by Deborah Camp
“She didn’t disappear,” AmyLynn said, stepping away from Trudy to stand beside her husband. “She was taken. Rachel was kidnapped.”
“He knows, dearest,” John said, curving an arm around her shoulders. “Sheriff Haney is on our side.” He made a slow sweep of the room before his gaze came to rest on his son. He gave away nothing. No recognition. No emotion. Nothing. It was as if were looking at a stranger.
Realizing she was holding her breath, Trudy exhaled. Although the deputies and clerks around her had resumed their work, she had the sense that they were going through the motions while still focused on the charismatic evangelist and his wife.
“I’m sorry,” AmyLynn said with a sniff. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I was just praying so hard that she’d be here.’
“It’s okay.” John patted her shoulder and kissed her temple. “You’re forgiven.”
Trudy felt Levi’s whole body stiffen behind her. The fine hair on her body lifted in an ancient reaction to danger. She turned to him, placing a hand on his upper arm. She didn’t know if he had reacted to what his father had said or simply from being in the same room with him. It didn’t matter. Hostility twisted his lips into a sneer and his chest rose and fell with his accelerated breathing. Like a wolf set to attack, he was holding himself back by the last shred of willpower.
“Levi,” Trudy stepped squarely in front of him and gripped his wrists. “Not here. Not now. Please. I’m begging you.”
Her words penetrated his crucible of rage. His gaze snapped to her and his sneer became a scowl. Gathering in a shaky breath, he meticulously disengaged his wrists from her grasp. Then, without a word, he brushed past her and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
The sound reverberated against the high ceiling. Sheriff Haney stared pointedly at the door and then at Trudy. “You can go, too, ma’am, if you want.”
“Why are you here, Trudy? What’s been happening?” AmyLynn asked as she slipped her arms around John’s waist, presumably to steady herself.
Trudy came closer so that she wouldn’t have to speak too loudly in front of the deputies and clerks. “I channeled him,” she said, softly, blazingly aware of the curious stares and smirks aimed at her. “He was watching a little girl at the elementary school and he was . . . well, he’s a predator. I told the FBI about what I experienced and they went to the school to find him and bring him here for questioning.”
“Oh, thank you, Jesus!” AmyLynn turned her tear-filled gaze up to John’s face. “Did you hear that? This is all because of Trudy! Didn’t I tell you? God sent her to us.”
“Well now, that’s not quite the case,” Sheriff Haney said, brown spit bubbles collecting in the corners of his mouth. His right cheek ballooned slightly from the wad of tobacco stuck there. “We’ve been watching this man. We were trying to give him enough time to lead us to Rachel.” He smiled sickly-sweet at Trudy. “But Miss Tucker forced us to play our hand too soon.”
Animosity sucked the wind out of Trudy’s lungs, rendering her mute for a few hot seconds to allow the sheriff to rattle on.
“Agent Wannamaker is in there now doing damage control—.”
“Hold up, Sheriff. I foiled your plans? Is that the crap you’re selling here?” Trudy demanded, affront placing a tremor in her voice. “No one forced the FBI to apprehend that man, but thank God they did! He was targeting a child. If it were your little girl, would you want to give the freak a little more time to see what he’d do next, Sheriff Haney?”
The sheriff’s face grew ruddy and he swallowed, almost choking on his tobacco spit. “Hey, now—.”
“Miss Tucker,” John said with a stiff smile. “We haven’t actually met. John Comfort.” He held out his hand to her, and after a flustered moment, she took it. His grip was firm and brief; his skin soft and cool.
“Hello.” What else could she say? Nice to meet you? No way. I love your son and I hate you for what did to him? Save that for later. She noted that his coat was a Burberry and the striped tie peeking out from the V was silk. Funny, she’d never paid any attention to lux brands until Levi Wolfe stepped into her life, looking smart and expensive. From the side of her vision, she could see AmyLynn’s fretful expression. “AmyLynn, I would have contacted you about this, but it all happened in a rush.”
AmyLynn bobbed her head. “I was hoping she’d be here, is all. But if he tells us where he’s hidden her, we could have her home with us tonight!” That thought brought a new rush of tears to her eyes as she clutched John more tightly and jittered up and down in her high-heeled boots.
“AmyLynn,” John said in a warning tone. “What did you agree to before we came here?”
“Okay, hon.” She pursed her lips and arranged a pleasant expression on her face. “I’ll rein myself in.”
“Thank you, dear heart.” John dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“You can wait in my office, if you want,” Sheriff Haney said. “I’ll check with the FBI to see how long they think it’ll be before they can talk to you.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. That’s most kind of you. AmyLynn?” John looked down into his wife’s tear-stained face.
“Yes. Most kind,” AmyLynn whispered.
He nodded, satisfied, and they followed the sheriff. Before entering the office, John turned to the assistants who lagged behind them.
“Michael, go back to work and finish making our travel arrangements.”
“We’re s-still going to Denver?” AmyLynn asked.
“Yes. We can come back if needed.” He gently pushed her into the office ahead of him and glanced back at Poe. “Take Sam with you. I don’t know why he tagged along, anyway,” he grumbled, almost under his breath, and then closed the door.
Trudy watched the dynamics, fascinated. No love lost between John and Sam, she thought. Wonder if the two personal assistants were cordial or contentious with each other?
Michael Poe started for the exit, but checked himself and faced her, instead. “Is there a reason why you’re hanging around?”
She refused to even blink. “Whether there is or not, it’s none of your business.” She looked past him to Sam, who looked miserable. “Good to see you again, Sam.”
“Nice to see you, too, ma’am.”
“Rev. Comfort and Mrs. Comfort are going to be busy for the next few days,” Michael said. “Please, don’t communicate with them unless it’s absolutely necessary. We prefer that you allow the FBI to contact and confer with us about Rachel.”
“We? I was hired by Mrs. Comfort and that’s who I report to.”
“Rev. Comfort is paying for your, uh . . . services.”
“Will they leave even if Rachel’s found tonight?” Trudy asked.
“You expect her to be?” Sam’s face lit up with hope.
“I don’t know, but it’s possible.”
“If that happens, of course plans will change.” Michael stared hard at her for another few moments before pivoting and striding away. Sam smiled apologetically before he followed Michael out of the squad room. Trudy ran her hands up and down her sweater sleeves and tried not to make eye contact with any of the deputies. She sat in one of the plastic chairs near the exit and checked her cellphone. Nothing from Levi yet. She typed a text message: RU okay? Meet you at the RV as soon as I’m done here. She sent it and waited. And waited. And waited.
Finally, after almost half an hour, a text from him: Yeah. Later.
She shoved the phone into her purse. Mister Moody Blues was back and freezing her out. Fine. Let him sulk. Let him erect his shields and defenses against her and the rest of the world. She’d stormed them before and she could do it again. She’d saved him from an ugly scene in front of snickering spectators. Observing the four deputies and two clerks from the concealment of her lashes, she wondered if any of them knew that Levi Wolfe was the son of John Comfort.
Another fifteen minutes elapsed before Eric Wannamaker came out of the interrogation room and started toward the sheriff’s office, but he pa
used when he spotted Trudy and veered in her direction.
“He says he knows nothing about Rachel,” Wannamaker said, standing in front of Trudy, his hands shoved into his trouser pockets and a deep frown etched on his face. “We have a search warrant and we’re looking through his apartment in Kennett now. So far, they’ve turned up nothing that would link him to Rachel. We’ve notified his parole officer and we’re arresting him for parole violation.”
Trudy nodded. “He’s not supposed to be anywhere near a school.”
“That’s right. And he had an ounce of marijuana on him, too.” He glanced at the sheriff’s office. “I’m going to talk to the Comforts now. Seems that he’s a follower of theirs.”
“Oh?” She sat up, intrigued.
“He’s been to several of their tapings and their revivals. He’s been trying to stop his . . . um, tendencies through prayer.”
Trudy recalled his references to sin and his appeal to the Almighty for help. “He was struggling. He knew it was a sin, but he couldn’t keep himself in check. And he was getting worse. He was on the verge of molesting a little girl.”
“He admits that, but he’s adamant that he hasn’t touched a child since he was released from prison. Did he . . . did you get anything about Rachel when you were . . . from his thoughts?”
“No. He was just focused on the girl at the school.” Defeat rose in her. Had she been chasing the wrong rabbit and allowing the real prey to run further and further away from her?
“Check back tomorrow and I’ll fill you in on whatever goes down tonight.”
Understanding that she was being dismissed, she stood and reached for her coat, which she’d hung on a rack by the door. “Will you tell AmyLynn that I’ll text or call her tomorrow?”
“Be glad to.” He helped her into her coat. “Thanks for your cooperation, Miss Tucker.”
She smiled weakly at him. “You’re welcome.”
“Sorry about that earlier incident. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled her thanks when he opened the door for her.
The wind had picked up, icing over the mud and puddles. She picked her way to her compact car, still parked at the curb. Levi had walked . . . somewhere. As she slid behind the wheel and cranked up the heat, she imagined him, huddled against the bite of the wind, his long strides taking him deeper into the dark streets as his thoughts took him deeper into his twisted, tortured memories of his childhood.
She shivered, not from the cold but from the bleak picture her mind had projected. Carefully steering the car off a patch of ice and onto the street, she fervently hoped that Levi would be waiting for her at the RV. If he wasn’t, she’d have to form a one-woman search party.
Chapter 11
Entering the RV, Trudy stood on the threshold to get her bearings. Mouse scampered to her, so she knew Levi was around, otherwise the dog would still be secured in her crate. She leaned down to pet the Chihuahua. A floodlight at the back of the Tony’s Tune-up spread light across the RV and a milky beam fell over a pair of black and white Nikes. Peering into the interior, her eyes adjusted and she spied Levi, sprawled in one of the upholstered swivel chairs, an open bottle of Wild Turkey Kentucky Blend bourbon dangling from the fingers of one hand. From her vantage point, it looked like the bottle was not quite two-thirds full. Not a good sign.
“Good evening, Miss Tucker,” he drawled.
“How do, Mr. Wolfe. What have you been up to?” Like she had to ask. One thing she’d learned about Levi Wolfe was that when the stress became too much he ran, hammered a punching bag, or drank. Sometimes all three.
“Running, mostly.”
He ran a hand down the front of his gray sweatshirt, which she now could see had darker spots from his perspiration. She stepped closer, eyeing his disheveled hair and slightly bleary gaze.
“Running and drinking?”
“Oh, yeah. That, too. I ran past a liquor store and decided that drinking would be more fun.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank from it. “Ahhh. Hell, that goes down smooth.”
“You’re drunk?”
“No.” He tipped his head in a considering gesture. “Sauced, yes. Drunk? Not yet.”
“Did you call Dr. McLain?” She felt the chill of his gaze.
“No reason to call her. You begged me not to embarrass you and I obliged.” He dipped his head in a salute, but when he spoke again his voice was lower with a hint of menace. “You thought I was going to jump him and try to kill him, correct?”
“No.”
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He bit off each word. “If he’d been holding a gun to your head after killing two women and beating another nearly to death like Taser did back in Atlanta, then yeah, I would have tried to murder the bastard. I’m never going to apologize for that, but that doesn’t mean I’ll try to kill every man who wrongs me – or who wrongs you, for that matter. I’m not actually a monster. I was just raised as if I were.”
She backed up a step, pressing a hand to her stomach and feeling as if he’d physically struck her. Oh, God. He was hurting. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was crumbling inside. She closed the distance between them. He grunted in surprise when she draped herself in his lap and framed his face in her hands. His emerging whiskers scraped against her palms. His eyes held wariness and apprehension.
“I don’t think of you that way. I’m not afraid of you, Levi. I’m afraid of the rage that’s inside you. I’m afraid it’s never going to let you go . . . that you’ll never be free of it. Yes, I was nervous about you being in the same space with John Comfort. I felt terrible that we’d been caught off guard and I didn’t want you to be drawn into a verbal exchange in the sheriff’s office.” She rested her forehead against his. His skin was tacky, but cool. “Does Wannamaker or the sheriff know that you’re his son?”
He closed his eyes slowly, wearily. “Of course, they do. They all do.” His breath was warm and perfumed with bourbon. “He’s probably told them his side of it. How it’s unfortunate that we haven’t spoken to each other in years and he hopes to someday remedy that, but for now I’m still rebelling against him and not willing to accept his olive branch. Blah. Blah. Blah.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s made them believe him. That’s his best skill. He makes people believe whatever he tells them.”
“Not everyone.” She gently pushed silky locks of his hair off his forehead. “The way he looked at you as if he didn’t recognize his own flesh and blood. It was eerie.”
“He’s a consummate actor.”
“I hate that you let him get to you.”
“He doesn’t ‘get’ to me.”
She clamped down on her response at first, watching him, measuring her words, and then giving him what he’d asked for – her truth. “Levi . . .” She sighed and readied herself for battle. “I know you don’t think you’re in his shadow, but he must be the root of your problems. So, how can you say that he doesn’t affect you? You know he’s the catalyst.”
“Trudy . . .” His tone mocked her. “Knowing what causes my problems doesn’t make them go away. What he does today doesn’t ‘get’ to me. What he did to me when I was under his power is what I struggle with.” He looked away and took another long drink of the Wild Turkey. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
She rested her cheek against his shoulder and listened to the steady tapping of his heart, imagining that she could hear the shields locking into place around it. “Okay. Change of subject. They arrested Endicott, but Agent Wannamaker doesn’t think he has anything to do with Rachel’s kidnapping. They’re searching his apartment. He lives in Kennett. Oh!” She raised her head to see his face. “And he has attended the taping of Comfort’s show and a few of his revivals.”
He released a dry, one-note laugh before taking another pull on the Wild Turkey. “What does your gut tell you? Does he have Rachel?”
“I don’t think he does.” She wound a lock of his hair around her finger. “Makes me feel like a fool.”
“Fuck that.” He took another swig of bourbon. His words were beginning to slur. “It’s not an exact science, for Chrissssake. How’re you s’posed to know one jerkoff from another?”
“There should be a way for me to do that, don’t you think?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but then pursed his lips and he looked past her. He was quiet for so long that she thought he was getting ready to pass out, but then he took a big breath.
“You don’t actually hear their voices in your head, right?” he asked.
“Right. I hear my own voice doing an imitation of theirs.”
“Start training yourself to pay attention to word choices, inflections, regional slang, the depth of their vocabulary. From those things, you should be able to discern one from another.” He let his head fall back against the chair cushion and closed his eyes.
Trudy smiled. Only Levi could be on his way to being loopy drunk, but pull himself together enough to formulate a possible solution to her problem. “That’s pretty sound advice, coming from a boozed up brainiac.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest, causing him to cough and sputter. He rested a hand against his chest. “What else happened after I left?”
“Nothing much. Mostly, I sat and waited for Wannamaker to tell me what was going on. The sheriff took the Comforts into his office to give them some privacy. Michael and Sam went their separate ways. Those two don’t like each other.”
“Poe’s a prick.”
“Yes, he is. He’s been a complete jackass to me.” She pushed her hand up under his sweatshirt and along his ‘happy trail.’ “The Comforts are still leaving for Denver.”
“Speaking of leaving. . .” He opened one eye for a few moments to peer at her. “I have that paranormal conference in Florida this weekend. I’ll leave early Saturday morning and be back here late Tuesday night.” He set the bottle down on the floor and seized her stroking hand. “Come with me, Tru.”