by Irene Hannon
But even as he’d tapped in his dad’s number, he’d had no idea how to broach the subject he wanted to talk about. The roll to voicemail had been a welcome reprieve.
One that had now ended.
“You took my call.”
“You caught me leaving a meeting.” He picked up his pace.
“Perfect. Then you have a minute to talk to Dad too.”
“Quit pushing, Becca.”
“He was really worried, Luke.”
Wonderful.
Another helping of guilt to add to the boatload he already carried.
“I’ll call him in a few minutes, okay? After I have some privacy.”
“Fine. I’m hanging up.” The line went dead.
Luke continued to his Taurus and slid behind the wheel, weighing the phone in his hand. It didn’t get much more private than here, locked in his car.
Might as well get this over with.
Pulse quickening, he scrolled through his directory to the number and placed the call.
His father picked up on the first ring. “Luke?”
“Yeah. Hi, Dad.”
“I got your message last night. I’ve been trying to reach you. Is everything all right?”
The anxiety ragging the edges of his father’s question tugged at Luke’s conscience.
“Fine. Busy—but that’s not unusual.”
“You’d tell me if there was a problem, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“You’re not just saying that to keep me from worrying, are you?”
“No.”
“Okay.” His dad expelled a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact . . . but I know that job of yours can be dangerous.”
“Most of my days are routine.”
“I have a feeling your version of routine and mine are at opposite ends of the spectrum. But I know you love your work.”
“It fits me.” A few beats ticked by while Luke scrambled to come up with the words to launch his apology.
“Well . . . I don’t want to keep you.” His dad broke the lengthening silence. “I know your days are packed, but it’s been a treat to hear your voice. I . . . I miss seeing you—and talking with you.”
Suck it up and get this done, Carter.
Right.
Bracing, he sent a silent plea for courage toward the expansive canvas of blue sky doming this spring day—and took the plunge. “The gaps in communication have been my fault, Dad. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch more often.” He squeezed the cell. Swallowed. “It was a blow when you remarried, and it’s taken me a while to come to grips with that.”
“I had a feeling that’s what’s been on your mind. And it’s okay, Son. I understand. You thought I was being disloyal to your mom.”
Typical Dad. Always loving and forgiving.
Luke’s throat tightened. “I was wrong to be upset.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. In your place, I suspect I’d have reacted the same way. To tell you the truth, I struggled with the situation myself after I met Lauren. I never planned to fall in love again, and it threw me.”
“How did you deal with that?” There might be a lesson here for him as well.
“I backed off at first—but after I talked to my pastor, I got more comfortable with the notion. He’s a young fellow, not long out of seminary, and wise beyond his years. He offered several insights that stuck with me.”
“Like what?” He’d take any guidance he could get.
“That not everyone gets a second chance at love. That it’s a gift—and refusing to accept it is like throwing that gift back in the Almighty’s face.”
“That’s one way to look at it, I guess.”
“I’m convinced it’s the best way. He also reminded me that loving Lauren didn’t mean I loved your mom any less. Just like loving you and your sister and my grandkids doesn’t diminish my love for her. Every love is different and unique, and none of them can take the place of another.”
Another valid point.
“Seems like he offered some sound counsel.”
“As I said, he’s a smart man. So I talked about it with Lauren. Turns out she was having similar doubts, for the same reasons. But after we discussed it, we agreed he was right and embraced the gift. I’m glad we did . . . and I hope someday my example might encourage you to do the same. You’re too young to spend the rest of your life alone, Luke.”
“So Becca has been telling me for months.”
“Uh-oh. Persistence can be her middle name. How are you withstanding the onslaught?”
At his father’s wry comment, Luke’s lips twitched. “She’s a force to be reckoned with once she sets her mind on a goal.”
“No kidding. Remember in high school, when she decided to learn to play the violin?”
“How could I forget? She made that thing screech like a banshee.”
His father chuckled. “Between you and me, I took to wearing cotton balls in my ears. But she stuck with it.”
“Only because she was determined to get that kid who played in the school orchestra to notice her.”
“It worked. He ended up asking her to the senior prom.”
“And she never picked up the violin again—thank the Lord.”
“She wasn’t half bad by the time she quit, though. And she achieved her goal. Meaning if Becca has you in her sights . . . watch out.”
“I’m already on high alert.” No need to mention that his sister’s mission to spice up his social life was succeeding . . . with an assist from Kristin—and now his dad. There would be plenty of opportunity to bring up the woman who’d been dominating his thoughts if they ended up clicking after this case ended.
“So . . . any chance you might be able to get away for a long weekend and pay Lauren and me a visit?”
“I wish I could, but I’m too new to have any vacation days.”
“Maybe over Memorial Day?”
“I might be able to swing that. Or . . . why don’t you two come out here? We could have a family get-together. I have a guest room in my apartment.” The bed was buried under boxes he hadn’t yet unpacked—but that was easy to fix.
“I’ll ask Lauren. It would be wonderful to see you. In the meantime, you’ll stay in touch—by more than email?”
“Yes. That’s a promise.”
He exhaled. “I can’t tell you what a burden that lifts from my shoulders. I hate conflict and hurt feelings in a family. It’s so much better when everyone gets along. As George Bernard Shaw said, ‘A happy family is but an earlier heaven.’”
“I like that.”
“Your mom did too. She’s the one who shared it with me. I’m glad you and I are back on track.”
“Me too. Take care, Dad—and give Lauren my best.”
“Will do. Talk to you soon, Son.”
Luke tapped end, slid the cell back onto his belt, cracked his window, and filled his lungs with the fresh spring air.
The call he’d dreaded was over—and the turbulent father-son waters had been smoothed out.
Whatever else he accomplished this week, nothing was going to top that.
But the visit he was going to pay Kristin before this day ended would be the icing on the cake.
Done.
Kristin hung up the phone and smiled.
Giving someone happy news was an upbeat way to end a Monday.
The bell over the WorldCraft door jingled, and she rose from her desk in the back room. Someone was cutting it very close to closing.
But she never turned a customer away.
She pushed through to the front . . . and stopped as Luke angled toward her.
Yes!
This was an even better way to end a Monday.
“You look happy.” He strolled over to her.
“Um . . . yes, I am. I just hired a new part-time clerk.” At least she had a legitimate excuse for her smile beyond her pleasure at seeing her favorite detective.
“That was fast.”
> “I called the career counselor who recommended Susan.” The mention of her former clerk dimmed her pleasure a few watts, and the corners of her mouth drooped. “She runs an agency that helps women who’ve been out of the workforce for a while get a new start. She sent over a candidate, and we clicked. Alexa’s first shift is Wednesday.”
“That should take some of the pressure off.”
“Yes. Much as I love this place, being here all day with no break does get tiring. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“I have news.”
“I like the sound of that.” She glanced at her watch. “Let me lock up first. I’m only a few minutes away from closing, and I don’t want us to be interrupted.” She crossed to the door, flipped the locks, lowered the blinds, and motioned to the back corner, where two chairs were positioned near a half-open door. “We can sit by the dressing room.”
He followed her over.
She tried not to giggle as he folded himself into one of the petite chairs usually occupied by a female waiting for a friend to try on an article of clothing.
“I can tell you’re making a valiant attempt to restrain your mirth.” He stretched one long leg out in front of him. “And while I admit I feel a bit like Miss Muffet, I’ve squeezed into kiddie chairs at my sister’s to play with my nephews. This is roomy by comparison.”
“Would you rather sit on the stool behind the counter?”
“Where would you sit?”
“I could stand.”
“So could I . . . while you sit. Or we could stay here. I can handle this for a few minutes. You’ll find I’m a very adaptable guy.” He gave her an engaging grin.
“I can see that.” As well as a host of other admirable attributes. “Let’s stay here. I don’t want any more delays hearing your news.”
“Let me start by telling you about a body that was found on Tuesday.”
She listened as he recounted the DNA match to the blood on the patio at Elaine Peterson’s, his visit to the FBI this morning—and the call he’d received less than an hour ago from the agent he’d met with.
“You mean the facial recognition software found a match on the terrorist watch list?” A tiny shiver of fear rippled through her.
“Yes. We have the guy’s last known address—here in St. Louis. We’re going to be delving into his recent activity . . . discreetly . . . while we wait for the candles.”
“I’m still having a hard time connecting the monks with anything underhanded. All of them have devoted their lives to prayer and humanitarian aid.”
“In other words—they’re providing perfect cover for a terrorist plot. Who would suspect monks?”
Stomach churning, she gripped her hands together in her lap. “Brother Michael would have been devastated. All the monks will be.”
“It’s not their fault. And if this plays out the way we hope, it will come to an end soon.”
“So what do we do for now?”
“Wait for the next shipment.” He shifted in the small chair. “In the meantime, please keep everything we’ve discussed confidential. Don’t tell anyone about the candles, the connection we suspect with the monastery, or when the next shipment might arrive. I’ve given you more information than normal protocol would allow because your cooperation will be necessary going forward.”
“Other than Colin and Rick, there’s no one I’d talk to about this anyway.”
“I’d prefer you not discuss it with them, either.”
“Even Colin?” She hiked up an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“He’s in your department.”
“This is being kept under wraps internally too. Terrorism is the FBI’s purview. Information is shared only on a need-to-know basis.”
“Then why are you in the loop? You’re not FBI.”
He shifted on the small chair. “I have top-secret clearance from a previous assignment in Richmond.”
She waited a few seconds, hoping he’d offer more.
He didn’t.
Fine. She wouldn’t put him on the spot by asking. “What happens if we find out there is contraband inside some of the candles?”
“Depends on what it is. The FBI will pick up the next shipment from you as soon as it arrives and x-ray every candle. If they find anything, we’ll formulate a plan to track down the brains behind the operation.”
Kristin rubbed her temple, which was beginning to throb. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a high-stakes suspense novel.”
“I wish this was a piece of fiction rather than real-life drama.”
“You don’t think I’m in any danger, do you?” She curled her fingers into a ball. “I don’t want to sound like a wimp—I mean, I dealt with some rocky situations in Ethiopia—but terrorism freaks me out. Those people don’t operate by rules that make sense in my world.”
He touched the back of her hand, his fingers warm against her chilly skin. “No. If this turns out to be terrorism related, I’m guessing you’re being used as a convenient conduit. Like the monks are. At this point, as far as the people involved are aware, the system is working and you’re oblivious. We want them to keep believing that. My goal is to get to the bottom of this mystery . . . and keep you safe in the process. Will you trust me to do my best to do that?”
She considered the detective sitting across from her. A man she’d known for barely two weeks.
Yet despite their short acquaintance, she did trust him. As much as she trusted her best buds.
Amazing.
And telling, as Colin might comment if he was privy to her thoughts.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” He rose. “Until the new candles arrive, we’ll be in a holding pattern.”
She followed him to the front of the store. “Does that mean I won’t be hearing from you until then?”
“I’ll stay in touch.” He stopped at the door and turned to her. “But much as I’d like to see you, this is an active case. And I never mix business and pleasure—despite the temptation.” His last sentence was infused with warmth.
As for that banked fire in his eyes . . .
Whew.
If she’d had any doubts about his interest, they evaporated under the heat of his smoldering gaze.
“I understand . . . and I’ll be looking forward to this mystery being solved so life can get back to normal.”
“Better than normal, I hope.” His voice held a throaty . . . intimate . . . note.
O-kay.
She needed to go stand in front of the air conditioner—except it was too early in the season to be on.
Not that her body had gotten that message.
“I hope so too.” She sounded as breathless as if she’d just blasted across the finish line in a fifty-meter sprint.
“Good to know. Take care . . . and call me if anything comes up that concerns you.”
“I will.”
He flipped the lock and slipped out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Kristin peeked around the shades, keeping him in sight as long as possible.
But all too soon he disappeared.
For now.
She locked the door and straightened the candles on the monastery display, another shiver rippling through her.
The police and FBI might be all over this case, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety that had dogged her since the day Susan was killed. And it continued to swell as the pile of puzzle pieces grew.
A remote monastery in the Middle East.
Murders of innocent people.
Mysterious candles.
A dead terrorist.
How did they all connect?
That was the question everyone wanted answered—but the shipment that might provide the solution was weeks away.
Kristin flipped off the storeroom light and let herself out the back door—scrutinizing the alley in both directions first.
Overkill, perhaps.
But she intended to heed Luke’s advice about being cautious.
And if that happened, she might suddenly find herself in the eye of a deadly storm.
11
His six Kristinless weeks were finally over.
Hallelujah!
“You look happy. What’s up?”
As Colin spoke from his office doorway, Luke exited voicemail, set his phone on his desk, and erased his smile. “News on a case.”
“Which one?”
“Nothing you’re involved in.”
Colin narrowed his eyes and walked in.
Great.
“Is this related to what happened at WorldCraft? Kristin gives me the same kind of blow-off answer whenever I ask her what’s going on too.”
“I can’t discuss her case.”
“Because the FBI’s involved. I get that. I’m not asking you to discuss it. I’m just asking if that call means things are heating up again.”
Luke rocked back in his chair. As far as he could tell, Colin was as solid as they came.
But he couldn’t take any chances.
“Depends on how you define heating up.”
Colin muttered some unintelligible word and folded his arms. “Look . . . I don’t want to know any state secrets, okay? But I don’t want Kristin in the middle of some explosive situation without protection. We have a long history, and we watch each other’s backs.”
“I know some of the history.”
“Is that right?” He strolled over and settled his hip on the corner of the desk. “Dinner conversation over spaghetti, maybe?”
So Colin—and probably Rick—knew about the memorable evening he and Kristin had shared an eon ago.
At least it felt like ancient history after the endless weeks they’d been apart.
“Is that what Kristin told you?”
“She didn’t have to. I figured it out.” Colin’s laser gaze locked on his. “She likes you, in case you haven’t picked that up.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“I don’t, either.”