by Amy Wallace
“Nice act, Angela. You always played the drama queen bit to perfection.”
The brief guise of vulnerability quickly morphed into anger. She flung open the door and stepped outside. “You just wait, Stevie. Next time I see you, you’ll be waving good-bye to your little Rockwellian fantasy world. James needs a mother, not your always-absent single-parent act.”
Watching her strut away, scenario after scenario gnawed at his stomach. A sympathetic female judge might buy Angela’s second-chance bit. His ex-wife could tug heartstrings with the best of them.
What if she won even partial custody? Steven closed the door, walked into the den, and sank into his leather chair. She might be clean now, but that could change. His son could be in constant danger. Away from his protection.
His most basic nightmare had become a very present reality.
The day passed in a hazy, stomach-churning blur. Cleaning his guns didn’t distract him. Neither did making James’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes. But Steven had a freezer full for when his son came home next week. Maybe they would go to church with his parents next Sunday night.
Invite Gracie to come too.
What was he thinking? Playing church and dragging Gracie into his domestic problems wouldn’t work. He didn’t want to hurt her. Or lie to James and make his son think church could be a large part of their lives as it had once been.
But Steven had to do something.
Fast.
Calling Clint wouldn’t help. Steven didn’t want to talk about work and hear dead-end theories. Olivia Kensington’s case had gone cold a week before they’d found her body in Memorial Hill Park. Besides, his partner was most likely at church serving right alongside his pretty wife.
Steven looked at his kitchen calendar. A little over three weeks until school started, the day after Labor Day Surely the courts wouldn’t uproot James right before school. Not to give him to a mother he’d never seen. The one who’d abandoned him for her whisky bottles and any number of lovers.
But Angela and her new husband were wealthy. Had stable jobs with reasonable hours. Why wouldn’t the courts award her sole custody? How could he fight her and win?
He wandered into his son’s room and fingered the Bible on the nightstand, the one Dad had given James last year when he got baptized. Why hadn’t he taken it to camp?
Steven’s old nemesis—guilt—slipped into the room and started pounding away.
What kind of father worked while his son packed for vacation?
What kind of man couldn’t keep a wife?
Or find a child before some slimy perpetrator stole his or her last breath?
Steven opened the book to a passage he’d committed to memory as a teenager, one of his mom’s favorites. He read out loud. “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” The words felt like stones in his mouth.
And a knife in his heart.
There was no rest for him. Not when he had a neverending job to do. Faster. Better. Harder. He’d outgrown the Bible stories his parents had raised him on. Moved beyond a belief system that gave total power to someone unseen, whose supposed control of the universe still allowed children to die despicable deaths. This invisible God had allowed Steven’s marriage to fall apart, even when he had prayed with every fiber of his faith.
He returned the Bible to its rightful place.
Amid the rocket ships and stars that decorated his son’s room, Steven sat at the white desk transfixed, staring at the Bible until the grandfather clock downstairs chimed the hour of midnight.
Right now, he had to get some sleep. He needed energy to plan his attack. He would not allow Angela to rip his world apart ever again. Or destroy his son.
Ever.
Steven dragged himself into his room and collapsed onto his unmade bed. He hoped sleep would come soon, because first thing tomorrow, it was time to find a lawyer.
18
Tom read through Gracie’s e-mails a second time.
The updates from her private investigator—ones he’d not been able to delete—always ended with, “Let’s do a police sketch, soon.”
Tomorrow was the day.
And tonight he had to stop her.
As he paced in front of his townhome’s large picture window watching Friday’s cloudy skies darken, his mind churned with fear. He had the medication he needed, but what if he got caught? Or his timing was off?
His stomach had to be a case study for ulcers. No matter. Soon things would return to normal. Better than normal, maybe.
School started in less than a month. Behind his desk, he felt powerful. He’d also be seeing Agent Grivens every day. That little thought could keep him busy for a while.
Walking into his kitchen, he smelled the remnants of tonight’s Chinese takeout. His stomach grumbled for a late snack, so he downed handfuls of trail mix as the clock ticked off the slow minutes until midnight.
After more wasted time with boring e-mails, Tom rechecked the syringes. Each dose of the special anesthetic had been measured for a fatal injection.
He checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror. Too thin. Too ashen. But the tight black outfit highlighted the few muscles he’d managed to build up in the last several months. He looked better than he had in high school.
Far different from his college days too.
The normal drive to Gracie’s little brick house might as well have been stop-and-go traffic for all the wear and tear it did on his insides. Pulse thumping out of his chest. Sweaty hands.
All for a stupid cover-up.
Within minutes, Tom gathered his gear and took his usual place watching from the woods behind Gracie’s house. Moonlight illuminated all he needed to see while the crickets droned their annoying songs. Most everything else wrapped itself in silent stillness. Not Gracie. She was in the shower upstairs.
Tom packed the binoculars away. No time for distractions tonight. He had a job to do and the quicker, the better.
He searched the backyard for signs of her dog. She usually let him out one last time before retiring for the night. Tom sighted the huge mass of golden fur sniffing through the flower beds at the edge of the woods.
Perfect placement. Lost in the shadows, no one would see a struggle. Or hear the mutt’s inevitable barking.
He had to move fast.
He pulled his leather gloves tight against his fingertips. The tiny syringe only required one stick and a few seconds of pushing on the plunger to empty the dose of toxic chemicals.
Then Gracie would have a new quest.
Finding another dog.
Tom watched Jake catch a scent in the still air and pull the guard-dog stance, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
Just a little closer.
Jake snapped the twigs a few feet in front of him and locked his canine eyes on Tom.
Holding his breath, Tom steadied the thick padding on one arm and held the syringe ready in the other.
The dog lunged.
Tom braced for impact and let the dog’s huge teeth sink into the padding. He could feel its hot breath in quick bursts.
One stick in Jake’s haunches.
A few seconds of wrestling.
Then silence.
Gracie’s golden retriever lay on the ground, whimpering, panting.
“Jake!” Gracie’s voice split the silent night.
Tom looked up and whispered a curse. How could she have finished so quickly?
No time to make sure his dose had accomplished its purpose. He shoved the arm guard and syringe into his backpack and ran for his rented Lexus with no plates.
He glanced back before he left the woods. No sign of Gracie.
No noise from Jake.
Mission accomplished.
Gracie sped through Alexandria’s dark streets, Jake barely panting in her backseat. “Please, God. Keep Jake breathing. I can’t lose him.”
Tears blurred her vision. She revved the Jeep’s motor and fixed her eyes on the small-animal clinic
just past the glaring red brake lights holding her captive at the traffic light.
“One. Two. Three …” Counting to ten didn’t help.
The red light continued.
Green.
Gracie nearly rammed the truck in front of her, but it took off, leaving her crazy self to pull into the vet’s office. Dr. Gregg and two of his staff met her in the parking lot.
She watched them haul Jake out of the car and onto a doggie stretcher. More white sheets.
No. God. Please.
“He’s breathing, Gracie.” Dr. Gregg and his nurse sped the stretcher into the clinic.
Another employee, a young redhead, held the door. The vet and older nurse disappeared into the back room with their patient.
The young woman touched Gracie’s arm. “I hope he’ll be okay Mrs. Lang. He’s a strong dog.” She motioned into the front room of the clinic. “Would you like some coffee? I can make a fresh pot, fast.”
Gracie nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
The redhead flipped on lights as she made her way through the side office. Gracie blinked against the familiar sights all around. Cold linoleum. Bright posters. Hard blue waiting area chairs. Nothing fancy But this little practice had been willing to open for her tonight. Said they would do everything in their power to help Jake.
Jake.
Gracie’s flip-flops thundered as she paced the white floor of the waiting area. The dripping sound and pungent smell of brewing coffee felt strange in the otherwise silent twilight zone she’d tumbled into.
Thirty minutes ago, she’d let Jake out one more time before bed. Like every other night. But this time, he hadn’t come running when she opened the door. And when she found him collapsed at the far end of her backyard …
Tears stung her eyes and goose bumps pricked at her arms.
Jake couldn’t die.
He was the only other living creature that knew her son’s squeals of delight in clutching fistfuls of fur to help him stand. The only one who could drag Elizabeth away from her books for a romp in the sprinklers on a hot August day.
Her only living link to the past.
Jake was also her sanity saver. Without him she wouldn’t have made the long trek to an unknown job up north. Not even Leah could have helped make the transition to a new home, a new life as smooth as Jake had done.
He nuzzled her hands when she cried.
Licked her tears away.
Listened without complaint.
When the young woman handed her a cup of steaming black coffee, Gracie stopped pacing and sat down. “Thank you.”
She nodded and left Gracie to her thoughts.
The bitter drink didn’t make time speed up or calm her nerves. The caffeine would only increase the jittering in her tired limbs. So after checking the Noah’s Ark clock on the opposite wall for the hundredth time, she tossed the full cup in the trash can. No one had returned with an update in the last ten minutes. She needed a distraction.
Leah’s son had been up all night last night with an ear infection. No way would Gracie call and wake a tired mother after midnight.
Mom and Dad couldn’t help her all the way down in Georgia. No use worrying them.
Steven was out of the question. Why she even considered calling him bothered her, but that was a question for another night.
She had enough trauma to face without adding more angst and questions about relationships.
Beth. Her sister would understand and would still be awake. Gracie punched in the ten digits from memory.
“Hey, sis. You gotta stop calling in the middle of my crime shows.” Beth’s TV blared in the background.
“I’m at the vet’s. Jake might die, Bethy.” More tears trailed down her already raw cheeks as she resumed pacing.
Beth gasped and the TV went silent. “What happened? Gracie, are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I found Jake in the backyard barely breathing.”
“Did he pass out or have a seizure?”
Gracie shook her head and then realized her sister couldn’t see her. “I don’t think so. Jake’s healthy He’s never passed out like that before.” She bit her thumbnail.
“Good thing you were still up and found him.”
She shuddered at the memory of Jake lying so still in the grass. “Yeah.”
“What did the vet say? Will he be okay?”
“I haven’t seen the vet since they took Jake back, so I have no idea.” Gracie sat on a chair near the door. “This wait is like Chinese water torture.”
“Then let’s talk about something else. You gonna make it to the PI for your sketch appointment tomorrow?” Beth’s normal TV munching sounded like a jackhammer coming through the phone line. “You’ve been talking about it all week.”
Thinking about anything other than her beloved Jake when he might die seemed like a betrayal. “I … I don’t know.” Gracie sniffled and dried her eyes. “Do you think this is some kind of sign? A warning that I shouldn’t go?”
“Would your God be into that kind of cruel stuff? Personally I think a flat tire would have been a better choice.”
Beth’s attempt at a joke did nothing to cheer Gracie. She wanted to launch into a Sunday school lesson about God’s ways being higher, but that felt like gravel in her mouth. God had let her family die. Why not Jake too?
“I think you should keep the appointment. Even if Jake isn’t ready to come home, the doctors will take care of him. And stop thinking about signs. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Dr. Gregg pushed the office door open, scribbling notes on a chart. His face was unreadable.
Gracie jumped out of her chair as her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Beth, the doctor is here. I gotta go. Call you later.”
“Jake will be fine,” Dr. Gregg said. “He’s sleeping soundly with safe vitals now. I’d like to keep him overnight at a nearby twenty-four-hour hospital. Do some tests. Find out what happened.”
She nodded, trying to ignore the calculator ticking off the charges in her head. Jake was worth every penny “Okay.”
“I’ll arrange the transport then and have Jake’s files delivered.” He motioned to the young redhead. “Heather will get you the forms we’ll need, and then you’re welcome to go get some rest. We’ll call when Jake’s ready to come home.”
Gracie took a shaky breath. “Can I see him first?”
He opened the door and pointed to the left.
Gracie held the tears at bay and let Dr. Gregg lead her. Jake was alive. He’d be fine, the doctor said. Maybe she should go home. Try to sleep. In the morning, she’d go see Justin Moore as planned.
It’d keep her from going crazy waiting to find out what had caused Jake to collapse. He would be home soon. Alive.
That settled the churning acids in her stomach. A little. Maybe God hadn’t let this happen to Jake as a sign that she shouldn’t keep her appointment with the PI. That she entertained such a thought caused her conscience to stand at attention. But it could have been God’s way of getting Jake the help he needed for some seizure disorder or internal problem that had gone unnoticed.
One thing she knew. God had answered her prayers tonight.
Maybe now, the rest of her answers would come as fast.
19
Sweating in his home gym, Steven pressed the weight bar up again, muscles straining with every rep.
“Go easy, partner. Landing yourself in the hospital isn’t going to help James.” Clint snatched the barbell and let it clang into the rack.
Steven sat up and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. “The lawyer said joint custody is a strong possibility I can’t let that happen.”
“Think maybe Angle’s changed?”
“No.” Steven looked out his basement window. The sunny Saturday morning did nothing for his state of mind. His wife—ex-wife—had haunted his thoughts all week. Meeting with a lawyer had done nothing to assuage the fear knotting itself deeper into his gut.
“You gonna talk, or should I
just fill you in on Jonathan’s potty training experience?” Clint asked with an exasperated smile.
He groaned. “Been there, done that, don’t want details.”
Clint laughed and took his turn on the weight bench.
Spotting for Clint had always been an unspoken contest with ribbing galore. Not today Silence dragged between shoptalk and lame attempts at conversation.
“Heard you had a run-in with Sir Peter Barnstable.” Clint slipped more weights onto the bar.
Steven didn’t want to cover yet another depressing turn of events on the Kensington case. But it beat reliving the emotions of Angela’s visit. “Yes, the honorable Sir Peter dressed me down for snooping into Sir Walter’s financial affairs. Said the ambassador had been through enough.”
Clint slammed through another set. “Sir Walter hasn’t exactly been an angel.”
“No. And that hunch of yours about missing pieces in the embassy files still has me up late at night. We’re on to something.”
“Michael thinks so too,” Clint said. “But if Mrs. Brown wasn’t married, I’d think she was Michael’s new target, not her personnel files.”
“Parker’s changing.”
“After you took him to task about the pretty young ERT tech, I’d think he’d better.”
“Not just that. I think he’s really listening to you, Clint.” Steven rubbed the back of his neck. “In fact, he’s pestering me with all sorts of God questions. Why don’t you call him off? Or answer him yourself?”
Clint sat up and took a long swig of water. “You answer him.”
“Can’t.”
“Or won’t?”
Steven tugged at the towel around his neck. “It’s more than that and you know it. How am I supposed to explain all the random violence we see every day? Why God lets kids die and lets ex-wives rip families apart no matter how much I pray?”
Silence.
“Seems better just to tell Parker I don’t know than to unload my litany about how cruel and uncaring your God is.”