Long Walk Home

by DiAnn Mills

  Jon wanted to be that spry one day. “Can you give us a name?”

  “Hate to accuse a man of a vicious crime. But why were those men back there unless they were up to no good? The man was Dylan Ortega. He and his mother belong to St. Peter’s, like me and my wife. Well, his mom attends regular, and he’s there at Christmas, Easter, and Mother’s Day. You know, a holiday Christian.”

  “And you’re sure his name is Dylan Ortega?”

  “Yes, sir. When he was younger, he’d help me pull weeds in my flower beds and keep the yard looking good. Great kid then. I speak to him when he comes to church. He’s changed in his looks—longer hair and an earring. Not judging those things, only noticing a difference. Sorry to say he did time for burglary a while back.”

  Jon jotted down the need for a background on Ortega. “Can you describe the second person?”

  “Similar build. Wore a baseball cap over his eyes.”

  “Make of car?”

  “When it backed out under the pole light, I caught sight of the hood. Looked like a Mustang. Dark color.”

  “Dylan Ortega might have a legitimate reason for being at the church.”

  “There isn’t Mass then, and even in my day young people didn’t go to confession at 6 a.m.” The older man was blunt and spot-on.

  “Anything else?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “We appreciate your coming forward. If you think of anything you’ve missed, please contact us.” Jon gave him his business card.

  “If what I saw brings justice in the judge’s death or either of those other victims, I’m glad I spoke up.” He arched his shoulders. “Oorah.”

  3

  APRIL’S STOMACH RUMBLED, and her fridge at home looked like she’d hung a Vacancy sign on it. Donuts were the last thing she needed after the earlier emotional trauma, as though filling her body with sugar and grease might reduce the overwhelming guilt, but her car still swung into the busy parking lot of a popular donut shop a few blocks from her home.

  How sad she also looked for something sweet to soothe the ache of loneliness. The idea of calling someone special, sharing her miserable past hours, and doing the same for him tugged on her heartstrings. Maybe her future held the possibility, but right now no one stood backstage, waving.

  A slight chill blew in from the north, and she grabbed her FBI jacket from the backseat, slipping it over her blouse. Inside the shop, she took a place in line behind four other customers.

  What drove a man to give up on himself and life? Benson had invited her onto the roof with him . . . so she could watch him commit suicide? For a while, she believed she’d gained his trust. Then an absent wallet destroyed his confidence and hers.

  A young woman behind her scolded a crying baby. “I told you to hush. All this way, you’ve whined and screamed. I’m hungry, so deal with it. Should have left you alongside the road.”

  The insensitive words irritated April, especially on the heels of the earlier incident. Loving mothers treated their children with tenderness, not like they were liabilities. They protected them from a world that was often harsh. April turned to the young woman who held the crying baby in pink pajamas. Tears stained the child’s cheeks, and mucus flowed over her lips.

  “Are you a real FBI agent?” The mother looked to be in her early twenties, long ponytail, taller than average.

  “Yes.”

  The young woman shoved the baby into April’s arms. “Take her for a few minutes, please. I need to breathe.”

  April attempted to return the baby, but the mother stepped back. “She’s making me crazy.”

  “I see you’re upset. We can talk.” April patted the baby’s back, but the child only cried louder.

  “I’m done with her.” The young woman rushed toward the entrance and disappeared into a mass of parked vehicles.

  “Hey—” What just happened? April held the baby close to comfort her and detected a dirty diaper. She was shivering, too. Shrugging off her jacket, April stepped out of line to wrap the baby—who wailed louder than before.

  The mother might have gone to her car for a diaper bag.

  Seven minutes ticked by. April pushed through the entrance of the shop into the cold air, cradling the crying baby girl. At least the jacket kept her warm. April scanned the parking lot and walked to the rear. The young woman had disappeared.

  “Well, little one, looks like it’s just you and me,” she whispered and walked toward the front of the shop with the intention of calling Child Protective Services. “Wish I knew how to ease your tears.”

  A man jogged her way. “Stop! You have my daughter.”

  What had she been hit with now? April sized him up for a potential struggle. Trim build. Wore a brown leather jacket and a cap pulled down over his forehead. And a distinct frown.

  “Why did you kidnap my daughter?” Despite the cool air, sweat beaded his brow. Before April could respond, the baby whirled to him with open arms. “Isabella, Daddy’s here for you.” He attempted to take the baby, but April stepped back.

  “You can’t take this child. A woman gave her to me, and I’m sure she’ll return in just a minute.” He was close enough to inflict harm.

  His face reddened. “Just give me my daughter, and we’ll be going.” He grabbed April’s arm.

  She kicked him in the shin, and he winced but didn’t release his hold. She held the baby tighter and kept her away from the man’s grasp. “Stand down. I’m FBI.” April couldn’t protect Benson, but she could keep this child from potential harm. The baby’s tears settled into a sob.

  He looked at the jacket and released her arm as though he’d been burned. “This is yours?”

  “Yes. I’m Agent April Ramos. This baby is under my care until I find her legal guardian.”

  “I’m Isabella’s father.” He reached into his pocket. “She was kidnapped last night, and I followed the car here. My driver’s license—”

  “Only proves your name.”

  “I’m asking you for the last time to give me my daughter.”

  “Or you’ll do what?” She made eye contact.

  He rubbed his hand over a stubbly chin. He trembled. “What if she were your daughter? How would you react?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t accost an FBI agent.”

  He hesitated. “I need help with a serious situation.”

  The moment the words were uttered, April’s instincts kicked in. “Is this about the woman who left me with the baby?”

  He glanced around the parking lot as though he planned to grab the baby and bolt. “Can we talk? The diaper bag is in my truck, and Isabella needs to be changed. I smell her.”

  Fat chance of that happening. “Why don’t you get the bag, and I’ll change her inside the donut shop while you tell me your problem.”

  He shook his head and opened the inside of his jacket just enough for her to see a Beretta. He closed his jacket, covering the weapon. Her Glock was tucked in her shoulder bag. “Don’t reach for your gun,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Sir, it’s difficult for me to be sympathetic when you’ve pulled a gun on a federal officer. What about endangering your daughter?”

  A muscle twitched below his eye, and he patted the gun inside his jacket. “Follow me to my truck, and I’ll explain.”

  “No.”

  “You have no choice.”

  She always had a choice, but not when an innocent child was placed in danger. She’d fight for this baby when the only risks were her own. He gestured for her to take the lead and pointed to a 2018 green Chevy pickup, extended cab. He slid her shoulder bag down her arm and placed it in his opposite hand. There went her Glock and phone. All she needed was an opportunity to seize control. They passed a woman with two small children. No point calling out to them when the man beside her had a gun.

  They neared the truck, and out of habit, she memorized the plates. He clicked a key fob. “Open the rear driver’s-side door,” he said. “A diaper bag’s ins
ide with everything you need to change Isabella. And a clean sweatshirt and pants.” He looked into the baby’s face, and his facade saddened. “Sweetie, I know it’s cold, but that diaper has to come off.” The baby jabbered some unintelligible language.

  April obeyed him, and he backed up six feet, eliminating the opportunity for hand-to-hand combat. She laid the baby with her head nearly touching the car seat midway across. Her diaper-changing skills were at ground zero, but she managed and used a wet wipe to wash the baby’s face. “She is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” His voice shook. Maybe he was second-guessing his actions.

  She needed him to trust her. “I’m ready to hear your explanation.”

  “Not yet. Put Isabella in the car seat.” He kept his distance.

  No one was in sight to even question the crime taking place. Once the baby was secure, he pressed the barrel of the gun against her back.

  She sighed. Was he reading her mind or had she left all logic at the office with Benson’s suicide? “Let’s talk about what’s bothering you and get this straightened out.”

  “Open the driver’s door and scoot over to the other side. Don’t try a thing, or I’ll use the gun.”

  She obeyed and crawled over the console. As soon as her feet hit the floorboard on the passenger side, he was seated and locked the doors. No way to kick him with the console . . .

  “Don’t forget the seat belt,” he said.

  “Sir, your actions will have serious consequences.”

  His brown eyes bored hard into her face. “I’m a desperate man.”

  This must be a domestic or custody dispute. The baby no longer cried, a blessing since April questioned what kind of insanity she’d met for the second time today. Images of the early morning death slammed into her brain. In truth, the memory would never leave her.

  “Do you live alone?” her abductor said.

  “Yes.”

  “Address?”

  She gave him one.

  He typed into his phone. “That belongs to the FBI.” He pulled the Beretta from his jacket and aimed it at her. “This is a life-and-death matter. I hate pulling you into my circumstances. But I have no choice when my daughter is threatened.”

  Definitely a troubled man. She’d gain the upper hand at her home. With that reassurance, she gave him the correct address.

  “We’ll talk there.” He typed into his phone and placed the truck in reverse.

  While Jason drove to Agent Ramos’s home through heavy traffic, he worried the cops were on his tail. Emotion for what he’d experienced over the last several hours threatened to break loose. He’d shed nearly as many tears as when Lily died. Now Russell . . . And he’d almost lost his baby girl. Jason stared at Isabella through the rearview mirror. “Daddy is so sorry for what you went through.” She’d been the victim of his worst nightmare: an abduction.

  “Are you ready to talk?” the agent said.

  “Not yet.” The tiny woman beside him probably had hand-to-hand combat skills beyond his imagination. He’d done his best to avoid a flying fist or foot. At least he had her purse, most likely containing a cell phone and a weapon. A huge risk. But her influence in law enforcement could right a terrible wrong. Several of them. “I’m thinking through how to present my story.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’m Jason, and you’ve met my daughter, Isabella.”

  April nodded. “I’m glad I was there. Would you like for me to call Isabella’s mother and let her know her daughter’s safe?”

  “Isabella’s mother died a year ago, giving birth to our daughter.” He’d disappointed Lily too. She’d kissed Isabella at two hours old, just before saying good-bye to them forever. What had he just done? “Nabbing a federal agent was an impulsive decision. Not my normal way of handling a problem.”

  “I won’t deny you’re in a lot of trouble. Let’s talk this out.”

  He swallowed hard. “No amount of talk can fix the tragedy affecting my life.”

  “Then I need to hear what you have to say.”

  After two more turns, he pulled into a driveway in front of a cottage-style home. A risky plan formed, one of justice and a way to solve a murder.

  Discussion Questions

  Paul Farid could have donated money to Feed the World, but instead he takes an active role in working with the organization. What challenges does he face as a result of this decision? How do you think God looks on people like Paul who serve others in this way? Describe a time when you volunteered. What did that feel like? Did you or your team make a significant difference?

  Why is Larson Kerr so drawn to the people of Sudan? What drives her to remain in the country? Have you ever felt called to a particular mission? What’s behind your passionate cause?

  Like Paul, Ben Alier is a man of action, but his tactics wouldn’t necessarily qualify as peacemaking. What route is Ben most likely to choose when faced with a problem? When might violence be justified? Are you more likely to fight your way out or to turn to God? What do you think He wants us to do?

  Why does Nyok feel he’s responsible for Larson’s and Rachel’s safety? How might the events from his past have colored his desire to protect these women? Why does he want to join the SPLA, and why does Larson so desperately want to keep him from fighting?

  In the early 2000s, the people of Sudan were locked in a decades-long civil war rooted at least in part in religious conflicts. How much did you know about this war before reading Long Walk Home? What did you learn about the conflict? If you still have questions, take some time to look up information about Sudan. Should we champion certain rights like freedom of religion in countries outside our own? How?

  Rachel’s abduction forces Paul, Ben, and Larson to put their differences aside and work together. What assets does each bring to the table? What blind spots do they have? Describe a time when you worked with someone you struggled to agree with. How successful were you? What did you learn from that experience?

  To what (or whom) does Nyok credit his encounter with a lion? Have you ever experienced, or known someone who has, something seemingly unexplainable or impossible? How do you explain it?

  Ben has strong feelings for Larson. Considering their spirituality and temperaments, do you think a marriage between the two would have worked for good? Why or why not?

  Why does Paul hide his past and his family connections from Larson? Have you ever felt ashamed of something in your past or someone in your family? What does 2 Corinthians 5:17 say about how God regards us?

  As Larson considers Paul’s history, she begins to examine her own life and is reminded of something her granddaddy used to say: “Sin is sin. No matter how big or small, if what you’re doing is against God’s laws, then you’ve offended Him. The longer you wait to confess and repent, the longer the walk home.” What does Larson need to repent of? Is there anything in your own life that might be offending to God?

  Several weeks of captivity have brought about a change in Rachel that her brother cannot fathom. Do you think she is being sincere in what she says and how she acts, or is she under some other influence? What will happen with her in the coming months?

  What’s behind Paul’s attitude toward life that prompts his willingness to sacrifice everything to save another? Would you be willing to lay down your life for another person?

  About the Author

  DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She combines unforgettable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed romantic suspense novels.

  Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne du Maurier, Inspirational Reader’s Choice, and Carol Award contests. Firewall, the first book in her Houston: FBI series, was listed by Library Journal as one of the best Christian fiction books of 2014.

  DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers and a member of Advanced Writers and Sp
eakers Association, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is codirector of the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference, where she continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.

  DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

  DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers through her website at www.diannmills.com or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/DiAnnMills), Twitter (@DiAnnMills), Pinterest (www.pinterest.com/DiAnnMills), and Goodreads (www.goodreads.com/DiAnnMills).

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