Still Waters (7 page)

Would that Jake could feel the same.

Maybe with time and distance, he would. Jake gunned the engine, as if he could move more quickly from the pain and anger he felt, and rounded a curve in the road.

“Whoa!” Braking hard, Jake swerved around a figure kneeling in the middle of the road. The truck squealed in protest before coming to a stop, inches from the huddled form.

Hands shaking with adrenaline, Jake opened the door and jumped from the truck. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

The voice sounded familiar and Jake moved closer, trying to identify the person. “You would have been more than sorry if I’d been driving a little faster.”

Reaching down, Jake grasped the young man by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Face puffy, one eye already swollen—it was clear Tom Bishop had been on the wrong end of someone’s fist. “Looks like you had a disagreement with someone.”

The kid shrugged, shaking off Jake’s arm and wincing at the movement.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what happened?”

The silent, surly expression on Tom’s face was the only answer he seemed willing to give. Jake understood the sentiment. He’d been in enough scrapes and trouble as a teenager to know what it felt like to be on the wrong side of the law. And to know he wasn’t going to get any answers.

He placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder and steered him toward the truck. “All right. Get in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Tom resisted for a moment, holding his ground against the pressure of Jake’s arm. Then, as if suddenly out of energy, his shoulders sagged and he slid into the Chevy.

“Buckle up.”

Tom did as he was told, snapping the belt together as Jake closed the door and walked to the other side of the truck.

“Thought you were working for Ms. Anderson.” Jake snapped his own seat belt closed and started the engine.

“Yeah. So?”

“So, if you’re supposed to be working and staying out of trouble, what are you doing a mile outside of town looking like the stuffing’s been beat out of you?”

“I
am
working and staying out of trouble.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tom’s only response was to stare out the window.

Jake knew the drill. Pushing for an answer would make the kid clam up more. He held his silence and waited. They passed the diner, the corner deli, and the bank, and still Tom didn’t speak. They had just reached the outer limits of the town when he caved. “Some friends offered me a ride home.”

Jake glanced sideways at Tom who sat looking out the window, acting for all the world as if he hadn’t spoken. Jake waited.

“See, I was working and then Dr. McMath showed up and he was giving me a hard time. So I was waiting on the porch, you know, until Tiffany got done talking to him. Some of the guys drove by and saw me and offered me a ride home.”

“So how did you get to the opposite side of town kissing dirt?”

Tom’s shrug didn’t surprise Jake, the fact that he kept talking did. “We had a sort of disagreement.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

There was silence again, as Jake’s mind raced with possibilities, none of them pleasant. Though most of the townspeople thought of Tom’s friends as mischievous pranksters, Jake knew better. He’d seen enough gangs to know what one looked like; had spent five unforgettable years as a member of D.C.’s antigang task force. He’d seen the violence, the hate, the fear. And more, he’d seen the camaraderie, the loyalty and the inability to escape the steel embrace of the gang hierarchy. If Tom’s “family” had turned on him, there had to be a reason. A good one.

An image of Tiffany Anderson floated through Jake’s mind. He didn’t believe in coincidence. Didn’t believe that Tom’s beating, just days after he started working for Tiffany, could mean anything else but trouble for the woman who’d hired him. “This is about Tiffany, isn’t it?”

Tom tensed, his reaction saying more than words that Jake was right.

“Keeping quiet won’t do you any good. I’ll drop you off at home and drive the streets of Lakeview until I find some of your buddies—”

“You don’t know who they are and you won’t find out. You wouldn’t even have found out I was on the boat the other day, if it weren’t for Miz Camden spying out her window and recognizing me.”

The words were defiant, but lacked conviction, and suddenly Jake wondered if Tom wanted to tell him. If somehow the young man hoped to be forced into spilling the whole story. If so, Jake could accommodate him. He swung onto the dirt road that led to the Bishop farm, and braked hard in front of the house, turning toward the teen and crowding into his space. “Ms. Camden is the best thing that ever
happened to you, kid. Because of her, you were caught before you got in real trouble. Because of her you got offered a job by a lady who had no reason to trust you, but did anyway. And now what? You’re going to repay Tiffany by letting your friends ruin her property, hurt her business or worse?”

“They wouldn’t—”

“They would!” Jake growled the words, and sliced his hand through the air with enough force to rock the truck.

Tom cringed away, his good eye opened wide. Fear hollowing out his features.

Jake had seen the look before. Knew it well from his years playing hardball with tougher, meaner kids than Tom Bishop could ever hope to be. He leaned even closer, his words barely a whisper. “Get this through your head, Tom. The gang you’re hanging with doesn’t care about you. They don’t care about anything but the next deal. The next score. The next crime. They’ll drag you down and walk on top of you. Then leave you to rot in jail while they waltz away.”

“No—”

“Yes. I’ve seen it happen over and over again.” Jake paused and watched as Tom took a deep shuddering breath. “You’ve got a chance, Tom. A person who believes in you enough to give you a fair shot. That’s more than most kids like you get. You can screw it up. Or you can make it work for you. But let’s get one thing clear. If anything happens to Tiffany. If she’s hurt, if her house is vandalized, I may not know where to find your friends, but I
will
know where to find you.”

Jake settled back into his seat, waiting for Tom to make a decision. Outside the truck, evening shadows danced over the Bishops’ house. Gray with age and neglect, it stood like a faded Southern beauty—strong and graceful, despite its
years. If times had been better, Jake knew the house would have been painted white, the yard cared for and green with life instead of being left to mud and weeds and ruin.

Perhaps then Tom would have had more of a chance.

Jake bit back a weary sigh and turned to the teen. “Go. You’ve got nothing to say, and I’ve wasted enough time.”

Tom scrambled to open the door, shoving it hard and leaping out onto dry earth. Then he paused, the bruises on his face vivid and ugly. “You’re just like everyone else. You hear the stories about me and you think I’m running wild, looking for trouble. Well, I’m not. Maybe I’ve made mistakes. Maybe I’ve done some things wrong. But I know what’s right. Tiffany trusts me. She leaves her door unlocked for me when she goes on jobs.” Tom’s voice hitched, his breathing coming harsh and fast. “I’m not gonna screw that up. Not for a bunch of rich boys who’ve got more money than sense.”

“What’d they ask you to do?”

“Steal credit card numbers off client invoices.”

“Give me some names.”

Tom snorted. “You think I’m nuts? They already beat the crap out of me.”

“Once they’re locked up they won’t have another chance at you.”

“Right. Their rich daddies will have them bailed out in an hour. Then where will I be? Forget it. I told you everything I can. Now leave me alone!” He whirled and ran to the house, flinging the door open and slamming it shut with a force that echoed through the air.

Jake thought about going after him, thought about pushing for more answers, but the hitch in Tom’s voice when he spoke about Tiffany had hinted at a softness in the young man that Jake hadn’t suspected.

Or hadn’t been looking for.

Tiffany had seen it. She’d seen promise in a kid everyone else had given up on. Jake could only hope she wouldn’t live to regret her compassion.

With a last glance at the old farmhouse, Jake put the truck in gear and headed back to town. There wasn’t a lot he could do with the information Tom had given him, but Jake planned to write up a report anyway. And while he was at it he’d ask a few of the deputies to keep an eye on Monroe Street. The odds were, the gang wouldn’t have the guts to try to steal the credit card numbers on their own. But Jake never played the odds.

He’d file the report today. Tomorrow he’d pay Tiffany a visit.

T
iffany hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Tom was at home. She’d been worried for nothing. Which meant she could now do what she’d wanted to do since Brian walked out the door an hour ago.

With a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a newspaper in the other she headed out to the old gazebo. A century old, paint faded to gray, it stood in a back corner of Tiffany’s yard, hidden by bushes and shaded by towering pine trees. A rickety swing hung from the gazebo’s eaves, its rusty chains and chipped paint more eyesore than antique. Still, it offered a view of the lake and the setting sun, and provided Tiffany with the perfect place to think and to dream.

Or to cry.

Sniffing hard, Tiffany wiped at a stray tear and settled onto the swing. The ice cream looked soft and half-melted
from the heat, but Tiffany didn’t have the heart to take a bite. She eyed the container with regret. “I finally decide to go off my diet and I’m too depressed to eat. Figures.”

Bandit whined in sympathy, rising from slumbering repose to press his wet nose against Tiffany’s hand. She sniffed back more tears and patted the dog on his nose. “I hate crying. It never does any good and I always look terrible afterward.”

The dog pressed harder against Tiffany’s hand and she responded, rubbing the warm fur of his neck and smiling slightly at the soft thump of his tail. At least one of the men in her life was easy to please.

Scratch that.

The
only
man in her life was easy to please.

Blinking hard, Tiffany forced back another round of tears. Crying
was
a waste of time and she was done with it. Besides, she’d made the right decision. Brian might be a wonderful person but that didn’t make him Mr. Right.

Or did it? Tiffany couldn’t stifle the doubts. She knew Brian wasn’t right for her, but there weren’t many single Christian men in Lakeview. And even less who were over thirty. Perhaps Tiffany’s expectations were too high. Why else were all her friends married and having children while she wallowed in singlehood? Unless, and Tiffany was afraid to even think it, God didn’t intend for her to get married.

Though she knew there were men and women called to remain single, Tiffany had never felt like one of them. Her desire had always been for a husband, children, a family and a home. Now that Brian was out of her life, those dreams seemed far from achievable.

Shaking her head, Tiffany pushed aside regrets, shoved down even more tears, and reached for the newspaper she’d carried outside earlier. The sun dipped low on the horizon, kissing the lake with pink and gold, and sending
long shadows across the pages Tiffany held. She squinted at the words but the effort of reading in dim light made her head hurt.

She was tired anyway. Too tired to concentrate on faded newsprint and too tired to move from the creaking swing. Pushing aside the wilted container of ice cream, Tiffany stretched out across the length of the swing and closed her eyes.

She tried not to think about Brian, about marriage or about the children she might never have. Instead her mind conjured up other worries. What would her friends and family think when she broke the news? Maybe she’d just call her mother and sisters and let them tell everyone else. That would at least spare her from the words of surprise and pity. Not to mention the head shaking and tongue clucking. Some people would be appalled. Others sympathetic.

And Tiffany didn’t want any of it.

Turning onto her side, she opened her eyes and stared into the fading light. She had choir practice in another hour, but for now there was no harm in staying put. Trailing her fingers over the wooden seat, Tiffany felt for Bandit’s warm fur and patted him gently.

“Just another minute, boy. Then I’ll get you some dinner.”

Bandit rumbled a soft reply and they both fell silent.

Jake’s phone rang at quarter past two in the morning, the time shining from the lighted alarm clock as he reached for the bedside phone. “Yeah?”

“Sheriff Reed?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Mary, at the station.”

“What’s up?”

“Tiffany Anderson’s mother called about an hour ago.
Apparently Tiffany didn’t show up for choir practice tonight and she’s not answering the phone. Josh drove over to the house to check things out and he asked me to give you a call.”

Adrenaline pumped through Jake’s blood and he came fully awake, his heart thumping harshly in his ears.

“You did want to be called if anything happened at the Anderson house, right?”

“Yeah. Right. Have you heard from Josh?”

“No, but I expect he’ll be calling soon.”

“Okay. Give me a ring when you hear from him.”

“Will do.”

Jake was out of bed, pulling on faded jeans when the phone rang again. “Sheriff? Mary, again. Josh called. He said Ms. Anderson’s car is parked outside the house. No lights on inside the residence and no answer when he knocked.”

“Any sign of trouble?”

“No. The doors are locked. The windows secure. Could be she’s gone out with friends.”

“Could be.”

“You want me to tell Josh to enter the house?”

“No, tell him to go on with his patrol. We can’t enter the house without cause and we’ve got no reason to believe Ms. Anderson is in trouble.”

“Will do.”

“Call me if things change.” Jake hung up the phone and tried to relax, but his mind refused to let go of the information Mary had relayed.

Jake didn’t know Tiffany well, but what he did know told him she wouldn’t needlessly worry people who cared about her. If that was true, she’d never have missed choir without calling her mother.

That, more than anything, had Jake pulling on clothes
and strapping on his gun belt. He tried not to imagine the kind of trouble she might have gotten into. Tried not to picture her hurt, or worse, as he drove his truck to her house. Though intelligent and spirited, Tiffany seemed to attract trouble like food attracted flies. That being the case, Jake figured anything might have happened to her.

The gas-guzzling Cadillac stood sentry in front of the aging Victorian, its faded paint gleaming softly in the moonlight. A quick search of the house’s perimeter revealed no signs of forced entry and no hint of trouble.

Jake listened intently, eyeing the corners of the yard, waiting for a sound that would betray another’s presence. When he heard nothing, he stepped onto the porch and approached the front door. A quick test of the knob proved it was locked and Jake used the knocker to rap loudly against the old wood. No flurry of activity or sudden light followed, nor did Bandit rush to the door barking.

Either Tiffany had gone out and taken the dog with her, or someone had done something to both of them.

The sudden crash and crackle of leaves to his right had Jake swinging toward the sound, his heart hammering and his hand on his service revolver. Tense and ready, he waited, his eyes scanning the darkness, until a large shadow moved around the corner of the house. A soft bark of welcome broke the stillness and Jake relaxed his stance, letting his hand drift back to his side. “Well, at least one of you is okay.”

The dog approached, licking Jake’s hand in greeting.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me where Tiffany is?”

Bandit’s ears perked at Tiffany’s name and he gave a short bark before leaping off the porch and heading into the backyard. Jake felt like a fool, but he followed the dog anyway. Though the moon brightened the yard, Bandit’s dark
fur was difficult to spot and it took a moment for Jake’s eyes to distinguish the dog’s shape from the shadows of trees and bushes that shaded the ground. Feeling like an actor in one of the old Lassie movies, Jake hurried to catch up with the slow-moving animal.

Bandit made his way across the well-trimmed lawn and into an overgrown area of tall pine trees and neglected bushes. Jake followed, pushing his way through brambles that caught at his clothes and scraped his skin. Was it possible that Tiffany had collapsed in the midst of this overgrown jungle? Or had she been dragged there?

Jake’s hands tightened into fists, his heart pounding a slow, heavy warning. Things happened. Even in places like Lakeview, Virginia. Things that defied common decency, that made grown men blanch and shudder. Things that broke the heart and hardened the soul.

Jake had seen them all. Had left the city to cleanse himself of the filth and evil that seemed to cling to him, clogging his senses with the smell of rot and decay. He needed time to heal and to grow in the new faith he’d learned from Will.

He needed to find Tiffany alive and healthy. Anything else might just destroy him.

Tiffany stood at the door of the church sanctuary, listening for the first strains of the bridal march. Yards of white silk cascaded to her feet, a long train of the same material flowing behind her. In her hands she held a bouquet—hyacinth and mums, mixed with tiny orange and red rosebuds.

Perfect.

Heart overflowing with happiness, she gazed down the aisle, longing to meet her beloved’s eyes. A dog barked….

A dog? Tiffany’s heart pounded as she came out of a sound sleep. The hard wood under her shoulder and hip told
her where she was before the moonlight and darkness did. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but judging by the look of things, she’d been sleeping for quite a while.

The moon shone bright through the broken and missing boards of the gazebo’s roof, casting strange shadows. Tiffany shuddered, sitting up and peering into the gloomy depth of the trees that surrounded her. Bandit barked from somewhere to the right, and Tiffany started, her heart leaping to her throat as the dog crashed out of the trees, leaped onto the gazebo and skidded to a stop at her feet. He barked again, the warning coming as the sound of breaking branches filled the air.

Something was crashing through the trees. Something big. Visions of bears and cougars, wolves and monsters flashed through Tiffany’s mind as she scrambled for a weapon. There were two—the newspaper and the soggy pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Neither packed the force of a two-by-four, but given the situation, they would have to do. At least she had surprise on her side. Grabbing the ice cream, Tiffany readied herself for attack.

Seconds later a tall form emerged from between towering pine trees. Tiffany pulled back with her pitching arm and let the ice cream fly. A muffled exclamation gave evidence of a successful hit but Tiffany didn’t wait to find out where the ice cream had landed. Pivoting hard, she jumped off the gazebo’s raised platform and headed into the trees just as Bandit decided to join in the fray. Four legs tangled with two and Tiffany went down hard, breath whooshing from her lungs with enough force to leave her gasping for air.

Bandit’s howl mingled with the pulsing of blood in her ears and, above both, the sound of footsteps crunching across dry pine needles.
God help me!
The prayer screamed through Tiffany’s mind as she struggled frantically to un
tangle herself from the dog, the shrubs and her own clumsy feet. Her efforts yielded results a moment too late. Moonlight disappeared behind the tall figure of a man as Tiffany struggled to her knees.

“Don’t come any closer. I’m armed.” The words emerged as a trembling squeal and Tiffany cleared her throat, ready to scream.

“Hopefully not with more ice cream. I’m sticky enough.” A callused hand reached out and grasped Tiffany’s arm, hauling her to her feet.

“Jake?”

“Yes. Are you all right? You hit the ground hard.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Let’s get out of these trees.”

Out in the open yard, the moon cast a soft glow, illuminating the surrounding area and giving Tiffany a clear view of the ice cream dripping from Jake’s forehead. “I guess I hit my target.”

She tried to control the laughter that bubbled up in her throat but a shaky chuckle escaped. Then another, and another, until peals of laughter rang through the night. Clutching at her sides, Tiffany gasped for breath and struggled to control herself. “I’m…sorry…it’s not funny….”

“Guess it depends on which side of the flying ice cream you were on.” The soft rumble of Jake’s laughter joined hers. “You’ve got quite an arm. I suppose softball is one of your many talents?”

“Actually nothing quite so noble. I spent my senior year pitching balls at a target, practicing to dunk the school’s principal.”

“Dunk?” Jake put a hand on Tiffany’s arm as he spoke and began steering her toward the house.

“Yeah. Every June the school held an end-of-the-year
picnic. Mr. Beally would climb up into a dunking booth and dare us to hit the target. No girl had ever succeeded. I wanted to be the first.”

“Were you?”

Tiffany eyed the ice cream dripping from Jake’s hair, and smirked. “What do you think?”

“I think I am in as much need of a towel as Mr. Beally was.”

Jake’s laughter shivered along Tiffany’s nerves, warming her. “I really am sorry. Bandit’s bark startled me and when I heard you coming through the trees, I panicked.”

“No problem. Sometimes it’s safer to act first and ask questions later.”

“Well, in this case, I wish I’d waited.” Tiffany unlocked the mudroom door and stepped inside, flicking on the overhead light as she walked into the kitchen.

Jake stepped in behind her. “Three in the morning is a strange time for visitors. You made the right decision.”

Startled, Tiffany glanced at the clock. “Good grief! I’ve missed choir practice.”

“That’s why I’m here. Your mother called the station. When you didn’t show up, she got worried.”

“Why didn’t she call me?” Tiffany paused and shook her head. “Never mind, I’m sure she did. And my dad’s on a business trip with the only working car, so she couldn’t drive over. She must be frantic.”

Jake nodded. “The dispatcher said she was pretty upset.”

“I’d better call her.” Tiffany reached for the phone but Jake’s hand on her arm stalled the motion.

“Do you mind getting me a towel first?”

“Oh. Yes. Sure.” Embarrassed that she’d forgotten, Tiffany reached into a drawer and grabbed a clean dishcloth. “I can’t believe I did this to you. I’m so sorry.”