by H. L. Wegley
“Can I plead the fifth?”
“So, we really do need Wes for, you know …” Two weeks ago, she would have never believed Alejandro Santiago would make such an admission. But now she was Allie, Jeff's Allie. Their chemistry and, at a much deeper level, their emotional bonding, with a spiritual component, was far stronger than anything she had ever experienced.
Jeff had captured her mind and her heart. Nothing could ever change that, could it? Not even Jeff’s interrupted revelation, some story about himself that he hadn’t yet told her?
Chapter 21
Jeff slid his arm back into the sling, then wiggled it into touch-typing position.
“Wait, Jeff.” Allie scooted her chair against his and gently removed the sling from his arm.
“What are you doing? I need to rest my—”
“Relax.” She slid her hands under his forearm, supporting it. “Is that better?”
“Do you really want better, Allie?”
The warmth in her eyes derailed his train of thought.
Allie looked down at his arm supported by her hands. “Let's save 'better' for later. Now, try typing.”
What had he been ready to do? The search terms. He typed in immigration, asylum, and citizenship then clicked the search icon. “Let's see what this search returns. Both you and your family need to stay here in the U.S. legally. With a little luck, this search will show us all the paths to citizenship.”
“Open up the article on political asylum, Jeff. Let's see what it has to say. The SWAT team leader told me about asylum prison, or as he called it, asylum hell.”
“I saw a movie about that. An Afghan woman escaped the Taliban. They were going to kill her, but when she asked for asylum in the U.S., the way we treated her almost killed her. Killed her spirit and her hope. Then a lawyer helped her. That's what we need, a lawyer, and I think we may have one.”
He reached for the phone.
“Remember, it's bugged.”
“So. I don't need to be secretive about this.”
She pointed at the laptop display. “Let's read a little more. It will help when we're talking to a lawyer.”
He put the phone down and scrolled down the page. “Here's a refugee guide for seeking asylum. Even the temporary protected status it mentions would help. Let's take a look before we throw out this option, because this is really who your parents are, refugees.”
“There's a list of approved countries for refugees. But, Jeff, it doesn't include Mexico.”
“Then here's another angle. Your family was trafficked illegally, and they will likely be testifying against the captured cartel members. Look at this.”
She leaned close to him, trying to read the small print.
The scent of Allie, her closeness, the softness of her hair against his cheek— whatever he’d been trying to show her had been interrupted, swapped out of memory like a program on an overloaded computer.
“Listen to this, Jeff.”
Come on, Jacobs. Focus. This is about Allie’s family.
“U Nonimmigrant Status visas allow victims of trafficking and other crimes to remain in the United States so they can assist law enforcement authorities in the investigation or prosecution of the criminal activity.” Allie looked up at him. “It's not permanent status, but maybe it could get my family out of immigration detention and buy enough time to pursue some other path to permanent residency.”
He reached for the phone again. “We’ve raised enough legal issues that I think it's time to consult a lawyer, and I happen to know one … well, sort of.”
“What do you mean by ‘sort of’?”
“He goes to the church I've been attending since I moved back home a few months ago.”
Jeff picked up his phone. “Let's see if Larry Wendell can help us.” Jeff brought up a phone number list on the laptop, then dialed.
“Hi, Larry. This is Jeff Jacobs, the new guy at O'Brien Community.”
“The apologist himself. Thanks for teaching that section of my Sunday School class.” Larry’s end went silent.
Probably waiting to see why Jeff would call a lawyer. “I’ve got a question for you, actually some potential clients. Have you ever gotten involved in immigration law?”
“Only once,” Larry said. “I helped a visitor who was robbed outside of a convenience store in Cave Junction. Lost his ID and visa.”
Jeff gave Larry a nutshell version of the Santiago's situation, including the danger from the drug cartel.
“That’s quite a story. Sounds like a good movie plot. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of your—”
“It’s okay, Larry, provided you give us a two-thumbs-up ending to the plot.”
“Can you stop by my office tomorrow morning?”
“Uh, here's the thing. Their daughter, Allie, and I are under U.S. Marshals' protection at my place. Allie's family is in the Medford Immigration Detention Center.”
“Marshall’s protection and detention … that puts a different light on things.
“Yeah. Tell me about it. But Allie and I found information about U Nonimmigrant Status visas. We wondered if her family would qualify. If so, would that visa get them out of the detention center?”
Larry didn’t respond immediately. What was he thinking?
“Jeff, do they have passports?”
No, their passports were taken by the people who abducted them.”
Larry launched into an explanation of immigration regulations, using acronyms unfamiliar to Jeff, ending with a proposal to visit the Santiago’s in Medford.
Jeff sensed he was smiling when he hung up the phone.
So was Allie. It was good to see her eyes light up. “What did he say?”
“He handled one immigration case a couple of years ago and he would be glad to help, but he needs to do some review. He mentioned CFR and INA, whatever they are. He needs to do a little research, and then talk to you and your parents.”
Allie took his hand. “Do you think we can trust this Larry Wendell? I mean really trust him?”
“From everything I've heard about him, I would trust him. He's a good father, husband, and a good man.”
She sighed. “Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a freight train roaring at us.” She stared at the hand she held, the one attached to Jeff’s injured arm. “I'm sorry. I got so excited I forgot about your arm.” She slid her hands under his left arm.
“It feels a lot better. With a little ibuprofen I can probably put this sling away for good.” He swiveled his chair to face her and his gaze settled on a spot about two inches below her nose.
“Jeff, what are you thinking? If Wes catches us he would harass—”
“Yeah. But we found a lawyer. Let's celebrate tonight. We can send Cliff for takeout. There's a great Thai place in Cave Junction. Then you and I can—”
“Jeff?”
“Yeah.”
“A celebration sounds wonderful. But shouldn’t we be a little, uh …”
Allie was right. Everything about their relationship had moved too fast. And there was a discussion they needed to have, soon. One Jeff dreaded. “You’re right. So why don’t you and I just sample my Mom's record collection tonight. What kind of music do you like?”
“Let me think about that. I haven't heard all the pop music from the U.S., so I can only give you a generic description.”
Jacobs, she’s from another culture, one you know nothing about. You don’t even know what kind of music she likes. You need to slow down, man.
* * *
“C'mon, Allie.” Jeff nodded toward the living room.
Allie's mouth tingled from the spicy takeout Cliff brought for them. She stood and started to gather the dishes.
“Let’s leave them for later.” Jeff took her hand and led her to the long wall unit that spanned one side of the living room. He opened all the doors along the bottom. “Look, twelve hundred LPs and some 45s. Everything from Elvis Presley to Chuck Mangione.”
“I recogniz
e Elvis Presley, but I’m not sure about Chuck whatshisname.”
“You don’t need to know the artists. Like you said, just give me a generic description of your favorite music.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, imagining Jeff and her listening to romantic music. “Beautiful melodies, love ballads where the music swells and isn’t too fast and has meaningful words. Not the fast junk with synthesized rhythm. Acoustic instruments are always better.”
“Generic? That sounded pretty specific to me.” Jeff knelt on the floor and tapped his finger on one end of the ten-foot shelf of vinyl records. “Let’s see. It's coming to me. Something from the '60s. Intensely romantic. It should be about right … here.” He pulled out a record.
“Is this from the hippy era? Folk music?”
He shook his head. “Hippies? They didn’t dress like this.” Jeff tapped the picture on the album cover, showing two men in white jeans and black shirts. “I think you'll really like this song. The title is Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers.”
She followed Jeff to the turntable. “Melody that's completely free, unchained. The title sounds perfect. But, seriously, the Righteous Brothers? Is this religious music?”
“Yeah. Soul music. The religion of love.” He loaded the platter and adjusted the stereo controls. “Wait until you hear it. You’ll see.”
Music rolled out of the stereo system. Incredible sounds for such small speakers. Piano, strings, and a voice expressive and longing. The words took her breath away. Somehow they captured the feelings she had for Jeff, feelings they seemed to share.
Allie wasn’t a dancer, but the melody and the lyrics pulled her in. How could she not dance to this song?
She pulled Jeff away from the wall unit onto the hardwood floor and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Hurry, before the music stops. Put your arms around me.”
His arms circled her shoulders.
They held each other, but nothing else was happening. Could he really be that dense?
“Jeff, step out with your left—”
“You mean like this?”
He had her swaying gently to the music in a few seconds.
In this moment, Allie’s troubles retreated into the distance. She soaked in the words. This sounded like a love letter, written while two people were apart. It expressed one person’s need for the other’s love.
It fit, except Jeff wasn't far away. She pressed her cheek into his chest and listened to the rhythm of his strong heartbeat. He was here, and she needed his love, needed his touch.
As the instruments and the vocalist’s voice swelled in a slow crescendo, like the singer, Allie prayed for God to speed Jeff's love to her.
The singer's voice rose to a high note as the music crescendoed. And Jeff kissed her.
The song’s meaning, its emotional intensity, and the love it conveyed—Jeff’s kiss matched all of it … and more.
Allie closed her eyes, laid her head on Jeff’s shoulder, and savored the moment, a moment she became lost in.
When she found herself again, they were standing in the middle of the living room, still holding each other. But somewhere in the recent past the music had been replaced by a scratching sound, an irritating sound that kept repeating.
“I need to raise the arm before the needle wears out.”
“Can we hear it again? Please, Jeff?”
The front door banged shut.
Cliff's voice rose. “How long ago?”
“Less than five minutes,” Wes's voice came strained and tense, something she hadn’t heard before.
Jeff led her to the wall unit and lifted a lever on the turntable.
“Jeff, something's wrong. I knew it was too good to last.”
Wes stepped into the room. “I hate to break up the ball but, Jeff, you know that root cellar you showed me, the room on the side of your basement?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Take Allie down there, now. Hurry. And don't come out until we tell you to.”
Chapter 22
Take Allie to the cellar? Why?
Jeff stared into Wes's eyes. “You're not helping anyone by keeping secrets, Wes.”
“Let's go. I'll tell you on the way down to the cellar.”
Jeff took Allie's hand and hurried to the basement door, then started down the narrow stairs.
“A trooper spotted a fifth wheel being pulled up a county road five miles to the east of here. It's not far from some camping areas, so he didn't stop the driver.”
Jeff stopped at the cellar door.
Wes pointed at the door. “Don't stand out here, Jeff.”
“There aren't any windows in the basement. We're safe. Finish your story.”
“Take Allie inside, then I'll finish.”
This wasn't making any sense. Were some goons trying to break into the house? He swept Allie through the cellar door with his good arm and followed her into the cellar.
Wes stopped in the doorway. “Later the trooper found the fifth wheel. It was one of those toyhaulers. They had abandoned it. The 'toy' compartment was empty, but there were ATV tracks on the dirt road. They went into the woods, heading to the west.”
“So they're coming after us again.” Jeff blew out a sharp breath. “How many were there?”
Wes shook his head. “We're not sure. We assume one driver and another guy on the ATV. Probably two men. Until we know we've got this situation under control, you two stay down here. I'll come and get you when we’re sure it's safe. Understood?”
“Why the root cellar?” Allie peered around his shoulder at Wes.
“Because my instincts say you need to be down here. I need to help Cliff check out the area around the house before it gets any darker. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
Jeff flipped on the cellar light.
Wes closed the door and left.
Allie's wide eyes stared up at him. “You'll never be safe as long as I'm around.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “How many of their men have seen me?”
Her shoulders dropped and her gaze went to the floor. “At least ten.”
“How many of their men have I hurt or eliminated?”
“You've made your point. Jeff, I just wanted to do something to—”
“You can't take away the danger by some sacrificial act, Allie. So don't even think that way.”
She stepped forward and pressed her head into his chest, crying softly. “I would do anything just to end it.”
“I know you would, sweetheart.” He curled his arms around her. “But it would kill me to lose you now. This could be the cartel’s last-gasp effort to get even or keep us from testifying against them. So let's be careful. We stand to lose so much if …” It wasn’t a sentence Jeff wanted to finish.
“No matter what happens, Jeff, I've found more in the last three days than I ever dreamed possible.”
“Me too. I lost my dreams, then my mother. But you've given me much more than I lost.”
“Could you just hold me now until this part is over?”
He kissed her forehead. “Yeah. I can do that.”
* * *
Allie stood against Jeff, wrapped up in his arms. She hadn’t a clue how long. But Jeff was getting restless. Waiting for something to happen, hoping nothing would, frazzled her nerves, too. To push the worry away, she closed her eyes and focused on their time together in the living room and that song that captured so much of what she felt for Jeff.
When she opened her eyes, the dressing on his wounded left arm loomed only inches from her face. He hadn't complained about it in hours. Still, it could not feel good. She kissed the bulging muscles of Jeff's biceps below the wound, wishing she could remove the pain and the injury.
He shifted his feet and gently lifted her chin. “I'm going upstairs to get an update from Wes or Cliff. They must know something by now. I'll be right back.”
“Please don't go, Jeff. Wes said not to. And I don't want to be down here alone.” She
clamped her arms around him and held on tight. “If something happens to you, I—”
“Nothing's going to happen to me. I'll only be gone one or two minutes max. Maybe it'll be good news. Now, promise me you'll stay right here until I come back.”
“I'll stay, but if you aren't back in two minutes, I’m coming up to find you.”
“Be right back.” Jeff twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
The pounding of running feet sounded through the ceiling.
A boom came like a blow to her head.
A bright flash blinded her.
Jeff's body crashed back into her knocking her down and slamming the door shut.
The room went black.
The concussion from the explosion left Allie's thoughts hazy and the physical world far away.
She fought the detached feeling and the fuzziness in her mind, then sat up and reached forward into the darkness. She jammed her fingers into a hard body. “Jeff, are you okay?”
“I'm okay.”
“What happened?”
“I smell smoke. I need to look out.” He pushed the door open.
Allie gasped.
The basement had filled with dust and smoke. The moon shined down on them, it's brightness dimmed by flames dancing on what little remained of the upper floor.
“It must have been an RPG. Like they used at Bolan Peak. Stay here, Allie. I need to see if Wes … if he survived.”
She grabbed his arm with both hands. “You're not going anywhere without me, Jeff. Don't even try.”
Jeff coughed when he tried to reply. Smoke was filling the basement as flames licked at the upstairs wall, visible through the gaping hole in the floor.
“They might have more grenades to shoot at us. You need to stay down here.” He coughed again. “I'll close the door when I go out so you'll be sealed off from the fire, and you’re surrounded by dirt. If the smoke gets too thick, you can get out through the trap door. It opens behind the garage, remember? But don't do that unless you have to. If you go outside, you won't be protected from another RPG.” He paused to catch his breath. “If Wes survived, I need to get him away from the flames. I'll be back in a minute, Allie.”