Second Chance - 03 - Blind Trust

by Terri Blackstock

  “When you pay the other half, you get the other half,” Givanti said. “I don’t give credit. Tomorrow night, the warehouse on Fourth and Brine Street, you bring the money and we’ll give you the rest of it.”

  “But we have buyers tonight, Givanti,” Anderson said. “You know we’ll pay you when we collect.”

  “I don’t do business that way, gentlemen. You know that.”

  The men were red-faced as they made the exchange. One of them left, but Anderson lingered behind. Clint heard one of the cars drive away, and watched as the argument grew more heated. Givanti got angry and took a swing at him, and Anderson pulled a gun.

  Fear coursed through him, and he thought of going into one of the bedrooms and calling the police. He got up quietly, staying in the shadows, and backed toward the bedroom.

  The gunshot that cracked through the night stunned him, and he saw Anderson drop to the floor. He stood there, paralyzed, as Givanti ordered Paul to help him with the body. Clint watched as Paul helped the businessman carry Anderson’s lifeless body out into the night. He went to a window and peered out, and saw them dump the body into the trunk of Paul’s car.

  He was drenched in sweat and trembling, trying to decide what to do when Paul came back in. Would Paul tell Givanti there had been a witness? If Givanti had so easily killed Anderson, what would he do to Clint?

  He went into the bedroom, stepped over clothes and shoes, and tried to find the telephone in the dark. Through the window, he saw them closing the trunk. Paul and Givanti spoke for a moment, and then Paul got into the driver’s seat of the car with the body. Givanti went to his own car and drove away.

  That’s it? Clint thought. Paul was going to leave, and allow Clint to get away? It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t take time to question it. When the two cars were out of sight, he rushed out to the ten-speed he had ridden over, hopped on it, and headed as fast as he could to Eric Grayson’s house. This was too big for a phone call to the police, he thought, and he had to get to safety before Paul came to his senses and came back for Clint. Riding as fast as he could on the back roads, he headed to the home of Sherry’s father, the U.S. attorney.

  Eric Grayson listened earnestly to the news and contacted the police himself.

  Mentally exhausted, Clint slipped out of the house while Eric was on the telephone, making plans for a major drug bust for the following night at the location Clint had given him. Looking back, Clint wasn’t sure if it was simple fatigue or mental numbness in the wake of shock that had caused him to be so careless. But all he had wanted was to go home and sleep, and wake up to find it had all been a bad dream.

  It smelled like rain, and the peaceful breeze sweeping through his hair had given him a false sense of security as he’d ridden his ten-speed up the driveway to his house. He pulled into the open carport and parked beside his car. Reaching for the keys in his jeans pocket, he began to see the scene again. Murder, he thought with a shudder. He had witnessed a murder.

  He started toward his house, kicking at the pebbles lining the drive, and wondering if he’d handled it wrong. Perhaps it could have been stopped if he hadn’t hidden, if he had let them know he was there. But then maybe he would have been killed instead. And maybe Paul too. How had the kid gotten himself into such a mess?

  He flipped through his keys for the right one and stepped onto the dark porch. Feeling for the knob, he tried to insert the key, but a movement in the shadows caught his attention.

  Paul was waiting for him, his dark, foreboding eyes angry and vengeful. “They can’t know that you were there,” he said through his teeth. “If he finds out, he’ll kill me, too. No one can know that you were there.”

  “Paul, you’ve got to turn yourself—”

  But before Clint could get the rest of the words out, Paul closed the distance between them, and a piercing pain jaggedly rending and as hot as scalding metal inside torn flesh coursed through him. He stumbled and clutched at Paul’s jacket, the questions caught in his throat. He heard sirens, heard Paul cursing the fact that he didn’t have time to hide Clint’s body. And then he felt another stab, and darkness closed over him.

  He woke sometime later in a trauma unit with Sam as his guard and a doctor at his side, and learned that Paul had left him for dead before he’d fled. Eric Grayson had sent the police to protect him the moment he’d discovered that Clint had left his house. It had been two days before Clint’s mind was clear again … clear enough to know that he was somewhere in south Texas with a battalion of stitches in his side, an IV running sustenance into his veins, and U.S. Attorney Eric Grayson standing over him with the news that everyone involved, except Paul, had been arrested as the drugs were changing hands the night following the murder. Paul was still out there somewhere, a lurking threat to Clint’s life. And for that reason, Grayson said, there could be no communication between Clint and Sherry until after the trial. And that meant there would not be a wedding.

  “I want her kept out of this,” the older man told him with pain in his eyes, the only thing that kept Clint from ripping out of his bed and strangling him. “From what you’ve said about the way things happened, I don’t think Paul Calloway is going to want anyone to know that he had anything to do with letting the cat out of the bag.” Eric paced back and forth as he spoke, thinking it all through for what Clint knew was the thousandth time. “He must realize that if Givanti knew he’d allowed a witness to the murder, that Givanti would make sure someone took him out. The fact that he didn’t warn them to change the location of the drug exchange after he knew you’d heard it, tells me that I’m right. He may even think he killed you, and he never confessed things to Givanti, because he’s afraid of him, even in prison. When he hears there’s a witness to the murder, Calloway might figure out that you’re alive. He’ll be interested in finishing the job he started with you, but I don’t think anyone else will be looking for you. We have to keep you hidden until you can testify, or until we apprehend him. Meanwhile, everyone has to think you got cold feet. If everyone thinks you just ran from the wedding, no one will connect you with this, and we’ll have the chance to convict Givanti and catch Paul …”

  “But what about Sherry?” Clint demanded. “What will she think?”

  Grayson covered the uncertainty on his face with a trembling hand that betrayed his weariness. “We’ll make her think the same thing,” he said quietly.

  “That I didn’t love her enough to marry her? That I had to run?”

  “It’s better than letting her be used as a go-between. If she knows the truth, it will be obvious. She’ll even try to come after you, or—”

  The pain tore at Clint’s side as he tried to sit up. “It won’t work,” he said, as if the simple words could make it true. “She’ll never believe it. She knows how much I love her.”

  “Eventually she’ll believe it,” Grayson assured in a soul-sad voice. “And then when the trial is over …”

  Clint dropped back onto the thin pillow beneath him, his eyes pleading with the attorney’s. “I was supposed to marry her next Saturday,” he whispered on the deepest note of despair. “How can you take that away from us?”

  “It’s simple. If you love her, you’ll see my logic. A heartbreak is easier to heal than a knife wound or a million other dangers. She’s my daughter, and I want her safe.”

  “She’ll think I abandoned her just like you did.”

  It was a low blow, and it hit its mark. “I know she will. But I’ll be there for her. Maybe I can help her through it. Clint, you have to understand. These men we’re dealing with, they’re ruthless. If they had an inkling that you were involved, they’d go after Sherry just for sport. They’d use her to manipulate you.”

  “Then let her come into hiding, too.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s not necessary, because they don’t know. But if we tell her, if she even has a clue, someone might figure things out. There are too many wild cards in this thing. The closer she is to you, the more danger she could be i
n.”

  Eventually, he had seen Grayson’s logic and agreed with it. Sherry was safe, if nothing else. But he hadn’t counted on it taking eight months for the case to get to court.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sherry’s face was white as she stared at Clint, taking it all in. “I would rather have been with you in danger than where I was and safe,” she said. “My father had no right to keep me in the dark, or to make that decision for me.” She wiped the tears on her face, and asked, “So what is this? The Federal Witness Protection Program or something?”

  “That’s right. Your dad got the FBI involved since some of their activities had crossed state lines. Apparently Givanti’s drug connections were pretty far-reaching.”

  She shook her head, trying to sort it all out. “But what made you come back when you did? You haven’t testified yet.”

  “No, but the trial is taking forever, so there was no telling when they’d get me on the stand. And last week the police found Paul … dead. He was in an explosion in an abandoned factory.” He swallowed hard. “As much trouble as he’s caused me, I didn’t want him dead. I prayed for him every day, that he’d repent and find God, that something he heard all those times at church would penetrate. But I guess I didn’t have the impact I thought I had. I had no business in youth ministry, if I couldn’t get through to someone who needed Christ so much.”

  “Clint, no one could get through to Paul if he was in that deep. It’s not a reflection on your ministry. Think how many kids did listen. How many lives you changed. They all grieved over you, right along with me.”

  He blinked back the mist in his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, I was convinced that he was the only one who knew where I was, and that I was out of danger, so I threatened not to testify if they didn’t let me go home. But I was wrong. Paul must have told someone. And now you’ve been threatened.”

  She dropped to her knees on the ground and riveted her eyes on a blade of grass. “So who sent me that letter?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sherry turned toward the wind and set her hand on her forehead. She was beginning to feel sick. Sick with the terror that Clint had faced for so long. Sick with the months of emptiness that shouldn’t have occurred. Sick with fatigue and hunger and a fear that was beginning to be chronic. “So what now?” she asked in a dull voice. “Does Dad intend to hide us out here forever?”

  “No. Just until I testify.”

  Fury rose, burning her throat. “And then what? Doesn’t he think they’ll get revenge? Doesn’t he know that they won’t let you just walk out of that courtroom, if they let you walk in in the first place?”

  “Givanti wasn’t The Godfather, Sherry. He was just a greedy businessman who got in trouble with his gambling debts and figured this was an easy way to get himself in the black. His cohorts weren’t even that loyal to him, because they’ve made all kinds of deals with Eric in exchange for information on how they got the cocaine into the country and things like that. If I can get him put away, I really believe we’ll be safe.”

  A gust of wind whipped Sherry’s hair into her face, and she slapped it away. “What about the note, Clint? What about the bomb at the place you were staying? Obviously he’s not going to sit still and let you do this!”

  Clint didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at her as if the instances she’d named were small events he’d chosen to forget. Sherry wanted to scream. “I can’t believe my father would put you in this position. I can’t believe he’d use your life to buy a conviction!”

  “He isn’t using me, Sherry,” Clint said. “He’s kept me alive when I couldn’t have myself.”

  Her lips compressed into taut lines, full of contempt and despair. “And he made me think you just didn’t love me, that you got cold feet, that I wasn’t enough for you. All the time I was seeing guilt in his eyes when I thought it was sympathy. It just makes me sick!”

  Clint’s expression was soft now, devoid of the bitterness she’d witnessed earlier.

  “He did the best thing for you. If you’d known, you would have run after me. Everything would have started to look suspicious, and what Givanti and his men didn’t know, they would have figured out. I disappeared, and then Paul did, and then if you had, it wouldn’t have taken a genius—”

  “That’s no excuse!” Sherry bellowed. “That’s absolutely no excuse for lying to me! Or putting your life in jeopardy. I’ll never forgive him for that!” She caught her breath on a sob and fought back tears. “Wes was right. He said our father didn’t care about us. It was true.”

  Clint tore a weed out of the ground and looked down at it. “Sherry, I know it’s hard for you. But you’ll get past this confusion and you’ll see that neither your dad nor I had a choice. We did exactly what we had to do. We betrayed you, but you know that you would have done the same thing in our place.”

  Sherry swung around, her hair lashing into her face with the force. “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’re as strong as I am.”

  Sherry threw up her hands, then let them fall heavily to her sides in helpless denial. “You and Madeline, you both think I’m some kind of rock. You both keep talking about how strong I am.” She tapped her chest. “Look at me, Clint. I’ve been shaking since you ran me down two days ago. I’m inside out. I’m numb. You call that strength?”

  “You’re dealing with it, Sherry.”

  “Dealing with it? If you think I’m dealing with anything you don’t know me very well. I’m tired of coping, Clint. I’m tired of trying to hold myself together by a thread. I feel like I’m hanging onto the side of a building, about to fall.”

  Clint’s voice cut across the night and into Sherry’s heart. “I know the feeling.”

  Sherry leaned toward him, her blue eyes wide and desperate, full of unshed tears. “Then let’s leave. Let’s just blow it all off and go somewhere else. You don’t have to go through with this. My father cannot make you risk your life.”

  “I’m not doing this for your father. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing.”

  “And what about me? I lose the one man I love because some stupid kid got into the wrong crowd? Does that make sense, Clint?” When he didn’t answer, she closed her eyes and tried to massage the pain from her temples. “Why did you have to go there, Clint? Why did you get involved with Paul? It was none of your business!”

  “You liked him too, Sherry. We thought he was our friend. He needed guidance and help. How could I have known I was going at the wrong time?”

  “The wrong time? That’s like saying Hiroshima was the wrong city. It changed our lives, Clint. It might have cost our lives, and it’s not over yet.” She took his face in her hands, and pleaded, “Don’t testify, Clint.”

  “I have to.” His voice cracked, and she heard the catch in his breath.

  “Not if you love me,” she said. “If you really love me, you won’t be a hero. You’ll give it up and let the professionals worry about it.”

  Clint took her arms, and his eyebrows arched, emphasizing the new lines on his forehead that spoke of the hard life he’d been leading since he left her. “Baby, you know I love you. But I have to do this. Otherwise this whole eight months was a waste.”

  “It’s a waste, anyway, Clint!” she shouted. “And it’s going to keep being a waste until you put an end to it.”

  “There won’t be an end until I testify.”

  “There won’t be an end until they kill you!” she shouted, shaking away from him. “And me too. If you loved me, you wouldn’t drag me through this. You’d see that there are other ways.”

  “There isn’t another way, Sherry. If there was, don’t you think I’d have found it by now?”

  She bit her lip and swallowed back a sob. “I can’t stand it. I’ve mourned for you once. I don’t want to do it again.”

  “You won’t have to. All these men are watching over us, Sherry. And God is still in control.”

  “Then why does it feel like I
’m right in the center of chaos?” With that, she ran back into the house, to seek the only refuge she could find—sleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  The telephone rang twelve times before Laney gave up. “Sherry’s still not answering, Wes. It’s after midnight. Where could they be?”

  “Maybe they just turned the ringer off,” Wes said, throwing a reassuring look at his wife. “Sherry was so dead set on avoiding Clint.”

  Laney leaned back in the bed and brought her knees to her chest. “It just doesn’t feel right. I think we need to go over there and check on them.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed and got up. “Neither of us will be able to sleep until we’ve seen that they’re okay.”

  Laney looked up at him. “Wes, shouldn’t you call your father first? See if he’s heard from Sherry? Ask him if she told him where she was going.”

  Wes’s jaw popped as he shrugged on the shirt he’d left hanging over a chair. “I don’t have to call the U.S. attorney to find out where my sister is. There’s nothing wrong. She’s probably sleeping and forgot she left the phone unplugged.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting him because he’s the prosecutor, Wes. I suggested him because he’s your father. She spends a lot of time with him. She might have told him something.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You won’t even call him?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Wes, don’t you think that’s a little stubborn? You should be putting your sister above your own pride!”

  “Pride?” He swung around to his wife. “Are you kidding me? This doesn’t have anything to do with pride. I don’t even know that man, and I’m supposed to pretend that he’s a part of my family?”

  Laney got up, her long white gown pooling around her feet. “Wes, he is part of your family. You can’t change that.”

  “I don’t have to acknowledge it.” He grabbed his keys off of the dresser, and headed out of the bedroom.