by Lisa Harris
A verse that she’d memorized as a girl whispered through her memory. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
She shivered. Her tears spilled over. For months she’d been worried about nothing but her own personal well-being. She’d been working so much she hadn’t often made it to church like she should. She certainly hadn’t been seeking God’s kingdom or His righteousness.
Maybe bringing her out here to the middle of nowhere was what it had taken for God to get through to her.
“Oh God, forgive me,” she whispered.
A tapping sounded on her door. “Camryn? You can come out now. If you come down, I’ll show you the files I need you to scan. And something’s come up that I need to tell you about.”
“Coming.” She dashed at her tears and stepped to the door. At least she was going to get a little income for helping while she was here in hiding. Maybe that was God’s answer, though she couldn’t see how scanning a few files was going to pay enough to cover her school loans and her rent for next month.
She gave herself a mental shake. Would she ever learn to count her blessings instead of focusing on the negative?
She opened the door.
Holden, who had started to turn away, paused and gave her a look. He adjusted his stance to face her fully. “You okay?”
“What? Yes, I’m fine.”
He reached up to touch her cheek, and when he pulled his hand back, his fingers glistened with moisture. “This would say otherwise. Want to talk about it?” He rubbed his fingers together.
She waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine, honest.”
“Uh-huh.” His steady scrutiny never left her face. Nor did he budge. And he was blocking her exit from the room. “I know this isn’t easy. You’ve been a real trooper. So much so, I almost forgot how distressing all this must be for you.”
Despite her best wishes, she felt tears welling up again. She forced a laugh and pressed her fingers beneath her eyes. “I’m fine, really. I just... I was praying and God…” She wasn’t sure how to complete the thought. It wasn’t like God had spoken to her, yet wasn’t that the biggest way God spoke—through His Word? Finally feeling reassured that God loved her and did truly care for her should fill her with elation. Yet, more tears welled.
“Hey. Come here.” Holden touched her arm and urged her closer.
Before she realized what she was doing, she’d settled into the comfort of his embrace and nestled her head beneath his chin. His aftershave, a mixture of pine and spice, tantalized her senses, eliciting pictures of sturdy mountain evergreens. And the warmth of his arms settled around her like a comforting blanket on a cold day.
Without her permission, her shoulders began to shake and sobs wracked her. “I...don’t...even...know why...I’m crying,” she managed between gasps for breath.
He stroked one hand up and down her back and settled his chin against her head. “You’ve had quite a shock. Seeing someone killed is never something you can prepare yourself for.”
She relaxed against him, appreciating the comfort of his embrace. It seemed to calm her deep inside. Soothe the raw, agitated edges of her soul. She took a steadying breath. Wiped at another stream of tears. Was finally able to gather herself.
Were her tears really because of seeing that man die? If she were honest, she hadn’t thought of him much in the past hours. She’d been more stressed and concerned with her own financial woes. Had she pushed the thoughts of his death away because of selfishness? Or a lack of capacity to deal with what she’d witnessed on that Everett street?
“I wish I could have saved him. I tried but he was just so...broken after that car—” The dam holding back her tears burst again.
“Come on. Can you walk?” Holden took her hand and urged her to follow him down the stairs. He led her into the living room and settled onto the couch, tugging her down beside him. She missed the comfort of his embrace. Of his hand around hers. But he didn’t offer them again. Instead he said, “I’ll get you some... Well, coffee’s probably not the thing. I’ll bring warm milk.”
He left the room before she could gather herself enough to reply.
Yesterday, Mount Baker and the west coast shoreline had hovered in the distance. But today the vista’s only boast was a sheet of gray. And a fine sleet had started to fall. The two islands across the way that had been green when she arrived were now coated with a dusting of white. The flagstones on the patio also sported a new skiff of sloppy snow.
The scene made her cold just to look at it. She tugged a throw from the end of the couch and swung it around her shoulders.
Holden returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs.
His held coffee, she noted with a touch of jealousy as he sank back down beside her and handed her the other cup. He settled into the corner of the couch angling toward her and stretching one arm along the back. He gave a nod toward her cup. “Try it.”
She wrapped her hands around the warmth and inhaled a spicy sweet aroma. She cautiously tasted the frothy drink. “Mmmm.”
Holden smiled. “Warm milk is always better with a little sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I stopped short of adding the egg that would make it eggnog.”
Still huddled in her blanket, she glanced over at him. “I’m sorry I fell apart on you.”
His gaze was serious when he asked, “Do you believe in God, Camryn?”
She felt her jaw go a little slack at that. It was almost as if he’d been eavesdropping on the thoughts she’d been having upstairs. “I do believe in God.”
“What do you mean by that?”
This time she truly was taken aback. “What?”
He pondered for a moment, watching the sleet coming down outside. “I mean, do you believe in God as a concept? Just some mythos out in the universe somewhere? Or do you believe He’s a relational being who wants to fellowship with us?”
Camryn tucked her feet under herself. “I grew up in church, and I know I’m supposed to say He wants a relationship, but I confess I’ve been having doubts lately. Not about His existence, but about whether He really cares about the little everyday things, you know?” She held her breath, halfway waiting for him to scoff at her unbelief. “But just now, upstairs, I was praying and… I don’t know. A verse came to mind, and it really felt like God was taking time to talk directly to me.”
He nodded and transferred his gaze to her once more. “There’s a story in the Bible about a man who came to Jesus. He wanted a miracle for his son. He said to Jesus ‘If You can, please help us.’ And Jesus replied, ‘If I can? Everything is possible for those who believe.’ The man immediately exclaimed, ‘I do believe. Help my unbelief!’” Holden leaned forward and set his coffee cup on the table before settling in his corner of the couch again. “That has been my prayer for several years, off and on. Sometimes I find believing easier. But in the times when I’m struggling, I pray that He’ll help my unbelief, because I know”—he tapped his temple—“despite what I feel”—he tapped his heart—“that belief is what I need in order to have a relationship with God that’s on the right foundation.” He stood then, lifted his cup, and squeezed her shoulder before walking from the room.
Camryn searched through their conversation as she took another sip of the delicious drink. She nestled into the corner of the couch and closed her eyes. Thank you, Lord. Please do help my unbelief.
Kirk Vossler rose from the laptop and pressed thumb and forefinger to his eyes. There was one thing about being in a cell for the last couple months—he’d forgotten the strain a long day working on a computer put on his eyes.
He flicked aside the faded yellow curtain on his motel room window. He cursed the winter chill and strode over to bump the old thermostat north a couple degrees. He’d been stuck in this tiny room for too long. And the temperature never seemed to be right. Too hot one m
oment, so he would bump the heat down. But then within a couple hours the room would be freezing cold again.
It irritated.
Yet he couldn’t leave yet.
He’d already almost been caught as it was, thanks to the incompetence of his men.
The murder of that undercover cop was not supposed to have happened a couple blocks from the jail where he was breaking out. They were supposed to pull that job on the north end of town so most of the units would be far from the jail. Their thin excuses that Treyvon refused to get in the vehicle with them and then bolted before they could grab him hadn’t strengthened his confidence in them.
He hoped they were going to pull off the next steps of the plan with more accuracy.
He glanced toward his computer. Everything on his end was almost in place. He had a few more hours of work, and then everything would be a go.
For the first time in several days, he smiled. The money was all in place and ready to be put to work.
By the end of the week he would be on his way to becoming not just rich, but filthy rich. And several others—carefully selected contacts from many sectors of society—were slated to benefit financially as well.
This was all thanks to the ingenuity of his first love. God bless her. She was a gift he hadn’t known he needed. When this was all over, he owed her a trip to Greece. In fact, maybe they’d move there for a while. At least until he could forge, backdate, and solidify a new identity.
With a grunt, he sank back down in front of his computer.
For now, he had more work to do.
Chapter Thirteen
Damien stopped by Case’s desk. “The lab is done analyzing the street-cam footage from the other night. Camryn was pretty accurate with her description. We got a plate from the car. It’s registered to a Malcom McDonalds.”
Case’s lips thinned. “We taking bets on the fact that’s an alias?”
“Highly probable.”
“That we’re taking bets? Or that it’s an alias?”
Damien grinned. “Come on. Warrant has been served. I’ve got the address. Ed and Gray are coming with us, along with several other units.”
Case stood, grabbed his suit coat, and followed him to the door.
The address was in a low-rent neighborhood where the houses were crammed together cheek-by-jowl and most of the lawns were overgrown. House after house sported dead shrubbery and empty flowerbeds, and many had boarded up windows.
The address was claimed by a faded yellow rambler on the corner of Fifteenth and Cedar.
Damien double-checked the plates. “That’s our vehicle.” He swung a finger to Ed and Gray in the vehicle behind them to take the rear of the place. Two marked cars also pulled up across the street.
The kit-lifted car sat in the driveway—a dark blue Pontiac GTO with original rims and near-perfect chrome.
Damien whistled. “That’s a beaut!”
“Expired tabs,” Case said.
“Have you no shame? At least take a moment to admire the lines of such a classic.”
Case tilted his head. “Can we get back to work now?”
Damien sighed. “Fine.”
They left their vehicle at the curb and circled the car. Sure enough, there was a good-sized dent in the front fender.
Damien looked at Case. “They didn’t even bother to conceal it?”
Case shrugged a shoulder. “Let’s face it. Anyone who runs a cop down on a monitored street is already a few bricks short of a full load.”
“True, I guess. But this just seems…too overt.”
“Maybe.”
The curtain flicked at the window. “Pigs!” someone shouted from inside the house.
Damien pulled his gun. “Let’s go!”
They heard the backdoor of the house crash open, and a dog barked raucously.
“Freeze!”
“Get on the ground!”
“Don’t shoot, bro. Don’t shoot!”
Leaving two officers to watch the front of the house, Damien and Case circled around back. With two uniformed officers and Gray standing by, Ed had a large man on the ground, just outside the rickety fence. He was already cuffing the man’s hands behind his back.
“Did anyone else come out?” Case asked.
Gray shook his head. “Not that I saw.”
“Get him up. What’s your name, man?”
The perp only glowered, refusing to answer.
“Get his ID. We’ll go inside.” Damien motioned for Case to follow him to the front.
At their knock, a trembling woman in a bright red housecoat answered the door. She stood partially blocking their entrance.
“Ma’am, we are looking for Malcom McDonalds. We have a search warrant for this place. Back away from the door and sit down.” Damien held up the warrant for her to see.
The woman complied, saying, “That’s him. You done grabbed him already. Ain’t nobody else here but me.”
A thorough search of the place proved her statement to be true.
The whole time they searched her house, the woman kept repeating that her man had done nothing wrong.
Damien stopped before her. “What’s your name?”
“Tatianna.”
“Okay, Tatianna. If he’s done nothing wrong, why did he run from us?”
She looked down. “He got a parking ticket that we ain’t been able to pay. We thought you’s here ’bout that.”
“I see. So you didn’t think we were here about the big dent in the front of your car? The dent that happened when your husband ran down a cop in cold-blooded murder?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “No sir! Malcom’s a good man. He’d never do such! He done lent the car to a friend, and when we gots it back, it had that dent.”
Damien pressed his lips together and looked over at Case.
Case lifted a hand in a gesture that said, “it could be true.”
“Who was this friend?” Damien asked her.
“Gandry Wright. They went through school together, but Gandry… He’s a banger. I done tol’ Malcom it weren’t a good idea to let him borrow the car, but he don’t never listen to me.”
“You know where Gandry lives?”
The woman lowered her gaze to the floor.
“Ma’am?”
“He been stayin’ here. But he’s at work right now.”
“Where does this Gandry work?”
“At the shipment warehouse down near the airport.”
“I’ll call it in,” Case said. “We’ll take both men to the station and figure out the truth from there.”
Miller had been monitoring the radios all day, and when the call came in for the arrest of Gandry Wright, he knew the time had come to play his part.
He batted Kingston on the arm. “We’re right down the street from there. Call it in.”
Kingston keyed the mic and reported that they were on their way.
Several other units also responded, and Miller felt his pulse climb. They had to be the first on scene, or this wasn’t going to play out how the boss wanted. Not at all.
And he needed that money.
Gandry knew he was in trouble the moment he looked up from his semi-isolated sorting station and saw Miller, grim-lipped and determined, striding toward him.
He thrust his hands into the air. “Don’t shoot me, man! Don’t shoot!”
“He’s got a gun!” Miller shouted, already drawing his weapon.
“No! I—”
Two bullets took him center-chest.
He collapsed to the ground, the package in his hand tumbling away. He could hear several of his co-workers’ footsteps running his way as Miller squatted beside him.
Blocking the view from anyone else, Miller pressed a gun into Gandry’s hand, wrapping his fingers firmly around the grip. “Sorry man. Boss’s orders. Just playing my part.”
Gandry tried to speak. But he suddenly couldn’t get any breath.
The world went black.
Back at the station
, Damien turned off his radio and stepped into the interrogation room. He spent fifteen minutes questioning Malcom McDonalds while Case went down to tech to see what more they may have found with video analysis from street-cams and to check on Malcom’s alibi.
Malcom was reticent to speak, and Damien got nothing useful from him, but by the time he was done with the questioning, Damien actually believed his story. Gandry had told Malcom that he’d accidentally gunned the car in first gear instead of reverse as he was pulling from a parking spot and had dented the bumper on a tree.
“And you believed him?”
Malcom fiddled with the cuffs keeping his hands chained to the table. “Not really, man. But I didn’t think he’d run over a cop with it! I would have reported that.”
Damien sighed. The man sounded sincere.
“All right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Ed and Gray were waiting for him with the news about Gandry Wright the moment he stepped from the interrogation room.
Across the room, Damien slapped a folder onto Case’s desk and leaned onto his palms. “Miller shot him? Right there in the warehouse?”
“He says the guy had a gun.” Case scooped his hands back through his hair.
“Seriously?”
Case shrugged.
“Kingston backing him up?”
“Yeah.”
Damien sighed. “Can’t anything go right with this one?”
“Doubt it. I guess we pray he lives.”
“Wait. He’s alive?”
Case nodded. “They took him to Providence Medical Center. He’s in surgery now.”
