“Yes, you did,” Grace said, being firm but calm. “You told Jaclyn about bad men and stolen babies.”
“She didn’t!” Dylan was astounded. He hovered over his daughter. “After all the time we took to explain everything, how could you have been so foolish? Why, Beth?”
“Ja-Jaclyn kept bragging how important her grandpa was. I just wanted to have something to say.”
He felt Grace’s light touch on his arm. “It may not be as bad as it sounds. At least I hope not. She also told them that you and I were ex-CIA spies on the run from international terrorists. When I heard about what she’d said, I played up the spy angle and made a joke out of it.”
“Do you think it helped?”
“Yes. Mrs. Smithfield seemed to buy the whole exaggeration excuse. I think we’re all right. This time, anyway.”
Crouching in front of his penitent daughter, Dylan grasped her upper arms. “Look at me. Do you understand what you might have caused by telling that? This is serious, Beth. You must never, never do anything like that again? Do I make myself clear?”
The girl nodded.
Satisfied, Dylan straightened. “That goes for all of you kids. We’re not playing a game. You can’t go back and start over the way you do when you play on a computer. This is for real. Your mother and I are counting on you to help us make it through.”
When he glanced at Grace and saw how pale she was, he dismissed the children, saying, “Go to your rooms. Right now. And stay there to think about what happened and what I just said.”
Kyle stalked off, hands in his pockets, his little brother at his heels. Beth ran away sobbing.
As soon as he was certain they were out of earshot, Dylan stepped closer to Grace and opened his arms. Without hesitation she fell into his waiting embrace.
And he held her.
At that moment, in that place, having been faced with a terrible ordeal and coming through as well as she had, all he’d meant to do was to comfort her. To let her know how much he admired her courage.
Still, when he felt her slip her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his shoulder, his nobler motives went to war with his blissful memories and he began to lightly rub her back through her clothing.
The movement was barely perceptible, yet Dylan felt Grace tense. He stood stock-still, hoping and praying she would not withdraw.
To his relief and delight, she took a deep breath and tightened her hold on him for a brief moment.
Then she leaned back slightly to look up and say, “I’m sorry. I never should have let her go over to the Smithfields’.”
Dylan shook his head. “It was as much my fault as it was yours. I’m just thankful you were there to refute what she said about babies and bad men.”
“Miranda believed me when I told her it was nothing but a child’s tall tale. We actually ended up laughing about the wild stories kids make up to impress each other.”
“Then don’t worry,” Dylan said. “We’ll just stay on guard and keep doing the same things we have been. Like the marshal said, if we notice anything odd we’ll jot it down and look for patterns.”
A poignant sigh made Grace’s whole body shudder. Reluctant to release her, Dylan simply stood there and held her close.
At that particular moment he didn’t care how long she intended to stay so near. He could not think of a better way to spend the remainder of his day.
Echoing Grace’s sigh and matching her mood as best he could, Dylan fought the urge to ask her what else she may have learned while chaperoning Beth. There would be plenty of time for questions later, he assured himself.
Right now, his wife was back in his arms of her own free will. And all he cared about was prolonging the blessing.
THIRTEEN
After her traumatic visit to the Smithfield home, Grace was reluctant to step foot outside the house, even for church the next day. She did realize that children were poor secret-keepers and that she shouldn’t blame them too much if they made mistakes. She also knew that the best way to avoid another incident such as the one in the swimming pool was to keep the kids at home as much as possible—at least until they were more settled in their new lives and less likely to revert to their more basic selves.
And how long might that be? Who knew? Certainly not the U.S. marshals.
“I wish Kyle and Beth didn’t have to go back to school again,” Grace told Dylan at breakfast. She’d been doing her best to avoid mentioning their mutual embrace and figured she’d have a better chance of success if she chose the subjects of conversation.
“There’s less than a week left before the summer break,” Dylan replied. His gaze traveled to each of his offspring in turn, ending with Kyle.
“So why don’t we ditch?” the ten-year-old asked.
Grace answered first. “Because we don’t want to do anything out of the ordinary. These people haven’t known us for very long and we shouldn’t call attention to ourselves. The last thing we need is for some teacher or guidance counselor to start worrying about you kids and show up here to see what happened to you.”
“It’s only for a few more days,” Dylan added. “I think you can tolerate school that long.”
“I don’t want to go, either,” Beth whimpered. “Jaclyn is going to make fun of me because she thinks I’m a liar. I know she is.” Her lower lip was quivering. “But I didn’t lie.”
“I know it’s hard to understand right now,” Grace said calmly, reaching over to pat the girl’s hand. “In order to do the right thing and help the police, your daddy has to hide and stay safe. And we have to help him. Sometimes, the only way to do the right thing is to look at the bigger picture and concentrate on that. The important thing for all of us to remember is that we have to be very careful to keep anybody from figuring out who we are and where we’re really from.”
“Oh, like some rich kid is gonna care and blab?” Kyle said cynically.
Frowning, Dylan stared him down. “It’s not Jaclyn we need to worry about, it’s anybody she and her family may know.”
“That reminds me,” Grace said, wishing she hadn’t been so upset when she’d come home that she hadn’t remembered to fill him in then. “Miranda says she has close family in Missouri.”
“Not St. Louis!”
“No, no. Jeff City. Her father’s a politician. And I think she mentioned an uncle, too.”
“Did you happen to get their names?”
“Sorry. No. I guess I should have asked but when she mentioned having relatives up there I was speechless.”
“Understood. I think you should call her and thank her for hosting you.”
“Proper manners probably require a written note since she did invite me to lunch, too,” Grace countered.
“You can’t ask questions that way and we need to find out exactly who this politician is. Otherwise we won’t be able to tell whether or not he’s powerful or who his friends in office may be.”
“Why does that matter?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know that it does.” Dylan got himself a coffee refill and held up the pot. “More?”
“No, thanks.” Lifting her half-full cup she noticed that her hands were trembling. “I really don’t like the idea of phoning Miranda.”
“Then bake her a cake or something so you have an excuse to drop by and chat.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Not funny, mister.”
He looked confused. “What did I say?”
“You intimated that I can bake when you know I haven’t cooked hardly at all in the past ten years.” The expression of dismay on his handsome face made her laugh softly. “You didn’t think we were paying a cook to just watch me putter around with pots and pans, did you?”
“Well no, but...”
“But because I’m a woman I’m su
pposed to be great in the kitchen. I get it. Well, surprise, Mr. Appleby. Your wife can’t cook worth a plug nickel.”
“Is that why we’ve been having pancakes or cereal for breakfast and ordering takeout for supper? I thought it was just because we liked it.”
“We do. I do. Particularly since I don’t have a dishwasher.” Grace spread her fingers and looked at her hands.
“Then the kids and I will do the dishes for you more often, starting this morning.... Have you decided to go to church?”
“Not by myself. And not today. I’m still quaking in my boots from yesterday’s fiasco. I’m not about to take the chance of repeating it in Sunday school.”
She paused, then huffed, “But I will phone Miranda later, after she’s had a chance to get home from wherever she worships.”
“I don’t expect you to learn anything earth-shattering,” Dylan told her. “It’s just a precaution.”
“You mean another precaution, don’t you? Every time I turn around I’m faced with something else that can go wrong. It’s worse than walking a tightrope with no net.”
“The marshals are our safety net,” Dylan said before casually taking a sip of coffee. “We have to trust them. They know what they’re doing.”
Looking from her innocent children to her guilty husband, Grace pressed her lips into a thin line and gritted her teeth. Of all her life experiences, this one was the most confounding. She’d been so scared for so long it was beginning to feel normal to keep checking over her shoulder or imagining boogeymen in every closet, behind every door. Was it that way for the marshals? Or were they immune because they could walk away at any time?
Right now she didn’t care. All she wanted was a little breathing space, a chance to truly rest and recover some of the strength she’d felt waning. She wanted to be able to step out into the sunshine and raise her face to the Lord’s blue sky without wondering if somebody was waiting to take a shot at her. Or at Dylan.
The anger she had harbored toward him was lessening as she watched him interact with their children and experienced feelings of déjà vu that took her back years and years. To a time when life was simple and they were working together to become a healthy, happy family.
Had they ever reached that goal? she wondered absently. She’d thought so before their world was turned upside down. From this vantage point, however, Grace could see that she’d been fooling herself, acting the part of the perfect wife married to the perfect husband with three perfectly wonderful children.
And now? Now, they were probably closer to their true selves than they had ever been. The trouble was, this version of reality also came with built-in, deadly peril.
She was no fool. Whoever wielded enough power to oversee a far-reaching kidnapping and adoption scam without being caught had to have had plenty of help besides men like Dylan. They could not all be white-collar criminals. They had to have muscle behind them. And firepower. And probably even a few law-enforcement insiders, just in case.
Yeah, such as whoever made off with the evidence Dylan had turned in, she concluded. Which meant that even the marshal’s office was not secure. They were in charge of keeping others safe, yet they couldn’t hold on to a little, pocket-size flash drive for even a few hours. So how secure did that make her and her family?
The honest answer gave Grace the willies. She and Dylan were practically on their own when it came to safeguarding their children and each other. Oh, the authorities could move them around and try to keep their location secret, but in this age of advanced technology, how hard could it be to crack the code and learn everything?
“What is it, Gracie?” Dylan’s voice was low, vibrating along her nerves as if a bird’s flight feather was slowly being dragged up her arm and down the back of her neck.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said, hoping he’d accept that.
Instead he moved closer, put his mug on the table to free both hands and held them out to her, palms up.
Grace felt as if she were being drawn to him by invisible bands. Perhaps she was. Perhaps those bands were what had kept them together so far and might eventually pull them back from the brink of divorce.
Although that concept was unnerving, she nevertheless placed her hands in his and boldly met his gaze, saying, “All right. I’m not fine. I’m so scared all the time I’m almost worthless. I don’t know what I’d do if I were here alone with the kids.”
“But you’re not alone,” Dylan said quietly, squeezing her hands.
“I could be. First you take a bullet in the arm, then the sky almost falls and crushes you. What else, Dylan? Huh? What else?”
She wanted him to let go of her hands and hug her again but made no move in that direction. His hands were warm, strong and reassuring. That was sufficient for the present moment.
“I don’t know, Gracie. We just have to do our best and trust in the marshals.”
“And in God,” she added, nodding.
“Above all else.”
“Do you really mean that?”
She was almost afraid to hear his answer and rejoiced when she did.
“With all my heart and soul,” he told her. “I can’t explain what happened to me, but somewhere in the midst of all this confusion I surrendered to God and knew without a doubt that He forgave me and He loves me.”
Speechless, Grace felt tears welling up in her eyes. To her surprise, Dylan’s looked misty, too.
At that moment she knew. God had reached out to Dylan, forgiven him and brought him home.
Her broken heart throbbed. Her mind was spinning. This was the moment she had prayed for. Had dreaded in spite of herself.
Gone were her ready excuses for continuing to hate this man. And in their place was the assurance that it was time to forgive; not in her own strength but in God’s.
Staring into his eyes, she licked her dry lips. How much more time might they have? If she put off actually speaking forgiveness and Dylan was killed before she did so, there would be no end to her sorrow.
She took a shaky breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to put them into a semblance of order that would fully express her deepest feelings without giving him false hope. Forgiveness was one thing. Reconciliation was another. They were not mutually exclusive, nor was one a sure sign that the other would naturally follow.
Her lips parted. She started with, “Dylan...”
Instead of listening, he bent and tenderly kissed her.
* * *
At the instant their lips met and Dylan realized his wife was kissing him back, he wanted to shout hallelujah. He didn’t, of course. Nor did he deepen the kiss for fear of scaring her away.
It was Grace who closed her eyes, slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to increase their intimacy. At that point, Dylan couldn’t tell which of them was trembling the most.
Nearly overcome with emotion, he sighed audibly. That was a mistake. It broke the mood and he felt Grace easing away from him so he, too, loosened his hold.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Dylan said, stepping back. “You want the truth and you’re going to get it. I’m glad I kissed you even if it’s the last chance I’ll ever have. I still love you, Grace. I always will.”
Her fingertips were pressed to her lips. “Don’t say that.”
He was about to insist that his tender feelings for her were genuine when she explained what she’d actually meant.
“I don’t want to think about last chances or running out of time together. It’s hard for me to make sense of anything when we’re in hiding like this, but I have hope that eventually things will work out between us.”
“You mean that?” It was hard for him to temper his elation. “You’re willing to try again?”
“I’m willing to consider it,” she admitted with a half smile that made her l
ook a little shy, a little silly.
Dylan thought her expression was sweet and charming. There was no way to prevent the grin that split his face, telegraphing his joy as no mere words could.
He gave a nod and blinked rapidly. “That’s all I ask, honey. We’ll make it. I know we will. Now that I know there’s a chance for us I won’t let anything spoil it. I promise.”
As Grace turned to walk away, a dark specter of doubt arose, gathering force in the back of his mind like roiling storm clouds before a deluge. He might yearn to succeed, to go on living and to resume his role as husband and father, yet he was sensible enough to realize that many aspects of his future were out of his hands. Yes, God had forgiven him. Yes, Grace was starting to come around. And, yes, the U.S. marshals had them in protective custody. Nevertheless, that was no guarantee he would not have to pay dearly for his mistakes, his sins.
Dylan knew from experience that every act had consequences; some good, some bad. He had already suffered the apparent loss of his marriage, so who was to say that he’d be granted the time to experience full healing? At this point he cared less about his prospects for avoiding jail than he did about repairing his broken home.
“Please, Lord, give me more time,” he prayed softly. “Or at least show me how to make the most of the days I have left.”
Being a realist sure had its drawbacks, he concluded, his mood plummeting even further. He’d had it all, once, and had failed to recognize the fullness of the blessings surrounding him because he was too focused on material gain. Too confused about what was really important.
Success wasn’t measured by a man’s position in society or his bank balance. It was measured by the people who loved him and whom he loved in return. Those who had prayed for his soul and seen him turn back to God. And those who would mourn when he was gone; who would think of him fondly and miss him greatly.
That was his only lasting legacy. And that was why he so desperately wanted this second chance.
The one aspect that was under his control was his own actions. He’d erred plenty in the past when he’d been relying on human reasoning to carry him through. From now on he was going to count on God.
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