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Why do bad things happen? It’s the age-old question that people all throughout time have struggled to answer. And if you’re reading this, expecting to find the answer here, I’ll tell you right now that you’ll be disappointed because I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know that there’s even one answer that would fit every situation because the reasons could vary depending upon the scenario.
But… there is one thing I do now for certain. We can trust God in the storms of life.
Life’s hard. No question about it. In fact, Jesus promised us it would be. John 16:33 tells us “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” We will have trouble. It’s a guarantee. But did you notice what else He promised? We don’t have to let the difficulties in life get us down. Why? Because He has overcome the world.
Did you notice the almost “hidden” promise in that verse? Jesus said that there is peace in Him. Jesus alone provides our peace, but we have to choose to keep our eyes on Him. Remember what happened when Peter removed his eyes from Jesus? He went from walking on water to sinking in it. But when his attention was fixed on Jesus, Peter defied the laws of nature! See Matthew 14:22-33 for the full story.
When we’re in a storm, all we see is the chaos around us. The thunder shakes us. The rain drenches us. The lightning sears our eyes. The storm blinds us to everything but the storm, doesn’t it? And yet God is above the storm. He sees the calm on the other side. He knows the way the storm will impact and change us – for the better, if we’ll allow Him to work in our hearts during the storm. The hardest part is living through Friday, but always remember that Sunday is coming!
Frequently God uses the storms of life to draw us closer to Himself, to change us into who He wants us to be. Sometimes storms are brought on by our own sin or actions and are used by our loving Heavenly Father for disciplinary purposes. Sometimes it’s to strengthen our faith and refine us. Sometimes we’ll never figure out the reason for a particular storm. But in all these situations, we can trust that God is loving and good and knows what’s best. In short, we can trust Him to be true to His character because He never changes.
So if you’re going through a storm right now, cling to God. He’ll give you the strength to emerge stronger than you ever thought possible. And if life is peaceful, build your faith. The storms will come, no doubt about it, and the time to prepare for those storms is before you actually find yourself in one.
And no matter what happens, we can know with confidence that God is with us, holding us close in the shadow of the storm.
Excerpt from Deadly Deliverance
Watch for Deadly Deliverance, the follow-up to the Deadly Alliances Trilogy, in 2017.
Prologue
It should’ve been easy. Watching her die.
After all, she deserved it.
Yet a tremor shook the syringe in Bobby’s hand.
Regan. How could she have done this to him?
He was weak. She’d made him weak. Like a thief, she’d stolen his heart and then stolen his son.
Which was why he’d had to kill her himself. To regain some of what she’d taken from him.
The baby’s screams cut through his mind.
He turned to look at the infant, whom the doctor was gently cleaning.
It was his kid, all right. The baby had a defined cleft in his chin. The same strong nose. And a dusting of carrot-colored hair like the woman who had given him life before surrendering her own not five minutes ago.
The doctor’s hands froze. The infant’s wails pierced Bobby’s eardrums, but not as deeply as the doctor’s sudden stillness pierced his heart.
He’d worked with the doctor too long to not recognize the sign of bad news.
“What is it?”
The doctor swiped his sleeve across his beaded forehead. The wiry man’s close-set eyes darted around before settling on Bobby. “We need to get him to the hospital.”
“No.” Bobby’s eyes narrowed on the man who’d worked for him the past five years. “That’s what I pay you for.”
The doctor’s head whipped side to side like a Chihuahua on crack. “This is beyond me. Without equipment, there’s nothing–”
“Do not tell me you can’t do anything. This is my son!” Bobby took a step toward the scrawny man.
The doctor’s Adam’s apple jiggled. “I know! Which is why I’m recommending we get him to the ER right now.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“Do you hear the gurgling? I think there’s fluid in his lungs. And there’s a problem with his legs. He may have fractured something.”
“You told me you could handle this.”
The doctor ripped off his latex gloves and threw them on the table before mopping his shiny head once more. “You saw what happened! The baby wasn’t ready. I told you not to induce–”
“So this is my fault.”
The doctor clamped his lips together but said nothing.
Wise move.
Bobby looked at his son. “Can’t it wait until we get home?”
The doctor shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
His fingers curled around the syringe.
Looked like they’d be going to the hospital. Losing his son wasn’t an option.
He deliberately placed the syringe on the table before he accidently crushed it in his fingers. Or followed through on the impulse to jab it into the doctor’s neck.
“The longer we wait–”
A slice of his hand silenced the doctor. Bobby turned to the two men flanking the door like silent sentinels. “Clean this place up. Wipe down everything we touched.”
Nicky, the taller of the men and Bobby’s right hand, nodded at the body on the bed. “Her, too?”
Bobby looked at the woman he’d thought would raise his son. The lower half of her body was exposed, revealing blood streaked legs and saturated sheets.
With the amount of blood she’d lost, she might’ve died even without his help.
“Leave her.”
She didn’t deserve any more of his time or energy.
As Nicky and Anthony got to work, Bobby gestured for the doctor to pick up the baby before heading for the door.
No sign of anyone in the parking lot. He’d learned years ago that anonymity one of the benefits of a motel where you paid by the hour and everyone turned a deaf ear to any noises coming from the poorly insulated rooms.
The doctor climbed in the backseat, holding the crying infant close.
Should’ve bought a car seat, but he hadn’t thought about such details.
Fatherhood was going to be a new experience. And finding a competent nanny would be his top priority when he got back to Vegas.
As Bobby pulled the rental car out of the lot, the doctor cleared his throat. “The hospital will wonder what kind of mother doesn’t accompany her newborn son to the ER.”
Of course.
Another thing Regan had royally screwed up for him.
“Think they’ll buy that she was too weak to come?”
The doctor’s hesitation said it all. “For a day, maybe. But if she doesn’t show up tomorrow, there’ll be questions.”
Which would lead to suspicion.
Wait. Tomorrow? “How long will they keep him?”
“He’s an infant. Depending upon his condition, it could be days. Maybe even weeks, if there’s something serious.”
Days he could handle. Weeks weren’t an option. If it looked like it’d take that long, he’d pay to have
his son medevac’d home.
Either way, one thing was certain.
“Then I guess we’ll have to produce a mother.”
One
The road had been designed by the devil himself. Every EMT in the area cringed when a call came from this road. Sharp corners, steep drop-offs, and the high speed limit made for a deadly combination.
Today was no exception.
Dimitrios Lykos eased a brace around the neck of a boy who couldn’t be any older than eight. The angle of the boy’s leg indicated multiple fractures, but at least the bone hadn’t broken through the skin.
A bump the size of a lemon rose on the left side of the child’s forehead. Likely concussed.
The kid moaned and his eyelids flickered.
“Hey, buddy.” Dimitrios purposely kept an upbeat tone, even though the severity of the scene around him was anything but positive. “What’s your name?”
The kid mumbled gibberish.
“I’m Mitri. I’m gonna get you all fixed up, okay? Can you tell me your name?”
“Seth.” The word croaked out, barely audible.
“Hi Seth. Hang in there, okay?”
The kid’s eyes never opened. Probably not a bad thing. No kid should ever have to see his mother slumped in a pool of her own blood.
Dimitrios’ gaze flicked to the dead woman. Her mouth hung slack in a soundless scream and her eyes stared at what only the dead could see.
He looked away.
Not that it mattered. Her empty eyes were seared across his memory and would haunt his dreams for weeks.
A gurney crunched across glass-littered pavement, coming to a stop behind him.
“What’ve we got?” Mike leaned in to get a look at the kid.
“Multiple fractures, possible concussion.” Dimitrios slid a glance at Mike. Well, he looked okay, anyway. Not that anyone would blame him if he wasn’t…
“You can stop doing that.” Mike bit out the words. “I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not, you know.”
“Just watch out for the patient, okay?”
At least the irritation was a step up from the utter lack of emotion Mike had exhibited in the three days since Regan’s body had been found. It’d been like hanging out with a zombie.
Frankly, he didn’t know how Mike could even work so soon after his girlfriend’s murder.
They gently strapped Seth to the gurney and rolled it to the back of the waiting ambulance.
Dimitrios hopped in beside the gurney and slammed the doors behind him. Mike slid behind the wheel and switched on the siren.
The ride took only minutes, but may as well have been hours. Between Seth’s whimpering and worries about how Mike was really doing, Dimitrios couldn’t help feeling like he’d aged five years during the five minute drive.
At least the kid seemed stable.
Mike cut the siren as they glided up to the double doors leading to the emergency room.
Pushing open the back doors, Dimitrios slid the gurney to the end. Mike was already there, grabbing the opposite side.
The legs of the gurney scraped open and dropped to the pavement.
Crack!
The sound bounced off the hospital, reverberating off the pavement. He turned just in time to see Mike collapse.
What…?
“Mike?”
He raced around the gurney.
Mike sprawled on the blacktop, oil puddling around him.
No. Not oil.
Blood.
Coming from a wound on his chest.
He dropped to his knees beside his partner. The crimson on the front of Mike’s uniform spread like cancer, as did the lake beneath him.
Likely a through and through judging from the amount of blood.
The blood kept pumping. Way too much of it. Had to have nicked an artery.
He ripped back the fabric of Mike’s shirt.
Blood flowed from a wound too saturated to see.
“Help!” He jumped up and snatched a handful of gauze from the ambulance. “I need help out here!”
Like anyone inside would hear him.
He whipped his head from side to side. A woman stood frozen on the sidewalk, two teenage boys beside her. He speared them with a look. “Go inside. Tell them I need as many people out here as possible.”
The oldest teen responded first, sprinting toward the sliding doors of the ER.
Dimitrios knelt beside Mike, pressing the gauze against his chest.
Mike’s face had less color than the sheets on the gurney. Each breath gurgled. A sheen of sweat coated Mike’s pasty forehead and his eyes looked glazed as they flicked from side to side.
“Come on, Mike. Stay with me.”
Mike’s lips moved. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
Dimitrios swore softly. He glanced at the ER doors. “Come on, hurry!”
They were losing him.
“Mitri.” Mike’s raspy voice captured Dimitrios’ attention.
“I’m here, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”
He was such a liar.
“Help–”
“Help’s coming, man. Just hang in there.”
“No!” The word came out with more force than Dimitrios thought Mike could have mustered. “Ari. Help.”
Wheels rattled toward them, drowning out anything else Mike might have tried to say.
He glanced up to see several orderlies and Margie, the head nurse, rushing toward him.
Good. Margie was the best. Maybe Mike had a chance.
“The kid.”
Margie nodded. “We got him, hon.”
He looked back at Mike. And knew that this was one battle they were all going to lose.
Unconscious now, each breath rattled through Mike’s chest and came out on a wheeze. At least several pints of blood stained the ground around Mike. More oozed from the wound, which had permeated the gauze and now seeped through Dimitrios’ fingers.
Mike. His closest friend since the first grade was dying right in front of him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But they had to try.
An orderly knelt by Mike’s other side.
Dimitrios shifted his gaze up to the other man. “Ready? Lift.”
They shifted Mike to the gurney and raced inside. A doctor met them at the door, falling into step beside them and assessing Mike’s condition as they wheeled toward the operating room.
A nurse joined them, pushing Dimitrios out of the way as they whisked Mike through the operating room doors.
For several long seconds he stood there, unable to move, unable to tear his gaze from the double doors in front of him.
There was nothing more he could do.
It’d been a long time since he’d felt this helpless.
Almost eight years, to be exact.
It was hard to believe it’d been that long since he’d learned his sister Milana was alive, since he’d watched her struggle to survive a gunshot wound.
But Mike had stood beside him then. Now… now he had no one.
Gunshot wound… gunshot.
Reality slammed through him and stole the air from his lungs. Mike had been shot!
Why would anyone shoot Mike?
Milana he could understand since she worked in law enforcement, but Mike? He was just an EMT.
Could it have something to do with Regan’s murder? It was pretty coincidental that this happened the same week Regan turned up dead.
Maybe it was random.
Yeah, that had to be it. Mike was a good guy. Everyone liked him.
But… if it were random, wouldn’t the person responsible have shot him, too? He’d been an easy target, out there in the open. And the shooter was obviously a good enough shot to have hit him, regardless of how easy or difficult the shot might have been.
He slumped against the wall and leaned his head back.
Mike’s ashen face filled his vision. Everywhere he looked, it was all he could see. His friend, strug
gling to breathe. Struggling to speak.
Wait. Mike had been pretty determined to tell him something.
What was it he’d said? Help. Ari.
What the heck was that supposed to mean? Ari was Araceli, a friend he’d known almost as long as Mike, but what was he supposed to help her with?
Or was she supposed to help him? Or Mike?
It didn’t make sense, but maybe Ari would know.
So would Mike.
Dimitrios clenched his lips together. He’d just ask Mike when he woke up. There was no way this would take Mike down. Mike was tough, maybe the toughest guy he knew. He’d beat this, probably faster than anyone thought possible.
Sure, there’d been death written all over Mike’s face. Sure, it was a look he’d seen countless times over his career, but never on Mike. Mike would be fine.
He had to be.
A hand alighted on his arm.
He turned to find Margie standing beside him. Although her head barely reached his shoulder, she had the presence of a giant. Her hair was more white than blonde and the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes denied the trauma she’d witnessed over the years.
“How you doin’, hon?”
The small shrug he offered was a more honest response than he would’ve given most, but this was Margie.
“The kid’s going to be okay. They’re doin’ surgery on his leg now and he’s got a concussion, but he should recover just fine. You guys did good work out there.”
He nodded. While he was glad the kid would be fine, the only patient he currently cared about was fighting for his life behind the swinging doors in front of him.
Silence descended.
At least Margie wasn’t one to offer false promises. None of those empty platitudes like “he’ll be fine” or “it could’ve been worse.”
Instead, she stood there, her hand on his arm, offering comfort and strength through the simple gesture.
Time dragged. How long had Mike been in there?
Shadow of the Storm Page 26
