The Baby's Defender

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

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  Blessings,

  Jill Elizabeth Nelson

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  Deadly Cover-Up

  by Kathleen Tailer

  ONE

  The man was still following her.

  Jordan Kendrick pretended to read the ingredient list on a box of cereal but was still able to catch a quick glimpse of him in her peripheral vision as she turned the corner and went down a new aisle in the grocery store.

  He’d already been watching her for over ten minutes, and the sight of him alone made her skin crawl and anxiety pump through her veins.

  Dark hair and eyes. Light skin. He was wearing a University of Florida Gators T-shirt, but even so, she knew he was not a local. She would recognize those eyes anywhere. They were empty, and she noticed the same cold and vacant look from when he had tried to kill her in South Carolina. Jordan put a package of cheese and a couple of yogurts in her basket, then moved slowly to the next aisle. She glanced at him again, trying to appear nonchalant, even though adrenaline was coursing through her as the fear increased. The man had his own basket in his hand. He put a box or can of food in it every once in a while, but he was clearly just watching her and not shopping for his next meal.

  Jordan hadn’t wanted to go out today, but her pantries were bare, and she’d desperately needed to buy groceries. Living on the run was no picnic, and constantly watching her surroundings to make sure she was safe was beginning to take a toll on her. Dark circles had formed under Jordan’s eyes, and she had lost several pounds, as the stress had eaten away at her stomach. Still, she had to eat something.

  She couldn’t figure out how the man had found her. She had been so careful, and she was bone weary from playing this cat and mouse game in the first place. Now she couldn’t even go back to the small room she had rented. For all she knew, this man knew where she lived and had followed her when she’d left the building. Jordan knew he would stop at nothing until he had eliminated her from the face of the earth.

  How was she going to survive this latest threat?

  The man was wearing a thin jacket, even though it was over ninety degrees outside, and when he leaned forward to pick up an apple from the produce section, she got a glimpse of the pistol he had tucked into his waistband. He was there to kill her. She had no doubt about it. He was just biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity when there wouldn’t be any witnesses to catch him in the act.

  Jordan glanced up at the ceiling, noting where the cameras were located and hoping that at least one of them had recorded her pursuer’s face. If she was going to lose her life, she at least wanted the man captured after the fact. Her colleagues had already been killed, yet to date, no one had been charged.

  A moment of indecision held her frozen for a few moments as she contemplated her next move. She couldn’t stand in the produce section forever, but she didn’t know where else to go. She couldn’t go into the bathroom at the back of the store. If she did, he would surely follow her in and kill her in the quiet of the stockroom where there were no other people or cameras. Her only hope was to stay in a populated area until she could slip away into the crowd. The only problem was, the store was slowly emptying and there were only a few customers left amongst the aisles. For all she knew, her pursuer might have disabled any cameras that existed before he had even entered the store, and he might try to kill her as soon as they were alone. She could approach someone that worked in the store, but how could they possibly protect her against a man with a gun? She hadn’t seen a security guard anywhere, but even if one appeared, she doubted a part-timer would be able to really help. In fact, it would probably just put the guard’s life at risk, as well. This man was a professional. He was a serious threat, and she really didn’t want anyone else hurt because of her.

  She had to get out of there. Now. But how?

  She came to the end of her aisle that was close to the registers, and finally, an idea hit her. There was a large display of canned goods on the endcap. What she needed was a good distraction. She surreptitiously hit the bottom row with her foot, then scrambled out of the way as the entire tower of soup cans crashed to the ground. The noise was deafening, but it hardly registered as she dropped her basket and ran toward the exit as fast as her feet could carry her.

  “Hey, lady, stop!” the cashier yelled as she passed, but Jordan was too scared to heed her instructions, or to even look behind her to see how close the assassin was. A wall of sticky humidity hit her as she burst outside under the Florida sunshine, and she could smell the summer rain that had just left a sheen of moisture everywhere she looked. She made it to the parking lot, then scrambled between a jeep and a large pickup truck and instantly bent down, trying to hide between the two vehicles. Her breathing was coming in gasps, and she leaned against the truck for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Thankfully, even though there were a few people walking around in the parking lot, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her. She glanced back over her shoulder. It didn’t look like anyone had follow her out of the store.

  She glanced at the sky. It was about five or so in the evening, and it wasn’t nearly dark enough outside to cover her escape, even with the passing storm clouds. She made a mental note to only shop when it was dark from now on...if she survived this attack in the first place.

  She heard a couple arguing near their car, and another car drove into a nearby parking spot with the radio blaring. She crouched and moved both farther away from the Jeep and farther away from the store, using the various cars as cover for her getaway, hoping that the noise and the movements in the parking lot would distract her pursuer.

  He found her, anyway.

  The first bullet ripped into the rear fender of the car that she had been leaning against, only inches from her cheek. It left a jagged hole in the metal, as did his second shot that hit the vehicle a scant inch from the first. The impacts made very little noise, but she felt both bullets whiz by her head. Her pursuer must be using a silencer, she thought fleetingly. She ducked instantly, right as the third bullet hit the side door panel of the car about eight inches higher. She let out a yelp and hit the ground, ignoring the small wet pebbles and dirt that were embedding themselves in her skin. Quickly, she rolled under a nearby truck, got back on her feet and started running out of the parking lot and toward the busy street beyond, using the parked cars and trucks as cover the best she could. She dared not look behind her. She was sure she would freeze like a statue if she turned and actually saw how close the assassin was following. If she could just make it to the road and get across it, she might actually survive this encounter. There was a park and several small stores on the other side of the street, as well as groups of people walking and talking as they followed a sidewalk around a small lake. Others were walking pets and playing with small children at a large playground. Surely, she could hide amongst the people if she could just make it to the other side. If not, she was as good as dead.

  Dear, God, she prayed silently, please help me get away from this madman with the gun. Show me where to go.

  Pain suddenly sliced through her arm, and the impact sent her to her knees and skidding against the pavement. Her breath was coming in gasps. She picked herself up as fast as she could, ignoring the blood that was dripping down her arm and the new scratches on her knees. Her bicep had gotten the worst of it, and the tender flesh felt like it was on fire. She crouched behind a car that was just pulling into the parking lot, using it the best she could for cover as it turned and drove toward the front of the store. She abandon
ed it after a few seconds and looked quickly into the road, then waved at the coming driver with her good arm as she stepped out into the traffic. She could see the man’s eyes widen as he slammed on the brakes and saw his car skid to the left. The back started jackknifing but she kept moving, causing a car in the next lane to screech to a halt, as well. From there, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She heard metal crunch as the car was hit from behind, but confusion and yelling ensued, giving her an opportunity to go into the third lane. This car’s driver also slammed on the brakes, but she wasn’t able to avoid the vehicle completely. It had been going in the opposite direction, and she rolled off the hood as it tried to stop without hitting her. Thankfully, Jordan could tell the car’s impact would only leave her with some bruises, and her spike of adrenaline kept this new pain from barely even registering.

  She kept running. The next lane was clear, and she darted into the city park, aiming to use one of the many live oaks for cover. She heard a sickening thud behind her and finally took a moment to stop and glance over her shoulder. Her pursuer had been struck by a black Prius and was lying prone on the road. His gun had flown from his hand and was on the pavement a few feet from his outstretched fingers. Horns were honking, and several people had gotten out of their vehicles and were coming up to the man to check on him. They were so focused on the victim lying in the street that no one spoke to her or even glanced in her direction. She didn’t wait to see what happened next. She turned and continued to run into the park, her good hand grasping her injured arm above the elbow where the bullet had hit.

  She came upon a couple of teams playing softball in a sports field, and both had good-sized audiences cheering them on, despite the inclement weather. She turned right, avoiding the game and the people. Now that the man was no longer chasing her, she didn’t want to be remembered by anyone along her path, and she imagined that a woman bleeding from a gunshot wound would definitely stick in a person’s memory. Any Good Samaritan would also want to take her to the hospital, but that was simply too dangerous. Not only would that make it easier for enemies to find her, but the doctor would also report the incident to the police, and she already knew the police couldn’t help her.

  Where could she go now? How had the assassin found her? She didn’t know where she had made a mistake, but she couldn’t afford to make another one. Even if the man in the road died, there would be others.

  What should she do?

  She stopped running and leaned against another tree, trying to catch her breath. It was still coming in gasps, and she leaned over, her stomach retching. Surely, the man had died in the road. Even though he had been trying to kill her, she hadn’t wanted him dead. She sank down farther against the base of the tree, finally ending up on the ground as she fought the nausea. Eventually, a semblance of normalcy returned, and her eyes closed for a moment as she considered her next move. Gingerly, she pulled her fingers away from her wounded arm, trying to assess the damage. The pain was intense, but it wasn’t just her arm that was hurting. The fear that swept over her was almost debilitating. She couldn’t stop the tears that suddenly began to flow down her cheeks. She had survived this latest encounter, but would she survive the next? What should she do? She was at the end of her rope.

  She started to pray.

  * * *

  Ben Graham was so emotionally drained that he didn’t feel like cooking, so he drove through his favorite fast-food chicken restaurant for a grilled-chicken sandwich, fries and a tall cup of lemonade and ate while he maneuvered through the streets. He parked in his driveway and headed inside his house, a small two-bedroom bungalow that was a few streets away from the beach. It wasn’t fancy, but what his house lacked in style was made up for by its proximity to the ocean. He realized he could probably never afford beachfront property on his salary, but this small house’s location made it possible for him to run on the beach nearly every morning before he headed to the office. During those early morning hours, there was rarely anyone near the water, so he enjoyed the peace and quiet, as well as many beautiful sunrises, as he watched the sun light up the Atlantic Ocean each day.

  He made his way inside and dropped his dinner trash in the kitchen bin, then went into the living room and pulled his gun out of the holster and laid it on the end table. He wearily sat down on the couch, his thoughts in chaos. What a day this had been! He leaned back for a moment and closed his eyes, once again going over the arrest he had made earlier that afternoon while on duty as a deputy with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. The man had started off as a prescription drug abuser and had rapidly become a “frequent flyer.” He had been arrested several times during the last year for illegal drug use, but he just couldn’t break the habit. This time, he had been near death when they found him suffering from an overdose of heroin in a deserted alley. Knowing his history, they quickly administered Narcan, a drug that counteracted the effects of the opioid. The Narcan helped them revive him, and the man instantly started breathing normally again, once the medication had entered his system. Typically, Ben would have waited for the emergency response personnel to administer the restorative medicine, but there simply hadn’t been time to wait. He wondered if the man would survive if he overdosed again. They had found him just in the nick of time, but if he didn’t get clean, Ben didn’t see much hope for his future. The man had a wife and two children, all who would grieve his death if he wasn’t able to kick his horrible drug habit.

  “Hello, Ben.”

  The voice behind him was soft, but he instantly recognized it, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Nevertheless, he immediately grabbed his pistol, turned and pointed it in the direction of the voice, his eyes quickly focusing on the form who stood a few feet away from his couch. Jordan Kendrick, his fiancée, was dead. She couldn’t be in his house or standing in his living room.

  It couldn’t really be her.

  He was going crazy. That was it. Dead people didn’t suddenly reappear. Yet, the woman he had loved had suddenly materialized in front of him, right in his living room. And she was not an apparition. So, what was going on? He looked cautiously around his living room, wondering if anyone else was going to pop out of the woodwork. Was somebody playing some sort of sick trick on him?

  His gaze returned to the woman, and he took a moment to study her. Jordan’s hair had been darker. This woman was a blond and thinner. Yet, the lady in front of him looked remarkably like his fiancée, who had died tragically in a boating accident a little over nine months ago. Sure, her hair was different, and his fiancée had always worn trendy wire-rimmed glasses, but this woman could be wearing contacts, and a box of hair dye was available just about anywhere for under ten bucks.

  Still, it couldn’t be her. His mind told him what his heart refused to accept—Jordan Kendrick was dead. He had edited the obituary himself, attended the funeral and helped her parents sort through her belongings and clean out her apartment. She was gone forever. Wishful thinking couldn’t bring someone back, even if they had been deeply loved. So, who was this woman, and why was she in his house?

  “Ben, it’s me. Jordan.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Jordan Kendrick is dead,” he responded, with a touch of menace in his tone. “Who are you?”

  Copyright © 2020 by Kathleen Tailer

  Return to River Haven where a mysterious stranger will bring two lonely hearts together...

  Amish quilt shop owner Joanna Kohler treasures her independence. But, when she finds an injured woman on her property, she is grateful for the help of fellow store owner Noah Troyer, who feels it’s his duty to aid, especially when dangers draws close.

  Read on for a sneak peek of

  Amish Protector

  by Marta Perry

  Home again. Joanna Kohler moved to the door as the small bus that connected the isolated Pennsylvania valley towns drew up to the stop at River Haven.

  Another few steps broug
ht her to the quilt shop where she paused, gazing with pleasure at the window display she’d put up over the weekend. Smiling at her own enthusiasm for the shop she and her aunt ran, she rounded the corner and headed back the alley toward the enclosed stairway that lead to their apartment above the shop.

  A glow of lamplight from the back of the hardware store next door allowed her to cross to the yard to her door without her flashlight. Noah Troyer, her neighbor, must be working late. Her side of the building was in darkness, since Aunt Jessie was away.

  Joanna fitted her key into the lock, and the door swung open almost before she’d turned it. Collecting her packages, she started up the steps, not bothering to switch on her penlight. The stairway familiar enough, and she didn’t need—

  Her foot hit something. Joanna stumbled forward, grabbing at the railing to keep herself from falling. What in the world...? Reaching out, her hand touched something soft, warm, something that felt like human flesh. She gasped, pulling back.

  Clutching her self-control with all her might, Joanna grasped the penlight, aimed it, and switched it on.

  A woman lay sprawled on the stairs. The beam touched high-heeled boots, jeans, a suede jacket. Stiffening her courage, she aimed the light higher. The woman was young, Englisch, with brown hair that hung to her shoulders. It might have been soft and shining if not for the bright blood that matted it.

  Panic sent her pulses racing, and she uttered a silent prayer, reaching tentatively to touch the face. Warm...thank the gut Lord. She...whoever she was...was breathing. Now Joanna must get her the help she needed.