A Time to Surrender

by Sally John

“Sure.”

  He pulled a student chair to her desk and straddled it backwards. “I’m tracking down rumors. Quote, ‘Mrs. Mason is boring today and she doesn’t look right,’ unquote.”

  “Yeah, that’s all true. So what?”

  “Jenna, this is when you go home.”

  “Huh-uh. I am not giving in. This idiotic war will not get the better of me. I have a job to do here.” Ooh-rah.

  Cade gave her two thumbs-up. “Way to hang in there.” He crossed his arms on the back of the chair. “Still. It’s only second hour.”

  She nodded slowly. After the hearty outburst, her sails were flagging.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The protest didn’t make it to her vocal cords. He knew. Somehow he knew.

  She said, “One of the wives had a major meltdown last night. Evie. Sweet. A mom. Twenty years old. I was up in Oceanside with her and some others until almost two this morning.” Jenna shook her head. “Her eyes were—the light was out. Nobody was at home.”

  Cade shut his eyes. A long moment passed before he looked at her with gray eyes turned dark. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s like a torture. This not knowing day in and day out if he’s dead or alive.” Her voice was tight. She heard fear and anger in it. The mental closet had been shoved wide open. What would Rosie do with that?

  He stood abruptly, reached over her desk, and pulled the stack of papers from under her arm. “Get your stuff. You’re out of here. If the sub can’t make it by the start of next hour, I’ll cover for you. Where’s your lesson plan?”

  “I am not leaving!”

  “I’m not asking if you are. I’m telling you that you are.” The steel in his voice nearly scared her.

  She gathered the papers from him, straightened a few things on the desktop, got her bag from a drawer. Her hands were shaking.

  “Lesson plan?” he said.

  It took her a moment to uncover it. “Here.”

  “Can you drive home?”

  “Yes.” She stood and rummaged in the bag for her car key.

  “Jenna.”

  She looked at him.

  “You’re still recovering. Go home and stay there. The world will go on without you for a few days.”

  The sensibleness of his words struck her. She was thinking of what she needed to do if she wasn’t staying at school: go to the doctor, go to Evie’s, call the sub herself, go help her mom, call Amber, grade papers, stop at the dry cleaners, check e-mail again for a note from Kevin. A wave of relief loosened all that anxiety.

  She said, “I’ll go home.”

  “You can bet your next paycheck you’ll go home.”

  One anxiety remained, though, a yearning so strong it physically hurt.

  She wanted Cade to hold her.

  The fact that such a possibility was totally out of the question only amplified the feelings.

  They walked across her classroom, not even their arms close to touching.

  He said, “I’d escort you to your car, but I have a sub to call ASAP.”

  “I don’t need to be escorted.”

  At the door he stopped. “It’s more about what I need.” There was a fleeting hint of a smile on his lips, a softening in his icy gaze. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  She savored his words and the expression on his face. It was the closest thing to a hug he could give. It would have to do.

  For now.

  Forty-eight

  Ah, normalcy returns.” Claire sipped her first cup of coffee, seated at the island counter.

  Skylar eyed her over her own mug. The movie-star image had returned, smile and sparkly eyes intact, outfit unwrinkled. She said, “Normalcy, except that Danny’s still here and Max and Ben aren’t and we don’t have enough brownies for lunch.”

  “True. But you look better today, honey.”

  She waited a beat for the yank on her heart to subside. “Thanks. So do you.”

  “It’s been difficult with Max and Ben gone this week. Not even talking to him since they got there has been harder than I imagined. And you and I did a lot of extra work. You’re even helping Lexi with the horses.”

  “No problem.”

  “I talked to Jenna. I don’t think she’s going to make it up this weekend. She wants to spend time with that group of Marine wives in hopes of moving beyond the ‘misery loves company’ phase.”

  “I can bake cookies,” Skylar said.

  “No. Danny ate the brownies, Danny can run into Santa Reina and buy all those special ingredients, and Danny can mix them up.”

  “Then he can get out of our way and I will bake them.”

  Claire smiled.

  Skylar felt like crawling under the table. “Claire, I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from her without thought. “For not being up front with you.” She caught herself in time before saying enough to get her booted down the road.

  Booted down the road?

  More like locked in a room until the sheriff got there.

  “Skylar.” Claire’s face softened to an expression of pure compassion. “Indio and I both realized that you were in trouble the moment you showed up. Generally speaking, people do not appear on our doorstep in the middle of the boondocks without a car, no cell phone in their pocket, carrying all their earthly goods on their back. Yes, we believe that God brought you to us, but not just because we were desperate for a cook.”

  “Why . . . why else?”

  “Because you needed us, too, for food and shelter, for a safe harbor.”

  “I don’t deserve it.”

  “None of us deserves such good things. We totally ignore our Creator. That’s why He sent Jesus, to be our intermediary. The more we accept how we are continually being reconciled to God—in our past, in our everyday ways of ignoring Him—the more real His love and acceptance becomes. And the more we live in the reality of being His precious child.”

  Precious child? Precious? Child? The words spun in Skylar’s head, sounds from some dead language she’d never learned.

  Claire got off her stool and stepped over to Skylar. She wrapped her in a big hug. “It can be a difficult concept to grasp. Just know that Indio and I love you. We love you unconditionally, as if you were our own precious child.”

  Skylar’s defenses all but vanished. Danny’s expression of care, Claire and Indio’s tenderness, the security of the Hideaway, the beauty of the land, the comfort of her own room . . .

  The threat that emanated from Rosie’s report dissipated, a river of doubt and fear spreading across a floodplain.

  Forty-nine

  Danny folded his arms across his chest. “This is a bad idea.”

  Jenna stomped her foot. She was in definite princess mode. “Come on, Danny. All I want is a guy’s take on how the toilets flush and the garage door swings.”

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  They stood on the front walk of a vacant house for rent. It was only minutes from his place, a plus for him since he seemed to be her go-to guy in recent months. The house’s upscale Southwestern style, lush vegetation, and quiet neighborhood suited his sister, but it wasn’t right.

  “It’s just not right,” he said, “You can’t move while Kevin’s overseas.”

  “Why not? He and I have talked about it since we got married and crammed all his stuff into my dinky apartment. It’s not like I’m buying a place. It’s a one-year lease.”

  “You can afford this?”

  “Yes, now we can.”

  Danny felt himself recoil at her words. Kevin was getting paid extra for combat duty. Combined with Jenna’s salary, they were doing all right.

  “So why not?” she said.

  “Because Kevin needs to be able to imagine where you’re living. He’ll need familiarity when he comes home. It’d be like you shaving your head, piercing body parts, and gaining a hundred pounds. ‘Hey, welcome home to your wife, big guy.’”

  “Or like getting tattooed without telling him?” Her eyes narrowed. “O
r quitting my job and joining the Marines without telling him?”

  Whoops. Wrong tactic. From her point of view, she was not doing anything Kevin hadn’t already done without consulting her.

  She said, “That is not going to fly with me, Daniel. I’m feeling like a cooped-up hen in that apartment. Not to mention every inch of it reminds me of him. And no, I do not want to be reminded of him because that only makes me think all the more about how he’s not there!”

  He patted the air and whispered, “Bring it down, Jen. The neighbors will be signing a petition against you moving in here.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  “You have the key?”

  She turned on her heel and walked up toward the door.

  Danny followed, vowing to limit his comments to toilets and garages. Jenna needed him more or less to okay what she’d already decided. An agent had shown it to her earlier. She had called Danny soon after. It was perfect, she said, and it was going to go fast. She couldn’t wait for their dad to get back from his trip to help her, and Erik was all thumbs when it came to the practical side of life.

  Women.

  Like Skylar. What was he going to do about her?

  Since last Thursday when their mom had been so upset about the strange guy, Danny and Erik had tag teamed spending weeknights up there. Their mom grew less anxious. Skylar grew more subdued.

  As his attraction deepened toward her, he feared she would wig out on him. Like Faith Simmons had years ago. Was that why he was moving so quickly?

  Jenna held her arms wide. “Perfect, huh?”

  He looked around. The layout was bright and airy, combining kitchen, living, and family rooms. A hallway presumably led to bedrooms. French doors led out to a back patio and fenced yard.

  An impression flashed through him, flooding him with a knowledge. He knew what he wanted to do about Skylar: he wanted to bring her home.

  He blinked. He had no clue what that meant.

  “Danny, can I get some response? Anything?”

  “It’s great.”

  “You really think so?”

  “You really think I’d pretend?”

  She grinned.

  “Jen, you were right about Faith Simmons.”

  “How’d we get from a great house to Faith Simmons?”

  “Pretending.” He might as well admit the Faith connection. “I did pretend about her. I never had the hutzpah to admit I loved her, either to myself or her. She became Farah Sunshine and was gone.”

  “Oh, no kidding.”

  “No kidding.” He would not pretend with Skylar. He would have to find out more about her with or without her help, just to prove to her that no matter what, he cared—no. He loved her.

  Danny swung his laptop around so that Rosie could see the photo on its monitor. “Meet Fin Harrod.”

  Her face registered surprise, but she quickly hid it behind her professional mask. “What are you doing?”

  “Have a seat.” He pointed to a chair beside his in front of his desk. They were in the spare room he used as an office.

  Rosie sat.

  It was Sunday evening. She was off duty and had come at his request. Erik was busy with Nathan working on a documentary, the topic of which they kept to themselves.

  He said, “Skylar’s name is Skylar.”

  Rosie blinked, a slow movement that left no doubt who was in charge.

  He couldn’t help but smile at the attractive Latina. “You totally level Erik with that look, don’t you?”

  She laughed, but didn’t say anything.

  “You are so perfect for him.”

  “Thank you. Now, you were saying?”

  He expelled a breath. “I-I’m in love with Skylar.”

  “I noticed.”

  “No way.”

  Her brows went up.

  “Anyway, she keeps saying I don’t know her. That if I did, I’d hightail it the other direction. I think she cares for me too.”

  Rosie’s brows rose further.

  “Okay. So you noticed that too. The thing is, she won’t open up with me, but I’ve been taking notes.” He tapped his head. “She’s basically been on edge since we saw Jenna in the hospital after the bombing. I don’t think that’s because she’s all that close to my sister.”

  “Which leaves?”

  “Something about the bombing incident itself. A week ago, the night we were all up at the hacienda and you told us about it, she looked like she was going to be sick. Then she disappeared into the kitchen where I found her a total wreck. Back up two and a half months ago to the weird way she first appeared, like a fugitive might. No car, cell phone, address. Her family is all dead. She has no local friends. Convenient, hmm? What is she running from? Simple. Her past.”

  “Interesting.” She pointed at his computer. “Who’s this guy?”

  “Your bomber. Harrison Feinstein, a.k.a. Fin Harrod. I started cross-referencing the bomb you described with attacks in California, Oregon, and Washington. This guy is a suspect in several unsolved bombings. A few cardboard and two pipe, the latter at logging companies, because he was seen in the areas. Years ago he was an ace chem student at Berkeley, arrested for dealing drugs, served time, dropped out of sight.”

  She stared at him. “How did you do that?”

  He smiled. “The Internet is my life.”

  “Mm-hmm. Okay, anything else?”

  “This is the guy my mom talked to.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek.

  He said, “Mom’s description matches, even if he does have long, blond hair in this picture and you can’t see the mole. Which means this guy knows Skylar, and Skylar knows him.”

  “I talk too much.”

  “What?”

  “I told your mom. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Can you just forget—”

  “You told my mom what?”

  “What you said—she didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “She’s a good woman.” Rosie paused. “Danny, we zeroed in on Fin Harrod. A witness at the church described someone much like him. I had your mom’s description. No-brainer.”

  Danny blew out a breath. “He called her Annie Wells. There’s no record of Skylar Pierson or Annie Wells or any combination of those names being born in Ohio about thirty years ago. No record of those names around that age having ever lived in Ohio.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “We cops do have some Internet expertise.”

  “Sorry. So now what?”

  “Now we play around with the names. Like Fin Harrod here, people most often take a part of their real name for a pseudonym. My guess is ‘Ann’ is Skylar’s real middle name. ‘Wells’ is part of her last name.”

  “We should just ask her. Warn her about this guy.”

  “Is the sheriff still keeping a close eye on things?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there a chance she could have seen Harrod at the protest?”

  They exchanged a stare.

  He shrugged.

  She said, “That could explain his tracking her down. I don’t want to scare her off, Danny. She’s obviously on the run from something involving him. These guys always have groupies hanging around. We need more information before we can move in.”

  Move in? Danny felt his leg muscles turn to gel. This cop needed more information about Skylar. But was he ready for more?

  Despite his gallant words to her, vowing that he cared deeply for her no matter her past, he wasn’t so sure.

  Fifty

  The phone rang late Sunday night. Skylar, alone in the kitchen, answered it. “Hacienda Hideaway.”

  “Hello there, Annie Wells.”

  In the two seconds it took Fin Harrod to rumble the sentence, Skylar’s safe harbor became a thing of the past.

  She slid along the pantry door to the tile floor. “Sorry. Nobody here by that name.”

  “Right.” The chuckle embodied the word malicious. “I heard the whomp in your chest all the way from San
ta Reina to—well, we won’t get into where I am at the moment. That witch in the Mercedes didn’t know Annie Wells either.”

  Witch in the Mercedes? Claire had driven Max’s car several times since he left, leaving her own car available for Skylar. But when did he—

  “The funny thing is,” he went on, “license plates don’t lie. They’re registered to Claire Beaumont with an address. The tricky part was linking the address to the Hacienda Hideaway and tracking down a new phone number. But you know me when it comes to a tricky part. And you do know me, don’t you?” Again the chuckle. “You did good, kid. I’m proud of you getting yourself all situated at a retreat center, probably as cook, probably making new friends. But I’m sure you know I have a concern.”

  She had spotted him near a crime scene.

  “Well, Annie Wells, it’s been nice chatting with you. Take care now.”

  The line went dead. After a moment, the dial tone returned.

  Skylar listened to its droning, the phone pressed to her ear, her forehead pressed to her bent knees. And she listened to his unspoken threat.

  He was long gone from San Diego, but he knew where she was and that she had friends. If she went to the police about him, her friends would be endangered.

  The sad truth was that he’d already hurt one of those friends.

  “Skylar?”

  She looked up to see Claire.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” She held out the phone. “Somebody wanting a reservation, but we’re booked every weekend he asked for. It got me to thinking about this Friday’s guests. Mind if I use the car tomorrow? I have some new menu ideas and Costco has the ingredients.”

  Claire smiled. “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll take Max’s car to the airport.” The travelers were returning the next afternoon. “We’ll have a houseful for dinner—Rosie, Nathan, and even Hawk.”

  “Let’s serve those chicken casseroles in the freezer.”

  “Perfect. I don’t know if Jenna will feel like coming after that funeral. I really should be with her there.”

  “Claire, you can’t do everything at once.”

  She sighed. “Thanks for the reminder. My goodness. You take care of reservations, menus, grocery shopping, and my emotional well-being. I don’t know how I’d get along without you, honey.”