by Sara Davison
What people are saying about Vigilant. . .
“In Vigilant, Sara Davis has created deep characters and a story that will grab your heart and keep you on the edge of your seat. Days after reading the story, the characters are still on my mind.”
—Patricia Bradley
Memphis Cold Case Series
Winner of Inspirational Readers’ Choice Award
“Vigilant is a unique boundary-breaking suspense full of emotional depth. Davison's thought-provoking style will leave you breathless as you grapple with tough moral issues long after the story is over.”
—Rachel Dylan
Bestselling Author of the Atlanta Justice series
VIGILANT
The Night Guardians Series
By
Sara Davison
Vigilant
Published by Mountain Brook Ink
White Salmon, WA U.S.A.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.
The website addresses shown in this book are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
The Author is represented by and this book is published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd, www.wordserveliterary.com.
© 2019 Sara Davison
ISBN 9781-943959-70-9
The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Nikki Wright, Cindy Jackson
Cover Design: Indie Cover Design, Lynnette Bonner Designer
Mountain Brook Ink is an inspirational publisher offering fiction you can believe in.
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Quote
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Author Note
Discussion Questions
Sneak Peek at Book Two
Dedication
To my dad, who claims to love all my stories
(and who assures everyone he meets, including perfect strangers, that they will love them too).
I am blessed to have such a wonderful, godly father.
To first responders and child support workers who witness the worst of humanity on a daily basis. You wield the torch that beats back the darkness, if only a little, for us all. Thank you.
And always and above all, to the One who gives the stories, and who is always near to the broken-hearted. It is all from you and for you.
Acknowledgments
It is my daily joy to share life with my husband Michael and our three (almost adult) kids, Luke, Julia, and Seth. I could not do what I do without the support and encouragement of all of you.
Thank you to early readers who offered the constructive criticism and advice that helped to shape and strengthen this book. Special thanks to Jordan Hageman, whose honest feedback and invaluable insights helped make this story better in more ways than I can say. I owe you a great deal. And to Ramona Maynard, friend and former police officer, who read the manuscript for procedural accuracy. Any mistakes in that regard are entirely my own.
To my agent Sarah Joy Freese, and to Greg Johnson and the amazing team at WordServe Literary – thank you for your unwavering support and encouragement. It means so much to have you standing behind me.
And to Miralee Ferrell, Nikki Wright, and the rest of the team at Mountain Brook Ink, thank you for believing in me and in my stories. I’m thrilled to be part of the family!
Defend the weak and the fatherless;
uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.
Rescue the weak and the needy;
deliver them from the hand of the wicked.
(Psalm 82:3-4 NIV)
Chapter One
Luke’s eyes widened at the sight of the knife.
“Hold out your hand, like this.” His older brother Ben held up his palm.
Luke’s breath came in short gasps as he lifted a pale, shaking hand into the air over his crossed legs.
“Ready?” Sliding one hand under Luke’s to hold it still, Ben moved the knife until it hovered over the soft flesh of Luke’s palm.
He swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes locked on the sharp tip of the jackknife.
“Look at me.”
Tilting his head up to meet his brother’s stare, Luke sucked in a breath as the knife
pierced his skin.
“All done. See?”
Luke looked down at the drops of blood rising to the surface of his skin and trickling into his palm. The movement of the knife caught his eye and he watched, fascinated, as Ben sliced a small cut into his own hand and snapped the blade shut before dropping it onto the floor. In the glimmer of light from their bedroom that shafted through the slight crack in the closet door, Ben’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration. Luke suppressed a nervous giggle.
Ben held out his hand.
Luke pressed his palm to his brother’s, the blood a damp and sticky warmth mingling between their clasped hands.
“Now repeat after me. I, Luke ...”
The grim tone of his brother’s voice squelched any desire to laugh. “I, Luke ...”
“Do solemnly swear ...”
“Do solemnly swear ...”
“To lay down my life for my brother.”
Luke looked up, his eyes narrowing in confusion.
“It means you have to be willing to die for me,” Ben explained.
Luke hesitated.
“I’d do it for you in a minute, Luke. We have to take care of each other.”
He nodded. That much he understood. Even though his brother was just ten, three years older than Luke, Ben was the only one who’d ever taken care of him. “To lay down my life for my brother.”
“And to always be the
re for him, no matter what.”
Luke repeated the words, a powerful feeling growing inside him, like a balloon expanding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew the words they were saying to each other carried a special magic. When Ben repeated the words, the feeling grew so strong that tears welled in his eyes. Turning his head, he wiped them away quickly with the worn-thin sleeve of his train-covered pajama top.
Ben squeezed his fingers. “Now we’re not just brothers, we’re blood brothers. That’s even better, stronger. It means we’ll always be together, and we’ll always keep each other safe, okay?”
“Okay.”
The front door slammed. Panic swept over Ben’s face, but he pushed back his shoulders, trying, like Luke knew he always did, to look brave.
“Ron … no!”
Ben’s grip on Luke’s hand tightened as their mother cried out from downstairs.
“Out of my way!” The sound of a fist smacking flesh hurt Luke’s ears, as if he had taken the blow himself. He winced. A kitchen chair crashed to the floor.
Their mother didn’t make another sound.
Ben pushed onto his knees. He didn’t look scared now, he looked mad.
Luke’s heart sank. “Ben, don’t go. You can’t help Mom. When you try, it makes things worse.”
His brother’s breaths came out in short, angry gasps, but he didn’t leave, only peered through the small crack in the closet door.
Luke tugged on his hand. “Maybe someone will come and help us,” he whispered.
Ben whipped around to face him. Closing the fingers of his free hand around Luke’s upper arm, he shook him. “Stop saying that. No one’s coming to help us. You know that. No one ever comes. It’s just you and me.”
Heavy boots tromped up the stairs.
Ben let go of Luke’s arm and raised a finger to his lips. Luke nodded. If they were really quiet, their dad might not find them. Maybe he wouldn’t come into their room tonight. Sometimes he left them alone and went into his own room. Luke slid the hand not clutching Ben’s behind his back and crossed his fingers tightly.
The bedroom door flew open. Luke’s stomach tightened. A cry rose in his throat, and he bit his bottom lip hard to keep the sound inside.
“Where are you!”
Objects clattered off the walls. Luke jumped as something heavy thudded against the door of the closet. Still holding his brother’s hand, he pressed against the wall behind him. He and Ben didn’t have a lot of clothes, and what they had they usually tossed over a wooden chair in the corner of their room, so only bare hangers hung from the rod above their heads. Make us invisible. Make us invisible. He held his hand in front of his face. Blood dripped down his wrist. His throat tightened. No one ever answered his plea, or prayer, or whatever it was. Ben was right. They were on their own.
Their father flung open the closet door so hard it crashed against the wall. “There you are.”
The smell of whiskey filled the air, so strong Luke’s eyes stung.
Ben shrank back beside him as his dad’s arm clawed through the air.
“Get out here!”
“Ben!” Luke cried out in desperation as his dad grasped his brother’s arm and yanked hard. Luke held onto Ben’s hand as tightly as he could, but his dad was too strong, and Ben’s fingers slid from his. Luke doubled over and buried his face in the stained, threadbare carpet. The musty smell clogged his nostrils. His thin shoulders shook with sobs.
“You come when I call, do ya hear me, boy?”
Luke squeezed his eyes shut at the sharp smack of a hand against bare skin.
His brother cried out.
Luke pushed himself upright. Something cold and hard pressed into his stinging palm. His hand closed over it. The jackknife. He stared at it for a moment then swiped the tears off his cheeks with the knuckles of his trembling hand.
His fingers tightened around the handle of the knife as he fumbled with the blade. We’re blood brothers now. It means we’ll always be together, and we’ll always keep each other safe.
Luke pushed back his own shoulders, trying to make himself feel brave. The knife helped a little. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to his feet.
Across the room, his dad swung a clenched fist and smashed it hard into Ben’s face. Ben staggered backward, and his head cracked against the metal footboard of the small cot. He fell to the floor with a hard thud and lay still.
The knot in Luke’s stomach grew tighter as blood seeped slowly into the carpet beneath his brother’s head.
“That’ll teach ya.”
Ben moaned and tried to roll over.
Their father aimed a boot at his face.
“No!” Luke sprinted across the room and raised the knife. Before his father could react, he swiped the blade as hard as he could across his dad’s arm.
“What the ...?” Curse words filled the air.
Luke skidded to a stop. A line of blood crawled across his father’s forearm. He didn’t see his dad’s other hand shoot out until strong fingers gripped his small wrist. Pain slithered up and down his arm like a writhing snake. The knife fell from his hand, taking with it the small amount of courage he had mustered. He stared into his father’s dark, wild eyes.
“I’ll kill you, you little ...”
Letting go of Luke’s wrist, his father wrapped large, calloused hands around his neck.Luke struggled to breathe but couldn’t draw in air. His father increased the pressure until black spots shimmered in front of Luke’s eyes. His hands raked empty air. The room spun around him.
Suddenly, his father’s grip loosened. Luke dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. Holding his throbbing throat, he looked up. His father had grabbed his neck with one hand. His bloodshot eyes bulged. The bright red on his cheeks and nose faded to white.
Luke pushed against the carpet with both feet and scrambled out of the way as his dad crashed to the floor. He stared at the jackknife protruding from his dad’s neck. Slowly, Luke lifted his head. Ben was on his knees at their dad’s feet. Blood trailed across the carpet.
“Ben …?”
Pain-filled eyes met his. “Luke,” Ben whispered, his voice ragged. “You okay?”
Luke nodded then leaped toward his brother as Ben started to topple forward. He was too heavy for Luke to hold, and he struggled to lower Ben to the floor and over onto his side.
“Ben! Wake up.” Luke shook him by the shoulder.
Ben didn’t open his eyes.
Luke sank to the floor beside him. Grasping his brother’s hand, he pressed it against his own blood-stained palm, rocking back and forth. Tears slid down his cheeks, dripping onto their clasped fingers.
His brother was gone and so was the magic. He was completely alone.
Chapter Two
Nicole Hunter nudged the vase of pink plastic daisies in the middle of the table aside and swiped at a pile of crumbs with a damp cloth. The diner was quiet tonight. The last of the customers in her section had finished their burgers and fries and gone ten minutes earlier, although the aroma of hot grease still hung in the air above their table. The tip they’d left her wasn’t worth much more than the crumbs she’d gathered in the cloth. She sighed. Given the nasty February blizzard that had swooped in and ground life in the city to a halt, it wasn’t likely there’d be many more people in tonight. She’d have to grab an extra shift on the weekend if she wanted to indulge in anything frivolous in the next few weeks. Like eating.
A wry grin crossed Nicole’s face as she palmed the two quarters and slipped them into her apron pocket, then leaned across the table to take care of a puddle of spilled milk. No matter what, she wouldn’t go hungry. She worked hard to earn enough to make ends meet, refusing to rely on the money her parents sent her every month. That would mean admitting the payment was a fair trade for their actual presence in her life. So the money sat in her account, drawing interest from the bank, if not from her.
A movement outside caught her eye. Nicole straightened with a groan an
d pushed a hand into her lower back. She caught her reflection and wrinkled her nose at the freckles sprinkled across it. Would she ever outgrow those? She tucked a strand of blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind one ear as she peered out through the lacework of frost etched across the large front window of Joe’s Diner. Wet, heavy snow fell from the sky, covering Toronto in a thick blanket of white that faded to soot-gray almost as soon as it landed on the streets and sidewalks. Nicole frowned. “Connie.” She twisted her head to call out over her shoulder. “Your friends are on their way.”
Joe’s wife, her short gray hair neatly covered in a net, pushed through the swinging kitchen doors and out into the diner, wiping her hands on a towel. “The boys coming, sweetie?”
Nicole’s lips twitched. Although it was a bit tricky assessing the ages of the men trooping over from the homeless shelter, most of them had to be about Connie’s age or not much younger than her seventy years. Still, she always called them the boys with such affection in her voice it was clearly a term of endearment to her. Respect, even. Nicole turned back and narrowed her eyes, trying to distinguish between the snow-covered shapes huddled together as they passed beneath the dim glow of the streetlight on the corner. “Yep. Looks like four or five of them.”
Connie tossed her towel below the cash register and glanced at the clock above the door. “Almost eight. Right on time.” She pulled a pot from the coffee maker on the counter. “They’ll be looking for this, with all that snow coming down.” She lifted the pot in Nicole’s direction. “Sure you don’t want to help them tonight?”
Nicole bit her lip. It wouldn’t kill her to take a turn waiting on the group of men that wound up at Joe’s most nights looking for hot coffee and a warm smile. Connie served both as naturally as she breathed. As good as Nicole had become at pouring coffee, though, she’d never been able to master the other, not for the unkempt people that trudged in sporting several layers of clothes and several more layers of grime.
