Jason shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t sound like you really like this girl.”
Sean gritted his teeth together. “How would you know?”
“’Cause if you liked her, you wouldn’t care how many blocks she threw up. You would keep trying to get through to her. You’d keep trying because you believed she was worth it. Do you think getting Amelia Tandis to fall in love with me was easy?”
“No.” Sean chuckled.
“Exactly. I had to use every stick in my hockey bag and find a few new ones to crack her thick exterior. Millie’s issue was trusting that anyone could love her for something more than her looks. Once she accepted and trusted that I loved her in spite of how she looked, rather than because of how she looked, it was a whole new ballgame. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than having it all. Dude, I know this is a little too chat-time-over-lattes-with-the-ladies, but being a real man doesn’t mean hiding your feelings. It means not being afraid to let them shine.”
Lindy nodded. “Although I do think marriage has made us both overly in touch with our emotions, Hooty’s right. I almost let a wayward sense of nobility and my own fear keep me from being with Jane. Loving someone has more to do with understanding what that person needs from you than it does trying to figure out what you need from the other person. If you are focused on how confusing this girl is to you then your focus is still on you. She doesn’t need you to decode her. She needs you to be there for her. What you have to do is figure out what it is that only you can provide her. You determine that and the rest of it will fall into place. It won’t be easy, but trust me,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at his wife. “It’s totally worth it.”
Sean leaned back in his chair and contemplated the two men who had married his two oldest friends. No one would ever consider either of the professional hockey players weak or unmanly, but here they were professing love for their wives and encouraging him to seek out the same kind of love with Maggie. Listening to Lindy and Jason made him want to discover if there was a chance. He stood up and nodded.
Lindy grinned. “Good luck, man.”
“Dude’s a goner.” Jason leaned back in his chair and tossed another piece of chocolate in his mouth.
Sean wove his way through the crowd with his heart pounding, drowning the shouted compliments of party-goers. He didn’t slow down to talk with anyone. He needed to get home. He needed to see Maggie. As he slammed open the door to the main lobby of the hotel, a heavy hand dropped to his shoulder halting his momentum.
Chuck Riley. He stepped into a manly hug, one-armed with three quick pounds on the back. “Hey Riley, sorry I didn’t talk with you and Shelia. Something’s come up and I need to get back to Gibson’s Run.”
“Understood. Party’s great. I won’t keep you, but I thought you might want to know what I came up with on that little project you called me about.”
“The car?”
“Yep. Seems that your questionable car was actually rented by a recently released parolee of the State of Maryland, Mitchell O’Donnell. Name ring a bell?”
“Should it?”
“Not really. Just wondered. Name didn’t mean anything to me, so I did a little digging.” He stepped through the doorway and leaned against a supporting beam. “He’s from a pretty well to-do family in upstate New York. He was high up in a semi-popular Jesus cult called The Mission, before he upped his criminal advances. There was some hub-bub about him and a pretty little singer he tracked all over the country before he tried to kill her for not appreciating his overzealous fawning. His sentence was reduced to stalking and aggravated assault, thanks, it seems, to his parents’ long-reaching influence. He’s been a guest of Maryland’s for a little over three years until a few weeks ago when he was released on good behavior.”
The hair on Sean’s neck bristled. “But, if he’s a parolee, he shouldn’t be allowed to cross state lines. I’m not sure if he can cross county lines in some states.”
“Which is likely why he rented the car under a pseudonym.”
“But why would he come all the way to Gibson’s Run, and then leave the car that got him there?” Sean kneaded his neck and shoulder.
“That’s a question for you to figure out, Chief. I will help anyway I can, but I have enough criminals of my own to keep track of, I can’t take on another state’s lunatics, too.”
“Thanks. It would have taken me months to get this information. I really appreciate you going out on a limb for me.” Sean’s lips tightened.
“Partners don’t stop being partners just because one of them quits.” Chuck grinned. “Anyway, maybe now I can get you to come up and have dinner with us. Shelia’s been in my craw for weeks, but I didn’t want to bug you.”
“You mean you forgot to ask.”
“That too.”
“I’ll try and come up in the next week. Tell Shelia I am sorry for not getting back to her sooner.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Who was the girl?”
“Not a clue. Her name was sealed in the record.”
12
Maggie scrolled through her expansive music collection. Her fingers lingered over certain songs, flashes of memories crowding her mind. Every song told a story. She swallowed against the lump expanding in her throat, choosing a playlist that was melancholy and matched her mood.
She settled on the sofa and cracked the spine on her latest find. Books held the same allure as music and cooking. Each acted as a buffer to the outside and often toxic world. She read the opening chapter. She read it again. And again. And a fourth time. Slamming the book on the garage sale trunk doubling as her coffee table, she stood. She picked up the steaming mug of tea and shuffled to the large windows that spanned the back of the apartment. The graveled space behind her shop had a quiet view with a shining security light. The view of the gravel and broken-pavement parking lot just out the backdoor of her shop made her feel safe; a bird’s-eye view of the easiest entry point to her apartment.
The parking lot was empty except for her delivery van. The lone security light flickered, signaling that it would soon need to be replaced.
She pursed her lips. Another thing to add to the list for Sean.
Jane and Millie seemed surprised tonight that she didn’t stay for the party.
Even if Sean had invited her, she would have declined.
Despite her more than flicker of attraction toward him, she knew the best thing for both of them was to remain friends.
Friendship implied a subtle distance that would keep both of them safe.
She tilted her head to the side and the vertebra in her neck cracked. Every bone in her body ached, as if she were in her late nineties, not her twenties. Lifting her free hand to her shoulder, she rubbed the muscle trailing her collar bone. Her eyes floated shut, allowing the simple massage to soothe more than her weary bones, and she melted against the brick windowsill.
Her mind wandered back to the conversation she had with her Uncle Jack when she’d arrived home. He confirmed that her tormentor had made all of his scheduled appointments with his parole officer, except one last week. When Jack asked his PO about the missed appointment, he assured him that his parolee would likely have an excellent excuse. Her godfather wasn’t as convinced and planned to drive up to Maryland to pay a surprise visit to the ex-con.
She tried to convince Uncle Jack that visiting him would bring more risk than reward, but her fierce protector couldn’t be swayed.
She rubbed her temple at the mental replay of the phone call. She regretted placing her beloved Jack in jeopardy, but she knew her arguments were futile. Convincing a man to do the safe thing was rarely successful. She never should have risked an unscheduled call.
But Sissy’s mystery car had her scared.
She tried to casually question Sean the evening after she saw Al’s Always Available towing service hauling the sedan down Main Street.
He told her that the car appeared to be abandoned, and he wanted to return it to the
rental company.
Who would rent a car and leave it in Gibson’s Run?
The thought of whom the “abandoner” could be sent Maggie’s mind rocketing in a thousand directions, but she’d simply nodded to Sean and filled his coffee cup in silence. If she’d asked one of the questions that had shot through her mind, she knew his curiosity would be piqued. She wasn’t prepared to quench his thirst for answers. Instead, she called Jack. But their conversation left her more worried and fearful than she’d been in over three years.
He missed a scheduled check-in with his PO.
There’d been an attempted break-in at the shop.
And the explosion at the station…could they all just be coincidences?
Don’t borrow trouble.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a slow breath. Drawing in a lungful of air, her eyes fluttered open. The warmth of the air from her lips fogged against the window. The flash of wind against the glass pane seeped through the poorly sealed frame, forcing her to turn from the view.
Her gaze landed on coat hooks that held her well-worn wool coat and a fleece jacket she’d had since college, but nothing else. Her stomach twisted.
Have you noticed anything missing recently?
Her blue scarf, one of the last presents she’d received from her parents, hadn’t been at church last week. From the night of her parents’ deaths, she had wrapped herself in the scarf like a security blanket whenever she needed the comfort of their arms. The past five days were jammed with preparations and the missing scarf hadn’t crossed her mind until this moment. Setting her tea cup on the foot locker, she pivoted toward the jackets. She yanked them off their hooks hoping to see the tattered, midnight blue cashmere strip float to the ground.
No scarf.
Her heart sped.
She closed the few steps to her small bedroom. In the center she slowly spun, studying the space. Her bed was neatly covered with a second-hand quilt, and nothing else. The nightstand and dresser were empty. Jerking her minimal clothing from her closet, she flung the hanging pieces on the bed one by one. A knot grew in her throat.
No scarf.
Sean had asked her over a week ago if she was missing anything, and she had methodically searched the café, looking for any sign that her life had been invaded. Everything appeared to be in order downstairs. She’d never thought to look in her apartment.
She slithered to the floor. Her legs suddenly became boiled spaghetti. A warm tear streaked down her face. Dragging in a breath, she forced it out through her lips.
The break-in? The car? The missed appointment? The scarf? Was he here? No. No. It couldn’t be him.
Her lungs burned with the pressure of the air she gulped. She shook her head. Coincidence did not dictate pattern.
He hadn’t been in Gibson’s Run. The madman wouldn’t risk his freedom to spy on her and not make contact. He didn’t work in stealth, subtle gestures. If he had been here—she swallowed against the knot in her throat—he would’ve wanted her to know it.
She must have left her scarf somewhere reasonable.
One more breath. Slowly in. Steady out.
A haunting melody about being courageous for Christ cracked the cocoon of fear that had quickly consumed her and wafted into her consciousness. She inhaled the words and allowed them to swallow the worry that seemed to perpetually plague her.
How she longed to be a strong and bold example for Jesus, but could she really live a life for Christ when everything she did was based on a lie? How could she fully embrace God’s love for her, if she wasn’t able to be honest about who she was, even with herself? She flattened her palms against the floor and stood. She scrubbed a circle over her face and rolled her shoulders. She was safe. Staying safe was her number one priority. She was succeeding, for now.
She padded into the living room and slid onto her second-hand loveseat, grateful when the music shifted to a hopeful worship song reminding that God’s love wasn’t dependent upon anything she did or didn’t do.
“Father,” she began to pray aloud. “I don’t know where to start. I haven’t been doing a bang up job of making sure I align my will with Yours and I want to change that. I want to be more in-tune with You. I am so afraid. I know You’ve told us not to fear, but Lord, I’ve been holding on by a thread. Please,” her voice trailed to a hiccupped whisper. “Please, Lord, send me some help. Send me a champion, someone to protect me. I don’t know how much longer I can do this all alone.” She dropped her head against the arm rest and swiped a single tear from her cheek. “Yep, this isn’t pathetic at all.”
Shaking her head she lifted her gaze heavenward; a twist of a grin at her lips. “Single girl sits at home, alone, on a Friday night. Drinks tea. Listens to sad music, and talks out loud to God. I’m surprised every cable network on the planet isn’t beating down my door to make a reality series.”
Three loud bangs on her door had her jumping from the couch as if the cushions were hot coals. Her heart sped, but she forced herself to walk to the door and look through the peephole.
Sean leaned against the door frame, his tie yanked loose and his dress shirt open at the neck. He looked rumpled. He looked agitated. He looked breathtaking.
She twisted open the deadbolt and the unlatched the chain lock. Glancing toward the ceiling, she imagined God in heaven and lifted an eyebrow.
Silence was the only response.
Releasing a long slow exhale, she opened the door. “Hi.”
One hand was propped against the door frame as he leaned forward. “I missed you tonight.”
Maggie dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip.
“Why didn’t you stay at the party?” he asked.
“I wasn’t invited.”
“About that,” he said as he dropped his arm and stood straight. “I am sorry. I meant to invite you, I think I even thought I asked you, but my mind gets a little mushed when you are around.”
Her heart flipped over with the simple confession. She motioned for him to enter. He passed her without touching, but she caught the light, woodsy scent that always followed him. She lifted the chain and slid it back in place over the closed door. Lord, please direct my steps and give me strength. You were listening, right? Is he my champion? Are we just supposed to be friends? Can You give me a clear answer? This can’t be just some whacky, cosmic coincidence.
She glanced down at her torn and paint-splattered University of Maryland sweatshirt and matching men’s sweatpants with a faded number seventeen on the thigh. Her hair was twisted in a bun, still damp from a shower. Her shoulders slumped. Dressed in decade-old hand-me-down clothes, a mop of wet hair, and not a smear of make-up on her face. The Lord was making sure she’d be more than safe tonight. Definitely friend-zone all the way.
Sean wasn’t waiting for her to give him permission or direction. He was examining her apartment like a detective looking for clues.
She glanced at the clock on the microwave. The policeman’s ball should still be hopping. What was he doing here? “Can I take your coat?” she asked.
“Thanks.”
She hung the jacket on the coat rack, shoving the worry over her scarf to the back of her mind. “Can I get you some tea?”
“Tea would be nice.”
She moved to the kitchen and lifted her tea kettle. She filled the kettle and shifted the flame to medium high, then she set the water on to boil. “Should be ready in few minutes.” She shuffled around the island, her arms wrapped together, the sweatshirt bunching over her chest. Stopping three feet in front of him, she dropped her gaze toward her bare feet and waited for him to start.
Did she mess something up at the party? Was she not going to get paid? Was she losing her shop because she accidentally poisoned someone with the baklava she added at the last minute to the dessert buffet? Was the person dead? Was Sean here to arrest her? Her arms tightened around her middle as her heart sped up.
Say something!
He yanked at his tie, slid it off, and tossed it ove
r his jacket. Turning back, he let out a soft sigh. “Do you mind if we sit?”
Sitting was good. He couldn’t arrest her if they were sitting.
He sat and fidgeted, driving the bubble of nerves rolling in her stomach to a steaming boil. She sat opposite, drawing her knees up under her chin and folding her arms around her shins. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she began to gnaw on her bottom lip.
He shoved his hand through his short, blond hair and began kneading his neck. He was upset about something. He lowered his hand and shifted his focus to her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “Maggie…”
A high pitched whistle came from the kitchen and they both twisted toward the noise.
“Tea.” She stood.
“Oh, right, tea.”
She moved to the kitchen, lifted a mug from a hook, and plopped in a mint tea bag.
He followed her, taking three strides into the kitchen space.
Trying to ignore him, she lifted the tea kettle and clicked the stove knob off. Steaming water sloshed into the cup as she bobbed the bag up and down to steep the tea. She handed the mug to him. Leaning against the counter, she laced her arms, and watched him blow above the rim of his mug. “Sorry, I only have mint tea up here. I try and keep caffeine out of the apartment. It’s nice to have a place that’s relatively stimulus free.”
“Mint is fine.”
“It’ll need to steep about five minutes. If you want, we can sit back down and you can tell me why you are at my home on a Friday evening when you should be at a party you are hosting.”
The corner of his mouth twisted into a partial grin. “Sounds good.”
They both resumed their previous positions.
Instinctively, she hugged her arms around her chest as she watched him settle into his seat. Forget water-torture, the silence of this man could break even the strongest of soldiers.
Sean set his mug on the trunk.
The woeful sound of a sad song rose.
“Maggie, I should be at the party. I should be shaking hands and laughing with my friends. I should be eating dinner at Morton’s with Jane, Millie, and their husbands. I should be a lot of different places, but the only place I wanted to be tonight was right here, on this couch, with you.”
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