by Liz Johnson
EIGHT
Ashley slapped at her beeping alarm clock, missing several times before it finally turned off, leaving her to the quiet of her tiny bedroom that was supposed to be peaceful. That would have been peaceful if it weren’t for the rock the size of Coronado Island in her stomach.
She pressed her hand to her abdomen, trying to sooth the irritation, but it only served to move the knot that much closer to the front of her mind.
Maybe it had something to do with the way her home—the place she’d tried so hard to make safe for the women and children in her care—had been invaded the night before. It was just a brick that had entered the house, not the man who’d been threatening her himself. But the presence of his cruelty, his utter disregard for anything but his own agenda, drained the serenity from her haven. He’d intruded on their home and scared all of them. No amount of sweeping up glass shards or boarding up windows could change that. If she closed her eyes and held her breath, she could almost hear his footsteps as he watched over them. She suspected everyone else felt the same way. It was the only explanation for why they’d agreed to let Matt stay overnight.
Still, it hadn’t been a comfortable discussion. Carmen’s eyes had been like saucers when the idea was first offered, and she’d shaken her head like just the thought of a man under their roof put them all in danger. But Lil had encouraged the women to welcome Matt into the house from the start. She knew at least the basics of the threats and that Matt was trained to handle situations like this.
“There’s been some vandalism in the neighborhood, and now it’s hit home.” The trill in her voice had risen as she pointed toward the front door. “In order for all of us to stay safe, we need to have an extra set of eyes here at all times.”
“What about the police? Why can’t they keep us safe?” Carmen’s questions had echoed in the faces of the other two women.
Ashley had stepped forward then, still a little shaky on her feet, and clung to Lil’s hand. “The chief has assured us that he’s doing everything he can, but there are only a few officers.” She’d run her fingers over the bandage covering the scratch on her forehead, the pinch of pain a reminder of the lengths to which her pursuer was willing to go. “He can’t have an officer parked outside all night every night.”
Up until that point in the house meeting, Matt had stood off to the side, hands grasped in front of him in a modified parade rest. So when he spoke, every head had snapped in his direction. “I’ve had the privilege of spending a few minutes with you and your families over the last couple days. I see how much you love each other and how much Ashley and Lil care about you. And I just want to help, if I can.”
“Matt has received some training in self-defense,” Ashley had explained, ignoring the way Matt’s lips quirked at the massive understatement. “So he’s ready to help if something should happen.”
“Like what? What might happen?” It had been Benita’s turn to voice her concerns as she’d hugged her son to her chest.
Ashley had swallowed down the words threatening to spill out. These women didn’t need the whole truth. They were just learning how to live without daily fear. How could she convince them of the need to have Matt in the house without pushing them back several steps in the healing process?
Before she could respond, Greta had whispered, “Will he color with me again?”
“And play games with us?” Julio had joined in. “And maybe play catch with the baseball?”
Matt hadn’t said anything, only nodded at each of the kids. Without even realizing it, he’d laid the groundwork for his acceptance into the house just by being himself. He’d earned the trust of the kids, who’d looked up at their mothers with pleading eyes. The moms hadn’t had a chance.
She was glad that Matt was there. But even his presence wasn’t enough to convince her she was safe. Not after a night spent alternately tossing and turning in bed and running scared through terrifying dreams. Maybe a hot shower would help.
She slipped on her robe over her pajamas and gathered her things, tiptoeing down the dark hallway past several closed doors. Just before slipping into the bathroom, she ventured a glance down the far hall toward the laundry room where they’d set up a cot. The door stood open wide; Matt’s frame filled the entire space.
From the distance, she couldn’t make out his expression or read his eyes. With arms crossed and back straight, he looked like a sentry keeping guard. Which was exactly what he was. Suddenly the rock in her stomach felt just the slightest bit smaller.
Heat blossomed in her cheeks, and she nodded at him quickly before ducking into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
When she emerged twenty minutes later, the rock in her stomach had dwindled even further, if not completely vanished. Clean and ready to face the day, she glanced toward the laundry room again. The door still stood open, but Matt had disappeared. She scooted toward the opposite wall to get a better angle into the room, but she could only make out the edge of the cot. No sign of Matt.
As she folded her pajamas and slipped them under her pillow, the phone in her office rang. Ducking across the hall, she picked up the receiver. Who could be calling so early in the morning?
“Lil’s Place. This is Ashley.”
“Ashley Sawyer?” The voice on the other end of the line was tight, as though the woman speaking was barely moving her lips.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“This is Diane Smotherton. I’m a friend of Miranda’s.”
Her stomach pitched. They didn’t have room for another family right now, but maybe they could shuffle a few beds and make room for a single woman.
“Miranda said she spoke with you yesterday, and...” The woman’s voice trailed off. “Did she say anything?”
Ashley’s thoughts derailed as she realized this wasn’t a typical phone call. Usually when a woman said she was a friend of Miranda’s, it was an opening to the part where she admitted that she needed a safe place to stay. This was shaping into something completely different, but why?
Ashley rubbed her hands down her jeans, giving herself a moment before responding. “About what?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s just not like her to not show up.” Diane’s voice rose until she took an audible breath.
“Not show up where?”
“She was supposed to babysit for me so I could make my shift at the grocery store.”
The dwindling rock in her midsection tripled in size, pushing the air out of her lungs, so that her response was more breath than actual words. “When did you last talk with her?”
“Last night. We set it up that she would be at my house at seven this morning to watch my son. But she hasn’t showed.”
The note. The note on the brick said that one of her girls would be taken. She’d been so sure that that meant one of the girls staying at the house. But Miranda was a volunteer, a friend—someone who supported Lil’s Place and the work done there in a dozen different ways. She was one of Ashley’s just as surely as if she lived under her roof. And now she might be paying the price for it.
Breathing in through her nose and letting it slip past her lips, Ashley chided herself. She was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Miranda had just overslept. “Did you call her?”
“Three times at home and twice on her cell phone. No answer, and her cell just goes straight to voice mail.”
“Have you called the police?”
Diane squeaked, “Do you think that’s necessary?”
She couldn’t call the police until she was absolutely sure something was wrong. There was no leniency in her position for crying wolf. “I’m sure she just forgot and is in the shower or something.” She nearly choked on the words that felt so much like a lie even as she desperately tried to convince herself that they were true. “I’ll run by her place this morning and check on her.”
“Thank you. Would you have her call me when you talk with her?”
“Sure thing. What number should I have her call?”
After scribbling the number on a sticky note, hanging up the phone and snatching her purse from its chair, she headed toward Lil’s room—and ran smack into a wall of muscle in the entryway instead.
“Ash, what’s going on? You’re shaking.” Matt’s hands held tightly to her shoulders, his thumbs massaging her arms in slow circles.
“It’s about Miranda. She’s...I don’t know where she is. She’s not where she said she’d be. I think there’s something wrong.” She pointed at her office, trying to find the words to explain the situation as her mind filled in every possible evil scenario. “I have to go. I have to check on her.”
“We’ll go together.”
She pushed against the soft cotton T-shirt covering his chest, trying to find more room to breathe, the band around her lungs pulling tight. “What about—” she took a quick breath “—the others here?”
“We’ll let Lil know where we’re going, and we’ll ask them to stay in.”
“But it’s Sunday. They’ll expect to go to church.”
“We’ll have a little service when we get back.”
She blinked twice. Why wouldn’t he just let her go?
A little voice reminded her they were in this together. She wasn’t going to let him run off alone, and apparently he wasn’t going to let her either.
“All right.”
Despite the ringing in her ears, she managed to hear most of Matt’s conversation with Lil. He used bland words like “checking in on” and “give her a hand” and never once let on the real reason for their impromptu trip. “Since Ashley and I won’t be able to join you and the others for church this morning, maybe it would be best to skip services. We can have a little Bible study here in the living room this afternoon.”
His phrasing was so innocuous, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.
Lil nodded quickly, her loose, white curls bobbing around her ears. “I understand. We’ll wait for you here.”
Matt squeezed a wrinkled hand, and Ashley immediately felt a loss, as though he should be comforting her instead. “Thank you, Lil. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
He wrapped an arm around Ashley’s shoulder, ushering her toward the door and locking it behind them before racing her down the front walk.
Silence hung like a wool blanket over them as they sailed toward Miranda’s house.
* * *
Matt swept his gaze over Ashley one more time. She sat perfectly still, as though afraid that if she even breathed, she’d fly apart. One of her arms was wrapped around her stomach; the other hung at her side. Her hand lay palm up on the gray-and-green plaid seat, lost and lonely.
Without letting himself think about any of the implications of his actions, he set his hand on top of hers. Her fingers wiggled their way between his until she held on to him with a sure grip, never once looking at him.
Still more than fifteen minutes from Miranda’s place, he had to break the silence or they’d both go crazy playing what-if scenarios in their minds.
“So you never told me. How’d you end up at Lil’s?”
She shot him a look that seemed to ask if this was really the best time to be talking about it, but when he nodded, she acquiesced. “My degree at UC Davis was in social work, and I just always knew that I wanted to help kids find safe homes.”
“Why not work for the state?” They needed more good social workers who really cared about the kids in the system. At least they had when he was a kid. Almost certainly they still did.
“That’s what I planned on at first.”
Even after a hand squeeze, she didn’t continue. “So what changed your mind?”
This time she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, something like shame flashing across her face. “I guess I just realized that there were others in need.” She looked away again, speaking toward the closed window. “You know that verse in the Bible about how serving the most down-and-out people is a way to serve God?”
“Sure.” It was a favorite verse of his pastor.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about that when I heard about Lil’s. If ever there were women and children in need, it’s these families. And even though there’s never enough money, and there are never enough volunteers, at least I know that I’ve given everything I can to these women who need my help the most. For the two or three or more weeks they’re with me, I don’t regret serving them.”
Strange. He’d thought the same thing about his own job. Caring for the poor. Defending the helpless. Fighting for the weak.
His job just usually required an international trip and involved fast roping from a helicopter.
“How’d you even hear about Lil’s?” He stopped at a light and really looked at her as she watched something outside the window, her toe tapping against the floorboard.
“A friend of mine told me about it, said Lil might need some help.”
“So you picked up everything and moved?”
She lifted a shoulder and frowned. “Pretty much.”
There was more to her story than she was telling him, but this wasn’t the time to pick at her for details. It was clear that his attempt to distract her hadn’t worked at all.
The light turned green, and he floored it down the two-lane road, still several minutes from Miranda’s house.
His palm turned damp, but only the one holding Ashley’s hand. It took more than this to make him sweat, so he was pretty sure the moisture wasn’t coming from him. He squeezed her fingers. “Are you worried about this? Because it’s going to be all right.”
“I know.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself—and doing a lousy job of it.
“Hey, Ash. Look at me.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet her pained gaze. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here to see this through until this guy is caught.”
She nodded, squaring her shoulders and putting on a brave face. It was the right response, just not the one he really wanted.
Why couldn’t she stop putting on a show and just be real with him?
She was brave and strong all the time. More grit than grace. Never letting herself break down. Matt had seen a few guys like that in the service. If they needed to fall apart but never let themselves break in even the smallest ways, then when the walls finally came down they couldn’t stop crumbling.
There wasn’t time to dig into this either as he cranked the wheel into Miranda’s driveway and parked next to her sedan. He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not that her car was still there. The sour-sweet tension of pending action built in his stomach.
He caught up to Ashley on the steps to the front door.
Which stood wide open.
He clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Stay behind me.”
Her eyes shot toward the door then back to him, the corner of her lower lip clasped between her teeth as she nodded. Her hand fisted into his sweater just as it had at the bar.
As he nudged the door with his elbow, it swung into the living room.
Papers littered the hardwood floor. Sofa cushions had been pulled from their spots and flipped over. A lamp in the far corner had fallen from its stand, leaving the pieces of a shattered lightbulb in its wake.
“Miranda? Are you here?” Matt’s voice filled the whole first floor, echoing from room to room as they waited for a response.
“That’s her car out front,” Ashley whispered. “And she lives too far off the beaten path to have walked anywhere. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” He stepped into the living room, opening the door of the coat closet and chastising himself for not having a weapon. What had he been thinking leaving the h
ouse without his SIG?
Walking through an unknown house, completely unarmed, wasn’t the big problem. Few promptly treated bullet wounds would actually kill a man. He should know. He’d had three of them.
Taking down an armed assailant wasn’t really a problem either.
The serious issue with this situation was walking right behind him. Taking down a gunman without exposing her to danger? That was tricky. Feasible—just a little more difficult.
Keeping his mind on the closed doors yet to be opened and not on the fragile knuckles that kept grazing the small of his back?
Well...that was pretty near impossible.
They slipped into the kitchen on the far side of the living room, and he opened every pantry and cupboard door. Back through the living room and up the stairwell, his eyes never stopped sweeping the area.
When they reached the top landing, a cry came from the bedroom straight ahead, and he yanked on Ashley’s hand until she was clean against his back. Peering over his shoulder, he pressed his finger to his lips, and she nodded her cheek into his shirt. The cry had sounded more like a pet than a person, but he wasn’t taking any chances—not with Ashley’s safety at stake.
Blood rushed through his veins, propelling him toward the closed door, but he held back, taking another deep breath and wrapping an arm around Ashley. They moved in silence until the door handle clicked.
Another cry pierced the air, and he yanked the door open.
Just in time for a fat, orange tabby cat to bolt past them.
The rest of the room, including the closet, was empty. As was the rest of the upstairs.
“I don’t know if I should be worried that she’s not here or thankful that we didn’t find her body.” Ashley had let go of his shirt and put at least three steps between them as they walked back down to the living room. Her words were soft, and somehow they defied the pain in her voice.
“There’s no sign that she was injured here, so let’s pray that she was just taken to scare you. At least she doesn’t know where Joy is.”