Countdown (10 page)

Caleb and Ethan both wore huge grins that spoke of their affection for Cynthia, but they kept their chins tucked to their chests, a sign they were feeling shy.

“You've got a man outside, Cynthia.”

Her face paled. “He's still there? He showed up shortly after Derrick left.” She sighed. “It's why I tried to call him a while ago to see if he'd ordered a detail. He always tells me first.” She patted her stomach. “Let me make sure all the blinds are closed. We've already installed light-blocking shades in preparation for the babies. Stay here a minute.”

He smiled in response. Cynthia and Derrick had been trying to have kids ever since he'd met them years ago, fresh out of high school. He'd never seen Derrick so happy when he'd announced they were expecting twins.

Derrick was supposed to have been here or at least have been available by phone. James never would've come if he had thought his presence would put Cynthia into danger.

Cynthia returned. “Okay. Our
friend
outside shouldn't be able to see anything now.” She picked up her cell phone and hit a button. She held it to her ear. “I'm Cynthia,” she said, looking past him.

James spun around. “Oh, I'm sorry. This is Rachel, my neighbor. I—” He started to explain, but stopped short. “You don't want to know.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Rachel. Any friend of James...” Cynthia frowned. “Voice mail.” She clicked it off, sighed and placed a hand underneath her very large, oblong stomach. “Can I assume that since you came in through my back door, you don't have a car?”

He nodded.

“Would I be correct in deducing you have nowhere else to go?”

“You'd be a regular Sherlock,” Rachel said.

Cynthia looked at the ceiling. “I can't reach Derrick. So I'm thinking you guys should stay here until I do. It's late, so if you want to put the boys down, use Derrick's office. It has a futon and no windows.”

James pressed a hand against his forehead. Nothing was going right. “Cynthia, you're supposed to be on bed rest, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Modified. I'm allowed to move around the house as long as I take it easy.”

James studied the boys, who were almost done with their bananas. Unless they heard a kitten meow or a dog bark, they would fall back to sleep quickly. He didn't think they'd try to look out the windows, especially at night.

“Okay, I'll take you up on it. But tell me what to do. You rest.”

Cynthia acquiesced and took her place at a recliner near the door, a gun back in her possession, hidden by a quilted throw she draped over her lap.

Rachel grabbed some pillows from the linen closet in the hallway. They each took an end of the fitted mattress sheet meant for the futon in the study and made short work of preparing the boys' bed. “Do you think the man outside is from the NSA?” she asked.

The boys seemed engaged with the TV show playing softly in the opposite corner. “I don't know,” James answered. “Didn't it strike you as odd that the guy following us in the woods didn't tell the officers he was NSA?”

She shrugged. “Maybe only one of them has an NSA badge.” Her eyes widened. “Worse case scenario, could they be listening or checking heat sensors on this place right now?”

On any other day, the very idea would've made him laugh. How sad that the thought had crossed his mind, as well. “That's what I had to check before we came inside. No, there's no surveillance vans close enough to do what you're asking.” James looked at his boys. “But I have no guarantee how long we can stay here,” he whispered. “Derrick is still our best shot, but if he's not in contact by morning, we need to leave anyway.”

“How?”

His head ached at the very thought. “I haven't figured that out yet.”

A yawn ripped past her throat which triggered a yawn of his own. In the dimly lit room such a simple act seemed intimate.

It was ridiculous, but after his thoughtless comment about God putting the lonely in families, he felt awkward around her. He'd meant that God had taken care of her by giving her Meredith, but it hadn't come out that way. And she no longer had Meredith, so it must've sounded like he was throwing her pain back in her face, which was the last thing he'd wanted to do.

He stared at the plush carpet and ached to kick off his shoes and stretch out. If only he could close his eyes and forget the last twenty-four hours. He'd wake up to find everything sorted out. Derrick would be back and tell him the danger had passed, that he hadn't risked his cushy job that enabled him to pay the bills and work from home a bulk of the time. If only.

The smell of Rachel's hair brought him back to the real world. If Derrick took much longer, he'd be taking the floor beside his boys tonight. But, with a strange man sitting outside the house, he took the responsibility of protecting Cynthia, Rachel and his boys very seriously.

There would be no sleep tonight.

TEN

R
achel rolled over on the twin bed and stared at the two cribs on the opposite wall. Cynthia had insisted she take a rest while they wait for Derrick. “I'm sure he's just swamped sorting things out,” she'd said, but her eyes had lacked luster, worry lines creasing her forehead.

Judging by how tense James had seemed, she didn't think he was entirely sold on the idea, either. Yet, it was probably the best scenario for the boys. Why'd it have to be a nursery? She'd never once questioned her decision to avoid motherhood at all costs until now.

Her heavy eyes closed as she tried to take deep breaths, but the only picture in her mind was a car sitting outside. She flinched and looked at the blue LED clock on the bottom shelf of the diaper station. She'd apparently fallen asleep for forty-five minutes out of pure exhaustion, but dreams of trying to keep men from Caleb and Ethan woke her up, covered in a cold sweat.

Everything hurt. Rachel took deep breaths.
God sets the lonely in families.
She longed to have her phone to look up the passage in the Bible. James said it was in Psalms somewhere.

Cynthia seemed like she would make a good mother. She'd told James her parents and Derrick's parents would alternate staying at their house for a few weeks once their twins were born. She probably had examples of nurturing, good parents in abundance.

It was true God had given her Meredith when she'd needed it most. One of her coworkers always talked about friends like they were family. Maybe that's what she needed, to open herself up more to friends and to learn about what it was to be a family that way.

The blinds tempted her. A peek would ease her mind whether the man in the mysterious vehicle still sat outside the house. She restrained herself. If he was out there and saw movement, he might get curious. And what if the black sedan had joined them? At least they had taken their guns away. Though, with men like that, guns might be a dime a dozen.

She rolled over. The night-light shone on the ceiling's grooves. James had looked so strong and handsome in the moonlight. Thoughts like those would not help her get back to sleep. She'd never realized how tethered she was to her smartphone until now without a game to play or a book to read.

Rachel sat up, fully awake. Her hair, slightly damp from a late-night shower, fell onto her shoulders. She stood and tugged her T-shirt down to cover the back of her sweatpants. She twisted the doorknob softly and tested the wooden floor for creaks. The last thing she wanted was to wake anyone after such a physically and emotionally exhausting day.

She tiptoed to the kitchen where she found the oven hood light still on. A Sudoku book had been on the coffee table so if she found a pen, she'd be set. On the countertop, next to the refrigerator, a stack of bills was in a cute, wicker basket along with...yes, pens. She grabbed a blue one and turned around right into James.

She gasped and a tiny squeak escaped her lips. “You scared me.” The whisper came out more like a hiss.

“I could say the same for you.”

“Did I wake you?”

His blue eyes were alert. The only sign of exhaustion was the lack of a smile. His dark brown hair begged to be styled. She could do so much with it. He wore a plain gray T-shirt and black sweatpants.

“I'm not convinced it's safe to sleep yet,” he admitted. He held his right arm strangely.

She tilted her head. A gun was in his hand, pointed to the ground. She no longer felt chilly. “I'm glad you didn't lead with that.”

He nodded. “Never. But why didn't you come out here with yours?”

“First, it's not mine and never will be. And, I guess I didn't think about it. The doors are locked, and Cynthia put a gun on top of the fridge.”

“No, she took hers to bed. Besides, locks aren't going to stop those men if they think we're in here.”

She remembered the sound of glass breaking all too well. She crossed past him into the living room and settled on the suede couch, picking up the Sudoku book. He followed her into the room. “You don't think Cynthia would mind if I did one of the puzzles to calm my brain, do you? I could pay her back.”

“If it's out here, Cynthia would want guests to use it. She's the queen of hospitality.” He placed the gun on the coffee table and sat on the opposite end of the couch, moving the throw pillow to behind his back.

“Maybe you should sleep out here on the couch instead of the floor.”

He shook his head. “It wouldn't matter. Floor is probably better for my back anyway.”

“I could take the Sudoku back to the nursery if I'm keeping you awake.”

“I'd rather you do it here.” He pointed to the curtains. “I haven't checked the nursery, but this room has both blinds and blackout curtains. The oven light from the kitchen is on. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't feel comfortable adding any other light.”

She flipped open the book. If she squinted she could see clear enough.

“We both work when we're overwhelmed.” He smiled that same crooked smile that seemed to say
I know you.

“It probably seems silly to you—a hairdresser who hates math but loves Sudoku. You could probably do these in your sleep.”

“Not at all. Games like that stimulate my mind. I can use the LINQ query to figure—”

“The what?”

“In simplest terms, it's a computer programming language, but I understand the appeal of Sudoku. For people who are better at other things, they find it relaxing.”

“Exactly.” Rachel flipped to a puzzle labeled Easy. “It keeps me from thinking about people and my feelings. It tricks my mind into believing I have control, even though I know only God does.” She tapped the pen on the page. “If life is crazy and I'm having a hard time letting go, I can at least make this box neat and orderly.”

It might not work with a handsome neighbor sitting next to her, though. In her peripheral, she could see him studying her. It made it hard to focus on the numbers and empty blocks. They all seemed a blur, and her mind wouldn't process.

He leaned toward her, his breath hot on her cheek as he pointed at one. “Nine.”

Her cheeks heated. “Thanks.”

“Do you mind if I give you a tip?”

“Um, okay.” If he started trying to teach her the LINQ query, though, she was going to leave.

“I noticed when you punched that man in your house your form was slightly off.”

She set down the book in her lap, surprised at the sudden turn of conversation. “How?”

“You had good power from your core. You took martial arts at one time?”

“No. Lots of self-defense classes, though.”

“That explains the quick-thinking. Good job using the rolling pin, by the way.” He held his arm straight out. “Your fist was also tight, but your knuckles went head-on into him. It got the job done, but if he were any thicker, it would've hurt you.” He adjusted his wrist slightly. “Now look. Notice how the back of my fist resembles more of a diamond shape. The goal being that the line of my radius and the first knuckle make a straight line.”

Rachel leaned over until she could stare down his arm. “Huh. And that makes a difference?”

He stood and picked up a throw cushion. “You'll try it and always remember. Come on,” he whispered. “We can't sleep anyway.”

She blinked. He was serious. She set the book aside and stood. “Won't we wake people up?”

“Not unless you knock me over.”

The taunt heated her core. “How long were you in martial arts?”

He shrugged. “A long time. Black belt in Tang Soo Do and jujitsu. Doesn't do much good if someone points a gun at you, though.” His chin dropped. “You could've been killed at the church.”

“But you stopped them.”

He shook his head. “I don't take the credit for that. By God's grace, whatever you sprayed in that man's eyes stunned him. But it could've gone so wrong, Rachel.” His voice turned gravelly, and his face contorted as if in pain. He rolled back his shoulders and cupped the throw pillow with his right hand. He moved the target to the center of his chest. “Now punch this like you did the man in your house.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You realize you sound like one of those guys challenging a girl to punch him as hard as they can, right?”

“No, there's a big difference. I know how to take a punch.”

She shrugged, adjusted her stance and punched.

She watched his face, studying him for any signs of pain. His mouth spread into a slow grin. “I'm fine, but I want you to pay attention to how it felt. Did you feel the force of the punch vibrate up your arm?”

“Yes.” Add it to the list of discomfort her poor bones and muscles were recovering from.

“That's what I thought. Now look at your wrist and the top of your hand. Try it the way I explained. Lead with those two knuckles and hit me again.”

* * *

The fist came at him so fast he almost didn't have time to shift his stance.

She grinned. “That's a huge difference. I hardly felt a thing.”

“Felt more powerful, too. Want to try one more time?”

She looked into his eyes, and he held her gaze. His mouth went dry.

She adjusted her stance and threw another punch.

He caught it with the pillow. “Good.” He used his left hand to touch the outside of her arm. “Don't lock your elbow, though. And if you twist your hips as you punch, you'll have more power.”

She nodded but said nothing. Her skin felt on fire underneath his fingers.

“I just want to keep you safe,” he whispered.

She nodded. “You're doing a good job.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her. They stood inches apart. He realized his hand was still on her arm. She dropped her fist from his chest, and her hair spilled over her shoulder, tickling his forearm.

The throw pillow slipped between them to the ground. He leaned forward at the same time as she did to get it. She placed a hand on his arm, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

She looked at his mouth, and he couldn't help but return the favor. “Rachel...” He reached for her, his hand slipping behind her neck. She released a soft sigh and tilted her chin upward. His lips brushed hers.

She jerked backward, her eyes wide, her hand against her mouth, shaking her head. “I'm sorry. I can't,” she whispered.

His chest burned, his breath suddenly hot and shallow. He should've never... He stared at the wooden floor and simply nodded. He couldn't process, he couldn't think. He grabbed the gun off the coffee table and made his way back to the study. At the corner he turned back. “Rachel, next time bring the gun with you.”

She nodded but didn't make eye contact.

What had he done?

The woman had risked everything for his kids, and he'd thanked her by scaring her with a kiss? He'd let himself operate on assumptions, on instinct, imagining she'd wanted to kiss him as much as he'd wanted to kiss her. He should win a trophy for such poor judgment. He slipped back into the study and closed the door most of the way.

The night-light revealed Caleb and Ethan both peacefully asleep on the futon. He'd never been so thankful that his three-year-olds were still good sleepers. They'd done so well when presented with danger. They took their fear to him and trusted him to take care of it.

His neck tingled with conviction. He used to be pretty fearless himself...confident that God would take care of whatever came his way. When he'd met Nikki he'd
known
somehow she liked him. His heart had ripped in two the day she passed.

Maybe it was too much to ask to ever be able to experience even a fraction of that kind of love again. His heart was crippled. How could he expect Rachel to ever be interested in a man like him?

The floorboards creaked outside his room. He peeked out the door and saw her retreating form go back to the nursery. He exhaled. Should he have apologized? If only Derrick would've found them places to go by now. That's how it should've gone. They should've never been placed in this position.

James took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. How quickly he jumped from embarrassment to anger. He lowered himself to the carpet. Setting the gun far enough away he wouldn't accidentally hit it, but making sure it was still in arm's reach, he stretched out.

Help.
It was the only prayer he could utter. His mind and emotions were too jumbled. He took a deep breath and listened to the breathing patterns of his twins.

Ding-dong.

James sat upright, his head pounding. The red LCD numbers from the small clock on the bookshelf read 4:07 a.m. James reached for his gun, checked that the boys were still asleep and rushed to the study door.

Rachel stood at the nursery door, her purse hanging diagonally across her body, unzipped. Cynthia stepped into the hallway. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I'll check the peephole.”

James motioned for Rachel to stay back as he followed Cynthia to the front door. The sun had yet to make an appearance for the day. She flipped the switch by the door. Light spilled from the peephole. She rose on her tiptoes, her stomach pressing into the door as she took a look.

Cynthia dropped to her heels and looked at James, her forehead wrinkled. “It's one of Derrick's men,” she whispered.

He stood, paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Should she answer or not? Maybe this was the help he was so desperate for. Cynthia waved him back. He retreated to the corner of the hallway where Rachel waited. They were out of sight from the front door but could still see Cynthia unlock the dead bolt.

“Cynthia,” a deep voice said. “I'm sorry to tell you this...”

Cynthia gasped and placed a hand on her mouth. “Oh, please, no...”

“He's still alive,” the voice continued. “We found him in a ditch early this morning.”