by Hope White
We’re always right behind you.
The mystery caller’s threat echoed in Julie’s head, over and over again, as they headed to the ferry. She caught herself checking the side-view mirror for the umpteenth time.
“It’s okay. No one’s following us,” Morgan said, his eyes trained on the road ahead.
He was reading her mind again, sensing her trepidation. Was that a good thing or bad? She wasn’t sure, and she really didn’t know how to talk to him without setting him off. She’d tried to thank him for opening his father’s home as a sanctuary, but Morgan took offense, assuming…what? From his reaction he assumed she was questioning his ability to protect her, being that he was nothing but a small-town cop.
That wasn’t what she’d meant and she’d tried telling him so, but he’d shut her down. No, when she’d asked if he was sure about her being safer with him, what she really meant was that their close proximity could open up a plethora of emotional wounds sure to drive them both nuts. And make them question everything about the past ten years.
At least it would for Julie.
She fought back the self-questioning spiral. She was tired, that’s all. After the challenge of pulling straight As in college, finding a job that would satisfy her need to do good work and then watching teens fail, no matter how hard she’d tried to save them, Julie was suddenly drained and vulnerable to so many things.
It would be too easy to fall into Morgan’s arms again. But she wouldn’t, she couldn’t. She’d put him through enough and sensed he hadn’t forgiven her for their breakup.
Guilt ripped through her chest. She closed her eyes. She’d done the right thing. She’d sacrificed their love so both she and Morgan could pursue their own dreams. It had been the honorable, mature thing to do, right?
Don’t fool yourself, Jules. It had less to do with honor and more to do with your desperate need for redemption.
With a sigh, she fought back the niggling voice that had haunted her all these years.
“I picked up a new phone for you,” Morgan said, interrupting her mental analysis.
“Great, thanks,” she said. He actually instigated a conversation. That had to be good, right?
He handed her the phone. “Give the number to your family. I’ve programmed my number as speed dial 1. I’ve turned off the GPS so you can’t be traced, except for 9-1-1 calls. Do you need anything from your apartment? More clothes, toiletries, anything like that?”
“I could use some warmer clothes.”
“We’ll stop by after we meet with Ethan.”
“It’s great that you keep in touch with him.”
“Yep.”
“Does he like his job with the Seattle P.D.?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“I heard you were with King County Sheriff’s police.”
“I was.”
“How’d you like that?”
“Fine.”
So much for pleasant conversation. He was being civil, polite…detached.
Fine, she’d respect his method of self-preservation, even if it felt as if he was being rude.
They spent the next few hours in silence, guilt gnawing its way through her conscience: guilt for breaking Morgan’s heart, guilt for not being able to save more runaway teens…
Guilt for not being there for Suzy when she’d needed Julie the most.
Because Julie had been with Morgan.
Boy, going back to Port Whisper last night had really messed with her head. She’d intellectually resolved her issues with Suzy’s death, at least she thought she had. But Julie considered that somewhere, deep down, the guilt still fueled her every decision.
They arrived at the medical examiner’s office in the Harborview Medical Center. Ethan Beck, a tall man with dark, cropped hair and sky-blue, eyes was waiting for them in the family lounge.
“Julie Burns, how are you?” Ethan extended his hand but Julie went in for a quick hug. Ethan had been a good influence on Morgan growing up, and she’d always be grateful to him.
“It’s good to see you,” she said. “Had I known you were a Seattle cop I would have come to you instead of running to Port Whisper.”
“What, and miss getting personal attention from a police chief?” he teased.
“Let’s ID the body,” Morgan said, irritation in his voice.
Ethan’s expression hardened. “Why don’t you have a seat in the family area. I’ll get the photograph.”
“You mean, I won’t have to actually see the body?” Julie asked, slightly relieved.
“No, wait here. I’ll get the medical examiner.”
As Ethan went down a long, gray hallway, Julie couldn’t help but remember Andy’s mischievous smile and determined attitude. He was a fighter, and she thought he’d changed his battleground. She’d thought he was fighting for a healthier, productive life.
Yet now his body, a shell empty of spirit and personality, most likely lay on a cold slab down the hall.
Hugging herself, she released a sigh.
“Jules?” Morgan said.
She glanced at him.
“It’ll be okay.”
She bit back a frustrated retort. If she heard “It’ll be okay” one more time, she was going to lose it and scream.
“Thanks,” she said.
Ethan walked toward them accompanied by a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat. She carried something in her hand: the photograph.
Julie’s pulse raced into her throat at the thought of what Andy would look like. They approached her and the woman offered a consoling smile. “He was beaten up pretty bad, but his face is identifiable. Are you ready?”
Julie nodded and Morgan put his arm around her for support. “You can do this.”
And she could, as long as Morgan stayed close.
The medical examiner held up the photograph…
FIVE
The air rushed from Julie’s lungs.
She turned and buried her face against Morgan’s chest. “It’s not him.”
Relief warred with sadness as the image of the dead boy’s face seared into her brain. Bruised, broken, lifeless.
“It’s okay,” Morgan said, stroking her back. For a second the comforting gesture calmed her frantic heartbeat, then anger burned its way through her chest.
“It’s not okay, Morgan. He’s dead for no reason, and…and it’s all so ridiculously senseless.”
Julie walked away from the group and went outside.
“Jules,” Morgan called after her.
She couldn’t stop running, running from the image of death, the tragedy of a boy’s life ending in such a violent way. Running from the frustration that she hadn’t been able to save him.
Leaning against the cold cement wall just outside the door, she crossed her arms over her chest and fought back the sadness eating away at her.
“Jules?” Morgan touched her hair and she fought not to lean into his touch.
She glanced up at him. “I’m just so frustrated. I give everything I have to help these teenagers, I try to save them, point them in the right direction, and yet there’s a dead boy in there and I couldn’t do anything to prevent it and—”
“Hey, stop. You’re making it sound like it’s your job to save all of them. You didn’t even know that kid.”
“It doesn’t make it any less frustrating.” She faltered, glancing at the cement walkway. “To see him that way.”
“True, but it’s not your job to save the world, Jules. Talk about setting yourself up for failure. Come on, let’s swing by your apartment.”
With a nod, she stepped away from him, breaking contact. Although his touch seemed to calm her, she accepted the fact he was being polite, that’s all. She didn’t want to rely or depend on Morgan, or anyone else, for that matter. She’d learned years ago, after Dad died, that people you depended on could be taken away, which is why she’d developed a healthy sense of self-reliance.
As they headed for Morgan’s truck in the parking lot, she refo
cused on Andy, stoking hope in her heart that he was still out there fighting his way back to safety.
“What’s your address?” Morgan said, turning on the car.
“It’s 109 John Street. It’s by the Seattle Center.”
“We should make it quick.”
“You think someone’s watching the apartment?”
“It’s possible.” He glanced at her and cracked a slight smile. “Nothing to worry about. You’ve got your trusty bodyguard.”
She wanted to smile back, but couldn’t focus past the image of the dead boy.
“How do you do that?” she said.
“What?”
“Smile after seeing something so horrible?”
“It’s tragic, Jules, but death is a part of life. Besides, he’s—”
“Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“That he’s at peace with the Lord.”
“But—”
“Let me ask you something.” Jules squared off at him. “Where is God when these kids are fighting for their lives? When they’re abandoned by their parents, who are supposed to love and care for them? When they’re sleeping in the freezing cold under an overpass, or…or digging in garbage cans for food?”
“With good comes evil, Jules. You know that. It’s not God’s role to fix everything for us. Challenges make us stronger, and faith in God gives us the strength to be able to carry our burdens.”
Julie shook her head and glanced out the front window. “He never listens to my prayers.”
“He listens. You’re just not getting the answers you’re expecting.”
“Whatever.” She didn’t want to talk about it anymore, argue or discuss God. It always frustrated her.
They headed past the Seattle Public Library and north on Fourth Avenue. Not wanting to be obvious that she was leaving for an extended period of time, Julie had packed light, stuffing her backpack with essentials, figuring she could buy clothes when she got to Port Whisper, or better yet, borrow from Lana.
“Do you know your neighbors?” Morgan asked.
“Not well. I leave early and get home past seven most nights.”
“Long day.”
“Says the guy who’s on duty every day of his life.”
“We have that in common,” Morgan said. “What?”
“Our jobs are also our vocations. You dedicate your life to teenagers and I dedicate mine to the citizens of Port Whisper. Of course, I know you probably think mine is a cakewalk compared to what you see every day, but you’d be surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
“As the chief, and son of the previous chief, everyone looks up to me and confides in me. There’s stress in being perfect all the time, stress in counseling people when I have no training in psychology. I hope I respond in a helpful way, either by offering advice, or just listening. But I never really know.”
“How do you decide what to do?”
“I pray for guidance. I know you don’t want to hear that, but God is the beacon of light as I navigate my way through life. When all else fails, I add the person to my daily prayer list.”
“You pray every day?”
“First thing in the morning, right before breakfast. It energizes me, helps me focus on what’s important.” He glanced at her, then back to the cars ahead. “Guess that makes me a dork or something.”
“No, I just don’t remember you being so religious.”
“Don’t you remember us going to church together? Holding hands as we sang the hymns?”
She did, but didn’t want to. She couldn’t deal with the emotional pain of the past right now.
“I guess,” she said.
“I sought God’s light to help me cope with Dad’s moods, to help me…” He faltered. “Get over you.”
“Do you hear God when you pray to Him?”
“It’s more like a feeling, a direction. I surrender myself in a given situation, and do what feels right in my heart. God is about love, after all.”
They turned onto John Street.
“That’s my building,” she said.
“I’ll park a few blocks away in case someone’s watching. I don’t want them to track us by getting my plate number.”
“Oh, okay.”
He pulled up to the curb and glanced at her. “When we get inside, stay behind me, okay?”
“Sure.”
They walked side by side the two blocks to her building, Morgan continually scanning the street. Although her place was tucked away behind the Seattle Center, there was always plenty of foot traffic during big events.
“Hang on,” Morgan said, stopping short about ten feet from the apartment building.
She peered around him. The front door was ajar.
“Sometimes we leave it open when we’re moving stuff in and out,” Julie offered. She didn’t want to assume this was a nefarious sign related to her stalker.
“Just the same, let’s take it slow.” He edged his way toward the front door, just as one of Julie’s neighbors wheeled a dolly stacked with boxes around the corner.
“Oh, hey,” she called out to Julie.
“Hi, Heather.” Julie’s anxiety eased. “See,” she said to Morgan. “She left it open.”
“Did you connect with your uncle?” Heather asked.
“Pardon me?” Julie said. She didn’t have an uncle.
“Your uncle stopped by this morning looking for you. He said you missed dinner last night and he was worried.”
Morgan glanced at her, slightly shaking his head.
Julie got the message. “We must have just missed each other.”
“Can I help with the door?” Morgan offered, holding the door for Heather.
“Thanks.” She smiled at Morgan and a twang of jealousy shot through Julie. How silly. What right did she have to feel jealous about anything Morgan did? She studied him. Was he attracted to Heather? No, he was fixated on the stairs leading to Julie’s apartment.
“See you guys later,” Heather said, pressing the elevator button.
“’Bye.” Julie started up the stairs, but Morgan gently grabbed her arm.
“Me first,” he said.
“Right, sorry. I don’t have an uncle,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Do you think—”
“Probably. Let’s focus on getting your clothes and getting back home.”
Home. It had been a long time since she thought of Port Whisper as her home.
They got to the second floor and she pointed to her apartment. He opened his hand and she passed him her keys. “Stay flat against the wall. If something goes wrong, head down the back stairs to the restaurant next door and call 9-1-1.”
“Okay.”
“Under no circumstances do you come inside until I tell you it’s safe to do so.”
She nodded, fighting back another adrenaline rush.
Morgan stuck the key in the door and unlocked it, disappearing inside. The door didn’t automatically shut, the charm of an old building. She listened intently for sounds of a struggle, or for Morgan’s signal to join him. Seconds dragged like hours as she stood there, clutching the phone.
The front door to the building slammed closed down below. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell and she held her breath. What if her “uncle” had been waiting across the street for her to return home?
She peeked inside her apartment, unable to see anything but the long hallway leading to the living room.
Footsteps grew louder, closer…
The back of a man’s head came into view and she jumped into her apartment and gently shut the door. Pressing her forehead against the aged wood, she took a slow, deep breath and eyed the peephole.
Nothing. It could be an upstairs neighbor, or a visiting family member.
She was overreacting. Heading into the living room, she framed her cheeks with her hands, trying to ground herself. She turned the corner into the living room and stopped short. Sofa cushions and pillows were s
cattered across the floor, the coffee table lay upside down like a dead animal and books had been ripped off her shelves and thrown haphazardly onto the ground. Her favorite afghan, the one Mom crocheted as a high-school graduation present, was crumpled on the floor instead of stretching proudly across the back of the sofa.
Then realization hit her: no Morgan.
She opened her new cell phone to call the police, her heart pounding in her chest. She was about to press Send when he climbed through her living-room window.
He stood and brushed his hands on his jeans. “I thought I told you to stay in the hallway.”
“I got spooked. I saw some guy coming up the stairs and panicked that it was my long-lost uncle.”
“Well, this is how they got in. Didn’t bother to close the window all the way.”
A knock at the door made her yelp.
Morgan put his finger to his lips and went to the door. He looked through the peephole, stepped aside and motioned for her to do the same. “You know him?”
She recognized William. “It’s my friend from work. He’s okay.”
She swung open the door against Morgan’s protest. “William?”
“Thank God you’re okay. I was so worried after your phone call this morning.”
“I’m fine, come in.”
William stepped into her apartment and eyed Morgan.
“William Pratt, this is an old friend, Morgan Wright,” she introduced.
Morgan reluctantly shook hands. Being a cop, it was natural to be suspicious of strangers, she figured. But William was kind and hard-working. At forty-six, he’d made it longer with these kids than anyone else at the office, and some days she wished she knew his secret—what kept him going with a smile on his face.
Morgan shut the door and locked it. She motioned William into the living room and Morgan followed.
“I tried your cell, but it went into voice mail. I was hoping I’d catch you before you disappeared.” William glanced across the disheveled living room. “Whoa.”
“Like I mentioned on the phone, someone’s after me and I need to fly under the radar.”
“I guess that means there’s no way you’d come into the office?”
“No,” Morgan answered.
Julie cracked an apologetic smile at William. “I’m not sure I can risk it.”