Preacher Sam

by Cassondra Windwalker

  His lips lifted in a near-grin. Dani would give him grief for that, no doubt. She liked to tease him that his real interest in the church lay only in the opportunity it offered for the melodrama that came so naturally to his bent of thinking.

  She probably wasn’t all wrong. After all, here he was reading his favorite book that featured angels, devouring lions, flaming furnaces, and court conspiracies. Not to mention prophecies of four world kingdoms and the advent of the Son of God. You couldn’t beat a story like that for action and suspense both.

  All that was missing was some romance. With a huge effort of will, he forced himself not to think about how Melanie was going to react to the truth. Sam figured he was the worst sort of person for hoping, deep down in secret, that his part in all this might soften her heart toward him. What kind of selfish jerk could find something for himself in such an awful story? His sort, he supposed. One more reason it was just as well he wasn’t a preacher anymore. He should be thinking about Paige and Harper, not himself.

  But that was just too hard. He pictured the little girls as he’d seen them last, little halos of blonde hair, tiny limbs lost in clouds of Sunday dresses. No part of his body or mind could comprehend the horror of what Clay termed love. Sam wished he could un-know the truth, wished those little girls could un-know it as well. He wondered how harshly, how immutably, experiences like this defined children, what the cost of overcoming would be. He wondered if it would be possible for them to understand their mother’s courage, her sacrifice, without somehow attributing the blame to themselves rather than to their father.

  Their father. The words sounded dirty in Sam’s mouth. No matter how neatly the reports were written in the end, the recovery for the children would be messy, long, and arduous.

  He had long finished the book of Daniel and was lost in his thoughts, his hand absently tracing the edges of Amanda’s letter, when Detective Nguyen finally reemerged. Sam stood immediately.

  The smaller man nodded heavily in response to the question in Sam’s eyes. “He confessed. To everything. Well, most of it, anyway. The way he tells the ugliest parts can hardly be called a confession, but it’s enough.” Nguyen paused, his gaze going to the letter in Sam’s hand. “He said there was a letter from Amanda that would corroborate everything.”

  Sam proffered the letter. “I don’t know about that. I opened the envelope, pulled out the pages, but that was all for dramatic effect. I haven’t read the letter. No one has.”

  Nguyen’s eyes widened, and Sam felt a tiny spark of satisfaction at having surprised this man whom he suspected was rarely surprised at all.

  “Seriously? That’s not what Clay thinks.”

  Briefly, Sam explained about the Jensens and the gamble he’d played in going directly to Clay. Nguyen grinned and nodded approvingly.

  “Lucky gambit,” Nguyen said. “Clay’s under arrest, of course, on the basis of his confession. His story also lines up more neatly with some of the forensics that had been nagging at me than Amanda’s story ever did. But I definitely need that letter, all the same.”

  Sam passed it over without a qualm. “I don’t think Amanda would protest at this point. Everything she did, she did to protect those girls. I’m sure she believes that Amy would’ve done the same for Tomas if the situations were reversed. They were more sisters than friends.”

  Nguyen nodded, his expression sobering. Sam asked the question that had been plaguing him.

  “What will become of Amanda now? Is she still in trouble?”

  “Well, she clearly lied to the police and obstructed the investigation. Not to mention conspiring to murder. According to Clay, of course. Proving her complicity will be more complicated. And the DA may be inclined to sympathy, given the details of the case. The public certainly will be, and politicians rarely lag far behind the public in their choices.”

  Sam grimaced. “How public will this be? Everything Amanda did—and Amy gave her life for—was to save those girls from this ever getting out.”

  Nguyen shrugged, his gaze sympathetic. “My duty here is to the truth and the law. Sometimes the people closest to the situation are least able to see it clearly. We’ll do what we can to keep this low-profile, of course, and what the DA will do about prosecuting the sex abuse side of things I couldn’t begin to guess. But you know, creating an atmosphere of shame and secrecy might not be good for the girls, even with the best of intentions. They might stand a better chance of healing if they were allowed to face what they’ve been through head-on—with the help of the adults in their lives.”

  “I guess that’s more than I can understand in either case,” Sam admitted. “I don’t know how any children can recover from a story as awful as this one.”

  Nguyen’s lips tightened. “There’s nothing good about it, that’s for sure. Some wounds do better in the air than festering in the dark, though. I just wish I could deal with this man more directly than reading him his rights and sending him to live out a few years of his life on the state’s room service.”

  Sam didn’t imagine that Nguyen was often so transparent with the public. He didn’t know, himself, how police officers could spend so much time face-to-face with the worst of humanity and not succumb to the temptation of vigilante justice. Especially in a case like this one, where no doubt existed—no doubt as to the horror of the crime, no doubt as to the insufficiency of the punishment.

  Sam extended his hand, more benediction than farewell.

  “Thank you, Detective Nguyen. For everything. I couldn’t do what you do, myself.”

  “But you did do it,” Nguyen returned, his grip firm and cool. “You did what none of us could do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Melanie’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn toward him. Instead, she set her eyes more determinedly on the finches vying for attention across the sweeping lawn. Sam had asked her to meet him here at the Art Museum. They’d wandered through the permanent and traveling exhibits for about an hour like they’d used to do on Saturday afternoons when they’d first gotten married, spending the time catching up on all the details of the last week.

  Sam had learned that the old adage about the wheels of justice turning slowly had been no exaggeration. He’d been surprised by how long it was taking to get Amanda’s charges dropped and new charges applied. As soon as bond was set, Raul would make it, although how he would greet his wife after her long and stubborn silence was anyone’s guess. There was still no way to know just what consequences Amanda would face for the decisions she’d made in a single instant on that bloody and terrifying night that had gone so badly awry. Not to mention the original plan she and Amy had concocted. Sam didn’t know if there were any way police could prove that collusion, though, unless Amanda told the whole story herself.

  Sam had often thought about what Nguyen had said about people being too close to a situation to see it clearly. Trapped by their own secrets, Amy and Amanda had convinced themselves that violence was the only answer to the tragic and awful abuse that Clay had begun. Once they’d made the decision to take a life, there’d been no turning back from the horror that would follow. Sam wondered what would have happened if they’d succeeded. What would have been the cost to their own psyches, keeping a secret like that for a lifetime? Would they have cracked, too, like Clay had, and been driven to speak the truth? Would Amanda have told the whole story to Raul at once, or would she have allowed the secret to linger between them and drive them further and further apart? And what of Paige and Harper? Would Amy have gotten them the help they needed, or would she have pretended everything was over once Clay was no longer a present threat? Once the girls had realized that they, too, had secrets to continue to keep for their parents, what damage would that have done in the end?

  There was more than enough damage to go around now as it was. No matter what her motivations, no matter that Raul had had his own suspicions from the night of Amy’s death, Amanda had still chosen Amy and her daughters over Raul and Tomas. Sam
didn’t imagine that was a wound that would easily heal. If at all. For now, Raul and Amanda were making a go of it, but Sam didn’t know how long that would last. Raul wasn’t the sort of man to spend much time hashing over his feelings.

  Sam suspected Raul would consider all possibilities and then make up his mind regardless of what Amanda had to offer by way of explanation or excuse. Raul loved Amanda, absolutely, and they’d weathered every storm till this one. But whether Raul chose to stay or leave would be entirely his own decision in the end, and Sam imagined that no one would know which way he’d choose till the day came. And once Raul did make that decision, Sam was sure it would be final. Raul wasn’t one for dithering.

  Paige and Harper were still with their grandparents, who had immediately begun permanent custody proceedings. Sam had been impressed by their response to the situation. People of their generation weren’t always open to mental health conversations, much less interventions, but Adam and Lenore had bucked the trend on that one. They’d sprung into action as soon as they learned the truth of what the girls had been through. Not only had they started attending family therapy sessions with the girls, they’d enrolled both children with an equine therapist. Sam thought their background as country people had made it easier for them to understand the efficacy of a method that a lot of city people still perceived as experimental or just plain woo-woo. In all honesty, the Jensens probably considered horses more helpful than psychologists on every level. But they were taking advantage of whatever help they could get.

  Sam resisted the urge to lay a hand on Melanie’s shoulder. They’d left the castle-like interior of the museum behind and retreated here, to the garden grounds, before broaching more personal subjects.

  “I’m surprised,” Melanie finally said, her voice low enough that Sam dipped his head to catch her words. “I didn’t think you’d ever go back there.”

  Sam didn’t point out that they’d been back at the church together for Amy’s funeral. He knew what she meant.

  “I didn’t think so either. Weirdly enough, it was Dani who convinced me to listen to Ffaukes. She told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t penitent, I was sulking, and I needed to get over myself and get back to helping other people instead of feeling sorry for myself.”

  Melanie laughed reluctantly. “Has Dani ever expressed anything in uncertain terms?”

  “Probably not. She’s never had a problem with the courage of her convictions.”

  “Or lack thereof.”

  “Or lack thereof,” Sam agreed companionably. The weight of the words he had come here to say was strangling him. He struggled to swallow.

  “So, what will that look like?” Melanie went on.

  “Kinda weird, honestly. I’ll basically be a part-time junior minister. Ffaukes has the professional experience, and I have the personal. So we’re going to work together adapting the program he’s used before. I’ll assist with the support group, but we’re also going to have some classes for adults and adolescents both, addressing not just the theology but also the social and scientific issues identified with pornography and the sex trade in general.”

  It still felt awkward to have this conversation so openly with his wife, but Sam was going to have to get used to awkward.

  Melanie nodded, still not looking at him. “Well, I hope it helps. Them and you both.”

  “Me, too.”

  Sam’s eyes dragged over the brilliantly stained leaves that still clung obstinately to the trees trembling in the chilly gusts. Winter would arrive any day now. He’d wake up, and all the trees would be bare, the leaves surging over frozen ground in waves of color and sound.

  “Melanie.”

  She must have heard it in his voice. She turned then, finally, her gray eyes a gray shore washed by stormy tides.

  That nearly undid him. But he pushed on.

  “Melanie, we need to file for divorce.”

  Her hands drifted to his thighs, their heat grounding him, holding him fast in this moment that he desperately wished he could escape. There was no taking back the words now.

  He wanted to look away from her gaze, wanted to brush her hands aside, stand up, walk away. Instead he covered her hands with his own. She turned hers beneath his, palms up, fingers tangling, wrapping gently around his wrists as they hadn’t done for over a year.

  “Yes,” she murmured finally, her eyes dropping to his mouth. “Yes, we do.”

  She leaned forward then, as his breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded painfully. Her lips, soft and mobile, brushed over his, sending a flash of heat over his wind-cooled flesh. Her hands slipped away and she stood, brushing her long, dark hair behind her ears and licking her lips.

  “I’ll sign the papers when you get them,” she said.

  She turned and strode away across the rolling lawns, still green as Indiana grass always seemed to be. Unable to catch his breath, Sam watched her till she disappeared around the museum building.

  This was it, then. The beginning of the end.

  Or the end of the beginning.

  And I heard, but I understood not: then said I, O Lord, what shall be the end of these things?

  And he said, ‘Go thy way, Daniel…Blessed is he that waiteth. Go thou thy way till the end be: for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of days.’

  Sam wasn’t good at waiting.

  Chapter Forty

  “What’s this?” Irritation colored Dani’s voice as she fruitlessly shoved her hair behind her ears and glared at Ian Lannister.

  Flushed but grinning, he stood his ground. “It’s a print-out of a Google search of my name. Ten pages worth. None of them are me, actually—George R.R. Martin basically owns the name Lannister. But I figured you wouldn’t go out with me without some research, and I also figured you wouldn’t do any research so you’d have a good excuse for not going out with me. I brought it to point out that I haven’t done anything too terrible, or I’d have shown up somewhere in there.”

  “You mean you haven’t gotten caught for anything too terrible,” Dani rejoined sharply, but humor had drifted into her eyes. Ian was the only customer at the counter. Dani looked over his shoulder to where her brother was pretending to wipe down tables while throwing overstated nods of approval and vigorous thumbs-up her way.

  “One way to find out,” Ian proposed cheerfully.

  “That’s a pretty skewed risk-benefit analysis there. Risk: you’re a serial killer. Benefit: a free movie ticket.” But Dani had relaxed, leaning her hip against the counter.

  “But even if I am a serial killer, you’d have to be my cover story, not my victim. I’ve already made my intentions toward you totally clear to your brother. I wouldn’t stand a chance of getting away with it.”

  “Well, that does make it all better, I suppose. As long as I’m only the woman you keep around for appearance’s sake.”

  Dani’s smart mouth seemed to be having the opposite effect on Ian as on most people; the man was actually loosening up, his blush receding. “So that’s a yes? I promise we’ll stay entirely in public places. You can drive yourself, so escape is always a possibility. No awkward drive times.”

  Dani sighed, a reluctant smile transforming her face and lighting her blue eyes. “If I say yes—this one time—do you promise not to ask me again?”

  Ian looked taken aback, but he recovered swiftly. “I promise I won’t ask you out the second time. I have a feeling you’re going to ask me out again, though, so I’m reserving the right to ask for a third date. The second one, though—that’ll be all you.”

  Dani laughed outright. “Arrogant much?”

  “Born romantic,” Ian responded without missing a beat. “Here’s my number. You can call me with a convenient time when you get the chance.”

  Dani took his card and tucked it into her pocket. “Trust me to be the one to make the first call?”

  Ian shrugged. “It’s not like I can’t track you down if you don’t.”

  “And there he i
s!” Sam interjected, having been quiet as long as was humanly possible for him. “The friendly neighborhood stalker we all know and love.”

  The blood crept back into Ian’s neck, but his good humor couldn’t be dampened. He tucked his chin at Sam in a quick bow, gathered up his coffee, and left the deli with a definite spring in his step.

  “Don’t!” Dani snapped, her hand flying up in a clear gesture of command. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t say a word.”

  Sam grinned. “Can’t a big brother be happy for his little sister? One of us should be happy, anyway.”

  “Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry about Melanie. But this will be for the best in the long run, you’ll see. I promise.”

  “You know I’ll never believe that. But hey, if I can get you happily settled with a devoted stalker, my work here will be done. You can’t ask for greater fidelity than that.”

  “You’re going to feel so guilty when they pull my body out of the trunk of his car.”

  Sam laughed, although the effort made his chest ache. Trying to walk around like a living man and not like the scarcely-animated corpse he’d become since visiting the divorce attorney required more air than he could find in any room. Dani caught the bleak stare he tried to mask with the right creasing of muscles and skin and flung her arms around him.

  “Forget Ian,” she said fiercely. “Do you want me to kill her? I promise I’ll never feel a day’s remorse.”

  Sam ruffled her fine hair, and for once she didn’t scoot out of his reach. “You’re the best sister in the world, Dani.”

  “I’m your only sister, you oaf.”