by Dani Pettrey
“Should I call an ambulance?”
He arched a brow.
“Right. No phone. You’re an EMT, and there’s no way an ambulance is getting back here.”
Using supplies from his first-aid kit along with items scavenged from Elliot’s, Ben bandaged Elliot’s head, arm, and chest wounds. He’d been sliced up. Tortured.
Elliot. He shook his head. Why didn’t you just give them what they were looking for? This was on him. He’d brought his friend into it.
Transporting Elliot to his Jeep and securing him in the backseat with Libby cradling his head, Ben tore back through the woods to the hospital.
Sitting beside Libby in the waiting room of Yancey Regional Medical Center Elliot’s blood still smeared across his clothes, Ben clenched his fists tight. What was so vitally important in Kat’s meager belongings they were worth a man’s life? It made no sense, but then again, most of the world didn’t.
Please, Father, don’t let Elliot die.
His prayer was short, but it came from the depths of his soul—a plea God would spare his friend’s life.
Doc Graham rounded the corner, and Ben lurched to his feet, Libby doing so beside him.
“We’ve got the bleeding to stop and have begun transfusions. He lost a lot of blood.” Doc Graham shook his head. “It’s a miracle he survived.”
Thank you, Jesus.
“So he’ll be okay?” Libby asked.
“I believe so, but we can’t be certain until he regains consciousness.”
Libby sank back in the chair. “I’m so sorry. I never should have written . . .” She shook her head, tears tumbling down her cheeks.
“Hey.” Ben sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. “You couldn’t have known. They”—whoever they were—“did this to Elliot. Not you.” He was the one who’d brought Elliot into this. Not her.
“I suppose they got what they wanted,” she said as Agnes Grey rounded the corner.
“I just heard about Elliot.” Agnes shook her head. “I can’t believe it. We just spoke last night.”
Ben frowned. “Last night?”
“Yes. He showed up banging on my door at midnight. Highly improper, but that’s Elliot.”
“What did he say? What did he want?”
She looked around the waiting room, empty save for the three of them, now that Doc had departed. She closed the door and sat, lowering her voice. “He said he figured out the quote was actually a microdot communication.”
Libby frowned. “What’s a microdot communication?”
“It’s a method spies use to convey information through text or an image substantially reduced in size.” Ben explained. “Like the size of a period at the end of the quote, for example. The recipient then needs to use a special microdot reader to detect the hidden information.”
So Kat had been spying. Question was, for which side?
“Elliot said it was an older version of microdot communication. He needed a Russian WWII reader and asked if I could call on my antique contacts and suppliers in Russia. Told me to say it was for a buyer who’d come in the shop. I made some calls this morning. I went to leave Elliot a message but heard on the way to the mailbox that you’d brought him here.” She smiled and shrugged. “Thelma Jenkins.”
Ben grimaced. “No surprise there, but I am glad she sent you to us.”
“They may have Kat’s quote, but it doesn’t mean they know what it is,” Libby said.
“If we’re dealing with the kind of people I believe we are, trust me, they know.” Ben raked a hand through his hair.
“They, whoever they are,” Agnes said, “don’t have the quote.”
“What?”
“Elliot gave me the watch to return to you. He didn’t believe it was damaged in the ocean. He thinks whoever killed Kat thought whatever information is on that coded slip of paper was actually being stored on a microchip in the watch. He believes it was a decoy in case Kat felt threatened.”
“So, they thought they had what they needed and killed her?”
“Yeah, probably learning after it was too late that she’d faked them out,” Ben said. Good for Kat.
“And the quote?” Libby asked.
“Elliot put it in the cap, had me sew it back in, and said he was going to hide it someplace safe,” she explained.
“Did he say where?”
“Not outright. We both know that’s not Elliot’s style.”
“Of course not. That would make it easy.”
“He did, however, say that it was at one of your coffee spots. That way if anything happened to him, you’d know where to look.”
“How did he know someone might come after him?” Libby asked. “He couldn’t know I’d write it in my journal, could he?”
“Nah. He knew because he understood what he was dealing with.”
“A spy communication?” she asked.
“Yes.” Ben nodded.
Libby rubbed her arms. “Now the question is, which side was she spying for?”
His thoughts exactly.
Doc Graham ducked his head around the corner. “Elliot’s still unconscious, but I wanted to let you know that his vitals are improving.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Ben said.
Agnes set her bag on the side table, taking a seat. “I’d say you two should get started with coffee spots. I put some supplies in the back of your Jeep on my way in.”
“But Elliot . . .” Ben said, not wanting to leave his friend.
“I’ll stay here,” Agnes assured him.
“But—”
“You know he’d want you protecting the communication, not sitting here worrying about him.”
She had him there.
SIXTEEN
Libby nearly skipped behind Ben as they moved for the rock formation overlooking Yancey’s western shore where, according to Ben, he and Elliot shared coffee occasionally. They’d already checked the diner, much to everyone’s amusement, ducking under their “usual booth” to look. It’d been closed when Elliot would have stashed it, but a locked door was no deterrent to a man of Elliot’s skills. They’d checked Ben’s boat, but Ben would have heard Elliot board last night. Then the park bench in town. According to Ben’s recollection this was the final coffee location.
While reverently keeping Elliot in prayer, she still couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill of the hunt. She’d never been on an adventure like this nor shared one with a man like Ben.
What was it about him that pulled her to love him so? He drew her as the ocean did—on a primal, inexplicable level that she attributed fully to God’s innate makeup of her. Was Ben the man God had planned for her? The idea she would feel so close to him after so short a time together was ludicrous, yet it anchored in her and held fast.
I’m gonna look fully to you on this one, Lord. It makes no sense to me, but your ways are not my ways, nor are your thoughts my thoughts. Maybe I’m just overcome by the depth of all that’s happened, maybe I’m just caught up in the intensity of the moment, but I’ve never felt more at home, not even in the water. What does that mean?
Ben examined the perimeter of the boulder where he and Elliot had sometimes sat, searching crevices, and then moved a second time around more impatiently, and then a third time in flat-out frustration.
“It’s not here,” he finally said.
She hated to say it, but . . . “Do you think the men who tortured Elliot got the location out of him and beat us here?”
“Elliot wouldn’t talk.”
“How do you know?”
“I know Elliot. Know his background. He’d never talk. Trust me.”
“Even under torture?”
“Even under torture. I’m confident.”
“I need to have a chat with Elliot when he wakes. Sounds like he has an intriguing past.”
“If you only knew the half of it. Actually, that’s probably all I know. He’s a man of many secrets and one great heart.”
“Okay, then we’re missing a place.�
�
“I’m telling you those are our spots.”
“You never met anywhere else? Not once? Not someplace for a special occasion or something?”
Ben snapped. “Ahh. I can’t believe I forgot. You,” he said, bracing a hand on either of her shoulders, “are a genius.” He bent in and kissed her until she went goofy in the knees, then pulled back with a smile and stepped back to the trail they’d taken to the overlook. “You coming?”
“Dare I ask where?”
“You’ll see.” His smile broadened. “And I’m so glad I get to show you.”
Intrigue flickered inside, among other things. Ben McKenna was unlike any man she’d ever met. Not so much his individual traits, but the unique combination of them, along with his thirst for adventure and soulful depth. He was a man of character, and if the ’70s had taught her anything, it was that men of substance were rare.
She held on to the Jeep’s grip handle, bracing herself as they bounced through woods, across rushing riverbeds and along marshes with reeds taller than his vehicle. Where was he taking her, and would she be able to contain the joyful laughter bubbling to erupt from her throat? She hadn’t had this much fun since . . . she couldn’t remember when. If only she knew with certainty Elliot would pull through, but God’s soft voice whispered His assurance to her that Elliot would be okay. She relaxed in that.
Ben crashed through another stream, cool water spraying across the Jeep’s hood in a fanlike pattern. He looked over with a playful grin, and she broke out laughing, unable to suppress the joy of the moment any longer. He burst out laughing in chorus with her.
“Where are they?”
He cleared his throat. “I lost them.”
“We’re on a bloody island. How exactly could you lose them?”
“They took off in his Jeep on terrain I couldn’t maneuver in the rental car. Not without the risk of getting stuck and drawing unwanted attention.”
“Why did they head off road? Do you think they spotted you?”
“No. I’m sure they didn’t. They’ve been driving all over the island, clearly with a purpose in mind.”
“You think that crazy man hid it out in the Alaskan wilderness? Is that why we couldn’t find Kat’s things at his place?”
“Yes. It’s looking that way.”
“All right. Hang back where you lost them and pick up their trail when they appear. They’ve got to exit the woods at some point. Intercept if it’s remote enough not to draw attention. This has gone on long enough. We need to find out if they have it on them.”
“And if not? I’ll have blown my cover.”
“Then kill them, but try to make this one actually look like an accident.”
“How was I supposed to know anyone would find her body all the way out there or that anyone in this joke of a town wouldn’t simply assume the stupid woman had drowned.”
“You know I’m not a man for excuses. Just get it taken care of, once and for all.”
Ben pulled to a stop a hundred yards from the southwest coast of the island.
Libby jumped down from the Jeep before Ben could offer his hand.
She surveyed the white-sand-and-rock-strewn beach, dune grass swaying in the warming afternoon breeze. Evergreen trees surrounded an open parcel of land with four stakes marking a perimeter—but of what?
“What is this place?” she asked as the scent of salt water drifted on the breeze, ruffling her hair, soothing her senses, as it always did.
Ben rested his hand on his hips, his eyes gazing over the land. “My home.”
She frowned. “I thought you lived on your boat?”
“I do, for now. But I purchased this acreage and plan to build a house right there.” He indicated the staked-out area.
So that’s where Ben McKenna’s future home would sit. She wondered what it would look like and who would one day share it with him, and her heart ached in a way it never had before.
“Let me show you.” He guided her along the property, or at least a portion of the acreage, pointing out what he loved about it and what he envisioned.
“Aren’t you going to miss the Waves?” He loved his boat.
“I’m not leaving her behind. Building her a slip and dock right there.” He pointed to a spot he’d picked out on the deeper end of the shore.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks, but I suppose we better get back to the task at hand.”
“Right. Where did you and Elliot sit when you had coffee here?”
“He helped me stake out the house, and then we toasted over it with coffee square in the center of the pegs, talking about the day the work would be finished, the house built and the view we’d have from the porch for our future coffee meet-ups.”
They moved to the staked-out area.
“Cozy house size.”
“It’s just me,” he said, examining the ground for signs of disturbance, then looked up at her with eyes tinged with hope, “for now.”
Somehow she knew he wasn’t talking in general terms, not with how he held her gaze, not with the hope and longing lingering there. Excitement and terror danced a jig in her gut.
Being the chicken that she was when it came to relationships, she indicated the ground. “Anything?”
“You tell me?”
Were they really about to have this conversation? Her mouth went dry, the moisture shifting to her clammy palms.
He moved toward her, but his gaze momentarily flickered to the far right peg.
“What?”
“We staked these nearly a month ago.” He spun, examining the other three. “But this one . . .” He strode toward the peg, kneeling beside it. “The ground’s been recently disturbed.” He pulled the trowel he’d been carrying in his jacket pocket in case any digging was required and set to work. A foot down the tip of his trowel dinged off something metal. Digging around the edges of the object and using the trowel as a lever, he lifted a metal box from the hole.
“It’s got a combination lock. Elliot . . .” He shook his head with a sigh. “Why would I expect anything less?”
“Agnes said he purposely hid Kat’s items someplace you’d know how to find so it stands to reason he made the combination something you’d be able to figure out.”
“It’s got four numbers.”
“An address?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Yancey’s addresses consist of three numbers, at least for now.”
“The year?”
He tried 1979. “Nope.”
“Okay, how about a date? Your birthday, perhaps. Month, day, last two digits of the year?” she suggested.
“May 31st, 1943.”
They tried various combinations of the date, but no luck.
“What’s your birthday?” he asked.
“How could Elliot possibly know my birthday?”
“You’d be amazed what Elliot knows.”
“July 16th, 1948.”
“Ah, a younger woman. Nice.”
“Yeah, a whole whopping five years.”
“We’ll have to celebrate your birthday if you’re still in town.”
The comment hung heavy between them. She was supposed to be gone, but she didn’t have another tournament until mid-August, so technically she could stay, but was this worth taking a chance on and spending more time to see where it would lead? Her heart and soul abundantly replied yes. But how did Ben feel?
She watched again as he tried various combinations, but again no luck.
“What about something to do with the place Elliot hid the box?”
“My home site?”
“Do you remember the date you toasted with coffee?”
“Yeah, it was the day I became the legal owner of the land. Elliot met me out here and helped me stake out the house. 6-7-7-9.”
The box opened, and there sat Kat’s cap, resewn. She ran her hand over it, feeling the quote tucked back inside, just as Agnes had said.
“Thank you, Elliot,” Ben
said.
“Ready to go?” she asked, standing.
“We haven’t eaten all day. Agnes said she put a basket of food in the back of my Jeep on her way into the hospital. Something to tide us over on our hunt. I’m going to grab it. We’re going to eat and then we’ll head back.”
She should have known he wouldn’t let her off that easy. She nodded, famished, but unsure of where the conversation might lead.
Ben pulled a picnic basket complete with wool plaid blanket from his Jeep.
She helped him spread out the blanket and squatted on it, him doing the same.
He opened the basket and doled out the food. Ham and Swiss sandwiches with mustard on Wonder Bread, Charles Chips, grapes, and Oreos. Along with a thermos of Tang and two cups.
“She thought of everything,” Libby said, taking a sip of the orange beverage.
“She usually does. Just like my mom.”
“You said your dad passed. Your mom still living?”
“Going strong. She’s an amazing lady.”
“Does she live nearby?”
“In the home I grew up in, just north of downtown.”
“So you get to see her often?”
“Every Sunday at church and afterwards for supper. Plus I drop by once in a while during the week. Just to check in on her.”
“That’s sweet.”
“She deserves the best.” He brushed her hair over her shoulder, cupping her neck. “So do you.”
She swallowed, her natural instinct to squash the intensity of the emotions swelling inside. “It’s really beautiful here,” she sputtered. “I’m sure the Waves will like its new home.” She shifted to sit cross-legged, trying to settle the overwhelming rush coursing through her from his statement, from the depth of love in his eyes. What was she doing? Why was she so afraid to admit she’d fallen in love with him? “You never explained the meaning behind its name.”
He smiled at her less than subtle diversion to change the subject and said, “Matthew 14:28–31.”
She thought for a moment. “Peter walking on the water to Jesus?”
“Correct. If he’d kept his eyes on his Savior . . .”
“He’d have walked on the waves.” Was God calling her to take that first step? Her soul cried “Yes!”
