The Guardian's Mission

“You live here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I should call someone to come stay with you. A friend? Relative? Boyfriend?” His dark eyes scanned her face, and Martha wondered what he saw. Certainly not the delicate fragility that embodied so many of her female friends. She was more likely to be called tough than vulnerable, strong than weak. Sometimes she thought that was a good thing. She didn’t want or need to be taken care of by anyone. Other times, like now, she wished she looked a little more like a delicate rose than a hardy dandelion. Then maybe Officer Miller would have taken the decision out of her hands instead of giving her a choice.

Because, really, there was no choice. Dad had taught her to face her fears head-on, not to rely on others when she could just as easily depend on herself. She’d learned the lesson well. “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride.”

“All right. Here’s my business card. Call me if you have any questions.” He walked her to the door, watching as she lifted the welcome mat and pulled out the spare key.

“Might be best not to leave that there anymore. It’s the first place an intruder will look if he’s trying to get in.”

Twenty-four hours ago, Marti would have scoffed at the idea of someone wanting to break into her modest home. Now, she could imagine it happening; imagine a man skulking in the nearby woods, waiting until the lights went out and then creeping up onto the porch. She shuddered. “I won’t.”

Her hand shook as she shoved the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Safely inside, she offered Officer Miller a quick wave, then shut the door and locked it again. Maybe she should put the couch in front of it, too. Just for a little added security.

Of course, that would mean she’d also need to block all the windows. And the back door. Maybe even the chimney.

“You are not going to turn paranoid because of what happened. You’re not.”

She spoke out loud as she turned on the table lamps, letting their bright yellow glow chase away some of the shadows. This was her house. Her safe haven. A place she’d bought because of its peaceful ambience and tranquil setting. She wasn’t going to let Gordon Johnson or his boss take that away from her.

Tomorrow would be a whole new day. The sun would come up. The sky would lighten, and today’s nightmare would fade from memory. Until then, she’d just cling to the knowledge that God was with her, that He hadn’t saved her life for nothing. He’d keep her safe. No matter how dark the night, or how dangerous the monsters that lurked in it.

FIVE

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?”