by DiAnn Mills
“I doubt it. Sheriff George asked me if I suspected a shooter,” Miles continued. “I didn’t think Ty would be low enough to shoot Walt any more than I thought he’d set fire to my barn.” Miles studied her face. “George asked me about the silencer too.”
“Part of his job is to ask questions.” She scanned the parking lot, always looking, always listening. “Split Creek High has some rough characters—other Chickasaw kids who might believe Walt’s sold out to the other side by playing ball or other kids who might want Chris to play quarterback.”
“My gut instinct is Ty Dalton,” Miles said. “Have you checked him out? I mean, he could be involved with all of this.” When she didn’t respond, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Of course you have. I’m simply mouthing what you already know. I feel stupid.”
“You are not stupid.” Already regret had grabbed hold of her heart. “Miles, I’ve admitted to so much today. Let’s go back inside and check on Walt.”
He took her hand. “I may not have your skills and knowledge about how things are done at the CIA, but I’m still in this. I suggest if you’re concerned about my welfare, then talk to your contact,” Miles said. “I’ve been involved with your problem since the day you hitched a ride on the back of my Harley.”
Paige focused on an SUV parked near the truck. “I think I’ll spend a little time in the chapel.”
He gazed at the parking lot. “I didn’t see anyone get out of it either.”
“You must have picked up a workbook.”
“Who needs a workbook when a pro is teaching the class?”
Chapter 39
I meet Stevens before my eight o’clock speaking engagement. I want a drink but nix that idea, considering the attendees tonight will be a bunch of Southern Baptists, like I’m supposed to be.
Stevens has a martini, but he isn’t campaigning for governor. “I surprised myself with this one.”
“And if you don’t tell what’s in your file, I’m going to kick your rear.” I laugh, but inside I fear my hopes are about to be blown to bits.
“The first news is that Rosa Ngoimgo and her son are in the States in protective custody.”
“That’s right. And I’ve found out where,” I say. “That problem will be taken care of tonight. Your little jewel in Palmer’s office is priceless.”
Stevens chuckles. “She’s not little. In fact, she adds a new dimension, being fat.”
“What about Nathan?” Raw emotion roots in me at the thought of having a son. Ever since the accident, all I’ve been able to think about is what I lost—children of my own flesh and blood.
“He’s yours, Daniel. A woman in records who used to work in the VIP unit at the Nairobi hospital verified it all. She remembered that a white woman fitting Mikaela’s description was hospitalized for two months about seven years ago. The same woman returned a few months later to give birth to a boy. I tracked down the family who’d been keeping Nathan while Bobbie Landerson was in the hospital. She said the boy was adopted, and recently Bobbie had legally given Mikaela guardianship. The woman also said the boy was somewhere in the States.”
I can’t breathe. I’m hot and cold at the same time. “The CIA has him.”
“I’m already on it. Nothing yet.”
I want a cigarette, and it’s been five years since I gave them up. “Find him for me, Stevens, and you can name your price.”
“I’m doing this for you.” Stevens speaks soberly. “You’ve taught me things I would never have otherwise known.”
Nathan. My son. Nothing else matters. Nothing. I’ll begin arrangements tonight after the dinner.
Chapter 40
Somewhere in Miles’s juggling act between his male ego and his love for Paige, he’d made a commitment to help her expose Daniel Keary as a corrupt politician. A pledge that could get him killed. God would have to help him, because his skills in the defense coliseum were rather pathetic. Computer security and a lucky rifle shot didn’t make him a gladiator for the CIA. But when Miles’s brother had died, he’d vowed never to abandon anyone he loved again.
However, he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he’d doubted her every word since he’d learned about her false identity. Ex-CIA operative . . . As incredible as the explanation sounded, it made sense after all that had happened in Split Creek.
They walked back inside the hospital, and he escorted Paige to the chapel door. She was a strong woman wrestling with her faith and what God required of her. He wanted to draw her close to him but knew she’d resist. He’d seen love for him in her eyes, but right now those emotions were on hold.
“I’ll be waiting upstairs.”
She offered a thin-lipped smile and disappeared inside the wooden doors. Miles rode the elevator up to the surgical floor. The faint hum and the click of each passing floor reminded him of a slow heartbeat. He focused on Walt. The boy had dreams and goals, not a death wish. According to the doctors, Walt was clinging to life with the same tenacity that he lived each day. He had a fighting chance, and the Chickasaw Wonder never backed down from any worthy challenge.
* * *
Paige sat in the third row of pews in the small chapel. A cross was centered in an alcove in the front, illuminated by a hidden light in the ceiling. Lighted stained-glass windows bookended the sides of the room. One depicted Jesus kneeling in the garden of Gethsemane, and the other portrayed Jesus touching the eyes of a blind man.
Arching her shoulders, she swiped at a tear. Paige seldom wept; she believed in solving problems, not feeling victimized by them. But her world was burdened with helplessness and concern for others. Dear Lord, let Walt live. Let this all end.
Everything she believed in lay in a hospital room. Her past ideals. Her aspirations for mankind. Her belief that the world’s youth were the inspiration for tomorrow. Her trust in the CIA. She recalled the agony on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Greywolf as they attempted to console each other. Death was truly a formidable enemy. She tried to imagine the grief and bitterness of those who had lost loved ones over oil and diamonds in Africa. She remembered the intensity of her hate for Keary when Nathan was nearly killed.
Time ticked by for proving Keary’s guilt. In a little over three weeks, the voters would crowd the polls to choose the next governor of Oklahoma. Rosa and Gonsalvo were safe somewhere in the States. Paige needed to talk to Ginny Dalton and see if Ty had confessed anything to her about Angola. All brought her closer to her dreams with Nathan. She pulled her cell from her purse and waited while Raif got him on the line.
“Hi, Miss Paige. When are you coming to see me?”
The sound of his voice nearly caused a meltdown. “I’m trying to work that out.”
“That’s what you always say. Remember when you said you were my second mommy?”
“Yes.” She ached to be there with him.
“But how can you be my second mommy when you aren’t here?”
Her stomach lurched. “I’ll make this up to you as soon as I can. We’ll do movies, spend a day at Lake Murray, buy you a bicycle, pick out a puppy, and—”
“I don’t want those things. I just want you.” His voice trembled.
“And you are what I want, more than anything. Honey, I have to go now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” That’s when Paige realized that she’d give the last drop of her blood to keep him from Keary.
The door to the chapel opened, and Miles appeared. His shoulders drooped.
Oh no. Oh, please, no. She stood and walked toward him. Sorrow ripped through her, and he hadn’t spoken a word.
“You need to know something before you head back to the waiting room.” He reached out to draw her into his arms, and she willingly stepped into his embrace. “I’m sorry, honey. The doctor has called in the family to say their final good-byes.”
Paige could not utter a word. Her throat stung, and her heart ached for Walt’s family and all those who loved the dynamic young man. She wanted Nathan. She wanted her parents. It didn’t matter that she was a
grown woman; she needed her mommy and daddy. They were alive and living in Wisconsin. Would those she loved forgive her for what she’d done to them?
“A family should not lose a child.” He drew her closer. “I refuse to give up.”
Nathan. Always Nathan. “Not until he takes his last breath.” Paige drew back and linked her fingers in his. “I’m trusting God in this.”
Miles led her from the chapel to the surgical waiting room. She despised the minutes and hours with no answers. Walt’s family had returned from saying good-bye, their eyes red with dark hollows carved beneath them. Their priest held their hands in each of his, a picture of love in time of sorrow.
In the last hour, the waiting room had flooded with more kids and parents. Paige glanced around the room and saw Voleta, Miss Eleanor, and Mr. Shafer sandwiched in the crowd. Every member of the football team stood in the hallway and around the waiting room. George, Naomi, and Georgie had arrived shortly after the shooting and offered their support to the Greywolfs. The drone of muffled voices wafted over the crowd. How could anyone explain a senseless shooting? For that matter, how could anyone explain murder?
Her tears were gone, and the old, familiar, impassive anxiety had settled in her bones. She was becoming Mikaela, a transformation that she welcomed and feared, but one she couldn’t deny.
Sunrise filtered in the solitary window. It was supposed to bring hope, but those around her saw only the blackness of night. How much longer?
“We should have news soon,” Miles said. “I tell my kids that 90 percent of the journey is in the struggle. Walt has held on this long. Every hour he lives increases his chances of survival.”
“Seems like every breath is a prayer,” she said. Every prayer filled with a list of names that scrolled like movie credits.
A commotion rose in the hallway. Paige’s attention flew to Mr. and Mrs. Greywolf and their priest. Cheering caught everyone’s attention. The crowd laughed and cried at the same time.
“Walt’s rallied,” Mr. Greywolf shouted and waved his arms. “It’s true. They’re trying to wake him.”
If Walt could fight, she could too. She must be strong when it came to Nathan. As much as she wanted to see him, she had to wait. Keary, despite his need to keep his hands clean, had almost killed them before, and she would not let that happen again.
Chapter 41
Hours later, after a long nap and a hot shower, Paige drove to where the carnival had still continued to draw in swarms of people. She thought the carnival should have been closed after yesterday’s shooting, but the sounds of happy people rang around her. Couples and children lined up for the merry-go-round, and children shouted for hot dogs and popcorn. They didn’t seem to care that a sixteen-year-old boy lay in serious condition in the hospital.
Paige had phoned Miles just before leaving her house and learned that Walt was steadily improving. He’d awakened, talked to his parents, and then drifted back to sleep. Paige doubted many of Walt’s friends had attended church today, since most of them had spent the night at the hospital. George had questioned most of the players, cheerleaders, Chris, and Walt’s girlfriend. The kids who’d been with Walt had nothing to report, and Chris had been seen at Denim’s for lunch with his mother. No arguments. No running into anyone who could have been an enemy.
Mr. and Mrs. Greywolf had a few suspicions, but nothing substantial. They didn’t understand how anyone could do such a thing to their son. No clues equaled no motive, and that equaled no suspects.
Ty Dalton hadn’t surfaced from under his rock. Paige checked her thoughts. God is the ultimate judge, not me.
A lot of this had to do with a personal stake in Walt and his family. She instantly reverted to her operative role—calculating, impassive, and alert. With Ty having a possible link to Keary, this whole thing could go deeper than a small-town shooting.
Now, as Paige sat in her parked car across the street from where the shooting had taken place, she studied the area and noted all of the places where the shooter could have been hiding. Perhaps a clue had been left behind.
Paige opened the door and grabbed her digital camera and shoulder bag. She assessed her surroundings, needing to be more than reasonably sure no one had followed her. Keary wasn’t finished with her—and she wasn’t ready to tuck him into the governor’s mansion. Neither was she ready to explain why she’d driven to the crime scene. A burly man, dressed in clean jeans and a button-down shirt instead of a T-shirt, carried a tray of popcorn. Sloppy for one of Keary’s people, but a possibility. She strode to the midway where Walt had been hit. Her head thundered with the questions of who and why.
The shooter had fired approximately twenty-five feet from Walt. That person had been in the crowd and staged himself as a family man or a woman playing the role of a mother . . . or a teen . . . or a booth vendor. She walked the twenty-five feet and mentally examined the events from when she’d first discovered the bleeding young man. If only she’d been there when Walt had taken the bullet.
Her cell phone rang, and a quick glimpse told her it was Palmer. She hadn’t phoned him yet because she needed to investigate the crime scene.
“Your town hit state news,” Palmer said.
“Yeah, a good kid too. No one’s been arrested yet, but I have an idea.”
“Ty Dalton?”
“You got it.”
“That man does make the rounds. I have a bit of news for you.” Palmer’s tone wasn’t celebrative.
“I’m ready.”
“Had to move Rosa and Gonsalvo last night. Split Creek isn’t the only spot that has a mole.”
Paige kept her attention focused on those around her, making sure she kept her distance. “This smells worse than week-old garbage.”
“And getting real personal,” Palmer said.
“My parents are okay?”
“Yes. And Nathan has two of the finest operatives with him along with two others. Keary thinks he’s a step ahead of us.” Palmer didn’t need to finish. She knew his sentiments about anyone sabotaging the work of the CIA.
“That will be his downfall,” she said.
A police car eased in behind her vehicle. Paige cringed. “Gotta run. I have a situation here.” She dropped her cell back into her purse.
George stepped out of his police car and waved, shoulders erect. She couldn’t see his eyes. Long strides carried him her way.
“Hey, George.”
“Paige.” Flat. No warmth or kindness.
“Is there bad news about Walt?”
“He’s holding his own, actually gaining a bit.” He studied her a moment. “I figured you’d be here. I have a few questions. Some things don’t make sense, and I need for you to explain them to me.”
This did not have social call written on it. “Sure. I’ll do whatever I can to help, but Miles and I didn’t witness the shooting.”
“I understand that.” He leaned on one leg. “Split Creek’s always been a quiet town until recently. It began when that fellow from Oklahoma City showed up—the one who works at the same law firm as Daniel Keary. You weren’t happy to see him, but I overlooked it. Thought he was harmless, just pestering a pretty lady. I still find it odd that Keary contributed those computers. It’s rare that politicians perform random acts of kindness. It’s even rarer one would choose Split Creek.” George paused. Paige recognized the grilling stare, and she assumed the stance.
“Then the library window was shot out during hours you should have been at home. Makes me question whether the shooter was aiming at the library window or you.” George peered into her face. “Keary showed up after a football game, and you two exchanged a few heated words. I couldn’t hear what y’all said, but from a distance, I could see you two weren’t chummy.”
“You must be stressed, George, because you’re not making sense.” She stood motionless, allowing her mind to focus on those methods that left her unreadable.
“I think I’m making good sense. Tell me why you’re licensed for a Beretta Px4
, a pretty hefty gun for a little lady. It’s a military issue. Oh, and you have a Smith 9 mm automatic, too.”
“I live by myself, and I’m not fond of watchdogs.”
“Who else knows you have those weapons?”
“I believe Miles has seen my Beretta.”
“Where are those guns now?”
“The Beretta’s in my car, and I have the Smith in my shoulder bag.”
He pointed to her shoulder. “That one?”
“Yes.” She handed him the bag. “Want to see it for yourself?”
“Not really.” He handed the bag back to her without searching it. “The bullets from the broken window and the one that hit Walt don’t match either of those weapons.”
Paige allowed horror to fill her face. “Do you suspect me of having something to do with what happened yesterday?”
He shook his head. “No, but I suspect you might know what is going on.”
“I have no idea why anyone would want to hurt Walt.” And that was the truth.
“A few lowlifes have come to mind, but nothing I can hang my hat on. I do wonder why a small-town librarian has the caliber of weapons that you find necessary to keep and carry. Our town is not a crossroads for criminals.”
“I explained my reasons.”
“A few months back when the library received the shipment of computers, I asked if you had a connection with Daniel Keary. You never gave me an answer.”
Smart man. And he could throw a wrench in the whole investigation. “I knew him years ago.”
“While he was in the CIA?”
“Does that really have anything to do with our concern for who shot Walt?”
“Guess not.” He walked past her several feet and bent to the ground, then straightened. Confidence emanated from his bearing—sort of a cross between Barney Fife and Wyatt Earp. “If you need help, Paige, just ask. I know you and Miles are close, but he’s not trained in police work. But I imagine you are.”
