The man waiting for him was entirely unfamiliar. Logan was certain he’d never seen him before, not even in the courtroom during his trial. What could he possibly want with him?
The man stood as they approached and extended his hand to Logan. He was tall, almost as tall as Logan, thick chested, probably in his mid-sixties, if Logan had to guess. His full grey beard was neatly trimmed, his hair short. Logan noted detailed tattoos curling up his neck and down his forearms. The older man smiled and gestured for Logan to join him at the table.
“Thank you for seeing me, Logan. I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you for a while now.”
Logan settled onto the bench, nodding at the guard that he was okay. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly have a choice. What’s going on? You seem to know who I am, but I haven’t a clue about you.”
The man smiled again, and Logan was reminded of Santa Claus…if Santa were in a gang and spent a lot of time in the gym.
“My name is Larry Walters, but everyone calls me Doc.”
Logan nodded.
Doc continued, “Your cellmate is a friend of mine.”
Logan tensed. Ricky knew this guy? He glanced around the room. Most of the prisoners were deeply engaged with their wives, girlfriends, moms. Here and there a seriously suited lawyer bent over documents, speaking with their client in tense whispers. Of the dozen other guys in the room, Logan counted ten he knew for sure were involved in gang activity, either within the prison or outside it—usually both. He’d gotten lucky with Ricky. The smaller man had been relieved to be paired with Logan and happily kept his nose clean in exchange for using Logan’s size and status—killing a guy with your bare hands was unfortunately excellent currency inside—as protection. The worst thing about Ricky was the praying, and Logan considered it a part of his penance.
“How do you know Ricky?” Logan watched Doc closely, trying to decide if he was a threat. He rubbed his thumb over the scabs on the knuckles of his right hand. Still healing from the last time he’d stood up for the little guy.
Doc inclined his head toward Logan’s hands. “He told me about that. Saved his skin, he said. It’s a dangerous world in here, Logan. He’s lucky to have you looking out for him. He knows it too, which is why he asked me to come see you. Invite you to join us.”
Logan scowled. “Enough. I’m here, and I’m listening. Just tell me how you know Ricky and what you want with me.”
Doc pulled out a worn leather Bible and set it on the table between them.
“Have you ever heard the story of the prodigal son?”
Chapter 1
THREE YEARS LATER
Charlie stood on the porch, a present tucked under her arm and her other hand suspended in midair inches from the door. Just knock, she thought. You can do this. It's one baby shower. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, almost wishing she still prayed. Almost.
She knocked twice, then opened the door. The sound of laughter and chattering voices carried through the house from the back parlor where she knew her friend Ashley would have everyone gathered. Charlie glanced at her reflection in the foyer mirror. Would they be able to tell how much she didn't want to be here? Did it show how much it hurt her heart to celebrate her friend’s joy because of what she’d lost?
Her hand went to the engagement ring strung on a fine silver chain around her neck. Greg. They would have been married two years this week. Their five-year plan had indicated that at the two-year mark they would be trying for their first baby, maybe even have one on the way. Her hand dropped from the necklace to settle lightly on her flat stomach. Instead, she was alone. No husband. No children. No God.
She faked a smile at her reflection and hoped it would be good enough to fool her friends.
“Charlie! You came!” Ashley eased her way off the couch, one hand on her expansive belly. Even though she’d tried to prepare herself, Charlie’s heart ached at the sight of her friend’s condition.
“Ash,” she said, her throat tight. “You look beautiful. How are you feeling?”
“I’m good! Huge, but good! I'm so glad to see you. Thank you for coming! How long has it been?”
Charlie forced herself to accept the hug, trying to ignore the feeling of her friend’s belly pressing into her side.
“Too long.” Charlie gave her a practiced smile. And yet not long enough, she thought. Ashley waved her over to a spot on the couch near her. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters! You remember my mom, Cheryl. And of course, Dawn and Rachel.”
Charlie tried her smile at them too, before giving Ashley's mom a hug.
“My sister is around here somewhere,” Ashley said. “Probably in the kitchen. Have you tried her cupcakes? They are AMAZING. Gestational diabetes be darned, I am eating seven of them today. SEVEN.”
The other young women giggled, but Charlie stood back up almost as soon as she sat down. Ignoring the look of concern that flashed across Ashley's face, she headed for the door to the kitchen.
“Oh, maybe I can help her with something. I'll go check.” She left the room without a backward glance, knowing full well she would be the topic of conversation as soon as they thought she was out of earshot. Poor Charlotte. Still not over that dead fiancé thing. Bless her heart. She's probably going to die alone.
Okay, maybe not that last part.
Ashley's sister Samantha was a few years older, a successful bakery owner, and seemingly one of those happily single southern woman unicorn types. Her face lit up when she saw Charlie, and she skirted hastily around the kitchen island to pull her into a flour-dusted hug.
“Charlie! How are you, hon? It's been ages! Oh sorry, professional hazard,” she said as she pulled back and realized she had covered the front of Charlie’s blouse in a smattering of white flour and yellow frosting. “Ash doesn't know if she's having a boy or girl yet—can you imagine not finding out?—so everything is yellow and green for the foreseeable future. I have seriously thought about breaking into her doctor’s office to find out. I hate knowing that I don't know something I could know, you know?”
Charlie relaxed a little, in spite of herself, and laughed lightly. “I do know. Everything looks beautiful.”
And it did. Samantha had created a dragon-filled fairy adventure wonderland entirely out of cupcakes.
“Thanks! Dragons and fairies.” She laughed. “Like I said, just trying to cover all the bases.”
“Well, you’ve done it. It looks great. You seem to have everything under control, but I'll ask anyway. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not really, but if you want to hide in here away from all the giggly madness, I'll gladly cover for you.”
Charlie laughed again. Everyone needed a friend like Samantha. “Yeah, thanks.” She pulled up a stool as Samantha handed her a small bowl of yellow frosting and a spoon.
“You are now my official taste tester. Feel special.”
“I do. And oh, my goodness…this stuff is amazing!” Charlie licked the spoon clean and thought about licking the bowl. Thankfully, Samantha just grinned at her and added a dollop of green frosting to her bowl. “Thanks. Now tell me how you are. What's new? How are things at Angel Food?
Samantha frowned at one dragon scale cupcake that wasn't cooperating. “Things are good. Business is steady, which keeps me busy, and that…helps, you know.”
Charlie vaguely remembered her mom mentioning something about a medical prayer request for Samantha, but she couldn't recall the details. Shoot.
“Yeah. Busy can be good. Mom mentioned something a while back. I'm sorry I didn't call. How are you doing with that?”
Samantha gave the offending cupcake one final scowl, then straightened and wiped her frosting-covered fingers on a damp towel. “The easy answer is ‘okay’.”
“And the not-so-easy answer?”
“Better some days than others. The grief comes and goes. Days like today where I’m surrounded by baby stuff, I find it a little bit harder not to be sad knowing that I'l
l never have this. At least not the whole baby in my belly thing.” Samantha began painting a pair of fairy wings she’d molded out of fondant. “Don’t get me wrong, I think adoption is amazing and beautiful, and I honestly always thought I would adopt, but I never expected it to be my only choice. Does that make sense? And now I think everyone else has sort of moved on about it, but I haven't. You probably know what that's like better than anyone.”
Charlie swallowed the lump in her throat. “I do know. But I'm sorry for your sorrow. I wish I had some kind of brilliantly wise insight for you, but I don’t. This week would've been our two-year wedding anniversary, and I don't feel much closer to acceptance or whatever the final stage of grief is supposed to be these days.” She set aside her empty bowl. “And while no one actually says ‘move on,’ there’s still somehow this expectation to be okay now because a certain amount of time has passed. And yes, it's been almost three years, okay. That’s three years without him, three years without the life I thought I'd have. And whether I should be or not, I’m still totally not over it.”
Samantha reached over and took Charlie’s hand. “I knew you’d get it. You can hide with me in the kitchen any time. And I hope you know this already, but if you ever need someone to talk to who absolutely will not tell you to move on, I'm here for you. I haven't wanted to intrude or whatever, but it is nice to talk to somebody who is living grief in the present tense rather than all the super wise people who have already come through their grief to emerge on the other side, which is great and all, but sometimes it feels like they minimize how much everything hurt in the moment. A break from all that wisdom and perspective is nice.”
“That sounds great. Let’s plan a dinner date soon.”
“Perfect. There’s this little Italian place down the street from my bakery that I’ve been dying to try, but I think the owner only speaks Italian and he’s tall and loud and I’m a little bit terrified.”
Charlie shook her head, marveling at the fact that she felt somewhat happy. “I will protect you from the tall terrifying tyrant, I promise.”
“I knew I could count on you. Now—” Samantha paused with her hands on her hips to survey her work. Satisfied, she continued. “Want to help me carry these bad boys—and girls, I guess—into the dining room?”
As she hefted one of the heavy trays of cupcakes off the counter and followed Samantha out of the kitchen, Charlie felt for the first time in a while that things might, one day, actually be sort of okay. Or at least less not-okay than they were now.
Charlie stepped out into the late afternoon sun just as her phone started to ring.
“Hey, Mama.”
She balanced the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she held her bag in one hand and dug for her car keys with the other. “I’m just leaving the shower now. Uh huh. Yes, I just need to stop by the grocery store for a few things, and then I’ll be there.”
She groaned as her keys slipped through her fingers to land out of sight under her car.
“Ugh, let me call you back. I just dropped my keys, and they bounced under the car.”
Charlie crouched down, careful to balance on her toes so the heels of her pumps didn’t sink into the loose gravel lining the driveway. “Yes, ma’am. Uh huh, love you, too. Okay. Bye.”
Setting her purse down beside her, she braced herself with one hand on the car door, the metal warm from the summer sun, while her other hand fished blindly under the car for her keys.
“Charlotte?”
She squeaked softly, startled, before glancing up to see Ashley’s dad standing nearby.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to be sure you were all right. Do you need help?” His slow molasses drawl soothed her frazzled nerves.
“No, sir. I dropped my keys, but—” She reached a little further, and her fingers brushed metal. “Got ‘em!”
“Alright then, Charlotte. It was sure good to have you here today. Cheryl and I have missed seeing you, so I know our girls have, too. You be safe now.” He patted her car before moving off to say goodbye to another departing guest. Charlie watched him go, her heart tugging a bit at the sight of him. Truth be told, she’d missed them, too. George and Cheryl had been like second parents for her all through high school and college. She hadn’t meant to push them out these past three years. Charlie wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she settled behind the wheel and checked her image in the rearview mirror.
Keep it together, Charlie. If you start crying now, you might never stop.
Chapter 2
The local grocery was small, cramped, and probably older than she was, but Charlie loved it all the same. She stepped around the motorcycles parked on the curb and pulled open the door to the cheerful jingling of a welcome bell. The inside always smelled amazing, like apples and bread. Nearby farms provided the produce and meat while the owners, a mother-daughter duo, filled the bakery with fresh breads, muffins, cakes, and a supply of cupcakes from Angel Food, Samantha’s nearby cupcakery. The town was too small for competition, they said, but not for cooperation.
The line for the bakery wound around a display of books from local authors and a tower of Ray-ban knockoffs before tapering off somewhere near the dairy section. After stopping for coffee, eggs, and a pound of bacon for her mom, Charlie got in line behind a pair of old ladies from her parents’ church and hoped they wouldn’t notice her. They were blissfully engrossed in a discussion about the arrival of a new lay pastor “all the way from Florida.” After a few minutes, a man joined the line just behind Charlie. He stood too close, the smell of his sweat acrid through cheap aftershave. She winced and shifted a little closer to the ladies in front of her. She was probably just being too sensitive. She’d become averse to physical closeness since Greg died—even from friends and family—and the proximity of the stranger made her feel like she might jump out of her own skin.
Charlie turned to the side, pretending to peruse the selection of cheeses while she tried to get a look at the guy behind her. He was younger than she’d expected based on the aftershave, his forehead and cheeks marred by youthful pimples. His clothes looked worn and dirty, which explained the smell, except for the leather vest he wore over it. The vest looked new, the leather still shiny and stiff, no hint of wear. Weird.
The line eased slowly forward, and the young man kept pace behind her, still staying uncomfortably close.
I should say something, she thought. Ask him to move back.
But she didn’t.
Eventually the line reached the bakery counter, and Charlie smiled at the young woman running it. “Well hi, Madison. How’re you?”
Madison James grinned back and handed her a loaf of apricot crumble bread. “Oh, I’m fine, Charlie. You?”
“I’m good, thanks. Busy today, huh?” The bread was still warm from the oven, giving off clouds of apricot-scented steam.
“Yeah, can’t complain. Good to see you.”
“You, too. Have a good one.” Charlie set the bread in her cart and moved away. She was glad to be free of the strange young man who’d invaded her space. Except she wasn’t. Instead of stopping at the counter to order something, he followed her all the way back to the front of the store, only brushing past her when she stopped at one of the registers to check out. She watched as he left the store and disappeared out of sight.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Jerry paused with her small carton of milk in his hand, his deeply-lined face etched with worry. “That guy bothering you?”
Charlie shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s fine. I just didn’t recognize him, did you?”
Jerry frowned. “Come to think of it, no I didn’t. Looked like trouble though, you ask me. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”
“Thanks, Mr. Jerry. Have a good day.”
“Oh, you too, honey. You, too.”
Charlie gathered her bags and walked back out into the sunshine, squinting her eyes against the bright light reflecting off the shiny metal of the motorcycles. A man sat astride one of
them, his large frame blocking her path between the bikes. Dark glasses obscured his face. She decided to go around instead. She walked down the sidewalk a few feet, past the narrow alley between the grocery store and the bank next door. As she passed, an arm reached out and grabbed her, pulling her roughly in the deep shadow of the alley.
He shoved her against the wall, and the bricks scraped against the exposed skin of her arms and shoulders. The young man from inside. His smell overwhelmed her senses, and she gagged against the hand that covered her mouth and most of her nose, cutting off her air, while the other hand closed around her neck.
She struggled to free herself, dropping her bags in a mad scramble for air. She clawed at his face, his neck, kicked at his shins. Stars burst across her vision as darkness crept in around the edges. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She felt her knees begin to buckle.
A new shadow fell across the alley, cutting off the rest of the light. Strong hands appeared and grabbed the man attacking her, ripping him away. Charlie fell to her knees, coughing as air rushed back into her lungs.
“Hey, hey, man, easy! Let me go! I wasn’t gonna hurt her, man! I was just trying to take her purse, man, that’s it!”
“Really.” His deep voice filled the narrow space. “Because it looked to me like you had your hands around her neck.”
“Just protecting myself, man. I swear! She went crazy as soon as I touched her! I wasn’t going to hurt her! I was just supposed to take her bag!”
Charlie looked up to see the man from the motorcycle shoving her attacker into the other wall with one hand pressed against the younger man’s chest.
“Supposed to? Says who?”
The young guy began to squirm. “Please. I can’t say. They’ll kill me. Please just let me go. Please.”
Faith by Fire (Prodigal Brothers MC Book 1) Page 2
