“Charlie is a witness, Liz. He has seen his father’s killer. We need him.”

“You need him?” She tightened her lips before speaking again. “What about his needs? Hasn’t he suffered enough without being dragged from everything he’s known to live with strangers? He needs to feel safe, not scared.”

Ian held her gaze. “If Charlie testifies against his father’s killer, he can bring down that man—a man who could destroy many lives—more than you know.”

Liz went cold, despite the lapse in the breeze that had offered relief. So that was it. They stole Charlie, hoping her nephew would give a statement that they could use in court, without caring about his emotional well-being.

“So as long as you get your killer—that’s all you care about?”

Sighing, he shook his head, then looked into her eyes. “That’s not true.”

BARBARA PHINNEY

was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.

Silent Protector
Barbara Phinney

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as

a little child, he shall not enter therein.

—Mark 10:15

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Someone was trying to run her off the road!

Liz Tate gripped the rental car’s steering wheel tightly, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to keep the car straight.

And not careening off the edge of the newly built causeway and into the deep water to her right.

Please, Lord, help me!

The SUV beside her, some dark blue thing she didn’t dare get a good look at, scraped up against her driver’s side once more. A painful sound grated through her senses. The sickening shove bumped her closer to the loose gravel and rocky edge.

She swerved back, slamming on the brakes to help control her car. The tires bit into the gravel then spun and slipped farther. The other vehicle backed off.

She was losing control of the car! With a wild glance over her shoulder, she yanked the vehicle back onto the road again.

Filled with dust and gravel, her brakes squealed in protest. She fishtailed uncontrollably.

Close to the end of the causeway, the SUV beside her rammed her side again. The force knocked her against the driver’s door.

Liz felt her rental spin and lurch over the gravel, catch and bump on the jagged rocks that lined the water’s edge and saw nothing but slushy, dark water ahead.

She’d come down here to Florida to find her nephew Charlie, following a set of circumstances almost too fearful and incredible to believe. And now, as the hood of her rental splashed into the murky water, as that water surged over her windshield, she knew that she’d never see Charlie again.

Keep him safe, Father God. Because I’ve failed him again.

“Are you thirsty, son? Do you need a cold drink? Something to eat?”

But Charlie Troop sat mutely across the cluttered office from Ian MacNeal, his young eyes downcast, just as he’d been for the entire flight down here from Bangor. The child hadn’t said a word to him. Not a single word. This was the boy’s second full day here and still nothing. He refused to speak.

Even when the boy’s hair had been shorn off yesterday, that matted, dirty mess of dark curls and knots that perpetually fell into the boy’s eyes, he’d said nothing. It was too hot to bear here, Ian figured, but that wasn’t the whole reason for the cut. After Charlie’s hair had been trimmed down to a longish crew cut, Ian had bleached the remaining length a dark blond. He had then given the boy a pair of glasses to wear.

Charlie had studied his new look in the mirror. But after that, his gaze fell to his feet again.

It cut Ian to the core to change the boy’s appearance, but his safety was too important. He needed his look altered.

Ian had tried several times to initiate a conversation with the ten-year-old, but Charlie would drop his gaze and bite his lip. And remain completely silent.

Even Ian’s new assistant, Monica, a young woman whose own parents died suddenly a few years ago, tried to reach him, but Charlie stalwartly refused to speak to anyone.

Patience, Ian told himself. The psychologist who’d assessed the boy said he’d been traumatized by what he’d seen. With patience, trust and time, the child would talk. Just don’t push him or he’d slip further into his mute shell, the specialist had advised.

Looking across from him this hot July day, Ian sighed. Even when he’d been a U.S. Marshal full time, long before he’d given up that life for the no-less-busy one of a pastor, he’d never had to deal with someone who so completely refused to communicate with him.

Only recalling his own turbulent youth, the gypsy lifestyle forced on him by a long line of uncaring relatives who were too busy to bother with an orphan, was he able to anticipate Charlie’s basic needs. That and the wealth of experience that his neighbors, Elsie and George Wilson, could offer.

The older couple was an invaluable help. George, himself, had been a U.S. Marshal back in the day. In fact, he’d met Elsie there when she’d been hired on as part of the administrative staff. It was Elsie who had first told Ian about the need for a pastor on Spring Island, and he was happy to be working near his old friends. Especially now. Even though the Wilsons weren’t officially on Charlie’s protective detail, the marshals had agreed to let the boy stay in their home. Their trailer was right next to Ian’s house, and they were all hoping Elsie’s grandmotherly ways would have a positive effect on the frightened child.

Ian removed his cell phone pouch on his belt and dropped it on the desk, realizing only then that the phone inside was missing. For how long? He’d used it shortly after he’d brought Charlie here, but he was sure he’d put it back into the pouch when he was done.

Searching his desk caused several files to flutter to the tile floor. “It’s nice and cool in here, isn’t it?” he asked Charlie conversationally as he stooped to pick them up. He turned to set them on top of the filing cabinet. “Remember, I told you that this building has the only decent air conditioner in the whole village. So we’ll stay in here as long as you like, okay, son? It’s hotter than Bangor, isn’t it?”

Again, silence. Ian looked over his shoulder at the small ten-year-old. He wanted to engage the child in conversation. Talk about the island here, about Florida and Moss Point and how the village came to be. But he knew he shouldn’t name specific places. The less the child knew of his whereabouts, the safer he was. “But Elsie has a good fan. It really blows around the gulf air, and that’s cool. Well, it’s supposed to be cooler, I think.”

Charlie made no comment.

After learning he was to be reinstated with the U.S. Marshal Service, thanks to a clause in his retirement agreement, Ian had read Charlie’s case file and knew right then he had to take the child into protective custody.

Funny how he’d never expected to be reinstated after he’d retired to become a pastor. He’d seen all the legal mumbo jumbo added after 9/11, the revised nondisclosure agreements, the reinstatement clauses. But it didn’t hit home until he met Charlie and was asked to return. And knew he was truly a marshal again for this very reason.

His services were needed. Charlie Troop needed a place safe enough to give his statement. The man he had seen murder his father was so dangerous that not convicting him could destroy any chances of a normal, safe life for the boy. Without a statement, the police wouldn’t be able to prosecute Jerry’s killer and hopefully bring down others high in the drug cartel for which Jerry had begun to work.

Ian stood and moved to his filing cabinet. He had a ton of other work to file away, things he’d ignored for the last month as he’d been preparing for Vacation Bible School and finishing off new programs, work he had been planning on doing before the reinstatement. The rec center here had become multifunctional, with a fully stocked clinic in back, his office up front and church in the main hall. Ian picked up a file, intent on starting some of the filing. Monica had the week off now that Vacation Bible School was over with.

But he stopped when he caught sight of Charlie. The hollow expression he cast Ian’s way cut through him.

The boy was hurting—missing his father as only a boy could. Despite the fact that Jerry Troop was a known drug dealer, the man had been Charlie’s father. And Charlie missed him.

“I know how you feel, son. I still miss my dad, and he died a long time ago.”

Charlie blinked rapidly then bit his lips and frowned, as if fighting the urge to speak.

“Do you need to say something, son?” he gently asked the boy.

As expected, the boy didn’t answer. But this time, he’d met Ian’s eyes in silent but crystal clear communication. I want to go home.

Ian tightened his jaw against the compassion lancing through him. Being a pastor sometimes meant giving bad news but to tell the boy he had no home to go to, well, that really hurt.

Instead, all Ian could do was watch him. Just tell me what you saw when your father died. Tell me, son, so I can stop that bad man.

Ian had already tried that line several times on the plane coming down here but to no avail. The child was too traumatized to discuss it. He was still in shock, still trying to push aside the painful emotions until he could cope with them.

Again, Ian hated his inability to get the boy to talk. He’d been trained to deal with frightened children, and his failure here irritated him. His supervisor was expecting results, and Ian hated that he had none to offer him.

Ian searched his messy desk for his cell phone. He’d shown Charlie a picture of William Smith, the one he had on his cell. Their only suspect. But the boy had remained mute. Maybe this afternoon would be different.

Ian needed him to talk, because their only suspect wasn’t the kind to allow any witnesses to live.

Abruptly, the front door banged open, the sound vibrating through the quiet building. Monica threw open his office door.

“Pastor Ian! You have to come quickly! There’s been an accident. A car drove right over the causeway and into the water. Whoever’s in it will drown!”

“Call 911!” Ian took flight. In one swift motion, he grabbed his hat and his handgun, as was his first reaction, then he grabbed Charlie. He wasn’t about to leave the boy alone.

It was exactly as Monica had said, Ian noted as he hurried down the road, Charlie in tow. She’d said she was out for a walk and had heard the crash. A quarter mile stretch through the forest broke free at Spring Island’s side of the sun-bleached, half-built causeway. It wasn’t ready for public traffic, yet. But Ian could see that someone had moved the large barriers. The ferry sign still stood, though the ferry was gone. The causeway was still gravel atop larger boulders that made up the foundation.

Now in the bright sun, Ian tugged down the brim of his hat. He scanned the edges of the causeway, finding what he expected on the north side. A small car bobbed in the water. Bubbles danced all around it, and it was slowly sinking.

A woman was slumped over the steering wheel.

“Stay here, Charlie. In the shade.” Ian pointed to the edge of the forest nearest the sign. Then he raced along the center of the causeway and down over the other side.

At that moment, the front end of the car dipped into the murky water, and its driver lifted her head. Ian could see water filling the interior. The woman turned to the door window, panic exploding on her face in one swift swell of fear as she slapped her palms against the glass.

“Roll down the window!” he called to her.

Ian leaped into the water, reaching the car door after one hard stroke of his arms and a push off the rocks. He caught the woman’s attention. She was panicking, unable to free herself with her fevered movements.

Ian tried the door. It was locked.

“Unlock the door! Pull up on the knob!” he yelled at her.

She obeyed quickly. Working against gravity and time, Ian tugged open the door and jammed his body against it to block it from slamming shut again. The door hit his back hard as he braced himself against the frame.

Water had already lapped the woman’s shoulders as the whole car sank sluggardly into the murky water between island and mainland.

“Can you undo your seat belt?”

“I don’t know…it’s…” Her head was barely above the water as she trailed off.

Ignoring the fear in her voice, Ian leaned over her, dipped his face into the water as he felt around for the release button. The woman gripped him in order to stay above the water line. His hat, now free, floated above him.

He found the latch and clicked it. It smacked back into his face as he lifted his head, and the car door pressed its weight against him. But the woman was free.

He pushed it open farther to allow the woman to swim out. By the time she stood on the door frame, the water had already filled the interior and was now close to their necks. The car sank deeper into the muck.

“I’m okay,” she whispered breathily. “You can let go of the door now.”

He did, and it splashed into the water. Finally, the whole car plunged deep down. The accident had stirred up muck and mire, obscuring any evidence of a vehicle, except for the lines of bubbles. Grabbing his hat before it floated away, Ian swam behind the woman as she dog-paddled to the rocks nearby.

She collapsed, half in and half out of the warm water, her arms splayed out and her eyes closed. Ian swam up beside her. Soaking wet curls, dark and shiny, covered her face. Ian could see her lips moving but heard nothing.

Finally, she lifted her head, with a weak lift of her hand, threw back her sopping hair. “Thank you,” she sputtered out.

“Auntie Liz!”

Ian’s head snapped up. Charlie was standing on the partially finished road above them, peering down at the woman with great excitement.

He’d said something!

The boy turned his attention to Ian. “That’s my auntie Liz. She’s come for me, just like she promised!”

TWO

“Charlie!”

With strength she didn’t think she had, Liz scrambled over the rocks and up to the road. Though soaked through and still panting, she grabbed Charlie into a tight embrace.

Then, after a long moment of holding Charlie, one full of prayer and the pain of thinking how close she’d come to never seeing him again, Liz set him slightly away from her.

His front wet, he blinked up at her. “Auntie Liz! I didn’t think you were ever coming! I thought you didn’t love me anymore! When I called, you promised me you’d come!”

She tried in vain to contain the choke of emotion. It had been only two days since he called, but even to her, it felt like a lifetime. “Oh, Charlie! I’m here! I’m here, and I do love you very much!” Crying, she swung him up into her arms again. “I’m so sorry about your dad. It took me forever to get a flight down here. And I wasn’t even sure where to go. But I found you, sweetie! I’m here to take you home now.”

As she spoke, she fingered his short hair. Jerry never bothered with barbers, and the last time she’d visited, Charlie’s curls had been tightening into horrible dreadlocks. But she’d held back her complaints on many an occasion, not wanting to jeopardize the tenuous hold she had on visiting the boy.

Now, his hair was barely an inch and a half in length, and dark blond, with messy streaks that mimicked the sun’s effects. Gone were the gorgeous black curls of his babyhood.

She peered hard at him. And glasses? Charlie’s eyesight was fine, she was sure of it. So why was he wearing glasses now?

Only then did she sense the other person on the unfinished causeway. Yes, the man who’d saved her life. She turned, slowly, feeling his presence rolling over her soaking frame.

He was tall, as wet as her, and though she knew she’d had a good look at his face as he’d rescued her, she looked at it now as if for the first time. He’d shoved back his hat, one of those soft, wide-brimmed, beige things, and because of that she got a clear view of his face.

He was handsome, but his features were tightened into a hard frown. His lips were now a thin line.

And he pointed a gun at her.

She gasped and pushed Charlie behind her, blocking the boy from the gun. She knew her bravado wouldn’t last, but she ground out, anyway, “I don’t know who you are or who you work for or even what your reasons are, but I can tell you that you’ll be charged with kidnapping so quick it’ll snap your head back! And don’t think that gun is going to scare me off because it won’t!”

“Who are you?”

“Liz Tate. Who are you?”

“Ian MacNeal. How do you know this boy?”

Liz felt Charlie peer around her waist. She shoved his head back. “I’m his aunt. And I’m here to take him home with me to Maine. Now, we can do this without anyone getting hurt, or we can do something stupid like you appear to be doing. It’s your call.”

Oh, yes, her bravado was just an act. Inside of her, Liz felt her breath stop in her throat and her fear pour ice into her heart and her whole body quiver. The wildlife refuge where she worked owned a rifle for emergencies, but no one had any need to use it. Until this minute, she’d never been close to a firearm.

Still, she refused to fail Charlie again. He didn’t deserve it.

“Wait a minute.” Liz straightened. “You went swimming with that gun. I doubt it will fire anymore.” She tipped her head to one side and frowned. “Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you could have not rescued me. So, why don’t you just put that gun away and let us leave quietly?”

The man in front of her lowered his gun and shoved it into the back of his jeans’ waistband. She wasn’t completely sure if he had carried that gun into the water with him, but she’d let her courage speak in case he had.

“Your car is at the bottom of the inlet, and it’s a long, hot walk back to Northglade. That’s the nearest town.” He shoved his hand onto his hips. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She nodded, grateful to see the gun disappear behind the man’s back. She still wasn’t sure of the man’s intentions, but logic and common sense were winning and aggravating this man would be foolish. It would be better if she stayed calm. A prayer or two wouldn’t hurt, either. Help me, Lord. “Um, well, thank you for helping me out of there. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You’re welcome.” He squinted against the sun as he scanned the shore of the mainland. His gaze returned to Liz’s waist, his head tipping to one side to catch sight of Charlie. “We shouldn’t stand out here. We can talk in the rec center. It’s air-conditioned, and I should be able to find a few towels for us.” He leaned to his left to catch Charlie’s shy stare. “And you can tell me where my cell phone is, because I know you took it to call your aunt.”

Liz opened her mouth to protest but shut it immediately. She peered down at the boy, whose watery, kicked-puppy look blinked back up at them. “Charlie, did you take his phone? Was that the cell phone you used to talk to me?”

“Yes. It’s under my mattress,” Charlie answered quietly. “But the battery’s dead.”

Ian lifted his eyebrows. “How long did you talk on it?”

The boy peeked up at him. “Couple of minutes,” he answered in words barely above a whisper. “I just played all your games after I called Auntie Liz.”

“When was that?” Ian asked.

He shrugged. “I dunno. When I first got here. I was scared.”

Tears stung Liz’s eyes as she fought back the urge to grab Charlie, to hold him until the fear in his voice was gone forever. She threw the man a cool look. “Don’t you think you’ve scared the boy enough? You’ve stolen him from me, after all that’s happened to him, and then you try to shoot me. Think about how that’s affected him!” Liz shook her head quickly. “I’m surprised that he talked to you with that gun you keep waving around.”

The man turned his attention back to her. “He hasn’t talked at all, I’m afraid. Charlie hasn’t said a word since he arrived, Ms. Tate.”

He took off his hat and wrung it out. “Look, we’re both soaking wet and standing in the hot sun. Why don’t we walk down to the rec center? We can finish our conversation in there. The police and ambulance won’t be here for another fifteen minutes at least.”

“Just a minute, Mr. MacNeal—”

“Pastor Ian MacNeal.”

Pastor? She gaped at him. No pastor she knew of would point a gun at a woman he’d just fished out of the water. In fact, no pastor she knew even owned a gun.

Seeing her hesitate, he added, “We’re both wet, and if you don’t mind, I don’t want to be out here talking. I had told Charlie to stay put by the trees while I helped—”

He cut off his words. Liz watched him frown at the edge of the trees and then followed his gaze down to the end of the causeway, where beside a beaten sign saying Moss Point, stood a woman. She held one hand to her mouth.

The man in front of Liz cleared his throat. “Let’s go to the rec center. I promise you, you’ll come to no harm. If nothing else, let’s go there just to get out of this sun.”

True, Liz thought. The sun was brilliant today. She’d lost her sunglasses the first moment she’d been bumped by that other car. Liz stared at the murky water. Had it sunk that quickly? Was the water that deep? She quickly glanced around for the other car.

Nowhere. Maybe they should get off this death trap of a causeway, before whomever it was that ran her off the road came back. Which way had he gone? Onto the island, or had he turned around and sped back to the mainland? She couldn’t remember. Nor was she completely sure she should tell this gun-toting pastor a thing.

With that, she grabbed Charlie’s hand, putting him on the side farthest away from the man. “Lead the way.”

The atypical pastor who’d rescued her led her off the causeway. Beside her, gripping her hand tightly, Charlie piped up, “Auntie Liz, isn’t it hot here? Even hotter than the sun!”

“Yes, dear. Let’s get inside, okay? Show me where this rec center is.”

Charlie clung to her hand as they approached the young woman who stood in front of the sign at the end of the causeway. The woman clasped her hands in front of her. Tightly, Liz noticed.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked, not to anyone in particular, Liz thought.

“We’re fine,” Ian answered tersely.

Liz glanced up at him, surprised to see the man frowning hard at the other woman. Then she looked back at the woman. She was about Liz’s age, maybe, and dressed in a cheap, plain shift dress much more suitable for the weather than Liz’s dripping pants and blouse. Liz had been wearing this outfit since the day after Charlie called, the day she’d driven to the airport to catch the series of delayed flights that finally brought her down here to the southwest end of Florida.

Ian struck off ahead of Liz. For a flash, she wanted to grip Charlie’s hand even tighter and charge back over the causeway again. But as Ian had said, that small town of Northglade was too far away from the forested island, and the sun was too strong. Not a good idea. Instead, Liz pulled Charlie closer and followed Ian. He was soaked, like her, and his gun stuck out of the back of his waistband.

Beside her, Charlie twisted around to peer at the woman following them along the shaded road. Liz stole her own glance, finding the woman looking curiously back at the signpost, or maybe even the water that had swallowed up Liz’s rental. She didn’t know and didn’t care.

Around the next bend, Liz slowed her plodding walk. The closest building bore a faded sign that read Moss Point Rec Center. A small poster on the front door indicated that this past week had been Vacation Bible School. A battered bicycle had been dropped at the corner of the building. Liz stepped into the sunshine again and instantly blinked. Despite a breeze that had picked up, the humid air weighed on her like a wet cloak in a sauna.

All of what had happened lurched over her, and she stumbled over a small rock.

Quickly, Ian was there beside her, taking her free arm. “Let’s get inside. There’s a clinic in the back where you can lie down. I’d say shock is setting in.”

It was, Liz agreed silently. Because everything was wobbling in front of her.

Ian quickly steered her inside where the cool air blasted them. The heat was oppressive today, the worst so far, the forecast had warned. The heat index pushed it up farther. The hot wind from the gulf lingered barely above a breeze. Ian had grown up in the northern part of Virginia where the summers got humid enough to kill. But this weather was nearly unbearable.

“Is there a doctor here?” Liz asked.

Ian shook his head as he let the front door slam behind the four of them. Cool air drenched them. “Just a nurse, who happens to be away this week attending some training seminar. You’re looking at the interim nurse, and I’d say you’re about to faint.”

Now inside, he knew the cool air could easily get Liz Tate shivering. Quickly, with Charlie’s help, he noted, Ian got Liz to the back where the clinic was. He turned when he reached the locked door and noticed Monica hurrying into his office. In the excitement, had he left his door unlocked?

A moment later, Monica raced down with the clinic’s key and let them inside. Ian guided Liz to the plastic-covered exam bed at the far back, and she gratefully lay down and shut her eyes. Charlie stayed at her side.

It took Ian a moment to find where the nurse kept the towels. But when he did, he set one under Liz’s wet hair and another larger one along her frame.

After lying there a moment, Liz sat up and quickly toweled herself off. For all the pale wobbliness of before, she had recovered quickly.

Then he opened the small refrigerator beside the desk and pulled out some bottles. “Orange juice. I think we could all use some. Charlie needs more fluids than the other boys around here because he’s been sweating more, not that he’s asked for any.” He offered a bottle to her and was glad to see her take it with a quiet thank-you. “But then again, he hasn’t refused any liquids, either.”

She frowned at him. “Why would he ask you for anything? You kidnapped him.”

He looked down at Charlie, who’d accepted his own bottle of juice. Ignoring his aunt’s accusation, the boy drank deeply. Patience, Ian told himself. She obviously doesn’t have all the facts.

He opened his bottle and took a long swallow. Liz had finished a third of hers before setting the bottle down on the table beside her.

“I didn’t kidnap him. But before I tell you anything, I need to know one thing. How did you find Charlie? I didn’t tell him where he was.”

With her left arm, Liz pulled the boy close. Charlie returned the hug, setting his head down on her wet lap. “Why should I tell you anything? You say you didn’t kidnap Charlie, but here he is, and when he talked to me, he sure sounded like he didn’t want to be here.”

Ian pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down. “Tell me how you found out he was missing.”

Immediately, Liz glanced down at the boy, all the while pulling him closer.

Then she met Ian’s calm stare with a direct one of her own. “I’d rather not discuss that right now.”

Of course. Ian knew some of the details and guessed the boy wouldn’t want to hear them all again. They did include his father’s death.

He turned to his assistant. She still stood there, hands clasped in front of her. “Monica, please take Charlie down to the kitchen and make us all a snack. Liz and I need to talk.”

Charlie looked up at his aunt, his expression stricken.

“He needs to stay near me,” Liz stated.

“The kitchen is twenty feet away. We’ll leave the door open,” Ian answered. “Charlie, your aunt and I need to talk in private. It’s important, okay? You know why, don’t you?”

Charlie’s gaze dropped, and he nodded. Again, Ian was amazed at how the boy acted. So calmly, as if he’d been simply waiting for his aunt to arrive.

“I won’t leave, I promise. But—” Liz shot Ian a sharp glance “—if it’s important then we need to talk. I’ll be down to the kitchen in a minute, okay?”

Monica held out one hand and took Charlie away. Ian watched them leave. At the middle of the building, the rec center’s kitchen was still well stocked with fruit, raw vegetables, granola bars and juice, all left over from the Vacation Bible School they’d just completed. Having a snack would ease the boy’s uncertainty, he was sure.

Despite Ian’s promise, the door to the clinic clicked shut behind the pair. Ian turned back to face Liz.

“Tell me how you found Charlie.”

She leaned forward. “Tell me why you need to know and why it’s so important.”

Ian glared at Liz, only to receive an equal glare in return. “Because it is, and that’s all I can say.”

Liz straightened. “Then why should I tell you anything? You brought Charlie here against his will, you have someone out there acting like a sentry, ready to shove cars off the road, and then you pull a gun on me after you rescue me. So, explain to me why I should tell you anything at all. And why I shouldn’t be calling the police!”

Ian leaned forward. “First up, your phone, if you had one, is sitting at the bottom of the inlet, so calling anyone will be difficult. Second, I have not authorized anyone to use force to prevent people from coming here. I would never condone that dangerous behavior. Third, Charlie was given into my custody by the police.”

Liz shook her head in confusion. “Do you know what you’ve done to Charlie, bringing him all the way down here without someone he knows? And what right do the police have handing him over to you, some stranger? Just because you’re a pastor doesn’t mean you know what’s best for Charlie. And while I’m at it, what kind of a pastor walks around pointing a gun at people?” She leaned forward. “So why don’t you start talking first? Because as far as I’m concerned, I’m the one who should have custody of Charlie, not you. And be asking all the questions.”

Ian folded his arms. “And where were you while Charlie’s father was dragging him all over the state?”

He knew he surprised her with his knowledge of Charlie’s whereabouts all these months, but with a withering look, she refused to be intimidated. “Jerry moved to Bangor a while back. I’ve been saving my money for a good lawyer. And part of the way through that time, I gave Jerry some of it. I knew he was going to blow it all on something stupid, but at the time, I just wanted to stay in contact with Charlie, and that was my only way. Though I realize now it was a mistake because it set me back months in my savings. The only good it did was it allowed me to see Charlie nearly every Sunday. So I took him to a church in Bangor. And out to supper.”

“Okay,” Ian said with a nod. “I’ll answer your questions, but you have to answer a few more, first. How did you find out about Jerry’s murder?”

“Like I said, I get to visit Charlie regularly. Jerry usually sleeps off a Saturday night binge, anyway. I went to their apartment last Sunday and found the police there.”

“Sunday morning?”

“No, Sunday afternoon. We do something special and go to church Sunday night.”

Abruptly, she pulled in a deep breath and blinked rapidly. Then she bit her lips. Both lips in a way he’d seen Charlie do when he wanted to keep quiet. “I remember telling the police who I was and…” She held her breath a bit while her chin wrinkled. “I was standing in the doorway of the apartment hoping to see Charlie.” She shut her eyes. “All I could smell was…”

Ian guessed what the smell could be. He watched Liz steel herself against the memory. But obviously, her nephew was too important just to relinquish herself to her fears.

“It was awful. Jerry was a drug dealer with high hopes of making a fast million. But the police had never charged him with anything. They were investigating him. Maybe they wanted someone bigger than Jerry. Someone whose conviction would take more than just a few drugs off the street.”

She lay her fingers along her eyebrows and shut her eyes tight. “But all I saw were Charlie’s things splattered with blood. It was terrible.” Liz bit her lips again. Then she rubbed her forehead. “I asked where Charlie was, and they told me he hadn’t survived the gun battle there. I wanted to see his remains….” She swallowed a sob. “But they wouldn’t let me.”

Her world had crashed, he could see.

“The police said they would release the body when they were done with it. Then they drove me home.” She set her head into her hands and finished off, “I went home and just cried and cried.”

“When did Charlie call you?”

She looked up to show him watering eyes. “A few hours later, after I’d gone for a walk and stopped in to see my pastor. I couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t say where he was, but he read to me what his boarding pass said and told me he was on an island at the edge of the Everglades.”

“How did he know that?”

“A friend told him about the Everglades—and the mosquitoes—and he said that some woman named Elsie said she went into Northglade for groceries. I used the satellite maps on the Internet and found this place. This had to be the place because it fit Charlie’s description exactly.”

Good deduction. Very good deduction, Ian thought. He hadn’t considered that little Stephen Callahan, Charlie’s new friend, might chatter on about where he lived. Stephen had told Ian that Charlie didn’t talk to him.

Beside him, Liz groaned and lay down again. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I got more of a scare than I thought. That guy was determined to run me off the road.”

“What guy?”

“I told you. The one who came up behind me all of a sudden. It was all I could do just to keep my car on the road. He kept sideswiping me, right on the causeway.”

Of course. She’d already mentioned that. “What kind of vehicle was it? Did you see the driver?”

She sighed and then sat up. “No. It was blue. A big car. I don’t know what kind. An SUV, maybe? It had tinted windows, so I couldn’t see inside.”

Ian went cold. Liz Tate had been run off the road. And the timing of that was just too coincidental to ignore.

It could only mean one thing.

Charlie’s safety had been compromised.

THREE

“Now it’s your turn to talk,” Liz said, coming back up to a sitting position. “When I saw Charlie two Sundays ago, he had long, dark hair. Did you cut his hair? And he never needed glasses before.”

“I did. It was a rat’s nest and far too hot for this weather. I also dyed it. The police offered the glasses. They don’t have prescription lenses in them.”

Liz absorbed what he said. “I don’t understand. Sure, his hair was always a mess. I did my best, but I didn’t want to get on Jerry’s bad side and have him tell me I couldn’t see Charlie again, so I ignored it most of the time. But glasses that aren’t needed? And a dye job? Why?”

“It was necessary.”

Understanding dawned on her. “You didn’t want anyone to recognize him.”

“I was told there was no one who would try to gain custody of him. His mother died years ago, and his father had just been murdered.” He looked at her. “Is there anyone else who might claim him? Grandparents?”

She shifted on the exam table. “As far as I know, Jerry had no contact with his family. My mother lives in Portland, but she’s a widow who’s not well, hardly able to care for a child. Besides, she hasn’t seen Charlie since my sister died. I’ve been trying to get custody.” She shot him a questioning look. “And you simply believed what you were told about his family?”

“I had no reason to suspect that they’d lie.”

“That who would lie? The police? They lied to me!”

“For Charlie’s own safety and well within the law.”

He could see that the local law enforcement officers had been prepping Liz and probably the media for Charlie’s entrance into the Witness Security Program, or WITSEC. People needed to think the boy was dead.

Liz dragged in a hot breath as she sat back. “And I’m left believing he’s been killed! This is not right. I’m going to take Charlie and leave. I know he’d be happy to go with me. And you don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d physically stop us.” She wasn’t sure if that was true or not. She tossed out the threat as quickly as she shot a furtive look his way. He knew right then that she was banking on a hunch. “I won’t fail Charlie like I did when his mother died. He deserves a loving environment, not getting shuffled around like a piece of secondhand furniture.”

Ian bristled at her choice of words. He wasn’t shuffling the boy around like furniture. He would never do that to anyone—not after living like that for years himself. “Don’t be so sure. I told you that Charlie’s safety is my main concern.”

“Mine, too. That’s why I’m here listening to you and not grabbing Charlie and walking to Northglade.”

“Like I said before, I’d advise against that.”

But Liz let her threat stand. “Don’t tempt me,” she snapped. “At least Charlie knows me and would come with me!”

From the years of being a marshal and from the few years of being a pastor, Ian knew Liz needed to vent. She didn’t understand what was happening. She was only thinking of the boy’s best interests. So he sat back and let her rant.

Still talking, Liz held out her hands. “How could you just take off with the boy and not consider that others might be concerned, too? The police told me nothing and scared me half to death!”

Actually, he agreed with Liz. The police had allowed her to worry herself sick, and while that was legal, they didn’t tell him that she would do anything to be reunited with Charlie. And vice versa. That was a mistake.

He hated mistakes. It had been a mistake for him to be shuffled about the family after his parents died, and though it wasn’t a mistake to hide Charlie down here, it was for WITSEC not to warn him about the resourceful auntie. It had also been a mistake to underestimate the nephew who could sneak away with Ian’s cell phone when he was at his busiest.

Regardless, what was done was done. And at least the child wasn’t as traumatized as they’d first thought. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

Would that allow Ian to focus more on the other reason he was here—to build a church? To start the social program offered by Nelson Vincenti and his wife, the couple building a resort on the north end of the island?

No. Charlie’s location had been compromised. He needed to call his supervisor immediately.

But Ian couldn’t ignore his parishioners for the sake of one boy, could he? Was that what God wanted him to do? Forsake his job to help Charlie? Surely another marshal could step in.

“What right do you have to take Charlie, anyway?” Liz was still blasting him. “What makes you think that you can give him what he needs when you don’t even know what his needs are? What if Charlie gets sick or needs special education?”

Ian schooled his features. “His needs would be met by the Department of Justice. Or by other programs here at Moss Point. Nelson and Annette Vincenti have started a foundation here called ‘The Shepherd’s Smile.’ It works exclusively with families in vulnerable situations providing medical care, education and Bible classes. I’ve been hired to implement it here. And in case you didn’t notice, the children around here aren’t living in the lap of luxury.”

He had no plans to tell her any more than that.

If Ian was expecting Liz to show any sort of contrition, he wasn’t going to get it. She shook her head, feeling her damp, dark curls bounce around. “I don’t live in the lap of luxury, either. And material wealth isn’t as important to me as you seem to think. But if you’re here to implement a social program, then why bring Charlie here to add to the need? And for that matter, why were you approached to take him in the first place? The police gave him to you, right? It doesn’t make any sense. Who exactly are you that the police trust you and not me to be his guardian? And why would the Department of Justice care about him?”

She knew at a glance that he hadn’t expected her questions. Or that she wasn’t about to be browbeaten. She’d lived on her own long enough to know how to stand up for herself.

“So why were you selected?” she asked, slipping off the exam table.

He sighed. He studied her before answering. “I am—I used to be a U.S. Marshal, specializing in children’s safety.” He noticed her deepening frown, then added, “The U.S. Marshal Service is part of the Department of Justice and handles witness security. In most cases involving juveniles, we have female officers, but some boys respond better to men than women, so a few males were also trained. I was one of them.”

That made sense. Charlie had always been with his father. Relating to a man came more naturally to him.

“I left the U.S. Marshals when I accepted the call from God to be a pastor,” he went on. “Then Annette Vincenti, the woman who created ‘The Shepherd’s Smile,’ heard about me from George and Elsie Wilson and she hired me to administer her new program. It includes planting a church here in Moss Point. Until now, only a few people have been going to the Wilsons’ house for Bible study. It’s too far to travel to the nearest church on the mainland.”

She’d heard of church planters, though the name conjured up silly pastoral images. Church planters started churches in communities that had none. They were as devoted as any missionary might be. They trained lay pastors, built churches and strengthened communities.

This was too confusing. Okay, she could see Ian in the missionary part but as a U.S. Marshal? Protecting Charlie? And yet he wasn’t told about Charlie’s closest relative who visited every week?

“But you retired from the U.S. Marshal Service, you said. Why are you back?”

“I also signed a little-used recall clause, something created after 9/11, I’m told. If they needed me, they could reinstate me. I could have refused because of my work here, but when I read Charlie’s case file I knew I needed to help him.” He lifted his chin. “And I knew I could do both jobs at the same time.”

Liz walked around the clinic, stopping at the glass cabinet that held various medical supplies. “Why Charlie? He’s just a little boy. He’s not some snitch from the mafia.”

“He’s in danger.”

“Of what?”

“Of being killed by the same man who killed his father.”

She gasped. The man who shot Jerry would come after Charlie?

She pressed through her fear. “How? Why? I don’t understand. He’s just a kid.”

“Charlie is a witness, Liz. He has seen his father’s killer. We need him to identify Jerry’s murderer.”

“You need him?” She tightened her lips before speaking again. “What about his needs? Hasn’t he suffered enough without being dragged from everything he’s known to come down here in this heat, to live with strangers? He needs to feel safe—not scared out of his wits.”

Ian had stood when she started talking but now sat down at the nurse’s desk. After a thought, he pulled out his gun and began to disassemble it. He was obviously a patient man, though to try guilt on her meant he didn’t know her very well. But he was patient enough to try reaching her with other tactics. “If Charlie testifies against his father’s killer, he can bring down that man. But if that man stays free, he could destroy many lives—more than you know. And destroy any chance Charlie has for a normal life.”

“Charlie’s only ten years old! How can his testimony even be accepted in court?” She rubbed her forehead, trying to keep straight everything Ian was firing at her.

“Children younger than Charlie have testified successfully. It depends on the child, on what they saw and how it’s presented in court. We’re hopeful that he can help us bring his father’s killer to justice.”

Liz went cold, feeling the air conditioner much more. So that was it. They had stolen Charlie, hoping he’d give a statement they could use in court, without a smidgen of care for his emotional well-being.

No, that wasn’t completely true. They needed to keep the boy safe physically first. It was reasonable to put Charlie into some kind of protective custody, and if he was emotionally secure, he’d be more likely to talk. They’d do their best to reassure him.

“Why couldn’t the police in Maine just tell me that he was in protective custody?” she asked. “That he was safe? And why did they lie to you and say there was no one who would miss him?”

Ian’s expression softened slightly as he took some cotton wipes from a box on the desk. “We don’t tell people, relatives, friends, anything. Most of the time, it’s assumed that the person in protective custody has been killed or else the person we’re trying to prosecute may find the witness.” He inhaled. “As for someone lying to me, that’s an issue I need to deal with. And believe me, I will deal with it.”

She leaned back against the wall next to the glass cabinet, feeling the cement wall press against her damp shirt. Despite the chill running through her, perspiration broke out on her skin. A cold sweat.

“It’s not his safety you’re worried about, is it?” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s your prime witness. As long as you can carefully guide what he says, and how he’s going to say it in court, you’ll get your killer.” Her voice rose. “Without a smidgen of care for what’s best for him!”

Sighing, he shook his head. “That’s not true. His safety means more to me than his testimony.”

“Really? Look around you, Ian. His father has just been killed in front of him. He’s with strangers. He’s lonely and scared. And who’s here to look after him properly? Just you? You’re busy planting a church and creating some antipoverty program. You don’t have time to be a guardian or a bodyguard.”

“That’s why he’s staying with the Wilsons. They’re both retired from the U.S. Marshal Service and can help.”

“More strangers!”

She turned her head away, feeling the hot sting of tears. Out the window across from where she stood, all she could see was thick forest, vines and the occasional glimpse of shimmering water through the green tangle. The beach must not be far through the trees.

Ian rubbed his jaw and then rubbed the back of his neck. He looked as disturbed as she did. “I know this is how it seems to you, but we’re doing what’s best for the boy. Now, we both need to shower. The water isn’t safe to swim in this time of year.”

She nodded. As part of her job ensuring waterfowl safety, she’d once read about certain beaches on the gulf side becoming unsafe to swim in during the month of July. Something about a bacteria.

Oh, goodie, another reason to be concerned for Charlie. She stood. “Charlie shouldn’t be here.”

Ian continued to wipe down the disassembled pieces of his weapon. “There’s an old African proverb that says it takes a community to raise a child.”

She folded her arms. “A community, not the government. And not here.”

He straightened, turned his head and studied her. And as much as she’d like to turn away, she met his cool stare with an equal one of her own.

In that moment, she took stock of his appearance. He was really quite handsome. He had a strong faith and a caring attitude, all wrapped up inside a handsome body. His sandy hair was tousled now by the towel he’d used, adding to his trustworthy appearance. His blue eyes, flecked with white, matched the water beyond the trees perfectly.

There was more than just this feeling of security here. In his eyes, she could so easily see an inner strength, a complete and utter belief that he was doing the right thing.

Everything a Christian woman might want in a man.

No. She wasn’t going down that path. She’d already seen what he was really like. Pastor or not, he was also a federal agent, and his only reason for wanting Charlie here was to extract a statement from him. This whole scenario was far too much of a strain on Charlie’s emotional health. The poor boy had just suffered a terrible loss. She wouldn’t gamble with his emotions because she had some misguided attraction to this man.

He shot her a serious look before testing and assembling his gun, the kind of look the strong, silent type offered.

But, oh, to have even an ounce of such confidence, such inner strength. Charlie would benefit so much from that in her.

“We need to learn to release our children so they can learn from others,” he finally said, all the while working on his gun. “And we need to step up to bat to do our part when others release their children.”

She struggled to snap out of her admiration. “Yes, I agree. Ask not what your country can do for you. I get it. But this is not Charlie’s community. Here, he’s just a lonely little boy who needs his loved ones.”

“He needs a community. Especially if the people who are raising him aren’t where others are. Spiritually speaking, that is.”

She dropped her arms to her sides and stiffened. What did he just say? Well, enough was enough. She’d accept the fact that Ian was once a U.S. Marshal who’d taken on this one last assignment. And she’d accept the fact he’d come here to start a church and implement a new antipoverty program and that he obviously felt he could do both, all with admirable confidence.

But she wouldn’t accept a man she’d just met telling her that she was spiritually immature and needed to release her nephew to others so that he could grow in faith. That was stepping over the line.

“I’ve heard enough,” she announced. “You haven’t convinced me that Charlie is better off here. All you want is his statement and to train him to present it in such a way that you’ll get your killer. Well, nowadays there’s enough forensic science to convict the killer, and that’s usually more convincing than anything else is. Let the police use that to find whoever killed his father, not Charlie.”

“I’m only thinking of his safety.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be quoting pat sayings and psychobabble. I’m thinking of his emotional health because that’s just as important as his safety.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “And you say you want him physically safe? Do you know anything about him? His health? What if he needs a particular medication? Has he ever had any vaccinations? What about his schooling? I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that Jerry wasn’t big on public schooling. And has Charlie even been wearing a hat in the sun?”

She’d fired off the barrage of questions without taking a breath. Finally, drawing in air, she noticed Ian’s passive expression and wondered if it was just a trained act against people who confronted him. “All you want is an airtight case against a killer who may have a good lawyer.”

He wet his lips, and she found herself watching the action closely. Good grief, why was she so physically aware of him?

“First up,” he finally said, “you’re right, I don’t know about his health.”

He lowered his eyes, deep in thought. His mouth twisted ever so slightly as he worked his jaw. Again, she felt the tug of his good looks. Forget that. For all she knew, this was part and parcel of some well-schooled passiveness he’d taught himself. A subtle charm saved only for women—to get what he wanted.

“Secondly,” he continued, “he owns a hat but has lost it three times in two days. Each time, Elsie or I have gone in search of it. But this time we’re making Charlie look for it. Elsie thinks he’s hiding it.”

She shook her head and cut in, “Regardless, you’ve brought him to one of the hottest parts of the country and he’s not used to the heat. You know nothing about him or his health! Is that wise? Or good for him?”

“While you’d take him back up north now, right back into the very heart of the danger. You don’t know what kind of people you’re dealing with. Nor do you realize that your coming here may have compromised Charlie’s safety.”

“I knew my brother-in-law a lot longer than any of the police. I knew what he was in to and how he manipulated people. He was planning to extort money from me using Charlie, and I knew he was selling drugs and would love to make a quick million dollars. I can keep Charlie safe from people like him. Besides, I found Charlie using simple logic. What’s stopping others from doing the same?”

“Only if they talked to Charlie. Or followed you. It’s that I’m afraid of. Thankfully, Charlie only used the phone once.” Ian then pursed his lips, stopping his words as though something else had occurred to him. With a heavy sigh, he stood and pushed the chair into the desk.

Behind him, the door to the clinic opened slowly. Hearing it, Ian shoved Liz behind him. His hand reached behind his back to free up his weapon.

He had his gun out before Charlie could completely enter into the room. The boy’s eyes went wide and he scurried behind Monica, who was coming in right behind him carrying a tray of snacks. She jumped when she saw the gun, and the glasses rattled together.

Immediately, Ian slipped the weapon out of sight.

Stricken, Charlie raced over to Liz. As well intentioned as Ian MacNeal wanted to seem, and as incredibly engaging as he might appear, with his position of pastor and his outward care for Charlie, there was no way, Liz decided, that she was going to get herself mixed up with him. He was exactly what Charlie didn’t need in his life—another man with a gun. Charlie didn’t need the extra stress.

And nor did she need a man who could so easily move from compassionate Christian to cold-blooded bodyguard in a blink of an eye.

Her sister had been fooled by Jerry, who’d gone from charmer to drug dealer that quickly. Those kind of chameleon men only hurt women like her who trusted people.

The sooner she and Charlie left the island, the better. Except getting past Ian, the man with a gun, wasn’t going to be easy.

FOUR

Ten minutes later, after he called his supervisor and detailed what had happened, Ian called the local police to say an ambulance wasn’t needed. Liz listened as he stated briefly that she’d been sideswiped by a car that roared up out of nowhere, just at the start of the causeway. Nothing more, she noted, saying as little as possible.

Within an hour, the police arrived, and together with the two officers, they returned to the causeway to stare into the murky water of the blocked-off strait.

“Why were you coming over this causeway, when you said you noticed that it was under construction?” the bigger officer asked Liz.

“The concrete blocks were at the side. There was only one sign that said Construction Ahead. It didn’t say that the road was closed.”

“The causeway is supposed to be closed to all traffic. I don’t know why the blocks were moved.”

“There’s a resort being built here,” she pointed out. “How did they get their equipment there?”

“Special permission. The causeway will hold vehicular weight, but it’s just not finished yet, hence the fact it’s closed.” The highway patrol officer peeled off his sunglasses and his broad-brimmed hat and stared out at the still, dark water. He shook his head. “It’s going to take some doing getting that car out of there. No one likes to get in with the snakes.”

Snakes? Liz grimaced. “Should I call a tow truck or will you?”

“I can, ma’am. I know which company to call. But I don’t know when he’ll be able to get out here.”

The other officer walked toward the island for a few feet and then turned around again. “Did you see where the car went?”

Liz shook her head. “I don’t know. The engine revved a bit. I remember that, but that’s all.”

The officer inspected the ground. “It looks like it turned around here a few times.” He looked at Ian. “Any new cars on the island that you know of?”

“No.” Ian indicated the direction of the resort. “You may want to check with the resort, though. They have several vehicles. The smaller ones are vans bringing in workers.”

The officer nodded. After the police took her statement and promised to call with a time when the tow truck would arrive, they left. Despite the anticlimactic way they arrived and left, Liz found herself feeling much better. She needed a shower. With the heat around her, her clothes had dried quickly, but the salt left on her skin was making her itch. She needed to clean up.

And change into what, she thought. The few clothes she’d taken were at the bottom of that inlet.

Lord, you know I need clothes. And some relief from this heat, please.

As they returned to Moss Point, she glanced around the small village. Huge, spreading trees that couldn’t decide which way to grow shaded much of the hard-packed dirt street, but it was the thick, pale droops of Spanish moss hanging nearly to the ground that must have generated the village’s name. There seemed to be few lawns for children, just dirt that carried in from the road until it reached the houses. In places that caught the sunlight, a few gardens had been worked. But in the heat of the summer, the vegetables looked burdened and sad.

Around them, small bungalows and trailers seemed plunked down willy-nilly. Most were simple, unadorned except by obvious poverty. Liz lived in a modest area of the country herself, and as a Christian, she tried not to focus on earthly wealth. But the brand of poverty here caught in her throat.

Several of the villagers were sitting in the shade of their homes, wisely keeping their activities to a minimum during the oppressive afternoon heat. All were quietly fanning themselves. Ian waved and called out friendly greetings to most of them.

The first house on the right sported a small store in front. The old, faded sign on the door stated that it was open. The older couple lounging nearby watched them closely.

She attracted attention, she could tell. By now, everyone probably knew she’d plunged her car into the water. It was like that in small communities. There were no secrets.

“What do most of these people do for a living?” she asked Ian quietly as they walked down the dirt road.

“Some fish. A few are artisans, making handmade souvenirs for tourists.” He swatted away a mosquito. “But most are unemployed. ‘The Shepherd’s Smile’ will change the lifestyle here. Change it for the better. I know it.”

“It hasn’t already?”

“It’s new. The Vincentis have hired me to implement it. Both are good Christians who can see beyond the poverty and the blame that gets tossed around and are willing to do something to help these people.”

They slowed where the road curled into a cul-de-sac. “What are their plans?” she asked.

“First up was to plant a church and let God reach these people.”

They stopped at one of the trailers on the right. Rusting in several streaks, it sat parallel to the dirt road. In front sat a small garden of tomatoes and peppers. Several banana palms and one orange tree offered a bit of shade to its side deck, which was met by a tidy path of white rocks and crushed shells. All over the place, potted geraniums and other heat-loving flowers nodded in the light breeze. Liz could smell their blossoms from the road.

A loud, squawking sound sliced through the hot air. With bright colors, a bird flashed past them, startling Liz.

Charlie laughed. “It’s Joseph, Auntie Liz! He’s come to say hello!”

Ian took her arm to steady her. “Joseph is named for his colorful coat. He’s our local runaway and has been around for years. We think he’s a rainbow lorikeet that escaped from someone’s home in Northglade. He follows people around. Everyone likes him except Elsie, who says he’s always pecking at her plants just to annoy her.”

The bird landed on the small side deck in front of them, cocked his head and said something unintelligible.

“Shoo, you crazy bird! You’re always getting where you don’t belong. Shoo!” The voice continued, “Come in! We’ve been waiting too long with this meal, and George says he won’t wait any longer.” A tall, strong woman exited the trailer. She stopped when she spotted Liz. Her short, frizzy gray hair stuck out in all directions, and her dark skin bore a sheen of perspiration.

She turned to Ian and set her hands on her hips. “You could have told me we were having company.”

“I’m sorry, Elsie. I only just found out. This is Liz Tate, Charlie’s aunt.”

Her frown deepening, Elsie wiped her hands on her apron and trotted down the steps. Over the hot breeze, Liz listened to the woman’s footfalls crunching on the shell walkway. Elsie stuck out her hand toward Liz. “Charlie’s aunt, you say? I didn’t know he had one. Not that the boy talked any.”

“He can, though,” Ian answered blandly. “He used my cell to call Liz, who figured out where we were.”

After shooting Ian a questioning frown, Elsie lifted her graying eyebrows. “Well, come inside. I haven’t got a fancy air conditioner, but I do have a gallon of cold lemonade and a good fan.”

Ahead of them, Charlie galloped up the stairs and disappeared into the mobile home. He reappeared a moment later with a cell phone and shoved it toward Ian.

“Thank you,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry I used all the battery, but I didn’t wreck it. Honest.”

Ian nodded. Liz thought he might be holding his breath, hoping for more from the boy, but no more words came.

“Elsie,” he asked, “we’ve had a dip in the water. Is it all right if Liz has a shower here? I’ll run home for one and be back in ten minutes.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need more than a shower,” Liz told the woman. “I don’t have any dry clothes.”

“That’s no trouble. I have something that’ll fit you.” Elsie led them into the front room where she told her husband to pull another chair up to the kitchen table and that supper would be ready as soon as Liz showered and Ian returned.

A good wash and a clean dress felt good, Liz decided after she was done. Though the dress was simple and long—and identical to the one Monica wore—Liz was grateful.

Thank you, Lord.

She walked into the small trailer’s kitchen just as Ian opened the side door and entered.

His hair was still damp and finger-combed, his clothes lightweight and crisp. Liz found herself staring at him, all fresh and clean, his expression so full of concern and compassion. He smiled at her. And automatically, her heart tripped up. To cover her sudden fluster, she looked away.

Ian walked over to George as he pulled up a fifth chair to the small round table. He spoke quietly, with Liz catching only a few words: a tropical storm coming, George telling Ian not to overwork himself and feel free to ask others to help.

It would appear that George was part of this whole Witness Security Program. And probably Elsie, too. Liz didn’t know enough to make any more assumptions than that.

She caught more of Ian’s words. He had called his supervisor, suggesting Charlie be moved immediately, but his supervisor disagreed.

Liz stared at Ian, openly eavesdropping because this was too important for any good manners. The supervisor ordered them to stay put, to see who might show up, that he and the Wilsons were well trained for this. And extra help was on its way.

And judging by George’s deepening frown, Liz would guess he didn’t like that answer any more than Ian did.

Someone might show up? Hadn’t Ian hinted of that when they were talking in the clinic? If he suspected as much, then he must have told his supervisor. Now, with George talking about a tropical storm coming and Charlie being used as bait, she knew only one thing.

Charlie shouldn’t be here, no matter how well trained anyone was or how much extra help was on its way.

“I should go, as soon as possible,” she said after George gave thanks for their meal of hearty sandwiches and crisp salad. “There are a hundred reasons why I should take Charlie and leave. Including your workload, that tropical storm coming and the fact that someone might be here—” she glanced at Charlie, who was busy removing the green peppers from his salad “—ahead of me.”

Ian set down his fork. “Charlie is safest with me.”

“You need to pastor these people, too. I heard what George said. You can only spread yourself out so thin.”

“You should let me worry about that.”

“And,” Elsie added, pouring more lemonade, “you two need to talk about it down in his office.” She shot Charlie a quick look. Having dissected his food, he was happy to crunch on the carrots he’d found in his salad. He appeared to be ignoring both of them.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Ian answered calmly. “A taxi won’t come down this far from Northglade. You may not realize that it’s only a small town itself, with not much in it.”

She’d seen Northglade on the map, a community inland from Spring Island with a farm population. She doubted there were any motels there.

“Are you saying you won’t let me go?”

He leaned forward. He’d chosen a seat across the table from her and now drilled a stare into her. “You’ve been traveling for how long? You had a scare and a dunk in the water, and you haven’t slept since Saturday night, I’d guess. It would be very wise to spend the night here. If the Wilsons will have you.”

“Of course we will.” Elsie nodded. “Liz, dear, even if you could find a car to get you off the island, do you think you should be driving after all you’ve been through? I can see it in your eyes, just how tired you are. And I know you don’t want to risk Charlie’s life because of a little stubbornness.”

She’d expected some manipulation out of Charlie, because he was just a child and they sometimes did that sort of thing, but she hadn’t expected it out of the adults around the table.

But they were right. More than right. She was practically dead on her feet. Ian hit the nail on the head when he said she hadn’t slept. The evening Charlie had called, she’d been up arranging flights until the wee hours. The next day she flew out and then spent that night waiting for a connecting flight at Newark. Was it Wednesday already? And she hadn’t slept since Saturday night?

The reminder of that fact brought a yawn to her jaw, something she stifled quickly.

“Stay the night here, Liz,” Ian said quietly. “It’s the best thing.”

“But what about—” Still holding her glass of lemonade she dropped her voice “—whoever might be here?”

“Let me worry about that. You need to sleep, and we can discuss anything in the morning.”

She stared into his eyes, feeling the pull of that attraction again. A man who had given up a career to serve God. A man who cared enough for Charlie to risk his life. A handsome, compelling, intelligent man. Whose brilliant blue eyes met hers with a magnetism she couldn’t pull away from.

You’ve found Charlie. He’s safe. Rest tonight. Get some sleep.

Logic told her to capitulate. But she couldn’t ignore all that Ian had said back at the rec center. Charlie was in danger. The man who’d killed Jerry would come after him.

And yet, despite the fear rising in her again, she read Ian’s clear expression.

Trust me.

She took a shaky sip of her drink. Should I, Lord?

“We’ll put a cot in Charlie’s room. He can sleep on it, and Liz can have his bed.” Oblivious to Liz’s warring thoughts, Elsie settled the matter with a firm nod.

“Liz,” Ian added softly, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow. In the meantime, get some rest. It’s really the best thing.”

Fatigue rolled over her in one heavy, blanketing wave. Elsie had kept her curtains closed, and only through the tiny window above the sink did Liz see that night was closing fast.

With all eyes on her, Liz fought off the weariness. “Okay. And I bet I won’t be long in bed after Charlie.”

“Dad said I don’t have to go to bed early,” Charlie piped up.

Elsie arched her eyebrows at him. “If it was a school night you’d be going to bed early, young man.”

Charlie’s bottom lip pushed forward slightly. “Dad said I don’t need school. He said that I’m smart.”

Liz frowned at him. “Then you’re smart enough to know that you need your rest.” With that, she pulled out his chair and stood tiredly. “And you’re smart enough to know we should help Elsie do the dishes.”

As they rounded the table, she caught Elsie peering knowingly at her husband. “I told you he could talk just fine.”

George snorted. “Talking to his aunt ain’t the talking he should be doin’, and you know it, Elsie.”

Ian said his good-nights a short time later, thanking Elsie as he always did, for all she was doing for him and Charlie.

At the door, the older woman patted his arm. “You’re more than welcome, and don’t worry about a thing. Everything will work out. You just need faith, that’s all.”

She’d taken one look at him when he’d shown up for supper and guessed his thoughts. Yes, he was busy right now. Too busy, and Liz’s arrival didn’t make things any easier. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d called his supervisor in DC to inform him that she’d not only shown up but had also claimed she’d been run off the road. Ian had wanted to berate the man for not telling him about her, but all his supervisor had said was she had no claim on Charlie and wouldn’t be a problem. Ian reminded him that she’d seen her nephew regularly enough to have the boy call her the second he got to a phone, but the man refused to admit his mistake.

Suppressing a yawn, Ian rubbed his face. He felt like something the cat dragged in. While George liked to stay up late, watching TV until after midnight, Ian napped in the evening and spent the rest of the night next door, working on the program the Vincentis had hired him to implement, all the while watching the Wilson trailer.

Those short bouts of sleep were catching up with him. He hadn’t expected any trouble before Liz showed up, and now that Charlie’s location was compromised, sleep would be even more elusive.

Ian’s supervisor wanted Charlie to remain on the island as bait. And with the storm coming, all flights were cancelled, all roads plugged with residents already leaving, going to fully booked hotels inland. Most of the villagers here couldn’t afford that luxury and would wait until the shelters opened. Getting Charlie off the island would be easy. Finding a place for him much harder. And he needed Liz to go, too, or Charlie might sink back into his silence again.

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t fool himself. There was another reason for not wanting to have Charlie and Liz removed, and Ian knew it. He’d never given up on a case. He’d never been removed from a case. He’d been one hundred percent successful at cases worse than this one.

Ian trudged into his house, not bothering with the lights, even though night had fallen. He lived next door to the Wilsons, and on the other side was the Callahan house. Stephen Callahan, one of several boys just a bit younger than Charlie, had latched on to the boy as a playmate. But tonight, their house was dark. Leo Callahan had managed to secure work at the resort’s work site as a general laborer. The work was hard in this heat, so Ian wasn’t surprised to see all the windows open.

There were no streetlights in Moss Point. Down the road, the rec center had a security light out front, for all the good it did, with the dense foliage between the building and the rest of the village. From where Ian stood, he could see the bugs flying in and out of the light’s glowing circle, thick enough to look like snow swirling on a winter’s evening back home in Virginia.

He’d seen plenty of snow the winter that came to mind. He’d taken off from his uncle’s house. Uncle Ed hadn’t wanted his younger brother’s bad kid, and that winter, Ian had had enough of the abuse. The snow that night had been thick, flying past the streetlights as Ian had walked the town until dawn.

Shaking off the unpleasant memories, Ian looked out at the middle window, just past the small deck. A blurry silhouette walked past the high, small window. Liz was preparing for bed. A moment later, the light winked out.

He turned away, flopped onto his couch and shut his eyes.

Something jerked him awake.

A yell. A loud and insistent dog barking. A glance at his watch told him that two hours had passed. He then looked over at the front window, thinking it odd to see a flickering, orange glow outside.

He leaped up. A house was on fire!

FIVE

The Wilsons! Ian bolted out the door, his gaze shooting to the house on his left. But their small home was quiet and dark. Ian spun around.

The Callahans! Leo was running outside, dropping a small child on the ground out front. He turned and raced back in the door. Ian tore across the thin, scruffy lawn to snatch the little girl, Stephen’s younger sister, away to safety.

By then, Elsie was hurrying along the road, her house-coat flapping. Ian shoved the child in her arms. He practically ran into Leo on his way through the door. This time the man carried a sleepy Stephen in his arms.

“Who else is in here? Where’s Jenny?” Ian asked.

At that moment, Jenny appeared at the door. Ian took Stephen in his arms, tossing the boy over his shoulder. At the same time, he pulled Jenny Callahan away from the house.

“It’s in the back bedroom!” Leo gasped out. He had an oddly deep voice for a skinny man. “That’s where it started!”

Jenny grabbed her son. Elsie came close, still holding her daughter, and pulled the mother and child away from the house.

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