Читать книгу The Guardian's Mission - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 12

The phone rang just after seven Sunday morning, dragging Marti from restless, nightmare-filled sleep. She scowled as the answering machine picked up and Jennifer Gardner’s soft southern drawl filled the room. “Marti? Jenny, here. I heard what happened Friday and was calling to see if you needed me to fill in on nursery duty for you. Adam and I just got back from Cancún. It was absolutely the most relaxing, fantastic place to honeymoon. Maybe you and Brian…Oh, I am so sorry. I did hear that the two of you broke up.” Her pause was dramatic and typical Jennifer. Marti could almost imagine the dark-haired beauty pressing the phone close to her ear, hoping Marti would feel compelled to answer.

She didn’t.

She’d spent the previous day fielding calls from friends, acquaintances, local newspaper reporters. She did not plan to add to that by explaining the situation to Jennifer, who, if she’d taken the time to check things out, would have realized that Martha had found someone to replace her in the nursery as soon as she’d decided to spend the weekend in the mountains.

“Marti? Are you there? You do know you’re signed up to work in the toddler nursery, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know. And, no, I don’t need anyone to fill in for me. Even if I did, I wouldn’t ask a lacquer-nailed, overly hair-sprayed former homecoming queen who knows as much about kids as I do about curling irons.” Marti muttered the words as she turned down the volume of the answering machine, muting the rest of Jennifer’s long message.

Her attitude stunk, and Martha knew it, but she seemed helpless to get a handle on her irritation. Chalk it up to lack of sleep, or too many nightmares. Whatever the case, there was no way she planned to spend another day answering the phone and being nice to people who were more interested in gossip than in her well-being. She was going out. Not just out. She was going to church. At least there most of the people truly cared about how she was doing.

She grabbed a dress from her closet, barely noticing the color or style as she hurried to shower and change. Her ears strained for sounds that didn’t belong, her heart pounding a quick, erratic beat. No matter how many times she told herself she was safe, she couldn’t seem to shake the fear that had been nipping at her heels all weekend.

When she was a kid, she hadn’t been afraid of monsters under the bed or bogeymen in closets. It seemed ironic that she was now. Every noise, every shadow made her jump. Every night was filled with potential danger.

Worse, her hands were still shaking, her pulled-back nails throbbing as she grabbed a brush and raked it through her hair. The pain reminded her of the desperate moments in the trailer; the danger just outside the metal prison she’d been trapped in. Johnson’s dead eyes staring at her. Memorizing her.

Her heart leaped at the thought, and she took a deep breath. Johnson was surely in jail now. She would never see him again. The thought should have been comforting, but wasn’t. She swept blush across her cheeks, hoping to liven her pale face. It didn’t help. She still looked pale. Still looked scared. But she was going to church.

Because there was no way she was going to let fear control her. She smiled at her reflection. There. That was better. All she had to do was pretend she was fine. Eventually, she’d believe it.

She grabbed her purse and Bible. A few hours away from the house would be good for her. Maybe after church she’d visit Sue and Dad, beg a home-cooked meal off them. At least then she wouldn’t have to be alone.

Until tonight. When it was dark again and memories of gunshots and blood filled her dreams.

She shuddered, stepping out into cool, crisp air.

“You clean up good, Sunshine.” The deep rumble cut through the morning quiet, and Marti whirled toward the speaker. Tall. Light hair. Icy blue eyes that raked her from head to toe. A slight smile curving firm lips. Left arm in a sling that couldn’t hide the thick muscles of biceps and shoulders.

“Sky?”

“Actually, it’s Tristan. Tristan Sinclair.” He moved up the porch stairs, and Marti took a step back, not sure if she should run into the house or stand her ground. He’d saved her life, but he’d also been responsible for dragging her through the mountains with Gordon Johnson. He was a militia member. A man who dealt in illegal weapons. Who hung out with murderers and felons. Who was supposed to be in jail.

“What do you want? Why aren’t you in prison?”

“To make sure you’re safe, and because I didn’t commit a crime.”

“You were in the mountains to buy illegal weapons. That’s a felony.”

“It would be if that’s what I had been doing.”

“So you’re saying you weren’t?”

“I’m saying things aren’t always what they seem. Now, how about we go inside to discuss this?”

“Anything we need to say can be said out here.”

“It can be, but that might not be for the best. You’re not safe, Sunshine. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

“Is that a threat?” Her heart slammed a quick, hard beat as she reached for the doorknob. He was close, but not so close that she couldn’t get inside the house and lock the door before he grabbed her. She hoped.

“It’s a warning. Gordon Johnson escaped into the mountains Friday. He still hasn’t been apprehended.”

Johnson had escaped? A shiver of fear raced up Marti’s spine. “Why didn’t the police tell me this?”

“You’ll have to ask them that.”

“I will.” The hollow thud of her heart echoed in her ears as she turned and shoved the door open. Of all the men she’d run into Friday, Johnson was the one she most feared. The one whose lifeless eyes haunted her dreams. If he was really out there somewhere, she wanted to know. She’d call Officer Miller. He’d be able to tell her what was going on.

The soft click of the door and the quiet slide of the bolt pulled her from numb fear. Or maybe dumb fear was a better term. She’d just let the man who’d kidnapped her walk into her house!

She whirled to face Tristan.

He stood just a few feet away, leaning against the door, blocking her escape. She could run for the back door, but he’d be on her before then.

The phone! Grab the phone and call for help.

She lifted the receiver. “I’m calling the police.”

“Good idea. Tell Officer Miller I found your place just fine.”

Marti hesitated with the phone halfway to her ear. “You spoke to him?”

“He said you were asking about my injury.” He flashed white teeth, but Marti wouldn’t exactly call the expression a smile. “He also said you lived off the beaten path at the end of a dead-end street. Not the most secure house in the world. He was right.”

He was telling the truth. She knew it. What she didn’t know was why he was in her house and not in jail. She hung up the phone. “Who are you? And I don’t mean your name.”

“Tristan Sinclair. ATF agent. I was working undercover the day we ran into each other.”

ATF? It made sense. A sick, crazy kind of sense. “Ran into each other? You kidnapped me and pulled me into the biggest illegal firearms raid in a decade.” Something the newscasters had made mention of over and over again as they’d covered the story. Something everyone but Marti seemed to find fascinating.

“I kept you safe until reinforcements could come in and bring you out.”

And he’d saved her life. He didn’t point that out. Brian would have. He would have been announcing his feat to the world, making appointments with television shows and radio programs, planning a book and movie deal, telling Marti again and again how fortunate she was to have him.

“Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. You saved my life, and I really do appreciate it. Thanks.”

“You saved yourself, Sunshine. I just helped a little.”

“And got shot doing it. How’s your arm?”

“Better.”

“Than?”

“Than being dead.” He smiled, but Martha didn’t think Tristan’s potential death was amusing.

“That’s not funny.”

“No, but I’m celebrating survival, so I’m trying to find a lot to smile about.” He smiled again, and some of the tension that had been coiled inside Martha eased. It felt good to be talking to someone who knew what had happened to her and didn’t need to ask questions about it. Someone who had shared her experience and could show her how to put it in perspective.

“I guess if you can smile about it, I can, too.”

“And you should. You’ve got a beautiful smile.” His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there for a moment before he met her eyes again.

Her cheeks flamed, her heart jumped, and she resisted the urge to smooth her hair, fidget with her dress. She did not need to look good for Tristan Sinclair. Sure, he’d saved her life, but he was still a man. And men were something she’d decided less than a week ago that she could do without.

She needed to keep that in mind, or she might end up exactly where she didn’t want to be—nursing a broken heart and mourning the death of her dreams. Again. It was time to put some distance between herself and Tristan.

“Look, I hate to shove you out, but I’ve got to be at church in less than thirty minutes.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He took her arm, started walking toward the door.

That was easy. A lot easier than Martha had expected it to be. Relieved, she allowed herself to be ushered out the door and down the porch steps.

A cool breeze carried the scent of Tristan’s aftershave. Pine needles and campfire smoke, crisp fall air and winter wind. Everything outdoorsy and good. All the things Marti loved most about God’s creation.

“Thanks again for saving my life, Tristan. I know you said I saved myself, but we both know it’s not true.”

“Do we?” He took the keys from her hand, unlocked the door and carried the key chain with him as he rounded the car.

“Hey! I need those if I’m going to get to church.”

“I know. I’ll give them back to you in a second.” He opened the passenger door, slid into the car and held the keys out to her, a grin easing the hard angles of his face.

Her heart leaped, her brain froze. He was in her car. In. Her. Car. And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. She leaned in the open door, stared him in the eye, hoping she looked less flustered than she felt. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you get to church in one piece.”

“I’ve been driving to church on my own for years. I’m sure I can manage it today.”

“Unless you run into Johnson.”

“He won’t try anything in the middle of broad daylight when anyone might see him.” At least, she didn’t think he would.

“Sunshine, you don’t know much about men like Johnson. He’s not going to just forget that you saw him Friday, that you heard his name, that you could sit in court and identify him. He and I both saw your name on the card inside your pack. There’s no way he forgot it. He’s going to come after you and he’s not going to wait until it’s dark, or you’re alone, or until some time when it’s convenient for you. He’ll strike when he’s good and ready. For all either of us know, he’s ready now. Until he’s caught, you need to be careful.”

“I know I need to be careful. And I will, but that doesn’t mean having a personal bodyguard.”

“I think it does.” He grabbed her hand, tugged her farther into the car. “And since I took a bullet for you, I think I should have some say in these things.”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me after you said I saved my own life.”

“Whatever works, Sunshine.” He tugged hard, and she almost tumbled across the seat and into his lap.

“It’s Marti, not Sunshine.” She muttered the words as she pulled away from his grip and settled into the driver’s seat.

“Right. Martha Darlene Gabler. Born September 18. Twenty-eight years old. Two and a half years of college. Working as a veterinary technician at Lakeview Veterinary Clinic. Recently engaged. Even more recently no longer engaged.”

“I’m not even surprised you know all that about me.”

“There’s more.”

“Of course there’s more. Since I know myself pretty well, and you now seem to know everything about me, let’s save some time and not rehash all the details of my boring life.”

“Who said anything about boring?”

“Compared to yours—”

“Why would you? Compare your life to mine, I mean?” He watched her with those striking eyes, leaning toward her, his body language, his posture saying he was really listening. That he really wanted to hear what she had to say.

Which was, of course, part of the courting game and meant absolutely nothing.

Courting?

As if.

Men like Tristan Sinclair did not notice women like Marti, let alone court them.

“I’m not comparing. I’m just saying that my life is pretty mundane and yours…well, yours isn’t.”

“I’ve got news for you, Marti. Your life is anything but mundane right now. And, by the time this is all over, you’re going to be wishing for boring.” The words were a grim reminder that Gordon Johnson was free, and Marti’s hands tightened into fists around the steering wheel.

“You really think Johnson is coming after me?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. Johnson is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows you’re bound to be the state’s key witness against Buddy and him. He’s going to make it his goal to keep you from testifying.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“Good. The less comfortable you are, the happier I’ll be.”

“Gee, thanks.” She shoved the keys in the ignition, but he put a hand over hers before she could start the car.

“Johnson is a cold-blooded killer, Marti. If making you uncomfortable keeps you safe from him, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Look, Tristan, I know you’re trying to help, but—”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture easy and warm. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

She should keep arguing, tell him to get out, remind him that she was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but something told her that Tristan Sinclair was not going to be dissuaded and that short of getting out and walking to church, Marti had no choice but to accept her unwanted passenger.

Or maybe not so unwanted.

The fact was, having Tristan around didn’t seem like such a bad thing. As she pulled up her long driveway, she imagined a million eyes watching from the woods that lined the street, a million dangers lurking just out of sight. Silly, she knew, but as real as the air she was breathing. Anyone could be hiding in the thick fall foliage, ready to jump in front of the car, shoot out a tire, force her to a stop. And if that anyone happened to be Gordon Johnson, Marti figured that having Tristan in her car might not be such a bad idea after all.