Splashdown: A Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 3) (14 page)

John stood in the middle of the living room waiting for Sharee. She’d arrived back from the homeless camp a few minutes before he did. As he parked his truck, he saw her disappear into the woods with the dog.

God…
Prayer came hard when you knew you’d messed up. He’d let his anger take control again. How often must he deal with it?

The back door opened, and she stepped into the kitchen. She unclicked the dog’s leash, gave him a head pat, turned John’s way—and halted. They both stared at each other. For a second, her mouth parted as if to say something but nothing came out.

All the words that came to his mind seemed trivial and inappropriate. He could only reach for her and hope she’d come. Her face crumpled, and she flew into his arms. 

He buried his face in her hair. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“No, I’m sorry. I need to explain…”

“No. It’s okay.”

“I want to explain.”

“No.” He pulled his head back. “You have nothing to explain.”

“John,” her fingers trailed his face, “so much has happened since you left. In six days. It seems like six weeks.”

He turned her toward the living room, and they stumbled over the dog. Cooper twisted and turned and wagged his tail.

Sharee leaned down and rubbed behind his ear. “Go. Go on. You’ll get your turn later.” She gave him a gentle push.

John lifted a brow at her then drew her to the recliner. “Tell me what’s been going on.”

Quiet settled. He waited. She touched his arm, a feather touch.

“I had…a miscarriage.” Her voice dropped on the last word; her head followed.

Every nerve stilled. “You what?” He tried to see her face. Had he heard right? “What?”

“A miscarriage.”

“You were pregnant?” He hadn’t known. Why hadn’t she told him? Questions rose and evaporated. He waited.

“I thought I was pregnant a few weeks ago, but I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Then I planned to tell you the night of the banquet, but…you know…we got distracted.” Her mouth rose slightly. “And Bob called the next day. I couldn’t tell you then. You were leaving.”

Her outburst after Bob’s phone call had more to it than he’d known, than she’d said. And now…

“You were pregnant?” Nine months. Nine months of waiting, wondering if anything was wrong, but they’d decided to give it until after their anniversary before making a doctor’s appointment.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I…I lost the baby.”

He tried for a moment to remember anything he’d heard about miscarriages. Not much. People had other babies, though, didn’t they? He was sure they did. Sharee shook against his chest. In a moment, he felt the dampness through his shirt and focused on her. 

He touched her hair. “Lost it? You didn’t lose it. What an idiotic term. Who coined that? There was a problem, something was wrong. It happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

He took a deep breath. Why were they being attacked like this? Weren’t they both trying to do what God wanted?

Sharee sobbed against him, her emotions threatening to envelop him. “Don’t, babe.” He stroked her hair. “It’s all right. We’ll have another.” Wouldn’t they? He held her, curled in a fetal position now, against him. “It’s all right. It’s all right.” He swallowed hard and felt moisture surface in his own eyes. “You should have called.”

“You were so far away. I didn’t want to distract you from what you were doing.”

“Distract me?” Another idiotic expression.

“Yes. How could I call and say that to you with all you were doing?” She brushed tears from her face.

He couldn’t hold her tight enough. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” Why wasn’t he? Pain for her, anger at God.
Why?

“You’re okay?” he asked as the thought hit him. “Did you see the doctor? What did he say?”

“I went to the hospital.” She stopped and bit her lip. “I’m fine. He said everything seems all right. That I shouldn’t have trouble getting pregnant again, but to see my gynecologist.”

“You made an appointment?”

“Yes,” she raised her head. “Dr. Richmond called the ambulance.”

“Doctor…” Something twisted in his gut. Zeke Richmond. Again.

“He called that day. He could tell something was wrong, and when he found out what was happening, he called the ambulance.”

The groan inside him was deep. The man had done what John should have done—what he should have been here to do.

Sharee touched his jaw. “That’s why I went to lunch with him. He wanted to see how I was doing, so he stopped by the office. Everybody ran to lunch, and there we were, he and I, so…I felt lunch out was the better than just staying at the office.”

He grappled with the disparate feelings and thoughts. She had done her best to honor what he’d asked, and he had thrown his anger in her face.

“Richmond was here, and I wasn’t.”

Her tears spilled again. “
I wanted you
. Not him. I wanted
you
.”

He drew her back against him, words wrenching from him, “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“No, it’s not your fault. God knew where you were. He knew what would happen.” She swallowed. “I don’t understand. But…it’s in his hands.”

He held her for a long time. “It might be in his hands, but he and I are going to have a few words when I get to heaven.”

Sharee twisted and stared at him, eyes wide, and then she giggled.

His brows rose. “What?”

“You’re going to have a few words with God?”

He let out a frustrated breath. “I talk big, don’t I?”

She giggled again, and he felt the pain break and the anger shift; and he could breathe. They’d have another baby. Things would work out. God had put them together; he was sure of that. Whatever came, they’d face it together.

His gaze lifted.
What Satan meant for evil, you’ll use for good. I know that. But I sure wish I knew what you were doing.

***

Lynn spread the file over the dining table. She had carried it back and forth in her attaché case for the last week—forgotten in the midst of the investigation, of Rich’s strong presence, of the varied personalities. When she accused Sharee of forgetfulness about the bag, she never imagined her own.

She picked up the last sheet in the girl’s testimony and reread it. Four girls. Marta talked about four girls controlled by one man—through rapes and beatings and drugs. Required to bring him so much money each night or face the violence all over again. And the johns were as bad as the pimp.

Lynn looked at the paper she held. One man came at least once a week no matter where they moved, and they moved often. He always wore a mask, nothing grotesque, mainly a black mask around his eyes. While not surprised—many of the men had fetishes—Marta began to believe this wasn’t a fetish, but something the man did as a disguise. He talked little, and when he did, he used a creepy whine. Once she had slipped out to watch him leave in a shiny black car. She hadn’t tried to get the license number. After all, what good would it do her?

Someone had attached another sheet, written in Tom McCloud’s handwriting. Lynn read it again.
The police went to the one place Marta could identify, but the place was deserted and stripped clean. Was the pimp tipped off?

She remembered Tom’s words about someone high up. Is that why he hadn’t informed her when he hired an undercover investigator? He trusted no one? Not even her? When she’d confronted him earlier today, her “cross every T” boss gave vague answers that worried her. At no time during her five years of employment had he kept her out of anything going on in the office. Yet, he’d hired Marianne Stablowski on his own—to go undercover.

Lynn stood but leaned with her hands against the table. She stared out the sliding glass doors to where the Gulf waves met the sand. Their continuous motion kept her deep in thought for a while. She walked toward the door, pushing it open, letting the wind and the salt air stir her hair. 

So, Victoria had lied not only about her name, but also about her reason for being there, and about being an abused wife. And yet the stories she’d told had such an element of truth to them that Lynn had never guessed or questioned. She grappled with the feelings of betrayal, but Victoria…no, Marianne Stablowsi…had investigated Marta’s abduction and subsequent forced prostitution, and Marianne Stablowski was dead.

She wanted to talk with Rich, but that was impossible. He’d stayed until 1:30 A.M. the other night, content—so it seemed—with the food, the movie, and snuggling on the couch until right before leaving. His kiss at that time spoke of another type of hunger, but he didn’t push.

Before he left, he caught her hair again, the twirl gentle this time almost a caress. “I’ve got to work on this case and keep the personal and the professional side separate. So, we need to end personal visits tonight until the case wraps.”

Her heart had tumbled, but what could she say?

“Can you keep our relationship on the QT, even from your friend, Sharee?”

She nodded, and he left her to wonder about him and where any relationship would go. She’d dated a stream of men—all types—but as she gave more of her life to God, the men and the dating had dropped away. She now trusted God to bring the right person into her life at the right time. So, was Rich in that arena?

Have you brought him, Lord, or am I just wishing that? He’s different from anyone I’ve ever known. Could I take the worry of knowing he might face life-threatening situations every day? He says he’s a Christian, yet his dedication to you seems small.
She gave a one-sided smirk.
This is me saying that about another person, Lord. Me —the one who could never measure up to anything like what Sharee and John are doing. But I want to know him more. Let me know, please, before my heart is too involved.

The wind ran along her arms and over her bare legs. A brown pelican sailed a few feet above the waves, its head cocked to check for fish in the gray waters. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and tapped in Sharee’s number. She couldn’t talk about Rich, but they could discuss the file on her table.

An hour later, she sat and watched as Sharee read. When Sharee put the papers down and lifted her head, they both stared at each other.

“This is horrible.” Sharee’s gaze dropped to papers. “Horrible.”

“Yes. You’ve dealt with some of this?”  

Sharee shook her head. “Not really. Not like this. But we do see girls come and go.” She shook the papers. “Marta ran away from home and ended up on the street and says she was lucky that a woman from the homeless camp took her under her wing. But as soon as she arrived, she was approached. I wonder if the woman was in on it.” 

“Maybe.” Silence settled between them for a moment. Lynn stood and walked around the room. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of runaways get caught up in trafficking almost immediately—if they’re at the bus stations or malls. These guys know who they’re looking for and just approach them like a big brother, listening to their sob stories until they let down their guard. Just like this. Then they go with these guys willingly only to end up in sex trafficking.” She stopped. “What do you think about Lily?”

“Lily? I like her. She’s sullen sometimes, but she’s only thirteen.”

Lynn sat down. “You know what happens at that age. Teen rebellion hitting, hormones kicking in, and added to that, she and Maria have lost their home. They’re on the streets. Then this guy, Afton, comes on like a rock concert. No wonder she swallowed what he had to say.”

“You know, Afton was one of the men at my house after the hurricane. He’s new to the camp.”

Lynn sat forward. “New? You mean he just showed up?”

“Not just. He came about a month before the hurricane. He’s in his late twenties, I think. Looks like a body-builder.”

“Well, I don’t know what he looks like, but either he’s a pedophile or into human trafficking or both. You need to call Detective Richards and give him any information you have. What he looks like, who he hangs with, all that. Do you have a last name?”

“No, he hasn’t asked for any help and hasn’t communicated with any of the volunteers.”

“How do Lily and Maria get along?”

“Relationship-wise? Typical teenage stuff. Nothing unusual that I could see.”

“When I talked with Lily the other day, she was upset about her mom but also defensive about Afton.”

“You’re kidding. The guy almost killed her mom. Why would she defend him?”

“Read Marta’s testimony again. I’ve done a lot of research since Tom started this whole thing. These girls are brainwashed, psychologically groomed to be faithful to their handlers. Some of the men work on the girls for months before kidnapping them. They go from the loving boyfriend to violent pimp overnight, and the girls become emotional—as well as physical—slaves. I bet that’s what he was doing with Lily. He went there that night to get her, only she wasn’t ready. I bet he moved more quickly than he wanted because of Victoria’s—I mean, Marianne’s—death. I wanted to learn more, but Maria woke up, and things got out of control. Lily is blaming herself, not her boyfriend. And she didn’t give his name to the deputies, only to me when her mom seemed to be doing worse.”