Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  But the moment Brandon spoke, he recognized him.

  “Dude! You’re awake!”

  Lowering his gaze from the faded hospital ceiling, Ace smiled as the three McClure women rushed his way.

  “Thank the Lord!” Mrs. McClure said.

  “You scoundrel.” Molly winked. “I knew if anyone could pull it off, you could.”

  Katie leaned over and brushed his forehead with a kiss. “When you’re all better, you’re going to explain why you told my sister about your meeting of imminent doom, but not me. And then I’ll tell you about this really interesting car ride I had...”

  Much as he struggled to stay alert, his eyes fluttered closed. “Love...you,” he mumbled.

  Suddenly, Katie’s strong voice was right next to his ear. “I love you too,” she said.

  TWO DAYS LATER, KATIE explained the events of that day to Ace one more time, even as she lightly traced his stitches. They were healing fast.

  “From what the agents said, Jim shot at Anatoly and the bullet grazed you. It killed Anatoly on the spot. Then you dropped and the men blasted into a shooting free-for-all, which came to an abrupt halt when the FBI agents showed up. Jim didn’t get hit, because he hid in the car—the loser. Now he’s heading straight for prison.” Her voice dropped. “He still swears he had nothing to do with Dad’s death.”

  He gripped her hand and she felt renewed encouragement.

  She edged closer to his leg from her perch on the side of the couch. “They investigated your record and said it’s officially expunged. It was obvious Jim set you up so he could get to us.”

  He adjusted his legs to make more room for her, then took a slow sip of unsweetened iced tea, thankful he was around to enjoy it. “But I don’t understand what happened to that 1.5 million. Jim swears he hid it on your dad’s boat.”

  “I know, it’s so weird. There’s no way Dad could’ve spent all that. Mom would have known. And by the way, Mom came clean and said you’d told her about Jim before your clandestine meeting with him. Did everyone know but me?”

  Catching the last of their conversation, Brandon strode over, dropping his overstuffed rucksack to the floor. “I knew nothing, sis—promise. I just wanted to get the FBI in on things. Little did I know your bodyguard would suggest another plan to them.” He gave Ace a high-five before his look turned serious. “You’re a real hero, man. I have mad respect for you. I hate to fly out now, but I need to get back. Hey—maybe I’ll see you around sometime? I’m thinking I might come back in October. To tell the truth, I miss fall in these mountains.”

  Katie beamed, thankful that her brother seemed to be feeling more connected to his family. “I hope you do. We don’t see you enough.”

  Brandon shoved his aviator sunglasses on. “I was pretty wrong about Dad. I mean, he probably only wanted me to play baseball so we could do something together. And I pushed him away. Meanwhile, there he was, serving with an utterly corrupt partner who wound up ripping off a mob boss and staging his own death.”

  Ace reached for the coffee table, retrieving the bag of baseball cards. “That reminds me. I haven’t even looked over these yet, but you should keep them. They were never meant for me.”

  Brandon hesitated, then silently nodded. As he took the partially-opened bag, the contents spilled out on the floor.

  Katie bent over to shuffle the cards back into a pile. One caught her eye. “Hey—how cool is this? This card says it’s from 1951.”

  “Could I see that?” Ace asked. He examined it as she began to sort cards by year.

  “There are several with the older dates,” she said.

  Brandon took off his sunglasses, plopping down on the floor nearby. “You’re right, sis.”

  Ace looked incredulous, barely holding the card between thumb and forefinger as if it were on fire. “This one is a Joe Jackson card of the Chicago White Sox.”

  She nodded politely, handing him another old one.

  “And this is a Willie Mays,” he said.

  Shooting his sister a blank look, Brandon spoke up. “We really have no idea who they are, man. So you ought to keep these. They’ll mean more to someone who appreciates baseball.”

  Ace propped himself up and grabbed at the pile of old cards. As he shuffled through, mumbling names, Katie shrugged. She began packing the rest away in the bag.

  Finally, he beamed. “Brandon, Katie—your dad was no fool. He knew about Jim and he knew about the heist money.”

  “What makes you say that?” She was bewildered.

  He dropped the pile of cards in her lap. “Because he took it and he bought baseball cards. Extremely valuable baseball cards. It probably took months to get hold of all these. Just one of these could be worth up to a hundred thousand dollars or more. To avoid suspicion, he mixed them with modern cards, then packed away the bag in the attic. No one would even think to look for cards instead of cash.”

  Brandon sighed. “So, Dad was crooked after all?”

  “No. He was smart. He was aware if the cash was found on his boat, he’d be an instant suspect in the theft. He’d look like a crooked FBI agent, and he could lose his job or even get sent to jail. So he pretended to be oblivious to Jim, meanwhile disguising the money for later.”

  “Still doesn’t seem legit,” Brandon muttered.

  “I think he was probably worried about us,” Katie said. “If he lost his job because of suspected theft, I’m sure the FBI would have made it hard for him to get hired anywhere.”

  Brandon laughed. “Come to think of it, I think he’d finally be proud of me. Suddenly I find myself very interested in baseball.”

  She lightly punched his arm, shaking her head. “You aren’t keeping these now, bro. We have to hand them over to the FBI so they can close this case.” She looked to Ace for affirmation.

  He nodded, touching his stitches as if they still pained him. “It’s the right thing to do. But first we should probably let your mom know.”

  “And Molly—she’ll want to be in the loop.”

  He grinned. “That’s for sure.”

  ONE WEEK LATER, WHEN Ace’s head was finally starting to feel normal, the FBI pulled up to the McClures’ home.

  The agents spontaneously broke into a round of applause as he walked out to meet them, carrying the bag of baseball cards. Katie squeezed his arm. He had never felt so respected in all his life.

  The lead agent stepped up and shook his hand. “We can’t tell you how much we appreciate your bravery, not to mention your discovery of the cards. Otherwise that money would’ve been lost forever. As a reward, the bank has agreed to let you keep your choice of two cards.”

  He gasped, then paused to think. “Let’s see, I’ll pick one for Brandon first. How about the Joe Jackson—the first card that tipped me off to what happened?”

  Katie grinned. “Thanks for thinking of him.”

  As for himself, he knew just the one he wanted. Digging around in the bag, he found it and handed it to Katie.

  “Joe DiMaggio. He didn’t agree with his dad concerning his career, and he married a beautiful woman that was out of his league. I can relate.”

  She frowned. “What are you saying? Did you fail to tell me that you’re married?”

  Wrapping an arm around her slim waist, he kissed her cheek. “No, but I’ll get married someday. And I have this particularly beautiful redhead in mind.”

  AS ACE DROVE OFF IN the somewhat-battered Lexus, Molly whistled. “Good gracious, I hate to see that boy go. He was really good for you, sis.”

  “I know.” Katie tried to hide a smile. “He’s not gone forever, you know.”

  Molly bumped hips with her. “I hope he comes to visit. And Mom told me he’s going to the police academy? I guess he’s racked up some experience fighting bad guys. We all knew he was great with weapons.”

  “That’s for sure. And strangely enough, he wants to work for a small police station—just like the one here in Hemlock Creek.”

  Molly quirked an eyebrow. �
�Wait—you mean you’re not following him up to New York City? I thought you were going to bust outta this town the first chance you got.”

  Relishing her new zeal for life, Katie shook her head. “The dreams I was chasing weren’t the right dreams for me in the first place. It hit me when I was crouching in Ace’s car, praying and fearing for our lives. I’m not meant to be on the front lines like that—like Dad was.”

  Molly’s smile widened. “I think we always knew that was the case. But we couldn’t convince you of that. You just had to find yourself.”

  “I have—the self God made me to be. When I’m honest, I have to admit I enjoy being a librarian, I love our small town, and I like living near family. Reba will want to retire someday, and I’m already thinking of ways to modernize the library. I feel like I finally have a mission.”

  Molly winked. “And does that mission include a certain Ace Calhoun?”

  “He just took out a Hemlock Creek library card, so I expect him to be a regular patron.”

  “Stop hedging! Are you two an item or what?” Molly crossed her arms, feigning anger.

  Katie thought of Ace’s goodbye kiss. He hadn’t spoken a word, but had pulled her into his arms and gazed at her until, as if magnetized, she tipped her lips to meet his. “My future is with you,” he’d murmured. “You’re my hero, Katie McClure.”

  “And you’re my champion—my ace,” she’d said.

  And now she was ready to face the future, unafraid. To stand tall on the feet God gave her, tipsy as those feet might be. Ace would be there to support her.

  “We’re more than an item.” She hugged her sister. “We’re engaged.”

  About the Author

  HEATHER DAY GILBERT, an ECPA Christy award finalist and Grace award winner, writes contemporary mysteries and Viking historicals. Her novels feature small towns, family relationships, and women who aren’t afraid to protect those they love. Publisher’s Weekly gave Heather’s Viking historical Forest Child a starred review, saying it is “an engaging story depicting timeless human struggles with faith, love, loyalty, and leadership.”

  Find out more at www.heatherdaygilbert.com.

  Criss Cross

  A Holly Novel

  C.C. Warrens

  COPYRIGHT © 2017

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  Chapter 1

  THE OMINOUS SOUND OF something scraping across the cement behind me raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I slid my fingers under the thick braided strap of my camera bag, preparing to use it as a weapon, as I paused to look behind me.

  I’d stayed out too late photographing a young couple. The sun had dropped behind the horizon fifteen minutes ago, and it had been a long walk back from the park.

  I scanned the dark streets. Light from the street lamps cast an orange glow over the buildings and sidewalks. A few female silhouettes haunted the corner, laughing and talking too loudly, and a taxi trolled slowly by.

  I forced myself to breathe again and continued walking.

  A tune I couldn’t quite place drifted through my mind, distracting me from dwelling on the eerie street. I’d heard it somewhere before—something about someone saying hello and someone saying goodbye—and it was stuck in my head like a skipping record.

  The faded yellow door of my apartment stood out in the darkness, and the sight of it sent a wave of relief through me. My living space wasn’t technically an apartment; it was the unwanted, unkempt basement of an apartment complex that the owner had rented to me for dirt cheap. I couldn’t afford much more than dirt.

  I hurried down the two cement steps and thrust one of the keys into the first lock. Another chilling scrape came from somewhere behind me. I stiffened with my key poised over the remaining keyhole. The last thing I wanted to do was let a lunatic into my apartment.

  If he made it into my apartment and locked us in, only the fire department could save me, and they would need to bring the Jaws of Life. This metal door would not budge otherwise.

  Nope, getting attacked outside was much safer.

  I glanced over my shoulder, but saw no one. I listened for the telltale scrape, but only the quiet crackling of tree limbs in the breeze and a distant siren broke through the silence. The city was quiet. Unnaturally so. That in itself was unsettling.

  I slid the key into the lock, twisted it, and cracked the door just enough to slip through. I squeezed into my apartment and slammed the door behind me. I flipped all three dead bolts with practiced quickness and then dropped back against the door with a relief that made my knees weak.

  The scent of must and lilac air freshener greeted me as I drew in a breath. No matter how often I cleaned, the musty aroma remained embedded in the walls and ceiling.

  I shrugged my bag off on the kitchen counter immediately to my left, flipped the light switch that ignited the lone bulb over my kitchen table, and pushed away from the door.

  My living space was a single L-shaped room with a quaint, if mismatched, kitchenette, a claustrophobic bathroom closet, and an alcove where my bed rested. I savored the openness. Small spaces brought back old memories better left forgotten.

  A small chirp drew my gaze to the floor. A gray cat staggered around my ankles, his wide body throwing off his balance. Jordan looked up at me with crystalline blue eyes, pleading. I sighed and scooped him up with a grunt of effort.

  “If I’d known you were going to be this chunky, I would’ve named you Sausage.” I shifted his weight in my arms and he head-butted my chin affectionately. I really needed to put him on a diet. Would that be considered animal cruelty?

  I grabbed the empty glass from the counter and filled it with water. A chunk of soggy cat food floated to the top of the glass and I set it aside with a frustrated sigh. “Really?” My cat blinked at me with wide, innocent eyes from the crook of my arm.

  There were times when Jordan seemed confused about his species. He had an irritating habit of squirreling away his food anywhere he could find a spot: between couch cushions, in dishes, the silverware drawer . . . even the laundry hamper.

  “I wasn’t thirsty anyway,” I grumbled.

  I passed from the kitchen into the living room in four steps, and walked to the faded purple couch. I dropped Jordan onto the worn cushions and picked up the card-shaped envelope I had found taped to my door that morning. I hadn’t had the opportunity to open it.

  I sank onto the cushions beside Jordan as I examined the envelope. It was addressed simply to Holly, and the return address was 1288 Stony Brooke, Kansas.

  I glanced at the battered silvery bracelet on my left wrist. It had begun to turn green around the edges a long time ago, and the letters engraved into the surface had all but faded away, leaving just a shadow of my name: Holly.

  It was the only thing that had truly been mine when I drifted from one foster placement to the next, and I couldn’t bring myself to part with it.

  “Kansas,” I said thoughtfully, letting the name roll around on my tongue. I didn’t receive mail. I paid the landlord in cash for my utilities and rent, and I had no formal address. I glanced at my cat. “Do we know anyone from Kansas?”

  My plump feline couldn’t have looked more disinterested. I sighed and slipped my finger into the crease of the envelope, carefully tearing it open. There was a note card inside. Typewritten across the center of the card was the message:

  Holly, come home.

  An unexpected chill traveled down my spine. What was that supposed to mean? I had lived in a number of places in my twenty-eight years, but none of them had been in Kansas, and none of them had been home. At best they were rest stops, at worst . . .

  I puffed out an anxious breath and flipped the card over. Except for the
single phrase on the front, it was blank. There wasn’t even a recipient address on the envelope, just my name.

  The implications of that were terrifying.

  Someone had tracked me down and taped it to the outside of my door. I moved through the world in the shadows, because that was the only way I knew how to survive, and this wasn’t a good sign. I dropped the card on the couch as if it had singed my fingers, and stared at it warily.

  I tapped an anxious rhythm on my thighs as I contemplated throwing what I could in a bag and running. Maybe I had stayed here too long; maybe I had become complacent.

  I glanced at my cat when he bumped my leg with his head and purred. “Did he find us?” When I moved in a year ago, I had been determined to stay, to carve out a life for myself, but I’d known it was temporary. It was always temporary.

  But this place was more a home to me than any other place I could remember. At times I even felt safe, and I wasn’t ready to give that up. I had even adopted Jordan, and I couldn’t abandon him; I wouldn’t. I knew all too well how that felt.

  I pulled him into my lap and stroked his head. His purr sputtered briefly before catching and deepening into a full-blown lawn mower vibration.

  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. The verse fluttered through my mind, sparking hope. I could do this. Someone finding me was a complication I didn’t need, but it was one I could handle. I had Jesus, and I had chocolate.

  I stood and walked to the kitchen. I dragged a folding chair over to the counter and climbed on top of it. I fished a chocolate bar out of the back of the cupboard. I love the kind of bitter dark chocolate that makes you shiver with surprise when it first hits your taste buds.

  I plopped onto the counter and unwrapped the long slender bar. The first bite was heavenly. I savored the bittersweet flavor as it melted over my tongue. I took another bite. I should really stop there and tuck the rest back into its hiding spot. I stared at the chocolate, feeling conflicted.