Sanctuary Deceived WITSEC Town Series Book 4

by Lisa Phillips

  She’d have burned the place down by now.

  When she got close enough to hear, it was the mayor who was speaking. “You’ve lived here your whole life, Daniel.”

  Gemma winced even as Dan’s lips pressed together. He hated that name.

  The mayor’s voice boomed across the clearing. “It’s as a courtesy to you that I’m here to extend this offer because of your standing in the town. It cannot continue in the same greatness we have established if someone who does not understand how things work falls into the position of mayor through some kind of asinine voting system that should have been scrapped years ago. I wish to appoint my successor. Someone who has lived here their entire life, who understands that this town needs a guiding hand. A shepherd, as it were.”

  Okay so Dan might be the pastor, but that was pushing it. And what was the mayor doing? Gemma had lived here her whole life also, but he hadn’t offered her his job. Evidently she was just the librarian, and not a valuable member of the community. No one even knew about her other job writing books. They just thought she sat behind her counter all day and checked out other people’s books. They were all in witness protection, so they weren’t big on sharing, but this was a small town. She had plenty of secrets, and no one had even tried to figure them out.

  If she didn’t have Shelby, the nurse at the medical center, for a best friend, she’d have gone crazy by now. Or signed herself out of witness protection and left the town forever.

  She glanced at Dan again.

  Okay, so she wouldn’t have left.

  Dan’s gaze locked with hers. Humor sparked in his eyes. She’d given up trying to convince him that everything about her wasn’t hilarious, but he thought her attempts to do that were hilarious, too.

  “Good afternoon, Mayor Collins.”

  The mayor whirled around with far more agility than a man with serious medical problems should be able to. Gemma adored sneaking up on people. It was delicious. She smiled as sweetly as she could, channeling her inner Scarlet O’Hara. Maybe the tattoos would cancel out the debutante thing, but she could pull it off for a second. If she’d lived in the outside world and not closeted away in a witness protection town, she’d have been a world class con artist. A grifter. And she’d have written bestselling novels about her adventures.

  “Ms. Gemma.”

  See? Totally southern. She turned to Dan, let go of her smile, and put her hands on her hips to seal the deal. “There was a caterpillar in my corn husk.”

  Dan said, “It’s all natural, no pesticides.”

  “I don’t like furry crawly things in my vegetables.”

  “Then buy frozen ones from the town store.”

  “Ew.” As if.

  The mayor butted in. “I’ll speak with you about this another time, Daniel.”

  Dan turned his head to address the mayor. “I’ll pray about your offer.”

  The mayor didn’t give away how he felt about prayer; he just wandered off. Dan glanced at her. “Ew?” His eyes gleamed.

  She whispered, “You know I was raised on an organic diet. I’d probably have a stroke if I ate a frozen pea.”

  The golf cart engine whirred, and the mayor was driven away by his crony. Gemma waited until he was well out of earshot. “I don’t know whether to be glad or ticked off that he hasn’t been by the library to offer me his position.”

  Dan didn’t move for a second. Then he said, “I’m…not sure you should be the mayor.” Why did he sound like he was trying not to anger her?

  “I’d make a good mayor!” She waved in His Honor’s direction, toward the road that led from the farm into town. “It’s not like he actually does anything.”

  Dan’s lips curled up. “I’m praying about that, too.”

  “Good.” Gemma shivered. “Collins freaks me out about as much as Andy does. A few weeks ago Collins showed up at the library to ‘offer me condolences.’ The next thing I knew I was leaving him alone to lock up my library and going to see my mom to find out why she never told me Hal was my dad.” She paused a second. “Do you think he knows mind control?”

  “I think you’ve been reading a bunch of books about people with bizarre abilities.”

  Gemma shrugged. It was research for a new pen name, since the US Marshals declared she could write with conditions. She had to become an entirely new author every three years and switch genres, never to publish under that name again. This would be the fourth name she’d written behind, and she was in the mood for something interesting. Like urban fantasy, or some kind of historical fiction where the characters could do magic. Probably they’d try to steer her toward sweet romances—like they could control her art—and she’d have to write from the perspective of a Sunday school teacher whose biggest problem was that her grandson said a potty word. Yeah, right.

  He hadn’t looked away. His gaze was still on her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  She didn’t want to shrug again, but she had to do something to off-set the effect those words had. Only it made it more of a sucker punch when he aimed that gaze at her and basically said he’d missed her. “I’m deep in the throes of researching a new genre.”

  It was entirely likely he read more books than she did, given how much he had his nose in that Bible always tucked in his back pocket. The thing was falling apart.

  Gemma shifted on her Converse. “I brought a bottle of Coke and some cherry syrup. You wanna take a walk?” Like they didn’t do the same thing every time they hung out on this exact day—that being an overload on sugar. With the way his dad had been and her mom’s all natural, taste-free lifestyle, it had been their rebellion against this life, this town. And the people who were supposed to have taken care of them.

  “Sure,” he said. The edge that talking to the mayor gave him had left, and she caught a measure of peace. “Just let me go change.”

  He turned to the barn, and she saw the bulge of his pocket-size Bible in the back of his jeans. Gemma glanced up at the blue sky, and the valance of clouds. Thank You for giving him that.

  She yelled over her shoulder before he disappeared. “I’ll get the bag.”

  **

  Dan left the barn door open because he was raised in it, and touched Bay’s wiry nose on the way past. Everyone had gone home for the day. It was Friday, and those who lived in town didn’t have any reason to hang around when they could be elsewhere. He employed six people, but only two full time—a husband and wife, Megan and Chase, who were in their forties, no kids, and worked as his managers.

  Dan’s farm produced thirty-six different kinds of produce, four varieties of raw milk, and the best honey ever—in his opinion. His greenhouses kept the town in vegetables three-hundred sixty-five days out of the year. Nothing that was flown in could compare.

  It was almost an empire. Of vegetables. If he wasn’t constantly half a step from losing his mind he might even take a moment to think on all he’d accomplished.

  The last time he’d had an “episode” his manager, Megan—not Chase, thankfully—had gotten him back to his room before he could wig out all over the place in front of everyone. He’d actually punched Chase on one occasion. Thank You, Papa, it wasn’t Megan. They knew enough to be careful around him, to not bring up anything about his family, the history of the farm, or the past in general. He had to live in the present. He couldn’t even read one of Gemma’s books because it would take him out of his life and the mental struts he’d erected around his memories. If they slipped and it all crumbled, Dan would…

  He didn’t even want to think about it, but it would probably involve a prolonged hospital stay in a padded white room where he couldn’t hurt himself.

  From the town of Sanctuary, I will cry to You. When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me back to You.

  Dan flipped the latch and stepped inside the storage room at the back of the barn. He’d slept for years in one of the horse stalls because his father insisted. And as he’d had no intention of stepping one foot in that house, he’d moved in
to the storage room at the back of the barn after the old man dropped dead on the lettuce when Dan was sixteen. The romaine had never grown right since.

  Dan had a tiny closet for his clothes, a three-drawer dresser, a bed his feet hung off the end of, and a desk with a wooden chair. The bathroom was a tiny room beyond that. His books were scattered across every available surface. Commentaries, devotionals, old works of Oswald Chambers he’d had Gemma find used online and shipped in.

  Because they were all in witness protection, the town didn’t have any phone contact with the outside world. Their landline phones only dialed internally, except for the sheriff’s satellite phone which was separate. They had two hours of scheduled internet access each week per person via the library computers, but he mostly didn’t use it. Mail could be sent in and out, and was delivered each week on Fridays now, along with supplies.

  He stripped off his shirt and the T-shirt he wore underneath, washed up real quick since Gemma was waiting, and pulled on a clean tee.

  Gemma.

  Dan had heard the sheriff, John Mason, say many times that he had no clue what his wife was thinking. Matthias, whose wife ran the bakery, said the same thing. Like women were a great mystery they were trying to solve.

  Dan wasn’t trying. Gemma showed up when he needed company. They talked, and he felt better after he saw her. When she didn’t come by for a few weeks, he sought her out. They hung out, talked, and he got her to a place where he could elicit a laugh from her if she was having a rough time. Not that she’d tell him what was up with her.

  There wasn’t much to figure out about Gemma. They were friends, and they made each other’s lives better. It had always been that way, even back at school as kids. Through the dark and the light, Gemma had been there with him when he’d needed someone tangible. As adults they saw each other infrequently, but when they did there was something about her that…settled him. If he could figure out an adequate way to say thank you, he’d do it. But he didn’t possess anything that immense which he could give her.

  Only the knowledge of the Gospel.

  He’d shared his faith with her a thousand times over in the years since he’d come to understand the enormity of what God had done. She knew what Papa had done, what He did every day for Dan, yet she didn’t believe. She’d made no profession of faith for herself.

  Now Dan was a pastor, and Gemma was his unbelieving best friend. He knew the others would frown on their relationship if it ever became public knowledge. Not out of judgment, but out of concern for him. It was why Dan had never told them, and why he and Gemma had decided to keep their friendship a secret.

  Fifteen years, and not a day went by he didn’t think of it. When he didn’t remember the sound of that gunfire. The flash, the jolt. His mom…disappeared. His father, same old dad. He didn’t want to think about himself, or he would end up in a head-funk he couldn’t get out of.

  Dan buttoned his shirt as he walked, then reached back and fingered the Bible in his pocket. He shut the door to his room and strode out. No point in locking his door. Not in a small town when he had nothing of note worth stealing anyway. Besides, any thief would have to get past Bay first.

  Dan blew the horse a kiss, and she nickered back to him. He latched the barn door shut and scanned the trees for Gemma. She emerged with a canvas bag swinging from her hand that he didn’t have to guess held two plastic cups, a bottle of Coke, and cherry syrup. It was what they did.

  She walked with that loose-legged stride. Her milk-white skin with those freckles and her fire-red hair that flashed in the sunset’s orange glow made her seem almost like some creature from a fantasy novel. He’d seen one of the covers once, at the library.

  She grinned as she walked, and he kept his gaze on her so that it didn’t stray to the house. She called out, “How about the lake?”

  The town had elected to turn the hole the bomb blast had left into a man-made lake and stock it with fish. Dan never caught anything, though. He liked to dangle his tired feet in the water and lay back and stare at the stars while he prayed. Would it bother her if he took his boots off?

  “Sure. That sounds great. Hey, you wanna take the horses?” He’d have to go back in the barn and saddle them.

  She lit up. “Yes!”

  Dan turned back to the barn. Out the corner of his eye, still a good fifteen feet from him, Gemma’s footsteps faltered. She hesitated for half a second and a weird look shadowed over her face, but she kept walking.

  The ground tremored. A branch cracked, and Gemma yelled, “Dan.” Her voice laced with worry.

  “Don’t—”

  The ground between them caved in and Gemma fell into it.

  Chapter 2

  Gemma had never seen a semi-truck in real life, but she got the expression anyway, because it felt like she’d been hit by one. She’d lived her whole life inside this ring of mountains with no cell phones, no vehicles except a Jeep, two designated pickup trucks, some golf carts, and a couple of ATVs to clear snow. The sky swam above her, inside the hole she’d fallen through.

  The juts of rocks and uneven dirt were a painful bed beneath where she lay. She blinked and tried to move. Fingers, toes, her head. Pain sliced through her, and a feral moan emerged from deep in her throat. She was down, far down. Dan.

  Gemma fought the pain and managed to turn her head to the side. What she saw made no sense, but the light revealed only the truth in all its ugly glory.

  A tunnel.

  She shifted again and everything went black.

  **

  Lord… Dan’s thoughts drifted like smoke. He couldn’t even say it. Papa. You know what I can’t say. She can’t be dead. I can’t handle that. God knew if she was still alive, even if Dan couldn’t form the words out loud.

  She’d been swallowed up by the ground.

  “Gemma!” He took two steps. The ground started to cave in so he jumped back.

  No response.

  “Gemma! Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  The closest phone was back in the barn. He could barely stomach the idea of leaving her, but if he was going to get medical help, that was his only shot. Dan raced back to it.

  Ring. “Deputy Ling.”

  “Gemma—” He pushed out a breath and gripped the handset so hard it was about to crack. “It’s Dan, at the farm. Gemma fell in a sink hole.”

  The new deputy was quick with the questions, her voice steady enough it enabled him to get a handle on the derby race of thoughts in his head. Dan pulled in a breath and pushed it out slowly. “I can’t help her.”

  “I’ll be there in minutes, and I’ll get the doctor.”

  Dan hung up. He ran over toward the hole, but couldn’t do anything except stand there and watch, yell her name, and then listen for any sound that indicated she might be alive. Waiting. I have to be patient, Papa. Don’t let her die. You incline to me and hear my cry. They’d get her out of that horrible pit, out of the miry clay. Set her feet upon the rock. Establish her steps. A new song in her mouth. Psalms of deliverance and His faithfulness ran through Dan’s head. I’m trusting You, Papa.

  Dan got rope from the barn just in case. He secured it with a carabiner to the barn door and threw it as far as he could. When the end landed in the hole, he called her name. Nothing. He pulled the end of the rope back and tied it around his waist.

  The sheriff’s Jeep sped down the road that stretched from town, west of his farm. It was maybe half a mile of pitted concrete, but it gave him a sense of privacy and an escape from getting overloaded with being around too many people. If more than a handful knew how fragile his mental state was they’d never have let him be pastor. This town needed someone steady, someone who knew what he was doing. Instead they got Dan, who was a hair from falling apart nearly every second. He could barely get out of bed in the morning without Papa coaxing him into the light.

  Dan lowered to his belly on the grass and started to crawl forward.

  The Jeep door slammed. “Dan!” She called his na
me like a warning. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t look back. “We have to get her out somehow. You have a better idea, Mei?”

  “Let me do it.”

  That was actually a good idea. The deputy sheriff was five-three and weighed maybe one-ten all compacted into a tiny body. Still, she had this air about her, like she could bench-press his truck if she wanted to. That was exaggerating, but she was just one of those people who was more than what you saw. And people misjudged her. She knew it, and she used it.

  He backed up and untied the rope.

  When her fingers wrapped around it, Dan looked down into her almond eyes and didn’t let go. “Get her out, but don’t get hurt. I don’t know how I’ll get both of you out.” It wasn’t like they had a crane.

  “Dr. Noel will be here in a couple of minutes.”

  Dan nodded and let go to watch her tie the rope and then crawl the same path he had. No one knew where the Chinese woman had come to Sanctuary from. She was maybe twenty-one, but looked like she could be years younger. Acted like she was thirty, had seen everything, done most of it, and lived to tell the tale. No one dared ask her who she’d been before she was sent to their witness protection town. Two months, and no one even had the guts to find out if Mei Ling was her real name.

  Their last deputy had left a path of destruction behind him, and they’d gone without for more than a year. But John’s baby was due any day. His family was growing and the marshal’s chest was puffed out all the time, everything right in the world. Dan wanted to know what that would look like for him. A wife, a family. They weren’t going to live in the barn with him, so it wouldn’t work. Papa. He needed to give up that dream.

  John had told them all that Mei was qualified for the job of deputy sheriff, and that she came highly recommended. John should know. He was a deputy marshal, and his brother was the former director of the entire US Marshal Service.

  The tiny woman crawled on while the ground shifted around her. “Whoa.” The American phrase came from her lips effortlessly, though he’d hurt her mutter in Chinese—he guessed—plenty of times.