Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series
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Authors: Paula Wiseman
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Precedent
Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series
Paula Wiseman
Published by Mindstir Media
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Table of Contents
Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series
Copyright © 2011 by Paula Wiseman. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, e-mail all inquiries to [email protected].
Some
Scripture quotations taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Other Scripture quotations taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960,1962,1963,1968,1971,1972,1973,1975,1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
Published by Mindstir Media
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1.800.767.0531 | www.mindstirmedia.com
ISBN-10: 0-981964-84-2
ISBN-13: 978-0-9819648-4-3
Visit Paula Wiseman on the World Wide Web:
www.paulawiseman.com
To Kristi
Acknowledgements
Thank you
To Jon for your unwavering confidence in me and in the story. I would have quit long ago without you.
To Amanda for the endless hours of plotting, and revising. The book is better, deeper and stronger because of your help. And so am I.
To Kristi for your emotional investment from the very beginning.
To Mary for your photos, your comments and your awesome proofreading.
To Brenda for catching all of my typos and misplaced prepositions.
To my fabulous readers for their gracious support.
To J.J. for his enthusiasm for the books and his help and encouragement.
All glory to God, who gives the story, who opens doors, who accomplishes His purposes in all things.
Thursday, June 12
Edward Reynolds glanced in the window of Gateway Mission. The kid was there. His grandson. He was sure the boy was Teresa’s son. He had her eyes. For the last twelve years, he had tracked Teresa’s movements across the country. He finally traced her to St. Louis, only to find out he was too late.
The kid was his last chance. He would go in and drop a few hints, make a few pointed comments, and see if the boy reacted. He opened the door of the mission and slipped into one of the chairs close to the door. The kid, Jack, never looked up from his task of straightening chairs, loudly scraping them across the tile floor. A broad-shouldered, sturdily built young man, he had to take after his father’s people. The Reynolds and the Hickmans were both thin and slight. Moments later, he looked up.
“
Mister, I’m sorry. They packed up the food already.” He adjusted his baseball cap. “I can get you a sandwich, though.”
Ed cleared his throat to make sure he could speak. “Just coffee, black.”
Jack moved the broom away from the counter and leaned it against the wall so he could pour the coffee. When he brought the cup over, Ed invited him to sit at the table.
“
I’m Jack,” he said, extending his hand. “My brother runs this place.”
“
I’m Ed.” Teresa just had the one son. Was he mistaken about the boy? Maybe Jack had a half-brother. Teresa never married, so it couldn’t be a stepbrother.
“
You need a place to stay?” Jack asked.
“
Nah.” Ed slurped the coffee loudly. “You make good coffee, Jack.”
“
I learned it from my mom. She’s a big coffee drinker.”
He talked about her in present tense. Ed studied Jack carefully. “You from around here?”
“
Pretty much. We bounced around some when I was little, but I’ve been in St. Louis since I was six.”
“
Ever been to Baltimore?”
“
No. You?”
“
That’s where I’m from. I had a daughter. You remind me of her. Thought you might be related.”
“
That would be an incredible coincidence,” Jack said.
Fruition
“
How goes it?” Jack Molinsky leaned against the doorframe of the tiny office where his brother crunched columns of numbers on an outdated adding machine.
Brad spoke without looking up. “Slow. I’ve got board summaries and a bunch of filings to finish up before the thirtieth. Did somebody come in?”
“
Yeah,” Jack said. “An old guy. He just had a cup of coffee and left.”
“
He didn’t want anything?”
“
No. Said he had a place to stay and everything.” Jack twirled the broom in his hands. “It was strange. He asked me if I’d ever been to Baltimore.”
Brad put his pencil down and looked up. “Your mom was from Baltimore, wasn’t she?”
“
Yeah. He said I reminded him of his daughter, even.”
“
You don’t think . . . ?”
“
What?”
“
You don’t think that was Tracy’s dad, do you?”
“
Here? After all these years?”
“
Did he give you a name?”
“
Just Ed, no last name.”
“
Tracy’s dad was named Ed.”
“
He was, wasn’t he?”
“
He couldn’t have gotten far.” Brad headed for the front door.
Jack followed close behind. “He took a right when he got outside.”
Once out on the street, Brad said, “Don’t make eye contact with anybody unless I speak to them first. Got that?” He glanced at his watch. “I know a couple of guys who’ll be transacting some business. Maybe they’ve seen him.”
Jack stuck close to his brother, keeping his head down as instructed. Brad had become very streetwise in his years at the mission. He knew who was just down and out, and who the truly bad guys were. A couple of blocks from the mission, Jack could see a group of six or eight boys in their late teens, maybe early twenties, sporting gang colors. This was their turf. Great.
As they got closer, a black SUV with tinted windows turned onto the street and drove slowly toward the group of boys, toward Brad and Jack. “This is wrong,” Brad whispered, and Jack raised his head. He watched the boys closely, but they weren’t reacting. Brad’s eyes darted back to the SUV, and Jack turned to see the passenger side window inching down. Even from half a block away, Jack could make out the glint of metal.
The same instant Jack’s brain processed what he was seeing, the shooting began. The group of boys dove for cover behind parked cars while one or two returned fire. Paralyzed by shock and fear, Jack felt Brad’s strong hands dig into his shoulders, and then he hit the sidewalk hard, feeling the burning scrape on his knee, hands, and cheek. But in that split second, Brad left himself exposed.
Jack heard a strange thud, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He rolled over in time to see Brad splayed against the brick building, and then he crumpled awkwardly to the sidewalk.
“
BRAD!”
Jack crawled to his brother and rolled him onto his back. Brad clutched Jack’s shirt but didn’t speak. “I think you’ve been shot, Brad! It’s gonna be okay!” Brad lifted a trembling hand to his chest, to the spreading red stain soaking his shirt. As soon as he saw the blood, his own blood, on his hand, Brad seemed to relax.
“
Brad, hang on! Hang on. I’m calling for an ambulance, right now. Just hang on.” Jack fumbled with his cell phone, trying to check Brad’s pulse as he dialed. Then he held the phone against his shoulder while he worked to take his shirt off. “My brother’s been shot!” he yelled as soon as the operator picked up. Holding his wadded shirt against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding, he quickly relayed all the details he could, and waited the eternal minutes for the paramedics. “Brad, they’re coming. Hang in there.”
* * *
Bobbi Molinsky heard the phone ring, but when she saw her husband, ashen-faced, steadying himself against the wall, her breath pressed from her lungs.
“
Jack, wait,” Chuck pleaded, then he looked at her. “He hung up.”
“
What happened? Is Jack hurt?”
He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Not Jack.” In his effort to stay calm, stay in control, he sounded mechanical. “Brad. Brad’s been shot. They’re taking him to University Hospital.”
She heard “Brad” and she heard “hospital.” This was just like when his appendix ruptured when he was a sophomore in college. That’s all it was. Nothing serious, right?
“
Shannon!” Chuck called. “We have to go to the hospital! Brad’s been shot!”
“
Wait!” Bobbi grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her. “What did you say?”
He looked into her eyes and spoke with patronizing clarity. “Brad . . . has been shot.”
“
What?”
“
Shot. With a gun. We have to get to University Hospital.”
“
That’s impossible.” He was just there with them a few hours ago. The aroma of the roast and homemade bread from his birthday dinner still hung in the kitchen. He couldn’t be . . .
