Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  With the help of Bolton and Matthias, Hal and a handful of others, they’d stripped out everything and completely redone the two apartments. Now John had a home with room for Aaron, Pat and himself. Hopefully someday, Andra too.

  As an added bonus the bathroom was no longer green.

  That wasn’t all he’d been working on. John’s faith still felt new, but the past four weeks had been a crash-course in walking the truth of what God had done for him.

  John took a second to glance at his son. “Is that paint?”

  Pat scratched at his temple, where the white stuff was crusted on his skin and hair. “Ouch. I guess.” He rubbed at it.

  “Did you get the dining room finished?”

  He nodded, his eyes sparking again.

  In the rearview mirror, Aaron smiled. “All Aaron and Pat.”

  As they got closer to the ranch the helicopter hovered and then set down. John parked and the three of them climbed out of the Jeep. Behind the vehicle, two golf carts and a truck with its bed full of people all parked and the residents made their way over.

  The helicopter sat there, door closed, while they waited. The crowd of people who had come from town caught up and assembled around John, Pat and Aaron.

  Then the door opened.

  Andra’s eyes were bright with tears as the wind whipped her hair. She stepped out slowly, like she didn’t want to jar anything not all the way healed yet. She touched her hand to her front, just below her throat.

  Tears tracked down her face.

  Pat ran full speed before John could stop him. He barreled into Andra and the tackle sent them both flying back until Andra was sitting on the ground.

  John rushed over, praying his son hadn’t sent her straight back to the hospital. Before he reached them, Andra tipped her head back and she burst out laughing.

  She grinned at John, her arms tight around his son. John hauled first Pat and then Andra to their feet. She looked past him, taking in the crowd standing behind him. “Hi, everyone.”

  She shifted her gaze to him. “Hi, John.”

  John pulled her into his arms. He bent his head and whispered in her ear.

  “Welcome home.”

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of book 2 – BURIED IN SANCTUARY….

  Coming Soon

  Star Witness (Sept 2014) Love Inspired Suspense

  Sanctuary Buried (Oct 2014) WITSEC Town series book 2

  Lisa Phillips is a British ex-pat who grew up an hour outside of London. Lisa attended Calvary Chapel Bible College where she met her husband. He’s from California but nobody’s perfect. It wasn’t until her Bible College graduation that she figured out she was a writer (someone told her). Since then she’s taken the Apprentice and Journeyman writing courses with the Christian Writers Guild and discovered a penchant for high-stakes stories of mayhem and disaster where you can find made-for-each-other love that always ends in happily ever after.

  Lisa can be found in Idaho wearing either flip-flops or cowgirl boots, depending on the season. She leads worship with her husband at their local church. Together they have two children—a sparkly Little Princess and a Mini Daddy—but there’s only one bunny rabbit now (sad face).

  To find out more about Lisa Phillips, visit:

  www.authorlisaphillips.com

  Where you can sign up for a Newsletter and receive email notifications of new books.

  You can also follow Lisa on Twitter @lisaphillipsbks

  BURIED IN SANCTUARY

  Chapter 1

  Francine Peters jerked awake. The crash came again, the sound of something heavy falling over and splintering on a hard floor, like the cracked tile of her downstairs entryway.

  Her breaths were heavy, her mind flitting through the murder of the Mayor’s wife only weeks ago, the series of breakins and thefts at the Medical Center and the missing drugs. But there was likely a far less sinister explanation for this noise. She glanced at the clock. 3:04 a.m. That was half an hour of sleep she was going to lose before she had to get up for work anyway.

  The front door slammed. Footsteps were followed by giggles and loud “shushing.” Frannie rolled her eyes and pushed back her comforter. In the darkness she made her way to the door of her bedroom and down the stairs. Did they really think they were fooling her?

  Memories from years ago washed through her mind and her steps faltered. An entirely different scene had met her at the bottom of the stairs of her childhood home that night. A scene that led to her witnessing her father’s murder and Frannie testifying against the partner her father had been embezzling from.

  Frannie blew out a slow breath and continued, gripping the stair rail to keep from rubbing the scarred skin on the top of her left shoulder. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. He would never find her here, in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains. In a town only accessible by military transport.

  He would never find her again.

  Frannie’s mom, Mimi, wobbled across the entrance to their tiny three bedroom house on her stiletto heels. She was barely forty-five, but she swore she was still in her thirties. She didn’t realize no one believed her. Not when her daughters were adults.

  Mimi’s low-cut shirt had a wet stain on the front. It tracked down to the lap of her short denim skirt. Her hair had looked better earlier that evening, before Frannie went to bed. Frannie’s sister, Izabelle, was dressed in a matching outfit, with some of their natural blonde amid the streaks of her hair.

  Frannie stopped at the bottom step and folded her arms.

  Her mom looked up, not a shadow of remorse on her face. Instead, her mouth morphed into disgust. “What is that hideous thing you’re wearing?”

  “My nightgown.” It was an over-sized t-shirt, XL being the only size Sam Tura had in stock when she’d registered for his gym, Sleight of Hand. She hadn’t been back there since the older woman she hired at her bakery had fallen ill. Cancer.

  Izzy, who was twenty-four and younger than Frannie by two years, snorted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.” She shot a smirk at their mom and both of them erupted into giggles.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out what their lazy limbs and slurred speech meant. Despite there being no alcohol allowed in the WITSEC town of Sanctuary, they seemed to have gotten their hands on some anyway. Not that anyone had ever accused Frannie of being a genius, even though her mom always referred to her as the “smart daughter”. She had to tell people something when Izzy was the pretty one. Especially given Frannie looked more like her father. She was smart enough to figure this out.

  Instead of waiting for them to quit laughing, Frannie went to the kitchen and hit the button on the coffee maker. It wasn’t set to come on for fifteen more minutes, but she didn’t want to wait. She stared at the liquid dripping into the carafe and tried to ignore the sounds of her mom and sister following her into the kitchen for round two.

  Frannie grabbed the Ibuprofen from the top shelf of the end cabinet, got two waters the fridge and set both on the breakfast bar’s stained linoleum surface.

  Her mom shook out the tablets. When she drank, water dribbled down her chin. Mimi lowered the bottle and swiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thanks, darling.”

  Her mom’s look of gratitude was eclipsed by Izzy saying, “Yeah, thanks Cinderella.”

  Frannie poured her coffee, ignoring the clench in her stomach that told her to fire a quip back at Izzy, whether the thing was words or something substantial. Too bad Izzy wasn’t ugly, or Frannie’s step-sister. But she was wicked.

  Mimi swatted Izzy in the arm.

  She shot her a look back. “What? You’re the one who came up with it.”

  Mimi shot her a look that said, “Shut up,” her eyes wide.

  Why was she worried about offending Frannie now? That day had long passed.

  “I’m going to bed.” Izzy set her bottle on the counter and water sloshed over the top. “That was a great night, Mom.”

  Mimi grinned. “It was. I think Diego
really likes you.”

  Hearing the name was like a blow to the face. Why did it have to be him of all people? So long as he didn’t come around, Frannie would be fine. She’d never cared for him, or the way he looked at her.

  His brother Matthias, on the other hand, probably didn’t even know that Mimi had two daughters. The brothers worked as hands at Bolton Farrera’s ranch. And Nadia Marie, the salon owner who’d given up trying to get the ranch boss to notice her, had told Frannie there was a lot of that going around at the moment. There was probably something in the water over at the ranch that made them oblivious to interested women. What other explanation could there be?

  Frannie pushed away all thoughts of tall men in chambray shirts, jeans and chaps. If she kept thinking about them any longer, she’d go into pre-mature menopause. Then the fair skin she’d inherited along with her strawberry blonde hair would turn an unsightly shade of pink.

  “Nighty-nighty.” Izzy giggled, her unsteady footsteps retreating from the room.

  Frannie held her breath and turned. Sure enough, her mom still stood by the breakfast bar. “You need something, Mimi?”

  It was by mutual consent that Frannie called her mom by her given name, and it was not something she cared to dwell on. Not given everything else swirling around in her head.

  When her mom didn’t say anything, Frannie said, “You should probably get some sleep if you’re going to be in the bakery this afternoon.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, darling. I—”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not going to happen.” Frannie wanted to throw a fit. God, why do I always feel like the parent? “With Stella in the medical center I’m short-handed. I need you to come to work and do the job that I pay you for.”

  Frannie was more than short-handed. Stella had for years been doing the work of two people, and she never said a word about it, even though Frannie paid her for the work of one because she had no idea.

  Then Stella was diagnosed with terminal cancer and she kept coming to work, even up until she had to spend the day in a chair manning the register because she didn’t have the energy to walk up and down the space behind the display counter. Like that was the obvious thing to do. Frannie never said a word, because she loved having Stella there and if the woman wanted to carry on as normally as possible, Frannie was going to give her that.

  Her mom’s face morphed into something meant to look either kind, or in need of sympathy. Frannie wasn’t sure which.

  “Darling, you work so hard. And I love that you’ve found what makes you happy, I do. Sweet Times is a great success and everyone says so. Especially when I tell them it was my daughter who set up the bakery. I know you need help right now, but I simply can’t come in today. I really would help if I could, but there’s something I’ve got to do, see. I’d get out of it if I could. You understand, don’t you, darling? That I’d love nothing more than to be there to help you.”

  Like pushing Frannie, at sixteen years old, out of the walk-in closet? While Mimi and Izzy hid, Frannie had been sent downstairs to see what was happening.

  Just in time to witness her father’s murder.

  It was on the edge of Frannie’s tongue to say, to pour the accusations out at her mother, but she held the words back because it wouldn’t change anything. And it never would.

  “It’s not even really my thing, it’s Izzy. She has an appointment—” Mimi leaned close. “—with the doctor, you know?”

  Frannie didn’t know, why did her mom think she would? The two of them kept only their own confidences, leaving Frannie to navigate life by herself living in the same house with her mom and sister like they were the family and she was just a renter. Despite the fact she paid the mortgage each month and did all the cleaning. The nickname Cinderella might sting, but it wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

  “Mom—” She was ready to launch into her speech about responsibility and earning the money Frannie paid her mostly out of sympathy. Then her mom’s eyes would glaze over.

  Instead, her mom cut her off. “You’re such a good girl.” Mimi squeezed Frannie with her spray-tanned, skinny arms. “So honest and strong.” She patted Frannie’s cheek a little too vigorously. “My brave one, taking care of us.”

  Unfortunately, Frannie had learned that those weren’t necessarily good things. All it meant was she was the one picking up their slack. Doing whatever they didn’t want to do.

  Mimi tottered to the door and glanced back. “I’ll make it up to you next week, when my schedule isn’t so busy.”

  Meanwhile, Frannie’s bakery hemorrhaged money paying salaried employees who barely came to work, and when they did were two hairs above useless. She needed to hire two people to replace Stella but could barely afford it, since her mom and sister were on the payroll and she needed all her spare money to replace the oven that went out the week before.

  In the real world, Frannie would fire them and get herself a studio apartment followed by hiring staff that was actually competent.

  But this wasn’t the real world.

  This was Sanctuary.

  The United States’ first and only—as far as she knew—town entirely populated by people in witness protection. All because forty years ago the Marshals Service decided to experiment and see if federal witnesses could live in their own community, tucked away in the mountains somewhere. It was where they hid the high-profile witnesses, household names with recognizable faces. And because her mom had been a movie star as a teenager a billion-ish years ago, Frannie’s testimony landed them here.

  Which meant she was stuck with her mom and sister forever.

  Frannie dressed in her work clothes and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She rode her bike from their street, which was on the south side of town, along the deserted darkened roads down to Main Street.

  Sweet Times was located on the east end of Main. As she did every morning, Frannie locked her bike at the back of the building and glanced once in the direction of the ranch before going inside. Like always, the light at the ranch house was on, as was the light in the barn and the residence where the hands lived—where he lived. There was a sense of solidarity, knowing he was awake. Even though he’d never said anything to her but, “Two loaves of white bread, sliced, and a dozen chocolate cupcakes.”

  Frannie unlocked the back and walked through the kitchen, flipping on lights. There was a faint smell of lemon scented cleaner and the stainless steel surfaces gleamed. At least someone was still doing their job.

  She got started, measuring dough for three kinds of bread, sweet rolls, cinnamon rolls and the chocolate pastries one of her customers had requested yesterday. While the dough rose, she started a pot of coffee and scrambled herself two eggs. She ate standing up, trying not to let the fire her mom had lit in her stomach flicker to life. It lived there, never really gone, just embers ready to flare up at any moment. She’d lived with it for so long that when the anger and frustration stirred up, it would catch her off guard with its ferocity.

  She didn’t want to hate them.

  Frannie grabbed her heaviest rolling pin and started to roll out the dough for cinnamon rolls. Who needed therapy, or a work-out? Her kitchen—her work—was the place where she reveled in the solitude. Here, she didn’t have to be strong or brave or smart. It was just her and her ingredients, and the infinite number of things she could create.

  She rotated the board and continued to roll out the dough, over and over again.

  Why did her mom have to send her downstairs all those years ago? Frannie didn’t have to ask herself what kind of mom did that to their child, because she knew. She lived it. For once, Mimi could have stepped ahead of her children to accept what might come at them. But, no. Mimi only ever thought of herself, which left Izzy oblivious since she went along with everything, and Frannie beyond frustration, somewhere near exhausted with it all. And wondering why her life had to be like this.

  “Did the dough offend you?”

  The corner of Fran
nie’s mouth curled up. His voice sounded even better in her head than in person. Full and smooth, like hickory smoke. She had it bad if she was imagining him talking to her when she was alone in the bakery and the sun hadn’t risen over the mountains yet.

  He cleared his throat.

  Frannie froze. She looked over at the door to the front of the bakery with just her eyes, seeing him there at the corner of her vision. Then she glanced at the clock. The sun was up by now. She should have the ovens on. But Frannie didn’t move, she just said, “Two loaves of sliced white and twelve chocolate cupcakes?”

  She swiped her floury hands on the front of her apron. A strand of hair had come loose from her ponytail, making her itch to push it back.

  “Actually…” He paused. “Um…it’s Francine, right?”

  “Frannie.” She frowned. If the front door was still locked, how did he get in? “You’re in my kitchen—”

  She looked up and was struck again by exactly how dark his eyes were. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than her, late twenties probably. His brother Diego was twenty-four; she knew that from Izzy and Mimi’s conversations. Thick dark-brown hair fell onto his forehead in disarray, as though he simply smashed his hat on with no thought to what that would do to it. “You’re Matthias, right?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled and the color actually lightened. There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “Tias.”

  It sounded like Tee-yas. “I’ve never heard anyone call you that.”

  He shrugged, apparently not noticing that the comment made her sound like a stalker who followed him all day listening to his conversations. “No one does. I just decided I wanted a shorter version of my name.”

  “And you gave it to me?” Great, now she felt even weirder. As if this whole thing wasn’t awkward enough. “Are you sure there isn’t something you need? Actually, why don’t you tell me how you managed to get in the locked front door?”

  His dark eyebrows drew together and he motioned to the front of the store. “You haven’t been out front yet?”