by DiAnn Mills
Mike offered a slight smile and introduced himself and me. “Nick, you have an impressive military record—two tours in Afghanistan, sharpshooter, covert ops in Syria. Now you’re in jail, and your buddy Stan Watkins is dead. Which puzzles me why a man of your caliber took a hit man job from a lowlife like Eli Chandler.”
Hanson eyed him. “We were minding our own business when this old guy attacked me and my buddy in the parking lot. We got hot and followed him inside. The old guy shot my buddy, and I surrendered so he wouldn’t kill me.”
Mike tapped his finger on the table. “The ‘old guy’ is a Fed. You were wearing ski masks and admitted Chandler hired you. Let’s get past the Halloween party. We can talk to the judge on your behalf, but only if you cooperate.”
Nick squinted. “How?”
“How long have you and Stan Watkins been working together?”
“About five years.”
“Did you recruit him?”
Hanson nodded.
“What about Arthur Shell?”
“Never heard of him.”
Mike folded his hands on the table. “Tell us about Chandler.”
“That would put me on his hit list.”
“You’re already there just by talking to us.”
“What kind of deal can you offer me?”
Mike eyed him. “Depends on what you give us.”
“Never met Chandler. He calls when something needs done.”
“Like what? Hit contracts?”
“Errands.”
“Give me an example.”
“Drive-through Sonic. Pick up his dry cleaning.”
Mike stood. “Denton, take over. As far as I’m concerned, Chandler can have him.”
I’d played this game before. “Nick, you’re wasting our time, and neither of us is in the mood to sift through lies.”
Hanson laughed. “Black-and-blue agent thinks he can intimidate me?”
I nodded. “You know the saying ‘Don’t mess with a wounded animal’? Exactly how I feel. You have a choice—answer my questions or face Chandler.”
Hanson swore. “All right. I might have one answer.”
“Question number one—how long have you been working for Chandler?”
“Ten years.”
“As a hit man?”
“I collect money owed to him or whatever he needs.”
“Give us your job details regarding FBI Special Agent Isaac Sims and Shelby Pearce.”
“I didn’t know the old man was a Fed. The woman had just gotten out of prison and knew something Chandler didn’t want her telling.”
I held up a finger. “What?”
“No idea.”
“Hmm. Chandler wanted Shelby Pearce dead because he was afraid of being blackmailed?”
Hanson shrugged. “He didn’t trust her. But the order could have come from Chandler or his boss.”
“Name?”
“Never heard it.”
“How does the big boss make money?”
Hanson glanced away, and I gave him time to think before I spoke again. “I need more for the judge to look favorably on your charges. Attempted murder and an attack on a federal agent will keep you locked up a long time.”
“Money laundering and whatever else is illegal. The big boss stays behind the scenes. I can give you Chandler’s number.”
I grabbed a pen and paper, and Nick rattled off numbers. “This is progress, unless the number’s no good.” I sent the number to the FIG and leaned back in my chair to get more comfortable with my throbbing leg.
“What do you know about an attack on another agent and Ms. Pearce?”
“No clue.”
“Where do Chandler and his boss base their operation?”
“Miami. I heard the big boss has overseas connections.” He shook his head. “I don’t know anything else. Neither do I know why they want the Pearce woman dead.”
45
SHELBY
Late Monday night, walking the dark road from the bus stop in Valleysburg to home was safer than being with Aaron and Isaac. In the stillness with the peaceful sound of nocturnal creatures, I longed for the comforts of my haven. I also wanted to get back to work. No matter what I encountered there or in the days to come, I planned to fight whoever stalked me. Even if it was Dad. Waiting for something bad to happen made the struggle with depression harder.
“Impossible,” I whispered to no one but myself.
My thoughts trailed to the times Dad, Travis, and I took camping and hiking trips to Colorado. Neither Mom nor Marissa enjoyed any part of it, and that was okay. We’d climb a hilly path, and Travis and I would softly harmonize whatever tune hit us, and sometimes Dad chimed in with his deep voice. I missed those special moments.
In my cabin, instead of sleeping with one eye open, I quickly drifted into bliss. Not sure the Second Coming could have wakened me unless an angel blew a trumpet in my ear.
Over coffee late Tuesday morning and while fashioning jewelry, my burner phone rang with an unrecognizable number. A pinch of apprehension hit me. What if Mom had passed? Or had Aaron taken a turn for the worse?
“Shelby, it’s Marissa. Are you free to talk?” Her frantic tone alarmed me.
“Is Mom—?”
“No. She hasn’t long, but she’s still alive.” She sighed. “I need to see you in person.”
“Out of the question. It’s too dangerous.”
Marissa sobbed. “Please, I must talk to you before anything else happens.”
“Calm yourself and tell me what’s going on.”
“Aria and I have been threatened.”
I swallowed the panic. “Start at the beginning.”
“I received a call at the bakery yesterday morning. A muffled voice told me to find out where you hid the $500K. The person warned me about going to the FBI or Aria and I would regret it. I know you have no idea where the money is or even who took it, but what am I to do?”
The stalker had reached his desperation stage. “Marissa, you have no choice but to go to the FBI.”
She gasped. “It’s too complicated. There’s more. Dad told me Denton and another agent came to the house yesterday morning. A money-laundering operation led to him.”
“No wonder Denton refused to tell me about the trip. Dad would never—” My mind seemed to explode with reasons against Dad’s guilt.
“Shelby, the ones who threatened you, are they after the money too?”
“Not exactly. Maybe.”
“Help me understand. I’m confused.”
The idea of sparing my sister the truth when she’d been through so much seemed like the right thing. But we were grown women who needed to work out a horrible set of circumstances. “I was told to commit suicide, that my family would be better off.”
She burst into tears. “Why?”
“Some people are not good-hearted like you.” My sister’s innocence needed to stay intact. “They’re selfish, greedy, cruel. It’s a part of this world you haven’t experienced, and I will do whatever’s necessary to make sure you never do.” The moment the words left my mouth, I committed to my original promise to keep her safe. “You have a fifteen-year-old, and she needs a mother to teach her how to stay away from people who’d hurt her.”
“I’m sorry to bother you with this. I didn’t know where else to turn. If not for me, you wouldn’t have been among the worst people. I promise I will educate myself in the ways of today’s world. Aria deserves the best. She’s my reason for living. But my resolve doesn’t help now. You’re the clever one, the sister with a plan. Help me, Shelby. I’m afraid.”
Poor, sweet Marissa. “The person who is threatening us has to be someone who followed every moment of the trial and kept tabs on us since then.”
“I’m afraid it’s Dad.”
The dad of my girlhood valued honesty above all things. “If he embezzled the money, why is he living in Sharp’s Creek? Why hasn’t he left the country or laundered it to improve his life? He’s not getting
any younger. No, it’s not Dad.”
“He asked me this morning if he could take Aria on a vacation during spring break. He believes Mom will have died by then, and the two of them could grieve together.”
My pulse raced. “He’s counting on Mom dying so he can take a trip?”
“I agree it’s heartless. When he wanted my permission, I didn’t know what to say. I asked him how he could afford a vacation, and he apparently has money saved. I asked where he wanted to take her.” She paused. “He doesn’t know for sure, but the trip would be a surprise. The worst part is spring break is in two weeks.”
Surely Dad hadn’t chosen money over his family. “Does Aria suspect anything? Have you told her about the threat?”
“I refuse to frighten her with this.” Marissa sobbed. “She should know, right? So she can be on alert?”
“Right. Ignorance doesn’t stop a crime.”
“Okay. She tells me everything, and she hasn’t mentioned a word.”
“Has Dad’s behavior changed since my release? Has he said anything confusing?”
“He’s always difficult, irrational. Hot and cold with his love. But he loves Aria, always has. I think I could rot, and he wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Not true at all. He loves you.” I had to protect Marissa and Aria. “Do you still take a couple of days off occasionally to rest from your rheumatoid arthritis?”
“I haven’t for a while. It’s impossible to leave Mom or the bakery.”
“Take a break. Make sure Aria’s with you. I’ll talk to Denton to see if the FBI can arrange a safe house.”
“I won’t leave Mom. She depends on me.”
“What about your daughter? There’s got to be a solution. Just give me a moment to think.”
I prayed for an answer. If Dad stood at the helm of a money-laundering scheme, he’d wasted a lot of years before he took advantage of a leisurely life. Perhaps the years of bitterness held the key. How sad to expect Dad, the one man I loved more than life . . . Unless the person responsible intended to frame him.
“Shelby, I’ll tell Dad I need a day off to see a new doctor in Houston. I’ll drive to Valleysburg so we can talk in person. He won’t hurt Aria.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. I’m upset about too many things and it’s hard to focus. I’ll find a way to bring Aria with me.”
“How about Thursday? Please give thought to allowing the FBI to step in and keep you and Aria safe.”
“Maybe so. All right, I’ll pray about it. I have an idea—I’ll tell Dad that Aria needs to be checked for RA. My strain is genetic.”
“Is it?”
“No. Thank goodness. I’ll tell him the appointment is on Thursday, which gives me tomorrow to pack when he’s not around and withdraw what little money I have from the bank.”
“If anything happens, call me immediately. Do you have Denton’s number?”
“He gave me his card.” Marissa sobbed again.
“No one hears about our meeting, okay?”
“Are you talking to Denton? If he goes to the FBI, I’m afraid—”
“No. This stays among sisters.”
46
DENTON
My mamaw went through the eighth grade before she quit school to help on the farm. Despite her lack of education, she tutored me through high school algebra. Taught me how to dance. We’d go fishing, and she’d always catch more catfish than me. We’d go hunting, and she’d bring down the biggest buck. Many a night we’d stare up at the sky through a telescope. She’d point out a constellation, and through the stars and visible planets, she’d tell me about Jesus.
Shelby’s words about God using hard times to mold us into stronger people haunted me. Because I had to admit every hurdle and tragedy made me wiser, offered deeper insight into behavior.
Memories of Mamaw two-stepped across my mind as I leaned against a post on my porch. Could be the full moon and clear night dotted with stars reminded me of her. Truth was, I craved her wisdom, her soft voice, and sassy ways that guided a young boy before she’d slipped away in her sleep. Pawpaw succumbed to dementia after she died and joined her soon afterward.
Life hadn’t gone as I’d planned or wanted—#disappointed. The sweet wife and half a dozen kids lived somewhere else in my mind. I loved my parents, and though I’d isolated myself from my brothers, they were still family. My job had its perks, but the ups didn’t bring me the satisfaction I craved.
My heart hurt for relief without a name. I longed for a woman who might not survive. My leg hurt, and the pain meds put me to sleep. Mamaw had a few choice descriptions for whiners, and I fit them all.
Tonight one of Mamaw’s comparisons about faith and the universe stuck in my mind. She professed if Jesus created the universe and knew every dark-brown hair on my head, then He’d purposed a divine plan for my life. My role with the FBI—to help stop and prevent crimes—filled me with satisfaction. Volunteering with troubled teen boys packed another hole. But at forty years old, I still craved peace. My spirit wrestled with what I needed to do about blaming God for my disappointments. But anger punched my gut. Over fifteen years of animosity toward God was entrenched in my soul. I wanted it gone—forever. But I couldn’t relinquish control.
Unanswered questions about Shelby zoomed in and out of my mind. In the past, difficult cases kept me on task. Nothing drew me away from looming problems. No longer. Shelby had taken root in my heart, and I’d fallen for a convicted murderer, a woman I’d once loathed. What was I supposed to do with that? We’d texted a few times today. Thanks to Sheriff Wendall, he’d positioned an officer to keep an eye on Shelby’s cabin.
So many reasons I stared up at the sky and wished Mamaw would offer her sage advice. I breathed in deeply. Her words from long ago repeated in my mind. “Allen Denton, you need Jesus. Follow Him and you’ll feel a whole lot better about yourself and where you’re headed.”
I stared up at the Big Dipper and recalled another of her statements. “If God can hold up the stars in the sky, He’ll lead you through the mud that Satan slings your way.”
I was neck-deep in that mud—actually smellier than that. Brice’s constant immature comments frustrated me, but the source of my bitterness went deeper. I focused on my pain still evident after fifteen years.
I hadn’t forgiven Andy or Lisa for choosing each other.
Their happiness had shoved me into emotional paralysis. I blamed God for my broken heart when He could have stopped the marriage. Their two boys should have been mine.
And Shelby’s case . . . I blamed God for stealing my victory there too.
Easing onto the porch step, I fixed my gaze on the stars and planets that existed light-years away. Could a holy God who created the intricacies of the galaxy help me shake off the blame and unforgiveness in my life? Mamaw believed so, as well as my family and Shelby.
I’m tired of fighting life.
Mamaw seemed to sit beside me, and I was a boy again. Words about Jesus and truth rolled through my mind.
The words to Shelby’s poem, the one I found in her Bible, seemed to haunt me. Every time I tried to toss them aside, they walked back into my head . . . and heart.
Why do I remember
The sins that stalk my soul?
Why can’t I hold on to the
Forgiveness that makes me whole?
Ashes rise to steal my breath.
I choke from drowning fear.
Help me, Lord, to cling to You
In never-ending prayer.
I walked the same misery as Shelby once had.
Six hours later I peered up at the night sky. Lord, I surrender my life to You. Save me from myself.
47
Strange how a decision to accept what I couldn’t see or touch ushered in optimism. Especially when the world spun on an unbalanced axis. This morning my crutch and swing routine seemed lighter. I made it to the stables faster than the day before. For certain, my light steps were due to my
new faith.
I walked inside and leaned against Big Red’s stall. Taking my phone from my jean pocket, I pressed in Mom and Dad’s number. Mom answered.
“Two calls in a week, Son? This must be good.”
“I think so. I became a Christian.”
“Oh, my.” She wept softly. “Denny, I’m so happy for you. Can’t wait to tell your dad. He ran to the post office.”
“I figured you’ve prayed for me for a long time, so you should know first.”
“We both have. What brought about the change?”
“The right people and circumstances turned me around.”
“A woman?”
“In a way.”
“Are you getting married?”
“No, Mom.” Then it hit me how much of a role Shelby had played and how much I did care. “Maybe in the future. A lot’s riding on our relationship. Some issues need to be worked out first.”
“Denny, you have such a kind heart. Whatever it is, don’t let another woman break your heart.”
“Thanks, Mom. Andy and Lisa are supposed to be together. I’m glad for them.”
“Brice is another matter,” Mom said.
“It will work out. He reached out to me not too long ago, so I’ll call him.”
“My dear boy. Your words are like music.”
“The Beatles?”
She laughed. “Somewhere between ‘Let It Be’ and ‘Twist and Shout.’”
“Mom, don’t ever change. Love you, and I’ve got to go. Working on a tough case, but when it’s over, I’ll be home for a visit. Give Dad a hug for me.”
My next call to Brice lasted all of three minutes. I told him about my new faith and my desire to be a better part of the family. “I hope we can be brothers again. And friends.”
“Uh, sure. Don’t know what to say . . . Thanks.”
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and checked in with Big Red. “I’m going to see Shelby. Tell her my spiritual life took a boost.” He nudged me. “Yeah, I miss her. Sorry you can’t take me, but until this leg heals, I’m using a different kind of horsepower. The one and only car rental business in Valleysburg has delivered a compact Chevy, giving me a little freedom. But I prefer you.” I patted him and drove the half mile to Shelby’s cabin. If Sheriff Wendall saw me driving with one foot and one hand, I’d be ticketed.
