SB01 - The Guardian's Mission

by Shirlee McCoy

  Martha took a step back, bumping into Tristan, her cheeks heating again as his hand cupped her shoulder and stayed there. What was with her? She was a grown woman. Not a kid with a crush. “Sorry. The music is starting. I think we’d better sit down.”

  “No one else is.”

  True. As was usual, the congregation of Grace Christian Church was too busy catching up on the week’s events to settle quickly. “They will be.”

  She nudged him in the stomach with her elbow, and this time he got the hint, moving back into the pew without further comment. And just in time. The air turned thick with the flowery scent of Sue’s perfume as Martha’s stepmother settled into the pew beside her. “Martha, dear, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been up all night worrying. I was just so sure Jesse and I should have stayed over at your house last night.”

  As always, words poured from Sue like bees from a hive, thick and quick and charming in their artlessness.

  “I know and I appreciated the offer.”

  “Did you sleep well? You do look a little tired.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “So, no nightmares? You know, my mother used to make me a glass of warm milk before bed. She insisted that it would chase away any and all bad dreams.”

  “Maybe I’ll try that tonight.”

  “You should. You really should. Now—” Sue peered around Martha, giving Tristan a more thorough look “—who are you, young man? A friend of Martha’s?”

  “Tristan Sinclair, ma’am.”

  “It’s good that you can be with our Martha during this terrible time. She did tell you what happened Friday, didn’t she?”

  “Actually—”

  “Service is starting.” Martha cut Tristan off.

  Tristan leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Chicken.”

  “I am not. I just don’t think now is the time to tell my father you were the man who kidnapped me.” She hissed her reply, sure she’d fallen into an alternate reality. One minute, she’d been engaged to a doctor, doing her best to fit the impossibly polished shoes the position demanded. The next, she’d been a kidnapping victim, fighting for her life. And now, well, now, she was sitting in church with her father, her stepmother and a man who’d caught the attention of every single woman in the congregation.

  Obviously her life had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the past week. She needed to figure out where she’d gone wrong and get back on course. Quickly.

  Tristan’s hand covered hers, stopping the unconscious tapping she’d been doing. Warm and callused, his palm pressed against her knuckles, his fingers linking with hers, deeply tan against her paler skin. He squeezed gently and released his hold, but the warmth of his touch remained.

  She glanced his way, but his focus was on the pulpit and Pastor Avery, who’d begun to make the morning announcements. She knew her attention should be there as well, but she had trouble concentrating as announcements gave way to a hymn and then to the sermon.

  The pastor’s words of faith during adversity washed over Martha and through her, but she felt disconnected from the message. As much as she tried to concentrate, she couldn’t hold on to anything the pastor said for longer than the few seconds it took him to say it. It didn’t help that Sue’s perfume was strong enough to clog her lungs and steal her breath. Halfway through the sermon Martha’s eyes started to water. Her nose itched, and the urge to cough nearly overwhelmed her.

  When the music minister stood to lead the last hymn, Martha eased past Sue and her father and hurried out the sanctuary door. The air outside was fresh and clean, the loamy scent of dying leaves and moist earth a welcome relief. Martha took a deep breath, trying to clear her lungs and her head.

  “Next time, let me know before you go running off.” Tristan’s words made her jump, and she whirled to face him.

  “You nearly gave me heart failure. Warn a girl next time.”

  “That’s better than what Johnson would have given you if he’d found you out here alone.”

  “There’s no way he’d know to find me here.” She tried to sound confident, but Tristan’s warning was one she knew she should heed. Going outside alone when a crazy man wanted her dead probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.

  Tristan touched her arm, his fingers warm through the silky material of her dress. “Listen, Sunshine, I can do my job better if you cooperate. No more going outside without me. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Sounds like the service has ended. How about we go have that lunch your dad promised me?”

  “I’m still not sure I want you having lunch with us. There’s no telling what my father will do when he finds out—”

  “That I kidnapped you?” He grinned, his eyes the bright blue of the autumn sky.

  She couldn’t stop her answering grin. “Exactly. Of course, I’ll also have to tell him that you saved my life, so that should even things out.”

  “Martha!” Sue bustled toward them, weaving her way through the crowd exiting the church. “Is everything okay? I was worried when you left so suddenly, but since Tristan followed you out, I knew you’d be fine.”

  “You were right. I was. I just needed a breath of fresh air.”

  “After all you’ve been through, dear, I’m not surprised.” Her gaze drifted from Martha’s face to Tristan’s hand, which was still resting on Martha’s arm. “You know, if you two were planning a special date, we can skip lunch—”

  “A date? Us? No way.” Martha nearly snorted at the thought.

  “Don’t sound so amused by the idea, Sunshine. It could happen.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Never say never, Martha.” Sue smiled, looking more than happy to be witness to the interplay between them. “But since it isn’t happening today, I’m glad to have you both for some good old-fashioned southern-fried chicken and potato salad. And your dad started some of those yeast rolls you love so much, dear.”

  “It sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to eat.” But for the first time in as long as Martha could remember, the thought of food didn’t appeal. It was amazing how almost getting killed could ruin a person’s appetite.

  “We’ll see you at your dad’s place in a few minutes then. You, too, Tristan. Bring your appetite. What with my boys all grown and gone, I’ve always got way too much food left over.”

  “I’m more than willing to do my part to rectify that situation, ma’am.”

  “Call me Sue. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old. Now, I’m going to find Jesse and get him moving. Otherwise, lunch won’t be ready until supper time! You two get a move on, and I’ll see you at the house.”

  “I guess we’ve got our orders.” Tristan cupped Martha’s elbow, merging into a crowd of people moving toward their cars. He scanned the parking lot as he moved, looking for danger but not finding it.

  “And I’m sure we’ll get more before the day is through. Sue is a steel magnolia.” Martha smiled up into his eyes, her lips curving.

  And Tristan’s mind jumped back forty-eight hours, remembering cool rain washing down his face as he leaned toward Martha, felt the softness of her lips, breathed in chocolate and cinnamon. It had been an action designed to fool Gordon Johnson. But it had pulled him in, become more. That was something Tristan couldn’t quite understand.

  He’d met a lot of women during his years working for the ATF. Many of them were from the darker side of life; some, like Martha, were innocents who had been drawn into circumstances beyond their control. None of them had affected him the way Martha did.

  Maybe she sensed the direction of his thoughts, because she stiffened, her muscles tensing under his hand. “You know, you don’t really have to come to lunch, Tristan. I’m sure you’ve got other plans, and I know I’ll be safe inside Dad and Sue’s place. As a matter of fact, I’ll even promise to stay away from the windows.”

  “Thanks, but you are the only thing I have planned for this weekend. Actually, for the week.” Maybe longer if that�
��s what it took to bring Johnson in and ensure Martha’s safety.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Sunshine, I’m more than serious. Until Johnson is found, you and I are going to be joined at the hip.”

  “Eventually you’ll have to go home and get back to work.”

  “I’m on medical leave. For now, keeping you safe is my work.”

  “Tristan—”

  “How about we discuss it after lunch? I don’t know about you, but I think better on a full stomach.” He cut her off before she could argue more. It would be a waste of both their energy. He’d already made up his mind. Whether Martha liked it or not, he was sticking around. He’d told his boss that, had even asked for backup, but Daniel Sampson hadn’t been convinced that Johnson would make a move against Martha.

  Tristan was. The sole civilian witness to his crimes and Buddy’s, Martha was the state’s key witness. Johnson would definitely try to get rid of her. It was just a matter of time.

  EIGHT

  Martha knew that having lunch with Tristan, Sue and her dad wasn’t a good idea. There were just too many things that could go wrong. Dad could lay into Tristan, accusing him of reckless endangerment when he found out the role Tristan had played in Friday’s trouble. Worse, he could break out Martha’s baby pictures and brag about what a cute kid she’d been. Sue could fill Tristan in on all the details of Martha’s relationship with Brian, explaining in excruciating detail her opinions on why things had gone wrong. Tristan could…well…he could be Tristan. Handsome, confident. Admirable. And Dad could start getting ideas about marriage and grandkids.

  Five minutes passed as fried chicken was piled onto plates, potato salad and dinner rolls made their rounds and Sue regaled her guests with stories of her volunteer work at the hospital. The flow of conversation took on an easy, comfortable feel, and Martha started to relax, to believe that the meal might pass without any of the things she’d been worried about.

  She should have known better.

  “So, Tristan, tell us, how did you and Marti meet?” Sue’s bright tone belied the intense curiosity in her gaze. The poor woman just couldn’t help it. She was a born gossip. Or maybe collector of information was a better name for it. She might spread the information she gathered, but never with malicious intent.

  “We met in the mountains on Friday.”

  “What?” Jesse set his fork down on the table, and sent a hard look in Martha’s direction.

  “I was working the gun raid.”

  “He’s the man I told you about. Sky Davis. Remember?”

  “The criminal? The guy who kidnapped you? Sitting at my table?” Jesse stood, and Martha had a quick vision of her father lunging for Tristan.

  “Actually, Mr. Gabler, I’m an ATF agent. I was working undercover when Martha and I met.”

  “You nearly got my daughter killed!”

  “Dad, he saved my life. I told you that.”

  “Sit down, Jesse. Sit down right now and eat. I won’t have you ruining my meal with your temper. Tristan, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you were there the day Martha ran into her trouble.” Sue took a sip of sweet tea, her bright eyes filled with excitement. Martha could almost imagine her cataloguing Tristan’s words, filing them under “juicy tidbits.”

  “I’m glad I was there, too.” Tristan met Martha’s eyes, and she was sure she saw humor in his gaze.

  “Martha said you were shot trying to protect her. Is that where you got your arm injury? From the bullet?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And now you’re in town to make sure Martha’s okay? That’s just so romanti—”

  “Sue, I’m sure Tristan didn’t come here to answer a hundred questions.” Martha tried to stop the flow of conversation, but like the tide, it just kept rolling in.

  “Actually, Sue, one of our perpetrators escaped Friday.”

  “This just keeps getting better and better. First I meet the man who nearly got my daughter killed—”

  “He saved my life, Dad,” Martha repeated.

  “And now I find out a criminal mastermind is on the loose.”

  “Not for long, Mr. Gabler. We’ll have him in custody soon.”

  “Says the man who nearly got my—”

  “Dad!”

  Jesse scowled. “Sorry, doll, but it’s the way I see it.”

  “I’d see it the same way if it were my daughter.” Tristan’s words seemed to mollify Jesse, and he settled back into his chair.

  “You think this guy is coming to Lakeview? Coming after Martha?”

  “It’s a good possibility.”

  “Well, put her in one of those witness protection programs, then. A safe house. Someplace where the guy won’t find her.”

  “I tried. My boss isn’t convinced she’s in danger.”

  “Give me his number. I’ll call and make sure he is.”

  “You’re welcome to try. I’ve already spent hours doing the same. Now I’m here, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your daughter stays safe.”

  “Everything in your power. You want to explain what that means? Twenty-four-hour guard? Patrol cars in front of her place? What?”

  Marti sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon. “I’m going to clean the kitchen.”

  She grabbed her plate and exited the room, relieved when Sue didn’t follow her into the kitchen. Not that she’d expected her stepmother to. The conversation at the table was a lot more interesting than loading a dishwasher. Though, for her part, Martha could think of a lot of things she’d rather do than discuss scary possibilities and twenty-four-hour guards.

  She grabbed a pan from the stove, scraped the contents into Sue’s compost bucket and did the same with several bowls. Ten minutes later, she’d managed to empty the dishwasher, fill it again and wipe down the counters, but the conversation in the dining room was still going strong. She could hear just enough of it to know that her name was being mentioned over and over again. If Martha were brave enough, she’d march back into the room and tell all three of them that she’d prefer a change in subject.

  She wasn’t, so she’d just wait things out and deal with her father, Sue and Tristan one at a time. Starting with Tristan. If his boss didn’t think Martha was in danger, then there was no reason for Tristan to play bodyguard. She’d tell him that on the way back to her place.

  Just the thought made her feel better than she had all day. Once she sent Tristan on his way, she could get back to her normal routine. Tomorrow she’d go to work, immerse herself in her job and forget Friday had ever happened. Eventually the nightmares would go away and she’d stop jumping at shadows.

  She grabbed the compost bucket and opened the back door. Outside, cold sunlight shone off dry grass and colorful leaves. The air was sweet with autumn, the sky vividly blue. In years past, the Gablers’ corner lot had been scraggly and neglected. Sue had changed that, surrounding the large yard with a five-foot fence that she’d painted white, planting vegetable and flower gardens, creating order out of disorder. Marti smiled a little as she carried the bucket toward the compost pile at the back edge of the yard. Sue and Jesse Gabler were an unlikely pair, but a good one, and she was glad her father had finally found someone he could trust with his heart.

  “At least he won’t be spending the rest of his days alone.” She dumped the compost on top of the pile, and turned toward the house just as an engine roared to life. A dark blue pickup drove by, U-turned in a neighbor’s driveway and started back, picking up speed as it went. Surprised, Martha turned to watch its approach. A kid, probably. No one else would drive that fast through the neighborhood.

  The truck jumped the curb, heading right toward the fence, not slowing as it ran over the grass.

  “Get out of the way!” Tristan’s warning barely registered as Martha jumped back, tumbling in her haste, landing on the ground and rolling away as metal and wood collided. Fence planks snapped; shards of lumber rained down.

  “Stay down!” Tris
tan shouted the order as Martha struggled to her knees, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed her back onto the ground, holding her still when she would have levered up.

  They stayed that way, his chest against her back, his lips close to her ear as wood crunched, tires squealed and the sound of the engine faded away.

  In the stillness that followed, Martha could hear nothing but her frantically pounding heart and the harsh rasp of her breath. Then other things registered—Tristan’s more controlled breathing, Sue’s cries of alarm, her father’s heavy footfall as he crossed the yard.

  “What’s going on? What happened?” Her father’s raspy voice seemed to break through the terror that held Martha immobile. She shifted, and Tristan moved with her, standing and pulling her to her feet.

  “Are you okay?” He brushed hair from her eyes and framed her face with his hands, his palms warm against her icy skin.

  “I think so.” Though she wasn’t sure her shaking legs would hold her much longer.

  “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Martha’s father raked a hand through his thinning hair, his gaze skimming over the broken fence before settling on Martha.

  “A truck driver lost control and rammed the fence,” she said.

  “The driver did not lose control.” Tristan’s voice was harsh.

  “What are you saying?” Sue nearly squeaked the question, but Tristan didn’t respond.

  His focus was on Martha, his eyes a deep, stormy blue. “What were you doing out here by yourself? I thought we agreed you’d stay inside.”

  “I was putting scraps in the compost pile. And this is inside. Or pretty close to it. The entire yard is fenced.”

  “Which is about as useful as a piece of paper for protecting a person from a bullet.”

  “No one shot at me. Someone drove into a fence. For all we know, it was an accident.”

  “It wasn’t an accident.” Tristan bit out each word, clearly enunciating, as if doing so would convince Martha.

  But she didn’t want to be convinced, because that would mean admitting Johnson had found her. “He couldn’t have found Dad’s house so quickly.”