Dumb.
Really dumb.
She did not need Tristan to stay. She would not beg him to stay. She wouldn’t even indicate that she wanted him to stay. She wasn’t a toddler, after all. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Hadn’t she hiked into the mountains on her own just a few short days ago? Hadn’t she been planning on spending a weekend completely by herself?
What had happened to the strong, independent woman she’d been?
She hadn’t died, that was for sure, so there was no way Martha was going to act like a whiny, weak damsel in distress, willing to let the knight fight her battles while she hid inside the castle. She straightened her spine, stiffened her shoulders. “Just so you know, me being given rules doesn’t mean I’ll follow them. I need to hear what they are before I commit to them.”
“You’ll follow them, Martha. Otherwise how can we make sure you stay safe?” Rayne’s words were calm with barely any inflection, but there was a hard edge to her tone, a sharp look in her eyes.
Definitely an agent and not a paid babysitter. And definitely someone Martha wanted to avoid crossing. For now she’d let the rule battle go. She had a feeling there’d be plenty of other things to battle over during the next few hours. Like visits to her father. Tristan might think she’d given up on the idea, but that was far from true.
She followed Rayne upstairs into a large room decorated in soft yellows. The curtains and shades were drawn, and she started to open them, stopping when Rayne put a hand on her arm.
“That’s probably not the best idea.” Because if Gordon Johnson is out in the wilderness with a sniper rifle you might not live to see tomorrow. Rayne didn’t add the last, but Martha heard the words as clearly as if she had.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“No problem. Everything in the room was brought in for you. We couldn’t grab stuff from your place, but Tristan gave us sizes and color preferences. Go ahead and take a look. Make sure he got it right. You know how men are. Give them an easy job and they’ll find a way to mess it up.” She pulled open a dresser drawer and gestured for Martha to look inside.
Shirts, jeans, sweaters in deep purples, bright blues and vivid yellows. All in her sizes. “These look good.”
“TV works. I brought a couple of old movies. Musicals. Tristan said you’d probably enjoy that more than thrillers or action flicks.”
“He’s right.” Though how he’d known that much about her, she didn’t know.
“He didn’t mess that up, then. Tristan brought your purse. I left your cell phone in it, but don’t use it.”
“You went through my purse.”
“It’s what I do.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Why don’t you go ahead and check things out. Take a shower. Freshen up. Put on some clean clothes. Take your time. Tristan and I have a few things to discuss.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. This is my job. It’s what I get paid for. Just stay put until Tristan or I come up to get you, okay?”
Obviously, she wanted Martha to stay upstairs for a while. Was there some kind of secret-agent stuff that had to be discussed while she wasn’t around? Some bad news Rayne didn’t want her to hear?
She didn’t ask. Mostly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. She might have slept for a few hours, but she felt sick with exhaustion and pain. A shower sounded good, and she was going to take one while the taking was good, because who knew what the next few hours would bring. For all she knew, Johnson would show up here and she’d be off running through the forest trying to escape him.
Or she’d be dead.
She grimaced at the thought. “Okay.”
Rayne nodded, stepped out of the room, closed the door and left Martha alone.
Silence pressed in, and she moved to the dresser, pulling out clothes. Her body was humming with nerves but dragging with fatigue. She felt drained. The truth was, she’d felt that way before Friday. It was one of the reasons she’d run to the cabin after she’d broken up with Brian. Somehow in the past few years she’d lost her focus. In pursuing her dreams, she’d forgotten to pursue her purpose.
And, she realized, those two things were not the same.
Really, would God want her to change who she was and what she believed about life and relationships so that she could have a family? Of course He wouldn’t. He’d much rather she use her gifts and talents for Him. She knew that. Had always known it, but somehow the family she’d wanted, the relationship, the happy home she’d dreamed of had made her forget it for a while.
“Whatever You want my life to be, Lord. That’s going to be good enough for me from now on.”
An open door led to a large bathroom, its earthy tones exactly what Martha would have chosen had she been the one to decorate. Double sinks. Huge soaking tub. Separate shower. For a safe house, the place was fancy.
Martha, on the other hand, wasn’t looking so hot.
She scowled at her reflection. Frizzy curly hair, dark circles under her eyes, pale skin that seemed to have taken on a greenish tinge. The jacket Tristan had borrowed for her hung over her shoulders, but didn’t hide the blue hospital gown or the dirty bloodstained jeans Martha wore. Her own blood. Her father’s.
Martha grimaced, running hot water into the shower so that steam filled the room and masked her reflection as she searched for something to cover the stitches in her shoulder.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d dressed in clean clothes and was running a brush through her hair, wishing she had a little makeup to liven up her pale cheeks. All her purse had yielded was a tube of Chap Stick. Oh well, at least she didn’t look quite as sickly as she had before her shower. She grabbed a bottle of lotion from the sink, rubbing it into her hands, smiling a little when she realized it was chocolate scented. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Rayne would pick out. Maybe she had a soft side.
“Martha?” Tristan called through the closed bedroom door. Martha hurried to open it, her heart doing the same happy dance it did every time he was around.
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to leave without saying goodbye.” The words slipped out and her cheeks heated. Why oh why had she inherited her father’s fair skin?
“And miss my opportunity to remind you of the rules?”
“Remind me? You haven’t told them to me yet.”
“Sure I have, you’ve just chosen not to follow them.” He smiled, pulling her out into the hallway. He’d changed into dark jeans and a navy T-shirt, and the scent of soap and shampoo clung to him. She wanted to cling to him, too, wrap her arms around his waist and beg him not to go.
Fatigue. That had to be the reason. In the two years she’d known Brian, she’d never once felt the urge to ask him to stay longer than he’d planned. “Go ahead and give me the list.”
“There are only two. First one—stay inside unless Rayne is with you. Second one—do everything you’re told when you’re told without arguing.”
“That sounds like more than two.”
“Count them however you want, Sunshine, but for once, follow them. It could make the difference between living and dying. Not just for you, but for anyone protecting you.”
His words were a harsh reminder that Martha wasn’t at a fall retreat, that the beautiful house and awesome landscape were a temporary prison designed not just to keep her in, but to keep Gordon Johnson out. “I will.”
“Promise me.” He placed a hand against her cheek, staring into her eyes. For a moment she forget everything—guns, blood, death dogging her.
“I promise.”
“Good.” He leaned in, inhaled. “Chocolate. One of my favorite things.”
“It’s hand lotion. I guess Rayne picked it out.”
“Actually, I did. In the gift shop at the hospital. I saw it and thought of the day we met. You smelled like rain and chocolate.” His lips brushed hers, a second of barely-there contact that curled her toes and made her pulse race.
Before she could respond, he’d moved down the steps and out the front door.
TWENTY-ONE
Three in the morning.
And she was sleepless. Again.
Martha paced the length of her room for the millionth time and scowled at the numbers glowing red on the bedside clock. She’d known that napping in the afternoon was a bad idea, but there hadn’t been a whole lot else to do besides watching television, and daytime dramas really weren’t her cup of tea.
What she’d really wanted was to get in a car—any car, she wasn’t picky—and drive back to Lynchburg General. That hadn’t been possible, not just because Rayne Steward was pacing the downstairs like a caged animal, but because she’d promised Tristan she wouldn’t.
Unlike a lot of the people in her life, Martha believed in keeping her promises. Though right about now, she was thinking breaking one might not be such a bad thing.
Where was Tristan? At the hospital with her dad? Pursuing a lead that might bring him to Johnson?
Sleeping?
He’d better not be sleeping.
If she had to be awake pacing the floor, so did he.
Which, she realized, was a very selfish thought.
Unfortunately, at three in the morning, she wasn’t feeling very altruistic.
The soft chime of her cell phone startled her out of her thoughts, and she rushed to her purse, grabbing the phone and staring at the caller ID. Lynchburg General. She answered without a thought, only remembering Rayne’s warning not to use the phone after she was speaking into it. “Hello?”
“Martha Gabler?”
“Yes.”
“This is Louise Gilmore from Lynchburg General. I’ve been trying to reach you for several hours. Your stepmother was finally able to remember this number.”
“Is my father okay?” Martha’s heart beat a sickening rhythm in her chest, her mind racing through a million things that might have gone wrong.
“I’m afraid he’s taken a turn for the worse. You’ll want to get here as soon as possible.”
“A turn for the worse, how?”
“The doctor will explain everything, but, really, it would be for the best if you come now. He’s not doing well. It may only be a matter of hours.”
Hours?
She’d thought she’d have decades left with him. Now that time had been reduced to fragments of a day. She wasn’t going to waste it trying to get permission to leave the safe house. She was going. Whether Rayne liked it or not. Whether Tristan liked it or not. She might be a state’s witness, but she was also a daughter. She would not be denied the opportunity to say goodbye to the man who’d raised her.
Promises or no promises.
She grabbed a thick sweater from the drawer, wincing as she pulled it on over the T-shirt she wore. Her shoulder throbbed with every movement, but she worked quickly, pulling on sneakers she found in the closet. Her size exactly. Was that Tristan’s doing?
Her promise to Tristan whispered through her mind as she grabbed her purse. The straightforward approach was best. Down the stairs. Out the front door. If Rayne tried to stop her, she’d just…
Well, she wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she’d do something.
The hall was dark, the house silent as she hurried down the stairs. Her hand trembled as she grabbed the door knob and paused.
And then what?
She didn’t have a car.
“I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be going outside.” Rayne appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a black shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back from her face.
“I just got a call from the hospital. My dad isn’t doing well.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why would I make something like that up?”
“I’m not saying you did. I’m just saying that if your dad had taken a turn for the worse, I would have already heard about it.” She leaned her hip against the railing, her expression bland.
“Look, Rayne, I don’t have time to argue with you about this. My dad’s health is failing—”
“Who’d you talk to? What was his name?”
“Her name was Louise something. I didn’t catch the last name.”
“And she called your cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Let me call the hospital from the secure line. See what I can find out.”
“We don’t have time for that. She said my dad might only have hours left.” Martha’s voice broke on the words, and she pressed her lips together. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in front of Rayne.
“Look, Martha, I sympathize with what you’re going through, but rushing over there before we check the situation out could be dangerous. Gordon Johnson wants you dead in a bad way. He’ll go to any lengths to accomplish his goal.”
“He couldn’t pretend to be a woman and call me on a number he doesn’t have.”
“No, but he could bribe someone to help him get what he needs. I’ve seen it happen before. I lost a good friend that way.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too, and I’m not willing to risk having it happen again. Five minutes to make sure the call was on the up and up. That’s not much time.”
Not when you had years to play with, but when you only had hours, those five minutes seemed huge.
Martha hovered near the doorway as Rayne disappeared into a room off the foyer. Several minutes later she returned, a frown line marring her smooth forehead. “Good news and bad news. Your father is doing better, not worse. That means Johnson was trying to find you.”
“Louise said she got my cell-phone number from my stepmother.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Unless we can figure out who she was, we won’t know for sure.”
“What now?”
“We wait for Tristan. He’s on his way over.”
“At three in the morning?”
“Yeah. There’s been a change in plans. My boss has decided you need to go back to your father’s side.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m afraid not. We need to bring Johnson to justice. Sooner rather than later.”
“You’re going to use me as bait.”
“For the greater good, Martha. The longer he’s on the streets, the more likely it is that someone else will get hurt. Maybe even killed.”
“I don’t think I like this idea.”
“I don’t think anyone does, but Johnson is getting antsy. He may be getting desperate. That’s making the situation more and more dangerous. We need to deal with him now.”
Deal with him now or spend days, weeks, maybe even months hiding from him. Martha thought she’d rather do the first. No matter how frightening it sounded. “All right.”
“Don’t worry. We’ve done this before. Most of the time, the sharks don’t get the bait.” She grinned, but Martha didn’t think the comment was amusing.
Shark and bait? Definitely not something she wanted to dwell on. Of course she did dwell on it anyway, and by the time Tristan stepped into the house, her heart was galloping and she felt physically ill.
“Hey, Sunshine.” He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. “Another long night, heh?”
“Were you at the hospital?”
“No. I was following up on a few leads. Looks like the best one just came from your cell phone.” He released his hold, turning his attention to Rayne. “You talked to Sampson?”
“Yeah.”
“So you know the plan.”
“Bring Martha to the hospital. Give Johnson a chance to go after her.”
“For the record, I’m not too fond of the plan.”
“For the record, I don’t think your fondness or lack thereof matters. We need to get this guy off the streets, Tristan. We need to do it now.”
“Not if it means risking a civilian’s life.”
“We’re risking civ
ilian lives if we don’t act.”
“I disagree.”
“You won’t when he goes after Martha’s father or stepmother. Or when some poor nurse or doctor is killed so he can get the old man and use him to draw Martha out.”
“My dad isn’t an old man.”
“Sorry, I meant no offense. My point is simply that Johnson is a cold-blooded killer who is desperate to keep you from testifying against him. If that means killing a few innocent people who happen to get in his way—so be it.”
“We’ll get someone to fill in and pretend to be Martha.”
“He may be a killer, but he’s not stupid.” Rayne frowned, her frustration obvious.
“I—”
“We’re wasting time.” Martha interrupted Tristan’s words. She wanted Johnson off the streets as badly as they did, and as far as she was concerned, if going back to the hospital accomplished the goal, she’d do it. “I’m ready to go get this done.”
“Do you realize how dangerous this could be?” Tristan’s expression was thunderous, his eyes flashing blue fire.
“Name one thing that’s happened in the past few days that hasn’t been dangerous.”
He scowled, pacing across the foyer. “Look, you’re safe here. I want you to stay that way.”
“So do I, but I also want to go back to my life. I want to be able to be there for my dad while he’s recovering. I do not want to spend days, weeks or months here. I’d go crazy.”
“Crazy is better than the alternative.”
“We could stand here all day arguing, but it’s not going to accomplish anything. I’ve got orders to bring Martha to the hospital.” Rayne grabbed a jacket from the coat closet. “That’s what I plan to do. Unless you want to do it for me.”
“You’re supposed to bring me?” Surprised, Martha turned her attention to Rayne.
“Tristan is on medical leave. He’s not supposed to be doing anything more strenuous than lifting a can of soda.”
“I’m taking her to the hospital.”
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