The Shadow: Someone is Watching (Rahab's Rope Series Book 1)

by Kimberly Rae

  He had not stopped chuckling. “Why didn’t you accept one of the proposals?”

  She spooned the rest of the butter out of the measuring cup, then used the cup to measure the milk. “I’m not marrying a guy who would have to stand on tiptoe to kiss me.” He laughed at that and she added, “Not to mention guys who propose to girls they’ve never met aren’t exactly my type.”

  When he stopped laughing, she glanced his way. His eyes were on her face and his voice was low as he asked, “What is your type, Meagan Winston?”

  25

  Saturday, January 3

  10:30 a.m.

  Lucias dared not speak over a whisper. “It’s Raymond. Tell the boss I’m here early.”

  The boy on the asphalt beside the metal trash bins stood as quickly as if a shock of electricity had run through the puddle under him and zapped his pants. The kid took off down the alley and out of sight. Lucias hunched his shoulders, uncomfortable out in the open. It wasn’t normal for the contact to tell him to come during the day. Too risky. Either of them might be seen. And now he was early and the contact might make him wait until noon just to punish him. People in higher positions were like that. They lorded over those underneath them and bossed them around. Lucias knew he could handle the top jobs right now, but the contact said Lucias had to prove himself before he could get promoted. He hadn’t minded the low jobs because they kept him near Meagan on her trips. But once Meagan was with him, she wouldn’t travel any longer and the trips would be lonely without her.

  He would refuse to go anymore. He would demand a better job. They had no right to keep him down like this, make him do the hard work and only get a small percentage of the profit. He deserved better.

  With sudden resolve, he squatted next to the farthest trash can, careful not to let his pants drag in the puddles. He set his briefcase on a dry section of asphalt and put in the numbers to open the lock. When the top opened to reveal the stacks of rupee notes, he pulled five or six large stacks from the pile, hid them in secret pockets he’d sewn into Raymond’s jacket over a year ago, then rearranged the money to make it look like nothing had been touched. He earned those stacks with his little gift. The connection would have a whole new money maker if he knew what was good for him. If the connection decided to reward him with more money, all the better. He picked up the small glass bottle and turned it in his hand, admiring the pretty colors.

  The sound of shouting caught his attention. It came from down the block, from where the boy had run. Lucias did not know the exact address where the connection stayed, but the sounds came from close enough to its vicinity that Lucias knew he shouldn’t stay. He closed the briefcase and threw it into the plastic recycle bin behind the trash cans, covering it with newspaper and empty plastic bottles. He’d never needed to do that before. The connection said the recycle bin was the emergency drop-off spot only if he couldn’t hand the briefcase over in person.

  Words reached him, yelled from a distance. “Drop your weapons! Police!”

  Lucias didn’t need to hear more. He had no weapon, and he wasn’t staying around to be caught by people who did. He ran from the alley out onto the street leading to where he parked his car. It was torture to slow his feet and walk along with the flow of traffic, but Lucias told Raymond it was what he had to do. Raymond was impulsive and that got him into trouble. Lucias reminded him that if they ran, it would draw attention. Raymond worried that the connection might not find the briefcase, but Lucias said it wouldn’t be his fault if the police found it instead. If they did, Lucias would wish he’d taken more of the money for himself. But he had enough now for the flowers and the next few weeks, until he was due for a smaller job in the city. The small jobs kept him supplied between trips, and were easier. He would teach Meagan about the business. They would work as a team and be successful and rich.

  “Forget about it for now,” Lucias whispered to Raymond as he neared the car. “We’ll go exchange this money and get the flowers, hide the rest of it in the usual place, and then we’re going to Meagan’s house with the biggest pink vase you’ve ever seen. She’s going to love us. You’ll see.”

  __________________________

  Saturday, January 3

  10:45 a.m.

  What man was her type? Meagan scrambled for words to say that didn’t sound like she was describing Cole Fleming all the way down to his choice of sweater. “I like guys who are honest.” She threw him a look. “And who can cook gourmet meals. And fix pipes. Was that your fourth question?”

  His smile spread. “No. I rescind it.”

  “You can’t. I already answered it.”

  “No you didn’t. Not really. My fourth question is, what were the color codes you and the other girl used in your shop that first day I came in?”

  The stovetop timer went off and Cole turned off the burner and carried the pot of noodles to the sink to drain. Meagan watched him, hesitating. “I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that.” She tilted her head and considered his profile. Several red lines scraped across his cheek and jaw. She wondered where else he hurt. “Did you have all these memorized, just waiting for a time when we’d make mac and cheese together?”

  “No, I just have good recall when it comes to things I want to know.”

  “And you want to know about me,” she stated, one eyebrow up and a hand on her hip.

  He set the pot down and looked at her, his gaze direct. “Yes, Meagan. I do.”

  Silence stretched between them and Meagan shifted back to her task, only to realize she had nothing else to do. She reached across him for the packet of cheese powder and blushed when she encountered the solid muscle of his right upper arm. She spilled some of the powder opening the packet, then spilled more trying to pour it into the mixing bowl.

  He watched as she added the hot noodles and mixed it together. The butter melted as it swirled in circles. “How about I guess about the codes and you can tell me if I’m right or not?”

  She stirred faster, not looking at him. “You’re the investigator.”

  “Code red meant something happened that needed your attention but it wasn’t an emergency,” he said. “I surmise that based on how you immediately looked concerned, but not afraid. You also looked toward the back room, as if someone was waiting there for you, possibly someone who needed your help. Knowing the work you do, I would guess it was an escaped girl, but one you already knew because there was no curiosity on your face, only care.”

  She moved her spoon around the top edges of the bowl to catch the last bit of cheese powder. “You do have good recall.”

  He moved around her to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. “Deducing the code blue is a little harder.” He set the bottles on the counter overhanging the bar stools. “When your friend said, ‘code blue,’ she looked at me and then at you. Then you went pale, looked at me, and asked me to leave. I would guess code blue means a certain kind of danger, possibly from the person in your presence?”

  Meagan did not know how to respond. She opened cupboards. “Where are the bowls?”

  He reached over her to the cupboard closest to the ceiling, bringing his body much too near her own. “I’ll assume by your silence that I guessed right.” He pulled down three white ceramic bowls and placed them in front of her on the counter.

  “Assume whatever you want,” she said. She stood perfectly still to avoid another brush against him. “What’s question five?”

  He was near enough now to whisper. “Where are your parents and why aren’t they the ones living with your grandfather?”

  She scooped the yellow-sauced macaroni into the three bowls, putting extra in one. Cole’s young sister would benefit from eating all of it, though the meal was far from nutrient rich. She opened the fridge and searched for raw vegetables or something healthy, and found her choice of carrots, broccoli and celery. “That’s more like it,” she said, pulling out the carrots. As she washed and began to peel them, she answered Cole’s question. “My par
ents are an archeologist-anthropologist team.” She cut the peeled carrots into smaller sections. “Dad digs for historical treasure and mom delves into the secrets those treasures tell about people and culture. Their work on a few key sites over the past five years gained them recognition in pretty high places, so when a routine dig in Egypt a few months ago unearthed—pun-intended—traces of a possibly undiscovered culture, my parents were called in. It was not long after Nana died, and I think they needed a new focus. Her long battle with cancer was hard on them both.” She broke off a section of a carrot and munched on it. “The dig is scheduled to last six to nine months. They’ve never been gone for such a long stretch of time, but this was the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “And your grandfather?”

  “He couldn’t stay in his house without someone living there who could run his errands and get his prescriptions filled. Most importantly, someone had to be around to help in case of an emergency since mom and dad don’t even have cell phone service where they are. We get an email from them maybe once a month.”

  Cole gathered the shreds of carrot peels and threw them in the trash can against the far wall. She breathed easier with him at a distance. “And that person was you,” he said.

  She shrugged. “He wanted so much to stay in the home he and Grandmother shared almost fifty years. I hadn’t found a place of my own yet, so it worked for everybody.”

  He came near again. “And when the time comes, will you stay, or is your heart someplace else?”

  She reached up to the high cupboard for another bowl and barely caught it when it came falling out. “Let’s not discuss where my heart is or will be.” She collected the carrots and placed them in the fourth bowl. “Besides, your five questions are up. It’s my turn to ask three.”

  “Okay.”

  He was back in his place right behind her. She kept her eyes on the carrots. “What is your real job?”

  “That’s not an open topic.”

  She gripped the counter. “Where is your father now?”

  His voice was hard as steel. “Stepfather. I don’t know.”

  She turned her body and faced him. Looking up into his eyes, she whispered, “What happened in Iraq?”

  26

  Saturday, January 3

  11:00 a.m.

  “I don’t talk about Iraq.”

  Meagan stood at the counter, macaroni and cheese forgotten, and asked softly, “Why not?”

  He bent at the waist and leaned his forearms on the counter across from her, one foot propped onto the rung of one of the barstools. A shadow fell across his face. “A man shouldn’t have to defend his integrity to the people who know him well.”

  “What about the people who don’t know him well?”

  “They don’t matter.”

  “Some of them do,” she said, moving to sit on the second barstool. “Some of them should.”

  He kept his eyes on his clasped hands. “People should give the benefit of the doubt. Innocent until proven guilty, right?”

  “It’s a nice sentiment, but not realistic.” She remembered their lunch and brought a bowl to set in front of each of them. “If it worked in real life, I wouldn’t have to try to convince the FBI that I’m not an international drug seller. When the evidence is there, people tend to think you’re guilty until proven innocent.”

  Cole looked out the window. “Why don’t you try a different question?”

  She bowed her head and gave a silent prayer before biting into the noodles. “Why did you bring me here?”

  At that he faced her and came close. With her sitting on the stool, and him standing beside it, she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. He sat on the other barstool and their faces were almost level again. She counted several more scratches on his skin. “I wanted you to see what drugs do to people. How destructive they are.”

  “Cole, I already know that.” She set down her spoon and rested her arm on the counter, not hungry anymore. “The evil of human trafficking is often layered with drugs. I’ve worked with minors pimped out by family members to maintain a drug habit. I know how terrible it is.” She slid off the barstool and stood near. “You still don’t believe I didn’t do it.”

  His voice was husky. “I want to believe you, but that’s probably why I shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t sell drugs, Cole.”

  Meagan heard a gasp and turned to see the woman in scrubs just inside the kitchen doorway, Sadie at her side. “Cole!” Sadie said, rushing to her brother and throwing her arms around him. “You made me mac and cheese!”

  The woman remained rooted to her spot, her eyes on Meagan, her face white. “Are you okay?” Meagan asked.

  She shifted her gaze to Cole. “Can—can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure.” He looked puzzled, but removed Sadie’s hands and said, “Be right back. Go ahead and start your lunch.” He glanced at Meagan, then followed the woman in scrubs from the room.

  “You came with Cole, right?” Sadie asked, her curious eyes on Meagan’s face, then on her bowl of macaroni.

  “I did.”

  She tilted her head. “Has he ever brought you before?”

  Meagan shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so.” Sadie filled her spoon and took a large bite. “I don’t think he’s ever brought anyone else here. You must be special. Are you special?”

  “Not really.” Meagan smiled and shrugged. “I’m just me.”

  The girl smiled back. “I like you. Your eyes aren’t hiding things. And you haven’t been watching me all morning.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I get so sick of being watched all the time.”

  Meagan nodded again, her voice wry. “Lately, I know just what you mean.”

  “Are you going to marry my brother?”

  She coughed. “I don’t—”

  “He’d be a great guy to marry,” she said, digging into her bowl of food with surprising gusto. Meagan offered her own bowl and the girl took it. “When we were kids, he took care of me, like a dad. There was this one time, one summer, some people came to our neighborhood and invited us to a Bible club. We lived in a bad part of town and people were always shooting or fighting. I think sometimes they made up reasons to fight just because they were bored. But for that week, every morning, Cole took me and a bunch of other kids who lived around us to the park and we got to hear good stories like the guy who got swallowed by a whale and the three guys who were thrown into a fire but they didn’t burn up. And Jesus. I loved the stories about Jesus. They said He loved kids. All kids. I didn’t think anybody but Cole loved me.”

  Meagan wrapped a hand around Sadie’s. “Jesus does love you, very much.”

  “Oh, well...” She turned and hunched over her bowl. “I used to believe that, when I was little.”

  “Jesus still loves you, Sadie.”

  “Yeah?” She put down her spoon. “Where was He when all of this happened to me?” She pulled her long sleeve upward and revealed scars. “They said God had plans for my life. What kind of plan is this?”

  Fighting tears, Meagan silently begged help from heaven before she spoke. “I don’t know why God didn’t stop it, Sadie. I wish He had. I wish He would stop every evil person out there from hurting people like you.” She took Sadie’s hand again. “But the one thing I do know is that He was there with you every moment. And now you’re here and He wants you to be free.”

  The girl began to cry. “But I—”

  Cole returned to the kitchen. “Sadie?” His voice held concern. “Are you alright?” She leaned against him and he pulled her close. “What’s the matter?”

  Through her tears, Meagan heard her sob, “I miss Jesus.”

  Cole looked to the woman in scrubs who had followed him back into the kitchen and now stood between Sadie and Meagan. “Just ten minutes?” he asked.

  She looked at Meagan, then at him. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “But you can call her tonight.”

  He nodded, accepting her words. He
put his hands on Sadie’s shoulders and pulled her away enough to look into her face. “I’ve got to go now,” he said, bringing another round of tears, “but I’ll call you after supper tonight, okay? Write down everything you want to talk about, and we’ll talk as long as you want.”

  “Promise?”

  Meagan put fingers to her lips, hurting at the pain displayed on Cole’s face. “I promise.”

  “Sadie, come with me,” the woman said.

  “Just a sec.” Cole’s young sister pulled Meagan into a hug. She whispered in Meagan’s ear, “He thinks it’s his fault, because he was gone. But it isn’t. It started before he left.”

  The woman called Sadie’s name again and ushered her from the room, carrying the full bowl of macaroni and cheese Cole offered. He had not taken one bite. He turned to Meagan and said, “I’m sorry. She overheard our conversation.”

  Meagan stood. “What conversation?”

  “About the drugs.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “We’ve been asked to leave the premises.”

  Meagan watched Sadie accompany the woman back down the hall. “We?” she asked.

  “You.” He rotated his left shoulder and winced. “I shouldn’t have brought that up in here.”

  She cleared the bowls and spoons left on the counter, needing something to do. “I guess that proves the point I made earlier. Seems like everyone assumes I’m guilty except for the people who know and love me.” She did not want him to see how it bothered her to the core to be blamed so readily.

  He helped her with the dishes, then escorted her to Steve’s car. They rode in silence through the gate but when she reached for the door handle to go back to her own car, Cole said, “I’ll follow you home.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “The real criminal is still out there, Meagan. I don’t want him running you off the road next. Let me follow you home. I won’t ask to come in or anything.”

  She put on her winter gloves and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “All right. Thanks.”