Not that she was bitter about it or anything, but it would have been nice to hear his voice, to know for sure that he was okay. He didn’t have her phone number, but he could have called Stella or Boone, asked to speak to Lark. Better yet, he could have showed up at the farmhouse, filled her in on what they’d found, let her see for herself that he’d survived.
She frowned, surprised by how much she wanted to hear his voice, to see his face.
She paced back to the window, settled into the rocking chair there, Joshua’s Bible in her lap, his shirt warming her.
She missed him every day. She always would, but maybe there was room in her life for something more than a lonely apartment, a job, her volunteer work.
She fingered the edges of the Bible, praying for the comfort she knew would come, the peace that she knew she would find. Eventually. For now, she let the cool breeze and the soft country sounds fill her mind.
She must have drifted off, because the creak of floorboards outside the room jerked her awake. She jumped up, the Bible clutched to her chest, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to her mind.
The board creaked again, and her pulse jumped.
Someone was out there. Stella? Boone? Maybe they’d heard from Cyrus.
She flicked on the light, hurried to the door, yanked it open.
Cyrus stood in the hall, white shirt still covered with soot, eyes shadowed from too many hours of work and not enough sleep. Somehow, he still looked good.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, walking into the room, carrying the scent of smoke with him.
“Not really.”
“Which means I did.” He smiled. “I should have waited until morning.”
“If you had, I’d have woken in an hour, worrying and wondering what was going on.” She gestured to the rocking chair. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”
“You should follow the rules,” he replied, crossing the room, shutting the window and pulling the curtains closed. “And I’m not going to sit down, because I’m still covered with soot, and Stella won’t be happy if I smudge the fabric on that rocker.”
“We can go downstairs. The kitchen chairs are wood.”
“And the coffeepot is full, but,” he added, “I’m filled to the brim with coffee, and we’re both tired, so it’s probably better if I say what I have to say and let you get back to sleep.”
Say what had he to say?
That didn’t sound good. Lark pulled the Bible a little closer, braced herself for whatever he was going to say. “What’s going on?”
“We found a rocket launcher in the apartment across the alley from yours. The DEA is investigating, trying to figure out how it got into the country and into civilian hands. I suggested they take a look at Amos Way, search the storage sheds there.”
“Did they?”
“They planned to, but they were on their way there when they got word that a fire had swept through the compound. It destroyed half the buildings.”
“What!” She’d been anticipating a lot of things, but not that. “Are they sure?”
“The DEA usually is. Sheriff Johnson called me an hour later. He said that all four storage sheds were destroyed. If there were any firearms or weapons there, they were removed before the fire. Whatever evidence was left was burned to ashes.”
“Convenient,” she said absently, her thoughts on the people she’d grown to care about. Men and women who really did believe that Amos Way was a sanctuary from the world.
Her in-laws. Their other children. Joshua’s nieces and nephews. Friends who had taught her how to quilt, sew, cook.
“That’s what the sheriff thinks. What we all think.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Your father-in-law is in the hospital. He was burned while trying to put out the fire.”
“Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure. Several people were injured. When I spoke with the sheriff, he didn’t have any information on their conditions.”
“I need to go see him,” she said, grabbing her phone and her purse and heading for the door.
He snagged the back of Joshua’s shirt, pulled her to a stop. “Let’s not go off half-cocked, Lark.”
“I’m going to the hospital to visit my father-in-law. I don’t think that can be classified as half-cocked.”
“And yet, you’re about to head outside in flannel pajamas with bare feet.”
He had a point, and she hurried to the closet, took her sturdy Amos Way shoes from it, slipped them on.
“Better?” she asked, turning to face Cyrus again.
He’d moved closer, and she could see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, see the tiny lines at the corner of his mouth. “Only if you plan to sleep in them.”
“I think we’re at cross purposes, Cyrus,” she muttered, refusing to back down. Despite everything that had happened, despite everything she knew to be true about Amos Way, she had to go back to Pennsylvania.
“Not if your purpose is to stay alive, because my purpose is to keep you that way.”
“My purpose is to get back to Pennsylvania so that—”
“You can be with your father-in-law. Yeah. I know, but being with him isn’t going to change his prognosis, and it isn’t going to make things any easier on him. It’s only going to make them easier on you.”
“I’m not going there to make things easier on myself,” she replied, her cheeks hot. “I’m going to make them easier on Maria. She’s not good at handling stress, and she’s not going to know how to navigate the medical system. She’s spent most of the past thirty years in that compound.”
“There will be people there who can help her.”
“She needs me there.”
“Why?” he asked, the word hard and cold, his face expressionless. He didn’t look like the guy who’d sat on the steps next to her, the one who’d made her feel like she wasn’t alone. He looked like one of John’s thugs, and she took a step away, raised her chin a notch.
“Because, I’m family.”
“She has other family.”
It was true. She had other children. She had a community that would rally around her.
“The thing is, Lark,” he said, his voice gentling, his fingers light as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, straightened the collar of Joshua’s shirt. “You’re letting your emotions force you into a decision. You’re thinking with your heart instead of your head. That would be great, if Elijah wasn’t gunning for you. But I think what happened at your apartment proves that he is. Give me and the team a couple of days to work some things out. Then, I’ll bring you back to Pennsylvania, okay?”
Three seconds ago, she would have said it wasn’t, but she couldn’t resist Cyrus’s gentleness any more than she could deny the validity of his words. Rushing back to Pennsylvania could get her killed. It could also get Cyrus or one of his team members killed.
“Okay.”
“Good.” He smiled, and her heart jumped in response, her fingers itching to touch the rough stubble on his chin, to brush soot from his cheek.
“You need to get some rest,” she said instead.
“So do you. First, though, I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It’s just a copy of the envelope the note was in. I thought you might like to have it. The original has been sent to the state police. Their handwriting expert is comparing the writing on the envelope and on the note.”
She took the paper from his hand, looked at the curled L and the heart-shaped A, thought about how Joshua had bent over the paper, scrawled her name.
“Don’t let it make you sad, Lark,” Cyrus said. “Let it make you grateful that you had the kind of love you did. Even if it was for a shorter time than you wanted.”
He was out the door and down the stairs before she could respond. Before she could do what she wanted and ask if he’d ever had someone he loved deeply, who he missed avidly.
She folded the paper, tucked it into the Bible, sat back in the
rocker and waited for morning to come.
THIRTEEN
Five days.
That’s how long Lark had been cooped up in the farmhouse.
She’d followed the rules.
She hadn’t complained about not seeing her in-laws, hadn’t begged to be allowed to leave. Cyrus had been correct when he’d said they had common goals, and she was trying hard to be part of the team.
She was getting antsy, though.
She asked for updates a couple of times a day. Cyrus always gave them, but there wasn’t a whole lot of information. They did know that the writing on the envelope didn’t match the writing in the letter, that the blood was Joshua’s, that it was likely it had been at the scene and splatted by his blood when he was shot.
Lark didn’t like thinking about that, but she hadn’t been able to stop. Not since Cyrus had given her the information. The police were opening an investigation, but nearly two years after Joshua’s death, they weren’t sure how much evidence they’d be able to collect.
She paced her bedroom, glanced at her watch. Stella had said they’d be eating at seven. Lark didn’t plan to go down to the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry. Hadn’t really been hungry since she’d arrived. She fingered the scab on her wrist. Her bruises had faded, the wound on her wrist was almost completely healed, and she wasn’t any closer to proving that Elijah was responsible for Joshua’s death.
Maybe that wasn’t her place.
Maybe seeking justice wasn’t her right.
She’d been thinking about that at night when she couldn’t sleep, thinking about how God’s will was going to be done, regardless of her work or lack of it.
She still hated being prisoner in the safe house.
She wanted fresh air, sunshine, a nice long jog in the cool fall air.
She dropped into the rocking chair, took Joshua’s Bible from the table beside it and opened it. There were notes in nearly every margin, highlighted passages on nearly every page. She’d been reading some of his notes, the past few days, studying passages. A few pages had been clearly earmarked, key passages highlighted in blue or green or pink rather than the yellow highlighter Joshua had always used.
Seeing those passages made her smile. Joshua had always had a love for learning and a vivid imagination. For all she knew, he’d color-coded sections according to subject. Maybe he’d used different colors depending on how much he’d enjoyed the passage or how meaningful it was to him.
Someone tapped on the door.
Not Stella’s quick rap. Not Boone’s loud knock.
Cyrus.
She knew the way he tapped his fingertips against the wood, just barely making noise because he never wanted to wake her if she was sleeping.
She stood, ran her hand over her hair, smoothing the strands as she called for him to come in.
The door opened, and he filled the threshold, his dark gaze dropping from her face to the front of her shirt, his lips quirking.
“What?” she said, knowing exactly what he was looking at.
“Pink is a good color on you.”
“Even when it’s pink poodles on purple cotton?” she asked, and he laughed.
“Even then.”
“It was in one of the drawers. Stella said I could use whatever I found.”
“And you chose that, huh?”
“It made me smile. I kind of needed that today.”
“And I needed a laugh, so thanks.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his long legs encased in faded denim, his dark T-shirt clinging to a muscular chest. It was his eyes that always caught her attention, though, the depth of them, the deep blackness of the irises. “Stella made dinner.”
“She told me she was going to.”
“You’re not going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Still worrying about your father-in-law?”
“Among other things.”
“I heard from Sheriff Johnson. He said Eric’s condition has been upgraded from critical to stable. He’s able to have visitors. If you want to go, I’ll take you.”
“Now?”
“Chance thinks that’s the best option. A midnight visit to the hospital probably isn’t something Elijah will be expecting.”
“You don’t agree?” she asked as she shoved her feet into tennis shoes she’d found in the closet, grabbed a black cardigan from the hanger.
“I don’t want you anywhere near Amos Way or River Fork, Lark. I think you know that.”
“But you’re offering to take me,” she pointed out.
“You want to go. Chance wants you to go. Sheriff Johnson wants you to go. And I’m pretty confident Elijah Clayton is counting on you showing up.”
“I understand why Elijah wants me there, but I’m not so sure why Chance and Sheriff Johnson would care.”
“They think your presence might force Elijah to make a move.”
“So I’m the bait in their trap.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Is there another?”
“You’re a pawn in a very deadly game, and you’re being used.” He bit the words out.
“I can only be used if I allow myself to be.”
“And you’re going to.” He stood, stalked to the door. “I’m against this. I want to make that clear.”
“Okay.” She shrugged into the cardigan, shoved her cell phone in her pocket.
“That’s it?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Maybe that you’d rather stay here. Where it’s safe. That you’d rather let Sheriff Johnson and the state police figure things out.”
“I wouldn’t,” she responded, lifting Joshua’s Bible, feeling the worn leather beneath her palm. “Joshua deserves justice, and I’ve been thinking that maybe I deserve the opportunity to move on.”
His expression softened, and he took the Bible from her hands. “He read this a lot.”
“He studied it a lot. Look inside. Every other passage is highlighted.”
He opened it, turned a few pages. “Odd.”
“What?” She leaned in close, felt the warmth of his arm, the thick pad of the bandage that still covered his biceps.
“Random words highlighted. A couple sets of them. A few numbers circled and others squared. Did you notice?”
“I noticed that he used different colors, but I guess I didn’t pay much attention to how many words were in a highlighted section.”
Cyrus nodded, a deep frown line etched in his forehead. “Mind if we take this along? I’d like to take a closer look.”
“I was planning to bring it. I’ve been reading it every night.”
“It makes you feel closer to Joshua?” He cupped her elbow, led her out into the hall.
“It makes me feel closer to God. I need that right now. I need to feel like He’s in control, because I know I’m not.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing a few minutes ago.”
“That God is in control?”
“That I’m not.” He started down the steps, his fingers still warm on her arm. “So, I guess He’s what we’ve got.”
“That’s plenty, Cyrus. You know that right?”
“I’m learning it.” He smiled, shrugged. “It’s hard for someone like me. We like to think we’ve got it all figured out, that if we push hard enough and work hard enough, life will be what we want. Eventually, we figure it out, though. Eventually, we understand that there are better plans then our own. That God’s will is always worked out. Exactly the way He wants.”
“I’m sorry you don’t want me to do this, Cyrus,” she said, because she was suddenly very sorry that she couldn’t give him what he wanted, stay in the safe house hiding away until someone else brought Elijah down.
“I understand why you have to.”
They reached the foyer, and he touched her cheek. “Just follow the rules, okay? Do what we tell you? Don’t try to be a hero, because it could get you killed. That won’t be okay with me
, Lark. Not by a long shot.” He kissed her forehead, his lips just grazing her skin.
She felt it to her core, felt her world rock and then right itself, felt everything that she’d thought she’d never have again suddenly there, right within her reach.
“Ready?” Chance called, his footsteps tapping on the wood floor.
Cyrus stepped away, but the feeling lingered as Chance strode toward them and opened the front door.
*
Chance’s question had been rhetorical, but Cyrus was tempted to answer.
He wasn’t ready, because he didn’t want to bring Lark back to River Fork. He and Chance had already had it out. They’d gone back and forth on the plan, debating the merits of Lark returning to Pennsylvania. In the end, Cyrus had agreed that Elijah could keep his secret for another three decades unless someone forced his hand, made him show his true colors.
All the digging the DEA had done, all the investigating by the state police, and they hadn’t uncovered anything incriminating. The fire was suspicious. The fire marshal had no doubt that it was arson, but there was no proof that Elijah was involved. He’d been out of town, visiting an ailing family member when the sheds had gone up in flames.
A perfect alibi, but Cyrus knew he’d been involved, had planned the whole thing and probably paid someone a lot of money to do the job.
He followed Chance to the car, opened the door for Lark.
She smiled, the pink poodles on her shirt nearly glowing in the moonlight. “Thanks.”
“Thank me after you’re back in Baltimore, safe and sound,” he muttered, and her smile broadened.
“Don’t be a sore loser, Cyrus.”
“That would be impossible, since I never lose,” he responded lightly, and she laughed, the sound pealing through the quiet night.
It made him smile, and he was still smiling when he climbed into the passenger seat, met Chance’s eyes.
“Stella and Boone are heading back to DC,” Chance said. “I’ve asked Logan to meet us in River Fork. An extra man will give us an added advantage.”
If that was supposed to make Cyrus feel better, it didn’t. Logan Fitzgerald was a former marine, quick, smart and tough. But Elijah had already proven himself to be smart and determined. He was also a master manipulator. He’d been working hard to convince law enforcement that John had acted on his own, that he’d had hidden agendas, things that Elijah had known nothing about.
Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit StrategyPaybackCovert Justice Page 14