Silent Protector

by Barbara Phinney

  Nodding, Liz kept her attention to the ground. “They went this way. They—” She stopped.

  “What is it?”

  Liz stooped as Ian came close. She pointed out to him what she’d seen when he bent down on one knee and shoved his hat up farther. “Do you think that might be blood?”

  Ian studied the large brown smear on the cabbage palm leaf. He pointed to the splatters on the vines at the edge of the impromptu trail. Most of the blood had already been ground into ferns and air plants, but it wasn’t hard to follow the blood, thanks to the bright green of the leaves.

  “We have to follow this.” Liz stated the obvious, but the danger they could be facing didn’t escape her. Someone had lost a lot of blood. The web belt dragged in by the dog suggested that. And the amount on the belt had to be enough of a loss to kill a person.

  This had something to do with Charlie, she just knew it. So maybe finding whoever was hurt wasn’t the wisest idea even if he had a gun. William Smith wanted Charlie dead.

  She couldn’t leave a person to die out here, though, could she?

  She swallowed. Lord, take care of us. Help us do the right thing.

  No, she wouldn’t ignore the fact that someone was hurt, even if it was Jerry’s killer. They needed to find him, even half dead, so Charlie could recognize him and have the police arrest him. They needed to end this nightmare.

  She stood, aching and drooping in the heat, feeling sweat trickle down her temples. Humidity made her legs feel thick and heavy. Maybe she should have asked Charlie to try really hard to tell them what he saw.

  Lord, give me wisdom.

  The sun that had shone brightly had now slipped behind a long, gray cloud. Through the canopy of blowing trees, she could see the day was deteriorating. “It’s getting cloudy out.”

  “And I think the wind has risen,” Ian finished for her.

  “When was the last time you checked the forecast?”

  “Not since this morning. The FEMA people have my cell phone, and so do the police. They would have called by now if we were being told to evacuate.”

  She wanted to ask for the details of an evacuation. Where would the people go? How long would they be away? What kind of security would there be? Would they take Monica, even after she’d attacked her? But right now, the trail kept her attention. She pointed to two distinct marks along its edge. And up a way, she found where blood had beaded on the dry sand. She followed it, hoping that she was doing the right thing.

  “Look.”

  She followed Ian’s hand as he bent down and pointed to the ground. A single line dug into the thin soil. As she followed it along one section where rocks and sand met, the line looked like divots spelling out some kind of Morse code signal. Short dots, a few long dashes, then a dot or two again.

  Liz opened her mouth to ask Ian if he noticed that but stopped. Worry creased his brow as he stared up at the darkening clouds. She bet he was kicking himself for not checking the forecast more recently. If the tropical storm was heading this way and determined to become a hurricane, he needed to coordinate a possible evacuation.

  These were his parishioners. They were his responsibility. He cared for them. Even if the storm missed them, everyone needed to be prepared. Up in Maine, they needed to be prepared for storms, though theirs were mostly in the dead of winter. Where she lived on the coast, the cold was tempered by the Gulf of Maine—cool summers and damp, cold winters.

  She touched his arm. “It’s okay. We’ll find out where this trail leads, then we’ll go back to your office and you can check on the storm. No news is good news, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that this is my job, Liz. I’m supposed to take care of these people and take care of Charlie, and it looks like it’s all falling apart.”

  “Sometimes that happens. My father died of a heart attack, and the next week, my sister died. I thought everything was falling apart. The week after, Jerry took off with Charlie, and I thought this is it. There’s nothing bad left to happen.”

  “But Jerry came back.”

  “Yes. He needed money and knew I’d give him some in return for seeing Charlie regularly. I’d been saving my money for a good lawyer to try to get custody of Charlie. Instead, I gave most of it to Jerry. He promised to let me see Charlie, and I’d be risking a lot trying for custody. So I took his offer. I guess I’m not much of a gambler.”

  She sighed as they continued along the trail. “But you know what? I don’t regret it. I’d been given an opportunity to bond with Charlie and have him know and trust me. If I’d saved the money, Jerry may have left the state and I may never have seen Charlie again.” She smiled at Ian. “What I’m saying is that sometimes it doesn’t look right or feel right, but it works out all right. I like to think that it’s because I trust God. And I know He’ll take care of me because I want His will to be first and foremost in my life.”

  He had been listening to her. She’d noticed his tiny reactions to her words. The slight tightening of the jaw, the way he blinked.

  And he watched her still, even after she’d fallen silent. She felt her mouth twist up into a slight smile. When she was rewarded with a smile in return, her own fell away. Ian had a beautiful smile, so confident and full of depth and rich with a gentleness that reached into his eyes, across to hers and deep down into her soul.

  Her breath left her. She was crazy to be allowing a smile to have this effect on her. Ian was devoted to this island, to his work, to his life here, to his marshal assignment.

  And she needed to get Charlie away from here, to let him heal, to allow him to tell her what he’d seen in his own time, all the while keeping him out of harm’s way, away from all the evil that may have followed her here.

  There was no way they could reconcile the two needs, even if they wanted to. Ian lived to excel at his job and nothing else. She refused to be like her sister and believe she could change him.

  Still, his smile mesmerized her. She found herself taking a short step closer to him and touching his face with her fingertips. His jawline was rough with a light-colored beard that he must not have shaved off this morning. He usually wore a hat, tipped forward to shield his eyes, but right now, it was shoved back, offering her a full view of his light blue eyes. She fingered his sideburn, lightly, stroking downward with the direction of growth.

  His eyes closed, his mouth moved briefly. Was he praying? She had yet to hear him pray but surely as the village pastor, he’d pray often, wouldn’t he?

  If only they could find some common ground with Charlie. He wanted only one thing. To him, identifying Smith was too important to allow any other solution. But she could never allow it to happen. Charlie’s emotional health balanced on a thin beam right now. Seeing him today pull away from people just because he’d hurt himself was proof that he could easily pull away permanently.

  A screech sliced the air, and Ian’s eyes flew open. Joseph, a wild brushstroke of rainbow colors, swooped by.

  She and Ian ducked. The bird was acting almost aggressively. No wonder Elsie didn’t like the crazy creature.

  With that, she stepped away from Ian and all the temptation she’d felt with his smile. As nice as it would have been to feel his arms around her again, she couldn’t allow it to cloud why she was here.

  “Let’s follow that trail again, shall we? I think the beach is ahead,” she suggested quietly.

  Indeed, the marks they’d been following led to the beach. They stepped from the dense growth onto a narrow swath of white sand. Automatically, they both looked up at the sky. Bands of gray clouds lingered far off to the west, while vertical columns of rain, made into a strong slant by the hard wind, connected the clouds to the heavy seas.

  The ever-present wind had picked up, too, drawing choppy waters in to slap the shore.

  “That way to the village, right?” she asked, pointing southward to her left.

  “Yes. There’s a dock at the end of the path between my house and the Wilsons’. No b
each to speak of. Lots of mangroves growing right out of the water. But just over that small knoll is the stream. It’s the runoff from the spring that services Moss Point.”

  The knoll wasn’t far, but Liz looked down at the sand. The trail they’d been following led into the water, but the surf had washed much of it away. There was no blood on the beach, either. So what had been dragged here?

  Not knowing what to do, she began to walk south and within a few steps spied the knoll. Liz turned left to peer upstream and into the forest. Fresh water had dug out a deep gorge on its trip to the beach and now lush ferns grew along the bank, securing the sandy soil from erosion.

  She turned to face the water, and climbed up the small knoll to peer out at the waves.

  “What’s that over there?” she asked, pointing toward a shallow sandbank that was rapidly disappearing with the incoming tide. Ian looked down where the salt water lapped at the mouth of the creek. Water had accumulated in an open bowl that the tides had reformed into a small tidal pool.

  The surf, increased from the impending storm, had shoved something against the inward side of the tidal pool. Ian waded into the warm water. “It’s a hat, that’s all. Kind of like mine.”

  “No, not that, Ian!” Liz’s voice rose as she took several steps closer to him. “Over the knoll in the water.”

  Ian climbed up on the knoll and searched the shallow water. One hard wave caught the thing and shoved it on the shore. Liz saw Ian jump back.

  Liz climbed up beside him for a better look. Then gasped.

  Slapping against the surf side of the sand bowl was the body of a man.

  FIFTEEN

  Liz retreated into the forest. When she’d finished reacting to what she’d seen, and had splashed her face and head with the spring runoff water, she returned. She’d never seen a dead body before—animals’ bodies, yes, but a person’s, a human, no. Not ever.

  Ian was on his cell phone, talking as he stood beside the body he’d flipped over and dragged up onto the shore.

  “I don’t think he’s been in the water for very long. I had to pull him in or else the tide would have turned and dragged him out.” He paused, listening. “Yes, it belongs to him. I can see the blood spatter everywhere but where the belt was.”

  Again, he listened. “Oh, yeah, I’d say he’s been murdered. Stabbed and strangled, from what I can tell. Some fish have started to nibble on him. He’s missing a finger.”

  Ian looked up as Liz approached. His grim, anxious stare locked with hers, but she thought for a moment that he looked like a little boy lost, like someone who needed her to hold him as tightly as she’d like him to hold her. Then he turned away and finished talking. “Call me as soon as you can get someone down here.”

  Closing his phone, he led Liz away from the water’s edge. She knew she looked a sight, with her pale face and the wind thrashing about her mess of damp hair, but she hoped he’d see past her state for the moment.

  And just hold her. Only for a minute. That’s all she wanted.

  He slipped his phone back into his pocket and walked over to her. Without speaking, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

  They stood as close as two people could get, Liz resting her cheek on his warm shirt, feeling his right hand plunge into her hair. She’d planned to cut it short this month, but with the cool, wet summer they’d experienced up north, it hadn’t happened yet. Now it was thick with curls and sticking up all over the place.

  “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he said quietly, still keeping her a good distance from the man. “Especially after all that’s happened to you.”

  It felt so good to hold him. She could sense his strength, and somehow, it seemed to seep into her. She lifted her head, wanting to smile, but it didn’t come.

  Instead, she parted her lips to speak, to say thank you for all he’d done for her and Charlie, but the words didn’t come, either.

  Just as well. Ian dipped his head and touched her lips with his. A light kiss, barely above the slightest brushing of lips, a kiss that trailed over her cheek and swept upward like a feather, but it warmed her more than the oppressive heat and humidity could ever.

  She wanted to hold him together until all the pain and fear drained away.

  But now wasn’t the time for this.

  She stepped out of his embrace, feeling embarrassed at the crazy yearnings that were popping up at the most inappropriate moments. Ian was so much better at this—well-trained, strong in the face of death, while she was a mess.

  A thought hit her. She expected to be able to take care of Charlie when she couldn’t handle this? No, this was too much for any regular citizen. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself.

  But still, the little thought had already done its damage. Thankfully, they were far away from the dead man.

  But she’d recognized the man from her first glimpse. He’d been the one talking to Leo the night before. And yes, she remembered the clothing. This man was—she recalled the name Leo had mentioned—Nelson Vincenti.

  “At least we know who was wearing the belt that Poco found,” Ian said.

  “Are you sure?”

  Concentrating, she tried to recall if this man had worn a web belt last night. Was he? She remembered the short sleeved shirt, the light khaki pants with the pockets on the sides of the thighs. The shirt had been tucked in…

  Yes, there had been a belt. Not a wide one and not a light-colored one, either. Yes, he’d been wearing a belt that matched the one Poco had found.

  Automatically, she glanced around. The shoreline here was narrow, the only decent sandy spot being where the creek fed into the gulf. Beyond that, the trees, those crazy alder-like trees that grew out of the water, along with spiky palms and scraggly, twisted pines.

  She peered into the forest as much as it let her but saw no one. “Who could have done this?” she whispered, half to herself.

  “Unless there were two people involved in finding Charlie, I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, two people?”

  “Sometimes a cartel or syndicate will send another person after the first assassin. That person is to kill the first if he is unsuccessful.”

  She shook her head. “Why would Nelson Vincenti be involved with organized crime? You said he was a Christian and had started ‘The Shepherd’s Smile.’”

  Ian’s expression was almost laughable, if she actually felt like smiling. He slowly shook his head. “You think this is Nelson Vincenti? Why do you say that?”

  “Because Leo said so. This is the guy that was talking to him last night on the trail.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I recognize the clothing, and I saw the man’s profile. That big nose.”

  She watched Ian peer at the man. He was laying chest down, but his face was turned toward the surf. As horrible as the sight was, she knew what she saw. A large, hawk-like nose. “Yes, I’m positive this is the man Leo was talking to. And he said the man was Nelson Vincenti.”

  “No, Liz,” he answered quietly. “This is William Smith. I’ve met Nelson on several occasions, and I have several photos of Smith. This is Smith.” He paused, then dug out his phone. “And I can prove it to you.”

  He played with a few buttons for a minute, then showed her the phone picture he’d pulled up. “This is William Smith. It was taken two months ago in Guatemala City, by a mole the U.S. government has down there. Our government wants to keep a certain politician in power because he’s successfully fighting the cartels. Jerry Troop and William Smith were implicated in an attempt on the guy’s life—a test of loyalty for Jerry.”

  Liz took the phone. Its screen showed the man at their feet, sitting at an outdoor café, his face in full profile. He held a small white cup in his hand, and his companion’s arm was easily seen. It was a man’s skinny arm, with a tattoo similar to Jerry’s.

  She swallowed. Last night, she’d been so close to Smith that if she’d moved even slightly her position would have been
revealed. What would he have done, then? Shot her where she stood? The thought churned in her stomach.

  She handed back the phone. “Leo lied to us?”

  “It would appear so, but we have to consider another theory. That Leo was lied to, himself.”

  “How could that be?”

  “It’s unlikely that Leo would know the resort owner, much less carry on a conversation with him in the forest. He’d have been hired by an HR person on-site or even by the contractor or his personnel. And Smith was bold enough to try a lot of things. He once impersonated his cartel boss, Mario-Josef Sabby, and brokered a deal between Sabby and a British crime boss. Sabby put a contract out on Smith for that but rescinded it later, when the deal worked in his favor.”

  “So it’s possible Smith lied to Leo. What did you say about a cartel sending another person after the first? To kill the first if he is unsuccessful?”

  “That’s the way it works sometimes. But not here, I don’t think. Like I said before, this has a personal feel to it, like someone was mad at this man, rather than a necessary assassination. Besides, it’s only been two days. As much as Charlie has snuck out of the house, Smith couldn’t have been watching the place every minute of the day. He would have to be patient. At least to a degree. And we don’t know when he got here.”

  “And you altered Charlie’s appearance. It’s possible that he isn’t sure which boy in the village is him.” She shivered. “That must have put the others at risk. Stephen is closest in size to Charlie. Ian, all the boys in the village could be at risk!”

  Ian nodded. She knew her words had a heavy impact on him, but still, it was scary to think that Smith might have considered killing all the boys to get what he wanted. She felt sick just thinking about it.

  “So you think that the person who killed him wasn’t someone who thought Smith had failed in his mission?”

  “That’s just an initial reaction. We can’t say for sure.”

  She glanced briefly at the body, then turned away. “He must have been the one who tried to run me off the road.” She blinked at Ian. “But how did he find me? How did he get down here so quickly?”