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

by Kimberly Rae

  Stephanie had the chance to openly stare at the others because all of their shoes suddenly seemed to be of great interest. She wanted to laugh at them, but then thought of Steve, of how he spoke to her in weary tones first, then angry ones, but only after she lashed out the anger she always seemed to carry around with her anymore. Oh. She dropped her head to stare at her own high-heels.

  “Dear ladies,” Kelsey said, “do you want to have your husbands do the things you want or stop doing the things that bug you, or do you want a happy marriage?”

  One young woman asked, “But why should we have to choose? Why can’t they just do what we want out of love for us?”

  “I used to ask the same thing, but God switched my question around. Why couldn’t I let that one thing go out of love for Him? And I don’t mean him—my husband. Out of love for Him—my Savior.”

  Stephanie looked up and saw a smile of peace on the woman’s face. She was talking nonsense, but no one could say it hadn’t worked for her.

  “I started picking up or folding his clothes, and as I did, I said out loud, ‘I’m doing this for the Lord.’ After a week or two, when I picked up his clothes, I’d pray for him. Now I see his clothes and I smile and I am glad for the reminder to pray for the man I love more than anyone in the world. You see, when I stayed stubborn and demanded something from him, we were both miserable. When I gave up and gave out of love for God instead, my attitude changed. And you might be surprised what a good attitude will do for your marriage. There are things he wished I would do—like clean out my hairbrush, which I think is a total waste of time but it bugs him to no end—and he started doing it for me. Hmmm.” She grinned. “See a pattern here? We reap what we sow. Good produces good. Anger and resentment produce more of the same.”

  Stephanie realized she was on the edge of her seat. “It can’t work,” she said. “It’s too easy.”

  “Not hardly,” Kelsey responded. “It’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever do, because it means setting aside what feels like your rights and giving when you want to get.” She surprised Stephanie with a hearty laugh. “Goodness, that wasn’t our Sunday school lesson at all today. I didn’t plan to ramble on like that, but—”

  Kelsey’s words faded to silence. Stephanie followed her gaze and saw that Meagan had returned to the room, phone against her ear, her eyes red. She walked through the circle as if she didn’t see any of them and handed the phone to Kelsey. “It’s Pakshi. You know the woman they were trying to get out this week?”

  “Rachita?”

  Meagan nodded then burst into tears. “He killed her.”

  37

  Sunday, January 4

  10:30 a.m.

  Lucias had long ago memorized Meagan’s schedule. They both were creatures of habit and liked routine. But sometimes change was good. Lucias had made a change, a big change, and he knew Meagan would like it.

  He parked his new black Sedan right next to Meagan’s VW bug. He’d never had his car so close to hers before and it sent shivers of delight through him. She was inspiring him to greater courage. He’d left Agatha, and Raymond, and even Damion behind. He was Lucias now, armed with information, dressed to kill, ready to implement his plan that would get Meagan away from those men and straight to him and him alone.

  Phone in the pocket of his new black suit pants, he swept his hair from his forehead and strode toward the church building. Every Sunday for at least a year, he had waited in the parking lot for her to emerge. Not today. Not anymore. He walked inside, saying pleasant things to random strangers, hating them all for taking Meagan’s attention away from him for two hours every week. Once they were together, she would not need to come to church. She would not need all these extra friends. Lucias would be her everything, as she was his.

  He found a pew toward the back of the main auditorium and took a seat, watching for Meagan’s entrance. He would stay back for now, but not for long. It was almost time, and he was ready.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  10:35 a.m.

  Kelsey jumped up and left the room, continuing the phone call while Meagan sobbed. Everyone else seemed as lost as Stephanie. One lady walked over to the kitchen area and returned with a box of tissues. She handed them to Meagan, who thanked her, her voice clogged with tears.

  As subtly as possible, Stephanie pulled a pen from her purse and wrote the two Indian names Meagan had said on her palm.

  “We were so close to getting her free,” Meagan said. She blew her nose but the tears kept coming. “She had believed in Jesus and was full of hope.”

  “Who—who killed her?” someone asked.

  “Her husband.”

  Stephanie’s gasp joined the others. Meagan lifted her tear-stained face and said, “It’s so awful in that place. That man, he didn’t want her to be free. He started a kitchen fire and called it an accident.” She buried her face into a fresh tissue and her shoulders shook with grief.

  The woman with the eyelashes murmured, “And I was complaining about socks.” She borrowed the tissue box from Meagan and wiped hard at her eyes. Her lashes did not come loose, so Stephanie decided they must be real.

  Meagan lifted her head. “If your husband doesn’t beat you, if he doesn’t spit on you, or sell you to other men, or threaten to kill you for grasping the slightest hope...” Tears dripped onto her skirt. “Thank God for him. You are blessed.”

  One of the women put an arm around Meagan and prayed out loud. Stephanie bowed her head along with the others, but her mind was not on the prayer. Steve was no saint, that was for sure, but he wasn’t the monster she had worked up in her mind over these last months. Could Kelsey’s way work? Stephanie wouldn’t be doing things out of love for God—she hadn’t spoken to God since the baby died—but the principle of the thing seemed sound. Do something nice for someone and they’re more likely to do something nice back. Was it worth a try?

  “Thank you,” Meagan said when the prayer ended. Her shoulders hunched over, the way Stephanie had sat when the baby had come far too early, and she’d wanted to keep the pain contained. “It seems God knew she would never be safe, even at our safe house, so He delivered her forever, to His home. I should be glad for her. She is free now, and he can’t ever hurt her again.”

  A chill ran up Stephanie’s spine. These women were strange. They talked backwards. When Kelsey returned, also crying, and the women gathered to pray again, Stephanie slipped out of the room and wandered the hall. She would see about getting information from Meagan after the service. For now, she needed some breathing room from these people and their upside-down ways.

  She had come to get ahold of information, not to have a God who let women die, who let babies die, get ahold of her.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  10:50 a.m.

  “Meagan? Are you all right?”

  She was not all right. Not even close. Meagan looked up and saw Cole Fleming hurrying her way. It did not even register that she had never seen him at her church before, and when he was within arm’s reach, his face a mask of concern, she did not question the desire to bury her head into his shirt and cry until there were no tears left.

  He had an arm around her and her face was against his shoulder when reason returned. She jerked away. “I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly. She used the wadded-up tissue in her hand to wipe at his shirt where some of her makeup had smeared. “I’ve ruined your shirt.” A fresh rain of tears fell. She looked around and realized they were in the church lobby, surrounded by people, many of whom looked at her with the same concern Cole had. She wiped her hair out of her face. “I should go home. I’m a horrible mess.”

  “Meagan,” he said. He put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Meagan.” When she looked in his eyes, he asked, “What happened? Can I help? Is it your parents? Your grandfather?”

  She shook her head. “It’s me. My life is falling apart.” She sniffed. “A friend just go
t murdered, and somebody is stalking me, and Steve thinks I’m a criminal and Grandpa told me to stop bossing him around this morning, and I ran out of milk.” She sobbed out in a choked whisper, “I’m just so tired.”

  Cole took a look around. “Come with me,” he said, guiding her into the auditorium, his warm, solid arm around her shoulders. He found a spot for them both on one of the back pews, set near the corner of the building, out of the way and far less noticeable than they were in the lobby.

  “Thank you,” she said, balling her tissue in her fist and squeezing until her fingernails dug deep into her palm. She blinked and tried to gain control of herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fall apart on you like this.”

  “It’s okay.” He pried the tissue out of her hand and used it to wipe her cheeks. The motion was tender and she fought more tears. “Sadie cries on me all the time.”

  She held out her hand for the tissue and used it, despite it being soggy, to wipe the last of the moisture under her eyes. Her face had to be a train wreck. She looked at him and thought to ask, “What are you doing here at my church, Cole?”

  “Isn’t everyone welcome at church?”

  “Of course. I just meant—”

  “I’m teasing.” He smiled and angled to face her better. “I hope it doesn’t scare you, like I’m following you again—”

  She felt her lips turn up at that memory. When had things changed so much in her opinion toward him?

  “I’ve been visiting churches since I moved back in the area. We never went to church growing up, so I didn’t have one to come back to.” He leaned over and arranged the hymnals in the little back-of-the-pew shelf to stand with equal distance between each one. “I am a follower of Christ, but a struggling one, and the joy I’ve seen on your face...well, it seemed the church you went to would be a good one to try. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind.” Something shifted in her heart. He was a believer who wanted to grow in his faith. That was the number one most important thing when it came to a man she could lo—

  She reigned in those wild thoughts before they ran somewhere dangerous.

  “I won’t keep you here if there’s a place you always sit.”

  She shook her head. “I typically sit closer to the front, but I’d rather stay here today.” Would he think she meant with him? “In the back where less people can see me,” she clarified. “I hate crying in front of people.”

  His gaze traveled over her face. “You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

  She blushed and put the tissue up to her cheeks. As it was still wadded up, it did not cover much. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I think—”

  Organ music announced the first song. Meagan stood and tried to focus, to gain a higher perspective. She sang the hymns, and shook hands during fellowship time. During the sermon, the pastor talked about the Good Shepherd and Meagan spent the time praying to Him for guidance and care. Never had she felt more like a lamb in need of carrying.

  38

  Sunday, January 4

  12:00 p.m.

  “What do you do for lunch on Sundays?”

  The service had ended and Meagan, a little more clear-headed, stood and took the arm Cole offered. “The bath lady stays with Grandpa till three. I think she likes taking a break and watching church services on TV with him. So I go to a little cafe near here. They have a sunroom that makes me feel like I’m sitting outside and getting fresh air.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Hey, Meagan!”

  Meagan turned to see their Sunday school visitor headed her way. “Hi...Stephanie, right?”

  Tugging on her dress, the woman was out of breath by the time she caught up. She leaned over to adjust one of her spiked heels. Her feet had to hurt. “I was wondering if you and I could talk over a cup of coffee, or—” She stood and stepped back, her mouth open. “Oh!” Cole had turned and Meagan looked to see his face register surprise as well. Odd.

  Meagan looked from one to the other. “I was going to the cafe down the street, and—”

  “The one with the sunroom?” Stephanie sent a nervous glance toward Cole. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “We could meet there,” Meagan said. “Cole, do you want to meet us there, too?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  They walked across the street and to the parking lot. Meagan noticed a black Sedan parked beside her little bug. “Did you get a new car?”

  Cole looked the vehicle over like women looked at the new jade earrings for sale at Rahab’s Rope. “I wish. I’ll probably only get enough money from insurance to buy something used, not to mention I’ll have to replace all the CDs which drowned with the car, and my jacket.”

  “Hard to conceal-and-carry when you’re wearing a sweater,” Stephanie commented, then her gaze skittered like she’d said something wrong.

  Meagan’s eyes felt swollen and her brain seemed headed for the same fate. “Do you two...know each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Cole shrugged, but he sent a glance toward Stephanie that anyone could see had a question in it. “Her hus—”

  “We met at a bar,” Stephanie interjected. “A long time ago.” Megan let the awkward silence linger. “Well,” Stephanie said with a bright smile. “I’ll see you there.” She took off, her speed hindered by her shoes.

  Cole offered Meagan a ride but she shook her head. “No thanks. I’d rather drive.”

  She opened her door and was about to climb in when Cole’s phone beeped. He checked it and frowned. “It’s a text. Quinn says I need to come in to the FBI office. Steve’s found something important and wants me to look at it.” He reached out his hand, as if to touch her cheek, but pulled it back and adjusted his sleeves, rotating his shoulder. “I guess I have to take a rain check on lunch.”

  Meagan rubbed her eyes. “I hope he found the real suspect, and this will all be over soon.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help end this for you.” He put his large hand onto her shoulder. “Try to take it easy today,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  She whispered her thanks with a tremulous smile, and watched him go with a sigh.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  12:00 p.m.

  Lucias’ body shook with barely controlled rage. If he didn’t have everything set up so beautifully, so perfectly, he’d allow the boil inside him to erupt and destroy Cole Fleming right where he stood between Lucias’ new Sedan and Meagan Winston’s car.

  His hand, Lucias’ hand, had touched her today. It was the first time. Such a meaningful moment. Lucias had discovered the church had a three-minute break between songs when people walked around shaking hands or hugging one another. Fellowship, they called it. It was the reason Lucias had come inside. When the man told them to shake hands, Lucias had walked down the aisle behind the pews to where she sat in the back on the opposite side. He had put his hand out. Held hers inside his. It was almost more than he could bear.

  And she had not cared. Had hardly looked at him. She had missed the entire moment because of Cole Fleming, who’d had the gall to ask her a question just then and divert her attention back to him.

  Lucias imagined ways of watching Cole die, laughing inside as his ideas graduated from generic to gruesome. That man would regret taking Meagan from him. He would beg forgiveness for daring to put his arm around her. Lucias put his hands into a circle and squeezed tight. Cole would pay. Meagan was vulnerable right now. Lucias didn’t blame her for wanting someone near, for feeling lonely. Didn’t he understand that feeling?

  By tomorrow at this time, she would understand that it was Lucias she should lean on, Lucias she should cling to.

  He cheered inside when she shook her head no at Cole and started to get into her car. He knew where she would go, where she always went on Sunday afternoons. If Cole Fleming would just walk away, Lucias could get into his
new car and go be with her. The thought of touching her soft skin again made his breathing quicken.

  The parking lot cleared. Cole drove away in Steve Campbell’s car and Meagan left in her VW bug. Lucias made his way to the new black vehicle that matched his new black suit and the shiny black weapon concealed under it. All just like Cole Fleming’s, only better in every way.

  39

  Sunday, January 4

  12:40 p.m.

  “I’m sorry about your friend in India.” Stephanie sipped her latte, relieved to hear Cole wouldn’t be coming. She tried to think how Steve would manipulate the conversation to get the information he wanted. “Do you go out there a lot?”

  Meagan stirred honey into her hot chai tea. “Twice a year. It’s always strange coming back, getting used to things costing so much and people being so different.”

  “So you...spend time with a lot of Indian people while you’re there?”

  “Certainly. Our Indian partners are amazing. Most of the time we’re learning from them rather than the other way around. We have access to more resources than they do, and think of ourselves as suppliers and mediators from the people who care here in America, to the people working in the trenches in India.”

  “Is there—is there a certain person who is in charge out there?”

  “Several.” Meagan went on to describe the work, and then began talking about the children, and Stephanie had no idea how to get her back on track. Steve should have just interrogated her. He was good at bullying people into giving him what he wanted.

  Except her, she realized. He hadn’t been able to get her to give him much of anything but a lot of heartache. He was a jerk sometimes. Most times lately. But never intentionally cruel. She caught herself tearing up.