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

by Kimberly Rae

  “You were either yesterday or this morning. Your eyes look like overripe tomatoes.”

  She lifted her head. “Thanks.”

  He patted her hand then held up the newspaper like he was displaying it for a report. “First thing: the soldier who gave this information did not give his name, which makes me doubt his word. Second: this entire article is based on the unnamed soldier’s word. There are no quotes from other soldiers, superior officers, or eyewitnesses. Third: the so-called journalist created conclusions based on conjecture, not facts.” He smacked the headline and dropped the paper to lay across his lap. “The entire piece is highly suspect and brings to mind the old but wise adage, don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  “But Pops, this is just the last straw. Quinn already told me...” Meagan slumped in her chair and wiped at her eyes. “He told me terrible things about Cole. Things I don’t want to believe, but how can I not with them all piling up like—like—”

  “It seems to me someone might be trying to discredit him.”

  A machine behind Pop’s head beeped a staccato rhythm. A nurse entered and Meagan gestured to the piece of equipment, one of about twenty connected to her grandfather. “Is something wrong?”

  “His oxygen monitor just got dislodged.” The nurse smiled and clamped a small device back onto Pop’s middle finger. “Most of these machines make strange noises. Don’t worry, if something was really wrong, you’d know it.”

  She exited and Meagan resumed her slouch on the chair. Both her physical and emotional state seemed defined by fatigue. “I can’t see it being a big conspiracy,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “There are too many angles. Why would anyone go to that much trouble?”

  Her grandfather pushed a button on the side rail to elevate the foot of his bed. “We could try to figure this out all day, but there’s really only one question to answer and one thing to do.”

  “Let me guess. The question is, when am I going to learn that a man who seems too good to be true probably is, and the thing to do is to never be stupid enough to let my heart get involved again.”

  He chuckled. “You’re pretty stuck on this guy, aren’t you?”

  She sighed. “What’s the one question, Pops?”

  He rolled up the newspaper and sent it flying. It hit the wall and missed the trash can by a foot. “Have you prayed about him?”

  “Yes.” She’d been up most of the night. “What’s the one thing to do?”

  He pushed the call button for the nurse and asked for a cup of vanilla pudding. The nurse answered no to the pudding but said she would bring him some crackers, her voice at such a high volume Meagan wanted to plug her ears. Did she think the speaker was broken? He adjusted his pillow and said, “The Bible gives clear instructions on what to do in a situation where someone has wronged you. You go to them and tell them what they’ve done.”

  “But he knows what he’s done.”

  “That’s the instructions. You go to them, and tell them what they’ve done, and give them a chance to ask forgiveness.”

  “But Pops—”

  He reached over the bed rail and took her hand. “In all my years, Meagan, whenever I have obeyed these instructions, either the person has repented and asked forgiveness, or the person explained the truth of the situation and I found out I had been the one misjudging them. Either way, the relationship was restored. Remember that skinny little woman who came and cleaned the house for us when your grandmother first got cancer?”

  “Yes. Her name was Valerie. What does she have to do with—?”

  “She dropped a figurine one day. Her hands had arthritis and they cramped up on her. The figurine broke and she felt terrible, but your grandma said it wasn’t important, and she meant it. A few months went by and your grandmother hired someone else to come and clean. The first lady—Valerie—she told someone who told someone else who told your grandma that she knew it was because of that figurine she broke. Your grandma was so upset; she didn’t care a whit about the dumb little ceramic thing. She called the woman right away and explained. You see, your grandma had heard that Valerie’s knees had been giving her trouble and didn’t want to make things worse for her by asking her to clean a house with so many stairs.”

  “This is about things a lot more important than a broken figurine, Grandpa.”

  “The point is to not decide you know the truth before you ask the person directly involved.”

  “But people lie. How are you supposed to know if they’re lying?”

  “That’s what the praying part is for.” He gripped her hand. “Meagan, I’ve prayed for you since the moment I heard you existed inside your mother. I have asked God to watch over you and guide you. I know He has not left you, not one moment, since you became His. He will help you know the truth.”

  She put her cheek against his hand. “I’m afraid to trust my heart.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, his voice kind. “You can’t trust your own heart. But you can trust God’s.”

  The nurse returned carrying a tray laden with crackers, water, and a small paper container of pills. “The excitement never ends around here,” he muttered. “I’m going to eat this unappealing snack, then take a nice long nap until they come to poke and prod me some more.” He swallowed the pills. “You get going,” he told Meagan. “Go home and get a nap yourself. When you wake up, give that man a call and find out the truth. It may be just as bad as it seems, or it may not. But don’t decide on another person’s word.”

  “Okay, Pops.” She rose and kissed his cheek. “Keep praying.”

  “I will. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me.” He looked down at his tray. “I’ll be right here, with my measly packet of crackers. If you come back, bring me a sliver of pie, would you?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Aw, come on. The rapture could come at any minute. I don’t want this to be my last meal.”

  The nurse started on a lecture about blood sugar management. Meagan left the hospital room and shuffled down the corridor to the exit doors. She was thankful it would be a short drive home. She needed sleep, a few hours where she could forget Cole Fleming and Steve Campbell and the frightening man who left his picture in her rocking chair.

  The drive was uneventful, but the moment her home came into view, Meagan knew she would get neither sleep nor the desired hours of forgetfulness.

  Steve Campbell sat on her porch.

  __________________________

  Monday, January 5

  9:15 a.m.

  Could fury turn to heat, Lucias’ binoculars would melt and meld to his eyes. Steve Campbell had walked into Meagan’s house—his Meagan’s house—picking her lock like a common criminal. Steve would see her kitchen, her bathroom, her bedroom. That was Lucias’ dream. For Steve to see it first burned within him like hate, a spark that ignited when Steve’s partner stepped out of their car holding a distinct cardboard box wrapped in yellow paper with daisies on it.

  Lucias pulled away without them seeing. He ignored the speed limit and dared the law to follow him back to his trailer. He left the engine running and tore inside, his eyes swinging left and right. In his living room, only forty-six torn portions of Claudia’s photos lay on the floor. They had taken one. Lucias knew which one; he had them all memorized. Had they taken Meagan’s? Her framed photograph remained perched on the end table near the couch, but it stood at the wrong angle. They had touched it. Touched her.

  He ran to the bedroom, his breath clogged in his throat, and was able to release it only when he saw that her face, her smile, on his bedroom wall had not been marred or a portion of it taken. He spread his palm on the bottom ridge of her lower lip and rested his head against her cheek. “Why are they at your house, my love?” he whispered. What could they want with her?

  His clothes lay scattered across the floor. Someone had searched under his bed. His heart began to race. Had they found Claudia’s box? He dropped t
o his knees and dug through the remaining clothes under the bed. It was gone. He rotated and jerked the bottom drawer of his dresser open. He had not been imagining it. Steve had taken his box. His most precious possession.

  Lucias’ hands were shaking as he dialed Meagan’s number. She did not answer, but he could not wait. The FBI could arrive any minute. “Meagan,” he said when the phone went to voicemail. His voice was breathless, but he tried to keep from sounding afraid. “They’ve been here, to my house. They’ve seen you here. They have your letters. You have to get away. Don’t go home. He’s there. Go someplace safe. I’ll contact you when I have a place for us.”

  He hung up and stood. He should pack, but there was no time, and Steve Campbell had what he needed most. Lucias raced back through the house, stopping only to take the framed photo of Meagan and a pillow from the couch. Motel pillows were always too thick. They suffocated him.

  What about money? Hiring his source to get the information from the FBI and leak the story about Cole Fleming to the papers had cost everything he’d had left. He would have to go to Atlanta and get a quick deal to run, just enough to get him through a day or two, until he could safely return.

  “Don’t give up, Meagan,” he said aloud. His trailer shrunk to toy size in his rearview mirror. “I’m coming back for you.”

  44

  Monday, January 5

  9:15 a.m.

  Meagan stood several feet from the porch steps, wary of approaching her own home. “Steve, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” she said.

  Steve rocked the chair back and forth with a false air of calm. His entire body was rigid. “I have something to talk to you about, too.”

  The way he said it, the way his fingers clenched, made her not want to come any closer. Why was he at her house anyway? “Quinn called me yesterday,” she said. “He told me—”

  At the sound of wheels on gravel, Meagan turned and saw Steve’s car. “Oh no,” she whispered. She whirled quickly to Steve. “Is it really true, what you told Quinn to tell me about him?”

  Steve frowned. “About who?”

  “About Cole. In Iraq.” She gripped her purse in front of her like a protective shield. “And with his sister. Is it true?”

  Cole parked the car nearer the house than was practical and in one smooth move was out and on his way toward Steve, newspaper in hand. He barely glanced at Meagan. “Why did you do it, Steve?” he said, his voice low and hard.

  “Do what?” Steve stood, transferring his frown from Meagan to Cole.

  Meagan stumbled out of the way when Cole marched to the porch steps, up them, and stood eye-to-eye with Steve. “I want to know why the guy who used to be my best friend just lied my name through the mud.”

  “What are you talking about? Who lied? About what?”

  Cole shoved the newspaper, and Steve, into the rocking chair with such force Meagan feared it would topple. Steve gripped the arm rails and kicked to find footing. Cole stood over him as Steve looked at the paper in his lap and Meagan saw his face go white. “Where did you get this?” Steve’s voice was hollow.

  “It’s the cover story on every paper in the city.”

  “I didn’t do this, Cole.” Steve looked up at him. “I swear, I never—”

  Cole snatched the paper back and shook it in Steve’s face. “No one else could have. And what were you talking about, lying to rescue me? What did you think I needed you to lie for?”

  Steve threw his arms out. “That woman seduced you just like the real Delilah! You gave secret information about our location to her. Do you know what the military does with soldiers who collaborate with terrorists? Somebody had to save you.”

  Cole gripped Steve’s shoulder and Meagan saw pain cross Steve’s countenance. “You actually believe that I gave away our envoy’s location to a woman I knew worked for the enemy? You think I would send my own men to die because she—” His voice held disgust. “—turned my head?”

  “Did-didn’t she?” Steve tried to pull his shoulder out from under Cole’s palm but couldn’t. “I didn’t tell the press, Cole. I vowed to myself I’d never tell.”

  “This has gone too far, Steve. Whatever—”

  Meagan let out a cry of alarm when her own front door opened and Quinn stepped outside. “What are you doing in my house?” she asked. Three men were on her porch and she was still on the ground, as if they had taken possession and she was now a stranger needing an invitation. She moved to the bottom of the stairs. “And Steve, why did you have Quinn call to tell me those terrible things about Cole, instead of telling me yourself?”

  Quinn’s gaze scanned from Steve to Cole to her. “I didn’t call you,” he said. “I don’t even know your number.”

  “You texted me yesterday,” Cole put in. “Told me to come to the office because Steve had something important to show me.” He held up the paper. “Was it this? Because it would have been nice if you’d let me in the building when I came so I could have stopped this pile of trash from getting printed.”

  “What are you talking about?” Quinn let the screen door go and it banged shut behind him. “I don’t know your number either.”

  Cole turned to Meagan. She noticed he had bought a new jacket. This one fit his wide shoulders. “What terrible things did he tell you?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I didn’t tell her anything!”

  She climbed the steps but Cole still towered over her. “He said I’d know by what the papers said this morning that you were a liar. And he said...he said...” Her eyes stung.

  “Maybe she’s organized this entire thing to try to get us off the investigation.” Steve joined Quinn at the door. “What did you find?”

  “She who?” Meagan asked. “Me? Why would I make up something to break my own heart?”

  “Meagan...” Cole moved close. He held out the paper. “This isn’t what really happened.”

  “Your job,” she cut in, hearing Quinn say her name to Steve behind her but too intent on Cole’s dark green eyes to care. “Tell me the truth. Do you—do you work with—with—” She swallowed, took in a long breath, and let it out in the question she dreaded to have answered. “Does your work have something to do with—with—pornography?”

  His forehead creased and his eyes looked deep into hers. “Meagan, it’s not what you think.”

  “Is it true?” She gulped down a sob. “Yes or no?”

  The newspaper got crushed, inch by inch, as he clenched his fingers into a fist, flexed them, then clenched again. “Yes, but not the way it sounds.”

  The sob she had stifled rose again. She felt it tear through her and there was no hiding the crushed hopes in the sound that emerged. “How can there be any way that isn’t terrible?” She backed away when he tried to touch her arm. “Go away, Cole Fleming. Do not ever come near me again. I will pray that Sadie never learns the truth, and—”

  “Sadie?” He was near again, this time with flame in his eyes. “You will not tell Sadie anything about what I do.”

  She moaned and staggered through the three men to open the screen door.

  “Stop for a minute,” Steve announced. He put out his hands, one palm against Cole’s chest, one out toward Meagan. “Cole, I plan to find out who’s behind this story getting leaked to the press, but right now we’ve got more important priorities that have to be dealt with.”

  “More important?” Meagan watched a muscle work in Cole’s jaw. Would her heart ever heal from this? From him? She went inside.

  “Meagan Winston.” Steve followed her and Quinn followed him.

  “You should ask before you come in somebody’s house.” Meagan rubbed her aching temples and went to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator. Where had she put the cold pack? Oh, she’d taken it to Pops that morning in case he needed it.

  “We have a warrant.”

  She grimaced and searched through the junk drawer for something to knock the edge off her headache. “Have at it. I haven’t received any more flowers, bu
t see if you can find something else interesting.”

  “We already have.” Quinn motioned for Steve to come with him into the hall. Meagan filled a glass of water and downed two pills. She left the kitchen to find them and saw Cole through the open front door on her way by. He still stood on the porch with the crumpled newspaper in his hand. For the sake of her pounding head, she refrained from yelling at him to go away.

  Quinn and Steve stood near the coffee table in the living room. Quinn held a box wrapped in faded yellow paper covered in little white flowers. “That’s not mine,” Meagan said of the box.

  “We know.” Steve reached down to the table and picked up the photograph that still ran chills down her spine. “But this is.”

  “That’s the thing I need to talk to you about,” she said. “Some guy—” Her phone rang in her purse, still slung over her shoulder, and the ring echoed in her head. She set her purse down on the couch and pointed at the photo. “He left this yesterday when I was—”

  Steve flipped the photograph over and read the words, then said, “We’ve got his picture in your home, a note from him to you, this box of notes from you to him, and—”

  “What?” Meagan crossed to stand on the opposite side of the coffee table. “What notes?”

  Quinn pulled out one of the papers in the box and opened it. Cole entered the room but Meagan ignored him. “My dearest Lucias,” Quinn read. “Thank you for protecting me from the two men who were bothering me today. I think you are smart and I can’t wait until the day we are together, forever. With love, Meagan.”

  She had to pull her dropped jaw up enough to speak. “I didn’t write that! I don’t even know this guy!”

  “He left you flowers that had opium in the water,” Quinn said.

  “Opium?” Meagan’s legs would not hold her up. She dropped onto the couch.

  “Your face is plastered all over his bedroom wall,” Steve added.

  “It is?” Cole asked. Steve pulled out his phone, swiped it twice, and showed it to Cole.