Silent Protector (14 page)

I
an leaped to his feet and dove at the man. Both men went down hard, but his assailant twisted about and kneed Ian in the stomach. Air whooshed out of him as he collapsed backward.

Liz jumped backward away from the man, and in a single movement, she grabbed the nearest thing on Ian’s counter—a wooden banana stand—and swung it at him. The man ducked, and Liz twirled wildly until she hit the doorjamb with her small improvised weapon.

On his feet in the next second, Ian plowed into the burglar, driving him to the ground. He grappled at his opponent’s hair but found it covered in soft cotton. His fingers plucked elastic at the ear.

They flipped and rolled across the room until Ian saw a blur of dark metal slash across his face, blinding him with a burst of pain a moment before a hit to the abdomen knocked the wind out of him.

Over the pain, Ian could hear Liz gasp and cry out. He tried to focus through his watering eyes.

The man shoved Liz and disappeared out the door. Ian collapsed back onto the cool linoleum.

His eyes shut and his face stinging, Ian heard the door slam and felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s gone. We’re both safe. I called the police.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No. I think he was wearing a hoodie and a surgical mask. It’s dark in here. Just a sec.” She stood and fished around for the light switch. Now flicked on, the light glared in his face. Again, Liz dropped to the floor. “You’ve been hurt. Let’s get you up and into the bathroom.”

With her help, Ian rose. Once upright, he walked with her to the bathroom where he peered in the small mirror above the sink. “He hit me with a gun, so I should be grateful he didn’t fire it at me.” He looked through the mirror at her. “Looks like we’re a matching set now.”

Liz grunted out something and took a facecloth to wet it. Ian gasped when she pressed the cold, wet cloth to his welt. “It’s bleeding a bit. Much worse than mine,” she said.

He leaned forward, one hand pressing the cloth and the other gripping the cool porcelain. He shut his eyes.

“Do you think that was Monica?” she asked quietly. “Though Monica is strong, I doubt she’s strong enough to take you on, even with the element of surprise.”

Ian dabbed his scrape. “Probably not. I was just thinking of all the evidence building up against her. Besides, whoever it was felt too muscular for a woman.” He peeled away the cold cloth and rinsed it before reapplying it. “What we need to do is find out what was taken. Let’s go.”

“Wait, what about your cut? You need to get it looked at. At least let Elsie—”

“No, not right now. We need to discover what, if anything, is missing. Monica took some of the info I had on Charlie, so if that’s missing it most likely was her, having come here to get what she thinks is the rest.”

“Did you bring it home with you last night?”

He nodded. “I did. I’d been hoping to read through it more and see if there was anything I’d missed before.”

By then, they had reached the spare room. When he’d been given this house, most of the furniture came with it. Ian had already given away the spare single bed, among other things, to the couple down the road who’d taken in their grandchildren. All that remained in this room was a battered desk and wobbly chair. Ian had set it up as a secondary office. His laptop remained closed, but the papers he’d brought home were scattered about.

They spent the next half hour sorting through his papers. Just as Liz handed him the last of her pile, his cell phone rang.

Ian answered it with a curt hello. It was the FEMA’s office. After talking briefly, he hung up and sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“The island is being evacuated. We have until tomorrow morning to get out. The roads will be closed by then.”

He looked grim. “Sandy is now a category one hurricane, and is coming this way. But the police can’t get here right away. There are some serious accidents caused by the evacuations.”

Liz beat down the fear and tension that seemed to drill into her after Ian’s phone call. They had to leave, and Ian said the FEMA wanted them out by tomorrow. His call to the construction site followed, and as Ian patted his cheek and looked down again at the facecloth, he added, “We’ll be easier to evacuate than the resort, which has trailers that will need to get hooked up and shipped out of there. But with several of the men needed there, it’s going to be tough for the families to move.”

“They’ll be fine. Mothers have been taking care of families for thousands of years. Let’s focus on the village and let the resort handle itself.”

Liz watched Ian nod. Then, taking away the facecloth he’d had plastered on his face, she said, “I’ll rinse this out while you start getting that information you need to copy and hand out.”

He looked at her grimly. The bloodied welt was darkening, a long slash across his cheek and the bridge of his nose, its deepest part in the soft flesh under his left cheekbone. The gouge would leave a scar, she was sure.

She bit her lip, feeling helpless and foolish and feeling her own welt throb in sympathy. Would any of this have happened if she’d done as Ian wanted when she first got here? She should have asked Charlie to try to look at the pictures and tell them what he’d seen that night his father was killed.

Because she didn’t want Charlie hurt anymore, she’d opened the door to all of this—a murder, attacks on each of them, break-ins, fear, pain. Was Charlie’s emotional health so fragile that it couldn’t stand a short time of pain, compared to all that had happened so far?

She wasn’t sure anymore.

“We need to distribute this information to everyone. Plus the bracelets.” At his waist, his phone buzzed. He read the message. “Text message. It’s a new system where all first responders are alerted via texting about evacuations.”

He handed her the papers before he bent to pull out a small steel suitcase. From it, he removed sheets of bar-coded straps. She looked into the suitcase and saw several scanners.

“What’s all that for?”

Ian closed the suitcase and hefted it up. “Not too many people have cell phones here. The elderly couple down the
road don’t, nor do the Callahans. Elsie and George have one to share. So texting out information doesn’t work. We need to keep track of the people and their personal effects, like suitcases and medication. We give each person a bracelet like you get at the hospital, and with them comes matching tags for luggage and family members, and we scan them.”

Liz nodded. “That makes sense. Have the bar codes already been inputted into the scanner?”

“Yes. It’s all ready to go. The other scanner I have is for fingerprints. That usually takes place at a checkpoint and not a village, but we’re so isolated here that they gave it to me now. It’s the same system used at Disney World.”

She chuckled. “At long as it works.”

“It does. It also helps to identify felons and such who should be separated from the general population for everyone’s safety.”

Her smile fell away. “What’s next?”

“We need to make sure everyone gets a bracelet and a flyer with information. By now, most people will have received a text message or phone message saying they need to evacuate. Also, I need to move my SUV. It holds eight, so we’ll be taking whoever can’t get off the island by themselves.”

He paused, then pulled out his gun, flipped it around to offer her the grip first. “Take this.”

She held up her hands. “What? I don’t know how to use a gun.”

“Here, look at this.”

She tried to listen intently to how to arm the gun, or cock it as he said, even where the safety switch was. And how to hold it when aiming.

“Two hands, no Hollywood stuff,” he said.

As if an afterthought, Ian dug through a bottom drawer and pulled out a leather belt. He strapped it around her waist, pulling it to the very last loop. Still, it hung down but didn’t slip over her hips. On the side was a holster, and he showed her how it sat in there.

“Are you sure about this? I may end up killing someone.”

“But you’ll have something to defend yourself with. There is someone here who has already killed a man.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s in case we get separated.”

She gasped. “What if I shoot you?”

“Try not to.” He tilted his head, his expression so incredibly serious. Suddenly, he pulled her close and allowed his lips to hover just above hers.

“Think of this as added incentive for you not to kill me,” he whispered.

H
e kissed her hard on the lips. A warm, passionate kiss worthy of her going limp in his arms. And kissing him back.

When he pulled back and lifted his head, he murmured, “At least I hope it has added incentive and not a reason
to
shoot me.”

She felt her face heat up. “Oh, yes, that is incentive
not
to shoot you, all right.”

But still, as Ian turned away, she couldn’t help but remember that they could also be evacuating a killer as well. Would she have to shoot them?

Please, Lord, be with me.
She hugged herself. “I feel as though things are coming at me too quickly.”

He opened his kitchen door and peered out into the darkness. “Sometimes they do. Sometimes God throws things at us just to get our attention.”

“If this was happening two days ago, I’d have been telling you off and demanding I take Charlie and go. But now…everything’s so mixed up. Things are changing.”

He nodded. “I know you want to leave right now, but there’s really no place to go until the shelters get organized. All the hotels and motels will be either full or boarded up.”

“We should have left ages ago.” She pursed her lips and fiddled with her hands. “I understand why we can’t now, but before, you were so adamant for us to wait. Wait for another agent, wait for this and that. You were determined to protect Charlie by yourself.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he checked the outside.

Suddenly, she needed to know the truth about Ian. To help him, to follow him, to understand him. “Why, Ian? Why is it important? Because you can bring down some big drug cartel?” She studied him carefully. “No, that’s not it. This is personal, isn’t it?”

Ian hooded his eyes, looking down. She couldn’t catch the expression in them. And yet, she needed to so very much. Just to understand.

“Ian? Why is it personal?”

Finally, he answered, “Because I saw myself in Charlie. I could see him being shuffled around foster homes, relatives, anyone who would take him for a few months. After my parents died, that happened to me. I didn’t want him to end up like that. I wasn’t an easy teen to raise, and nobody wanted me. That’s partly why I didn’t want you to grab Charlie and go. In a few years, he’ll be too tough to handle.”

She opened her mouth to argue back, but Ian wasn’t finished. “Maybe that’s why I joined the U.S. Marshals. They wanted me when nobody else did.”

His words were rushed and forced, as if getting them out was a painful chore. With a quick swallow, she studied her fingernails. They were short, no nonsense, strong, yet well shaped. Not at all the way she felt. But easier to think on than the present situation. In fact, it was
way
easier, knowing a bit about what drove Ian. “I won’t leave until I know that I’ve done all I can do to help Moss Point prepare.”
She groaned. “I just feel like I’m drowning. Like I can’t handle this. And now I’m thinking, how could I expect to look after Charlie when I was so scared right now?”

Satisfied no one was near, he gathered his things together. “You’re afraid you’re not prepared, that’s all. I think every new parent in the world thinks that at some point or another. You just have to have faith.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Faith? In myself? Ian, I know you’ve given me your gun, and you’re showing an incredible amount of faith in me, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. You didn’t think I should leave with Charlie because you didn’t think I could handle the responsibility, so don’t deny it. Now isn’t much different.”

He set down his things and reached forward to free up a thin, curly strand of her hair that the wind had thrashed across her face and tangled on her damp forehead. His warm fingers brushed her skin, bringing even more color to them than what the bright sun had already brought.

“Yes, I doubted you. And maybe I was wrong to do so. But all you need is faith. We all need faith.”

“Faith in what? My abilities? I have no skills whatsoever! I can capture a bald eagle, but that skill isn’t going to get me far here, is it?”

“You can catch an eagle?” he asked, distracted for the moment.

“Yes, and it can be dangerous work. A mature bald eagle can break a person’s arm just with its wing. One female cracked my forearm bones once. I’ve since learned the proper technique for subduing them.”

“An eagle broke your arm? In the wild?”

“No, in the eagle house where she was recuperating. It was the day we were to move her back to her hilltop home. I was in a hurry, and the bird wasn’t cooperating. Eventually, she was caught and released, but I learned you
need patience and strength to subdue them. Especially the females, which are larger than males.” She paused. “The point is, I think that now you’re putting more confidence in me than is warranted.”

He scooped up the metal case again. “No, I’m not. You need faith in God. You’re scared right now, but remember that nothing is impossible with God. And He loves you enough to want to give you good things. Things that will bring glory to Him. By you just trusting in Him and in yourself, you can achieve great things for God.” He peered outside and then looked back at her. “I’m not talking missionary, pastoral stuff here. I’m talking about you overcoming your fears and doing it with God’s help. That will glorify Him, too.” He smiled briefly at her. “Just trust Him, okay?”

There was that inner strength she so admired. Liz shut her eyes for a moment, biting her lips and holding back the tears that seemed to want to spring forth without reason.

What would it feel like to share a family with Ian, to help him heal from the pain he’d felt as a child? Would he open up more about his past? Would he impart strength and wisdom to his children, to be the father Charlie needed and the husband she wanted? Even though he seemed to crave the role of U.S. Marshal again?

She felt Ian’s fingers wrap around hers. Even in this doorway, listening to the increasing drill of the wind, she could feel the storm pressing closer. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Yet, she remembered Ian’s strength.

“Have faith, Liz,” he whispered. “Have faith in yourself.”

The intensity and the warmth in his voice spoke something different. It was something more than comfort, more than a pastor telling a parishioner to believe—to be strong and trust God.

Liz found herself shifting into his arms. She clung to him again, opening her eyes to stare at him with a searching she couldn’t even understand herself. He still gripped the case as he wrapped his arms around her.

And without any conscious thought, they closed the space between their lips. They kissed.

Faith, he’d said she needed. But how could she have faith in herself? What could she do that would muster such faith? She’d failed Charlie several times since his mother died. If she’d only been successful, pushed a little harder, saved a bit more money for a good lawyer, she might have won custody of him and spared him from seeing his own father murdered. Faith was plenty in hindsight.

Yet, right now, with the wind banging the door against the siding, all she wanted was to be in Ian’s arms, drawing comfort from him in a way only he could offer it.

What did that say about her? She should be fighting for Charlie’s safety, not cringing in Ian’s arms, hoping for their kiss to last.

She shifted away from him, gently. A slow smile appeared on his face as he said, “Sorry. I guess I got a bit greedy.”

What could she say to that? Breathless, she smiled back.

He kissed her briefly one more time. “We need to start the evacuation. They’re giving us twelve hours maximum. I don’t want to wait until the last minute. And the sooner Charlie and you are off the island, the safer you’ll be.”

Ian and Liz quickly delivered the pamphlets to whoever was home. They reached everyone but Monica and the Callahans.

The family who’d taken in the Callahans said that they had already left. They’d left before suppertime. And Monica was nowhere to be found.

“That’s strange,” Ian mused as they hurried away from the house. “We need to ask Elsie what Jenny and Leo said to her. Leo should have been at work.”

When they returned to the Wilsons’ house, the first thing Liz did was relinquish the handgun and belt. “I know it was just in case we got separated, but please don’t give it to me again, okay?” Ian strapped on the belt and then walked inside.

Elsie reported that Jenny Callahan had come and retrieved her son, saying that they weren’t taking any chances and were getting out while the weather was still okay. But she’d said little else of consequence.

“Let me know if you hear from them, okay?” Ian requested.

“I doubt I will,” Elsie answered, in a cautious tone. “They don’t have a cell phone. And all Jenny said was that Leo had made the hotel arrangements. She didn’t even know where they were going or how they’d get there. She was too busy packing. But I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Ian exchanged a quick look with Liz.

For the rest of the evening, Liz and Elsie packed, all the while keeping talk to a minimum. Liz wanted to check the television, but Elsie suggested it would rattle Charlie if he saw too much of the storm, so they kept it off. At bedtime, Charlie practiced his reading using a battered old primary reader from years gone by, until, with a hug, Liz told him he needed to go to sleep.

“Prayers, too, Auntie Liz. We gotta say our prayers.”

She nodded and knelt down beside him, knowing fully well his sudden piety was partly a delaying tactic.

But hadn’t Ian talked about faith earlier, telling her she needed to have faith? She only had to ask God to help her.

Help me with my unbelief,
someone once asked of Jesus.

As Charlie scrolled through a litany of things to bless, Liz shut her eyes and thought again of Ian’s words. He’d admitted to questioning her ability to parent Charlie. And yet, with kind words, he suggested all she needed was to pray.

Lord, I need help. Help me strengthen my faith. Help me help Charlie and myself. And to bring glory to You.

Yet, her thoughts strayed to Ian—his firm, strong embrace; his soft kiss; and his powerful words. Could she, should she, even, get involved with a man who’d questioned her abilities and would never give up the world he’d created here?

She wanted wisdom, so how wise were her growing feelings for Ian? Would she have to leave Ian here once she was given wisdom?

“And God, take care of Stephen. Cuz I miss him and we didn’t get the buried treasure that was gonna help his family build a new house.”

Liz listened to Charlie pray. Finally she stood and insisted that Charlie end his miles-long prayer.

“I miss Stephen, Auntie Liz.”

“I know. But when the storm is over, he’ll be back.” She swallowed a tight knot in her throat. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell Charlie that they wouldn’t be coming back. The threat to his life was over, and there was no need for WITSEC anymore.

No need to be here, complicating Ian’s life. And her own.

With a shaky kiss on Charlie’s moist forehead, she pulled the light sheet over him. It was hot in the bedroom. The wind still howled outside, and they’d been forced to shut the window to stop the gale from blowing everything around.

After quietly shutting the bedroom door, she walked over to the kitchen. Elsie and George were busy there and declined Liz’s offer of any help. She walked outside to find Ian driving an old SUV out to the front of his house. She waited until he had parked it at the front of his house and come close to her.

The wind had increased, tossing about his short sandy hair and buffeting his loose shirt. Strange to feel such a hot, wet wind, still with no rain, she noted. This whole storm business was so different from the nor’easters that rolled through Maine. They usually brought snow—and lots of it. The wind would be bitter and power would be lost, and all that she could do was bank the fire in the woodstove and crawl into bed with an extra blanket.

“Are you loading up now?” she asked him as he approached.

“Just with a small bit of personal stuff. I need to pack up some stuff from the office, too. There are things there I can’t afford to lose. If I do, ‘The Shepherd’s Smile’ could be set back as much as a year. We can’t afford that.”

He sounded like he belonged here, as if he was here for the long haul, the rest of his life. Why shouldn’t he think that way here? The lifestyle was simple here, uncomplicated until she arrived.

And where was she to be? Tomorrow she would leave with Charlie, to a shelter, and then, hopefully, home with Charlie, to start again.

But one thing was certain. She couldn’t stay here. She’d overstayed her welcome with the Wilsons, who couldn’t afford to have her for too long. And Ian needed to focus on his work here.

But before that, he needed to decide if he should return to the U.S. Marshal Service. Whether or not he realized it, he needed to make that decision. Even she could see that.

“I’ll let you go, then,” she told Ian softly.

As she turned, Ian caught her arm. She looked down at it, then up to his face, giving him the barest shake of her head. Her lips formed the word
no,
but she couldn’t speak it.

His expression hurt, Ian dropped his arm, and she hurried back into the small home.

The next morning, all four of them in the little house were up before the sun. Not that the sun could be seen. Nothing was seen out the windows, thanks to the heavy plywood boards Ian and George had installed. Late last night, the FBI had come by for Liz’s statement. But even they were anxious to get off the island.

All night long, the wind had howled, and only Charlie got the sleep needed. With the dim daylight came the inevitable proof that they needed to get off the island immediately.

George said he would check out Monica’s house and the family at the end of the road. With Charlie’s help, Elsie packed up what food she had cooked last night into a cooler, knowing that if the power went out she’d lose everything in her refrigerator and freezer.

“Auntie Liz,” Charlie asked over his cold cereal while everyone bustled around him, “can I call Stephen?”