Two could play at manipulation. She untied Ryan’s wrists, wiped down Elin’s pistol, and placed it in his hand before aiming at a tree and pulling the trigger. They’d find gunpower residue on Ryan’s hand. Doing the same with Jake, she had him shoot a tree in Ryan’s direction. Both men were stiffening in the cool day.
She went through Ryan’s pockets and took his keys.
Closing the metal plaque on the obelisk, she wiped down the surface with her coat and took off after Lucas. He and the dog sat in the rear of the SUV, huddled under the blanket. The rig was still too hot to drive, but Ryan’s house wasn’t that far away. Edging out to the road, she drove as quickly as she could. She parked in the rear.
“Where are we?”
“Someplace safe, at least for a few minutes.” Using Ryan’s keys, they entered the house. Lucas kept the blanket around him. The Lab left muddy footprints on the spotless floor. Good. “Lucas, you might want to lie down and get warm.” She pointed to the sofa.
He didn’t argue. Both he and the dog sprawled on the sofa and were soon asleep. She was pretty sure he was in shock.
She thought for a few minutes, then picked up the telephone. The receiver clicked a few times before the dial tone. As she suspected, the phone was monitored. Moving to the kitchen so as not to disturb the sleepers, she punched in a number to silence the dial tone. “I know you can hear me. This is Murphy Andersen. Your man Ryan Wallace is dead. You’ll find his body, along with Jake Swayne’s and Denali Stewart’s, in the cemetery where Leif Berg hid his formula.”
She heard a tiny intake of breath, then a woman said, “A moment, please.”
A smooth male voice came on. “What happened to the formula?”
Priorities. “The last I saw it was in Ivanov’s possession.”
“I see.”
“But I’ll tell you where you can find it if you fix things.”
“What do you mean by ‘fix things’?”
“Call me when it’s done.” She hung up the phone.
She didn’t have to wait long. The phone rang.
“Murphy?” Vesper asked.
Sweat beaded on her forehead and dampened her upper lip. She figured the government kept tabs on terrorist groups and insurgents, but Vesper’s call now proved they did an astounding amount of intel gathering on regular citizens.
“Hi, Vesper.”
“What’s going on? I just got a call from some man saying you need a ride. He gave me an address. I said I wasn’t doing any such thing until I spoke with you.”
“Um, this isn’t a secure line, but yes, could you pick me up? I’ll have someone, make that two someones, with me.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Murphy wanted to change into dry clothes, get out of the itchy vest, and take a look at her chest. She bet she had a humdinger of a bruise just below her heart. But she needed to stay on alert.
Twenty minutes later Vesper drove up.
Waking Lucas, Murphy got both him and the dog in the back seat. Vesper took the presence of a dog and a boy in stride. “Now where?”
She gave an address.
Vesper looked at her for a moment, then put the car in gear. They soon arrived at the city cemetery. Murphy got out of the car and walked through the tombstones until she found the one she was looking for. Dallas Andersen. The date of their birth. The date of her death at the hands of the murderer Clinton Hunter.
She’d found her sister.
Vesper approached and stood on the other side of the grave. “Look at me, Murphy.”
Murphy did. A small jolt went through her. She stared into the other woman’s eyes. “You’re a soul searcher too.”
“I am. And it’s time you took a look at what’s inside, eating you up.”
“I already did. I looked at myself in the mirror. I remembered almost everything.”
“What happened to you?”
Murphy touched the headstone. “I thought I was strong enough to sort out my sister’s things. I found her earring, the one she’d lost, the match to the one she’d been wearing when she was murdered. It ripped open the buried memories.”
“So you coped by creating an alternate reality.”
“Yes. I made up a whole story about my sister and what happened to her, about how Hunter had been in prison, had gotten out. I even wrote a letter to myself saying he’d escaped. I’ve lived with tissue-paper lies for the past year, trying to find a way to write a different ending to her story.”
“You said ‘almost everything.’”
“I was in a mental hospital. Voluntary commitment. I remember that too.”
Vesper continued to make eye contact.
A memory slammed into Murphy’s conscience like a freight train.
Dallas held up her long skirt as she waded in the softly lapping water of the ocean. Her sandals were in her hand, and her hair was tucked behind her ears. She wore the earrings Murphy had purchased for her.
“Sis.” Dallas moved closer to the shore so Murphy could hear. “Did you get a chance to do what I asked?”
“Not yet. I’ve been slammed at work.”
“Well, if you get a chance, would you do a quick background check on this guy who asked me out? I just want to be sure. His name is Clinton Hunter.”
If she got the chance.
She didn’t take the time. And Dallas was forever dead.
Her mission: ask forgiveness from her sister. “I’m so sorry, sis.”
Don’t be, Dallas whispered back. You got to the truth.
She looked at Vesper through blurred vision. “Thank you.”
“You’re not quite done.” Vesper handed her a mirror.
She looked at it, then her. “What . . .?”
“Look at yourself.”
She held up the mirror and gazed at her image. She was flushed, eyes red. Her scar . . .
Her scar was the thinnest of white lines, barely visible. She touched it, then looked at Vesper.
“Scars heal eventually. Even deep ones,” she said.
“But it was there for so long.”
“The scar will always be there, but now you can know what others really see when they look at you. Just a whisper of past hurt. Not a disfigurement.”
EPILOGUE
Three months later
The house on the ocean at Pasagshak was as clean as she could make it with a twelve-year-old boy and large Labrador trooping through every five minutes. True to his word, the man at the other end of the phone had “fixed it.” After some negotiations, she received a key to this house, temporary custody of Lucas and Quinn, and a stipend to live on. In return, she told them about Ivanov. She replayed the conversation in her head almost daily.
The same smooth male voice came on the line. “We’ve taken care of the issues at the lodge.”
“By issues, you mean the dead bodies, right?”
“Um . . . yes. A terrible car crash. Now, what happened to the formula?”
“Well, I’d planned to fly off Kodiak myself in Denali’s plane. I gassed it up and got it ready.”
“Your information doesn’t show you have a pilot’s license.”
Her information? “I don’t. Butch showed me how to fly a plane, and I saw a YouTube on it once. How hard could it be?”
He seemed to be speechless.
“Only I made a mistake. I gassed the plane with diesel fuel, just a little, you understand. The fuel barrels were sitting next to each other. I suspect Ivanov made it a little way before he realized what had happened.”
He still hadn’t found his voice by the time she disconnected.
Her visitors were due to arrive any moment. She checked to be sure the Lab hadn’t gone swimming again and shaken himself out all over the kitchen. Kid and dog were outside, kitchen clean.
A car drove up.
She was suddenly nervous. What if . . .?
Someone knocked.
She jumped, then hurried to open the door.
Vesper entered, carrying a small box
, followed by Bertie in a walking cast.
“Greetings, ladies. I’m excited to hear all the news.” Murphy stood aside.
“Bertie has all the news.” Vesper grinned. “I’m here to drop off some books for you to read about that soul of yours.” She headed for the kitchen table.
“Thank you.” Murphy turned to the beaming Bertie. “You’re looking good.”
“Hey, Murph, whatcha think? I lost ten pounds doing physical therapy.”
Pursing her lips, she studied the woman’s ample body. “Are you sure? You look more like you’ve lost thirty pounds.”
“That’s my girl! Lie to me.”
She grinned. “Come on in.”
“First the news and a couple of surprises. They found Ivanov’s plane, or what was left of it. He tried to land on the side of a mountain. Not successfully. Rumor has it that Leif’s notebooks were burned up.”
Murphy grinned. “So no one got the formula. Good. You said a couple of surprises . . .”
“Ah, yes.” Bertie stepped aside and Joshua appeared. He was leaner than before, but still toe-curling handsome.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes grew blurry. Her mouth stopped working.
“Hello, Dakota.” He studied her face. “I like your hair color. The dark brown didn’t suit you.”
“Joshua . . .”
“I came here for three reasons.” He moved closer with that same fluid grace.
Did women still swoon?
“First, you owe me an apology. It was very rude to shoot me.”
“Oh, Joshua, I’m so sorry—”
He put his hand over her mouth, then his lips.
Time froze. Her mind went blank, her legs turned to butter.
His kiss ended. “Apology accepted,” he whispered.
Bertie grinned her gap-toothed smile, then jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Show her reason two.”
“Ah, yes.” He held up his hand. No wedding ring.
“But what about—”
“My four boys. I want you to meet them.” He disappeared around the side of the house where they’d parked the car. A moment later, four huge Bernese Mountain dogs flew around the corner, shot past her, and launched themselves onto the sofa. “Meet Travis, Max, Cody, and little Sammy.” He was grinning as he followed them. “Little Sammy isn’t so little anymore. Sorry about the sofa.”
One of them found a seashell throw pillow and was making short work of it. “And the pillow,” he added.
Lucas came trotting over from his walk on the beach. Quinn spotted the dogs wreaking havoc in the living room, barked an invitation, and all five dogs flew from the house and charged the beach.
“Cool.” Lucas turned and ran after them.
“And reason number three?” she asked faintly.
“I’m still waiting for you to accept that dinner invitation with me.”
She took a deep breath. She really hadn’t planned on getting in so deep.
But still, there was this cop standing beside her.
And her future in front of her. “Yes.”
AUTHOR NOTE
Dear Reader,
At the suggestion of my agent and editors, I gave poor Gwen Marcey a break. There are only so many almost-drownings, burning buildings, wolves, fights with a crummy husband, so much gunfire, and cancer a woman can endure before she needs a rest. I do believe she’ll be back in the future. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the adventures of Murphy Andersen. As in my other books, this one also has a theme of forgiveness, but this time it’s about forgiving yourself. Guilt and remorse, if not addressed, can eat away at a person. Let’s face it, being human means making mistakes. You can’t go back and change the past, but with forgiveness, you can change your future.
I love hearing from you. I read and answer all my emails, so please don’t be shy.
God Bless,
Carrie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ahhh, so we made it through another book, this time meeting Murphy Andersen. The seed of this story came from my husband, Rick. When asked, “Where would you like to go to research a book?” He promptly answered, “Kodiak!” Thank you, Rick, for suggesting this fascinating place.
Placing this novel on Kodiak Island gave me a chance to learn about a little-known location and even less-known history, reconnect with old friends, and meet some new ones. I am grateful to a lot of people. I dutifully noted everyone’s names in the book I carried with me for a year. Then lost the book. I apologize to those I have forgotten.
First on my list are Priscilla and Butch Patterson. Yes, there really is a Butch Patterson. Priscilla and Butch met on Kodiak Island many years ago. From Priscilla I got the names of contacts, what to see, and where to stay during our research trip. Butch gave me more names and allowed me to use both his name and his real-life discovery of the oldest plane crash in Alaskan history.
Once in Alaska on Kodiak, Rick and I were shuttled about and treated like royalty by Voni and Rich Harris. Voni is a wonderful writer, and much of the flavor of Kodiak came from her efforts. Thank you!
My friend, neighbor, dog sitter, and massage therapist extraordinaire, Lorrie Jenicek, thank you for the brain storming session and beta reading I subjected you to. Speaking of beta, thank you to my beta readers Kerry Kern Woods, Molly Smith, Gayle Noyes, Kathy Birnbaum, Michelle Garlock, and Trish Hastings.
And now that I’m on the subject of Trish Hastings, a special shout-out for letting me pattern the “Christ’s Table” after the Christ’s Kitchen that she manages in Victoria, Texas.
All things Russian came from my sister-in-law, Diane Stuart, aided by my niece, Shilo Stuart, and Vartan Kazarov. Russian Orthodox information came from St. John the Baptist Orthodox Church in Post Falls, Idaho.
Back to Kodiak for more thank-yous. Paula Ensign’s bed-andbreakfast on beautiful Mission Lake was an inspiration. The folks at Andrew Air gave us a bird’s-eye view of the island, Katmai National Park and Preserve, Alaskan brown bears, and even a timber wolf. Thank you to owner Dean Andrew, pilot Scooter Mainero, and guide Devin Downs.
Rhonda Wallace, chief of police in Kodiak, was a delight to meet and provided the insightful information about her department. Additional law enforcement details came from sergeant Cornelius A. Sims, post supervisor, “C” Detachment, Kodiak Post, Alaska State Troopers.
The Kodiak Military History Museum at Miller Point, Fort Abercrombie, was wonderful and a treasure trove of ideas. The nursing staff at Providence Chiniak Bay Elder House were most helpful.
My cop-sounding dialogue came from Melanie Walchek, CCA, Crime Scene Specialist, Surprise Police Department, Arizona.
Pacific Seafood, headquartered in Clackamas, Oregon, allowed me to tour their facilities on Kodiak. I thank the president and CEO, Frank Dulcich, as well as Mary Schaffhausen and the Kodiak staff.
I am totally grateful to my fantastic agent, Karen Solem, who believes in me even when I doubt. I consider the dream team I have at HarperCollins Christian Publishing as family—the good kind of family! Editors Amanda Bostic and Erin Healy know how to polish my manuscripts until they glow. The rest of the HCCP group, from Jodi Hughes and Paul Fisher to Kristen Golden and Allison Carter, and all the rest of you, bless you, bless you, bless you!
Thank you to Frank Peretti, who started this journey and mentored me through it. And finally, eternal thank you to my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ, in whom all things are possible.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1.Murphy Andersen believes the scar that disfigures her face is the outward reminder of the terrible mistake that mars her soul. Have you ever studied your face in a mirror to see if it reveals your innermost thoughts?
2.I invented the “gift” of being a soul searcher—the ability to get others to open up and reveal their secrets like Murphy does. There are people, however, that do seem to have a similar ability. Have you met any? Are you one of these people?
3.The biological warfare information is, unfortunately, true. What do you thin
k about this?
4.Did this story leave you with the desire to visit Kodiak Island? Why or why not?
5.Uncle had an irreplaceable memory of past events, customs, and traditions. Did you know someone like this? If so, did you try to capture these memories?
6.If you were the casting director for this movie, who would you get to play the parts?
7.If you could describe each of the main characters in one word, what would that be?
8.At the end, Vesper brought Murphy a stack of books to “read about that soul of yours.” If you were to put together a reading list for Murphy, what would you include and why?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrea Kramer, Kramer Photography
Carrie Stuart Parks is an ECPA Christy Award and multiple ACFW Carol and Inspy Award–winning author. An internationally known forensic artist, Carrie draws on her extensive experience with actual criminal investigations to write authentic, true-to-life fictional suspense. Carrie lives in Idaho and travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada, teaching courses in forensic art to law enforcement professionals. She has won numerous awards for her fine art and is the author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting.
Website: CarrieStuartParks.com
Facebook: CarrieStuartParksAuthor
Twitter: @CarrieParks
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