Sanctuary Forever WITSEC Town Series Book 5

by Lisa Phillips

  The low-grade headache she had from her fall was manageable, though caffeine didn’t help. Not in the quantities Gemma drank. Hers was what they called an “addiction” but she wasn’t going to admit to anyone she needed help. She’d just swivel her chair so she could see the empty carafe on the cold and empty pot and stare at it. Shelby had set a limit on her intake. She sighed.

  She needed a new book to write.

  Urban fantasy. Something with magic and shapeshifters. A quest. No, a boy coming home because the dream of what he’d thought his life would be was now dead. He has a special power. No, everyone else does but he doesn’t...

  Gemma pulled her notepad over and started scribbling. It had potential. She’d have to flesh it out. She’d never done a magic-related genre before. Steampunk, yeah, and all those gadgets along with the Victorian outfits had been cool. Fun to get swept away in, even when she was the author.

  “Knock, knock.” His voice was like an old quesadilla where all that great melted cheese had gone cold and slimy. “Who’s there?” Andy Evangeline sauntered into the library and headed straight for her. He didn’t need a book. If she hadn’t gone to school with him and seen it with her own eyes she’d wonder if he could even read.

  “Hi, Andy.”

  He crossed his arms on the counter and smiled. “It’s Terrence. I’ve decided to go back to my first name again instead of my middle name.”

  Seriously?

  He looked like he expected her to say something, but she didn’t. Why would she care if he was having an identity crisis? She didn’t even like the man and never had.

  Gemma had to use a lot of expressions in her writing that she’d picked up from other books and then hoped she’d used correctly. After all, there were no used car lots in Sanctuary, just a couple of cars and a few golf carts, and most people walked or biked where they wanted to go, but she got the idea. Plus, she’d watched movies where the guy who sold wreckers had slicked-back hair, gold jewelry, and a silk shirt. Apparently Andy—Terrence—had as well, because he looked like a used car salesman from every movie she’d ever seen.

  “Can I help you find a book?” Please don’t ask for one about dating.

  “Sure,” he chuckled. “Got anything about asking the pretty girl for a date?”

  Yeah, that was so funny. Ha ha. “Nope. After John didn’t need the book, then Matthias, then Elliot and Bolton, I retired that whole section. The books were deteriorating from lack of use.”

  Because that totally made sense. Books totally degraded when you set them on the shelf and didn’t touch them. She nearly rolled her eyes, but anyone that actually did that at themselves instead of someone else should be kicked out of the “independent woman” club.

  Terrence coughed. “Yes, well.” He strolled around the counter.

  “No one’s allowed back here.”

  “Except the volunteers.” He kept coming toward her.

  “Sure.”

  “And the school teacher.”

  She got up. “True, but—”

  Terrence walked right into her space. Gemma’s chair-back hit the edge of the desktop and she froze. His body almost touched hers. When she stepped to the right to escape, he stepped also. His gaze tracked down her body and back up, and he leaned forward to grasp the handles of her chair.

  Gemma shoved at him to get away, but before she could bolt he grabbed her arms. “I just want to talk, Gemma.”

  This was on the top five list of freakiest things that had happened to her. Falling in a hole was only number two.

  His face was all innocence, but she’d seen him hit Bolton over the back with a metal folding chair when the man hadn’t been looking. He was practically the reason the former rancher was back in a wheelchair.

  Some help, please. She didn’t know who she was asking but was willing to accept whatever came and however it came about.

  “And Terrence. Whatever you’re calling yourself. You need to back up, then you can leave or I’m going to call the sheriff.”

  His innocent look hardened. “It’s just a chat, that’s all.”

  Gemma wasn’t messing around. She wanted his butt out of her library. “Seriously, Terrence. We have nothing to talk about.”

  Movement over his shoulder brought her attention around, just for a second her gaze found Dan. Then she stared Terrence down. “I’m serious.”

  “I’m serious,” he mock-echoed her. “Lighten up, baby.” His fingers stroked her arm.

  Gemma slammed both her palms into his chest and shoved him. Terrence stumbled back two steps.

  Dan’s voice drifted across the counter. “She’s serious, Andy.”

  He whirled around. “It’s Terrence!” Then he glanced between Dan and Gemma. Then Dan. Then Gemma again. “You guys? For real?” He shook his head, not confused, but like he didn’t know where to slam his fist first. His gaze came to her.

  “Baby, he is way too soft for you. You’re wild, and you need someone who can handle that.” He glanced at Dan. “You think you’re up for the task?”

  Dan said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Terrence. I came to pick up a book I have on hold.” Peace surrounded him, as though he put it on in the morning like a sweater and didn’t take it off until bedtime. “You need to leave, or Gemma will call the sheriff.”

  “Over a conversation?”

  Gemma said, “I have the right to ask anyone I want to leave my library.”

  Dan shot Terrence a look that almost made her smile. He wasn’t staking a claim, they both knew he’d never do that. Just friends. But he was the guy who wouldn’t let another man hassle her. Terrence gave her the creeps, and he needed to skedaddle.

  The English language was so fun.

  Terrence strode out, his head high. Gemma put her finger across her upper lip, like the lamest impression of a mustache ever, and found her most ridiculous voice. “You haven’t seen the last of me…” She dissolved into evil-like cackles and then snorted. Super attractive.

  When she looked up, Dan was smiling.

  “Are you really here for your ‘hold’?”

  Dan’s lips curled up into a smile. “You think I’d lie?”

  “No, I don’t. But I also don’t recall you requesting a book.”

  “I put it in with Elma.”

  “I really don’t need to interrogate you, sorry.” She half-smiled and crouched to pull out the tub. His last name on a receipt poked up from the pages of a book. She lifted it out and handed it over. “Grace, huh?”

  He shrugged. “I’m starting a series. You’ll have to come and hear it if you want to know what grace is.”

  “Nice try.” She chuckled. “That was super subtle.” Gemma turned away. At the last second she caught the look on his face. Grief. Breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t show him that or it would be worse. Gemma checked out his book.

  “Are you busy right now?” She looked up in time to catch his shrug.

  “I don’t have plans.”

  Gemma bit her lip. “Can I show you something?”

  Ten minutes later she’d locked up the library, and they walked outside. His truck was parked on the street. “You drove over?”

  He shrugged. “You have to turn it on every week or so, or things inside start clogging up.”

  “Oh.” She’d never actually ridden in a car. “Can we walk?”

  “Still don’t want to?”

  She shrugged.

  “Okay.” When they got to the radio station he said, “I don’t get it. Did Nadia talk to you about renovating the place?”

  Inside, they walked down the hall to the radio room. She had to check and make sure no one was there. “I know I can trust you. We’ve shared more than is normal—even between old friends—as far as I can tell. Maybe it’s normal for Sanctuary, but it could just be that it is what it is.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “You know that Hal Leonard was my father, but there’s more. He left me something.”


  His eyes widened. That was Dan, holding his reaction to himself and allowing her to deal with her own feelings and not his as well. Gemma shut her eyes and took a breath. “When he died, John came to tell me that Hal left this place to me. In his will.”

  “Wow. He left you the radio station? It was his thing.” Dan shook his head, disbelief plain on his face. “I’ve been thinking about it since you told me. Hal… I don’t know, but your mom? That’s what I don’t get. Why would she never say anything?”

  “They kept their relationship a secret. They kept secret the fact he was my father. Everyone thinks my mom was pregnant when she came here, but that would mean she knew Hal before she came to Sanctuary, and he’s been here way longer. For some reason, even here when there’s no danger to them anymore, they still felt like they had to keep it a secret. From everyone. I can’t make sense of any of it. The timing, the reasoning. Nothing.” Gemma swallowed. “There’s more.”

  He stepped closer to her. “What is it?”

  **

  Dan studied the room with its antiquated radio technology. He could hardly believe Hal was her father. The aging biker had been… maybe not a friend, but since Dan’s father and the lettuce incident that sent him on his way to his eternal judgment, Hal had visited the farm almost weekly. It hit him now, though, that Dan had never even been in the radio station before. Why was that?

  Over the years Hal had filled a void that should have been left by Dan’s parents. They’d talked about everything. Not that Dan had to talk about God with everyone he spoke with, but faith was so natural to him it always seemed to come up. Hal had listened, and they’d even debated over creation and the existence of God.

  Gemma stood taller and blew out a breath. “Okay, I was sworn to secrecy but that’s not what you and I do, so here goes nothing.” She walked to the wall and pressed. A latch opened.

  Dan had no time to process the “no secrets” thing. He gaped. “What is…” His words faded as the door opened. File cabinets in a row beside boxes piled on boxes. Some had been opened, the contents disturbed. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, and the light fixture was pure seventies.

  Gemma waited until he came to stand beside her, then she led him inside. The room was maybe eight-by-eight, but probably held thousands of papers. She showed him one. “They all seem to be military, like orders. Reports. Briefing summaries. Stuff like that. Lots of, ‘we moved from this place over to this place.’ I looked some of them up in the books I have on Vietnam, because of the dates. They seem legit. I found details of this one patrol, and it really happened.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Hal left something in this room that I’m supposed to guard, to make sure it doesn’t get out into the world. Or just Sanctuary. But I have no idea what it could be.”

  He waved his hand to encompass the room. “This could be the whole war, start to finish. Why would someone keep so many papers unless all of them were relevant?”

  “Or unless you’re burying the needle in a stack of needles.”

  “So it could be something, or it could be everything?” He walked to the first file cabinet and opened the drawer. “How do we tell?”

  “We?”

  He shrugged. “I figure you told me so I could help you look.” Obviously there might be other reasons. She knew practically everything there was to know about him, so why tell him about the room and not have him help? “We’ve been best friends for years.” He hauled two chairs in from the radio room and set them down. “This is what friends do.”

  Her smile was hesitant, yet it didn’t take much coaxing for her to brew them some coffee. He’d been up since dawn, but helping her solve the mystery of Hal Leonard being her father was more important than sleep he’d have trouble finding anyway.

  Leather jacket, biker boots, and jeans. That long dirty blond hair tied back with a leather strap. As an image, it had worked for Hal. Maybe that had been the point, to deflect people’s attention with the projection—a mask that allowed them to make assumptions about who he was and where he’d come from.

  If it truly was a mask, Hal had worn it for years and even extended the guise to include his speech, his music tastes, and his eating habits.

  Dan blinked. “What if Hal was one of these soldiers?”

  “Or a spy.”

  He looked over at her, reading papers. She said, “A lot of people in this town have crazy, crazy stories about where they’ve been and who they were. Andra was an assassin. John was undercover, and Bolton was a criminal. How do we know Hal wasn’t some kind of soldier, like you said, or a government agent?”

  “I guess we don’t. Until we find a paper that confirms who he was.”

  “It probably wouldn’t even be his real name. How will we know it’s about Hal?”

  Would she be able to accept it if her father had been a killer? Dan knew what it was like to live with a monster. The old man could have been anyone and done anything before he came to Sanctuary. Dan didn’t know the first thing about him, other than that he’d met Dan’s mother—who was fifteen years younger—after he got here.

  “Do I even want to know?” Her voice was soft, so he figured the question was rhetorical. “Maybe I’m better off being in the dark. I never knew he was my father before a few weeks ago, and I was happy. Sure, there was something missing from my life, but I was content knowing I would probably never get it.”

  Dan sifted through papers, while she aired her thoughts out loud.

  “He asked me to protect this secret. Whatever is contained here in this room was important to him. Maybe I should just shut the door and never come back here.” She shrugged. “Maybe I should burn it down. Why keep it all if it could be dangerous?”

  Dan’s breath caught. Dark eyes stared back at him from a photo, center of the stack of papers in his hand. “Don’t burn it down just yet. I think I want to look through a few more of these.”

  “For what?” Gemma glanced up, and the frown disappeared as she saw what he held.

  A picture of his father.

  Chapter 5

  Gemma jumped up and snatched the picture from his hands. Those eyes, jeepers they gave her the creeps. Like that gothic novel she’d been reading. Dan’s father, even just a picture, set her skin crawling. No man on earth should be able to do that. Least of all a dead man.

  She didn’t want Dan here if this was going to be about his father.

  “You should leave.” She waved toward the door and hoped he didn’t argue too much.

  He hadn’t moved, so Gemma pulled on his arm and tried to haul him out of his chair. His face contorted, and he reached for the photo.

  She shoved at his hand, and the photo fell to the floor. “No!” He wasn’t allowed to see that man. Gemma stomped on the paper, but it didn’t help. That man had ruined everything, including Dan’s whole life. Her life. His father had twisted and bent, broken and shattered everything Dan held as precious as though it were some kind of sick game. Like he got off on Dan’s pain. On the power he held over all of them.

  “Get out!” She tried to shove him, but he wouldn’t move.

  Dan didn’t even touch her. His eyes filled with moisture, but all she saw was that frozen rage on his face.

  “You have to get out.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I want to know what it says.”

  “It’s nothing, it’s just a photo.” Her voice was frantic, her breaths coming short and sharp. “Just leave it. It’s just a photo.”

  “What does that say?”

  Gemma looked down. Under the dirt print of her shoe were two words. She leaned down close enough to read it. “Bill Jones.”

  “My father’s name was Arnold Walden. Who is Bill Jones?”

  “Someone who entered witness protection?” She shoved at him again. “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me, Gem.” He stood ramrod straight.

  “Why? He isn’t here anymore. What difference will it make?” Gemma gripped the hair on the sides of her face so har
d it hurt. Why did he want to know? What could he possibly gain from reading about horrible things his father had probably done when he already knew the depths of depravity of that human being’s soul? Dan couldn’t think it would make him feel better. There was no way.

  “Dan, just go. Please.” She would beg him if she had to. She’d made a mistake bringing him here, in sharing this with him. She refused to let him see any more of it. It was her thing, and she should have known it wouldn’t be good telling him. Dan’s God should have warned her. He couldn’t possibly want Dan to find out more awful things about a man who was supposed to have taken care of him. God had to be mistaken if He thought that would help.

  The look on his face made her want to cry. “I need to understand. What if the answer is in here?”

  “You can’t understand a man who does what he did to a child, to his wife. There isn’t anything to understand.”

  Dan started to shake his head. Tears finally fell, twin tracks that wet his face. Gemma swiped at the tickle on her face and realized she was crying, too.

  “I want to know why he came here. I want to know who he was.”

  “It won’t help.”

  “It might.” His face contorted. “How could it make things worse? They can’t get worse.”

  “You’ll start remembering more. It’ll bring things back to the surface that you’ve worked so hard to keep a lid on all these years.”

  “It’s failing, Gemma. I’m failing. That stuff is so close to the surface that half the time I can barely breathe.” His chest rose and fell rapidly. “I have to get it out.”

  “So talk to someone. John. The sheriff could help you.” She would never suggest the shrink. That woman was nothing more than a file clerk, or some kind of washed up small town reporter. All she did was ask the newcomers a few basic questions.

  Dan had talked to her once, years ago. She’d gone to his father afterwards and Dan had missed two weeks of school. When he finally came back he was still holding his arm funny.

  She’d researched online and found infrastructure in society that was supposed to spot, and stop, abuse. Teachers, counselors, doctors, police, and other emergency services. In Sanctuary they had none of these things. Dan hadn’t even been able to get good medication to help him. He had to deal with it all by himself, and he said he was fine with that. She knew his faith was strong, and he counted on God to help him, but Gemma couldn’t help thinking that a shrink and the right medication would have made his life far more peaceful.