
“Want to watch a movie?” He flipped through channels
“There. That’s a good one.”
Bowen raised the footrest and relaxed, content to be in the same room with Sadie. What emotions must be warring within her? He had no idea what is was like to lose a child, find her, and lose her again.
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