Protection

by Linda Rettstatt

  “I’ll live, though I may never have children.” The words were out of his mouth before he gave them a thought. Of course you won’t have children. You’re a priest, for heaven’s sake. But that life seemed so far in the past, so removed from the man he’d become. Almost an afterthought. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. “I hope you have other shoes.”

  “I do, but not here. I can work barefoot, I just need to get this shoe off and wipe off some of this paint.”

  He pulled another of the rough towels from beneath the sink. “Sit down and take off your shoe and drop it into the waste basket.”

  Once she’d done so, he knelt and wrapped the towel around her foot, rubbing to remove the excess wet paint. A memory flashed through his brain of the last Easter service over which he had presided and the foot washing ceremony. There had been much disagreement in the parish about including women in the foot washing. Jake—well, Father Steve—had stood up to the Parish Council and insisted that in the twenty-first century, women were equals.

  “Jake?”

  He looked up at her face then down to where his hands still cradled her foot. “That should do it.” He dropped her foot. “I have some stuff at home to help remove this paint without burning your skin. You can use it before you shower tonight. Do you need more paint?”

  She peered into the can. “I think I’m good. I just have this back corner behind the toilet to finish. I’ll be more careful about where I put the can of paint, though, and where I step.”

  “I need a cold drink. You want one?” In truth, he needed a cold shower. He needed to run naked through a snow storm right now.

  “No. I’ll get something when I’m finished. How’s the bedroom coming along?”

  “The ceiling’s almost finished. We’ll take a lunch break before we start on the walls in there. Okay?”

  “Can we check on Bailey then?”

  He nodded. “Absolutely.” He’d been thinking the same thing. Even though he trusted Dawn Kohler, he missed having Bailey around. It astonished him how quickly the baby had found a soft place in his heart. It worried him how quickly Shannon had found her place there, as well.

  While he finished the ceiling, he struggled with his warring emotions. His sense of obligation to the Church because of his solemn promises stood diametrically opposed to his growing attraction to Shannon and his thoughts of having a family. When he had first learned about the child trafficking for adoptions and had gone to the authorities, he had been an “anonymous source.” Once the Feds started to move in and brought charges, however, his cover was blown. His brother priests, well some of them, turned on him, accusing him of betraying the brotherhood they shared. He had been amazed at how they could ignore the fact that Father Alvin Martin had been involved in selling children. The Bishop had washed his hands of Father Avery, instead putting his energy into finding a way to spin the story and distance it and those involved from the Church. According to the Bishop, the former Father Crowley had been relieved of his priestly duties long before because of his “demonstrated inability to fully embrace the priestly life.” Of Father Alvin Martin, the Bishop simply said that the priest had been “misguided” in his efforts to ultimately help the children involved. He had very little to say about the fortitude shown by Father Avery, simply saying he was young and inexperienced and should have come to his Bishop first for guidance.

  His Church, the Church to which he had vowed his life, had turned its back on him. He had no doubt that everyone from the Bishop down had breathed in relief when Father Avery disappeared for good. Lou Crowley and his female accomplice still eluded capture. Lou could be considered dangerous, if he had foreign contacts that would want Avery’s head and would expect Lou to provide it. So far, the only international connection seemed to be Mexico. Even if Lou was captured, Jake might always be in hiding. He might never return to his former life and for now he wasn’t free to embrace a new life. His reward for stepping in to save those kids and probably hundreds more—a life sentence in limbo. And he’d do it again. The frightened face of that little girl being escorted by Lou still haunted him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Corinne Hastings glared across her desk at the man seated there. “You went to her mother’s house? What is wrong with you?”

  “But you said to find out where she is.”

  “Yes, as in follow a trail. By now, I’m sure she’s aware of your visit and she’ll be more careful than ever. She knows someone is looking for her. And did her mother tell you anything?”

  The man shifted uncomfortably. “Well, no. We told her we were from the bank and that we wanted to know where to send her severance pay.”

  She had turned toward the window, but now whirled at him. “We?”

  “Yeah, I took one of my off-duty partners along. He’s been working with me.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she shouted.

  “I’m sorry you think so, because I followed dear Mom to dinner the other night. She was picked up by another woman, younger. I ran the plates on the car. It belongs to one Brooke Jamison who just happens to be a former co-worker of Ms. Carlson. Soon after they arrived at the restaurant, Ms. Jamison got a phone call and then gave the phone to Mrs. Carlson. Mom was in tears, I’m guessing because she was talking to her missing daughter.”

  Corinne rounded the desk and leaned on the edge, glaring down at him. “And?”

  “And I checked the restaurant’s phone records. The call came from an unlisted number in Snoqualmie, Washington.”

  “Unlisted, huh? Any way to find out whose number that is and the address?”

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Best way I know—call.” He pulled a small notepad from his inside jacket pocket and opened it, then punched numbers into the cell phone before handing it to the Governor.

  Corinne lifted the phone to her ear, listening to it ring. Then voicemail came on, Please leave a message. I’ll call back as soon as I can. “Son-of-a-bitch.” She snapped the phone shut and tossed it to him. “I want that number. And I want you to find out to whom it is registered and the address.”

  “Yes, Madame Governor.”

  “And watch your mouth. You forget who I am—and who you are.”

  He jotted the phone number and ripped the paper from his notebook. “You remind me all the time.” He stood and headed for the door.

  “You have a stake in this too. Don’t forget that, little brother.”

  Anthony Baker, stared at her. “Can I ask you something, Corinne? Why in the hell do you want Mark’s bastard in the first place?”

  “Forcing him to raise that child will be a constant reminder of how he betrayed me. He thought he could screw around on me with that little bitch and walk away without taking any responsibility when she ended up pregnant. Well, the joke will be on him. I have to give the girl credit for one thing—she didn’t bow to his insistence she terminate the pregnancy. Hell, she probably voted for me in the last election based upon my pro-life platform.”

  “Has it occurred to you that you will also be raising that child?”

  She pressed her lips together and glowered at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll hire a nanny.”

  Anthony snorted. “Perfect. Another young thing working at the mansion for Mark to screw. Why don’t you just cut him loose? He’s never been faithful. He doesn’t love you and I can’t imagine you love him.”

  “Love?” She shook her head. “Do people marry for love? I married Mark Hastings to get exactly what I’ve gotten. Benefit from a legacy of the Hastings family name. I see one more term as Governor of Missouri, then I’ll run for the Senate. Or maybe even bypass that step and go straight after the White House. By then this country will be ready for a female president, don’t you think?”

  “If you say it’s so, Corinne, it’s so. You have a photo of that girl?”

  She opened a locked drawer in her desk and produced a photograph she’d snapped with her phone during her late-night visit to Hea
ther Carlson’s apartment.

  Anthony stared at the photo. “Mark has good taste.” He shoved the picture into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be out of town for a few days.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He shrugged. “The great Northwest.”

  *

  After checking in on Bailey and finding her completely happy and smiling in a baby swing Dawn had on hand, she and Jake headed to the cabin. She needed another pair of shoes and lunch.

  “I’ll make sandwiches while you get your shoes,” Jake said.

  “Just be a minute.” Upstairs she first went into the bathroom. While standing at the sink to wash her hands, she stared at her image, wondering how she’d look as a blond with a short, spiky cut.

  She opted for a pair of flip-flops figuring another painting accident wouldn’t do much damage. She recalled how Jake’s body had felt beneath hers—strong, solid, and if she wasn’t mistaken, turned on. She hadn’t meant to rub herself all over him, but getting off of him in such a tight space made avoiding that impossible. When she left Jefferson City, she had vowed that it would be just her and her daughter, at least for a year. Maybe longer. She clearly had poor taste when it came to getting involved with men. Her boyfriend before she got involved with Mark had taken her for a couple of thousand dollars, a loan he promised he’d repay. His repayment had been to take off without so much as a “see ya’.” She had convinced herself that was the reason she had responded to Mark. She knew who he was, that he was married when he cajoled her into having drinks with him. His unavailability and his mature good looks made him more appealing. They’d only been together a few months when her conscience got the best of her and she broke things off. Then she discovered she was pregnant.

  Replaying the scene in her head when she’d told him about the baby still made her physically ill. His grim expression and insistence that she “take care of it,” followed by a tirade that she was the one who was irresponsible and he was not going to leave his wife for her. “You do remember who I’m married to, don’t you?” he has asked.

  She had almost laughed out loud at the question, wanting to retort, “Like you remembered you were married?” But she’d seen Mark Hastings’ anger a few times, and she had no interest in bringing his wrath down on her when they were alone in her apartment. She was firm, though, about keeping the baby and assuring Mark he didn’t have to do anything.

  He called her a few times during the pregnancy under the guise of making sure she was okay. His last call came a few weeks before the baby was born when he told her his wife had found out about the affair and the baby and had suggested they arrange a private adoption. When she reacted with horror at the idea, Mark swore at her and told her if she knew what was good for her, she’d reconsider.

  Now, here she was, using the identity of a dead college classmate and hiding out in a stranger’s cabin in the Northwest. She felt she knew Jake better in just a week’s time than she’d ever known Mark. Or maybe she wanted to believe that. Jake was everything Mark was not—gentle, caring, hard working, and a man of integrity. She caught him at times staring at her, his eyes warm, but he never made a move on her. She gave herself a mental shake. Getting involved with Jake would be a huge mistake, at least right now. She sighed and headed back to the kitchen.

  “Turkey sandwiches and chips okay?” Jake asked.

  “Sounds great. I’m ravenous. I haven’t worked that hard in a long time.”

  “What kind of work did you do?” He set a glass of iced tea beside her.

  “I was a bank manager.” She took a sip of tea, then asked, “Can we stop by a store before we come back here later? I need to pick up a few things.” Like scissors and hair dye.

  “No problem.”

  They ate quickly and, while she rinsed their plates, Jake dropped some apples, cheese and chips into a bag, along with two cans of soda. “Afternoon snack,” he said.

  The day was beautiful, in the low 70s and with a gentle breeze. They had left the windows open and left the fans Jake had hauled over there running. The work they had done was just about dry.

  Jake set up the paint for the bedroom walls. “We’ll use rollers. Remember to roll some of the paint off the roller so it doesn’t run. And don’t roll all the way to the top. I’ll go around and do that last.” He glanced down at her flip-slops. “You’re going to work all day in those?”

  She stared down. “Probably not a good idea. I’ll work barefoot.” She kicked of the rubber footwear and shoved them aside. Jake filled two pans with paint and handed her a roller, then took his paint to the opposite wall. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had painted plenty of rooms and knew exactly what to do.

  “We need music.” She retrieved the radio from the kitchen and plugged it into a hall socket just outside the bedroom door. This time she found a light rock station. She was shaking her butt to the music when she turned to add paint to her roller and saw Jake staring at her. Their eyes met briefly, then he turned away and resumed painting. It was her turn to watch the way the muscles in his arms and back rolled along with the strokes of the roller. How in the hell had this man stayed unattached? She’d been with him in close quarters for a week and couldn’t identify a single flaw. He was perfect. Too perfect.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That night after they’d had pizza because both were too tired to cook or to eat out, Shannon put Bailey to bed. Jake heard the shower kick on a second time, but only for a few minutes. He finished checking email and then turned on the TV to relax.

  When Shannon padded back down the stairs and sat on the sofa, he didn’t look her way. “Bailey asleep?”

  “Yes. She’s a little fussy. I think she’s teething.”

  “Already?” With that he looked over at her. He blinked and looked again. “What happened to your hair?”

  “I cut it and lightened it.”

  He wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s…uh…different.”

  “It looks like I was run over by a lawnmower. But I wanted to try something new.”

  “No, it’s nice. Very blond. Is there a name for that style?”

  She laughed. “It’s called I cut my own hair and I’m not ambidextrous. I may have left the hair color on too long, too.” She got up. “I’m going to get something to drink. Do you need anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  The phone rang and he crossed the room to answer it. “Hello.”

  “May I speak with Heather, please?”

  “Who?”

  “Heather Carlson.”

  “I’m sorry. You have a wrong number.”

  Shannon came into the room as he hung up. “Who was that?”

  “Some guy looking for a Heather something.”

  The soda can slipped from her hand and landed with a thud, spraying soda over his legs. He bent to pick it up, then looked at her face. “Are you okay?”

  “D-Did he identify himself?”

  “No. It was a wrong number.” Then he asked, “Wasn’t it?”

  She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Jake…. We should sit down.”

  “Okay.” He set the foaming soda can on a section of newspaper on the coffee table. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I am the ghost.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  She sat back and closed her eyes again. When she opened them, she steadied her gaze on his face. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “I don’t really know who you are.”

  “My name is not Shannon Chase. It’s Heather Carlson. And Bailey’s name is Amanda.”

  “Why the aliases?”

  “Someone wants to take Amanda from me. I have to protect her.”

  “From whom?” He thought of what he’d done to protect innocent children and what it had cost him. “If someone is threatening you, the police could help.”

  She shook her head. “No, they can’t. The woman who wants to take her from me is in a very p
owerful position.”

  “Kidnapping is illegal regardless of one’s position.”

  She sighed. “You don’t understand. Her father is Mark Hastings, husband of Governor Corinne Baker Hastings of Missouri. Corinne wants the baby.”

  It took a moment for all of what she was telling him to sink in. “Why?”

  “How do I know? To get even with me, or with Mark. They don’t have children. All I know is, she will stop at nothing to take Amanda away from me. My only choice was to change our identities and disappear.”

  “Okay. So, who is Shannon Chase?”

  She stood and began to pace. “Shannon was a friend of mine in college. Sadly, she was killed in a car accident at the beginning of our sophomore year. When I realized I had to get out of town fast, I needed a different name. So I took Shannon’s name.”

  “And Bailey?”

  “I saw an ad on the side of a bus for Bailey’s Irish Crème.”

  He couldn’t keep from grinning. “I’m sorry. This isn’t funny.”

  “That part is, kind of.” She forced a smile. “The rest is an ugly mess.” She told him the whole story. “And I don’t know how they would have found me here, but….”

  “But?”

  “I called my mother the other night while she was at a restaurant. I set it up via email with a friend. They must have been following my mom and somehow traced the call from the restaurant phone records.” She sat down again. “How could I be so stupid?” She looked up again, wild-eyed. “I have to get a car. I have to get us out of here.”

  “Wait. Slow down.” Jake got out of the recliner and sat beside her. “You look different. You have a new name. And the only phone number they have is mine. You’ll be in your own apartment soon. That phone is in Abe’s name, so leave it at that. I’m certainly not going to tell them where you are. Let’s wait and see if anyone shows up here first.”