by Marta Perry
He let out a low whistle. Edie had been involved for a time with a low-level soldier from the same crime family her daughter later testified against. Did it mean anything? He did some rapid mental calculations. The twins would have been about twelve at the time, certainly old enough to remember Georgie Messina. He couldn’t see how it fit in, but he couldn’t ignore it, either. He’d have to talk with Jade—
“Hey, Micah.” Mac Sellers rounded the corner by his desk. “Somebody here you need to talk to.”
Micah’s brows lifted in a question. “Who? Something to do with the case I’m working?”
“Nah. Probably just a crank, but the woman says she needs to talk to someone in Witness Protection.” Mac ran a beefy hand over his graying brush cut. “I’m too busy to deal with it.”
A flicker of impatience went through him. There was no obvious reason why the woman should be funneled to him, but Mac was prickly about handling anything he considered a waste of his valuable time. Micah bit back a sharp rejoinder, reminding himself that Mac’s ill humor had its roots in the injury that had robbed him of an active career and consigned him to desk duty.
“All right. Send her back.” He closed the file and leaned back in his chair, preparing to cope with another nervous citizen who thought her next-door neighbor was a Mafia hit man.
But the woman who approached him didn’t fit the usual profile of the cranks who came in with odd complaints. Young, for one thing—probably in her early twenties, with soft hair curving around a gentle, sweet face. She hesitated for a moment, and then held out her hand as he rose.
“Marshal McGraw? I’m Kristin Perry. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Not at all.” He waved her to the chair next to his desk and sat down again, resolutely pushing thoughts of Jade to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. “What can we do for you, Ms. Perry?”
She sat, clasping her hands in her lap like a well-trained child. “It’s a bit difficult to explain. You see, my parents died not long ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” If she declared they’d been killed by a Mafia hit man, he’d start banging his head on the desk.
“Thank you. Well, it was very sudden, and I had to take care of all my parents’ papers and that sort of thing.” She paled slightly. “In my father’s safe I found documentation that I had been adopted. And that my…my birth mother had been a woman who was in the Witness Protection Program right here in Montana.”
His attention sharpened, but he kept his face impassive.
“I see. Could I have a look at these papers you found?”
She removed a folder from her oversized handbag and handed it to him. “Those are photocopies of everything that seemed relevant. I prefer to keep the originals, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
She wasn’t as naive as she looked, evidently. He opened the folder, flipping through the documents she’d enclosed.
“You’ll see that it was handled through an attorney, and that the birth mother’s name wasn’t disclosed.” She leaned forward, hands straining together in her lap. “But the notes made by the attorney indicate that the mother decided to give up her child because of the dangerous nature of her situation. There’s a short note from her asking that I be raised in a good Christian home.”
He nodded, scanning quickly, and then looked up at her. “What exactly do you want from us, Ms. Perry?”
She looked startled at the question. “I want to know who my mother was. Isn’t that obvious? I need to know what happened to her.”
It was obvious, unfortunately. She’d just lost the only parents she’d ever known and was probably still struggling to make sense of that loss. Then she’d found this hint of another mother somewhere. Her response was sad but predictable.
“Ms. Perry, I sympathize with you.” More than she could know. “But are you sure this is a good idea? Have you talked this over with any family friends, or your attorney, perhaps?”
Her lips firmed. “You think I’m being irrational about this, don’t you? Well, I’m not. I have a right to know who my birth mother was.”
He glanced down at the papers again. “Maybe your adoptive parents had the right idea in keeping it from you. Information about people who are in Witness Protection is highly classified, and even if it weren’t, twenty-two years is a long time.”
“I have a right to know.” Her eyes pleaded with him.
“You can check, can’t you? Even if you can’t tell me where she is, you could tell her that I’m looking for her?
Can’t you at least do that much?”
He ought to say no. To shut this off before she just earned herself a lot more hurt.
But he couldn’t do that. Soft, he told himself. You're too soft.
“I’ll have a look at the files,” he said cautiously. “I can’t promise anything. Where can I reach you?”
A smile blossomed on her face. “I’m staying at the Elmhurst Inn.” She thrust a card at him. “I’ve written down the number of the inn and my cell. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
“I can’t promise it’s going to be immediate,” he said, but he suspected she didn’t hear him.
She went out quickly, her step light, apparently confident that he was going to solve her problems. He doubted it. He glanced at his watch. He had to see Jade, had to find out what, if anything, she might know about her mother’s onetime boyfriend. But she was probably at work now, and they’d need privacy for that conversation. He might as well spend a few minutes on a probably fruitless search for Kristin Perry’s missing mother.
A half hour later he was reflecting on the fact that he might have been better off if the search had been fruitless. If so, he wouldn’t be on the phone to his big brother, wondering what connection an old case of Jackson’s might have to Ms. Kristin Perry.
“McGraw here.” Jackson’s tone was curt. He resisted the impulse to respond in kind. “This is Micah. An odd thing has just come up that I thought you should know about.”
“So spill.”
He took a breath, mentally condensing the story. “A young woman named Kristin Perry showed up here today, looking for information. It seems she’s recently discovered that she was adopted and that her birth mother was in Witness Protection here in Montana.”
“What did you tell her?”
Was it his imagination, or had his brother’s voice sharpened considerably?
“The usual. That we couldn’t reveal information about people in the program, that I couldn’t confirm anything, that after twenty-two years, it would probably be impossible.”
“You did the right thing.”
“Yeah. Then I had a look through the files for anyone placed in the program in Montana twenty-two years ago. The only case that fits is one that you worked.”
Silence.
He tried again. “I don’t think she’s going to leave it at that. She’s going to keep pushing.”
Another silence, for the space of a heartbeat. Then—
“I’ll be on the next flight out. Call you when I get there.”
The line clicked. Jackson had hung up.
Well. Obviously his brother remembered the case. Just as obviously it was important, or he wouldn’t be dropping everything to hop on a plane to Billings. There was no point in wondering. Jackson would tell him about it if and when he decided to, and nothing would move him.
Micah mentally calculated the earliest possible time for his brother to arrive. Not until well into the evening, certainly. He could drive out to talk to Jade and still be back in plenty of time to pick up a few groceries, assuming his brother would want to stay with him. He rose, reaching for his jacket. Seeing Jade again was business, not pleasure, he reminded himself. And the very fact that he needed reminding told him more than he wanted to know about his feelings.
SIX
Jade unlocked the door to her little house and hesitated. Where had it come from, this reluctance to go into her own home?
That was a silly question. She
knew the answer to that. Nothing had been the same for her since the day Micah had walked up to her door.
It wasn’t his fault. He was doing his job. She’d always known that Ruby had hovered on the edge of danger for too long. That someday it would come crashing in on her sister, and that Jade could well be caught in the aftershocks. Pressing aside her reluctance, she stepped inside and closed the door. Since the day she’d moved in, she’d experienced a wave of pleasure each time she walked through the door. Today her only sense was that her house seemed different. Not hers.
She forced herself to go through her usual routine of hanging up her outer clothing, switching from her boots to her fur-lined slippers, putting her keys in the basket on the table. The orderly actions usually comforted her, reminding her that she was in control of her life.
Maybe that sense of control had always been a mirage, with the darkness lurking beyond to shatter it just when she thought she was safe.
She shoved the ugly image away fiercely. She would not let herself think that way. She also wouldn’t let herself imagine that someone had been in her home, moving the basket an inch out of alignment, leaving an alien scent on the air. That way lay paranoia. The men who’d killed Ruby were gone, and they’d never bother her again. As for that mysterious so-called cousin who’d been asking for Ruby in Brownsville—well, there could be some innocent explanation for that, couldn’t there? If so, Micah would find it.
Micah. She’d spent the day trying not to think about him, without success. He’d crept into her thoughts while she was meeting with the audio-visual committee, showing the ropes to a new volunteer, even talking to a fellow librarian on the telephone.
She hadn’t dreamed up the awareness that had run between them. It had been real.
Maybe that was natural enough. They’d been through an emotional time together, and she’d just wept in his arms. She seemed to hear his murmured words of comfort again, and her cheeks warmed at the memory. That sense of attraction had been accidental. Micah was probably as eager as she was to forget it. The phone rang, and she crossed the room quickly to answer it. “Hello?”
“Jade.” Her heartbeat accelerated slightly when she heard Micah’s deep tones on the line. Maybe he was calling to see how she was after the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous day. Maybe…
“Something has come up that I need to talk with you about.” His voice was brisk and businesslike. “Will you be home if I get there in about an hour?”
Apparently she wouldn’t have to make an effort to get their relationship back to a neutral level. He’d done it for her.
“Yes, I’ll be here.” She tried to match his tone. “What is it? Have you found out something about the man who claimed he was my cousin?”
“We’d better wait to talk when I arrive. I’ll see you then.” He hung up without a goodbye.
Well, the most charitable interpretation was that he questioned the security of her phone line. Feeling oddly unsettled, she wandered to the kitchen, got out an apple and a few crackers, and wondered if she should offer him supper when he arrived.
A glance inside her refrigerator reminded her that she hadn’t shopped, but the neighbors had dropped by several times over the past few days, apparently feeling that having one’s house invaded by armed thugs warranted the delivery of casseroles.
She was instantly ashamed of the caustic nature of the thought. That offhanded kindness between neighbors was one of the things she loved most about this place. She couldn’t allow recent events to turn her bitter. She got out a chicken-and-rice casserole and preheated the oven. Then she took her snack back into the living room to wait for Micah’s arrival. Curling up on the couch, she tried to concentrate on the newspaper, but Micah’s face kept intruding. What did he want? Had something new come up? It probably wasn’t anything good, or he’d have said something reassuring on the phone. She tossed the paper aside. News of grain prices and snowmobiles for sale wouldn’t distract her for the next hour. She moved instead to the well-filled bookshelves and hesitated for a moment. Her hand hovered over the titles and then she settled on an old favorite. Snuggled once more on the sofa, she opened and read the familiar first line of Little Women. Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents. She could almost feel her stress level going down. She would escape into the comfort of a safe fictional world, just as she had at eight or nine. The tale of sisterly love and simple faith would be a good antidote to the horrors of the past few days.
By the time she reached the end of the first scene, the plate had slid from her lap. Frowning, she put it on the floor beside the couch. She must be more tired than she’d thought. She could hardly keep her eyes open, and she never napped during the day.
She pulled the crocheted afghan from the back of the couch, tucking it over her legs. She wanted the story to relax her, not make her comatose. Propping her eyes open, she tried to concentrate on what the sisters would buy Marmee for Christmas.
The book, sliding from her hands, landed on the floor with a soft thud, jerking her awake. She didn’t treat books that way. She fumbled, reaching for it, trying to get her eyes open.
But her lids were heavy, so heavy, far too heavy to lift. She’d just drift off to sleep for a bit.…
An alarm sounded faintly in her mind, piercing the fog that had invaded her thoughts. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think—
She forced herself to roll to her side. Her body was even heavier than her eyelids, unresponsive to her commands. She got her legs off the couch, tangling them in the afghan, tried to sit up, and fell forward to the floor, hitting hard.
The jolt roused her enough to send panic surging through her. She had to call for help. The phone was only a few feet away.
She forced her head to lift, trying to focus on the end table. It might as well have been a mile away. She clawed at the carpet, trying to crawl to it. The cord dangled toward the floor, slightly out of reach of her groping fingers. She lunged forward, her fingers grazing the cord. Fumble. Grasp. Pull. The receiver thudded to the floor next to her.
Reach it, she had to reach it, dial 911—she tried to force her hand to move, but whatever fogged her mind had paralyzed her body. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t…
Micah listened to the buzzing that said Jade’s line was engaged. Not so surprising, was it? People did talk that long, after all. But he’d been trying to reach her for a good twenty minutes.
The reasoning, rational though it was, didn’t dispel the tension the gripped him. Maybe nothing was wrong. But maybe something was very wrong.
He stepped on the accelerator. No other cars on this stretch of road, no one to see or be endangered by the speed at which he moved. His pulse sped along with the vehicle. He was nearly there. If Jade was in danger, if he was too late…
Please, Father, protect her. Be with her. Let me get to her in time.
He turned down the narrow lane to her house, plowing through a few minor drifts the wind had tossed across its surface. He spun up to the house and braked, out almost before the vehicle had come to a stop. Her car was there. She was fine, surely, but the force that was driving him wouldn’t let up. Not until he saw for himself.
He took the steps and the porch in a couple of strides and thudded on the door. Nothing. No sound from within. But she had to be there. The phone was engaged, she’d said she’d be there—
He hurried to the window, cupped his hand to shut out the glare and peered inside. Jade—lying on the floor, still as death.
Drawing back his arm, he smashed his elbow against the glass. The heavy storm window shuddered, but didn’t break. It would take something heavier, sharper. He pulled out his gun.
Never draw your sidearm unless you intend to use it. The words from a long-ago instructor echoed in his mind. He’d use it, all right. He smashed the weapon against the window, shattering it.
Shoving broken shards out of his way with his thick gloves, he climbed through.
> Gas, so thick it made his head swim in an instant. He had to get her out, quickly, before it felled him, too. He reached Jade, bent to grab her arms, felt himself reel.
No time to check for life, just grab her, drag her across the floor, push her through the window and plunge through himself.
He sucked in a deep breath of cold, clean air and bent over Jade, feeling for a pulse.
It was there, but it was weak, almost undetectable. He had to get help for her. He fumbled with the cell phone, forcing his fogged mind to work as he gave the needed information.
Please, God. Please.
Micah forced himself to concentrate on the utility worker who was checking out the kitchen stove. Checking out the crime scene? It wasn’t clear yet that there had been a crime.
His thoughts kept straying to Jade, being tended by EMTs on the front porch. He hadn’t left her until he’d seen for himself that she was responding. He wanted to go back out there, find out if she really was all right. But that wasn’t his job. His job was here. The county sheriff, alerted by the paramedics, had arrived right behind them, eager to get in on whatever was happening. He’d been told as little as possible, but that didn’t discourage him.
Now he teetered back and forth from his toes to his heels, unable to keep still for more than a minute at a time.
“Most likely an accident,” he volunteered. “You can see for yourself how old the kitchen equipment is. Ole Herb didn’t want to put any more money than he had to into this rental.”
Micah gave a grunt that could express almost anything. Volunteer firefighters had used their huge fans to vent the house of gas, but it seemed he could still smell it. Maybe that was just what was left in his lungs. He’d only been exposed to it for a matter of seconds. How long had Jade lain there, breathing it in?
His cell rang. With a muttered apology, he stepped outside to answer it.
“Well?” Arthur Phillips snapped the word. When the chief sounded that irritated, it meant he was worried.
“The paramedics seem to think Ms. Summers is going to be all right. They’re still treating her. I haven’t had a chance to question her yet.”