SB01 - The Guardian's Mission

by Shirlee McCoy

  Who was she kidding?

  It was a happy jig. A big one. The kind that was accompanied by bells and whistles and shooting stars. The kind it had done when Tristan had kissed her.

  Three times.

  Which was three times too many. She did not need a man in her life. The sooner her heart realized that, the happier she’d be. With that in mind, she did what any clear-thinking, romance-avoiding, smitten-with-a-guy-who’d-last-as-long-as-a-warm-day-in-the-Arctic woman would do. She ran, pushing open the door of the exam room and turning all her attention to Taylor and his pet.

  Eight hours later, Martha had managed to answer several dozen questions regarding her health and well-being, field way too many questions about the illegal-weapons raid she’d been part of, assure dozens of well-meaning people that she was just fine and almost get used to Tristan’s presence.

  Almost.

  She’d just filed the last chart and grabbed her jacket from a hook in the back room when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number. “It’s my dad. I’ll just pick up the call. Then we can head out.”

  “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.” Tristan leaned a shoulder against the wall and managed to look sincere, though Martha was sure he’d been ready to leave an hour after they’d arrived. Not that he’d complained. No, that would have made him too human.

  And much less attractive.

  She turned away from his steady gaze and answered the phone. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Sue and I are going to be in your neighborhood tonight. We thought it might be nice to have dinner together.”

  “Dad, I’m a little tired.”

  “Too tired to spend time with your old man?”

  “You’re not old.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m pushing it. So, what do you say? Sue suggested we pick up Chinese food.”

  “Really, Dad, I’ve barely slept in three days, and I’m not sure I have the energy for company.”

  “Funny you should say that, I heard that you had plenty of energy for company last night.”

  “What?” Obviously, fatigue was playing tricks on her mind, because she was sure she must have misunderstood her father’s words.

  “Mary Grady saw Sue at the grocery store. She said you had a friend over last night. A male friend.”

  “Not a friend, Dad. Tristan.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Tristan whispered the words so close to her ear, Martha felt the warmth of his breath.

  She ignored him. At least, she tried to. “And I didn’t have him over. I let him stay in the garage apartment. It was either that or leave him to sleep in his car.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, doll. I don’t mind saying I’m worried about you. Having Tristan around makes me feel better.”

  “You don’t need to worry Dad.”

  “Of course I do. I’m your father. It’s my job.”

  “You’re my father, and you taught me how to take care of myself.”

  “You keep bringing that up.”

  “Because it’s true, Dad.” Martha sighed, knowing that dinner with her father and Sue was inevitable. No way could she refuse. “Tell Sue Chinese food sounds great.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. We’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Right. Great.” She mumbled the words as she tossed the phone into her purse.

  “I take it we’re having dinner with your dad and Sue.”

  “We’re not having dinner with anyone. I’m having dinner. You’re going to do whatever it is you feel like doing after I’m safe inside my house.” She knew she sounded waspish, and tried to curb her irritable mood, brushing back curls that had escaped their clip and meeting Tristan’s eyes. “Sorry. That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

  “No need to apologize.” He took her hand, his fingers linking with hers. “It’s been a long day, but it’s over. Now we can go home, have some Chinese food with your folks, enjoy a few hours of normalcy.”

  “Nothing about the last few days has been normal.”

  “No? It’s been a while since I’ve lived anything close to what most people would consider a normal life, but I’d say spending time with people who care about you is about as normal as it gets.” His fingers tightened around hers as he escorted her outside, and Martha couldn’t help wondering what it was like to live undercover, how it was possible to be one person at the same time you were another.

  Who was the real Tristan Sinclair?

  What would it be like to discover the things that made him that person?

  She pulled her thoughts away from dangerous territory. She did not want to know anything more about Tristan than she already did. Too much knowledge would only lead to eventual disappointment. Or worse. Expectations. And in that direction lay the path to heartache. Of that Martha was very, very sure.

  She tugged her hand away from his, and climbed into her car. Being vulnerable stunk, and that’s exactly how she felt. Vulnerable because her dream of marriage and family was gone. Vulnerable because she was about to be relegated to the position of old maid and she wasn’t even thirty.

  Vulnerable because Gordon Johnson wanted her dead.

  Vulnerable because Tristan made her want to do exactly what she’d been raised not to do—rely on someone else.

  Vulnerable.

  Yeah, it stunk.

  What stunk even more was that until Johnson was caught, she’d just have to keep on feeling that way. And maybe that was the point. Maybe God wanted her to realize she really couldn’t do everything on her own. Maybe He wanted her to rely less on herself and more on Him. There was a lesson to be learned through the trials she was undergoing. She was sure of that. Eventually she’d figure out what it was.

  If she lived long enough.

  That unhappy thought followed her all the way back to her peaceful cottage in the woods.

  THIRTEEN

  Dinner was more comfortable than Martha expected. Sure, her father shot looks in Tristan’s direction every few minutes, but Sue kept up a steady patter of conversation, and Tristan seemed happy enough to join in.

  All in all, things went a lot better than Martha thought they would. By the time Sue served coffee and homemade sugar cookies, Martha was relaxed enough to enjoy her stepmother’s less than subtle questioning of Tristan. It was nice to have her ATF agent bodyguard on the spot for a change. Not that Tristan seemed to mind. He answered every question, telling stories about his family, his childhood, his faith, his job.

  The fact that he didn’t get frustrated or annoyed with Sue would have raised him to the top of Martha’s acceptable-husband-material list if she’d had one. Which she didn’t.

  Maybe that had been her problem all along.

  Maybe if she had a list of acceptable characteristics, she wouldn’t have spent so much time with Brian, whose brisk, sometimes irritated attitude toward Martha’s family should have been the first clue as to where their relationship was headed.

  Nowhere.

  “Well, doll, this has been fun, but I’ve got to get Sue home. She turns into a pumpkin if we’re out past ten.”

  “Me? You’re the one who can’t keep your eyes open after a good meal.” Sue patted her husband’s arm, her round face as comfortable and kind as an old friend. After all his years of being alone, Jesse seemed to be settling into married life with ease. Martha smiled as the two bantered back and forth, her gaze drifting to Tristan.

  He met her eyes, his expression guarded, his gaze intense and searching. As if he could see something in her that others couldn’t. As if he might know more than she wanted him to.

  She stood, turning away from his probing gaze. “All right. Enough bickering about which one of you is more decrepit. You’re both perfect. This really was a great evening. Thanks for coming over.”

  “You’re right. It was fun, doll.” Her father pulled her into a bear hug and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for letting us come.”

  “Letting you? You know yo
u’re always welcome here, Dad.”

  “I know I’m an old busybody who can’t stand not knowing what’s going on in his daughter’s life. That’s what I know. And I know you’re a good daughter for putting up with me.”

  “I’m not putting up with anything. I love having you and Sue over. Whether I issue an invitation or not.”

  “Just as long as we don’t wear out our welcome. Sue, you want to grab your purse and jacket and we’ll get out of Marti’s hair?” He strode down the hall and pulled the door open, draping an arm around Martha’s shoulder and pulling her in for one last hug.

  “Get away from the door. You’re backlit.” Tristan’s sharp words were cut off as something slammed into Martha’s shoulder. She spun sideways, blood spraying her face, her father shouting, shoving her hard, then falling beside her. Sue screamed. Tristan shouted again.

  Glass shattered. Pain roared through Martha, but she barely felt it over the wild pounding of fear. Johnson had come for her, just as Tristan had said he would, and the world as she knew it was over. The thoughts were quick staccato beats in her mind, the lights, the sounds, the smells all searing into her brain.

  “Dad.” She tried to sit up, but Tristan shoved her back down, covering her body with his own. A gun in his hand pointed out the open door. Firing. Once. Twice. Then there was silence, so deep, so black it stole Martha’s breath.

  “Don’t move.” Tristan’s lips pressed against her ear as he levered forward and pushed the door shut. The soft click seemed to echo in Martha’s head, spiraling in circles of color that made her stomach heave. She pushed up onto her elbows, and saw her father lying in a pool of blood, his chest covered in deep red as his life poured out.

  “Dad!”

  “I said, don’t move.” Tristan barked the command as he pressed his jacket against Jesse’s chest. “Sue, call 911. Tell the dispatcher we need a Life Flight.”

  Life Flight. The words registered, but Martha couldn’t allow herself to think about what they meant. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about them, but they were there anyway, staining the wood floor, darkening the grain. Blood. Life. Oozing from her father.

  She struggled to her knees, ignoring Tristan’s next sharp command, to lean over her father, seeing his hazel eyes deep in a face so pale Martha thought he might already be gone.

  “Don’t worry, doll, I’ll be fine.” He wheezed the words out, and Martha’s heart clenched.

  “Of course you will. Just be quiet for now. Save your energy.”

  “For what? I don’t think I’m gonna be doing much of anything for a while.” He grinned, but his smile seemed to fade as his colorless face shrank in on itself, his eyes closing.

  “Dad?”

  “Lie down, Sunshine, before you fall down.” Tristan growled the words, barking for towels in the same breath. Blood seeping over his hand, bubbling up from the dark, ugly wound in her father’s chest.

  Light faded. Sound diminished. Then returned. Louder. Brighter. Hands pressed Martha down. Concerned faces peered into hers. People shouted. Sirens blared. Mayhem and order all at the same time. Somewhere close by, a woman sobbed, the broken sound carrying over the cacophony of noise. Martha levered up, caught sight of Sue standing alone in the crowd, her face pale and streaked with tears.

  “Sue—”

  “You need to lie still, ma’am.” Firm hands pressed Martha back down, and she looked up into concerned brown eyes.

  “Is my father going to be okay?”

  “They’re airlifting him out.”

  Which wasn’t an answer. Martha’s brain was working enough for her to know that. “But is he going to be okay?”

  “They’ll do everything they can for him.” The paramedic pressed another bandage to Martha’s shoulder, holding it in place as he asked question after question that didn’t matter until she finally shoved his hand away, and stood on shaky legs.

  “Ma’am, you need to—”

  “Find out what’s going on with my father.” Because he was the only real family she had. The one person who knew her and accepted her for who she was. The person who’d taught her what it meant to persist, to work hard, to have faith. To believe. In God. In people. In herself. And she wasn’t going let them put him on a helicopter and fly him away before she said goodbye.

  “Martha, it is Martha, right? You’re going to do your father more harm than good if you get in the way of the medics who are treating him.” The paramedic said something to the young woman next to him, and she nodded, moving toward Martha, speaking in the calm, soothing tones usually reserved for overwrought children. None of her words registered. None of what she said mattered. What mattered was seeing her father again. Just in case.

  In case it was the last time. In case she never saw him alive again.

  The ugly thought wouldn’t leave, and Martha turned, her mind fuzzy as she tried to see past the people crowded around her father.

  “Life Flight is two minutes out. Let’s roll.” A flurry of activity followed the shouted words, Sue’s loud wail joining the frenzy of noise and activity.

  Now Martha could see the stretcher being wheeled away. The small figure on it was the man who’d sung her lullabies in a rusty voice, who’d walked her to school on the first day of kindergarten, who’d dried her tears when she’d cried. Who’d been there when her mother had not. Steady. Sure. Unchanging through all the years of trouble they’d faced together.

  “Can I just say goodbye?” The words barely escaped her dry throat, and she knew that no one heard them. That her father would be wheeled away, his life in the hands of doctors and nurses. And God.

  Please, just let him be okay, Lord.

  “Sunshine?” Tristan was suddenly in front of her, his eyes filled with worry, his harsh features softened with compassion. “You’ve got thirty seconds with your dad.” He grabbed her hand, leading her through the crowd that parted as easily as it had closed ranks against her.

  Her father lay pale and unmoving on the stretcher, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow. If she could have spoken, Martha would have told him everything would be okay, but she couldn’t speak past the tears in her throat. She just leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Daddy.”

  His eyes flickered open, his lips twitched into a smile. “Love you, too. Don’t miss me too much, doll. You hear?”

  Then they were rushing him away, toward the main road and the helicopter’s thunderous approach.

  “We need to take you to Lakeview Memorial, Martha. Let me help you onto the stretcher and we’ll get going.” The female paramedic put a hand on her arm, urging her toward another stretcher.

  “Where are they taking my father?”

  “Lynchburg General. It’s farther away, but it’s got a Level I trauma center.”

  “Then that’s where I’m going, too.” She shrugged away from the woman’s hold. No way did she plan on going anywhere but where her father was.

  “You’re going to the hospital that’s closest, Sunshine. When the doctor releases you, I’ll take you to your dad.”

  “It might be too late by then.” Martha’s voice broke, and Tristan pulled her into his arms, feeling warm blood soaking through his shirt. She was still bleeding; not like her father, but enough for concern.

  He stepped toward the stretcher, maneuvering her backward, wishing he had two good arms and not just one. “It won’t be too late. Your dad is a tough guy. If anyone can pull through this he can.”

  “I need to be with him, Tristan. He’s the only family I’ve got.”

  “Not now. Now he needs to be with the surgeons who are going to treat him.”

  “I can’t just…let him go.”

  “No one is asking you to. We’re just asking you to make sure that you’re ready to help him when he needs it.”

  “Would you feel the same if it was your father they’d just taken away?” She looked up into his eyes, and he saw shock and a hollowness that he’d seen in the eyes of every victim he’d ever
met. It made him cold with rage and with remorse. He should have warned Martha and her dad before they went to the front door. Should have been there in front of them, making sure Johnson didn’t have his chance to steal one of their lives. He tamped down the emotions. He had to get Martha to the hospital. Then he’d go after Johnson and make sure he paid for what he’d done.

  “I’d feel the way you do, babe. Scared and worried, but hopefully I’d have friends who’d make sure I got the treatment I needed anyway.”

  “This shouldn’t have happened. How did it happen?”

  “I don’t know.” He’d known Johnson would act, but he hadn’t suspected the gunrunner would do so when there was so much room for error. With Tristan in the house. With witnesses around. With plenty of ways he could be seen or caught.

  He should have known.

  “But I do know this, I’m going to find Gordon Johnson, and I’m going to make sure he pays.”

  “It won’t matter if my father dies.”

  “He won’t.” But even as he said it, Tristan knew that the chances of Jesse Gabler surviving were slim. The bullet had pierced his lung. Tristan had heard it in every gasping breath Martha’s father had taken.

  “Maybe I do need to go to the hospital.” Martha swayed, and Tristan pulled her close, supporting her weight with one arm as paramedics rushed forward, lifting her, settling her onto the stretcher. Blood streamed from her shoulder, pooling beneath her and dripping onto the ground. Not as bad as her father, but bad enough.

  It should not have happened.

  He shouldn’t have let it happen.

  He clenched his jaw, shoving aside his anger. At himself. At Gordon Johnson. At his boss for not putting Martha in a safe house days ago.

  “You’re going to be okay, Sunshine.” He brushed hair off her forehead, and was relieved when she opened her eyes.

  She glanced over at her stepmother who was being given oxygen. “Will you take Sue to Lynchburg General and stay with her until we know what’s happening with Dad?”