Ransomed Dreams

by Amy Wallace

  “Have some fruit, girls.” Mom scooted a wooden dish loaded with grapes, bananas, and freshly picked figs across the table. “There are chocolate chip waffles warming in the oven too.”

  Gracie leaned against the breakfast bar and breathed in the peace wrapped in warm chocolate that characterized her parents’ home. Heart-chocolate. That was what her parents provided without even trying. A safe place. Kind words. Gentle hugs. Happy memories. Hope. The kind of chocolate nourishment that didn’t line her hips and thighs.

  Dad grabbed a fresh bagel from the fridge and wrapped it in a paper towel. “I need to head out if I’m going to be on time for our afternoon trip.” He kissed Mom’s cheek and turned to Gracie. “We can stop by the florist’s on the way.”

  “Thank you. Daddy.”

  His strong arms encircling her felt so safe. “I’ll see you soon, princess. I love you.”

  Beth joined their little circle with a contented sigh.

  He smiled. “It’s good to be a daddy to two princesses. Love you both.” He kissed their heads and then exited by way of the garage door.

  “I think I’m going to catch some Z’s before the boys start tearing through the house.” Beth stretched her neck. “I’ll see you before you leave.”

  Gracie nodded but couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to think about this afternoon.

  Beth scooted out of the kitchen before Gracie’s stomach rumbled like a volcano. “I think I’ll get some waffles before my belly wakes Peter and Rob.” Gracie started to move toward the oven, but Mom nudged her back to the table.

  “You sit.” Mom gathered the leaf-bordered plates from the counter and loaded one with crisp golden squares. “Even if you’re as strong as your dad, you’re still here to be waited on, and I intend to do just that.”

  Gracie slipped into a padded oak chair. “Mom, I know you and Dad said that God would show me the meaning of my dream about the cave, but I still don’t understand. It feels like I’m so close to something, but I’m afraid it’s only another cliff.”

  Mom gave her a glass of milk and a warm plate of gooey chocolate waffles dripping with organic maple syrup. “You eat. I’ll talk. I’ve been praying for an opportunity like this since you mentioned your dream.”

  Gracie felt like a teenager sneaking home after curfew. Not at all prepared for a “talk.” She bowed her head and prayed for a quick and painless lecture.

  “Don’t give me that look, Gracie Ann. I know you’re a grown lady.” Mom quirked a grin with raised eyebrows. “I just want to share something that the Lord’s been showing me. I think with all you’ve been through lately, it’ll help.”

  “Okay.” The warm chocolate slid over her tongue and she relaxed. A little.

  “You said what you felt from that dream was fear, right?”

  Gracie nodded and kept eating.

  “Fear of what?”

  Good question. “Fear of never getting out of the cave and into the sunlight?”

  “What about how you felt with the blindfold and the hand directing you?”

  “Helpless.” She didn’t like where her mom was heading. She’d talked to the counselor a year ago about her anger. Someone had killed her family. She’d watched it happen but couldn’t prevent it. Now she couldn’t find the man who’d taken them from her.

  Helpless. The word also described what she felt with Steven and his custody battle and Angela’s constant involvement in their life.

  “That makes perfect sense.” Mom leaned forward. “But it’s a lie. You’re not helpless. That lie is the thing that’s binding you like the blindfold in your dream.”

  “And I thought you’d say unforgiveness was holding me back.” Gracie hated the anger rising inside. A lie wasn’t what drove her life. Feeling helpless was only an emotion. Nothing more.

  “That’s an issue too, but first you need to face that you’re living a lie. Your quest to find the man in the black truck is one way you’re trying to prove you’re not helpless. So is keeping everything in your life in perfect order. Your house. Your lesson plans.”

  Gracie stiffened. The sounds of gunfire and shattering glass ricocheted through her memory Perfect lesson plans hadn’t helped that day.

  She pushed those thoughts down. Way down. “No, keeping things in order is called being responsible. No one else thinks I’m being anal.”

  Mom cocked her head and frowned. Referring to body parts, especially posterior ones, didn’t go over well.

  “Sorry.” Gracie took a long drink of cold milk.

  “It sure looks good on the outside, but not on the inside. Not when that raw hunger to fix and understand it all gets thwarted. That only leads to anger at God, which leads you farther away from the only One who can help your heart heal.”

  Something deep inside resonated with the truth Mom spoke. But Gracie couldn’t face it. She was terrified to think that the healing, the moving out of captivity to her past, rested in her power.

  “The One who heals you doesn’t need your ability to fix it.” Mom’s brown eyes glistened with the love only a mom could give while spooning up bitter medicine.

  “It’s not like I haven’t been praying or reading my Bible. I haven’t walked away from God.”

  A sad smile curved Moms lips. “But are you really experiencing Him? Hearing His voice? There’s a world of difference between the fear I see in your eyes and the peace I see when I spend time looking into God’s eyes, into His truth.”

  Gracie pushed her plate away no longer hungry “I’m not God, so there isn’t perfect peace. But I do feel God when I read the Bible. I have joy when I teach. I’ve learned to move past the anger.”

  Mom reached across the table to put a hand on hers. “Mothers see things, honey. I see shadows in your eyes maybe no one else notices. I hear the fear and excitement in your voice when you talk to James and Steven on the phone. But this lie about who you think you are—a victim—is blinding you, holding you back from stepping fully out of the dark cave and into the sun.”

  “So I just run to God and tell Him I feel helpless? And He does what, whisper some Bible verse that’s supposed to make it all better?” Gracie pulled away and stood. “I’ve tried. Mom. I have. I can’t keep dredging up those emotions over and over. It hurts too much.”

  Her mom nodded. “Burying or running from them hurts worse.” She stood and wrapped an arm around Gracie. “Test me on this. Step into God’s arms and spill out what you’ve believed about yourself—that you’re helpless, maybe not good enough, abandoned. Then admit you’ve lived trying to prove those lies aren’t real instead of receiving what God says about you.

  “Let yourself feel His forgiveness and then listen to His truth. I believe He has something incredible to share with you.” Mom wiped Gracie’s tears with her soft thumbs.

  “But I can’t just tell my private investigator to forget it.”

  “I didn’t say you had to. I only said to go to God where you are and see what He says.”

  Gracie sniffled. She wouldn’t give up her quest. And she wouldn’t go to her family’s grave site today either. Too much emotion. Too many thoughts swirling around her brain.

  Maybe she should try Mom’s way Bitter acid burned her throat at all the memories.

  The black truck speeding away.

  Her children’s blood on the ambulance stretchers.

  Three white sheets.

  Even if Mom was right and forgiveness flowed naturally from facing God with the lies in her heart, one thing kept her from it: She’d have to let the killer go. And then she’d have nothing to hold on to.

  Her quest to see him pay, the anger that still simmered below the surface, gave her more strength than crumpling in her sadness. Seeing him in jail might not give her peace or rid her of the lies her mother said she’d been living, but it would get that man off the streets and out of her head.

  She wasn’t ready to give that up.

  Not now. Maybe not ever.

  Forgiveness required much too high a pri
ce.

  32

  Joe knew how to evade the FBI.

  That fact had kept Tom out of prison. Armed with that realization and the courage that accompanied the dawning of his freedom plans, he walked around his office, letting the rush of adrenaline escape.

  He’d survived his questioning by the FBI about Gracie’s shooting weeks ago. He could answer honestly that he knew nothing about a Gordon Landridge. Or a Danny Johnson—obviously one of Joe’s aliases. That was easy. He’d handled this morning’s repeat of questions with equal finesse. A great way to kick off his last month in Alexandria.

  After Thanksgiving he’d bask on an Australian beach. Far better than Greece. Travel research had kept him focused. Unwavering in his duties at Hope Ridge. Unbroken by the FBI’s constant bother. Committed to carrying out his plan.

  November down under and the promise of summer’s freedom made him strong.

  The FBI had given him bits of information on Joe or Gordon or whatever the man’s real name was. Not that Tom would do anything with it. Yet. But information could prove a treasure with which to ransom freedom. If his carefully laid plan didn’t work.

  His telephone buzzed. “Yes.”

  “There’s a Justin Moore to see you, Mr. Perkins.”

  His earlier adrenaline rush slammed through his veins once more. “Please show him in, Alice.” He sat behind his impressive cherrywood desk and waited.

  Alice entered and showed Gracie’s private investigator into the room, then left without a word, closing the door behind her.

  “Welcome to Hope Ridge, Mr. Moore. Please, have a seat.” Tom motioned to the leather chairs in front of his desk.

  “Thank you.” Both men sat down.

  Mr. Moore’s broad shoulders stuffed into a tan sports coat weren’t nearly as threatening as Joe’s muscular build. But his reason for this unscheduled visit could prove even more destructive.

  Tom waited.

  Mr. Moore handed him a sketch. “This picture is from Gracie Lang’s description of the man who ran her family off the road over two years ago, killing her husband and two children.”

  “I’m familiar with the story Terribly tragic.” Tom handed the picture back without so much as a tremor to his hands. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with your business here today.”

  “Everything.”

  The knots in his shoulders and neck tightened, but he couldn’t let it show He had to play this meeting cool like his interactions with Gracie and the FBI agents crawling through his school. “I’m sorry but I don’t follow you.”

  Justin narrowed his eyes. “I’ve talked to some people at Georgia State who remember the man in this drawing.”

  Tom sat forward. “I imagine Mrs. Lang is thrilled with your detective work. Will you be turning over your findings to the local police soon?”

  “After I speak with her.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Tom smiled. “This is wonderful news. I’m still not sure why I need to know this information, though.”

  Justin studied his hands, and then his gaze roved over Tom’s desk. “The people at Georgia State named you, Mr. Perkins.”

  Tom’s stomach plummeted to the floor as his mind sorted through names from school. None would have connected Gracie’s sketch to him. They’d all swept through grad school too busy or too drunk to remember him.

  Except one.

  But if this PI thought he could bluff his way through to get a nervous confession, he had another thing coming. Not a snowball’s chance there.

  Tom rested his arms on the side of his leather chair. Time for more information gathering.

  “Is that your only lead, Mr. Moore? I’d hate to think you’d accuse an innocent man with nothing more than a young lady’s attempt at revenge.”

  Justin’s gaze didn’t waver. “I never said who I spoke with.”

  “But the fact that I know who it was has to give some credibility to my innocence. Do you have any other leads on the real killer on which to base your case to Mrs. Lang and the police?”

  Mr. Moore stiffened. “I have more work to do, but I’m confident the information I received in Georgia is reliable.” The man set the sketch on Tom’s desk. “Mind telling me where you were on New Year’s Eve two years ago?”

  “That’s easy. I was at home in my apartment.” Tom forced his breathing to remain calm, steady “Planning to propose until I found out my girlfriend was pregnant. If you’d like to speak with her, I’m sure she could validate my whereabouts. I doubt she’s forgotten that very long night.” Except for the time she was passed out cold and he’d slipped away to find the nearest bar.

  The gumshoe had nowhere to go with this line of questioning. If Moore’s flimsy case even made it past the police officers’ laughing, Tom had a watertight alibi. One Kimberly couldn’t help but substantiate. How ironic that her attempt at revenge would only serve to strengthen his claims.

  This news did mean he’d have to move fast now. No time left to unfurl his plan as neat and untraceable as he’d hoped.

  Surely Joe knew by now that Ambassador Kensington was being deported sometime this week. His British “mate” would call for exact information, and Tom had easy access to it as Victoria’s vice principal. Joe’s insane focus on unfinished business would be Tom’s lucky break.

  Soon.

  He ended the meeting with a frustrated Mr. Moore receiving no information to dredge up any new leads. The poor man wouldn’t be Tom’s problem much longer.

  As he closed his office door and relished the silence, Tom could feel the balmy air of the southern hemisphere. Taste the tang of a well-concocted martini he’d use to toast the FBI and British Intelligence that would never find him.

  Not even Joe.

  Tom had practiced and prepared well for the biggest day of his life. He was ready. Everything would fall into place. And Justin Moore, private investigator extraordinaire, was none the wiser for all his attempts to rattle his prey.

  It hadn’t worked.

  Nothing would alter the plans now.

  Steven sat on his back deck, the phone warm in his hand despite the cool evening breeze.

  Gracie was sharing about her visit to her favorite Whole Foods store and all the samples she’d tasted earlier that day He rubbed Jake’s soft fur while the dog dozed beside the deck chair. Between calls with Gracie and the loveable golden retriever his son adored, home had become a fun escape. Jake’s slobbered affection on James had helped his son on so many levels. Steven too.

  “So you’re cooking me filet mignon for dinner when I get back?” Gracie’s playful voice kicked his hope up a notch. They’d been flirting on the phone about every other day for the past few weeks, and she seemed more than ready to come back to Alexandria.

  He hoped her reasoning included him and not just escaping memories.

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  Gracie giggled.

  He could imagine her crimson cheeks and dancing hazel eyes. The ache to hold her, to kiss her, had only grown during her recovery time in Georgia. Every night, the memory of her smile kept him from going crazy over one more frustrating development in the Kensington case. Or going insane with fearful scenarios of what the judge would say on Wednesday at the final custody hearing.

  Steven stuffed those depressing thoughts. “I hope I can always make you blush like that and be with you to see it.”

  Gracie’s soft breathing made him wonder if he’d pushed too much with those comments. He waited to see if she’d change the subject.

  “You probably always will, Steven.”

  He felt like he’d scored a game-winning slam dunk. Why his thoughts flew back to high school whenever he and Gracie spoke, he couldn’t imagine. Unless it was because the possibility of enjoying a relationship again reminded him of the only other time he’d allowed unbridled hope and hormones to make him believe in future dreams.

  Except this time he’d keep his hormones in check. Gracie was worth waiting for.

  His call-
waiting beeped, and he glanced at the screen. Angela’s number. “Hey, Gracie. Can I call you back? James is on the other line.”

  “Sure. I’ll be awake a little while longer.”

  He pushed away the images that comment conjured and clicked over. “Hey, little man. What’s up?”

  Steven had figured his son’s first overnight with Angela might not last too long, and it might be time for a ride home. This little trial run had been his attempt to reciprocate Angela’s desire for peace. Maybe joint custody, a likely option, wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Daddy I need you to come get me.” His son’s sniffles magnified through the phone line.

  Steven stood and walked inside, heading for his car keys. Jake scrambled inside with him. “What’s wrong, son? Are you hurt?” Surely Angela could manage to make sure James’s still tender stitch site was okay.

  “Angela, I mean. Mom, is being real loud and I can’t sleep.”

  Steven remembered Angela’s loud yelling. Most times a drink in hand had accompanied the ear-splitting shrieks. Not again.

  “I tried to sneak out, but her husband yelled at me to go to bed.” James’s trembling voice was barely above a whisper.

  Keys cutting into his palm, he loaded Jake into his Explorer and waited for the garage door to open. “I’m on my way. You stay tucked in bed, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He clenched the steering wheel, listening to Jake’s panting in the backseat.

  Thankful for the cell phone he’d tucked in James’s bag, Steven sped toward Angela’s condo. The one she and the professor had rented just outside Old Town Alexandria so they could stay close by and keep James on the weekends she was in town.

  Which wouldn’t happen again if Angela was drunk tonight.

  Images of shot glasses shattering against the wall, curses full of venom, and what Angela could be screaming at James made his pulse accelerate faster than his SUV as he pressed hard on the gas pedal. James had been through enough in the past month, and Steven had just led his son into a lion’s den with no protection.