Nothing Sacred

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Ellen had grown heavy against her. Her eyes were still open, but Martha knew, with a mother’s instinct, that the girl had given up her attempt to focus.

  Ellen’s counselor had given her a low-dose tranquilizer, which on its own would have done nothing except relax her a little, but coupled with the past twenty-four hours’ events, was helping her find a place of calm deep inside herself.

  Greg Richards was methodically laying it all before them. How the men were sent out on test-drives—no cars to trace—given fake licenses and business cards for the same man—James Sharp. Those cards sent all calls to a legitimate company owned and run by Shane’s partner. That company had a revolving receptionist who knew only that whenever someone got through to her for James Sharp, the man was on an extended vacation. But this business on the side ran so smoothly, those calls rarely came.

  “At the dealership the client is given a key and a map,” Greg continued. “He’s told to pick up a hitchhiker at a certain spot. The hitchhiker is his purchase and she’s ready to give him whatever he’d ordered.”

  “Oh, God,” Martha said out loud. Overwhelmed with nausea, she made herself hold on. Ellen needed her.

  “He thought I was a prostitute?” Ellen’s voice was so weak it scared Martha. She held on tighter, keeping Ellen there with her, mentally present, by sheer force of will.

  “According to what he told his attorney earlier this evening.” Greg answered Ellen directly, earning him Martha’s gratitude. “He’d asked for surprise as his fantasy. The girl was to be in charge, to let him know his role. He thought Ellen was play-acting and that her reticence meant she wanted him to play rough.”

  “That would explain why he was gentler once she stopped fighting,” Martha said aloud. It was all too much to take in at the moment. The pain. The waste. The fact that the world held men like Shane who got away with running businesses that were legally and morally reprehensible.

  “He was supposed to pick up someone else.” Ellen’s voice was distant.

  “The girl had missed her ride from Phoenix,” Greg answered, his words filled with compassion.

  “It was all for nothing.” Ellen sounded as though she was falling asleep. “He…he didn’t intend to rape me. It was all…a misunderstanding.”

  “It wasn’t for nothing,” David said softly, leaning forward. “Never think that, Ellen.”

  “David’s right,” Greg added, standing. “Because of you we’ve been able to break up a multimillion-dollar operation and put the perpetrators behind bars.”

  “Can I go to bed now, Mama?” Ellen asked, looking up with wide innocent eyes, twisting Martha’s heart a little further as she used the name all her children had called her during their younger years. This was twice in a little over a month she’d had to answer to that name.

  “Of course.” Still holding Ellen, she slowly stood.

  She led her daughter from the room, supporting most of her weight, although both men offered to help. Martha declined. Ellen had had her privacy invaded enough.

  Shelley was waiting just outside the door of the living room. There was no expression on the teen’s face. No sign of compassion. Or sorrow. But she was there. And a valuable help as she half carried her sister down the hall and silently helped her mother put an exhausted and incoherent Ellen to bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DAVID WAITED WITH GREG, quietly discussing more of the details of the evening’s arrests, comparing names and facts, while Martha got Ellen settled.

  So far the evening had gone better than he had any right to expect. He had a feeling that was soon going to change.

  “Thank you.” He looked the sheriff in the eye, knowing that Greg Richards would understand exactly what he meant.

  Greg bowed his head. “We made a deal under which you disclosed information. I have to uphold my end of that.”

  Sitting back on one side of the love seat, an ankle crossed over his knee, both hands on that ankle, David forced himself to play this out to the end. “I would’ve told you whether you agreed to remain silent or not.”

  Greg nodded. He’d fallen back into the armchair, his fingers propped together in front of his face, and he looked as exhausted as David felt. His face was darkly shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. His short curly hair was unusually tousled, his uniform more wrinkled than creased. “I made a deal.”

  “You have a community to protect.”

  David had a conscience. One that was pushing him to confess his sins to the people who thought him to be something he wasn’t.

  “My silence does not endanger this community.”

  David held his tongue as Martha returned. After assuring them that Ellen was already asleep, she dropped down to the edge of the love seat, close enough that David could smell the fresh wholesome scent he’d come to associate with her—but far enough away that he’d have to make an obvious effort to touch her.

  Not that he had any intention of doing so. Ever again.

  But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

  She’d changed into a pair of black cotton draw-string pants and a white, long-sleeved T-shirt with Los Angeles printed across the front in black lettering. She’d put on black flip-flops.

  “So,” she murmured, seemingly oblivious to the way her short black hair stood straight up in no kind of fashion as she ran her fingers through it and then lowered her hand. “You never did answer my question. What happens to this guy?”

  Leaning forward, Greg sent her a long, searching glance. “If we can rely on Ellen’s testimony, meaning that she’ll be able to hold up under questioning, the prosecution will probably be able to make the charges stick. Which will mean a long time in jail.”

  “And if not?”

  David might not be able to touch Martha, but he could feel her tension.

  “Then he’s already admitted to hiring and having sex with a prostitute which, in this state, is an offense.”

  “What about all the others?” Martha asked, her voice thin and without inflection, as though she felt she had to ask but didn’t really care. “All of Shane’s other clients and the middle men who were part of this. Are they going to be standing charges, as well?”

  David’s heart turned over.

  “No,” Greg said, gazing directly at Martha, and David knew immediately that the other man was avoiding his eyes.

  “When I showed up at the dealership talking about charges of kidnapping and rape, Shane’s partner handed me Ellen’s attacker. The hell with anonymity—he figured he could deal with a prostitution charge, assuming he’d serve little or no time for that, but he wasn’t going down for kidnapping.”

  “Nice guy,” David said.

  “Yeah, well, it’s funny sometimes where people draw the line. Anyway, it’ll take some digging to find the other clients but as many of them as possible will be called to testify. Shane and his partner are threats to society. We’ll make deals with the others, offering to drop any charges against them in exchange for their testimony.”

  Although he’d already been given immunity, David felt the noose tightening around him.

  With an ever-increasing sense of dread, he wondered whether he had enough faith and optimism to start a new life once again.

  AS WRUNG-OUT AS SHE WAS, Martha still knew a moment of relief when David didn’t leave with Greg Richards a few minutes later. Not that she planned to make a habit of relying on the preacher. For anything. But he had a way about him, a sense of calm and reassurance, that made her feel, however briefly, that everything was going to be okay.

  Was it wrong for her to give in to that fantasy? Just for a few minutes before she closed her eyes tonight? She’d wake up refreshed tomorrow, determined to make the day better than the one before, resolute in her plan to make life better for her children.

  All she needed was a little—

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” David Marks asked, standing in the archway between the living room and the foyer leading to the front door.


  He was planning to leave. He couldn’t leave yet.

  “Yeah,” Martha said, sliding down to sit on the floor, facing him, with her back resting against the love seat. “You can tell me how you knew what to look for at that dealership when Greg didn’t.”

  Head bent, he stood quiet, fixed, until Martha wondered if he was going to answer her.

  Their agreement had been “no questions asked,” but surely that didn’t still apply?

  Eventually David moved. He slowly approached her, settling in his previous position on the love seat. She could no longer see him, as he sat just behind her and to her right.

  “I’d had some contact with an earlier version of Shane’s operation.”

  She’d never heard him choose his words so carefully. The preacher who’d always been the epitome of open heart and mind.

  “Contact, how?”

  There was another long pause. “After I joined the ministry, one of my first assignments was at a small church in that neighborhood we visited in Phoenix.”

  “So that’s how they knew you.”

  “I had a church there, yes. Though Jeb, the guy on the street corner, probably hasn’t been in a church in his life. He was just a guy I knew.”

  Wishing she was back on that love seat, that she could get up there again without looking obvious or appearing to ask for something she definitely was not, Martha stared at the carpet directly in front of her.

  “So what’s the connection between that neighborhood and the rest of this?”

  “At one time, Jeb had some pretty impressive electronic equipment that allowed him to run illegal ID checks on just about anyone. He was bragging one night about a lucrative job he had, doing background checks on wealthy businessmen.”

  Maybe because she was so tired, the news wasn’t so much a shock to her as it was just…news.

  Another piece of a puzzle already solved.

  “He was doing checks for Shane?”

  And David hadn’t done anything about it back then? That didn’t sound at all like the man she knew.

  “Yes, but not the same operation.”

  “You recognized the similarities when Ellen talked to you.”

  Martha turned then, looked at him. The intensity in his eyes was no less potent for the lateness of the hour. Or the challenges of the day.

  “I suspected.” His voice was strangely resigned.

  “Until we saw Jeb….”

  “He seemed pretty certain the whole thing had shut down.” David said, continuing to hold her gaze. Martha liked looking at him. Sometimes it felt as though she was looking into him. It was kind of hard for someone to lie and betray you when you could see inside them.

  “So what changed your mind?” Her neck, craned in such an unnatural position, was beginning to ache. Martha turned, arms resting on the seat next to him.

  “The dealer tag on that Lincoln at the building.”

  Chin resting on her folded hands, she nodded. “Are you going to tell me what you saw at the dealership that broke everything loose?”

  Neither he nor Greg had said that David was responsible for the arrest of Ellen’s attacker, but Martha knew now that he was.

  And would be forever grateful to him. In his debt. Strangely, the idea wasn’t a horrible one. If ever there was going to be a preacher—a man—in whose debt she’d want to be, it would be David Marks.

  She still didn’t buy all the theories he spouted, but the person doing the spouting was one impressive guy.

  David’s gaze softened as he smiled at her. She could see the weariness in the lines of his face. And felt her heart melt in a way it never had before. As though, just for that second, she could see with a heart and mind completely free of past hurts and betrayals….

  “I saw the business card with the insignia,” he answered slowly, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “And then the envelope with the imprint of a motel key and I heard the name Sharp….”

  Hard to believe he could put it all together, having only heard about the racket from a two-bit street criminal, but today’s arrests testified that he’d figured it out. Staring at him, Martha found her heart swelling with a knowledge that, at any other time, she would’ve immediately dismissed.

  The magnitude of what he’d done was almost overwhelming. Martha didn’t know how to thank him, how to express the fervor of emotion swelling within her. Her hand slid over his knee.

  “Thank you.” The words were inadequate.

  She knew what she was going to hear: It’s my job. Which it was, she supposed. In a manner of speaking. But he’d done more than many people in his position would, and he’d done it for her and her kids.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, covering her hand with his.

  It had been a long day. A long four years. A long life with little physical comfort. Without thought, or doubt, or even decision, Martha turned her hand, threading her fingers through his, holding on.

  And when he tugged lightly, pulling her up onto the love seat with him, she went, crawling into his arms just as Ellen had so often crawled into hers these past weeks.

  Martha wanted him to kiss her again. Hoped he would. For the first time in her life, she wanted, physically wanted, much more than kisses. Her body responded to his, answering questions he was asking her.

  But before she could do more than hope that he’d correctly interpret her responses, she laid her head against his chest.

  Listened to his heart beating so steadily there.

  And promptly fell asleep.

  “I SHOULD HAVE HAD more faith.”

  Okay.

  A week after the arrest of Ellen’s attacker, David was walking on the church grounds instead of eating the chicken-and-mayonnaise sandwich he’d thrown together for his lunch. He’d left the sandwich behind in his office.

  “You knew it was going to be okay.”

  It’s always going to be okay.

  He hoped so. The news of Shane’s operation had hit Shelter Valley—and Phoenix. And while Shelter Valley had been famous for a day, David’s involvement had been minimized, his good name preserved.

  And Ellen’s protected.

  He’d heard that Becca Parsons had a committee working on an Easter celebration in the town square to celebrate the town’s ability to get the big jobs done. And still maintain Shelter Valley’s identity and purpose as set forth by Sam Montford—the first settler and founder of the town.

  “You led me to this town.” David sat on a white iron bench that circled one of the avocado trees on the back of the lot.

  Because you asked.

  “I asked?”

  To be free of the past. To move forward in the work you were meant to do.

  Was he free of the past? Would he ever be?

  Yes.

  David blinked. Startled. When he got answers to questions he hadn’t directly asked, he knew they were significant.

  Leaning back, legs stretched out in front of him, he focused on the warm, early-April air touching his skin, on the sound of the pigeons cooing on the orange tile of the church roof, the smell of the roses blooming along the back wall.

  And closed his eyes.

  His sight turned inward. To that place where questions were not a threat and answers became clear.

  His mother was still alive, he knew, deteriorating rapidly. She still refused to see him.

  Was that going to change in the next little while? Heart quickening, he couldn’t deny the possibility. Anything was possible. It was one of the first truths he’d accepted that had changed the course of his life. He would call the nursing home this evening. And in the morning. And twice a day for as long as it took.

  And what about Martha Moore?

  Was she some kind of test? A way of proving to himself, once and for all, that he was a man in control of his baser instincts? That he was not tainted by the blood of his father?

  The choice he’d made to associate with women like Whitney and others had been prompted by the fear that he was
no better than his old man, that he could not trust himself around innocent women, that he could, if he lost control, do to a woman what his father had done to his mother.

  But he knew better than that now. His choices were no longer made out of fear. So why then, he wondered, did he still believe he should never marry? Never have a family of his own?

  Never have sex?

  David sat straight up. Opening his eyes.

  Oh, my God. Was this why he’d been sent here? He’d wanted to be freed from the past. He’d never expected to find out that he’d been wrong. He’d only hoped to be relieved of the insidious guilt that still attacked him at unexpected times.

  He could see himself so clearly in that moment. And felt sorry for the pathetic guy sitting there. The guy who’d used his past as an excuse not to deal with an aspect of his life that was painful for him.

  It had been easier to go without sex than to face all the mistakes he’d made. The things he’d done that he couldn’t undo. The things he’d lost that he could never regain.

  When had all of that changed? he asked himself, sitting there with the brightness of the sun stinging his eyes. When had it suddenly become worth facing the past so that he could have a future?

  But he knew when. It was right about the time he’d fallen in love with Martha Moore.

  The preacher stood. Went to find that chicken-and-mayonnaise sandwich. He might be embarrassingly slow when it came to his own life, but he got it now.

  He was in Shelter Valley to stay.

  SITTING IN THE Shelter Valley Diner on Saturday afternoon, Shelley ordered a cheeseburger and french fries, and tried not to care that she might gain a pound or two and look fat. They were still her favorites, whether she was grown-up or not.

  She watched as a woman who was a stranger to her came in, smiled at Nancy—the diner’s hostess for as long as Shelley could remember—and was shown to a booth just a few down from Shelley. When it was graduation time at the university—or time for the fall semester to start—they’d see plenty of people they didn’t know around town. At any other time, a stranger’s presence was unusual enough to be noteworthy.