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

by Kimberly Rae

  “Are you okay?” Meagan reached across and touched her hand. “You seem to be remembering something sad.”

  She was never going to get a name out of Meagan Winston, so she gave up and said, wistful longing in her voice, “I...had a baby...almost. She was five months along.” She hadn’t talked about the baby to anyone but Steve. “I was going to name her Rebecca Anne.” She put her head in her hands. “How can you love God when He takes away the thing you want most in the world?”

  “Oh, Stephanie, I’m so sorry.”

  Stephanie felt the grief well up, still as fresh as the day it happened. “People say time makes it better. They lie. Nothing will make it better.” She lifted her head and said with raw emotion, “And I want to just scream and scream at God for letting it happen.” She heard her own words and stood to her feet. “I should go. I’ve probably blasphemed or something and you don’t even know me and here I am unloading on you...”

  Meagan grasped her arm. “Stay, please. I understand. More importantly, I think God understands.”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “Shouldn’t you get struck by lightning for saying something like that?”

  Meagan smiled. “If so, a lot of the people in the Bible would be fried to a crisp.” She pulled a small Bible out of her large purse and opened it to somewhere in the middle. “Stephanie, I go to India and see horrible things, things I don’t tell anyone when I come back. People want to hear the good stories, the rescue stories. They don’t want to know the terrifying darkness some of these women live in every day. The suffering of the children. Sometimes I want to shout up to heaven and ask where God is and why He has abandoned those people.”

  Stephanie sat back down. “You do? Really?”

  Meagan nodded. “On this last trip I met a family in the brothels that had lived there three generations. The little girl’s mother was a prostitute, her grandmother had been a prostitute, and her great-grandmother. The little boy’s father was a pimp, along with his grandfather and great-grandfather. They wouldn’t even consider the option of their children leaving that filthy, disgusting place. Talked like it was an honor to continue the family business. Like it would be good when the boy was old enough to negotiate the sale of his sister’s body. I have never felt so helpless in my life. Where was God? Didn’t He care about these kids? Didn’t He care when the generation before were kids, and the one before that?”

  Stephanie could only nod. She was surprised when Meagan pulled a worn, folded sheet of paper from her Bible and slid it across the table to her.

  “I take this with me every trip, verses from God’s Word, so I don’t give in to despair.”

  Stephanie turned the paper to face her and read aloud, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from helping Me, and from the words of My groaning? O My God, I cry in the daytime, but You do not hear; and in the night season, and am not silent.” She looked up at Meagan. “That’s exactly how I feel,” she whispered.

  Meagan nodded. “Keep reading.”

  “He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; nor has He hidden His face from Him; but when He cried to Him, He heard.” When was the last time she had cried out to anyone but Steve? She skimmed the next sections on the paper. The words went from despair to hope, from fear of God’s silence to assurance of His presence. At the end were three final words: “God is love.”

  “You may have given up on God,” Meagan said softly, “but He hasn’t given up on you.” Her phone rang in her purse, but she ignored it. “I told you what I did about India so you would know I’m not throwing you a hollow platitude to make you feel better. God loves you, Stephanie. He was with you when you lost your baby.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He hurt with you.”

  The phone rang a second time. Stephanie put a napkin to her eyes and tried to keep from weeping. “Go ahead and answer it,” she said. “I need a minute.”

  “Okay.” Meagan pulled her phone out and put it to her ear. “Hello? Quinn, is something wrong?”

  She walked away. Stephanie eventually lowered the napkin and went back to the top of the paper, reading through the words again, wondering if God could truly be near as Meagan said.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  12:50 p.m.

  “Listen carefully, this is important.”

  Meagan stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind her to block the noise inside the sunroom. “Quinn, you don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on?” He’d summoned Cole, and now was calling her? Why wasn’t Steve the one on the phone?

  “Steve told me to call you. He couldn’t get himself to tell you in person. Meagan, you need to stay away from Cole Fleming.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  “Cole Fleming is not who he pretends to be. He is not a good man.”

  Meagan grasped an outdoor bench. “But Steve’s been working with him. They grew up together—”

  “The FBI has been trying to catch him for years. Steve has pretended to be his friend to get close to him and find out things.”

  “Like what?”

  “That’s classified.” Quinn’s voice sounded muffled, like he was outside talking in the wind. It was a clear day where she was. “Has he ever told you about his real job?”

  She winced. “No.”

  “Has he ever told you about the bombing of his battalion in Iraq?”

  “N-no, but I read about it...”

  “He doesn’t talk about it to keep from incriminating himself. Steve is telling the papers everything right now. The story will be all over the place tomorrow. We’re trying to get Cole to play his hand.”

  Meagan fought dizziness. She held onto the bench and vaguely noticed a car just like Cole’s parked across the street. But Cole’s car was in the river. A blond-haired man in a slim-legged black suit talked on his phone next to the car. She grasped on the thought that he should wear a coat. A couple walked by, the girl gushing over something the boy said. They didn’t look cold either. Neither did the old man hobbling across the street. What was the temperature? She was shivering.

  Quinn continued talking, warning her away from Cole, suggesting she call the police if he tried to come near her.

  “This can’t be true, Quinn.” Meagan dropped onto the bench. “It can’t be.”

  “It is, Meagan. Cole Fleming is bad. If you don’t believe me, I guess I’ll have to tell you—well, Steve told me not to tell, but—”

  “But what?” Meagan leaned forward, hugging her knees. “What, Quinn?”

  “Cole’s job, the reason he keeps it secret, the reason he keeps his sister holed up away from everybody.”

  The tears were falling before he said a word. “No...” she whispered.

  “It’s porn. He drugs girls and takes pictures of them. He got his start at a slumber party years ago, using his sister as bait to get other girls. His dad sent him away to Baghdad to protect her.”

  “No,” she said more firmly and stood. She put a hand over her mouth so he would not hear the sob breaking from her. “No, I don’t believe you. Sadie said—”

  “Cole’s sister was doped up at the time. She wouldn’t remember anything that really happened. He’s probably been getting close to you to get access to more girls. Just get a newspaper in the morning. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow in black and white that he’s a liar.”

  Meagan hung up the phone. She couldn’t hear any more. In a daze, she looked around and tried to remember where she was. She glanced through the window of the cafe and saw Stephanie sitting at a table inside, the paper of Bible verses Meagan clung to most in her hand. Meagan needed that paper.

  Back inside, a rush of uncomfortable heat blasted her from an overhead vent. She took wooden steps to their table. “Stephanie, I’m sorry, I have to go. Something has...happened.”

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stephanie said.

  “Worse.” Meagan couldn’t ask for the paper bac
k. Stephanie needed it. She would go home and write a new one, a longer one. It would give her mind something to do while her heart broke.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Stephanie stood and put a hand on her arm. “What happened?”

  Meagan could barely form the words. “The thing I feared most just found me.”

  40

  Sunday, January 4

  2:00 p.m.

  Meagan drove aimlessly for an hour. She turned off the praise CD in her car. She ignored the ringing phone. Numb from the heart out, guilt finally propelled her toward home. She had stayed away longer than usual and Pops might be worried.

  Through the fog in her mind, she heard the sound of an ambulance behind her and pulled off the road to let it pass, then continued on her way. How was she going to keep Pops from knowing she was in pieces? It would be wrong to fake a headache. On second thought, she wouldn’t have to fake anything. Her head pounded and nausea crawled up her stomach. She could set him up with a good movie and he’d nap in the recliner most of the afternoon. She’d escape to her room and...and what? Pray? Cry? Grieve the loss of newly born hopes?

  Part of her still said none of it could be true. He could not be so duplicitous to have fooled all of them. But how could she refute the information? Quinn knew things that no one but Steve could know.

  The sound from the ambulance siren did not recede into the distance. As she turned onto her drive, it got louder. “Oh no,” she whispered, reaching across the passenger seat to grab her phone out of her purse. She looked at the missed calls. Four from home. No, please. Please.

  She pressed her foot on the gas pedal. The house came into view, an ambulance and fire truck parked in front of it. The siren stopped but red lights flashed across the yard like heralds of doom. She parked the car and ran. The bath lady met her on the front porch. “Meagan! I was worried. I tried to call you a bunch of times.”

  “Is he okay?” Her voice came out like a little child’s. A frightened child’s.

  “It’s nothing terrible,” the woman said, her hands reaching out to grasp Meagan’s arms. Meagan had seen her do that to Pops more than once. It was a calming gesture, meant to reassure and help the person focus.

  It did not work today. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” Two paramedics came through the door guiding a stretcher. “Oh, Pops.” Meagan rushed to his side.

  “Aw, don’t you worry. Nothing happened worth all this fuss and noise,” her grandfather said. She was relieved to see his speech was not impaired. It wasn’t a stroke. “A guy gets a few pains and some extra pitter-patter in the gizzard, and she calls in the cavalry.” He chuckled. “It was probably just that pizza we ate yesterday.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be in danger,” the bath lady said. Her name was Angela but Meagan never thought of her by her name. “But I wanted to take him in and get him checked out, just in case. If this is a pre-heart attack, maybe we can head it off at the pass.”

  Meagan’s chest was experiencing its own pain. “Are you taking him to the hospital?”

  “I want him to get checked in for at least twenty-four hours.” She put her hands out. “Don’t get scared. It’s just a precaution. I have other patients I have to see, and he needs to be monitored until we’re sure everything is stable.”

  She nodded. She knew she was in no condition to be trusted to take care of anyone right then. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll change and go straight to the hospital.”

  “Don’t. Give yourself a couple of hours at least. They won’t let you in until after they’re done running tests. There’s no sense wearing yourself out in a waiting room. You know how long these things can last sometimes.”

  The paramedics had Grandpa strapped inside the ambulance. Pops lifted his hand and opened his mouth. She waited for words of wisdom. Something to hang on to.

  “If I die, I’ll be surprised,” he called out. She laughed for his sake. They closed the doors and the ambulance drove away, lights still flashing but sirens off. That was reassuring. The sirens would be blaring if they felt any sense of urgency.

  The fire truck cleared out and an unnatural silence fell over the area. “It’s going to be okay,” the bath lady said.

  Nothing is okay. Meagan forced a smile and waved as the woman made her way to her blue van and drove on to other people in need. Meagan stood in the cold, not wanting to go inside the empty house, but not wanting to stay outside either. Her phone rang. Afraid Pops might have digressed to a heart attack already, she accepted the call.

  She should have checked the number. The last person she wanted to talk to was Cole Fleming.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  2:30 p.m.

  “Meagan, it’s Cole. I hope I’m not interrupting your time with Stephanie.”

  “N-no.”

  She sounded like her nose was stuffed up, or she’d been crying again. He felt a pang of sympathy. She’d had a rough day.

  His own was turning out not rough, but confusing. He had arrived at the FBI office to a set of locked doors. Steve wouldn’t answer his phone, and Cole tried calling the number Quinn had used to text him, but no one responded to it either. “I’m sorry for having to run out on you. I was looking forward to lunch together. Are you free for dinner?”

  “No.”

  He waited for more information, but all he heard was a sniff and then the sound of her blowing her nose from a distance.

  “Um, how are the pipes holding up?”

  “Fine.”

  “How’s your Grandpa doing? He’s a great guy. I’d like to get to talk with him again sometime.”

  “You can’t.” Her voice broke. “He’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “Oh no.” He had walked back to Steve’s car. It was going to be nice when insurance got back with him and he could get a vehicle of his own again. “Can I help? Would you like some company at the hospital?”

  “No.”

  He could hear her crying and it tore into him to think of her alone. “Meagan, I’ve got all evening free. I’d like to be there for you if I can. I could bring supper, or—”

  “No, Cole. I don’t—you can’t—” Something slammed in the background. “I don’t want you to come.”

  Her voice was colder than the weather outside. “Meagan, can you explain?” Something had changed. “Is this about what Stephanie said about the bar? We did meet at one, but that was because I showed up to get St—her future husband. He got drunk and passed out on the floor near the pool table the night before their wedding. I tossed him over my shoulder and took him home, where he woke up enough to say he was terrified of getting married. Then he threw up all over my shoes. Not my favorite memory.”

  “Please, Cole.” He heard her let out a little sob. “Don’t call me anymore. I know everything.”

  The phone went dead. She’d hung up on him. Cole put his hands out in a gesture of sheer bafflement, then had to grab the steering wheel to keep from running off the road.

  “What just happened?” he asked aloud. He wracked his brain through the ride home, but arrived no closer to an answer, just a feeling of great loss.

  __________________________

  Sunday, January 4

  2:45 p.m.

  Lucias didn’t like to see Meagan cry, but it was for the best. She hadn’t known Cole Fleming long, so it would not take much to forget him. Lucias, however, had been with Meagan for years. His attachment to her was strong and lasting. He held his binoculars up to his eyes and watched with glee as she turned to go inside her home but then noticed the manila envelope he’d left on the seat of the rocking chair on the porch. She bent to retrieve it, looking it over on both sides. He had not written her address or a return address on it, just her name, in flowery letters he’d taken painstaking care to create and place in perfect lines on the envelope.

  She sat on the rocking chair and Lucias exulted. It would be much harder to see her facial expressions if she went inside to open it. She tore the side edge an
d pulled out the photo. His heart beat so hard it almost burst through his chest. She was looking at him, at Lucias’ face, for the first time. This morning had not counted. She had not really seen him. This was the moment he’d imagined. This was the beginning of their love story. Now she knew who had wooed her. He had written his love on the back of the photograph. She was turning it over now.

  Her eyes went wide and his heart soared. She was surprised. She was not crying anymore. Her heart must be telling her that Cole Fleming did not matter. Not at all. She had someone else who loved her. Someone who had proven it. Soon she would smile and he would know pure joy.

  She stood and, before he had a chance to think what it meant, went inside. She closed the front door and he could no longer see her face. Could not see her smile.

  He readied the car to move to another location where he could look in through the bay window, but the shades to the window shut as he watched. Right before his eyes, shades, blinds and curtains closed all over the house. What was she doing?

  With a loud curse, he threw his binoculars. They cracked against the passenger window of the car then fell onto the seat. He yelled and banged his hand against the dashboard. She was not supposed to do that. He needed to see her. How could he know how she felt about his photograph if she hid inside the house?

  Her grandfather was gone. She was alone. If it had been any other day, he would go to her now. It would have been the perfect moment. Just the two of them. In her home. He’d get to see her room, where she slept. His pulse raced. He wanted to go now. He wanted his perfect moment today.

  But then all his work would be wasted. He had to wait until the plan unfolded completely. Everything was in place. After tomorrow morning, he would act. Tomorrow afternoon, he could prove in person what he’d written on the back of his photo.

  “Soon you will be with me. Forever.”

  41

  Monday, January 5

  8:30 a.m.