SB01 - The Guardian's Mission

by Shirlee McCoy

  He gestured for the pad and pen, and scribbled a note. Better-looking than the Bionic Man. Was sleeping until you came in and woke me.

  Martha laughed. This was her father. Funny. Tough. And she knew in that moment that he was going to make it. “Glad to have you back.”

  Won’t be back until the lung is healed. But getting there.

  “Get there fast, because I’m counting on you being out of the hospital by Thanksgiving. Sue puts on a great spread, and I wouldn’t want her too distracted to cook.”

  Thanksgiving. The four of us. It’s a date.

  “Four?”

  Her father’s gaze jumped to Tristan who’d moved up beside Martha.

  “I’m sure Tristan has plans with his family.”

  “Do I? And here I was thinking I had plans with your family. Now that I’m thinking about it, we could invite the whole clan to my brother Grayson’s house. My folks, my siblings, your family. It’s the perfect time for everyone to meet.” Tristan smiled, and Martha’s heart did its crazy little dance again.

  “Meet?”

  “Sure. If you can survive being stalked by Gordon Johnson, you can survive meeting my family.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve already met yours, Sunshine. So I’m at an unfair advantage. Once you meet my family, that’ll put things on more even footing.”

  “What things?”

  Jesse scribbled on his pad, motioned for Tristan to take it. He read the words, laughing as he met Martha’s eyes. “Your dad says I’m going to have my hands full with you.”

  “I…” She shook her head and gave up. What was the sense in arguing with the two of them? There was no way she could win. “Fine. We’ll do Thanksgiving your way if Dad is out of the hospital.”

  “So you’ve got plenty of incentive to get better, Jesse.” Tristan placed the paper back on the bedside table and took Martha’s arm. “To that end, I think our ten minutes are up. I’ll bring Martha back as soon as it’s possible.”

  Jesse nodded, his sharp gaze sending a silent message that Martha couldn’t decipher. Tristan seemed to understand it. He nodded, patting her dad’s hand. “We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”

  Talk more? About what?

  Honestly, it was like they were planning a siege, and she was the enemy. Or maybe she was the princess standing on the other side of the city wall they wanted to batter down.

  Either way, she didn’t like it.

  She waited until they were out of her father’s hearing, before turning on Tristan. “Look, I don’t know what you and my father are planning, but I don’t like it.”

  “How do you know you don’t like it if you don’t know what it is?”

  “Because it involves talking about me, and I don’t like the idea of you two plotting things I don’t know about.”

  “Trust me, Martha, what we’re plotting is something you know about.” He smiled, but his eyes burned into hers, intense, probing.

  She knew, all right. Knew enough to turn tail and run as soon as she got the opportunity. Tristan was a great guy, but he wasn’t the right guy for her. No one was. She’d already decided she was going to be the neighborhood cat lady. No strong, determined, compassionate, good-looking hero was going to change her mind.

  She’d forgotten to say “kind.” Tristan was that. And loyal, faithful, moral: an all-around good guy. The kind of guy that was hard to come by in this day and age. The kind of guy any woman would be beating down doors to have interested in her.

  But Martha wasn’t any woman.

  She’d learned young that relationships couldn’t last. She’d still tried to make it work with Brian. Thank goodness that had ended before they’d taken vows. For better, for worse, in sickness and health. Brian hadn’t been able to be with her in the good times. There was no way she’d have ever been able to count on him in the bad ones.

  Tristan, on the other hand, had only ever been with her in bad times. When good times came, he’d probably move on to the next distressed damsel, the next battle against evil. Not because he’d want to hurt Martha, but because it was what he did. He was one of those rare people who gave everything to others. His passion was for justice. She doubted there could be room for much else. The thought was a lot more depressing than it should have been, and Martha shoved it aside as Tristan led her back outside.

  The moon had set and stars dotted the black sky—a field of wishes waiting to be harvested. Martha imagined reaching up, pulling one toward her, reciting that childhood rhyme her father had taught her. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. What would her wish be? That her father get better quickly? That her life go back to normal?

  That Tristan stay?

  It didn’t matter. Wishes were only hopes given voice, they had no power. Power lay with God, and only He could fulfill the desires of the heart.

  Soon this would be over. She’d go back to her life. Tristan would go back to his. The world would right itself again, and she’d find her balance. Then she’d look back and laugh at how her heart had seemed to beat in time with Tristan’s, at how her pulse raced when she looked into his eyes. At how much she seemed to belong when she was with him.

  Tristan pulled the car door open, his hand on her waist, steadying her as she slid inside. “Buckle up, this could be a wild ride.”

  “A wild ride? I thought the worst was over.”

  “It may be, but Johnson isn’t one to give up. He was too smart to try anything here, and smart enough to know that we’re most vulnerable when we’re on the road. If we leave here without an escort, he just might make his move.”

  “So we’re on our own from here on out?”

  “We’re never on our own, babe.”

  “I know, but I’d feel a little better if we had some tangible proof of God’s protection. Like maybe an armored car, or a military escort.”

  “We’ve got backup standing by in various locations on our route. It’ll be okay.”

  “For someone who thinks that, you sure don’t look happy.”

  “I’m never happy when I’m dragging an innocent person into something dangerous. The fact that it’s you I’m dragging only makes it worse.”

  “You still have to do your job. It’s who you are.”

  “You’re right about that, babe. I have to do it, but I don’t have to like it.” Grim faced, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the relative safety of the hospital behind them.

  They drove in silence. No radio. No conversation. Tristan’s tension filled the car, and Martha’s joined it, welling up and out until it seemed to steal the oxygen. She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing herself to relax.

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. Cars and trucks passed them on their way into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Despite the hour, the road was busy, and Martha started to relax. To believe that Johnson had given up, that he’d decided killing her wasn’t worth taking a chance. Tristan wound his way up into the mountains, leaving Lynchburg behind, the sheer drop below shrouded by darkness.

  Ten minutes. The traffic thinned a little as they drove along Blue Ridge Parkway, but was still heavy enough that Martha felt confident Johnson wouldn’t strike. Five more minutes and they’d reach the turnoff that led to the safe house.

  “Here he comes.”

  “What? How do you—” Before she could finish, they were hit from behind. The sedan slid sideways toward a sheer drop.

  Martha screamed, her hands clutching the dashboard as she imagined plummeting a hundred feet to the ground below. She’d always loved the Blue Ridge Parkway, but if she made it off this road alive, she would never, ever drive on it again.

  Tristan righted the wheels, stepping on the accelerator and racing ahead of the vehicle behind them. Fifty miles an hour. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Martha’s heart beat so hard, she thought it would jump out of her chest. Johnson wasn’t going to have to hit them again, they were going to lose control
and die without any help from him at all.

  “Hang on.” Tristan took a corner so fast, Martha’s head slammed into the side window and she saw stars. When she could see again, she realized they were on a dirt road rather than the gravel road that led to the safe house. Not where they should be, but at least they weren’t racing along a sheer drop.

  Tristan eased his foot from the accelerator, his speed dropping to thirty. Martha barely had time to thank God for that, when they were hit again, this time with more force. The car spun off the road, tumbling sideways, sliding into trees. Snapping. Crashing. Crunching. Glass shattering. Air bags popping. Blood. Pain.

  Silence as still as death.

  Not a breath. Not a sound.

  She wanted to believe it was over. Wanted to think it was the end, but her heart knew the truth. Gordon Johnson was right outside the car, and any minute he’d pull open her door and finish what he’d started.

  “You okay?” Tristan pressed a palm against her cheek, and she nodded, wanting to press her hand over his, force him to maintain contact, but her arm wouldn’t listen to the command her brain issued. “Good. I tried to slow down to keep the damage at a minimum, but he was still coming fast.”

  “Is he out there?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s out there. And he and I are about to have a little face-to-face.” His hand dropped away, and this time Martha managed to grab it.

  “You can’t go out there.”

  “Sure I can. It’s what I’m trained to do.”

  “But he’s got a gun.”

  “Yeah? So do I.”

  “So let’s wait longer. Eventually, your backup will arrive. They can take care of Johnson.”

  “That’s not how it works, Sunshine. I’ve got our perp close enough to take down. I’m not going to risk letting him get away.”

  “But—”

  “We rolled down a slope and through some thick foliage. It’s going to take a little time for him to get down here. You stay put while I go find him.”

  “Tristan, I really don’t like this plan.”

  “I know, but you’ve got to trust me on this, babe. It’s the only way. Stay here.” His voice had softened, and his fingers skimmed across her brow, down her cheek, touching her lips briefly before slipping away. “Promise me, Sunshine. No matter what, you won’t get out of this car. You’ve got to trust me to take care of this situation.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t go looking for Johnson. I won’t leave you here knowing you might walk right into danger.” He was serious. He really wasn’t going to leave. Martha sensed it in the stiff way he settled back into his seat, the tense way he held his body.

  “Go. I’ll stay here.”

  “Promise.” It was a demand rather than a request, but Martha couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny who Tristan was, or ask him to do it. He was meant for this job. No matter what, she had to trust him and let him do it.

  “I promise.”

  He leaned in, and she could smell soap and shampoo and autumn cold as he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but I think I’m falling for you.”

  Then he was gone, sliding out the window and into the predawn, not even a rustle of leaves letting her know which direction he’d gone.

  And Martha was alone. A sitting duck waiting for a wolf to move in for the kill.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At first all she could hear was her rushing pulse, but as minutes passed and nothing happened, she began to hear other things. Leaves whispering. The first bright trills of a songbird. Cars somewhere in the distance. Life going on while she sat and waited for death.

  Well, she was done waiting. Gordon Johnson might want her dead, but that didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him. She slid across the seat, her head butting against the crushed roof, her arm throbbing with a deep insistent pain that was nearly impossible to ignore.

  It didn’t matter. All that mattered was sliding out of the window, fading into the shadows and finding a place to hide from the Grim Reaper. She shifted her weight, almost had her head out the window, when she heard Tristan’s words, clear as a bell ringing in her ears. A memory, but so vivid she could almost believe he was beside her again. “Promise me, Sunshine. No matter what, you won’t get out of this car. You’ve got to trust me to take care of this situation.”

  And then, whisper soft, echoing in her heart—“don’t take this the wrong way, babe, but I think I’m falling for you.”

  Falling for her.

  With those simple words, he’d tied her hands. Made her a prisoner to her promise. She couldn’t betray a man who believed in her, who was counting on her. If she got out of the car and put Tristan in danger, she’d never forgive herself.

  She sank back into the car, tears streaming down her cheeks. Helpless. Angry. But more than that, afraid. Afraid that everything she’d ever wanted had just stepped out into the darkness and she’d been too foolish to believe in it, too cowardly to go after it.

  “Lord, please keep Tristan safe. Keep me safe. I realize now the gift that You’ve given me. I realize now that I can’t be too afraid to take it. Please, let everything turn out okay.”

  Branches cracked nearby. Heavy footfalls. A muffled curse. Not Tristan. Gordon Johnson. She didn’t need to see his face to picture him. Red hair. Pale eyes. Death in his cold, unfeeling gaze.

  She shuddered, her mind screaming for her to run, to slide out the window and take off before Johnson found her. Her heart wouldn’t let her do it.

  Her treacherous, traitorous heart.

  The one that refused to believe in love.

  The one that insisted fairy tales were nothing more than fantasy.

  The one that had already created a neighborhood cat-lady existence for herself, wouldn’t let her betray Tristan or his trust in her.

  So she waited, as the footfalls grew nearer, the curses grew louder, until finally, branches were pulled away from the car, and Gordon Johnson was inches from her face.

  “Where’s your friend?” He growled the question, turning to the left, then the right, a gun in his hand. Not the gun he’d had in the mountains. A different gun. One with a silencer.

  Lord, please, please let Tristan be around. I don’t want to die. I really, really don’t.

  “I’m alone.” She managed to squeak the word out as her mind made plans for escape. Not that she’d get far before Johnson put a bullet in her back, but if she was going down, she was going down fighting.

  “You’re not alone. You got a friend with you. He was driving. And I’m thinking it might be my old buddy Sky Davis, so tell me where he is now, and I can finish my business with you and be on my way.”

  “I said—”

  He lifted the gun, pointed it at her forehead, and she knew she was going to die. Knew it in the deepest part of her soul. No husband. No kids. Not even any cats. If she hadn’t been so scared she would have cried, maybe even begged for her life.

  “Looking for me?” Tristan’s voice came from out of the darkness, and Johnson whirled toward the sound.

  “Come on out here where I can see you, Davis. I got a score to settle with you. I gave you my trust. You repaid me with a betrayal.”

  “You’re scum, Gordon. A lackey working for someone else because you don’t have the brains to do the job yourself.”

  “I got news for you, Davis. I’m not the one sitting behind bars. Buddy is. So, who’s the one with less brains?”

  “I’d say neither of you have much, because you’re going to be joining your boss soon.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Johnson fired a shot, a pop and a flash of light that disappeared almost before Martha could see it.

  Her heart jumped, her stomach churning. Where was Tristan’s backup? Where was the cavalry? Shouldn’t someone be riding to the rescue by now?

  “Put the gun down, Gordon. You’ve lost this battle. You’ll get to fight another one in court.”

  “You’r
e wrong, Davis. I haven’t lost anything.” He grabbed Martha’s hair, pulling her halfway out of the car. “Come on out now, before I make hamburger out of your girlfriend’s face.” Johnson lifted the gun, aimed it at Martha’s face while she struggled against his iron grip on her hair.

  Would it be quick?

  Would she feel anything?

  Was God already opening His arms to welcome her home?

  The thoughts hammered through her mind, beating with the loud, horrifying thump of her heart.

  No. Tristan wasn’t going to let her die. He was going to—

  A loud crack split the silence, and Johnson cursed, his grip on her hair going lax. She scrambled back, away from the shattered window and the killer outside. Her fingers clawing at the far door, her shoulder slamming into it as she tried to get it open.

  Stuck tight.

  Her breath heaved out in great, gasping sobs as branches cracked, sirens blared, men shouted and the world spun crazily in its orbit.

  A dark shadow loomed in front of her, and Martha screamed, lurching back.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” Tristan yanked hard on the crushed door, pulling it open and climbing into the car, enveloping her in his strength.

  She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers fisted in his shirt. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “Me neither. I thought I was going to lose you before I ever even had you.” His voice was steady, but his heart was racing wildly against her ear.

  “Is Johnson—”

  “Alive. Justice is better served that way.”

  “But you did shoot him?”

  “His arm. Paramedics are already treating him. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

  He started to move away, but Martha tightened her grip. “I don’t think I can move. My legs aren’t working. Can we sit for a little while longer?”

  “We can sit for as long as you want.”

  “Don’t say that. I might stay here forever.”

  “From where I’m sitting, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.” She could feel his smile against her hair, feel his heart slowing and her heart responding. Her pulse eased, her breathing calmed, her tense muscles relaxed as if they knew the truth she hadn’t wanted to accept—that Tristan was exactly what she’d always been looking for. Home. Belonging. Family.