by Deborah Camp
AmyLynn smiled even as tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’ll have to tell John about that. Maybe it’ll make him see that I’m like every other mother.” She drank some tea and composed herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry all the time.”
“It’s okay. I think you’re being incredibly brave.”
AmyLynn set her cup and saucer aside. “Do you? I don’t feel brave at all. If I didn’t have the Lord and John to lean on, I’m sure I’d be plumb crazy by now.” She conjured up another watery smile. “How long have you worked with Levi?”
“For only a few months.”
“Oh, really?” Her gaze zeroed in on Trudy’s left hand. “Is that an engagement ring?”
“Uh . . . yes.” Breathe, Trudy, breathe!
“Who is the lucky guy?”
“Uh . . . Levi.” Her lungs seemed to collapse as her heart wedged in her throat.
Releasing a little squeak, AmyLynn grabbed Trudy’s hand and lifted it to get a better look at the ring. “You weren’t wearing this when we met in Cape Girardeau.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
She swiped at the tears drying in her eyes. “Oh, heavenly days! So, he asked you since then? Congratulations. Have you set a date?”
“No.” Trudy released her pent up breath when AmyLynn finally let go of her hand.
“That’s a beautiful ring. He’s very good looking – just like John.”
“He’s not—.” Trudy bit off the rest. “That is, yes, he’s good looking.” But he’s nothing like John Comfort! He’s kind, compassionate, loving, honest, and noble. “Could you or someone else give me a quick tour of the building and introduce me to the key people so that I’m not a stranger to them?”
“I can do that. You want to right now?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, let’s go.” She stood and smoothed her hands down her snug-fitting skirt. “It’s not a big place, so it won’t take that long.”
“How many people work here?”
“I think there’s about twenty-five, but you should ask Michael. He’ll know for sure.”
“Is this the only building used by the ministry?”
“This is it. We used to have a big church in Kennett, but not anymore. We reach out to folks with our TV show and travel to spread the good word in churches near and far.” She hooked her arm in Trudy’s again. “Let me give you the deluxe tour.”
Chapter 8
Levi closed the file on Charles Gassaway that Gonzo had e-mailed to him before he’d boarded a private plane in Atlanta, headed for Memphis. He tapped the phone icon to answer the incoming call. “Thanks for this information about Gassaway,” he told Gonzo, the head of the security agency he used and had a financial stake in. “If he finds Rachel, it’ll be a fucking miracle.” He stifled a yawn. “Christ, these before-dawn flights are getting to me.”
“Gassaway’s just cashing the checks and trying to look busy. I don’t know why you’re even bothering checking him out.”
He glanced out the car window at the looming hotel. “Because he’s following Trudy and he needs to stay the hell away from her. I’m parked outside the Holiday Inn where he’s staying. I’ll handle it from here.”
“What? Why aren’t you with Trudy? Frank Henderson’s in Cotton. Let him strong-arm the guy. Don’t go off like a goddamn rocket, Wolfe.”
“I don’t plan on laying a finger on him.” Levi flipped the sun visor down to keep the blinding morning light from frying his retinas. “Get a load of this, the greedy bastard lives a little over an hour away from here, but he’s staying in a hotel so that he can charge his room and meals to the reverend.”
“The P.I.’s have to milk the big udders,” Gonzo said through a juicy chuckle. “Seriously, though, don’t let your temper get the best of you. I know how you are when it comes to Trudy. You’re supposed to be lying in your sweet baby’s arms right now. Get your priorities straight, Wolfe. For all you know, she’s changed her mind and has pawned that ring you gave her.”
Levi glared at the phone, picturing Gonzo’s goofy grin and twinkling eyes. When he’d told Gonzo and Wes, his major domo, about the engagement, they’d lapped it up like a couple of alley cats going after a bowl of heavy cream. He’d taken their jive and rude remarks and whacks on the back, feeling their genuine pleasure for him underneath the bullshit they dished out.
Darla Holmes, his executive assistant, had teared up when he’d told her, and for a terrifying moment, he’d been afraid she was going to throw her arms around him and give him her version of a Tucker family hug. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and had simply touched his sleeve and wished him all the happiness in the world. Like a contagion, he’d almost caught her maudlin germ, but had escaped without letting her know that she’d choked him up.
Trudy was right. This engagement thing was tricky!
“You still there, sunshine?”
Levi wrenched his thoughts back to the Holiday Inn parking lot in Blythesville, Arkansas, which was only about twenty-five miles from Cotton, Missouri. “I need to get a move on. I’ll check back with you later.”
“Seriously, Levi, let Henderson talk to him.”
“I’m already here, Gonzo.” He shut his eyes, irritated with Gonzo and himself. He couldn’t tell Gonzo that he was antsy and needed to blow off some steam. And that he was putting off arriving in Cotton, Missouri. Yeah, he wanted to be in Trudy’s arms, but he wished she was anywhere but where the reverend resided.
“Before you go, how many security guys will you need for the paranormal conference you’re attending next week?”
“Two should do it.” His throat felt like there was gravel in it.
“Right. Later, Levi.”
Levi ended the call and slipped his phone into his inside jacket pocket. Rubbing his dry eye sockets with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to shake the fuzziness out of his brain. So damned tired. Running on fucking fumes.
He glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. Time for breakfast. He got out of the car, locked it, and strolled across the parking lot to the chain restaurant next to the hotel. Inside, he gave a brief nod to the hostess as he strode past her with purpose, straight to the man in a corner booth, who was shoveling pancakes into his mouth. A Memphis Grizzlies baseball cap shadowed his face, but Levi recognized him from the photos in Gonzo’s file.
“Good morning, Charlie.”
Charles Gassaway looked up at Levi and his brown eyes widened. A drop of maple syrup dribbled down his chin. He swallowed and coughed, almost choking.
“I’m Levi Wolfe. It’s come to my attention that you’ve been shadowing Trudy Tucker.” He planted his fists on the edge of the table and leaned in closer. “I want you to stop. Immediately.”
Gassaway grabbed a paper napkin and wiped his mouth. “Did she say something about it?”
“No. But I’m sure she knows she’s being followed. She has a sixth sense about such things. She’s been hired by Mrs. Comfort to help find the missing girl.”
“I was hired by the Reverend Comfort.”
“Big fucking deal. Trudy’s working the case the same as you. She’s not a suspect, so there isn’t any reason for you to be skulking around after her.” He gritted his teeth, losing his patience and wishing he could clock Gassaway. Just once. He shook his head, denying the irrational burst of testosterone, and lowered his voice to a growl. “Stay the hell away from her.” Straightening, he glanced around to be sure he wasn’t causing a scene. Everyone seemed more interested in eating than in eavesdropping.
Gassaway’s face suffused with red and his thin lips dipped into a frown. His résumé placed his age at forty-five. He’d been a security guard and then a bounty hunter before opting for private investigation four years ago.
“Hey, there stud, don’t threaten me.” Gassaway puffed out his chest. “I’m only doing my job the best way I know how.”
“Then you suck at it.” Levi cast him a steely glare. “Don’t let me catch you tailing Trudy again, Charlie. Yo
u won’t like the consequences.” He let a slow grin spread across his lips. “Although I’d enjoy rearranging your ugly mug.” He glanced at the pile of pancakes. “I’ll let you get back to fattening your expense report.” Holding the man’s gaze until he looked away first, Levi smirked and made his way back to the silver Audi R8 he’d leased in Memphis. He pointed it toward the boot heel of Missouri and Trudy.
###
Pale afternoon sunlight spilled across Levi’s long, lean body. Trudy propped her head in her hand and took the opportunity to admire his nude form sprawled beside her in bed. When she saw him park his sporty car that morning behind the RV, her heart had expanded with elation and she’d bolted out of the motorhome and into his arms. His kiss and growl of her name telegraphed that he’d been yearning for her, too.
She had noticed right away the dark circles under Levi’s eyes that were still there, but not nearly as pronounced now that he’d been sleeping for . . .
Looking over her shoulder at the bedside clock, she gave a little gasp. Four-thirty. He’d been sleeping soundly, since around eleven. After he’d arrived, they’d caught up on each other’s news and then had gotten caught up in each other’s bodies. He’d no sooner climaxed than he was snoring beside her! Smiling as she remembered the desperation of his love-making, she was content to simply listen to his even breathing and admire his thick lashes. The man was exhausted. What in the world had he being doing in Atlanta – working day and night?
Yes, he probably had been, she answered herself, which made her wonder again if living in two cities was good for them. She could live in Atlanta with hardly any inconvenience, but he couldn’t live in Tulsa and keep his businesses running smoothly. It was selfish of her to expect him to bounce from Atlanta to Tulsa.
She slipped out of bed and into her robe. In the living room, she nudged Mouse to one side of the couch while she took the other. She opened the case file in her notebook and read through the police records and then re-read the FBI summary report that Levi and Gonzo had e-mailed to her yesterday. The information was sparse and uninspiring. They had mostly removed people from the suspect list and added no one to it. Rachel’s dad had been cleared of any suspicion because he had an ironclad alibi. He had been in Hereford, Texas at a cattle auction that weekend with two cousins, their wives and kids, and his new girlfriend.
There were photos of Caleb Rudd. He’d arrived in Cotton from his family’s ranch the day after Rachel had gone missing and had stayed for almost two weeks, joining in the searches for her and cooperating fully with the FBI and sheriff’s department. He’d had to get back to his ranching, but the report noted that he was keeping in touch daily with AmyLynn.
Both Hannah and Rachel bore a striking resemblance to him. They had his round face, deep-set brown eyes, and high cheekbones. Hannah had inherited his brown hair, while Rachel’s was blond. Of course, as Rachel aged her hair would probably darken to light brown – possibly her mother’s natural color.
Caleb was thirty-eight years old and lived on his family’s ranch near El Paso. He’d met AmyLynn while he’d worked on a spread outside Dyersburg, Tennessee. He’d married again after his divorce from AmyLynn and that union had ended after only a year. Reading between the lines, Trudy figured he’d married on the rebound or married the woman he’d been cheating on AmyLynn with or both. She studied his photos for another minute. A good-looking country boy probably with a devilish charm, she decided before moving on to Michael Poe’s photo and short bio, which she found much more interesting.
Michael Gabriel Poe, thirty years old, born and raised in St. Louis, MO. Attended community college there, taking business classes. Single, never married. Worked on several political campaigns for Republican state representative candidates. Employed by Comfort Ministries as a speech writer. Became John Comfort’s executive assistant a year later. Was promoted to senior vice-president six months after that and currently holds that position.
Senior vice-president! He’d certainly shot up the ladder at Comfort Ministries. Wonder what impressed John Comfort so much about him? He seemed like a stuck-up, self-important peacock to her. Hmmm. Maybe it was a case of the reverend recognizing himself in Poe and liking what he saw. Levi had told her more than once that his father was a textbook example of an egotist.
She glanced through the other names, recalling meeting most of them, and lingered on AmyLynn’s personal assistant. Sam Hart was the exact opposite of Michael Poe. Trudy’s meeting with him had been brief. He’d been headed out the door to run some errands for AmyLynn, but he’d worn a big, friendly smile and his handshake had been warm. Sam stood at around five-ten and was thick around the middle. He wore his black hair closely cropped, almost military style. He lived in a rented mobile home in Cotton. His bio said he grew up in Cape Girardeau.
She looked from his bio to Michael Poe’s, transfixed by the difference in the men and how they probably reflected the difference between John and AmyLynn. Although she hadn’t met John, she had her own idea of how he conducted himself and . . . and . . .
A shudder raced through her and her stomach knotted. Nausea rose up in her throat as darkness descended in her mind.
“I’m sending you an SOS. Sending you an SOS. An SOS.” Can you find me? Can you hear me?
“I hear you,” Trudy whispered, answering the small, trembling voice that seemed to move in and out of her mind like smoke.
“Did you say something, pixie? Are you singing something?” This was a different voice in her head. Deeper, but gentle. Coaxing, cajoling, cunning.
The darkness parted like a curtain and Rachel came into view. She sat in a child’s white rocking chair, her red tennis shoes dangling inches from the floor. A wedge of purple discolored her right cheek. Her lips twitched and her chin quivered.
“Be a good girl and do what you’re told and that won’t happen to you again. No one wants to hurt you, child. You gotta obey, though. Can’t say ‘no’ to your elders. Your mama should have taught you that.”
“It hurts.”
“Want me to kiss it and make it well?”
Rachel rounded her shoulders, making herself smaller. “Nuh-uh.”
“Okay then. I could make it stop hurting though. I’ll read you a Bible story. How about that? Remember what we talked about? God is way up here . . . then there’s his disciples right here . . . and then your elders . . . and you’re way down below that.”
Glimpses of hands . . . moving up and down, illustrating the levels. Dirty nails, dry skinned knuckles.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“Are you hearing me? This is important.”
“I want to talk to Mommy.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you! God gave you to us. Your mommy is busy serving the Lord and now you’re here serving us because it’s been ordained. Quit touching your face! That won’t help it heal. Come sit in my lap while I read. Did you hear me ask nice? You won’t like it if I have to ask twice. That’s my good girl. You act like this all the time and you won’t get any more boo-boos.”
Was he kissing her? Was he licking her?
Light flooded Trudy’s eyes, making her blink. For a few moments, she saw nothing but darkness and then her vision cleared. She swallowed hard, fighting against the sickness roiling in her gut and poisoning her mind. She realized that Mouse was licking her chin and she moved the little dog away from her with a shaking hand. Breathing deeply and exhaling slowly, she steadied herself and came back to the RV, leaving the softly menacing voice behind.
“It’s okay,” she told Mouse, rubbing the Chihuahua’s head. “I’m okay now.”
But she wasn’t. Every pulse in her body throbbed and she knew her blood pressure was probably spiking. She’d been inside Rachel’s head!
Can you find me? Can you hear me?
Those had been Rachel’s thoughts!
There was no doubting it this time. Rachel had sent out her thoughts and she’d received them. A plaintive cry that Trudy couldn’t act on, couldn’t respond t
o by sweeping in and wrenching her free of the kidnapper’s clutches.
Trudy hugged herself, warding off the shivers that skated over her skin. Just when she thought she was in control, something like this happened. Some new, strange occurrence. Why couldn’t she conduct her sessions like Levi did his? He concentrated, touched something belonging to the spirit he wanted to speak to, and then he ended it when he got what he needed.
But with her . . . it was like she was being hypnotized, placed in a trance and at someone else’s mercy. She never knew when it would happen or if she’d glean anything from it. And now there was this ability to hear the kidnapped child’s thoughts. Calling out, begging to be found.
Maybe she could summon Ethel to help her gain more control over her channeling. Her “spirit guide” ought to be good for more than showing up every now and then to give her a pep talk when she was having trouble concentrating. No. She didn’t need Ethel. No more crutches. There was work to be done.
Clutching her notebook, she began typing, listing all the things she remembered from her vision as Levi had taught her to do. The rocking chair had been white and the wall behind it had been pale pink. The floor? Concrete and broken in places. Rachel had worn blue sweatpants and the rainbow striped shirt with puffy sleeves she’d been wearing the first time Trudy had seen her through the kidnapper’s eyes. The man’s hands . . . he worked with his hands. Was he a farmer?
And Rachel had been struck.
Trudy paused, her fingers hovering above the keys. He’d hit her. Bruised her cheek. Because she’d talked back to him.
Bastard. Asshole. Pervert.
Ice rattled through her veins as the last vestiges of fog cleared from her mind, allowing her to sharply focus on what had been said . . . what had been inferred. There was more than one. More than one kidnapper. He had said “us.” God gave you to us.
“What’s going on?”