Protection

by Linda Rettstatt

  Jake sped up a little, driving by without looking to his right. He pulled off at turnaround a few hundred feet past the curve and got out. He could walk back to his place, but then what. He opened a tool box in the back of the truck and removed a tire iron, his fist clenching around the cold metal.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Twigs snapped under him and his feet slid on a blanket of pine needles. Jake worked his way through the woods until he came to the tree line behind his cabin. It was about a twenty yard dash to reach his garage workshop. He waited and watched until he saw the man round the corner of the cabin and climb the steps to the deck. Jake had locked up better than usual that morning, in light of the phone call. The only way in would be to break in. The guy tried the window and then the door, cupping his hands and pressing his face to the glass to peer inside.

  When the man crossed the driveway and moved toward the garage, Jake tensed. He couldn’t remember locking that door. He heard the rattling of the door and muttered swearing. So he had locked up. He tightened his grip on the tire iron. He felt like a coward crouching in the bushes while some scum who had tried to run him down now tried to break into his house. Playing it safe had always been his choice. He couched it in the name of being a peaceful man, a priest. Well, look where that had gotten him. It was time to make a change. And he’d start with this guy.

  Jake made a mad dash from the trees to the back of the garage. He leaned against the wall, panting to catch his breath. Sweat beaded his upper lip and dripped down the sides of his face. His chest burned and his arm was nearly numb from holding the tire iron. Through a narrow window, he could see through the garage to the guy standing by the door. Then the man moved, presumably to round the building. Jake moved, too, to the corner. He raised his arm and waited, holding his breath.

  The man stepped into the open and Jake swung down feeling the sickening thud and the reverberation of the contact all the way up his arm. The man lay at his feet, a gash on the side of his head bleeding profusely. Jake stood there, stunned, unsure of what to do next. The guy was huge, probably close to three hundred pounds. Moving him was not an option. Jake went into the workshop and found a large coil of rope. He grabbed a pair of clippers and, as a last thought, a clean rag to stop the bleeding. After securing the man’s hands and feet and propping him up against the building, he pressed the rag to the wound. It was soon oozing with blood. Jake patted him down, locating a gun holstered inside his jacket and a knife in a sheath on his right leg. He was grateful he watched police dramas on TV. Otherwise, he’d have never known where to look.

  The guy was breathing but still unconscious. Jake ran to the house to get a towel and bandages. How would he explain a stranger bleeding to death while bound behind his garage? By the time he returned, the guy was coming around and moaning.

  While Jake tried to stem the flow of blood and bandage the wound, the guy opened his eyes. He stared groggily at Jake for a moment then his body jerked until he realized he was bound. “What are you doin’?”

  Jake sat back on his haunches. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question? What are you doing here? You tried to run me down the other night at the Dairy Dream and now you’re sneaking around my house.”

  The guy closed his eyes and his head dropped back against the garage. “I was lookin’ for someone. You’re not him, though.”

  “Him? Who are you looking for?”

  The man’s eyes glinted in the sunlight. “You know Steve Avery? Or maybe you know him as Father Steve Avery?”

  Jake’s breath caught. This guy wasn’t after Shannon. He was the target. “Never heard of him. What did he do?”

  “He’s wanted back east for child trafficking. I’m an undercover Federal Agent.”

  “Really? You have identification then?”

  “No. Like I said, I’m workin’ undercover.”

  Jake grimaced. “This is your lucky day. I happen to be good friends with the Feds.” Jake stood and pulled his cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “Don’t go anywhere. By the way, you have a name?”

  The man glared at him and kicked wildly, trying to free his feet. Jake’s Boy Scout training from years ago still paid off. Those ropes weren’t coming loose any time soon. Jake walked back toward the house, keeping the guy in his view. He punched in a series of numbers and waited.

  “Jake, I don’t have anything for you yet,” Caleb said.

  “Unfortunately, I have something for you.” He gave Caleb an accounting of what had happened.

  “Oh, for chrissakes. Where is he now?”

  “He’s tied up behind my garage. He has a pretty nasty gash on his head. I bandaged it, but I think he needs stitches.”

  “You hit him over the head, then fixed him up?” Caleb chuckled. “You’re a piece of work, you know that? Let me get a clean-up crew together. I should be able to pull a few guys from the Seattle office. I’ll call you when they get close and give you their names and descriptions. You don’t say a word to them. You just point them to your prowler. They’ll take it from there. They’ll take the bike, too.”

  “What will they do with him?”

  “Find out who he is, for starters, and who he works for. Clean up the area after they take him—hose it down or dig up the ground, get rid of any evidence like blood. And do not tell anyone about this, even your girlfriend.”

  Jake felt heat sweep up his neck. “She’s not my….”

  But it was too late to explain. The line was dead. Jake walked back to the man. “Your ride will be here shortly. I’m sorry I had to hit you so hard.”

  “You coulda killed me, man. You know, you look a little bit like the guy.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m not the guy.”

  “No, really. Check it out, man.” He nodded down toward his chest. “There’s a picture in my inside pocket.”

  Jake reached down warily, keeping his eyes on the man’s face, and tugged a photo and a cell phone from an inside pocket. He tossed the cell phone aside with the gun and knife, then stared at the photograph. He must have been about twenty-four when this was taken, just recently out of the seminary. The photo held a sincerity and innocence Jake could no longer relate to. It was like looking at the face of a total stranger. What he had told this man earlier was true—he didn’t know Steve Avery at all.

  After a quick run to the house for water, Jake returned and sat a few feet away from the guy. He’d offered him water and poured from the bottle into the guy’s mouth. He was not about to untie his hands.

  “So, that girl you were with? That your wife and your kid?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. She’s hot, if you know what I mean.”

  Jake wanted to punch the guy for talking about Shannon that way. “It’s probably best if you don’t talk.”

  “Ooh. She’s not puttin’ out, huh? Won’t give you a second look, am I right?”

  Jake sat in silence, staring at the woods along the property’s edge.

  “I bet she’d be a wild one, too. You can always tell. Those nice long legs wrappin’ around you. Diggin’ her heels in and beggin’ for more.”

  Jake leaped to his feet and bent over the man, grabbing the front of his jacket. “Just shut up!”

  The man brought his head forward with full force, hitting Jake in the nose and sending him sprawling. Jake felt blood gush over his mouth. The man rolled and got to his knees, trying to get onto his feet, but his ankles where still tightly bound. He dropped again and reached for his gun. Jake was on him, jamming a knee hard on his wrist, his other knee on the man’s chest. When in the hell were those guys from Seattle going to get there? He knew it would take them at least another half hour.

  “Stop. You’re gonna dislocate my shoulder.” The man’s face contorted with pain.

  Jake picked up the knife and held it to his throat. “Don’t make me do this.”

  The man stilled, his eyes wide. “You couldn’t let me bleed to death. I know you won’t cut my throat.”

  “I’ve
recently done a lot of things I never thought I would do. If you force me to, I’ll add this to my list.” Even as he said it, Jake’s hand trembled and the blade scraped the outer layer of skin, leaving a narrow red line.

  He picked up the gun that was almost within the man’s reach and then scuttled backwards. “Don’t make another move.” He sat with the gun trained on the man’s chest. The afternoon sun was straight overhead and perspiration poured down both their faces. Jake wiped a hand across his face to remove the stinging sweat from his eyes. Blood still trickled from his nose and it thumped like hell. He reached for his bottle of water and took a long drink.

  The guy nodded to him. “I’m thirsty, too.”

  “Too bad. You had your chance.” A flash of guilt hit Jake. When I was thirsty, you gave me a drink. Two things had compelled him to become a priest—the desire to provide service and comfort to those in need and his Irish Catholic grandmother. And, now, here he sat outside a remote mountain cabin holding a gun on another human being who had asked for a drink of water. It took every ounce of strength to sit there and refuse the man, even though he knew the risks.

  He glanced at his watch. Shannon must be frantic by now, either wondering what happened to him or thinking he’d simply abandoned her once he got her into the apartment. His phone rang and he saw it was Caleb.

  “Three agents are headed your way—Tillman, tall, black, thin; Costello, caucasian, medium height, balding, average build; and a woman, Borghatti, small with dark hair and attitude. They should be there in fifteen.” With that, Caleb was gone again.

  Less than fifteen minutes passed before Jake heard a vehicle crunch up the gravel drive. Two men in business suits looking every bit like upper echelon law enforcement got out. The woman was dressed in leathers and carried a helmet. The two men approached while the woman, presumably Borghatti, stayed behind, surveying the area.

  One of them reached for his gun, calling out, “Drop the weapon.”

  Jake complied and showed his hands.

  Tillman flashed a badge as he approached. “We’ll take care of things now. Might be best if you go inside,” he said to Jake.

  “Why?”

  The officer didn’t respond, just stared at him and then shifted his gaze toward the house, giving another slight nod. Borghatti strode toward them. “He got the bike keys?”

  Jake motioned toward the man on the ground. “Maybe in his pockets.”

  He watched as Borghatti knelt, placed one knee across the man’s chest and one very near his crotch, then dug into his pocket for the keys.

  The man had the audacity—or stupidity—to grin up and her. “A little deeper, baby, you’ll strike gold.” She shifted her knee and dug it into his crotch. He howled with pain before gurgling and turned his head to puke.

  “Deep enough?” She stood, holding up the keys, and looked at Tillman. “He’s all yours.”

  Jake felt lightheaded himself, recalling the pain of Shannon’s foot making contact with his privates. He almost felt sorry for the guy. “Okay, so I guess I’ll go inside and get cleaned up.”

  Tillman nodded, then he and the other man hauled the biker to his feet. From the foot of the driveway, the motorcycle roared to life, then squealed away.

  Jake headed straight for the bathroom, ripping off his bloodied shirt. His nose was red and swollen, and just a little out of line. Sad. In his moments of vanity, he’d always thought his straight nose was his best facial feature. Now his eyes would have to do the job. He cleaned himself up hastily and placed an ineffective bandage across the bump, wincing at the pain that radiated from his touch. He was going to have to stop at the clinic. But, first, he needed to get back to Shannon.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Shannon paced by the window, soothing an unhappy Bailey when Jake’s truck pulled back into the drive. He’d been gone for almost three hours. She unlocked the door and swung it open as his feet pounded up the stairs. Then she gasped. “Jake, what happened to you?”

  “I stumbled on something.” He sat down heavily on one of the dining chairs.

  “Your nose looks broken.”

  “It is. I had to go back to the cabin to change. Sorry I didn’t call.”

  She leaned closer, examining his face. “Did you get that looked at?”

  “Not yet. There’s a medical clinic on the other side of town. I wanted to come back for you first.” He handed her a brown paper bag. “These are for you.”

  Opening the bag, she found a plain pair of glasses with tortoiseshell frames. She slid them on and looked around. “How do I look?”

  “Like a punk librarian.” He grinned, then winced. “Between your hair and the glasses, no one would recognize you as your former self.”

  “Thanks.” She hoisted up the diaper bag. “You need to get medical attention right now.”

  “I’m not all that eager to have someone manipulate this back into position.” But he stood and went ahead of her down the steps. “I don’t think we can move your stuff over here tonight. Is tomorrow morning okay?”

  A wave of relief washed through her. “Tomorrow is fine. Abe isn’t expecting me to help with Helen before Monday, said I’d need a few days to get settled. He managed to get up here while you were gone and really liked the paint job. He told me to let him know if I need anything else, within reason, and he’ll provide it. He’s such a nice man.”

  “You’ll need a crib. I have a job next week, but I was going to make one.”

  “Oh, no. Dawn told me her oldest daughter has one. I made an offer and she accepted. I just need your help getting it here.”

  Jake held the truck door open while she fastened Bailey into her car seat. “Not a problem.”

  The clinic was crowded and Jake insisted she sit down with Bailey while he stood to fill out forms. Shannon rummaged through the diaper bag—formula, bottles, teething ring, everything else under the sun but what she needed right now. A diaper. “Jake, I have to run out and get diapers. I saw a convenience store just down the street.”

  “I’ll go with you. This could take hours.”

  “No. I don’t want you to lose your turn. I’ll be fine.”

  A woman sitting across from her and two chairs down had a baby about Bailey’s age in a carrier. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing. I have extra diapers.” She handed two to Shannon.

  “Oh, thank you. She does not like being wet, but who can blame her?”

  “You’re welcome. She’s adorable. How old?”

  “Three and half months. Yours?”

  “He’s four months. He’s been running a fever and I’m sure it’s teeth, but my husband insisted I bring him in. Lucas is our first and my husband is overly-protective. I shouldn’t complain. Is she her daddy’s girl?” The woman smiled and glanced up at Jake.

  “She…uh….”

  Jake ran and palm softly over Bailey’s head. “She sure is. My one and only.”

  To avoid the conversation going any further, Shannon excused herself to change the baby. What was he thinking? She fastened the clean diaper into place and ran her fingers lightly over Bailey’s tummy, an action that elicited a smile. Daddy’s girl. She would never be her Daddy’s girl—not if Shannon could help it.

  When she returned to the waiting room, the woman was gone.

  Jake must have read her expression. “I’m sorry. I thought it was easier than an explanation.”

  He made a good point. “It’s fine.”

  A nurse opened a door to the exam area and called, “Mr. Garber.”

  Jake stood and hesitated. “Wish me luck.”

  She grinned. “You don’t know pain until you’ve given birth. I think you’ll survive.” She asked the receptionist if she would fill a bottle two thirds of the way with tap water. The water in the cooler would be too cold. Then she scooped in the formula and shook it before offering it to Bailey.

  Jake emerged twenty minutes later from the exam area with white tape over the bridge of his nose and very watery eyes. He paid hi
s bill in cash and then came to her.

  “Was it bad?” she asked.

  “Bad enough.” But the words came out as ‘bat eduff’. “Let’s get out of here. I’m famished.”

  They picked up take-out from the one Chinese restaurant in town and headed back to the cabin. After dinner, Jake said he had some work to do in the garage. Shannon sat at the computer to check email. Only one unopened message from Brooke. Eve, I have some vacation time, so Mom and I are going out of town, back home. Will let you know once we arrive. Hope we can chat. You take care. Love, Babs

  Shannon read between the lines and the words. Brooke was taking her mother back to Pennsylvania. That would be fine as long as no one followed them. She would have to wait for the next email for a clue as to where to call them. She couldn’t use Jake’s phone. That number had been compromised. But the number at her apartment was listed to Abe Swinson, and she had no intention of changing it. She would pay Abe for the costs of the phone and all calls. She made a note for herself to call about internet service at the apartment.

  She went to the Governor’s website for the State of Missouri, not sure what she expected to find. Corinne Hastings would hardly put her picture up on the website with a big ‘Wanted’ above it. There she saw photos from the Governor’s Ball to raise money for the children’s hospital in St. Louis. Pictures of Mark standing next to Corinne, smiling as if he was actually happy, sickened her. She examined his face closely, looking for some part of him in their daughter. Bailey had his mouth, but her eye color and face shape were all Shannon. Thank God for that.

  She went to the kitchen for a drink. Standing at the window, she saw Jake digging around the back of the garage. Odd place to plant flowers, she thought. She was on the sofa and flipping channels on the TV when Jake came inside.

  “Anything worth watching?” he asked.

  “I was looking for a movie, something to take my mind off all that’s happened.” She looked up. “How’s your nose?”