by Gina Conroy
He yanked her up, then the kids, and pushed them toward a pit.
Samantha studied Cody’s face, searching for some humanity. “Why’d you kill Professor Timmons?”
“You gave me no choice.” Were those tears in his eyes or just the rain? “Just like I don’t have a choice now.” He pushed them toward the pit.
“You can disappear. We won’t tell anyone.” “How’d I explain that suicide note? No dead kids to confirm the story.”
Desperation snaked through her. “How will you explain two dead colleagues?”
“I won’t explain anything. I don’t know anything.” Cody’s trigger finger twitched. Rain hammered, the storm building overhead. If he was going to shoot, it would be after the next flash of lightning, during the thunder. Not much time. Nothing more to do but trust God. No matter what.
Peace settled as if she nestled safely in the eye of the storm. She removed her children’s gags, kissed their lips. “I love you. We’ll be fine.”
One way or another, they’d be fine.
Lightning flashed. Cody raised his gun. “Darn it, Sam! Why’d you spoil everything?” Thunder crashed. Samantha screamed, shoved her children. Fire radiated, then darkness.
Nick tackled Cody as the gun exploded; then Samantha disappeared. Cody’s fist contacted Nick’s jaw. Pain surged. Where was the gun? Lightning flashed. There. Nick’s arm snaked around Cody’s neck and pulled as Cody reached for the gun. A knee jab to Cody’s kidneys. He screamed, recoiled. Nick grabbed for the weapon. Teeth dug into his forearm. He grunted, squeezed the trigger. Cody hollered. Blood seeped from his hip. Nick handcuffed Cody as he writhed.
Lightning illuminated a mound of dirt. He scrambled toward it and gazed in a pit.
“Lord, don’t let me be too late.” He pulled Samantha from the grave, laying her gently on the grass, then helped Alex and Callie. Untied their bonds. Both of them weeping, but alive. He wiped their tears, fighting his own. Looked them over and hugged them.
Cody moaned. Alex shivered.
“He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s going to jail for a long time.”
“Is Mommy okay?” Callie asked.
Nick’s gaze drifted to Samantha’s limp body. Tears crowded, chest burning. How would they handle the loss of another parent? How would he handle the loss of another love?
Alex looked at Nick with big, bloodshot eyes. “You were supposed to save her.”
Nick cradled Samantha. Don’t take her from me. From them. The children clung to each other. He searched Samantha’s neck for a pulse, the rain pounding. He couldn’t tell if life flowed through her veins in the awkward position he held her. His chest tightened.
He’d have to let her go.
Resting her head against the ground, he noticed her blood-soaked shirt.
“I’m sorry, Samantha.” Tears fell. “Lord, don’t make her pay for my mistakes. Punish me instead.”
God doesn’t want you to pay for their deaths. He wants you to trust Him.
Truth echoed through his soul. He embraced it and pressed his lips against Samantha’s, drinking in their warmth. Warmth?
He felt for a pulse. She was alive. The wound. On her… shoulder! He applied pressure. Sirens wailed. She’d be okay. He scooped her in his arms and this time he wouldn’t let go. Samantha’s eyes fluttered open. “Hey, you.” Nick brushed rain from her face. “Callie? Alex?”
“They’re fine.” “Cody—you were right.” “Shh, we’ll talk later. Rest your eyes.” To Nick’s surprise, she did.
Chapter 12
Alex barreled into the hospital room with a dandelion bouquet and ran to Samantha’s bedside.
“These are for you. Make a wish.”
“They’re lovely.” She took the bouquet as Callie, then Nick, entered. “But I’ve got everything I need right here.” She caught Nick’s smile.
“There you are, squirt.” Nick ruffled Alex’s hair. “We’ve already lost him once.”
“Alex!” Samantha’s chest ached and it wasn’t from the gunshot wound in her shoulder.
Alex shrugged. “They disappeared, so I followed my gut.”
“Into the cafeteria.” Callie grabbed the television remote as everyone laughed.
“Seriously, champ. Don’t give your mom a hard time while she’s recovering.”
“Knock, knock.” Carole Huntington walked in dragging an IV.
Nick hurried to her side. “What happened? Where have you been?”
“Had my pipes cleaned after a heart attack early Sunday morning.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Been busy fighting for my life.” She kissed Nick on the cheek. “You’re my hero.”
“Why?”
“I took those aspirin like you said. It saved my life.”
“He’s my hero.” Samantha grabbed Nick’s hand. “I thought we were dead, when Cody—Arthur—shot me.”
Jack sauntered in wearing a suit, with Tara beside him carrying a plastic-wrapped plate.
“Cookies While You Sleep?” Samantha craved Tara’s melt-in-your-mouth meringue confections. Alex snatched them and settled near Callie by the window.
Tara nodded. “I was up all night worrying, so I didn’t sleep.”
“Talk about nightmares. I can’t believe Professor Timmons is dead.” Carole sat down.
“Timmons’s mistake was conspiring with Arthur in college.” Jack looked at Nick. “After Arthur stole Cody’s identity, he blackmailed Timmons into forging his archaeology credentials and replicating the artifacts he stole. Things got complicated when Alex destroyed the telescope and you started investigating. Someone needed to take the fall. Timmons was an easy target. Nice work, Nick. Even if I don’t agree with your tactics. The Bureau could use a man like you.”
“I need to ease back into Fairfax PD first.”
Samantha reached for his hand. “You’re returning?”
“Only with your blessing.”
“If it’s what you want.”
“You’re what I want.” Nick kissed her forehead. “But the PD comes in a close second.”
Samantha’s cheeks flushed, warmth flowing through her body. She hadn’t realized her stubbornness would harden her to love.
She was ready to trust God with her future. Ready to move forward with Nick. Ready to live. Because no matter what happened, she knew she’d never be alone.
Nick stared at Samantha. With bruises and bags under her eyes, she was stunning. Her lips begged to be kissed, but he glanced at the door instead, his heart hammering.
“Hope I’m not late.” Nick’s uncle, Vince Martinelli, rushed in with a long package.
Next came Samantha’s neighbor, Susan Holland, carrying coffee. She stopped and glanced at Vince. “You know Samantha?”
“Nope.” Uncle Vince handed the package to Nick. “This is my sister’s kid, Nick Porter.”
Nick eyed the widower.
Uncle Vince shifted his weight. “This is Susan. We met in the elevator.”
Samantha cleared her throat. “Can we pause introductions until I get my coffee?”
“How’d you know?” Susan handed her the cup.
“I have a nose for amaretto.” Samantha took a sip.” Continue.”
Nick held up his hand. “Introductions can wait. I have an announcement.”
“So do I.” A blond in a tailored skirt and Jackie O pearls walked in. “I just came from Arthur Bundrum’s arraignment. He named the person who bought the original telescope and turned over the real pearl-handled knife in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
Samantha’s brow wrinkled. “Will he get off easy, Ciara?”
“Don’t worry, he’s got a tough judge.” Nick studied the blond.
So the attorney was Samantha’s neighbor Ciara Turner.
“What about Johnny?” Even though he broke into Samantha’s home and pawned her wedding ring, the kid was worth saving.
Ciara set down her briefcase. “He pleaded to breaking and entering, and theft of ant
iques from Mount Vernon, but he rolled on Bundrum, who caught him stealing the plates.”
“Arthur Bundrum used the theft as leverage until he got Johnny to steal your purse to find the knife.” Jack tugged on his cuffs. “When he couldn’t find it, Bundrum forced Johnny to break into your apartment.”
“What about the mob?” Samantha asked.
“Johnny’s not saying. I don’t blame him.” Nick shrugged. “I suspect he sold the plates to the Capolinis, who saw a way to make a bigger profit using Johnny.” He laid the box on Samantha’s lap. “Enough business.”
“Long-stemmed roses?” She opened the box. Confusion filled her expression. “A telescope?”
He smiled. “Take a look.”
Samantha glanced through the lens and frowned. “There’s something wrong.”
Nick looked through it. “Something’s obstructing the view.” He removed the lens and something tumbled out. He knelt.
Someone in the room gasped. Samantha’s eyes grew doelike as she peered over the hospital bed at Nick.
“Um, this isn’t going to work. I can’t see your face.” Nick rose, tried to scoot next to her, but got trapped between the pillow rails and lower bars. “As if this wasn’t hard enough, I have to make an idiot of myself.”
“Love does that to a person.” Jack pulled Tara closer.
“You can do this, Nicky,” Carole rasped.
Uncle Vince turned to Susan. “Better him than me.” Nick stood close and took Samantha’s hand, ready to swallow the bullet and surrender his life to the woman he loved.
Samantha glanced at the diamond ring, then at Nick. Two-day-old stubble, scratches on his chin. Her knave.
Her knight.
Before he asked the question, Samantha knew the answer.
Yes.
She was ready to crack the binding on her fairy tale.
With the ring on her finger and congratulations in the room, Nick reached over, closing the gap. She felt his breath on her lips as he glanced at the children, a tremble as he committed, and the promise of a future together as their kiss deepened.
“Ewww.” Alex ran to the other side of Samantha. “You know, you’ll have to marry my mom now.”
“Really? Then I should do it again, just to make sure.” Another kiss. More cheers.
Callie huffed and rolled her eyes. “Get a room, will ya?”
Nick winked at Samantha. “Oh, we plan on it. Right after the wedding.”
Writer, speaker, leader, teacher, homeschooler, GINA CONROY was born and bred in New York, but now makes her home in the Southwest with her husband and four children. She has had a passion for the written word all her life and has been writing for publication for over twenty-five years. She is an active member of American Christian Fiction Writers and founder of writerinterrupted.com. Gina loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her at [email protected] or find her on Facebook and Twitter @GinaConroy.
Dedication
For all the coffee, tea, and mystery lovers out there, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
And to the memory of Carolyn Keene and Agatha Christie, thanks for all the grand adventures.
COFFEE, TEA,
AND DANGER
by Frances Devine
Chapter 1
Susan Holland stepped through the massive oak door, clutching the key in her hand, and stopped inside the dark foyer. A musty odor clung to the vast room, conjuring up thoughts of mummies and graveyards. She shivered and ran her fingers through the short waves of her hair, then hurried to open a window, allowing the late September breeze to blow away her childish illusion.
She thought Uncle Albert had sold the old mansion years ago. Apparently, he felt as sentimental about it as she did. And now it was hers. What in the world would she do with an old mansion in Virginia?
“Miss Holland?”
Startled, Susan turned. A short, gray-haired woman stood on the porch with her hand raised to knock on the door frame.
“Yes.”
“I’m Mary Turner, ma’am.” She smiled, but the worry lines between her eyes spoke volumes.
Oh yes, the woman who lived in the cottage out back. According to Uncle Albert’s lawyer, she’d been the caretaker here for twenty years.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner.” Susan stepped back.
“Would you like to come in?”
Mary nodded and took a deep breath as she stepped inside. “I was wondering if you’ll be keeping me on or if I’m going to have to find another place to live.”
Another decision to make. But not right away. She needed some time to think.
“What exactly are your duties here, Mrs. Turner?”
“Oh mercy, call me Mary.” She shifted her slight form from one foot to another. “I mostly just keep the cobwebs out of the place and make sure no one breaks in and vandalizes it. That’s all Judge Holland instructed me to do.”
Susan glanced around and ran her finger across the small table beside the door. “I think you must have done a little more than knock cobwebs down or there’d be a lot more dust.”
A spark of humor filled the woman’s eyes and her thin lips curved into a smile. “To tell the truth, ma’am, I sort of like to come to the house and think about what it must have been like in the old days.”
A memory washed over Susan like a warm breeze. She stepped to the french doors on the left and pulled them open. Her breath caught. The last time she’d seen the gigantic fireplace with its splendid scrolled mantel, candles stood tall and elegant among a festoon of greenery and red berries that draped from one end to the other.
She inhaled deeply. Her cousin Jo was still here then. They’d been ten years old. She glanced around. Heavy covers hid what surely must be the old familiar sofas and chairs. She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat and closed the doors against the nostalgia that tried to grip her.
“The house was incredibly beautiful.” She forced a smile. The woman was apparently nervous at the thought of being cast out of her home. “I’m not sure at this point what I’ll do with the house. It may be awhile before I make a decision. So I guess in the meantime, you should keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
“Do you want me to go upstairs with you?” Mary glanced at the stairway then back to Susan. “It’s a little spooky up there, it being empty so long and all.”
At the eagerness in the caretaker’s voice, Susan almost said yes, but shook her head. She needed to be alone this time. “I’m not afraid of spooks, but thanks anyway.”
“Well, if you need me for anything, I’ll be at my place.” Sadness slid across her face. “Guess it’s not really my place, is it?”
“Well, for now, at least, it is most certainly your home.”
Mary nodded and headed for the door with a slight limp Susan hadn’t noticed before. Sympathy tugged at her heart. What would it be like to know you could be kicked out of your home at any time?
Susan strode to the sweeping staircase, her high heels clicking on the polished wood floor. She placed her hand on the newel post and looked upward. Jo’s shrieking laughter as she slid all the way to the bottom echoed in her memories. Susan straightened her shoulders and started up the stairs, running her fingers along the smooth banister. Would everything here always remind her of Jo?
She ambled through the second-floor rooms, lifting the furniture coverings one by one, releasing a faint scent of cedar polish. Apparently, Mary had done much more than Uncle Albert had required of her. Most of the familiar old pieces were antiques, same as the ones downstairs. They appeared to be in good condition.
Shadows fell across the hallway as she strode toward the third-floor stairs. Unease bit at her. Mary was right. It did seem a little spooky. But the only ghosts around were her memories. She paused at the foot of the stairs. She couldn’t bear to see the old English-style nursery today. The place she and Jo had played and laughed and shared their secrets.
Besides, it was four o’clock, an hour late fo
r closing up the coffee shop. She knew Tonya would be a trusted employee, given time, but as of now she didn’t know how to close the shop and would be anxious for Susan’s return.
She turned and headed back toward the stairway. A faint scuffling sound came from behind her. Susan whirled, her heart pounding against her chest. The empty hallway, with its line of closed doors, stared back at her. Her nervous laugh echoed off the high ceilings and she hurried to the stairs.
Sudden pressure on her back forced a gasp from her throat and she lost her balance She lurched forward, the stairs rushing up to meet her as she tumbled down the long staircase. Frantically, she reached for the rail and found only air. Her head bumped against the railing and bounced off and she spiraled downward. She landed hard on the foyer floor.
Pain shot through every part of her body. She moaned and pushed her hands against the floor, lifting herself slightly. The room began to revolve slowly, then faster. Nausea overwhelmed her and she dropped to the floor.
“Miss Holland!” someone shouted.
Gentle hands brushed against her forehead and a distressed voice cried out, “Don’t move. I’ll get a wet cloth.”
The front door slammed. Susan moaned as knifelike pain stabbed through her head. A moment later, footsteps crossed the foyer and cool dampness eased the pain behind her eyes.
She blinked. Mary bent over her, her face tight with fear.
“Thank heaven you’re alive. You stay still while I go back home and call the doctor.”
Mary started to move away but Susan grabbed her arm. “No, not the doctor. Call the police. My cell phone is in my handbag.”
“Why would you want the police? You just fell down the stairs. I think you’re confused. I’d better call the doctor.”
“No. I didn’t fall. I was pushed.” She sank onto the floor and blackness claimed her.
“Now, miss, don’t you think it’s more likely you tripped on the step?” The officer’s smile didn’t reach his blue eyes as he leaned over Susan’s chair. “You’ve got a good-sized lump on that pretty red head which could account for your confusion.”