by Liz Johnson
He ruffled his hair in the sudden silence, every eye in the room on him. He cleared his throat and looked back down into his hands. “Sorry. Where was I?” His finger scanned the page. “Right. Verse nine. ‘But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.’”
He kept reading, but her ears filled with the roar of the words he’d just spoken, repeated over and over again.
My power is made perfect in weakness.
But not now. Not in this situation. This wasn’t a time for weakness. With Miranda missing and Joy and all of her girls and guys in danger, this was no time to sit back. She had to be strong for them. They deserved her very best to protect them.
Matt closed his Bible. She hadn’t heard anything he’d read, except that one verse, which didn’t really apply for the time being.
He pulled out her tattered hymnal from beneath his chair. “Let’s see. What’s one that we all know?”
“‘A Mighty Fortress’!” Julio bounced on the couch next to her.
Matt agreed with a smile, his clear baritone soon filling the room as he led them in three verses of the old song. She stumbled on the words, but kept her eyes on Greta so she wasn’t more distracted than she had to be.
She couldn’t afford another distraction. Matt was supposed to be helping her, not making it harder for her to find the man responsible for threatening her home and the people in it.
She just wouldn’t think about him any more than she had to. That would be easy enough. She hadn’t really thought about a man in years. Until Matt showed up.
How hard could it be to go back to that state of mind? How hard could it be not to dwell on the way his arms fit just right around her waist? She just had to go back to that time right after Paul, when the pain—both physical and emotional—had been so fresh that she’d removed herself from the world just to survive.
She’d done what she had to, and she’d do it now, too. It was for the best, right?
* * *
Matt marched the nine feet from wall to wall of the laundry room, his socks barely making a sound on the powder-pink, linoleum floor.
A few verses of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” out of Ashley’s ancient hymnal; chapter twelve from Second Corinthians in the New Testament; and a rousing game of Crazy Eights with Greta, Julio and company that afternoon hadn’t done much to soothe his nerves. And now that everyone else had gone to bed, the hair on the back of his neck wouldn’t lie back down.
He stopped moving and sniffed the air. Something more than the line-dried scent of fabric softener floated into the room. Cracking open the door, he peered through the opening, but the night-light in the bathroom at the opposite end of the hall couldn’t penetrate the shadows.
As he pushed the door just far enough to slip past, it let out a screech of anguish, and he stilled, not even taking a breath in the stillness.
Just when it was safe to move again, a light illuminated the kitchen. With completely silent motions, he walked toward it, ducking his head around the corner of the door frame.
Julio tilted a carton of orange juice away from his mouth, his guilty gaze making it over the bottom edge of the container. “I was thirsty.” The little boy’s voice shook, and he flinched away as Matt stepped into the doorway.
It was like looking in a twenty-year-old mirror. The same protective movements, jerky motions and fearful eyes.
He fought the sudden desire to scoop the kid up and hug the fear out of him. Dear Lord, why does anyone have to live through this? I just don’t get it sometimes.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Did you see someone else do that?”
“My dad.” The whispered words punched Matt in the gut. “He used to drink milk like this, too.”
“Did he ever catch you drinking out of the carton?”
Julio blinked several times, his chin wobbling up and down. “He told me it was something only men did. But Mom told me I had to be the man of the house now.”
Matt fell to his knees in front of the boy and squeezed him in a bear hug, the almost empty juice carton crumpling between them, and ruffled the dark brown hair that hung over the collar of the boy’s fire-truck pajamas. “Tell you what. This’ll be our secret.” He took the juice and tipped it back, draining the last of it. “But next time, we’ll both get cups.”
“’Kay.”
He leaned back, once again running his hand over the baby-soft hair. “Now get back to bed.” Julio scampered back to his bedroom, his feet slipping on the pajama pants that were at least three inches too long.
He’d never spent much time with children in the past. There had been a few foster siblings here and there, but Tristan and Ashley and their mom were his only real family. So why had the run-in with Julio felt that natural? It just made sense to comfort the kid, to hug him until his fear vanished. It was easy to see the boy wasn’t hurting himself or anyone else, so there wasn’t a need to tell anyone else.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he hurried into the laundry room before answering the call from the unavailable number. “Waterstone.”
“Matty.”
“Tristan. What’s going on?”
“You know how it is. Just waiting for a ride to the insertion point. Only have a few minutes.” His voice sounded more like it had traveled from the moon than the eight thousand miles actually between them. That was just part of communicating from a Middle Eastern op. “How’s Ash?”
“Fine. Good. She’s great.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. Could he possibly sound like more of an idiot? Tristan was going to know something was up.
“So you found the guy who sent her that note.”
Right. The note. The reason he was in Charity Way. “Not yet.”
In the ultimate lieutenant tenor, Tristan said, “How serious is it?”
“Listen, she’s going to be fine. This guy’s not that smart, and I’m not going to leave her side.” Sure, he wasn’t leaving her side, but there was more to it than a crazy guy writing letters and threatening innocent women.
He just didn’t know what it was.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got this under control.” Mostly, he amended silently.
Tristan covered the mouthpiece as someone shouted behind him in Arabic. He responded in kind, as though he’d been speaking the language his whole life. That’s why he was the team’s linguistics specialist.
“We’re going wheels up in ten, so I’ve got to go, but will you watch out for her?”
“I will. I am.”
“I know. I know. And hey, keep your eyes out for bad-news boyfriends, too.”
“Oh, really?” His own words tried to strangle him as Ashley’s face flashed on the backs of his eyelids. Would Tristan hear the guilt in his voice? Could he know that this side of 8:00 a.m. Matt had been kissing Ashley as if he never planned to quit?
“You know how it was with that college jerk.”
Matt sat down hard on his cot, the aluminum legs squeaking angrily. “What jerk?”
“Come on, you remember. The one who thought he could give her a black eye and a broken rib and get away with it.”
He lost the ability to breathe and managed only a negative grunt.
“What was his name?” Tristan snapped his fingers three times. “Peter. Pedro. Paul. Something like that.”
Matt sucked in several quick breaths, trying to make sense out of any part of the story. “What happened to him?”
“Well, you were there.”
“I don’t think so.” He’d definitely remember teaching a jerk like that the lesson of a lifetime.
“Hmm. Maybe it was Zach. Anyway, we just gave him a little
practical demonstration of what it was like to be a punching bag for someone bigger and stronger than him.”
Ashley had been abused by her college boyfriend. That’s why she hadn’t gone into the state system as a social worker. It’s why she watched over the women of Lil’s with such intensity. She knew their pain firsthand.
What a woman.
It took someone incredibly special to take her pain and turn it into service to others. But that’s what she’d done. It was amazing what she’d done here in Lil’s Place, how she’d overcome her own fear and anguish to make a safe place for the people who needed it.
A safe place where he didn’t belong at all.
“I’ve got to run. But watch out for my little sister, okay? She doesn’t need any more broken bones or another broken heart.”
TEN
Matt opened his eyes at the first hint of the morning sun through the mini blinds meant to cover the window. He’d slept very little, rising at every noise and prowling through the house every hour. Burning eyes and aching shoulders weren’t enough to keep him in bed, and he rolled up immediately, making his rounds.
The house slept, each groan of the floorboards and creak of a settling wall a gentle snore. The old house was worn out.
So was Ashley.
They had to wrap this up. Fast.
It would be better for Ashley in every respect if he could just find the guy making these threats and get back to San Diego. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to imagine a life where kissing her every day wasn’t a problem. A time when he could actually convince himself that they could have a relationship with neither of their pasts getting in the way.
Far-fetched as they were, he pictured those scenes and more as he walked into the kitchen and pulled out a carton of eggs. His specialty—actually the only meal at which he was competent—was southwestern scrambled eggs, so he cracked them open, pouring them into a bowl and beating the eggs with more vehemence than was technically required.
A life with Ashley, where she made him laugh and he protected her, played across the back of his eyelids, and he whipped harder. Dreams like that didn’t come true for little foster boys like him. He’d learned how to fight hard and fight back. He’d learned how to suffer but endure the worst. The things he’d learned made him a good SEAL, a fearless warrior.
He’d never learned how to care for a woman. As a kid, he’d only seen one man model how to treat a woman well and raise a family.
Ashley deserved someone who knew these things.
He dumped a generous measure of salsa into the eggs and whisked them some more.
It’d be better to spend the morning figuring out their next steps to uncovering the lunatic than battling thoughts of a life that wouldn’t ever be. Greta’s fairy-tale princesses were the only ones that got happily ever afters.
The eggs sizzled as they hit the frying pan, and he stirred them slowly, going over everything he knew thus far.
Joy was safe. She’d been stashed and protected in a place that no one but Ashley knew. And whoever was after her was willing to go pretty far to get her back. Something serious was driving the other man. Serious enough that he was clearly willing to go through a lot of trouble to get his way, and he wasn’t acting alone. The notes only seemed to come from one man—they all said “me” and “I”, not “we” or “us”—but at least two people were involved in the attacks, with one driving the getaway car. Matt wondered if either one was the real villain. Whoever was writing the notes seemed intent on hiding his identity—would he really risk getting caught in the act?
The guy probably wasn’t wandering through the neighborhood in the middle of the night, or even driving a blue Suburban. Most likely he had some goons doing his bidding. If he wasn’t alone, how big was his organization? Was it a crime family? A local group of thugs? Or just a family trying to get their kid back?
Regular families didn’t send threatening notes.
And it all somehow involved Miranda. No way had she given them a clue and then randomly disappeared after they received that note. It was far too many coincidences. She was wrapped up in this mess, even if she didn’t want to be, which meant he had to go back to the last clue she’d given them.
How was the Infinity tied to the whole thing?
He tossed a few slices of bread into the toaster and pressed the button. The coils glowed pink instantly, and he warmed his hands over the rising heat. It was chilly in the house in December.
But it hadn’t been cold inside the Infinity.
“Good morning.”
Matt jerked at the voice, instantly ready for anything. Wrapped in a heavy gray sweater that covered her to her knees, Ashley lifted a hand to cover a yawn. Her fuzzy, pig-shaped slippers padded her steps as she shuffled to the coffeemaker and dumped in the grounds.
“Morning. You sleep okay?”
She nodded around another yawn. “You?”
“Fine. Talked to your brother last night.”
Her eyes lit up, and all droopiness vanished. “How is he?”
“Great. They’re all great.” Longing pinched in his stomach. He should have been there, too. It was time to get back on the job. Get Ashley’s situation wrapped up and get back to the teams. His leg felt better and with a couple more weeks of physical therapy, he’d be right there with them.
Away from thoughts that were consuming far too much of his time and would soon feature pink pig slippers.
“You looked pretty deep in thought there.”
“Yeah. I was just thinking, it’s kind of cold in here.”
“Oh, well, we had a drop in donations this year, so I’m trying to save a few dollars a month by turning down the thermostat. Do you need another blanket for your bed?”
“I slept outside in the middle of the desert one night during a training op. It got down into the thirties. I think I can handle sixty-seven in here.”
“Oh.” She poured her coffee without looking at him.
“But it got me thinking. Who heats an abandoned building in the winter?”
She wrapped both hands around her mug and held it to her lips, blowing gently into the steaming java. “I don’t know. Why do—” Her eyes flew open, and her gaze locked on his. “The bar. It was warm, wasn’t it?” She shook her head, and he could see the pieces falling into place. “It was a pretty mild day, and the sun was shining, but it was really warm in there.”
“I don’t think it’s abandoned at all. And what did your buddy say?”
“My buddy?” She gazed into the black liquid in her cup, as though it would give her all of the answers she needed. “They’d brought in some big equipment and moved some earth out of there.”
“I think we missed something when we were there.”
Her head bobbed quickly, and she motioned with her hand, sloshing coffee over the lip of the mug. She wiped up her spill, but before she could say anything more, the phone in her office rang. “I’d better get that.”
He followed her into the foyer. As she disappeared through the open door, the sun glinting off a midnight-blue vehicle caught his attention. He let her go and unlocked the front door before slipping outside.
Just as he thought. The blue Suburban was back. As it sailed around the corner, he could clearly see that the plates had been covered. They were being staked out.
While he waited for the SUV to return, a police cruiser pulled past. He trotted down the steps, his leg not even twinging in protest. The officer behind the wheel didn’t glance in his direction.
The chief may have done what he said he’d do, but it wasn’t going to do a lick of good if the cop didn’t at least look in the direction of the house.
Just as he lifted a hand to wave down the officer, Ashley called out to him from the front doorway. “Matt. Matt, come quick.”
He ran back
to her, bounded up the stairs and grabbed for one of her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“On the phone. The man on the phone.” She gasped for a breath before pressing her eyes closed and biting her lip.
“What did he say, Ash? Who was it?”
She swallowed, fighting to keep her features neutral. “I don’t know who it was. But he said he’d trade Miranda for Joy. He said if he didn’t get Joy back, we’d never hear from Miranda again.”
* * *
For a second, Matt looked just as stunned and shaken as Ashley felt. Then his take-charge SEAL mask fell in place. “What did you say to him?” he asked.
A tear leaked from under her closed lids, and she knuckled it away, gasping in surprise as Matt cupped her cheek and pulled her to his chest. She was glad when he steered them back into the foyer and closed the door behind them. She was even happier that he managed to do so without letting her go.
“It’s okay, Ash. It’s all right to cry.”
No, it wasn’t. Didn’t he understand that? What would the children think if they saw her crying? What would their mothers think? She couldn’t let them see her breaking down. “I’m not crying,” she said into his sweatshirt, even though the loud sniffle that followed said otherwise. Thankfully, he didn’t press the point, instead rubbing big circles into her back. “I didn’t know what to say to him, so I didn’t say anything. He said that he’d be in touch again and then he hung up.”
“Okay. Not much to go on. Why don’t we—” He paused, surprising her. Since when did he hesitate before telling her what he thought they should do? “What do you want to do?”
“I want to crawl back in bed and wake up four years ago before I’d ever even heard of Lil’s.”
Her ear rested on his chest, taking comfort in the steady thump of his heartbeat.
“Sorry, kiddo. My truck hasn’t served as a time machine in a few years. We’re going to have to keep moving forward.”
Ashley looked up at him, then let her gaze drop back to the floor between her slippers as she chewed on her bottom lip. “I guess we better call the chief.” After a shaky sigh, she said, “Then I want to know what’s going on at the Infinity.”