Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  I hesitate.

  Normally I’d walk right in, but it sounds like Saul’s in some kind of meeting.

  At this time of night?

  I’m not wearing a watch, but the show didn’t get out until after ten. It has to be close to midnight by now.

  My instincts scream that something isn’t right.

  I’ve learned to trust those instincts.

  I edge toward the door and press my back against the wall.

  “You got my money?” A man’s voice. Whiny.

  “Ten thousand.” Uncle Saul’s voice is unmistakable. “But this is the last time. After this, I’m out.”

  “You’re hooked. No gettin’ out now.”

  “You’re wrong.” Saul’s voice trembles. “I’m going to take a leave. Check myself into rehab.”

  “You ain’t done ‘til I say you are.” Whiny Voice snarls. “You better keep the cash comin’, or else–”

  “I said I’m done! Now get out!” Saul’s voice rises several notes. “Before I call the cops.”

  A shrill laugh fills the space. “And tell them what? The truth? They’ll lock you up.”

  “I won’t go down alone.”

  “They’ve got nothin’ on me. You, on the other hand…”

  “I have proof.” Saul sounds slightly breathless. “Hidden where you’ll never find it.”

  Silence stretches for several seconds. It feels like hours.

  “Wait!” Panic nearly masks the voice I know so well. “No! Please–”

  Boom!

  The gunshot reverberates in my head.

  I may not have my weapon, but I have to try to help. Standing to the side, I ease the door open.

  A man stands in the center of the room, smoke drifting from the Sig Sauer in his hands.

  Saul is on the floor, his face angled my direction. The vacancy in his eyes tells me I’m already too late.

  Time freezes, as does the blood in my veins.

  No! Not Uncle Saul!

  My vision dissolves.

  Focus. Or I’ll be the next victim.

  I blink, the tears escaping down my cheeks, and surge forward.

  The man whips toward me, but I’m already in motion.

  I launch at him. My hand closes around his and forces the weapon upward. The gun goes off, punching a hole in the ceiling and raining plaster down on my head.

  I throw my weight against his chest.

  My momentum drives him backward. He stumbles.

  His arms flail. I squeeze his wrist and the gun sails through the air as he tumbles back.

  Saul’s desk rushes toward us. I jerk to the side and crash into one of the chairs. The man’s head slams against the desk.

  He lands heavily. A moan slides from his lips.

  So. He’s conscious.

  The gun. Where is the gun?

  My gaze darts around the room, but I don’t see where it landed.

  The man rolls his head and blinks.

  I have to get out of here. Before he recovers enough to kill me, too.

  Lucky for me, I have the home court advantage.

  The server room. Solid steel doors that lock, plenty of heavy equipment, and no windows.

  I can call the police from there. It should be about the safest place in this building to wait for backup to arrive.

  I just have to get to the basement before he recovers enough to catch me.

  Kicking off my heels, I scoop them up, bolt through the doorway, and race for the stairs. I take them two at a time, my feet barely touching the carpet.

  Wait.

  Better than the server room is the emergency exit. That will set off the alarms and bring help even faster.

  And I won’t have to mess with unlocking a door.

  My feet hit the second floor landing and skid around the corner as I continue down the next flight of stairs.

  But the server room would allow me to call my backup.

  Not the local cops.

  The FBI.

  When they hear there’s an agent in need of immediate assistance, I’ll have more people swarming this place than I can count.

  Footsteps crash on the stairs above my head. Closing in.

  Even if I make it to the server room, I may not have time to get the door open.

  Settled. The emergency exit.

  It’s the only way I might survive this.

  The man behind me roars. At first, it sounds like an animal. But then I realize he’s speaking.

  “She’s gonna ruin everything!”

  Is he talking to himself? Maybe he’s on the phone.

  Or maybe he has an accomplice. Somewhere in the building.

  I reach the first floor and round the corner. Cigarette smoke invades my senses a second before I slam into something solid.

  I jerk awake, sitting up straight in the bed. My breath comes in halting gasps.

  All I see, everywhere I look, is Saul coated in his own blood. It’s like it’s tattooed on my retinas.

  My eyes feel gritty. A sob rips from my throat.

  Oh, Uncle Saul.

  He was the only one who ever accepted me unconditionally and he’s gone. Worse, I think he betrayed dad. How could he?

  I crumple against the sheets, my tears soaking through the bedding.

  I know.

  I know everything.

  That money must have been a payoff. Saul took it from the company.

  He said it was only ten thousand, though, so I’m not sure where the other one hundred and forty thousand came from.

  Probably payoffs from other people. Or maybe they found some cash at dad’s office, although dad isn’t one to have cash sitting around.

  And I can make a pretty solid guess about the things I don’t know for sure. Like Strand. He’s dirty. How he got mixed up in that mess with Uncle Saul, I don’t know, but he’s involved.

  Now what do I do about it?

  The tears slowly subside, but I’m not any closer to answering the question. I should contact my supervisor, Special Agent in Charge Jackson. He has to be wondering why I’ve dropped off the grid.

  He’s probably concerned. Unless Strand concocted some crazy story that makes me look guilty.

  Although the fact that my aliases weren’t flagged indicates that isn’t the case. They’d only risk burning my aliases if they knew I’d never need them again.

  Like if I were going to prison, for example.

  I massage my temples.

  I have to get in touch with SAC Jackson. Set all this right. Well, as right as it can ever be with Uncle Saul gone.

  Finally. I have my memories back. In some ways it doesn’t feel real. It took so long…

  My prayer from yesterday flickers through my mind like an old florescent bulb.

  What’re the odds that this is all just coincidence?

  I know what Drew and Malachi would say. They’d say there’s no such thing. They’d attribute this to an act of God.

  But do I believe that?

  Yes. The answer settles over me. I do believe it. I believe that God is there, that He is who Drew and Malachi say He is, and that He loves me and answered my prayer to prove it.

  Which means there’s only one logical response.

  I stare at the ceiling, seeing but not really seeing the sprinkler mounted above me.

  “Okay, God.” My voice sounds loud in the silence and I feel like an idiot talking to Someone I can’t see, but I continue. “I don’t know why You care about me, but I’m in.”

  What did Drew say yesterday? Something about needing God?

  “I can’t do this on my own and I ne–” My voice catches, but I push through. “I need You. I’m sorry You had to die for me. I believe in You, Jesus, and I-I’m all Yours. Do whatever You want.”

  Somehow I don’t think that’s the church version, but I don’t know what else to say.

  And I don’t think I have to.

  For the first time ever, I have a peace that I can’t explain.

  Better yet
, I no longer feel alone.

  God is with me.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  It is good to be off work.

  I slide onto my usual stool at the end of the bar and survey the dwindling crowd.

  All day, I’ve thought about calling SAC Jackson. I even picked up the phone and started dialing on more than one occasion, but never followed through. Frankly, I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never ratted out a dirty agent before. It doesn’t feel like something that should be done over the phone, especially without proof.

  Yet SAC Jackson thinks I’m missing.

  Maybe dead.

  Maybe kidnapped.

  Heck, for all I know Strand has convinced him that I’m the dirty one.

  More than anything, I need to locate the proof that Uncle Saul said he had. So the question remaining is whether or not I call Jackson first and risk tipping Strand off or wait until I have the evidence in hand.

  I bet Drew would tell me to pray about it.

  This whole prayer thing is new to me, but it can’t hurt, right? God did answer my prayer the other night; why not now, when I’ve joined His team?

  God, can you help me out here? I just need to know what to do.

  “Hey, Stormy.”

  I smile as Drew approaches.

  Guess I should tell him that Stormy isn’t my real name. There’s no time like the present.

  Except that I notice Malachi and Sam approaching, too.

  If I’m going to pull a disappearing act on them in the next few days, they deserve to know the truth.

  We move to a table so everyone can sit.

  Malachi looks at me, a slow grin working up his face. “You’re different.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Different how?”

  “More peaceful. You stopped running, didn’t you?”

  How does he do that? I nod. “Let me guess, God told you.”

  He shrugs. “God speaks to those who listen.”

  Amazing.

  Drew clears his throat. “Aside from that, it’s obvious that something’s changed. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Sam whips his head between us. “What’re you guys talking about?”

  “Jesus. And the way He loves me. Loves you.” My words come out disjointed, but it doesn’t matter. Understanding blazes across Sam’s face.

  “Seriously? You jumped on the religious bandwagon?”

  He means that as an insult, but to me it’s anything but. “Yes. And I’ll tell you, I’ve never felt better about any decision in my life.”

  Sam snorts. “Well, good for you. Just don’t expect me to get on board.”

  It doesn’t sound like I’ll convince him, but words are already pouring from my mouth. “Sam. When you face that kind of love… well, there’s nothing else like it.”

  “I’ve never seen that kinda love.” A scowl contorts his features.

  “Maybe–”

  “No.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “If it works for you, fine. But don’t get all preachy on me.”

  Silence descends for several seconds before I break it again. “There is something else I need to tell all of you.”

  I probably should have told Charlie first, but it’s too late to back out now.

  I’ll track him down as soon as we finish up.

  “So, this whole memory thing, well, it’s all clear now. God gave me my memories back.”

  “Sure He did.” Sam’s eyes narrow and his lips pinch. “Because they couldn’t come back naturally.”

  “Not like this. I specifically asked God to give me my memories back to prove that He’s real and last night I remembered everything.”

  Drew sits up a little straighter. “Everything?”

  “Everything. My uncle was murdered. I saw it. I saw the killer.” Tears burn as I recap Saul’s murder. “I think between the trauma of seeing him killed and the attack, my mind just shut down.”

  “So did you figure out if there’s any connection between you and that missing person the cop was asking you about?”

  “There is. My name is Audra Parker and I work for the FBI.”

  Drew and Sam stare at me, eyes the size of spotlights and jaws hanging, but Malachi doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he offers a knowing smile.

  But… how? How could he possibly know?

  I know he didn’t have anything to do with Uncle Saul’s murder, but could he be connected to the men who did? Could he be an accessory to the crime?

  He did arrive just after I did. Maybe he followed me.

  But if so, wouldn’t he have done something by now? Kill me, take me to those guys, steal back the money, something?

  Besides, would a man conspiring with murderers really be spouting off about God all the time?

  Then again, what better cover is there?

  No. I can’t buy it. Malachi is too guileless to be that conniving.

  Besides, the things he knows… there’s no way he could have known all that without God speaking to him. I may be new at all this God stuff, but I doubt God speaks to killers and their accomplices like that.

  “B–but you’re crazy good. At bartending. H–how…?”

  I smile at Sam’s fragmented thoughts. “I’ve done quite a bit of bartending over the years.”

  Even though I’m not working a case, I can’t reveal that I’m an undercover agent. Not even here. Some secrets have to stay buried.

  Although honestly, I’ll tell Charlie and Drew. No specifics, of course, but I can trust them to keep my undercover work a secret. Since they hired me using one of my fake IDs, it seems only right.

  Besides, I don’t like the idea of keeping secrets from Drew.

  I’m not sure why, but I want to tell him.

  Not that I’m likely to ever see him again. Once I figure out where Uncle Saul might have hidden that evidence, I’ll be on a plane to Charleston.

  It’s a long way from Charleston to Reno.

  “So, I’m confused.” Drew rests his elbow on the table and looks at me. “You witness a murder, but take off? Why wouldn’t you stick around?”

  “I think instinct kicked in. One of the guys involved is a dirty agent and I think somewhere inside, I knew that. But since I couldn’t remember what happened, I went into flight mode and did what I do best in my line of work – disappear.”

  “But now that you remember, they can lock that guy up, right?” Sam asks.

  “Not quite. I need proof.” If only I knew where to find the proof Saul mentioned. Knowing Saul, it’s in a safe deposit box somewhere. Maybe if I search his place I can find the key and track it from there.

  Wait.

  “I’m an idiot.” I lightly smack my forehead. “Just before all this happened, Uncle Saul told me that he kept everything important to him at a specific bank. I bet that’s where he hid the proof.”

  And since he made such a point of telling me that, I bet he put me as an authorized party on the safe deposit box.

  I have to get back home.

  But I really don’t want to.

  These are good people here, people who liked me when I didn’t know who I was. People who liked me even when I acted like some kind of psycho.

  I’m going to miss them. Especially Drew and Zak.

  “Sounds like you’re not planning to be here much longer.” Drew’s tone is lighthearted, but I’m not fooled. There’s pain behind the words.

  He couldn’t possibly care for me too deeply after such a short time, could he?

  Then again, I did make quite an impression. He might even still have the bruises from the impression I made upon him.

  “I’ll have to go back. Saul needs justice and I have a job to do.” Beginning with turning in Agent Strand.

  And returning the money, at least some of which likely belongs to my father.

  On the upside, I probably won’t have to pay it back.

  I wonder if Dad has even noticed I’m gone.

  I’m sure he has. There would’ve been traces of me at the office.
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  Unless Strand cleaned it up.

  “So when do you leave?” The question is casual, but I’m sure Drew wants to know for several reasons, not the least of which being that Charlie will need to hire a new bartender.

  “Soon. I’m still trying to figure a few things out. Once I do, I’ll book a flight back home.”

  Actually, given how long I’ve been gone, I should be on the next flight out.

  But I hate to leave Charlie in the lurch like that. Especially after all he’s done for me. Besides, what’s a few more days, right?

  “Does Zak know?”

  Malachi’s question shifts my attention to Zak, who’s laughing with several women.

  “I told him earlier.” I think the only one left to tell is Charlie. I look over at Drew. “I better go tell your dad.”

  He rises. “I’ll come with you.”

  Not sure why he wants to, but it’s his decision.

  We cross the restaurant in silence. Not the comfortable “we don’t need to say anything” type of silence, but the awkward silence that happens when someone has something on his mind.

  And given that I just shared what’s on my mind, the awkwardness isn’t coming from me.

  “So what’s the story with the IDs? Do you carry them with you all the time?”

  “No.”

  I glance around. No one else is within earshot.

  I really shouldn’t be talking about this, but again, I want Drew to know. Besides, I can tell him enough to satisfy his curiosity without giving away too many privileged details. “I work undercover and those are some of my aliases. I usually keep them in a wallet at work. The night this all happened, I was going on a…” I bite back the word date. “I was going to the theatre. Normally, I would’ve headed home to get ready, but I’d just wrapped up a big case and knew I wouldn’t have time, so I got ready at the office and left from there. I must’ve grabbed the wrong wallet.”

  How, I don’t know. They don’t look anything alike.

  But I remember being really rushed and a little stressed. The fact that I don’t have my real wallet supports the idea that I took the wrong wallet by mistake.

  Drew gestures for me to lead the way down the hall. “You wouldn’t want to go to church with me tomorrow, would you?”

  Ah, so that’s what he really wanted to ask. The reason for the previously heavy silence.

  I have no idea what time church is, but I know I want to be there. “Sure.”