True Light

  Her mother called, “Come in, Deni.”

  Deni stepped inside. Her mother sat in the center of the bed. Her father was pulling on his boots. “What is it, honey?”

  “I need advice.”

  “About what?”

  She sighed. “That letter I got from Craig yesterday?”

  Kay’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I wanted to read it, but I got busy and forgot.”

  “Yeah, well. He sent me a train ticket for March 1, and a job offer working for the government in communications. Mark found the ticket, and got all weird about it, telling me that I should go.”

  Doug stopped tying his boot, and Kay slid to the edge of the bed. “And you want to know if you should?” she asked weakly.

  “No! I know I don’t want to go. The advice I need is about Mark. I don’t get why he thinks I should take this job.”

  Kay looked at Doug, relief in her eyes.

  “I mean, if he loves me, wouldn’t he want me here with him?”

  “Has he told you he loves you?” Kay asked.

  Deni groaned and dropped into a chair. “No, but I’ve told him.”

  Doug smiled and pulled his other boot on. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, sweetheart. He may not say it with words, but every time he looks at you, it’s apparent.”

  “I don’t think he trusts me. When the power comes back on, I think he expects me to go back to the way I was. And frankly, that’s a little insulting.”

  “Well, you can’t blame him for wondering about that,” Doug said. “I’ve thought it myself.”

  “Dad!” She sat up rigid in the chair. “Mom, tell him. I wasn’t a real Christian before the outage. Christ has molded me and taught me that it’s not about me. I know I’m not perfect, and I still have a long way to go. But I’ve come a long way.”

  “Of course you have, honey.” Kay got up and came to sit on the arm of the chair. “It’s just that when the power comes back on and things start going back to normal, you’ll have the whole world in front of you.”

  “But I don’t want the whole world. I want Mark.”

  Kay’s face glowed. “That just thrills me, Deni. I’d like nothing better than to see you married to him. And I don’t want you to leave here in three weeks.”

  “Neither do I,” her dad said. “But don’t blame him for worrying about the future.”

  She felt betrayed. “Never mind.” Getting up, she started back to the door.

  “Honey, wait,” Kay said. “You know Mark loves you. He just wants what’s best for you, even if it hurts him. We’ve all seen how he is with you. He’d give his life for you.”

  “But that’s how Mark is. He’d give his life for anybody. I want to be special to him. I want to be the one he’s chosen, not the one he flippantly sends away to test her wings.”

  “I think you are the one he’s chosen,” Kay said. “He just wants to make sure he’s the one you’ve chosen.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  COMING DOWN THE STAIRS, MARK SAW DENI GO INTO HER parents’ room and knew they were talking about the train ticket, Craig . . . and him. He glanced out the back window and saw his mother helping Beth and Logan feed the chickens. He pulled his coat on over one arm and draped the other side over his cast and sling. Stepping out on the front porch, he drew in a long breath.

  The wind was cool, sweeping across the wet ground, blowing his hair against his stitches. The sleep had done him good, but soreness had crept into his muscles and bones, leaving him feeling more bruised and battered than before. With his Frankenstein scar, his collarbone brace, and the sling and cast, he looked like something out of a horror movie.

  Why would Deni be attracted to him?

  He tried to push the ticket and job offer out of his mind and concentrate on what he had to do today. He needed to find a picture of his brothers to take to the sheriff’s department and the hospital. If he could get Zach to ID one of them as the shooter, and ask Zach’s hospital roommate if this was the guy who claimed to be Mark; if Blake and Randy could tell them if these were the guys who’d paid them off . . .

  Then maybe they could manage to find them, and this nightmare could come to an end. He got on his bike and rode to his father’s house to look for a picture.

  But the melancholy that had shadowed him for days still hung over him, pressing down on his spirit. Anger swirled afresh in his heart, mocking the forgiveness he’d shown yesterday. The temporary peace it had brought to his heart seemed as fragile as lace today.

  And new anger layered itself on the old. This time, it was anger at himself. Telling Deni she should take the ticket and go back to Washington?

  What was wrong with him?

  He didn’t want to believe he had done it to bait her, to see if she would take him up on it. Was it some kind of sick test he was giving her, to see if she really loved him?

  Or was it a test for him? If so, who was testing him? God or Satan?

  He thought of what Jesus had told the apostle Peter, before he betrayed Christ: Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.

  There was so much to learn from those statements. First, Satan had to ask permission before he could sift. Satan’s power was limited. That knowledge comforted Mark. But an even greater comfort was the fact that Jesus had been on Peter’s side — praying for him through his trial. Mark knew that Jesus was interceding for him as well.

  Peter’s faith had wobbled before the crucifixion, when he’d denied Christ three times. But it had rebounded, and the apostle had gone on to strengthen so many others. He’d even written those famous words that warned Christians of the warfare around them: Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

  Peter knew of what he spoke. And so did Mark. Satan was after him, but as Joseph, one of the great Old Testament heroes, had said, What Satan meant for evil, God intended for good.

  Even knowing these things, Mark felt more devoured than sifted, and he prayed that his faith was strong enough to withstand the enemy’s flaming arrows. He could take his brothers’ murderous greed and hatred. He could take the disdain of his neighbors and friends.

  But losing Deni might just do him in.

  Telling her that would be the height of selfishness. But he didn’t know if he had the faith to put their relationship in God’s hands. To believe that if it was meant to be, no job or geography — and no man — would stand between them.

  He pulled his bike around behind his father’s house. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the tropical living room and searched the debris on the floor for the framed family pictures that had been pulled off the walls.

  Vic hadn’t been big on memory preservation, but there had been a few pictures of himself and the boys. The ones that had made it into frames had been the ones that had brag value, like the shot of his brothers holding a twenty-pound bass between them. His dad had gotten the picture blown up and framed.

  Where had he hung it?

  Was that the one he’d put over his bed?

  He hurried up the stairs, stepped over the clutter in the hallway, and went into his father’s room.

  There it was, the only picture the marauders had left hanging — an eleven-inch-by-sixteen-inch picture of Larry and Jack, matted and framed in bamboo. It had been taken a year ago, when his brothers and father had taken a trip to Alaska. Mark had opted out.

  Though he hadn’t seen his brothers in about seven months, they couldn’t have changed much. They may have lost some weight, and their hair might be longer. They may have grown beards. But he was sure they would still bear a striking resemblance to his father.

  He took the picture off the wall, peeled off the cardboard back, then rolled up the photo and slid it into his coat pocket. Quickly, he looked around for more pictures. He found two and stripped them out of their frames.

  Then he headed back to the sheriff’s
department.

  Deputy Wheaton was still there, along with the men who’d worked the night shift. Brad Caldwell and a few fresh recruits had already reported. Mark knew Doug would be along soon.

  He unrolled the pictures and flattened them on a desktop. “Here’s who we’re looking for,” he told Wheaton. “Larry and Jack Green.”

  “Great.” Wheaton picked up the biggest picture, got a flashlight off his desk, and took it into the jail. Mark followed him.

  The smell was considerably better than it had been yesterday before Mark and Deni cleaned the toilets. Instead of human waste, the smell of bleach filled the air. So far the jail wasn’t too overcrowded, so each man had his own bunk. Most of them still slept.

  Tree House was stretched out on a bottom bunk, all alone in his cell. Wheaton must have decided to keep him isolated so he couldn’t kill anyone else. Mark was glad of that. But the man looked way too comfortable for a cold-blooded killer.

  Mark followed Wheaton to the cell where Blake and Randy were housed, along with some of the men from the vigilante group. Blake and Randy looked like children sacked out on their beds. Blake was on the top bunk, his arm slung over the side, his sheet tangled around his legs. Randy lay on his side in a fetal position, his hand cradling his head.

  “Mahaffey, Kraft, get over here.” Wheaton turned on the flashlight, adding to the light coming in from the windows at the tops of the walls.

  Blake sat up, bleary-eyed. Randy stirred and lifted his head. “Are we getting out now?”

  “Dream on,” Wheaton said. “I want you to take a look at this picture.”

  Randy looked crestfallen as he got off the bed. Blake dropped from the top mattress and walked barefoot across the cold concrete.

  “You ever seen these two men before?”

  Randy shrugged. “Faces aren’t familiar.”

  “But I recognize the jacket,” Blake said.

  Mark held his breath.

  “One of the guys who paid us to lie was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket just like that. But we couldn’t see their faces because they had those ski masks on.”

  “Same jacket,” Wheaton repeated. “Guys, take a good hard look. Do you remember anything else about them?”

  Randy began to look hopeful. “Well, it’s not in the picture, but they had these cool alligator boots. I remember wondering where they got them.”

  Mark knew those boots. He looked at Wheaton. “Those are their favorite boots. They strut around in them like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

  “Are you saying you believe our story now?” Blake asked Wheaton.

  Wheaton rolled the picture back up. “I’m just reviewing your statement. Anything else you want to tell us?”

  “No,” Blake said. “We told you everything we know. Who are those guys, anyway?”

  Wheaton didn’t answer. He turned off his flashlight and headed back to the door.

  “Mark,” Randy called as Mark started away. “Do you know them?”

  Mark didn’t think they deserved an answer. He closed the jail door behind them. “It’s them, Deputy. I’m telling you, my brothers are the ones who shot Zach and pinned it on me. They broke into my house looking for the gold, and they unplugged Zach’s ventilator. Zach said the guy who shot him looked familiar. He’s seen them at my dad’s house. He lived just a few houses down.”

  Wheaton nodded. “I’ll get over to the hospital and show the pictures to Zach and his roommate. If they confirm it, you can come with me to the DA’s office and tell him about the gold. There’s already a warrant for their arrest for the murders in your neighborhood months ago.”

  “Right — and that’s why they’re hiding. It’s not going to be easy to find them.”

  “We’ll start in the most obvious place,” Wheaton said. “We’ll get a warrant to search their wives’ houses again.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  AS MARK EXPECTED, ZACH CONFIRMED THAT JACK HAD been the one who shot him. Charles Hoyt, Zach’s roommate, was certain Jack was the man who’d unplugged the ventilator. And a nurse who’d been on the floor that day identified Larry as the drunk man who’d drawn attention from Zach’s room.

  Armed with search and arrest warrants, Kevlar vests, and enough ammo to take out a small army, Wheaton, Doug, Brad, and Mark headed to the homes of Mark’s sisters-in-law.

  Brad sat up front with Wheaton, and Doug sat in the back with Mark. Tension hung over them all. Mark thought of Deni’s admonition to be careful and knew his mother had probably been on her knees all morning.

  As they drove down the country road to where Jack’s wife lived, he looked over at Doug. Over the rumble of the engine, he asked, “So did she tell you about the train ticket?”

  Doug met his eyes. “Yeah, she told us she doesn’t intend to go. That you’re encouraging her to.”

  Mark looked out the window.

  “Is that true? Do you want her to go?”

  “Of course not.” Mark sighed. “I just don’t want to hold her back from the job of her dreams.”

  “Even if it’s there with him?”

  Mark swallowed. “I want what’s best for her.”

  “Well, that’s not what’s best. Living 750 miles away with some guy who would bring her nothing but emptiness and misery? And this song and dance he gave her about going to church, praying — ”

  “Maybe it’s true,” Mark muttered. “Maybe God’s working in his life.”

  “I don’t trust him.” Doug’s eyes were angry as Mark turned back toward him. “Deni can do anything, get a job anywhere. She doesn’t have to work with him.”

  “I don’t want her to go, either, Doug. I just don’t want her to wonder someday if she should have. I don’t want her to settle for something and regret it later.”

  “What would she be settling for, Mark? You?”

  Mark didn’t want to answer that. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, son.”

  Mark didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It wasn’t that he lacked confidence in himself. He knew he could make Deni happy. But part of that included giving her the freedom to be who she was. She was born to shine, gifted for greatness. If he loved her, how could he cause her to be less than she was born to be?

  He saw Jack’s house through the trees and tried to shift his thoughts to what he would say if he saw his brothers. Would they fight? Fire on them? Try to get away? Or would they come willingly? What if Larry’s children were there? He didn’t like the idea of their seeing their dad in handcuffs.

  They pulled off the dirt road into the driveway of Jack’s house. It was a much bigger house than Jack could afford, at least according to his income on paper. But his father had taught his two older sons not to report everything, and with their shady dealings, Jack probably made a lot of unreported cash. He’d built the house just before his marriage to Grace a little more than a year ago, and it was situated on three acres. Mark had been here only once before, with his father. His sister-in-law was an insecure woman full of jealousy and bitterness, and she’d never been a friend to Mark. He knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him . . . especially with the sheriff’s department in tow.

  Doug and Brad went behind the house to cover the back doors in case the men attempted to escape, and Mark followed Wheaton up the sidewalk to the plantation-style front porch. Wheaton knocked on the door.

  After a moment, Grace came to the door. Her blonde hair had grown out and four inches of brown roots crowned her head. Her gaze shot past Wheaton to Mark. “What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for Jack and Larry,” Mark said.

  She let out a sardonic laugh. “Join the crowd.”

  Mark looked into the house beyond her and saw a man he didn’t recognize coming into the foyer. Despite the cold, the man had his shirt off with a pair of jeans, and he walked barefoot through the house. He clearly felt at home here. Had he replaced Jack?

  Wheaton identified him
self, then asked, “Are you Jack Green?”

  “Jack?” The name seemed bitter in his mouth. “No way, dude.”

  “I haven’t heard from Jack,” Grace said, “and I don’t care if I never do again. He ran off and left me to deal with all the fallout of what him and your maniac daddy did. I don’t care if he rots.”

  “But he’s back in town, all right.” The boyfriend stepped into the doorway beside her. “We do know that much. Tell ’em, Grace.”

  Grace crossed her arms. “He broke into the house a week ago.”

  Wheaton shot Mark a look. “This house?”

  “Yeah, and Laura says they broke into her house too. Went pillaging through all our stuff.”

  Before the shooting, Mark thought. “How do you know it was him?”

  She smirked. “I recognized his handwriting.”

  “His handwriting?”

  She chuckled and exchanged looks with her boyfriend. “Come in, and I’ll show you.”

  Mark hesitated, wondering if this was a trick, an ambush. No — she wouldn’t have her boyfriend here if Jack and Larry were here, would she?

  He glanced at Wheaton and saw his hand moving to his weapon as he stepped into the house. Mark trailed behind them, watching the shadows for any surprises.

  She led them through the house to the master bedroom. As they walked in, Mark understood. On the wall over the king-sized bed, someone had written:

  Die, you cheating tramp.

  “He got the spray paint out of the garage,” Grace said. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have any paint to cover it with. So I’m trying to sew a wall hanging to cover it up.”

  The boyfriend looked livid. “If I ever get my hands on that little — ”

  “Mrs. Green,” Wheaton cut in. “Why didn’t you file a complaint about this?”

  “And tell them what? That my husband broke into his own home and wrote on the wall? That he stole his own gold?”

  Mark’s mouth fell open. “Gold?”

  “Yeah. He apparently came back for the coins he left here. Cleaned me out. Didn’t even leave me a single one. I guess when he saw that I wasn’t living here alone, he got a little hot under the collar.”