“I keep doing that,” Marcus said. So flat, the voice didn’t sound like his. His hands curled, pulled into his lap.
She scooted away from the tree to face him and sat cross-legged. She waited.
“Falling asleep.” Still flat, but now he glared at his hands.
Violet reached back to yesterday, a conversation with Lee about what to expect. “It’s called convalescing.”
His glare cooled as his forehead crinkled.
“You know, getting better. You heal while you sleep.”
He shook his head. Opened and closed his fists a few times, old scars stretching over his left knuckles, new sharpness to his wrist bones.
“Marcus?”
He met her eyes, unblinking. Before he’d dozed off, he’d been having a real conversation with her, words falling as easily as they ever did from Marcus. Now he seemed lost. Violet propped her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, and held his gaze.
“I can promise you this—Juana won’t be offended if she comes outside and finds you sleeping. And neither will anybody else.”
Another head shake, and distance rose behind his eyes. He blinked and it was gone, his focus on her again. He was her brother, safe and steadfast, but there was more to him now, more in his head, and she had to remember that for as long as he needed her to.
“You’ve got to stop that,” he said.
“Um …”
“Trusting.”
“Trusting Juana?” He wasn’t making sense. Violet tucked her hands under her thighs and leaned closer, as if a few inches could help her understand.
“All of them.”
“Marcus.” She didn’t try to smooth the tremble from her voice. “You ate spaghetti and meatballs with them last night. You slept here, and you were safe.”
“I didn’t know then.”
“Know what?”
“Constabulary. Here.”
“They’re still our family. We can trust them.”
“No.”
He couldn’t mean it. Violet folded her arms over her chest but kept her eyes locked on his. She waited for him to take it back, qualify it somehow.
He didn’t.
“This is why you didn’t tell them who you are.”
No denial. No response at all. In the fusion of their gazes, something passed between them—an acknowledgment that she wasn’t going anywhere. But what could she say? If he refused to trust people who’d done nothing to him, then he didn’t trust an ex-spy who’d gotten him arrested, whether she’d meant to do it or not.
He sat watching her, silent and still. A crease formed between his eyes. Lee would know what he was thinking. Violet couldn’t begin to guess. She huddled closer to the tree, threw out a prayer, and imagined it floating up through the branches above them, into the cloudless Texas sky. Jesus, help me help him.
Talk? Sit quietly with him? What was she supposed to do? A long sigh poured out of her, and Marcus cocked his head. Questioning.
“It’s just …” She shook her head. “I think you’re wrong about them. But how am I supposed to convince you when I’m not any better than they are?”
In fact, she was worse. Her stomach panged. Maybe she should go.
“No,” he said. “You’re you.”
“Yeah.” Just me.
“I mean …”
She wrapped her arms around her knees and waited for him to explain. His eyes wanted to tell her something, but the words seemed trapped in his head. Certainty shrouded Violet. Deep down, Marcus was hurt more than anyone knew.
“Marcus?” She made her voice as gentle as she could. “Do you mean … you do trust me?”
Slowly, he nodded.
Acknowledgments
Now it’s April, and I’ve been a published author for seven months. Should it be real by now? It isn’t. Except in moments like this one—trying to count all the people who deserve my gratitude along this beautiful road.
To Found and Lost’s advance reviewers who continue to offer time and enthusiasm and thoughtful reviews: Andrea, Corrina, Emily, Hannah, Jess, Jocelyn, Megan, and Melodie. And to everyone who told me they couldn’t wait for Book Three.
To my author-friendly coworkers who don’t roll their eyes when I am too excited not to share publishing news, and who are still reading and letting me know what they think of this story.
To Jordyn Redwood, author and ER nurse, for the medical consult on Marcus, especially the treatment of pneumonia and the prioritizing of physical injuries and neglect. And for putting me in touch with Tim.
To Tim Bernacki, PT, owner of Front Range Therapies Castle Rock in Colorado, for the medical consult on Marcus, especially details on MCL injury and rib displacement and anxiety pain. And for responding when I had even more questions.
To Jocelyn Floyd, for the new prologue, for friendship, and … are you still telling me to try meteors? I do think that has recently happened.
To Jess Keller, for frankness and friendship, for story feedback, and for psychological dissection of Jason Mayweather.
To Melodie Lange, for liking this book the most and approving of the romantic progress, and for friendship without masks.
To Andrea Taft, for the best bracelet ever, for being the first to call this one the most “intimate” book so far (I needed that word to see it clearly), and for constant friendship.
To Charity Tinnin, CPF (Critique Partner Forever), for wanting to protect Marcus from the world, for knowing what needed fixing in the last act, and for listening to me always.
To agent extraordinaire Jessica Kirkland, for forthright story feedback, industry savvy, determination on my behalf, and mutual trust.
To Nick Lee, for a third cover design that is the most beautiful yet.
To editor Jon Woodhams, for seeing everything and, in the process, teaching me how to write cleaner.
To the David C Cook team, especially Michelle Webb for answered questions and Renada Thompson for being constantly available and knowledgeable and gracious.
To my siblings Joshua, Emily, Andrew, and Emma, for being the lovely people you are. And special thanks to Emily for being a first reader of Haven Seekers, for plot feedback and melodrama alerts.
To my parents Bill and Patti, for everything I’ve already said. And for being proud of me.
To my Lord and God and Savior, for keeping Your hand on me and for every good gift You have showered on me lately. For making me a little creator within Your immense creation. Let my stories and my life sing glory to You.
TAKE AND GIVE
Published by David C Cook
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All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, scanned, resold, or distributed by or through any print or electronic medium without written permission from the publisher. This ebook is licensed solely for the personal and noncommercial use of the original authorized purchaser, subject to the terms of use under which it was purchased. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
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ISBN 978-1-4347-0866-3
eISBN 978-1-4347-0805-2
© 2015 Amanda Stevens
The Team: John Blase, Renada Thompson, Karen Athen, Susan Murdock
Cover Design:
Nick Lee
Cover Photo: Shutterstock
First Edition 2015
Photo by Emilie Hendryx
(E.A. Creative Photography)
As a child, AMANDA G. STEVENS disparaged Mary Poppins and Stuart Little because they could never happen. Now, she writes speculative fiction. Holding a Bachelor of Science degree in English, she has taught literature and composition to home-school students. She lives in Michigan and loves books, film, music, and white cheddar popcorn.
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