Out of Circulation (Hemlock Creek Suspense Book 1) (7 page)

Such disappointment for a little boy. These candid glimpses into Ace's childhood explained who he was more clearly than his often-enigmatic actions.

His smile widened. "But Granny told me 'Ace' can also mean a champion; a master. She prayed that way—that I would become a champion for God."

"I like that." She swam closer. "Sounds like you actually do believe in God."

"I did, as a kid. Asked Jesus into my heart and all that. Granny's prayers carried me along for a while, but then when I was a teen, it became blindingly clear that God didn't seem to be on my side. Then Granny died. It was kind of downhill from there."

She wished she had pithy words of wisdom and restoration to offer, but she had been struggling for years to believe that God loved her and wanted the best for her. So many times it didn't seem like it. Maybe Ace needed to talk to Mom's friend Jeannie—and maybe she did, too.

Ace looked at the sky, then at his waterproof watch. "It's getting late; we'd better get back. I know your mom will be worried."

The moment was lost. But he was right—Mom would worry if they didn't show up soon.

After he climbed back onboard, he helped pull her up. Strangely, she didn't even feel self-conscious about her clothing-laden weight, possibly because she was hyperaware of the secure feeling of her hands in his. His long fingers were surprisingly rough, which appealed to her more than she would have guessed.

They lowered onto the deck benches for a few minutes to dry off so they wouldn't soak the Lexus interior. The waning afternoon sunshine felt just right. She wished she could live in this bubble of light and warmth forever.

Reality intruded as her cell phone buzzed.

"Hello?"

"Katie, where are you?" Molly's voice had a desperate edge to it.

"We're fine. I'm just showing Ace the
Vixen
."

"What? So let me get this straight: your car was bombed into oblivion, but for some reason you two decided to be-bop on over to Sutton Lake? Good grief, sis. You could've let me know. Didn't you get my texts?"

"I didn't see them—we were busy. And you know me, a real be-bopper." She tried to control a snicker. "We're heading home now. Don't wait up for supper."

Molly huffed. "We won't. I have to get going but I wanted to see my thankfully-still-alive sister
before I went out tonight."

"Who you going out with?"

There was an unusually long pause. "Someone you wouldn't know."

Katie's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't like Molly to be cagey about her illustrious dates. "I wish you'd stick around and tell me more about him."

"No time. Maybe another day. But stay safe, okay? That bodyguard better be earning his keep."

As she hung up, Ace stood, helping her to her feet. Near the car, he surprised her by crossing to her door first and opening it. He hadn't done that before.

"Why, thank you." She smiled. "I see you have excellent manners."

"Could be your Southern ways are rubbing off on me."

A zing of hope shot through her chest. She tried to tamp it down, but she couldn't erase a very clear picture that formed in her mind. Ace Calhoun, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, tromping out to the Christmas tree farm with her family on their yearly tree hunt. Where did that come from? How could he ever fit in here?

As she watched him struggle to squeeze his still-damp body into his dry dress shirt, Ace grinned, and that last domino of hesitancy she had toward him toppled.

The truth was, she'd never met a man who fit so well with
her
. But was he so far gone from God he wouldn't ever come back? She'd always wanted to marry a strong Christian—stronger than her, at least.

It almost felt like something was propelling her toward Ace, something bigger than what she could see or understand. She would begin praying about her mixed feelings in earnest. But one thing she was increasingly sure of: Ace Calhoun was a decent man.

****

Ace ignored the long red strands of hair whipping around Katie's head. He ignored her contented smile and that glow she seemed to bask in, even after a tedious day in which her car had been blown to smithereens by C4 explosives, to say nothing of the hours she'd spent searching for hidden money with him, nearly passing out in the process.

The storage building had been a bust. The boat had been a bust. He was trying not to show his disappointment, but sometimes it seemed Katie saw right past his smiles into some part of himself he preferred to hide.

What would she think if she ever knew his real motive for staying here?

Stealing a glance at her as she leaned into the seat, relaxed and nearly dozing, he gripped the wheel harder. The truth was, his biggest motive for staying in Hemlock Creek sat right beside him.

****

A much-calmer Mom welcomed them at the door. She didn't bother to ask about their damp clothing. "Come in, come in," she said. "Ham biscuits and gravy coming right up."

The comfort food hit the spot, but Katie feared the exhaustion of the day must have shown on her face.

Mom kissed her head. "You're my sweet baby girl. I'm so thankful you weren't hurt." A warm teardrop slid onto her hair. "Oh, and your brother wants you to call. I didn't tell him what happened to your car."

Funny—she and Brandon always had some kind of uncanny connection, even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye. Even miles apart, he seemed to have an instinct for when she was in need of some big-brother boosting.

"Don't let me stop you," Ace said. "I need to get back over and get some shuteye myself."

She nodded, unable to articulate her gratefulness for his presence at the library, his willingness to go on her wild goose chase for the money, and his talking her into an impromptu but much-needed swimming excursion.

As Mom hummed, scrubbing out her cast-iron skillet, Katie slowly and deliberately covered his hand with her own. When his eyes met hers, questioning, she took a deep breath. "Thank you," she whispered.

For once, it seemed he had nothing to say. He just sat there, his covered hand resting on the wooden tabletop.

Finally, as Mom swung around to wipe down the table, he murmured, "You're one in a million, Katie McClure."

****

Katie swiped on a bit of powder before Skyping Brandon, lest her natural blush become apparent. She wanted to talk about Dad, not about her bodyguard, who had admittedly set her heart aflutter.

He picked up quickly, giving her a close-up view of his full red beard but not much else.

"Hey, bro—pull that phone back a little!"

He laughed, rearranging his phone camera. "Just wanted to give you the full river-guide mountain-man effect, sis."

"Scary."

"Well, you're looking good. But what's the deal with Mom hiring a bodyguard? I feel like she's only telling me blips of information, like I can't handle the truth."

Knowing her brother's tendency to get overheated, she started at the beginning, explaining the library intrusion, the apartment break-in, the stalker, and finally, as the pièce de résistance, the car bomb. With each event, his eyes widened and his ruddy face grew a shade darker. When she stopped for breath, he exploded.

"I swear I will come back there and I will kill those people! They bombed your car?! I swear I will contact some of Dad's FBI friends! I'm hopping the next plane!"

She used her most soothing voice, trying to talk him down and redirect his attention.

"No need to come back—that's what the bodyguard is for. Plus, the police are on the case. And I actually wanted to ask you about the FBI stuff. Did Dad talk much to you about his friends, or maybe any particular cases?"

Brandon paused, taking a swig of his ever-present can of Dr. Pepper. The flame in his cheeks died down a little. "Let's see. All he ever really mentioned was his partner Jim, because he was always coming over to go fishing, you know? I mean, Dad didn't talk about specific cases. But I do remember him saying they should've done an autopsy on Jim. I think he didn't buy that late-stage cancer explanation for his death. Dad wanted to look into things, as I recall. But it was too late, because Jim had already been cremated, like his will directed."

Dad's suspicions could have been founded. What if Anatoly had killed Jim because he was connected with that bank heist case? And what if...Katie gasped, forgetting she was on camera.

"Sis, what's going on? You're white as a sheet."

She described the note to him, and he jumped to the same conclusion she had.

"So this Anatoly might have killed Jim, then taken out our own dad. For a bank stash that's gone missing." His green-gold eyes darkened. "Sis, I feel like I need to be there with you. Where's Molly? Is she safe?"

"She doesn't seem to be a target right now for some reason. Seems like they've honed in on me."

"Yeah, that doesn't make sense. But if I were there, I could divert attention...then meet those punks with a rocket launcher or something."

She laughed. "Brandon, this isn't one of your shooter video games. This is real life. And I have a bodyguard."

He leaned in, winking. "Now
him
Molly told me about. Tall, dark, and handsome—that about cover it?"

Sighing, she decided to play along. "Yup. Undeniably handsome and nice."

Brandon crinkled his nose, something he did when he was unsure of the situation. "You be careful. Maybe you can't even trust him."

"I can. He's already protected me from danger a couple of times. Why would he do that if he was some kind of mobster?"

"I don't know. But I watch a lot of murder mysteries. It's always the last one you suspect."

"No one's been murdered. Well, at least no one we're sure of."

"Let's keep it that way," he said.

****

As the morning light trickled in through the white wooden blinds, Ace groaned. His boss was showing up at three this afternoon. Ace had arranged to meet him at the overgrown, ramshackle warehouse he'd noticed on the way to the storage facility.

Before then, he had to wheedle out of Katie any remaining hiding places and search them. Then he could say with confidence the money was nowhere to be found in the McClure household. Surely his boss would take his word for it and leave them alone.

Wouldn't he?

There were no guarantees. This whole business was dicey, from start to finish.

He took extra care as he got dressed—placing one gun in a hip holster, one in an ankle holster, and a small Ruger .380 in a belly band, just in case. He slid a throwing knife into a leg sheath, then slipped on his neck chain that concealed another knife. He would be ready if his boss had any funny business in mind.

He put on a looser-fitting oxford shirt and pants, hoping to project a relaxed vibe while covering his mini arsenal. Striding out into the pale morning light, he followed the path to the McClures' front porch and knocked. Smells of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and nutmeg assailed him as the door swung open.

Molly, dressed in a fitted skirt that accentuated her curves, stood inside the door. Her red platform heels boosted her to his chin height. She draped her arms around him in a loose hug. He automatically stepped back so she wouldn't bump into the weapons on his chest. Could the woman scream
available
any louder?

"Aren't you looking dapper this morning?" She grinned, taking stock of him from head to toe. "And what are you two up to today?"

Katie emerged from the kitchen, hair tossed into a loose, off-kilter knot. She wore what looked like a boy's Pac-Man T-shirt and acid-washed jeans. Could the sisters be more different?

Katie sipped at her steaming mug. "I thought of one last place we could check. Come on in and have some breakfast. Mom picked up some real maple syrup this time around." She winked.

He nodded, thankful for her lighter demeanor. Molly's heated stare was making him uncomfortable. Since when did a beautiful woman's attention bother him in a bad way? Since Katie, that's when.

As they joined Mrs. McClure at the table, Molly lathered butter on her French toast and jabbed her fork in the air. "Well, you two be careful, whatever you're doing. It's ridiculous that some freak is trying to kill my sister. I swear to you, if I knew how to use guns, I would be dangerous!"

"Probably why Dad never taught you," Katie murmured.

He nearly choked on his coffee. He'd never met a librarian with such a wicked sense of humor.

****

After Molly swirled out of the kitchen with her usual flair, Mom stood, excusing herself. "I'm going to a Bible study with Jeannie this morning. It's been too long since I've made time for one."

"Maybe I'll go with you sometime...after things calm down," Katie said. She really did need some accountability.

Mom nodded, giving them a winsome smile. "Stay safe today."

The moment they were alone, Katie lowered her voice. "I stayed up last night thinking about hiding places. Dad sometimes went to the attic, I remember. It's just a crawlspace, really, but there might be something up there."

He nodded. "Good idea. We'll check it out. By the way, I have to head over to town later to pick up that glass panel for your door. Shouldn't take me long. I've lined up for a police patrol unit to sit outside your house starting at two-thirty. They'll stay until I get back."

Leaving her
alone
? He was just casually taking off? She drilled her gaze into his. It didn't take him long to get the message.

"Katie, I wouldn't leave you alone unless I was sure you'd be okay. You have the Sig. You'll have a patrol car outside."

"What if they come through the woods, into the back door?"

"Sit in the living room, where you can get out fast. Lock all the doors. Your mom should be back by then, right? So you won't be completely alone."

She may as well be. Mom was barely better than Molly in an emergency. She had a habit of passing out when her kids bled. The time Brandon sliced his finger with a razor, Katie had been the one who drove him to the E.R.—on her learner's permit. And forget about guns. Mom had no interest in handling one, though she was admittedly handy with her Emeril kitchen knives.

"It's okay," she said, mentally talking herself down. She was not going to be paralyzed with fear. After all, someday Ace would have to leave them—maybe someday soon. If only those cops would track down Anatoly's thugs, maybe the McClures could start to get back to normal.

He gave her a concerned look, but she ignored it.

"We'd better check the attic while Mom's gone." She clomped down the hall, not caring if she looked as unwieldy as a lame elephant. Grabbing a stepstool from Dad's office, she placed it under the attic door and tried to grab at the dangling rope pull. It was just a little too high.

"Allow me." Catching up to her, he offered a slight flourish and a bow.

She shrugged, stepping aside.

He climbed on the stool, pulling the rope and easing the built-in ladder down to the floor. "Are you able to climb up?"

Heat rose in her cheeks. "I'm not handicapped. Just lame. Of course I can get up there." In reality, she had never gone upstairs before and had no idea if her bum foot would hold her weight.

Noting his apprehensive look, she continued. "In fact, I'll head up first." Clinging to one step at a time, she slowly made her way to the top. Once inside the rectangular opening, she screwed in the light bulb to illuminate the tight space. Moving to the side floorboards, she motioned to him, trying not to ponder how she'd ever get back down.

After placing a couple guns on the floor, he climbed up. She tried not to notice as he contorted to squeeze his wide upper body through the narrow opening. Once he was settled on the opposite side, his clean, cedar scent drifted her way. His dress shirt looked rumpled and his hair did, too.

He smiled, his face only half-lit by the dim bulb. "Let's get to work," he said.

But his lingering smile said something else.

****

They had gone through three bins stuffed with Christmas paraphernalia Mom had probably forgotten she owned. There was only one left.

Ace dug into it, retrieving a worn leather baseball mitt and baseball. "What's this?"

She leaned in for a closer look. "This was probably the baseball stuff Dad gave Brandon. But Brandon never used it—he was born to play soccer, he said. Tough head and all that."

He laughed, fingering the laces. "This is really old-school. Wouldn't my dad love to see this!"

A brainstorm hit her. "I can ask Brandon, but I know my brother, and he couldn't care less about those things. I think you'd be welcome to take it all."

Resting the mitt and ball in his lap, he plunged an arm into the tissue-paper packed bin, retrieving a plastic bag containing a pile of baseball cards. "These too, you think?"

"Oh sure. Hang on—let me text Brandon."

She did, and just as she suspected, received a quick reply:

Brandon:
No problem, give them to the bodyguard. Just symbolic of how little Dad cared about my preferences. Now someone else can enjoy that junk.

Not exactly eloquent, but honest. "They're all yours," she said.

Nodding, Ace began to pull the tissue paper out. "Looks like this is it...whatever this is at the bottom..." He extracted an oversized purple stuffed panda bear.

"Poopsie!" she exclaimed.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, that's Poopsie. My purple panda Poopsie. I wondered where he went!" She grabbed the stuffed animal, dust sifting into the air around them. "Dad won him for me at the fair one year. Molly was so jealous that she didn't get one. She made Brandon win her a real goldfish instead, then it wound up dying a week later."