Protection Page 3

  “I’m sorry, too. I guess the accident still has me unnerved and I’m a little touchy.”

  “Look, I’m not very good at this whole having a houseguest thing. But I do recall that a good host provides for his guest. Please let me pay for the food. Otherwise, I’ll feel like I failed, and I don’t like failure.”

  She rolled her eyes and dropped the bag of apples into the shopping cart. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of you having to go to confession.”

  “Confession?” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you Catholic?”

  “I was once.” She picked up a cantaloupe and rapped on it with her knuckles. “How do you know if these are ripe? I’m lousy at selecting melons.”

  He took the fruit from her hand, examined it, and tossed it into the shopping cart. “Beats me. It’s always a gamble. I do know this goes well with ice cream.” After picking up a few potatoes for baking, he directed her to the frozen foods section. “French vanilla?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  When they reached the checkout, Jake was quick to place the entire contents of the cart onto the belt. Shannon’s gaze followed the cans of baby formula, but she didn’t rip them from his hands. He slid a glance at her and grinned. She blushed and grinned back. And something loosened in him even more. He didn’t know much about this woman, but he liked her. That could mean trouble on so many levels, but he pushed that thought from his mind.

  Chapter Four

  “Maybe I could call the mechanic later. You don’t want the ice cream to melt.” She tried to sound casual, reasonable. Inside a flurry of nerves betrayed her anxiety. What if a watch had been issued already for the car? Could that have been done and would this Herb know to look at the make and model or check the VIN?

  Jake pulled into the combination gas station and repair shop. “This’ll just take a minute.” He disappeared into the gaping darkness of the open garage, returning a moment later with another man dressed in oil-stained denim coveralls and wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

  “Herb, this is Shannon Chase. She ran into a tree last night at the hairpin curve out by my place. I towed her car up into my driveway to get it off the road. I was wondering if you could come out and take a look, see what you think about the damage.”

  Herb nodded to Shannon. “That’s a bad curve out there. If that bump and black eye’s all you got, you were lucky. What kind of car?”

  “It’s a Chevy Malibu, 2010,” she replied.

  “I could see that the radiator took the brunt of the impact and is probably finished. One headlamp is broken and the bumper fell off, but I salvaged it. Fortunately, the windows didn’t shatter, though the airbags deployed,” Jake said.

  Herb nodded as he listened. “I could come by tomorrow morning. The kid that works for me called in sick today, so I’m the only one here.”

  Jake slapped Herb on the shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Glad you weren’t badly hurt, Miss.” Herb gave Shannon one last nod and turned back to the garage.

  After buckling his seatbelt, Jake glanced at Shannon. “Did I overstep?”

  “No. I appreciate your help. I wouldn’t know where to start, being a stranger around here. I’ll see what Herb says tomorrow about my car before I decide what to do with it.” If she were on her own, she could just pack her bag, slip out of the house, and head for the highway when Jake wasn’t looking. But with Bailey in tow, that was not an option. She would have to wait, see how this played out. She was dying to check her email and her cell phone account for messages. But she couldn’t risk being traced. That would put not only herself and Bailey in danger, but now Jake, as well.

  On their way back to the cabin, Shannon had a chance to see the town she’d missed the previous night. Small shops lined the main street. An historical marker indicated Snoqualmie was incorporated in 1889. They passed a train depot dating from 1890 that now housed a railway museum. Small-town America—1950. And that suited her just fine.

  “Blink and you’ve missed it,” Jake said.

  “Pardon?”

  “The town. It’s small.”

  Was he reading her mind? “It looks quaint, kind of like a place out of time. It must be so different from living in a city.”

  “Different, yes, but in a lot of good ways. And Seattle’s close enough.”

  Jake made a turn and wound the truck up the narrow mountain road to the cabin. He carried in the groceries while Shannon handled the baby. He set the bags on the table. “I have a little work to do in the garage. Would you mind putting this stuff away?”

  “I’m happy to. I hope I didn’t interfere with your work schedule today.”

  “Not at all. Make yourself at home. There’s a computer in the living room if you want to check your email. If you need anything, just open the back door and shout.” He removed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed out the door.

  Shannon set the baby carrier in the center of the table and smiled at Bailey. “I’ll bet you’d like to be out of that carrier for a while so you can stretch. Wait until Mama puts these groceries away, then I’ll get you out of there.”

  His cupboards were well-stocked, as was the fridge. She helped herself to a can of diet soda and picked up the carrier. In the living room, she spread the thick afghan that draped the sofa on the floor and removed Bailey from the carrier, laying her on her back. “There you go, sweetie. Now you can stretch a bit.”

  The baby grinned, flailing her arms and kicking her legs.

  Shannon eyed the computer in the corner. Her fingers twitched as she imagined opening her email to see what was happening in her former life. It was too risky. What if she opened a new email account under a different name and contacted her best friend, Brooke? She was sure her mother’s email was being monitored. But it was unlikely they knew about Brooke.

  She hurried to the computer and wiggled the mouse to bring the screen to life. She went to Gmail and set up a new email account under the name of Eve Adams and using the screen name of adamseve1. She had no trouble remembering her friend’s email address—babblingbrooke30. Now, how to compose a message that Brooke would understand without identifying herself. They’d sent cryptic messages back and forth all through high school. This wouldn’t be much different.

  Hey, sorry I missed the movie last Friday. Had a family emergency and had to run. I’ll talk to you soon, Babs. Or you can call me Eve.

  She was sure the use of the nickname would clue her friend in. Babs was an abbreviation for Babbling Brooke—something Brooke did when she was excited or anxious. She babbled. Shannon also hoped Brooke picked up on the last line and didn’t give away her real name in a reply email. Someone else would likely just think she’d forgotten the comma. She stared at the message for a long moment before pressing ‘send.’ Brooke was the only person besides her own mother who knew what was going on in her life. She could count on Brooke to be cautious.

  Leaving her mail open so she’d be alerted to a response, she browsed the book shelves. Jake had eclectic taste in reading—everything from murder mysteries to non-fiction books on religion and spirituality. Just as she began to pull a book from the shelf, the email dinged a message notification. Shannon startled and dropped the book which hit the floor with a soft whump. She hurried back to the computer and found a message from babblingbrooke30.

  Missed you on Friday. Hope all is well with the family now. Mom said to say ‘hi.’ Have a date with W. Give me a call when you can. Babs.

  Shannon breathed a sigh of relief. Brooke knew exactly what she was doing. Her own mother was deceased, which meant she had been in contact with Shannon’s mom who was saying ‘hi.’ It was also a signal that she’d let Shannon’s mom know she heard from her and that she and the baby were okay. Brooke had been dating the same guy for the past three years and had given Shannon the clue to call her that evening at Warren’s apartment. Shannon closed out the email and went to the internet and white pages to look up Warren McDowell in Jefferson City, Missouri, hoping he had
a listed number. He did. She jotted it down and slipped the paper into her pocket. She shivered with anticipation, needing to hear her friend’s voice and advice.

  *

  Jake smoothed the wood with a hand sander, then ran his fingers over the surfaces to make sure there were no rough spots or splintered wood. He had taken a spare, flattened pillow to affix into the bottom of his creation and to serve as a mattress. His first consideration was a quilted cover, but he remembered something about soft bedding being a danger for infants. He grimaced when he stood back to look at what he’d done. It wasn’t his finest work, crude and somewhat unfinished, but there was no time to paint or varnish and have it dry by evening. The lined wooden box would have to do as a makeshift crib.

  Setting the tools aside, he emerged from the garage, wiping an arm across his moist forehead. Curiosity made him focus on the car, in particular, the glove box. Just as he took a step toward the vehicle, the cabin door swung open and Shannon strode toward him holding out a glass of iced tea. “It’s getting warm. I thought you could use a cold drink.”

  He shifted his gaze back to her, accepting the drink. “Thanks.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She hesitated. “Bailey’s asleep in the living room. I shouldn’t leave her alone for long.”

  “Go back inside. I made something for her and I’ll bring it in.” He handed back the drained glass.

  Her eyes widened when he carried in the wooden cradle and set it down. “I can’t imagine sleeping in a chair night after night. I don’t suppose it’s comfortable for her, either.”

  Shannon ran her hands over the smooth natural wood and pressed her fingers into the bottom. “This is perfect, and the pillow’s not too plush.” Her eyes filled as she looked up at him. “Thank you.”

  Jake shrugged, taken off guard by her emotion. “Not the most attractive piece I’ve ever made, but it’ll serve its purpose temporarily. I can finish it off and paint it before you leave.”

  “No, it’s perfect. I love the natural wood.” She swiped away an errant tear. “I’m sorry. It’s just such a kind thing to do. Thank you.” She nodded toward the computer. “I went on to check my email.”

  “Good. Well, I’m going back out to the shop. Help yourself to lunch or anything you need. I’ll wash up around five and get the steaks on the grill. Is there more iced tea?”

  “Yes. And, thanks again. I hated having her sleep in that carrier all the time. She couldn’t really stretch. I’ll get your tea.”

  She brushed past him, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body and breathe in her scent. It took everything in him not to reach out and take her arm, pull her close. Feel the softness of her against his growing hardness. He followed, snatched the glass from her hand and continued moving toward the door and straight to the garage.

  He needed to finish off a set of matching bookcases. His reaction to Shannon had him unraveling faster than a ball of yarn in the paws of playful cat. He had to get a grip. So he tightened his fingers around the hammer and, with one hard whack hit the nail on the head, splitting the wood in two. “Damn.” Setting down the hammer, he closed his eyes. Once a man of prayer, he tried to find a way to ask for help, but that part of him had faded away with his former identity.

  At first, he’d been confident his God would bring him justice. Then when his life was threatened, he became doubtful. The discussion about placing him in witness protection left him angry, wondering why he’d done the right thing and was now condemned to a prison of a different sort while the real criminals were still out there. Over the past two years, faith evaporated faster than the remnant haze of incense with which he’d once been so familiar.

  Father Steve Avery disappeared like that vapor. Jake Garber, a carpenter from Arizona, moved to Snoqualmie, Washington because he’d always wanted to live in the Northwest. Beginning and end of story.

  His life had been quiet, peaceful for the past two plus years. It was hard at times to be separated from his family, but it was for their safety, too. He was amazed at how easily and thoroughly Steve Avery had been eliminated, erased from this life. It killed him to think of the pain that had caused his father, his sister and her family. Sometimes he thought about re-emerging from his exile and taking his chances. But he couldn’t gamble with their lives, and his Department of Justice contact kept him informed and told him someone still searched for him and wanted him dead. And that someone would know that the one way to get to him would be through his family.

  The FBI kept tabs on the foreign child adoption organizations involved in the scandal Father Steve had so innocently uncovered, implicating a fellow priest, a former priest, and a Catholic adoption agency. Jake was fairly certain his own brother priests presented the greater threat, especially the former Father Louis Crowley. Lou had somehow evaded capture when the whole ugly mess blew up. Steve was viewed as a traitor among his ranks. He had bypassed the step of informing the Bishop first, thus allowing the matter to be handled in-house, and had gone straight to the police.

  Jake sighed wearily. If he hadn’t gotten that phone call while he was away for a week of retreat and returned early to be with a family from the parish while the husband and father was dying, he would never have suspected anything wrong. Instead, he rushed into the rectory to drop his bags and pick up his stole, holy oils and prayer book to administer last rights to the dying patient.

  That’s when he heard the child crying behind the closed oak doors leading to the dining room. Then he heard the tight voices of Lou Crowley and the pastor, Father Alvin Martin arguing.

  “I don’t care. I have to deliver her to the client tonight,” Lou said. “She’s supposed to be three years old. That one is at least seven.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Alvin asked. “This is the girl the agency brought to me. The only one. So tell your client there was a mix-up. They want a daughter, they get a daughter. And this child gets a decent home.”

  Steve’s mouth went dry and his heart thudded. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Our client is not going to be happy about this,” Lou growled.

  Footsteps crossed the room and the child let out a frightened cry.

  “Shut up. I’m not hurting you. I’m taking you to your new family.”

  As someone strode toward the sliding doors, Steve backed up and slipped into the front office. He peered around the corner to see Lou dragging a little girl with long dark hair beside him down the hall and out the door. Shit. He’d left his car in the driveway. He took two long strides across the hall and ascended the stairs. He waited a few moments, then came back down as calmly as possible.

  Father Alvin waited for him at the bottom. “Steve, I thought you were on retreat.”

  The Leandros family called me. Mike’s dying. They wanted me to come, so I drove back.” He held up the box containing his oils. “Just stopped by to get these.” He slipped past the older man and headed to the back door. His hand shook as he tried to slip the car key into the ignition.

  A week later, Alvin called him in to say that he was being transferred to another parish in the Diocese. When Steve asked for an explanation, he was simply told it was the Bishop’s orders, that the parish needed him. Steve knew Alvin suspected he’d heard or seen what was happening that night.

  When he got the first anonymous call in the middle of the night, warning him to keep his mouth shut and from a voice that sounded a lot like Lou, Steve was sure of his suspicions. Not only for his own safety and peace of mind, but for the sake of that little girl and God only knew how many other children, Steve went to the police who called in the FBI. It took several months to get enough evidence to pick up Lou and Alvin. They had been working through a Catholic adoption service with an adoption worker, Sara Martin, who had been intimately involved with Lou even before he had been dismissed from the priesthood. She also happened to be Father Alvin Martin’s sister. Lou and Sara disappeared, escapin
g arrest. Alvin sang like a tenor in the church choir and was serving time for child trafficking. They had been bringing children in under the guise of having them adopted, then selling them to the highest bidder—families who, for one reason or another, had been deemed unsuitable to adopt.

  After the trial ended and Steve continued to receive threats, including one narrowly missed bullet, the FBI determined he needed to be placed into witness protection and handed him off to the Department of Justice. Once they caught up with Lou and Sara, the coast would be clear for him to return to his former life.

  So here he was—still a priest according to the Church—living in exile in the Northwest wilderness. A priest whose commitment could be seriously tested by the presence of Shannon Chase.

  Chapter Five

  Shannon stood at the sink washing vegetables for a salad while Jake grilled steaks on the small deck. She could see him through the window. For the first time since her ordeal began, she looked at him as a man—tall with dark hair that curled around his ears and over his shirt collar. He wore a faded denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up so that his tanned forearms were visible. His jeans hugged a nice backside and long, muscled legs. Most women would have been cautious or suspicious of a man like this living alone out here in the woods. But there was something about this man that put her at ease. Earlier it seemed he couldn’t get enough distance from her. Maybe women aren’t his thing?

  He closed the lid on the grill and came inside carrying the bloodied plate that had held the steaks. “How do like your steak?”

  “Rare. Well, medium perhaps. Not still walking.”

  He grinned. “Me, too. They should be ready in about ten minutes. The potatoes should be done then, too. I put them in the oven earlier.”

  When he moved closer to rinse the platter in the other side of the double-bowl sink, their elbows met. The brief warmth of him made her breath catch. He jerked his arm away and, in doing so, dropped the platter into the sink.