“I didn’t see anybody behind us, and I’ve been watching. But I can’t help thinking it’s a possibility. If Grenville suspects you might have been headed to meet with the woman after you left Mexico—”
“There’s no reason he’d know that. There was that e-mail on the Garretts’ computer back in Agrexco. But he couldn’t possibly have seen that.”
“Bernadette, you said this guy is ruthless, and I believe you. He does have a lot at stake. Have you considered that if he found you after you’d changed your name and moved to Mexico, he could also find this Sherman woman? Especially since she’s right here, close to her old stomping grounds.”
“I don’t know.” She crumpled the paper in her lap, then smoothed it against her legs. “Maybe he did find her and has been just biding his time. I know Ladonna was alive until at least six days ago, when I got her e-mail.”
“Anything could happen in six days.”
“The walls of Jericho fell down in six days.” She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but the thought popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She’d fallen in love with Owen in six days, too.
Yeah, the walls were down and there was no putting them back up.
Owen gave her an inscrutable look. “Just to be safe, tell me where the next turn is. We’ll go down one more road and see if we can double back from behind her house.”
“All right. Look for Duchovny Road, maybe another quarter of a mile.” They passed a couple of barns, the highway twisted to the left and she saw a green road marker at the top of a shallow rise. “There. I think that’s it.”
Owen slowed. “Yeah. Okay, can you tell from the map if there’s another turn off the highway?”
“Yes. Half a mile down.”
They followed the highway past a small brick church with a cemetery, then slowed at another road marker to the left. “Let me look at the map.” He studied it, nodded and handed it back to her. “This’ll work.”
Within five seconds, Bernadette had no idea where she was, but Owen apparently had some internal GPS that kept him going in the right direction. He drove with single-minded confidence through a maze of kudzu and cotton-lined backcountry roads.
After a couple of minutes, he said triumphantly, “Ha. This is it. We’re at the neighbor’s house behind her place.”
“Are you sure? How do you know?” She looked at him in amazement.
“Your gift is language, mine is sense of direction.” He pulled onto a tiny dirt road that led into a soybean field, braked and turned off the ignition. About fifty yards away, at the end of the field, a stand of woods marched toward the horizon.
Bernadette took a deep breath and opened the car door. “All right. I trust you’re right. Let’s go.”
She followed him across the field, stepping over the rows of greening young plants. The woods started as a thin scattering of white oak and pine, with a scrubby underbrush of briers, magnolia and dogwood. Gradually, it thickened until they were dodging trees with every step.
She snagged her foot on a thorny tangle of vines and stopped to untangle herself. “Owen, wait a sec….” Her ankle was bleeding and mosquitoes swarmed around her head.
A few steps ahead, he turned. When he saw her difficulty, he retraced his steps, crouched and gently pulled the stickers out of her jeans. Holding her foot in his hand, he looked up with a rueful smile. “Sorry. I get too focused when I’m on a trail.” He examined the welling scratch. “We’ll put some ointment on that when we get out of here. Let’s keep going before the skeeters eat us alive.”
Standing up, he took her hand and made sure she stayed with him until the woods began to thin again. He drew her to a halt and placed a finger across his lips. “Quiet from here on,” he whispered.
Walking as slowly and silently as possible, Bernadette copied Owen’s movements. Another minute or so later, she saw a little white house through the trees and, beyond it, as they got closer, an outbuilding with a four-wheel ATV parked in its gravel driveway. A butane tank squatted in the yard beside a pumphouse with a spigot and hose.
The place looked like Ladonna’s description of her home. Bernadette’s admiration of Owen’s scouting abilities soared.
But when she would have walked out of the woods into the yard, he held her back. “Shh,” he breathed into her ear. “I’m going first. Just follow me.”
He padded along the edge of the woods, drawing her by the hand behind him, until they were just five yards from the back side of the outbuilding, at its closest point to the trees.
“All right, let me go first. Watch for me to tell you when.” He ran for the building, keeping his body low. When nothing happened—not a sound except the twittering of some wrens along the eaves of the roof—he motioned for Bernadette to join him.
She followed, feeling almost silly with all this skulking around. Nobody’s here except Ladonna.
But her heart insisted on pounding. She inched along the back of the shed behind Owen, stopping at the corner. He ducked, ran for the big silver butane tank and crouched behind it. After a moment, he waved her toward him.
The back entrance of the house—a French door in a screened porch—was about ten yards away. Ladonna was going to have a heart attack when two strangers showed up without warning. It was such a pretty spring afternoon. Seemed like a shame they couldn’t park in the driveway and walk up to the front door like long lost friends.
Owen’s mouth was at her ear again. “You ready?” he whispered.
Shivering, she nodded and they ran for the porch. Owen tried the handle and went in first.
Please, Lord, don’t let us scare Ladonna.
She stood there holding Owen’s hand, listening to utter silence. The refrigerator kicked on in the kitchen nearby, rattling something on top of it.
“Ladonna?” Bernadette called softly. Something didn’t feel right. If Ladonna was here, there should be some noise somewhere. Maybe she’d walked down to a neighbor’s house. Or maybe she was asleep. She tugged at Owen’s hand when he started for the kitchen. “This time you wait here. Let me look for her. I don’t want to frighten her.”
He shook his head, but she dropped his hand and walked into the kitchen before he could stop her.
“Ladonna? It’s Bernadette. I’ve come all the way from Mexico to see you.” She walked as she talked, looking into the breakfast nook off the kitchen, then a tiny formal living room. The furnishings were spare and old-fashioned, and posters with Christian messages were tacked with straight pins on the walls. No hint of the mystical practices that used to occupy her time back on Beale Street.
Thank you, Lord, for that!
Down a short hallway on the other side of the living room, she passed a bathroom and a bedroom without seeing Ladonna. So strange to walk through the woman’s house when she wasn’t here. But maybe she could figure out where she’d been, or at least leave a note so she could get in touch later.
The last room on the left was a bedroom. Maybe she was taking a nap. “Ladonna?” Shag carpet, a quilted bedspread and thick draperies deadened the sound of her footsteps. The bed was empty.
Not right. She ought to be here. A door opened off the bedroom—probably a second bath. Okay, one more place to look.
She walked past the bed, glanced down at something draped across the floor.
SIXTEEN
Briggs heard the scream and nearly fell out of the tree stand. How did they get past me?
Shouldering the gun, he struggled to climb down without falling. The nylon straps attached to the platform were old and rotten. It didn’t take him long to realize that if he moved too fast he was going to drop twenty feet to the ground and break his neck.
Normally, heights didn’t bother him, but his anxiety to get to the girl made him miss the first step. Catching his foot on the second step, he grabbed the steel hoop that hooked around the tree trunk.
Whew, that was close. Confident now, he descended two more steps. Then the third one broke.
Tumbling, he
hit the ground with a heavy thud, the breath knocked out of him.
“Benny!” Owen tore through the house, heart crashing. Just that one scream and she’d gone silent. What had happened?
He reached the hallway and heard her sobbing. Where was she? The front bedroom? Oh, God, please not—
There she was, kneeling by the bed, where a pool of blood stained the carpet. A middle-aged woman lay face up under the shattered window, her heavyset body covered in glass. Long dyed-blond hair trailed across the floor.
The blood came from the back of her head, where a bullet had exited from the ragged hole in her forehead.
Bernadette turned to look at him, her tear-streaked face blanched to chalky gray. Horror darkened her eyes, turned her breath to loud panting.
“Owen!” she wailed. “Look what they did!”
Oh, man. What now? He wasn’t armed. The killer could be outside looking for them. He’d done the right thing, entering the house carefully, but with Bernadette’s scream, they would know right where they were.
“We’ve gotta get out of here.” He bent and tried to lift her. “We’ve got to get away safe and then call the police.”
“No, she’s—she’s dead. I can’t just leave her!” She reached toward the woman’s slack face. “Ladonna…”
“Bernadette, don’t touch her!” Owen crouched and laid his hand against her wet cheek, making her look at him. “Give me your eyes.” She reluctantly focused on him. “We have got to go.”
“Why?”
She wasn’t sentient. How was he going to get her out of here? “I promise we’ll come back. Come on, baby, take my hand.”
Blinking a couple of times, she smeared her hand under her nose and let him help her up. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the car. We’re gonna go call the police.”
“Right.” Holding his hand, she followed him, looking back as they reached the bedroom door. She began to shake so violently he could feel the tremors up his arm.
“Hold on. It’ll be okay.” It wasn’t okay. They were in a mess. Their footprints were all over this murder scene.
They were at the screen porch door when he heard a noise from the front, through the shattered window. Owen shoved Bernadette through the door and flung himself after her. A shot blasted outside the house. Had the shooter seen them? Grabbing Bernadette’s hand, he ran with her across the yard.
Lord, my Savior! Help us!
They made it to the butane tank and ducked behind it.
Another gunshot blasted from somewhere, but it sounded like a wild shot. Maybe the guy still hadn’t seen them.
Back the way they’d come—the only thing to do.
He put his hands on either side of Benny’s face. “Listen.” He kept his voice quiet but urgent. “We’re going to run back through the woods, but we’ve got to stay quiet. Okay?” Her eyes were still blank, inward. He knew shock when he saw it. “Benny!” Brushing his thumbs over her cheeks, he kissed her quickly. “Are you hearing me?”
She blinked and nodded.
They couldn’t wait here any longer. “Let’s go.”
Stooping, he pulled her with him toward the shed. Distant running footfalls crashed through the trees on the other side of the house. They made it to the back of the shed, crossing the last five feet of open space as they dodged into the woods.
“Benny, I need you to go on to the car. I’ll be right behind you.” He hoped to get a look at the shooter’s face. God forbid, if something happened to Bernadette, he wanted to be able to identify the scum.
For a second he thought she might balk, but with a muffled groan, she obeyed and took off.
Lord, he prayed as he crouched behind a slender oak, help her get back without getting lost. He was close enough to get a view of the clearing but safely hidden by trees and underbrush. Seconds, or even minutes—he didn’t know how much—later, a dark, heavily muscled man in camouflage pants and T-shirt ran around the side of the house.
Panting, the man stopped to search the quiet yard, the butt of the gun at his shoulder. He slowly scoped the barrel first in one direction, then the other.
Owen had seen enough. Melting into the woods, he took off after Bernadette. Most of his recent work had been in the rolling south Texas hills, the desert or along the river—and mainly in the air. But long weeks of training came back as he ran for the car. Heel to toe, zigzagging, avoiding fallen branches that might crack underfoot. Soft and fast. Farther and deeper into the woods until he was halfway.
Please, God, let Bernadette be waiting for me.
The trees began to thin. He saw the car, and she was in it. Thank You….
Making a hard dash across the soybean field, he glanced over his shoulder. Their pursuer was nowhere in sight. God had preserved them. He got in the car, where Bernadette sat hunched over with her face in her hands.
“It’s okay,” he said helplessly as he started the engine and backed wildly down the little tractor road. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She didn’t answer, just shuddered.
Twisting along the snaking backcountry roads at a reckless speed, Owen tried to figure out what to do now. Call the police, obviously. Send them to the murder scene.
He had to take care of Bernadette, too. Maybe take her to an emergency room. No, they couldn’t take a chance on being seen at obvious places as long as the assassin was on the loose.
Where? Where could he take her? Someplace they could rest, assess the situation, be safe.
Turning onto the main highway, he drove half a mile and saw the cemetery and the little white church sitting on its hill. Okay. Yeah. That’ll work. Lord, please don’t let it be locked.
A small paved parking lot, completely empty on this weekday afternoon, extended beside the sanctuary and ran under an overhang to the back of the building. Owen followed the pavement until it came to an end and turned off onto the grass behind a play yard. He couldn’t see the road from here, which meant they were safely hidden. Turning off the ignition, he looked at his hands on the steering wheel. He couldn’t believe they were steady. His heart was racing like an Olympic sprinter.
“Bernadette?” He reached out and laid his hand between her shoulder blades. She jerked. “We’re safe. We’re at a church. We’re gonna hide out here ’til we figure out what to do.”
“Okay.” To his surprise, she lowered her hands. But her eyes were still closed, her face red from weeping. “I can’t believe it. He killed her, too. How did he find her?”
“I don’t know. But let’s go inside and we’ll call for help.”
He went around, opened her door and helped her out. Together they ran up a set of concrete steps to a back door. It was locked. Disappointed but not surprised, Owen touched Bernadette’s shoulder. “Wait here. I’ll check the front door.”
Cautiously, dreading the thought of being out in the open when the gunman could drive by, he stayed close to the building as he went around to the front. A broad sweep of curved steps led to a set of double doors. Locked, as well.
Now what?
Jogging back to rejoin Bernadette, he continued to pray, trying not to despair. God had delivered them from so many tight spots already. They had to put faith in action again.
He rounded the back corner of the building and nearly had heart failure when he didn’t see her. Where had she gone?
“Bernadette?”
Suddenly the church’s back door opened. Benny stuck her head out. “Owen! Come here. I found the prayer-room key under the mat.”
“How did you know it was a prayer room?”
Benny, seated beside Owen on the cushioned front pew, shrugged. “This is just like the church I went to with the Coker family. It seemed like a good idea to check for a key. People are trusting.”
She still hadn’t gotten control of the tremors that shook her body, but normalcy was beginning to return. As normal as things could be when you’d witnessed the aftermath of a violent murder. Unexpected tears welled again. Maybe she’d
never quit crying.
Owen slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.” If she talked about it, she might fall apart again.
“Hey. I told you, we’re safe here. He’ll assume we got far away as fast as we could.”
But she couldn’t relax. “Have you called the police yet?”
“No. This guy’s been chasing us across international borders. He could be mixed up in something a lot bigger than this one murder. I’m thinking we should call Jack Torres first. He’ll be able to help us. Also, my buddy Johnny Stapp with the FBI.”
“Owen, I’m so scared. With Ladonna dead, there’s nobody to back up my story.”
“That’s why we go to somebody who knows you. Jack will make sure we get the right people involved.” He paused and she looked up into concerned blue eyes. “You’ve got to be willing to talk now, Bernadette.”
“I’m not running anymore,” she said grimly. “Paul Grenville has terrorized me long enough. Call Jack.”
Alone in the dark, Benny curled up on a pew with her shoes off and tried to pray herself to sleep. The musty little sanctuary was utterly silent and still, the air-conditioning evidently turned off during the week. She listened for mice in the attic but heard nothing.
Owen had insisted on sleeping in the car. She’d tried to tell him how ridiculous that was. Who would know whether or not he slept on a pew on the other side of the room?
“I promised I’d take care of your reputation,” he’d said stubbornly. “I keep my promises. Now lock the door behind me.”
And he’d kissed her quickly on the forehead before heading outdoors.
So here she lay, lonely and scared and wanting to be held. If this was what it felt like to be in love, no thanks.
Owen hadn’t said another word about his feelings since learning who she really was. Even that little goodnight peck had been more comforting than romantic. He was drawing back from her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
All right, then. You’ve been a strong woman of God for a long time. Since when did you get so needy?
On Wings of Deliverance Page 17