by Becky Avella
Austin’s mouth moved up in a slow smirk. “Been a while, Sean. People change. Most aren’t the same person they were in high school.”
“Well, I am,” Sean insisted.
“Good to know,” Austin answered. He made eye contact with Deanna and winked. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” Then he walked from the room.
Fuming, Deanna grabbed a black ink pen and started scribbling her side of the story. She needed to get it all out and her blood pressure down. Who did he think he was treating them like this? Using that infuriating, condescending tone? And then he thought he could wink at her like the good ole days? He had another thing coming if he thought that. Austin Mills had used up all his charm in high school. Sean might not have changed since then, but Deanna certainly had.
Her handwriting was loopy and passionate, her story filling up both the front and back of the page. When she reached the end, she slammed the last period into place and tossed the pen and paper away from her as if they burned her hand.
“There.” She crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong, Deanna?” Sean asked, his voice calm. He set his pen down, finished. His tiny, neat writing only covered the front of the paper. How had he kept the story so short?
“Austin,” Deanna huffed. “I can’t stand him.”
Sean chuckled. “You used to like him just fine.”
“Well, not anymore. Unlike you, I am not the same person I was in high school.”
“Yes, you are.”
How could he say that? “No, I am not!”
“Yes,” Sean insisted, his dark eyes locking on hers across the table. “You are.”
Her voice rose in volume, shrill to her own ears. “Do you really think I could be interested in a guy like Austin Mills now?”
“No,” Sean agreed, grinning. “At least, I hope not.”
He tapped the paper in front of him with the pen. She could see he was weighing his words carefully, something she never did. Thinking before speaking her mind? Not her strong suit.
“Okay. So your preference in men might have changed—we can both agree that’s a good thing—and you might have matured since then.” He paused. The pen tapped harder, bouncing out of his reach. Deanna leaned forward, shocked by just how much she wanted to hear what he would say. To know how he saw her.
Sean retrieved the pen and held on to it with both hands. “Who you are at the core is exactly the same girl you’ve always been,” he said, his intense, dark gaze connecting with hers. “Smart, tough, talented.”
His smile lines crinkled around the corners of his eyes as he added, “Too good for a bum like Mills.”
His words stunned her. She didn’t want to blink and break the eye contact. She wanted to search his eyes for more. All the compliments she had ever heard from men in the past had always been about her appearance, but Sean had just said that he saw a smart woman, a woman with depth and value. She wasn’t that woman but she wanted to be. Realizing how much she cared about his opinion of her surprised and scared her. So she moved on.
“What are we going to do now?” she asked. “Forget about all that happened today? Move on like Austin wants us to do?”
Sean pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t trust Austin Mills as far as I can toss him. Let’s get out of here before he stops us and go pick up your grandmother.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“Then we find the sheriff and get some real answers.”
NINE
The rusty old pickup slipped into the first empty space on Main Street. Deanna was impressed with how easily Sean parallel-parked the Beast, but she didn’t waste any words complimenting him. Gram’s safety was the only thing either one of them should be wasting energy on.
“She better be okay,” she said. If she kept repeating it with enough authority, maybe she could make it true.
“She will be,” Sean said once again, but Deanna recognized the forced confidence in his voice. More wishful thinking.
He hadn’t cut the engine before she wrenched open her door and hopped out onto the sidewalk. She ran for The Hangar, remembering the angry men who’d chased them through the meadow. She heard again the obscenities and murderous threats they’d hurled at them in between their gunshots. Gram was her only family, the only security she’d ever known. Greg Martin would know that Gram was the surest way to control her. Austin said the men up there were all in jail already, though. That she and Sean were safe and didn’t have anything to worry about. But what if they hadn’t really gotten them all? Or what if some of those men had gotten here before the sheriff made his arrests? The thought of those men touching Gram infuriated her.
Deanna pushed herself faster. Her throat was so tight she could hardly swallow down the anxiety. She couldn’t wait to see Gram, to hug her, to catch the scent of Gram’s hand cream as her soft hand patted Deanna’s cheek.
Gram would be inside. She’d laugh at Deanna for being so paranoid.
Deanna stopped several paces back from the door. The fancy chalkboard sign that read Come In We’re OPEN had been flipped over. It now read Sorry We’re CLOSED, Please Come Again. Fear wrapped its fingers around Deanna’s throat and squeezed.
It was too early to be closed.
She yanked hard but the lock held fast. Pounding on the glass with her open palm, she called, “Gram. It’s me. Open up.”
There was no answer. Deanna cupped her hands and peered inside. She couldn’t see anyone in there, but her eyes settled on a small lump of soft leather on the floor against the far wall.
She pressed her forehead against the glass. It was her purse. She remembered dropping it there this morning when she opened. There wasn’t anything of value in it except...
“My keys,” she moaned.
She’d been so nervous about defying Blake when they left she’d grabbed her Cessna key off its hook on the office wall and forgot to grab her purse. Dumb.
Deanna straightened. She grabbed her right elbow with her left hand and pulled it into herself to think. She bit down on her thumbnail. Should she break the glass? It was totally possible that Gram had grown tired of waiting for her and had simply closed up early. But she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding. This didn’t feel right to her at all.
If only she had the phone in her purse and working cell service. Then she could call Gram and ask her. Man, she’d taken instant communication for granted. She never would again.
Sean stood still beside her, his expression stoic and unreadable. What would he do?
The answer was immediate. Sean would pray. It was what Gram would do, too.
A flood of memories hit Deanna. She was in her childhood bedroom, surrounded by her stuffed animals and her toy horses. Back then, Jesus had felt close. He wasn’t just Gram’s God; He was hers, too. She’d never missed Him as much as she did right now.
She knew exactly the moment when her faith began to dry up. Dad had been between jobs and home visiting her and Gram. He walked in on one of Deanna’s tea parties, and she introduced all of her guests to him.
“This is Carrie Ann and this is Rosy,” she said, holding up each doll to make the introduction. Then she held up one of her model horses. “And this is Thunder—he’s a Tennessee walking horse. And oh yeah, you can’t see Him, but Jesus is sitting right there.”
Dad’s face turned the color of one of Gram’s tomatoes. “Who’s sitting there, Dee-girl?”
“That’s Jesus,” she said, smiling.
“Mom!” he yelled toward the kitchen. “What kind of garbage are you feeding Deanna?”
Tears flooded her eyes. Deanna didn’t know what she’d done that was so wrong. His anger scared her. When he saw her watery eyes, he ruffled her hair and said, “Deanna, baby, God is a fairy tale used to control weak-minded people. We aren�
�t weak people. We take care of ourselves.”
And she’d believed him. That was all it took. No more praying or having tea parties with Jesus. She would have done anything to make her daddy love her enough to stay. A week later he was gone again.
Deanna looked at the mocking closed sign staring her in the face. Sean and Gram weren’t weak. They were stronger than Dad ever was. And Gram was far too precious to leave any base uncovered. What could it hurt?
Jesus...
It had been so long it felt like priming the old rusty pump she used to fill her horse’s water trough.
Help me find Gram.
Make her be okay.
There was so much more she should say but that was the best she could come up with for now. She tacked on a please and amen for good measure. That’s what you were supposed to do, right?
She faced Sean, searching his face for reassurance, looking to him to confirm that her first prayer in years would be rewarded. How long would it take for God to answer?
Movement drew her gaze down to his hands. He twiddled his fingers, tapping them on his pant leg as if he were playing the piano. They never stopped their constant nervous motion. She jerked her gaze back up to his face. His right eye twitched, betraying him. Sean was worried about Gram. He was afraid something had happened to her. It was probably already too late.
Red rage colored her vision as she balled her fists. “I told you we needed to come here first! But you wouldn’t listen. You always have to do the right thing. And then it didn’t even matter. Someone else had already reported the crash and the fire before us. We wasted all that time!”
“Check the back door.”
Deanna sprinted toward the alley. As she turned the corner, she heard Sean’s footsteps echoing off the brick buildings behind her. She was mad at him, but she was glad he was there. She didn’t want to face this alone.
The alleyway spread the full length of Main Street. It was the ugly side, the part that customers never saw. The only thing that distinguished each business from the other was the black stenciled name spray-painted on each white door.
Deanna slowed when she reached her blue Mazda still parked where she’d left it earlier that morning. She sighed at the sight of something normal. That had to be a good sign.
But as she passed the car, she came to such an abrupt stop Sean had to skid on the gravel to keep from colliding into her back.
“What?” he asked her.
Her world spun. Deanna pointed.
The Hangar’s back door was wide open. It hung awkwardly on broken hinges.
She gulped and then stated the obvious. “It’s open.”
* * *
Sean pulled Deanna back, preventing her from running through the open door.
“I’ll go in,” he said.
“If you think I’m waiting out here like a good little girl, you’ve got something else coming.” She squirmed and thrashed, making it almost impossible to hold on to her.
“Let go of me,” she spit out between gritted teeth.
“Slow down,” he begged.
“If you say one word about a making a plan first...”
“I’m not letting you run in there half-cocked like some crazy woman. Let me figure out—”
“Enough! I told you to stop thinking so much and to start acting. Let me in there to find Gram.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “You said yourself that this is my fault. How would both of us going in there and getting our heads shot off help your grandmother? All I’m asking is that you let me check it out first.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, considering it.
He tried a new approach. “At least let me lead the way?”
She didn’t like it, but she’d stopped arguing. He took that as a green light and stepped around her, scanning the area for signs of trouble. The only thing suspicious so far was the open door.
“Do you still have your pistol?” he asked her.
“So now you can handle a gun better than me, too?”
He thought better of reminding her of her failure to use it in the meadow and gestured for her to hand over the pistol. “Come on, Dee. Don’t make me go in there unarmed.”
She pulled the gun out of her waistband. Placing it into his outstretched hand, Deanna wrapped her own fingers around his for a moment, her touch light and tender. She bit her lip before she said, “Be careful.”
His shoulders slumped as relief washed over him. If she cared about his safety, maybe she didn’t hate him too much. “Does this mean you forgive me?”
“Find my grandmother, and I’ll consider it.” She dropped his hands and freed him to go. Sean stepped toward the broken door.
“Sean?” she whispered.
He turned. “I’m afraid of what we’re going to find in there,” she said.
“Me, too,” he admitted.
She hugged her arms around her waist. “Okay. No more talking. Let’s find Gram.”
Sean aimed the handgun at the door and pressed against it, opening it enough to step through. He entered the hallway, gun raised. His breaths came out in shallow gulps. He wasn’t a cop, but his instinct told him the gun should lead the way and not his head.
“Arlene? Are you in here?” he called.
He crept along the hallway, keeping his right shoulder against the wall, and Deanna mimicked his moves. He stepped one boot over the other until he reached the first door. He gently kicked it open, revealing the small bathroom.
Nothing.
He let out the breath he was holding. One room down.
The storage room was next. He flipped on the light and stepped inside. Espresso beans and broken syrup bottles littered the floor. Supplies were strewn everywhere, shelves cleaned off as if someone had taken an arm along them and swiped everything off them onto the ground and then dumped the shelving units on top of it all for added effect.
Deanna gasped and stumbled against the doorjamb for support.
Sean crunched across broken glass, kicking paper cups and plastic lids out of his way as he went. His boots felt heavier than usual as they pulled against the sticky mess. He wondered if the mess had come from a struggle. Had Arlene tried to fight them off in here? He wasn’t sure. It felt more like a message to Deanna. A warning to keep her mouth shut.
He quickly cleared the rest of the back. The click of the light in each room revealed more damage, while each of Deanna’s gasps broke his heart a little more.
The front customer area had been spared. The men had probably avoided this area, worried about being seen or heard through the picture windows. Sean breathed a prayer of gratitude that this part of The Hangar had been untouched. Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of Deanna’s personality and hard work.
His eyes roamed the room, taking in the details. Her love for flying was everywhere. Framed vintage aviation posters lined the warm golden walls, and in the far corner a polished World War I–era propeller leaned against the wall. There was a perfect balance between masculine wood and leather and feminine touches. It was a room that invited you to stay. It had Deanna’s touch, and Sean didn’t think he would have been able to stand seeing it destroyed, too. Not after all she’d endured today.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearing seven o’clock, still almost an hour and a half before the sun would set. These men had been so bold, attacking Deanna’s business while it was still light enough outside to get caught. He felt a quiver of relief travel up his back, thankful they hadn’t been able to deliver their message to Deanna in person. What would they have done to her if they’d found her here?
He swallowed as he thought of Arlene in here alone with no one to protect her. She was made of the same sturdy stock as Deanna, but she wasn’t tough enough to take on a gang of men all by herself.
He rubbed his temples, replaying the afternoon’s events all over again. Guilt threatened to pull him to the ground, more powerful than gravity. He should have listened to Deanna and come here first. It wasn’t like seeing Austin Mills had made the situation better for anyone.
“Arlene?” he called once more, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do yet, not because he really thought she was in the building.
Deanna’s voice echoed through the darkness. “You know she’s not here.”
He closed his eyes and prayed that God would show him how to help Deanna. He prayed for Arlene’s safety.
When he opened his eyes, Deanna was standing in the room. She stroked the polished wood of the propeller in the corner.
“My dad gave it to me when I opened,” she said in a monotone voice. “He said he was proud of me. It was the only time he’d ever said it.”
Sean reached for her but she shook her head, warning him not to touch her. He prayed again, this time asking God to show him how in the world he was going to convince Deanna to forgive him.
TEN
Tears stung like tiny acupuncture needles behind Deanna’s eyes. Sean’s peace in the middle of her storm felt like a slap in the face, as if he’d betrayed her somehow. Her livelihood was scattered around his feet in shambles and what was he doing? Standing there with his eyes closed again. Praying.
Disgusted, she turned to walk back outside, but she stopped at the storage room. She covered her nose and mouth, the cloying smell threatening to suffocate her. She turned in circles trying to take in all of the damage. The smell of the various syrups she used to make the custom drinks on The Hangar’s menu typically comforted her, but the fumes they emitted from being dumped together in these massive quantities gagged her now. Odd flavor combinations like English toffee with peppermint, strawberry and Irish cream, clashed and assaulted her senses.
The desperation was as heavy as if all of the shelves full of supplies had fallen on top of her, crushing her. Tears welled, but if she let them fall, she’d drown. She’d end up curled on the floor in a fetal position, indulging her pain instead of finding Gram. She didn’t need to cry; she needed to do something.