Silent Protector

by Barbara Phinney

  It could only mean one thing.

  Charlie’s safety had been compromised.

  THREE

  “Now it’s your turn to talk,” Liz said, coming back up to a sitting position. “When I saw Charlie two Sundays ago, he had long, dark hair. Did you cut his hair? And he never needed glasses before.”

  “I did. It was a rat’s nest and far too hot for this weather. I also dyed it. The police offered the glasses. They don’t have prescription lenses in them.”

  Liz absorbed what he said. “I don’t understand. Sure, his hair was always a mess. I did my best, but I didn’t want to get on Jerry’s bad side and have him tell me I couldn’t see Charlie again, so I ignored it most of the time. But glasses that aren’t needed? And a dye job? Why?”

  “It was necessary.”

  Understanding dawned on her. “You didn’t want anyone to recognize him.”

  “I was told there was no one who would try to gain custody of him. His mother died years ago, and his father had just been murdered.” He looked at her. “Is there anyone else who might claim him? Grandparents?”

  She shifted on the exam table. “As far as I know, Jerry had no contact with his family. My mother lives in Portland, but she’s a widow who’s not well, hardly able to care for a child. Besides, she hasn’t seen Charlie since my sister died. I’ve been trying to get custody.” She shot him a questioning look. “And you simply believed what you were told about his family?”

  “I had no reason to suspect that they’d lie.”

  “That who would lie? The police? They lied to me!”

  “For Charlie’s own safety and well within the law.”

  He could see that the local law enforcement officers had been prepping Liz and probably the media for Charlie’s entrance into the Witness Security Program, or WITSEC. People needed to think the boy was dead.

  Liz dragged in a hot breath as she sat back. “And I’m left believing he’s been killed! This is not right. I’m going to take Charlie and leave. I know he’d be happy to go with me. And you don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d physically stop us.” She wasn’t sure if that was true or not. She tossed out the threat as quickly as she shot a furtive look his way. He knew right then that she was banking on a hunch. “I won’t fail Charlie like I did when his mother died. He deserves a loving environment, not getting shuffled around like a piece of secondhand furniture.”

  Ian bristled at her choice of words. He wasn’t shuffling the boy around like furniture. He would never do that to anyone—not after living like that for years himself. “Don’t be so sure. I told you that Charlie’s safety is my main concern.”

  “Mine, too. That’s why I’m here listening to you and not grabbing Charlie and walking to Northglade.”

  “Like I said before, I’d advise against that.”

  But Liz let her threat stand. “Don’t tempt me,” she snapped. “At least Charlie knows me and would come with me!”

  From the years of being a marshal and from the few years of being a pastor, Ian knew Liz needed to vent. She didn’t understand what was happening. She was only thinking of the boy’s best interests. So he sat back and let her rant.

  Still talking, Liz held out her hands. “How could you just take off with the boy and not consider that others might be concerned, too? The police told me nothing and scared me half to death!”

  Actually, he agreed with Liz. The police had allowed her to worry herself sick, and while that was legal, they didn’t tell him that she would do anything to be reunited with Charlie. And vice versa. That was a mistake.

  He hated mistakes. It had been a mistake for him to be shuffled about the family after his parents died, and though it wasn’t a mistake to hide Charlie down here, it was for WITSEC not to warn him about the resourceful auntie. It had also been a mistake to underestimate the nephew who could sneak away with Ian’s cell phone when he was at his busiest.

  Regardless, what was done was done. And at least the child wasn’t as traumatized as they’d first thought. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

  Would that allow Ian to focus more on the other reason he was here—to build a church? To start the social program offered by Nelson Vincenti and his wife, the couple building a resort on the north end of the island?

  No. Charlie’s location had been compromised. He needed to call his supervisor immediately.

  But Ian couldn’t ignore his parishioners for the sake of one boy, could he? Was that what God wanted him to do? Forsake his job to help Charlie? Surely another marshal could step in.

  “What right do you have to take Charlie, anyway?” Liz was still blasting him. “What makes you think that you can give him what he needs when you don’t even know what his needs are? What if Charlie gets sick or needs special education?”

  Ian schooled his features. “His needs would be met by the Department of Justice. Or by other programs here at Moss Point. Nelson and Annette Vincenti have started a foundation here called ‘The Shepherd’s Smile.’ It works exclusively with families in vulnerable situations providing medical care, education and Bible classes. I’ve been hired to implement it here. And in case you didn’t notice, the children around here aren’t living in the lap of luxury.”

  He had no plans to tell her any more than that.

  If Ian was expecting Liz to show any sort of contrition, he wasn’t going to get it. She shook her head, feeling her damp, dark curls bounce around. “I don’t live in the lap of luxury, either. And material wealth isn’t as important to me as you seem to think. But if you’re here to implement a social program, then why bring Charlie here to add to the need? And for that matter, why were you approached to take him in the first place? The police gave him to you, right? It doesn’t make any sense. Who exactly are you that the police trust you and not me to be his guardian? And why would the Department of Justice care about him?”

  She knew at a glance that he hadn’t expected her questions. Or that she wasn’t about to be browbeaten. She’d lived on her own long enough to know how to stand up for herself.

  “So why were you selected?” she asked, slipping off the exam table.

  He sighed. He studied her before answering. “I am—I used to be a U.S. Marshal, specializing in children’s safety.” He noticed her deepening frown, then added, “The U.S. Marshal Service is part of the Department of Justice and handles witness security. In most cases involving juveniles, we have female officers, but some boys respond better to men than women, so a few males were also trained. I was one of them.”

  That made sense. Charlie had always been with his father. Relating to a man came more naturally to him.

  “I left the U.S. Marshals when I accepted the call from God to be a pastor,” he went on. “Then Annette Vincenti, the woman who created ‘The Shepherd’s Smile,’ heard about me from George and Elsie Wilson and she hired me to administer her new program. It includes planting a church here in Moss Point. Until now, only a few people have been going to the Wilsons’ house for Bible study. It’s too far to travel to the nearest church on the mainland.”

  She’d heard of church planters, though the name conjured up silly pastoral images. Church planters started churches in communities that had none. They were as devoted as any missionary might be. They trained lay pastors, built churches and strengthened communities.

  This was too confusing. Okay, she could see Ian in the missionary part but as a U.S. Marshal? Protecting Charlie? And yet he wasn’t told about Charlie’s closest relative who visited every week?

  “But you retired from the U.S. Marshal Service, you said. Why are you back?”

  “I also signed a little-used recall clause, something created after 9/11, I’m told. If they needed me, they could reinstate me. I could have refused because of my work here, but when I read Charlie’s case file I knew I needed to help him.” He lifted his chin. “And I knew I could do both jobs at the same time.”

  Liz walked around the clinic, stopping at the glass cabinet that held various medical
supplies. “Why Charlie? He’s just a little boy. He’s not some snitch from the mafia.”

  “He’s in danger.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of being killed by the same man who killed his father.”

  She gasped. The man who shot Jerry would come after Charlie?

  She pressed through her fear. “How? Why? I don’t understand. He’s just a kid.”

  “Charlie is a witness, Liz. He has seen his father’s killer. We need him to identify Jerry’s murderer.”

  “You need him?” She tightened her lips before speaking again. “What about his needs? Hasn’t he suffered enough without being dragged from everything he’s known to come down here in this heat, to live with strangers? He needs to feel safe—not scared out of his wits.”

  Ian had stood when she started talking but now sat down at the nurse’s desk. After a thought, he pulled out his gun and began to disassemble it. He was obviously a patient man, though to try guilt on her meant he didn’t know her very well. But he was patient enough to try reaching her with other tactics. “If Charlie testifies against his father’s killer, he can bring down that man. But if that man stays free, he could destroy many lives—more than you know. And destroy any chance Charlie has for a normal life.”

  “Charlie’s only ten years old! How can his testimony even be accepted in court?” She rubbed her forehead, trying to keep straight everything Ian was firing at her.

  “Children younger than Charlie have testified successfully. It depends on the child, on what they saw and how it’s presented in court. We’re hopeful that he can help us bring his father’s killer to justice.”

  Liz went cold, feeling the air conditioner much more. So that was it. They had stolen Charlie, hoping he’d give a statement they could use in court, without a smidgen of care for his emotional well-being.

  No, that wasn’t completely true. They needed to keep the boy safe physically first. It was reasonable to put Charlie into some kind of protective custody, and if he was emotionally secure, he’d be more likely to talk. They’d do their best to reassure him.

  “Why couldn’t the police in Maine just tell me that he was in protective custody?” she asked. “That he was safe? And why did they lie to you and say there was no one who would miss him?”

  Ian’s expression softened slightly as he took some cotton wipes from a box on the desk. “We don’t tell people, relatives, friends, anything. Most of the time, it’s assumed that the person in protective custody has been killed or else the person we’re trying to prosecute may find the witness.” He inhaled. “As for someone lying to me, that’s an issue I need to deal with. And believe me, I will deal with it.”

  She leaned back against the wall next to the glass cabinet, feeling the cement wall press against her damp shirt. Despite the chill running through her, perspiration broke out on her skin. A cold sweat.

  “It’s not his safety you’re worried about, is it?” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s your prime witness. As long as you can carefully guide what he says, and how he’s going to say it in court, you’ll get your killer.” Her voice rose. “Without a smidgen of care for what’s best for him!”

  Sighing, he shook his head. “That’s not true. His safety means more to me than his testimony.”

  “Really? Look around you, Ian. His father has just been killed in front of him. He’s with strangers. He’s lonely and scared. And who’s here to look after him properly? Just you? You’re busy planting a church and creating some antipoverty program. You don’t have time to be a guardian or a bodyguard.”

  “That’s why he’s staying with the Wilsons. They’re both retired from the U.S. Marshal Service and can help.”

  “More strangers!”

  She turned her head away, feeling the hot sting of tears. Out the window across from where she stood, all she could see was thick forest, vines and the occasional glimpse of shimmering water through the green tangle. The beach must not be far through the trees.

  Ian rubbed his jaw and then rubbed the back of his neck. He looked as disturbed as she did. “I know this is how it seems to you, but we’re doing what’s best for the boy. Now, we both need to shower. The water isn’t safe to swim in this time of year.”

  She nodded. As part of her job ensuring waterfowl safety, she’d once read about certain beaches on the gulf side becoming unsafe to swim in during the month of July. Something about a bacteria.

  Oh, goodie, another reason to be concerned for Charlie. She stood. “Charlie shouldn’t be here.”

  Ian continued to wipe down the disassembled pieces of his weapon. “There’s an old African proverb that says it takes a community to raise a child.”

  She folded her arms. “A community, not the government. And not here.”

  He straightened, turned his head and studied her. And as much as she’d like to turn away, she met his cool stare with an equal one of her own.

  In that moment, she took stock of his appearance. He was really quite handsome. He had a strong faith and a caring attitude, all wrapped up inside a handsome body. His sandy hair was tousled now by the towel he’d used, adding to his trustworthy appearance. His blue eyes, flecked with white, matched the water beyond the trees perfectly.

  There was more than just this feeling of security here. In his eyes, she could so easily see an inner strength, a complete and utter belief that he was doing the right thing.

  Everything a Christian woman might want in a man.

  No. She wasn’t going down that path. She’d already seen what he was really like. Pastor or not, he was also a federal agent, and his only reason for wanting Charlie here was to extract a statement from him. This whole scenario was far too much of a strain on Charlie’s emotional health. The poor boy had just suffered a terrible loss. She wouldn’t gamble with his emotions because she had some misguided attraction to this man.

  He shot her a serious look before testing and assembling his gun, the kind of look the strong, silent type offered.

  But, oh, to have even an ounce of such confidence, such inner strength. Charlie would benefit so much from that in her.

  “We need to learn to release our children so they can learn from others,” he finally said, all the while working on his gun. “And we need to step up to bat to do our part when others release their children.”

  She struggled to snap out of her admiration. “Yes, I agree. Ask not what your country can do for you. I get it. But this is not Charlie’s community. Here, he’s just a lonely little boy who needs his loved ones.”

  “He needs a community. Especially if the people who are raising him aren’t where others are. Spiritually speaking, that is.”

  She dropped her arms to her sides and stiffened. What did he just say? Well, enough was enough. She’d accept the fact that Ian was once a U.S. Marshal who’d taken on this one last assignment. And she’d accept the fact he’d come here to start a church and implement a new antipoverty program and that he obviously felt he could do both, all with admirable confidence.

  But she wouldn’t accept a man she’d just met telling her that she was spiritually immature and needed to release her nephew to others so that he could grow in faith. That was stepping over the line.

  “I’ve heard enough,” she announced. “You haven’t convinced me that Charlie is better off here. All you want is his statement and to train him to present it in such a way that you’ll get your killer. Well, nowadays there’s enough forensic science to convict the killer, and that’s usually more convincing than anything else is. Let the police use that to find whoever killed his father, not Charlie.”

  “I’m only thinking of his safety.”

  “No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be quoting pat sayings and psychobabble. I’m thinking of his emotional health because that’s just as important as his safety.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “And you say you want him physically safe? Do you know anything about him? His health? What if he needs a particular medication? Has he ever had any vac
cinations? What about his schooling? I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that Jerry wasn’t big on public schooling. And has Charlie even been wearing a hat in the sun?”

  She’d fired off the barrage of questions without taking a breath. Finally, drawing in air, she noticed Ian’s passive expression and wondered if it was just a trained act against people who confronted him. “All you want is an airtight case against a killer who may have a good lawyer.”

  He wet his lips, and she found herself watching the action closely. Good grief, why was she so physically aware of him?

  “First up,” he finally said, “you’re right, I don’t know about his health.”

  He lowered his eyes, deep in thought. His mouth twisted ever so slightly as he worked his jaw. Again, she felt the tug of his good looks. Forget that. For all she knew, this was part and parcel of some well-schooled passiveness he’d taught himself. A subtle charm saved only for women—to get what he wanted.

  “Secondly,” he continued, “he owns a hat but has lost it three times in two days. Each time, Elsie or I have gone in search of it. But this time we’re making Charlie look for it. Elsie thinks he’s hiding it.”

  She shook her head and cut in, “Regardless, you’ve brought him to one of the hottest parts of the country and he’s not used to the heat. You know nothing about him or his health! Is that wise? Or good for him?”

  “While you’d take him back up north now, right back into the very heart of the danger. You don’t know what kind of people you’re dealing with. Nor do you realize that your coming here may have compromised Charlie’s safety.”

  “I knew my brother-in-law a lot longer than any of the police. I knew what he was in to and how he manipulated people. He was planning to extort money from me using Charlie, and I knew he was selling drugs and would love to make a quick million dollars. I can keep Charlie safe from people like him. Besides, I found Charlie using simple logic. What’s stopping others from doing the same?”

  “Only if they talked to Charlie. Or followed you. It’s that I’m afraid of. Thankfully, Charlie only used the phone once.” Ian then pursed his lips, stopping his words as though something else had occurred to him. With a heavy sigh, he stood and pushed the chair into the desk.