by Dana Mentink
“No you’re not fine. You’re being threatened. Blackmailed.”
Peter cleared his throat. “She said she’s not. What evidence do you have to the contrary?”
Dan got to his feet, pain throbbing. “You and your brother scared her in the hospital. You know it and we know it.”
“You’re looking at the wrong people here. Tank is the bad guy.” Peter folded his arms.
“Peter,” Lila started.
“No. I’m not going to protect him.” Peter’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “Tank’s a drug user and a thief. He’s infatuated with Lila and he won’t leave her alone. If there are any threats being leveled at her, it’s from Tank, not me or my brother.”
“Is that true, Lila?” Torrey said. “What about the stairwell? Did Peter or his brother, Harry, detain you in the stairwell? Or threaten you in any way?”
“No,” she said.
“But—” Angela started.
“I called Peter, and he and Harry came to get me from the hospital. I asked them not to tell anyone, so they were lying to protect me. I’m sorry if it caused problems.”
“It didn’t,” Peter said. “You were right to be scared of Tank, and Harry and I would do anything to protect you. Did he send you the flowers and card?”
Her mouth tightened, and she stared at him for a moment. “I don’t know who sent the flowers, and I never saw any card.”
“You don’t need to protect Tank or be scared of him,” Peter said, covering her hand with his. “We’re going to keep you safe.”
She offered a tremulous smile before she pulled away.
“Is it true that Tank is infatuated with you?” Torrey said.
“We’re just friends. That’s all.”
Peter moved closer. “She’s a loyal person and she doesn’t want to get him in trouble.”
Lila nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t want any trouble with anyone.”
Torrey radioed dispatch and filled them in. “Still, Miss Brown, I’d like to talk to you if you don’t mind. Just a few questions.”
She nodded, her gaze avoiding Peter Gruber.
When Torrey led Lila away to an empty cubicle, Peter fixed a final look on Angela and Dan. “My brother is a good man. He puts a big chunk of his profits into this clinic because he believes that everyone should have the same access to health care. He’s a hero, not a monster.”
“What about you?” Dan said. “Just a nice guy who happens to be driving along in front of Cora Guzman’s house?”
Peter’s expression hardened. “Look. All I want is to keep Lila safe from Tank Guzman. He’s been terrorizing Lila, stalking her. I wanted to show him what it feels like when the woman he loves feels uncomfortable.”
The woman he loves?
Angela cocked her head. “Peter, are you in love with Lila Brown?”
Peter jerked and raised his hand, cheeks flushing. “Me? Of course not. I’m her boss. She’s a good worker and she’s my friend. I care about her—that’s all. I’ve got to go call my brother now and tell him what’s just gone on at his clinic.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.
Angela watched him go. “Who is telling the truth?”
Dan couldn’t answer. Gingerly, he followed Angela back down the stairs, and they stood for a moment in the sunlit parking lot.
“This is spinning out of control,” Angela said. “Everyone’s got a different story.”
“One thing’s for sure—Lila’s still scared.”
“But is she scared of Harry or Tank? Or Peter?”
“That’s too many questions for me right now. My head is throbbing.”
“You should go to a doctor.”
“And have my head examined?” He laughed. “It’s like a big block of cement. Perfectly fine.” On impulse, he caught up Angela’s hand and kissed it.
“What’s that for?”
“You came back for me after I conked my head.”
She shook her head mournfully. “If Peter’s telling the truth, he wasn’t intending to hurt you. There never was any danger, except in my mind.”
“You didn’t know that. You grabbed a letter opener and came after me, all by yourself.”
“Some rescue,” she said, rubbing her free palm on the leg of her jeans as if to rub away the feel of the letter opener.
“Some courage,” he echoed. “You were brave.”
For a moment, her eyes glimmered, then she looked away, detaching herself. “I’m not brave, Dan.”
“I beg to differ.”
The sun drifted behind a cloud, and her eyes went from emerald to sage. “I’m so scared I can’t do my job. I can’t even pray.”
“God’s patient. He’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“I don’t think I will be. I’m...” She gulped. “I’m going to ask to be discharged.” She breathed hard. “I can’t serve. I can’t help people.”
“You helped me just now.”
She blinked hard again. “My last assignment, before I was put on leave... I was supposed to escort a family to view their son who’d been killed by an IED and flown home.” She stopped.
“You couldn’t do it?” he said softly.
“I couldn’t even get out of the car,” she spat, hitting every word hard. “I stayed there, clutching the steering wheel, crying like a kid. I was supposed to be there comforting, helping that family hold on to their faith and I couldn’t even get the seat belt off.” Her laugh was bitter. “How’s that for a chaplain? Crying in the front seat while a family waited to say good-bye to their son. That’s not serving.”
He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away.
“Don’t call me brave, Dan. Please. It’s an insult to all the men and women we served with.”
The silence built between them for a few moments. “If you were counseling someone who felt the way you do, would you tell them they were a coward?” He kept his voice low and soft. “Or would you tell them they’d been injured and they needed help?”
“Don’t you see? I wouldn’t tell them anything,” she said, voice breaking, one tear edging down her face. “I can’t hear God anymore, Dan, so what right have I to counsel anyone else?”
“Angela—” he started.
The words came out in a halting whisper. “I can’t hear God anymore,” she breathed, trembling.
“With time and help, you will. He hasn’t left you.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to walk back to my hotel.”
“I’ll drive you.”
She shook her head, bangs trailing in front of those haunted green eyes. “I need to walk.”
He watched her leave, head down, hands jammed into her pockets as she shuffled along. Sorrow for her made him ache inside. He looked up at the sky, to the puff of clouds against a brilliant blue.
“Help her, Lord. Find Your way through that silence and restore her connection with You.”
Another cloud darkened the sun. Dan watched its progress, his gaze going to the third-floor window. Peter Gruber looked down, following Angela’s progress like a cat tracking a wounded bird.
Something went cold and hard inside Dan, a surge of protectiveness rippling through his gut. Angela had been hurt enough. He turned and stepped away from the building, staring right back up at Peter, sending the message loud and clear.
If you think you’re going to intimidate her, you’ve got another think coming.
NINE
Angela locked herself in her hotel room and closed the curtains. She wanted nothing more than to hide from the world, from feelings that she could not control, pulsing unexpectedly like the flames of a wind-whipped fire.
At the core of it, she was afraid. Of losing control, of the threats she saw building all around
her from the Grubers and Tank. But most of all, she feared that her soul would be trapped in this dark place forever.
Dan was right. If she was ministering to a soldier in the same situation, she would tell him that he’d been injured and he needed help for his PTSD. And she’d tried to get it for herself, but the shame and despair had made her discontinue seeing the doctor after only two visits. The final humiliation had been encountering a soldier she’d supported waiting to see the same doctor that she was. How could she counsel when she couldn’t find comfort herself? And how could she talk to others about God when He was silent in her life?
She closed her eyes, drifting off into a troubled sleep until a knock on the door made her leap to her feet, pillow clutched to her chest. A quick glance at the clock told her it was late afternoon, almost four.
“Angela?” Marco’s deep voice called. “Are you in there?”
She unlocked the door. Marco and Donna stood there, bags in hand.
Donna threw her arms around Angela and she endured the hug, disentangling herself as quickly as she could.
“I was getting worried when you didn’t answer,” Donna said. She was tanned and trim, long mane of hair highlighted from her time honeymooning in the sun.
“Why aren’t you with Brent?” Angela said.
She laughed. “Disasters don’t take vacations, so neither does the coast guard. He’s deployed to help with the evacuations on a distressed oil tanker, so I’ve got a week apart from my new hubby and the veterinary office.”
Angela was happy to see the smile on her sister’s face when she spoke of her husband. Brent was a fine man, and Donna deserved nothing less.
Marco bent to kiss Angela on the cheek. His dark eyes took in every detail of her face. “Your mother said I was to ask you if you’ve been getting enough to eat.”
Angela quirked a smile. “And what are you supposed to do about it if the answer is no?”
Marco shifted. “I figured Donna could handle that part.” He sat in a chair, Donna on the small sofa while Angela filled them in on the events since she’d arrived. She did not add anything about her emotional mess. That wasn’t something they needed to know.
Marco sat and listened, forearms leaning on his knees as he absorbed every detail without interrupting. Donna showed no such restraint, peppering Angela with questions until she reached the end with Peter at the clinic office.
“So who’s the bad guy here?” Donna said. “Tank? Peter? Harry? The cop?”
“That’s why I called you.” Angela sighed. “I don’t know.”
Marco raised a thick eyebrow. “What’s the doc think?”
She looked at her hands, but she knew Marco was watching for her reaction, gauging how deeply Dan was involved.
“He’s unsure.”
Marco waited a beat. “Is he going to be a part of this?”
Was he? Angela could not bear the calculating gleam in her sister’s eye. If only they knew how completely unable she was to be involved in a relationship of any kind. But then, she’d kept them as far away from her problems as she could. “It’s possible. He considers Lila Brown a friend, and she’s definitely scared of someone.”
Donna twisted a strand of her long hair. “Dan served with you, Candace said. Do we count him as a friend?”
“When he proves himself to be,” Marco said.
Always the gruff exterior, Marco was also a man who loved deeply and cared about the Gallagher family since he had none of his own anymore.
“First step is background checks on the players,” Marco said. “Grubers, Lila Brown, Tank Guzman.”
“I don’t think Tank is the guilty party here.”
“Is that because you don’t want him to be?” Donna asked with typical Gallagher bluntness.
Angela bit back an angry remark. “No. He brought me into this mess because he thinks we can prove Harry Gruber is trying to kill him.”
“Why?” Donna’s eyes rolled in thought. “How would a down-on-his-luck, unemployed guy be a threat to Harry Gruber? Gruber’s a successful business man, a philanthropist. Guzman’s a nobody.”
“He’s not a nobody,” Angela snapped. Marco and Donna stared. She took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t mean it that way. I want to help him. I think he’s telling the truth.”
Donna’s face was still troubled. “Okay. You know him better than we do. Still, we’ll see what we can turn up on all three of them, okay?”
Angela nodded.
“Mind if I bunk here with you?” Donna said. “Marco’s got a room across the hall.”
As much as she loved her sister, Angela did not want to have anyone around. But there seemed no way out of it that would not hurt Donna’s feelings and incur unnecessary expense.
“Sure.”
Marco and Donna decided to get some dinner at the Beachbum, but Angela declined. When she was finally alone, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to put her spiraling thoughts in order. It was a huge comfort to have Marco and Donna in Cobalt Cove. Then why was her stomach still doing backflips?
Of all the details whirling in her mind, the one she could not forget was the lock of downy hair. Both Lila and Peter denied it had ever been there. So did the orderly. But she had seen it and so had Lila, and whoever sent it knew it would terrorize Lila into doing whatever they wanted of her.
Peter said Tank was infatuated with Lila. And her child, too?
What was Tank’s connection to Lila, anyway?
She suddenly realized how very little she knew about either one of them, how very little she knew about any of it.
* * *
The following morning Dan watched the sun rise in its glorious splendor over the still waters of Cobalt Cove as he munched his way through a bowl of granola and poured some cat food in a bowl for Babs. The air was crisp, the sky thick with wispy fog that might or might not burn off later in the day. A ping from his phone reminded him he had a noon appointment with Jeb for physical therapy. He would go for sure. Get the hand back into action and resume his role as a private-practice surgeon at the hospital.
His fingers curved as if they, even now, held the delicate instruments, the incredible telescopic cameras, the console controls that directed the robotic surgeries. The procedures were methodical, meticulously planned.
His heart traveled back to Kandahar, where no appointments were made, any plans tossed out the window at the beep of a pager that announced the arrival of the wounded. As a Role 3 hospital, they got the most critical cases and they’d saved countless lives. A navy reservist, Dan had volunteered, and all his research and preparation for what might occur was not even close to reality.
He recalled one nineteen-year-old soldier who had sustained grievous injuries to both legs, a big capital T written in marker on his forehead indicating he’d been brought in wearing a tourniquet. Under his uniform, he wore a ragged T-shirt with his son’s handprints on either side of a pink painted heart. I love you, Daddy.
Dan took the tiny notebook from his pocket and trailed his finger over the neatly written names until he found the one he sought, the daddy who’d lain on Dan’s table that day while a team of doctors worked feverishly to save him. A. Manning.
The A was for Anton, he’d learned later.
“We’re going to take care of you, son,” Dan had said that day in the operating theater, tainted with the smell of sweat and antiseptic.
Anton had smiled exactly one time and put his hand on Dan’s sleeve. Dan had not saved Anton Manning, in spite of his own efforts and those of the crack surgical team. They had not been enough. He’d mumbled his own prayer hours later as he sat with Manning’s flag-draped body, making sure he was not alone while they waited for mortuary affairs to arrive. They must never be alone, the ones that had not made it. Never. Then the solemn lines of personnel formed to
deliver A. Manning on his way. The final salute.
I love you, Daddy. Words Anton never heard again this side of heaven.
Dan realized he’d been staring out the window so long, his coffee was cold. He dumped it in the sink. The ache still remained, a clear sign that he had to put away the notebook and bring himself back to the present. He did so.
The task at hand: How could he help Angela and Lila?
“Bull by the horns, Blackwater,” he told himself as he grabbed a jacket and headed to his truck. His plan was simple and straightforward. He’d known Lila for six months, and he figured that entitled him to a certain level of pushiness. If she was being harassed by the Grubers or Tank, maybe she’d open up to him about it. He thought about Peter staring at Angela from his office window. The only way to help her was to get to the bottom of the mystery.
He knew where Lila’s home was, a small rented in-law unit out back of a residence in the next town over, Seacliff. The name of the town was more scenic than it deserved, at least the neighborhood Lila lived in, which was a good five blocks from the beach. Her unit was attached to a two-story house with a fenced-off front yard and a half-dozen small children playing there. The home owner, Mrs. Grayson, ran a day care out of her house and provided supervision for Lila’s son, Quinn. All this, he’d learned in the coffee break room at the clinic.
A blue SUV was parked at the curb near the house with three people inside.
Dan parked and approached the vehicle. Marco saw him coming and rolled down the window.
“You’re the doc?”
“Call me Dan. Good to meet in person.”
“Likewise.”
Angela sat in the backseat, looking very surprised to see him. A woman with long blond hair and the same full-lipped smile as Angela’s got out of the car along with Marco.
“I’m Donna Mitchell, Angela’s sister.”
Dan greeted her and Marco with a warm handshake. “I don’t suppose it’s coincidence that we all wound up here this morning?”
Marco leaned against the car. He was a solid six feet of muscle, four inches shorter than Dan but broader around the chest. Tough guy. Dan found himself straightening as they took each other’s measure.