Dangerous Desert Abduction, page 10
He squeezed her hand. “God is with us. He sent help at just the right time earlier today. And if the worst happens to me, I’d gladly make that sacrifice doing what’s right. That’s part of being in law enforcement—giving up my own rights to help others. There’s always a risk, but we take it because we want to defend the innocent and catch the bad guys. It’s who I am.”
“You are a remarkable man, Micah Ellis.” She pulled her hand away, brushed her cheeks, and lifted her green gaze to his. Something flickered in her eyes, something that caught him completely off guard—a depth of feeling that simultaneously terrified and thrilled him. Warmth surged along the back of his neck, and he found it hard to meet her gaze.
Surely it was all in his head, though. They’d been through a lot. It only stood to reason they’d be swept up in the moment. Once things settled down and he felt more levelheaded, he’d realize she only meant to compliment him. Thank him.
But the only thing that mattered right now was keeping Abigail safe. If he kept the focus on helping her and Owen, she’d be able to move on with her life. And he wouldn’t relive the past.
He looked back at her. “So, you’re not going to Chicago alone, got it? You’re going to wait until they let me out of here, and then we’re going together. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, after what they did to my Visitor Center, this case is my jurisdiction now.”
She nodded slowly, eyes shining.
“Promise?” he asked.
“I promise.”
The sky was still dark by the time the doctor released him, but the faintest milky blue in the east hinted at the day to come. Micah and Abigail went over the details of the previous night’s attack with the sheriff’s department, although Abigail had already given them the basics while they’d waited for the ambulance. Chief Ranger Langston offered to pick them up at the hospital and drive them back to Interior, which meant retelling everything again without sleep but saved them a meeting in the morning. At least Micah could get out complete sentences now without hacking. His throat and sinuses still felt itchy and abused, but the extra oxygen had helped his lungs. Thankfully, Abigail hadn’t inhaled as much smoke, so she hadn’t needed oxygen.
By noon, they’d managed to throw a couple of overnight bags into Micah’s car and start on the long drive to Chicago.
“Sorry it’s such a mess in here,” he apologized for the fifteenth time. “I’m not used to having passengers.”
Abigail had found yet another granola bar wrapper—they seemed to be leaking out of the seat cushion seams—and stuffed it into a cup holder in the center console. “It’s okay. I appreciate you offering to take your car.”
Unfortunately it made the most sense, with how recognizable Abigail’s car would be to any pursuers. So they’d have to suffer through the thirteen-hour drive in his beat-up old Honda Accord, with the scattered trash he hadn’t had time to fully remove and the air conditioning that only worked when it was in the mood.
“I’m not usually this messy,” he said, by way of another apology. The car had been due for a good cleaning for a while, he just hadn’t gotten to it. Why did he feel obliged to make sure she knew that? “And I normally use a park service vehicle for work.”
She smiled, a ray of sunshine after a long night. “I know. I saw the inside of your house, remember? I really liked your coffee table, by the way.”
“Thanks. Another woodworking project with my dad. We used a slab from a big old oak tree that had stood in our yard for ages before a storm took it down. He’s got a matching one.”
“You made it? That’s really impressive.” Something about her tone made his mind leap to her husband. Had Eric been the same? Someone who loved working with his hands? It wasn’t a comparison he wanted to make.
“Working with my hands gives my mind a break. It almost becomes time for meditation and prayer, if that makes sense. Like I can forget about all of life’s drama and focus on the Lord while my hands are busy.”
And he’d had a lot to forget. He glanced at Abigail to find her watching him, a speculative gleam in her eyes. Like she wanted to know about his past but was too polite to ask. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Better to change the topic right now.
But the next words that popped out of his mouth weren’t what his brain had intended. “I, uh, told you I worked in Utah before this? At Arches National Park?”
She nodded, sitting up a little straighter.
“There was a woman at my church who played in the worship band. Younger than me. Really passionate about life and the Lord. Adventurous. Cute.” He glanced at Abigail, who watched him with rapt attention. She had to be wondering why he was telling her all this. Exactly what he was wondering. But the words kept spewing out, almost on their own. “We started dating. Found out we had all these things in common. We’d go mountain biking, hiking, skiing. Anyway, things got serious fast. We were spending all this time together, doing stuff. Sometimes she’d have other plans and she wouldn’t elaborate, but I didn’t think anything of it. Figured she was with her friends.”
Abigail’s throat bobbed, and the expression in her eyes shifted. Like she guessed where this story was heading.
He pressed on. “So, I bought a ring. Spent nearly all my savings. My term at Arches was almost up, and I thought for sure she was God’s provision for my life. But when I proposed...” He clenched his teeth, then let out a short sigh. “She said she was dating another man at the same time, someone she’d met online. That she’d thought we were just having fun.”
“Oh, Micah.” Abigail’s fingers pressed to her mouth, and pain radiated from her gaze. “What did you do?”
“Pawned the ring. First and only time I’ve ever set foot in one of those places. Then I got stationed here. Last time I saw her was my final morning at church when she was leading worship up front. I wished her the best and moved on.”
Or moved away. Because he hadn’t truly moved on, had he? His heart was still tied up in that moment when she’d rejected him, and hot shame had coated every inch of his insides like sticky tar. Help me to forgive her, Lord.
“I’m so sorry.” Abigail’s soft words cut into his thoughts. “I don’t know what she was thinking. She obviously didn’t see how amazing you are, or she never would’ve let you go.”
“Thanks.” Warmth burned the back of his neck at her words. She had to say that to be polite, but that didn’t stop her words from soothing some of the ache inside. In fact, just sharing about Taylor made him feel better. He had friends who knew the gist of the story, but not the full extent of what it had cost him.
“And I know this might not feel like much consolation, but it’s better you found out how she felt before she married you.” She pressed her lips together. “Once you take those vows before God...” Her voice trailed off, and she gazed out the window.
“Was that what happened?” The question burst out before he considered whether she’d want to talk about it. “Between you and Eric?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “He was so romantic when we were dating, sending me flowers, making reservations at fancy restaurants, taking me for walks in the park. When he proposed, I thought he was offering everything I’d wanted. But...” She inhaled sharply, then let out a slow breath. “It didn’t take long to realize the real Eric was a different person, and that I didn’t know him at all. Who knows, maybe he thought the same thing about me.”
Silence settled over them as he scrambled for something to say, something to help ease the pain she’d lived with for so many years. But a bandage of words wouldn’t fix a gaping wound.
Before he could come up with anything, she cleared her throat, then reached for her purse near her feet. “Anyway, while we were at the hospital, I did some thinking about those files.”
Good, he wasn’t the only one ready to retreat to safety. Why had he spilled that whole story about Taylor? Or pried into her marriage? This was hardly a sound plan for keeping her at arm’s length.
“Great,” he said, a little too enthusiastically. “What have you got?”
After rummaging in her purse for a moment, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Remember those references to Key West? Maybe instead of referring to location, he meant it as a clue to find the key. There’s a conch shell we bought on that trip, upstairs on the bathroom counter. It’s big enough it could easily hide a key. It never occurred to me before.”
The tone of her voice remained steady, conversational almost—like she wasn’t drowning in memories over the loss of her husband, but there had to be so much there still to unpack. That wasn’t his place, though. Not now...not ever.
“Good idea,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “Sounds plausible to me.”
She smiled, but an awkward silence settled between them. Unasked questions and unspoken thoughts swirled. Worst of all was this insistent urge to take her small hand from where it rested on her leg and wrap it in his own.
He tapped a button on his steering wheel to increase the car’s cruise control speed. The sooner they got to Chicago, the sooner they could find Eric’s files and free Abigail from the threat hovering over her.
She’d be able to get Owen back and return to her life, and he’d be able to do the same. Back to the safety of singleness, behind the walls he’d worked so hard to construct.
It was the best possible ending for them, the thing he wanted most.
And he’d keep telling himself that every single day until she was home.
SEVEN
The bungalow looked exactly the way Abigail remembered, every Craftsman-style detail etched into her brain, every contour and line bearing the trace of Eric’s influence on her adult life. For the last week, she’d imagined coming back here, how good it would feel to be somewhere familiar—to be home—but now there was only a stale smell in the air and a knot in her stomach. A raw, gnawing ache that insistently reminded her of how much she’d struggled here. How hard she’d tried to make him happy, to create a life for herself and Owen despite the pain of her marriage, all while slowly losing herself.
She hadn’t even realized it had happened, but now, standing in her entryway with Eric gone and life upside-down, she could see clearly how her entire life here had been overshadowed by him. By the stress of his changing moods, by his hopes and wants, by her attempts to keep him happy and engaged with her and Owen. Somewhere in the middle of it all, she’d lost sight of the things she wanted in life. Probably because Eric had never asked. Even when they’d been dating, his focus had been mainly on himself—showing her how charming and romantic he could be, rather than truly getting to know each other. And she’d fallen right for it.
“Are you okay?” Micah’s gentle tone cut into her thoughts. For a second she had to resist the impulse to step closer to him. The last thing she needed was to trade away this newfound freedom before she’d even had a chance to evaluate it. Yes, it was terrifying—but it was also an opportunity to reshape her life into what she wanted it to be. Almost like, in the midst of all this awfulness, God was offering her a gift. A second chance.
The thought caught her off guard. Was God working behind the scenes? This whole time, when she’d thought He was ignoring her, had He been there all along? It was too much to assess right now, with Micah watching her.
“I... Yeah, sorry.” She glanced at him but just as quickly looked away. The tender concern in his blue eyes was not helping her resolve. Had Eric ever looked at her that way? “There are a lot of memories here. I guess I wasn’t quite prepared.”
“You have every reason to feel that way. Besides, it’s been a long day. Night. Whatever.”
Three in the morning, according to the big grandfather clock standing against the staircase leading to the second floor. They’d driven straight through from Interior, only stopping for gas and to grab a quick bite to eat.
She nodded, then turned to Micah. “If you want to come in and get settled in the living room, I’ll run upstairs and check the conch shell.”
“It’s okay if you want to wait till morning,” he offered. “We had a long drive. The bank won’t open until then anyway.”
“I need to know if it’s there. Otherwise, I have to figure out where else to look.” Which sounded utterly hopeless—after all, she’d already searched through all of Eric’s things for the files, so wouldn’t she have noticed a random key? Too bad he didn’t carry it on his key ring, which was the first place she’d checked.
Flipping on the lights, she led the way into their living room. The stone fireplace and exposed ceiling beams had been her idea when they bought the house so many years ago, and the space still evoked the same sense of welcoming coziness she’d always loved. It had become her refuge on the lonely winter nights when Eric worked late. She scooped up some blankets out of a big basket near the hearth and carried them to the leather sectional. “There’s a bathroom back there on the right, next to the office. Do you need anything else?”
His gaze met hers, and her breath stalled. Even after fifteen hours in the car and a near-death by fire the previous night, the man was still as attractive on the outside as he was on the inside. Why had that woman in Utah ever let him go?
Thankfully he didn’t appear to notice her useless thoughts. “No,” he said. “I’m good. Do you want me to come up with you? To make sure the second floor is clear? Or I can wait down here. It’s up to you.”
She glanced back at the entryway, with its beveled glass chandelier hanging over the staircase leading up to the dark second floor. The exterior of the house had looked fine when they arrived, with no sign of another break-in. Micah had parked on the street a few houses down so it wouldn’t be as obvious she’d returned. Still, the thought of trudging up there in the darkness alone, with all those memories...
She tipped her head. “If you don’t mind. Thank you.”
He dropped his bag next to the couch and followed her to the entryway, then up the hardwood staircase to the second level. The wood still gleamed, despite a week’s absence, but they had to dodge toy cars and stuffed animals once they reached the landing. Seeing Owen’s things made her heart ache. He was the innocent victim in all of this.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said softly.
Instead of answering, Micah caught her hand in his, gave it a squeeze, and released. His silent way of saying it was okay?
Checking the upstairs didn’t take long—there were only two bedrooms and two bathrooms, along with the sitting-slash-play area on the landing. She went to Owen’s room first, her knees nearly buckling at the sight of all his familiar things. The smell was wrong, though—all stuffy and musty and hot after being shut up for a week.
Her and Eric’s room looked the way it always did—bed neatly made up with its white matelassé coverlet, side tables impeccably clean. Her heart curled again, but this time it wasn’t the same ache of longing as she felt for Owen. Instead, it was regret, and this surging sense of freedom tinged with guilt. Shouldn’t she feel more sorrow?
“In here.” She led the way to the big bathroom with its two-sink vanity counter. The pink-and-cream conch shell sat in the center beneath the mirror. Sparks shot through her nerves as she picked it up. If they could just find that key...
She slipped her fingers inside, feeling along the smooth interior of the shell. She repeated the action a second time.
Nothing.
With a sigh, she shook her head and set it back on the counter. How could Eric do this to her? To Owen? Pent-up frustration rattled through her insides, swelling like a balloon about to burst. She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “It’s not there. And I have no idea where else to look.”
Micah ran a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. We’ll find it. We’ll get started first thing tomorrow and—”
“Where?” The word exploded out, catching even her off guard. Anger had never been her go-to response—usually she felt shame, absorbing and internalizing the other person’s feelings—but not anymore. She’d had enough.
She shoved past Micah and beelined for the stairs. A part of her knew she wasn’t acting much older than Owen in the midst of one of his tantrums, but she couldn’t help it. Not after everything Eric had done.
“What was he thinking? Why didn’t he run for the cops the second he realized who David wanted him to work for?” She savored the loud thump of each footstep down the wooden staircase. Micah followed silently behind. “And why on earth would he think I’d know where to find this stupid key and safe deposit box?”
She led the way into the living room, but there was no way she could sit. Not now. She rounded on Micah, as if he somehow had the answers.
He leaned against the oak trim of the doorway and watched her, his blue eyes thoughtful. “Maybe he didn’t know who they were at first. And by the time he did, he was in too deep. And the key... He couldn’t risk letting them find it.”
It was a perfectly rational explanation, one she’d considered herself, but the angry monster in her chest didn’t care. Because that wasn’t the real heart of the betrayal, was it? Flames scorched up her esophagus, burning her sinuses until tears pooled in her eyes. “Why didn’t he love me?”
The words wrenched themselves out of her soul like a rotten tooth being pulled. Her vision grew blurry and liquid coursed down her cheeks, salty and hot against her lips. What had she done wrong to push him away?
How had she failed so badly?
“Is that why God doesn’t love me either?” she choked out through tears.
Strong arms wrapped around her, filling her senses with the subtle scents of cypress and cool peppermint. She pressed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt and squeezed her eyes shut as her shoulders shook. If only she could stay like this, warm and safe in his embrace, but no amount of crying or accepting comfort was going to change the facts. Or help Owen.
