The Guardian

* * *

  He walked Shari to her bedroom door and forced himself to simply say good night there. Rather than rejoin Quinn, he walked further down the hall to the guest room he was using. Out of habit he picked up the book on the nightstand, planning to read for a while, then sighed and set it back down.

  He reached again for the Bible. Take one step forward, feel out if it was safe, then take another step. He felt like he was crawling back, walking on thin ice.

  He was finally beginning to understand part of it. Those who believed, believed completely and trusted with abandon. His mom’s happiness that he had basked in as a child had come from God. She had flourished in her faith despite circumstances—her spirit had been trusting, her smile always there. Decades later he was still grieving the loss of his mom. That was the most profound fact he had realized. It wasn’t faith as much as it was grief. He had lost so much.

  Who was Jesus? What is His character? Shari asked very good questions. He settled on the side of the bed and started reading where he had left off.

  There would be a future with Shari, if everything worked out just right—he had to cling to that hope. His emotions were so involved that seeing that sadness in her tonight was overwhelming. He wished he could give her something to make the stay here easier. Missing family was something he understood only too well.

  When he said Jennifer was doing as well as could be expected, he had been stretching the truth. Jennifer was in the fight of her life and she was at best only holding her own. It was the unsaid reality in Kate’s voice, in Rachel’s.

  At least this ranch was like an island, an isolated spot.

  But were their tracks covered deeply enough?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marcus let the roan he was riding pick the way down the steep slope to the streambed. Only a thin stream of water snaked down the center of the cracked ground. This tributary to the Ledds River showed the effects of the unusually dry summer.

  The sun was hot, and after two hours of riding his body felt the heat down to his bones. Quinn had already crossed the gully. Marcus sent the horse up the far bank, trying to ignore the crumbling dirt making the task difficult. He liked to ride, but he didn’t do enough of it to be relaxed like Quinn and was still working out a relationship with this particular mount. Quinn’s definition of broke for riding was not necessarily his.

  The rolling pastures for most of the ride had given way to steeper hills, and ahead were the bluffs that cut through the south edge of Quinn’s land. Bluffs that Marcus had walked with Quinn numerous times in the past.

  Bluffs and a grave.

  Quinn reined in to wait for him, scanning ahead with binoculars and reaching for the rifle. Marcus drew up beside him.

  “There.” Quinn pointed.

  Marcus took the offered binoculars and followed the indicated direction. There was a faint curl of white smoke lifting on the still air from a small grove of trees in the distance. The daily air surveillance had seen it that morning.

  “We’ll follow the riverbank to that outcrop of rocks and then approach the grove on foot from the east,” Quinn decided.

  Marcus nodded and slid out the rifle he carried. Sending one of the ranch hands to check this out hadn’t even been considered. The odds that Lucas would give away his position with smoke were slim to none, but an ambush to get information, shake them up—that was possible.

  They left the horses and worked slowly to the grove.

  Marcus looked over at Quinn, he nodded, and they moved in, rifles ready.

  The site was deserted.

  It had been a campsite, the crushed grass and holes in the ground showing where a small tent had been pitched, a worn path going west showing the campsite had been active for at least a few days, a crude fire ring of stones held bits of charred wood. A coffee can near the fire ring was the source of the thin, waffling white smoke and it stunk. Marcus approached it cautiously, watching his feet for any trip wire around it. A handmade wick was burning down into something that was a muddy white.

  “Someone’s homemade bug repellent,” Quinn concluded, looking at it.

  Quinn walked over the log that must have been used as a bench and spread out a pile of sharp-edged stones beside the log with his foot. “He was cave spelunking. These are the discards he gathered but didn’t want to carry out.”

  “Not Lucas.”

  “Not unless he was amusing himself by killing time.”

  Marcus walked around the site. “He didn’t want to carry out the smoke pot.”

  “Not exactly the sweetest smelling thing to carry with him.”

  “He was here at least two, three days. How did we miss seeing him?”

  Quinn snuffed out the bug repellent pot. “You can’t see this campsite from the air without the smoke, and someone walking in, we’re only going to see him by luck or if he crosses into one of our tightly patrolled areas.”

  Marcus turned back on his pager and opened his phone, called back to the house, and alerted Luke to what they had found.

  “Let’s ride back along the bluffs and make sure he’s left, not just moved on to a new site,” Quinn suggested. Marcus nodded his agreement. He would like to know who this guy was.

  They walked back to the horses.

  Quinn became grim the closer they came to the bluffs. Marcus didn’t break the silence; he knew what this place represented. Quinn’s father had been murdered at these bluffs—why, who had done it, those questions had never been answered. They rode for an hour along the bluffs in silence and saw no signs of anyone.

  They turned back toward the house.

  Marcus finished his third water bottle and tucked it back in the saddlebag. When the situation was different, he would like a chance to bring Shari out riding for a day. He knew she loved to ride, and so far they had been forced to limit her to the immediate area around the ranch house. And now it looked like he had better limit it even more just to be safe.

  His pager went off. Marcus reached for it and looked at the number. Dave. Marcus opened the phone, called a secure number, and then called Dave. “Dave, it’s Marcus. What do you have?”

  “We’ve found Frank Keaton. He’s dead. Two shots to the head, execution style. His body turned up in a landfill this morning, which means he was dropped in a dumpster and hauled out here. Based on location in the landfill and the condition of his body, it’s likely he was killed shortly after the shooting at the church.”

  Marcus drew in the reins of his horse; his attention focused on the news he had already begun to suspect would be the case. “Connor knew Frank was dead when we arrested him.”

  “That would be my guess as well.”

  “With Frank dead, splitting Connor and Titus is going to be next to impossible. Do you think there’s any hope the ballistics are going to match with the gun that killed Judge Whitmore?”

  “Gut feel? No. They look like they are different calibers. I’ll know for sure in a day when ballistics is done.”

  “Pull any resources you need to investigate Frank’s death. If the murder case against Connor and Titus for Judge Whitmore’s death ends in a hung jury, I want to at least be able to nail them for Frank’s death.”

  “Already working on it,” Dave replied. “I’ll call with an update this evening.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Frank?” Quinn asked when Marcus hung up.

  Marcus passed on the grim news. The importance of Shari’s testimony had escalated. The remaining week to the grand jury testimony felt like an eternity. Where was Lucas Saracelli?

  Marcus nudged his horse forward. “Let’s get back to the house.”

  * * *

  She had to talk to him. Shari stacked the cookies she had baked and moved them to the glass tray. She was doing her best to fill time and stay busy. Susan had been gracious about turning over the kitchen to her this afternoon.

  Her attention was still on the phone call she had had earlier that morning with Jennifer. Tired wasn’t adequate to describe the weakne
ss Shari heard in Jennifer’s voice. The chemotherapy was taking so much out of her.

  The results were in from the bone scans and they weren’t good. They showed the radiation had only limited the speed of the cancer growth but had not been able to stop it. Jennifer was in unusually low spirits. Her hope that the hospital stay was coming to an end had been crushed with the latest news.

  Shari had to convince Marcus to go back to Baltimore. She knew he wanted to be there, knew as well that he would not easily leave here given the threat Lucas represented. She had to find a way to insist that he go. If she could only think of something in Virginia that would demand his attention—if he was traveling east for the case, he would swing north to see Jennifer.

  She wished she could see Jennifer, share more than just a phone call. They had become good friends over the last few weeks. Jennifer was using what energy she had for the best things in her life: time with her fiancé, planning her wedding, her family. Shari hoped she had that same grace should she ever face such an illness.

  Shari frowned as she slid another tray of cookies into the oven. Marcus would take this latest news hard. Jennifer had been trying to prepare him for the worse, but Shari knew he was nowhere near being able to accept that he might lose his sister. And if time was measured in months, not years, this time mattered intensely.

  She heard Quinn’s voice in the hall, talking with Susan.

  Shari wiped off her hands, relieved that the guys were back. She didn’t know what had called them out early that morning, but she had seen them mount the horses and arrange security so they could be gone for several hours.

  “Marcus will be in soon,” Quinn reassured her when she joined him.

  “Everything is fine?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve been baking?”

  She gave a small smile. “Trying to.”

  “The guys will love you.”

  Marcus stepped inside the house. Shari could see the fatigue and wished she had better news to welcome him with. She crossed to join him and reached out to softly touch his hand. “Jennifer called.”

  “When?”

  “This morning, about an hour after you left. She’ll be in her room for the afternoon.”

  He nodded, rubbing the back of her neck. “Ice water first, I’m parched, then I’ll call her back.”

  She was surprised when he rested his arm across her shoulders as he walked with her back to the kitchen. Something had happened that morning, enough to make him show the fatigue. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “I’d appreciate a sandwich.”

  “Roast beef and hot mustard?”

  He held up two fingers. “I like your sandwiches.”

  He sampled one of her cookies as she fixed the sandwiches. “I hate to do this, but would you consider staying inside the house for the next couple days?”

  She looked over at him. “Of course. Whatever you need me to do.”

  “We need to come up with a better plan for covering someone trying to come toward the house from the north.”

  She nodded. “Then I’ll stay in the house.”

  He picked up the first sandwich and got to his feet. “Let me go call Jennifer back.”

  Shari thought about warning him to be prepared but didn’t have the words.

  He paused beside her, rested his hand on her forearm. “I talked to Tom and then her doctors late last night,” he said quietly. “It’s okay, Shari. I know what she was told this morning.”

  “You know?”

  “One of the specialists from Mayo who first saw her was flying out last night to join her doctors, was due to get there midmorning. They are far from reaching the end of what they are willing to try. This is only a disappointing turn, not an end in the road.”

  “I wish you could go see her. She sounds really down.”

  “Shari, she’s worried about you and your safety; it’s one of her first questions when we talk. We’ll be back east soon enough and I’ll be able to see her then. Don’t feel guilty about the timing of this. I made the choice to stay with this case. And my family was involved in making that decision. I’ve accepted that distance from Jennifer for a short time is part of it.”

  Shari heard the calmness and was surprised at it.

  “Part of knowing how to lead the O’Malleys is knowing what to bring to the table that can help them. The doctor from Mayo can help as the next course of action is chosen. There are treatments that will help Jennifer; we’ll find those ideas and people.” He ran a hand down her cheek. “Trust me, we’re only in the first round.”

  She relaxed. “Call her.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “If you have a few extras, box some cookies. I’ll arrange to get a package to her.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He selected another one and smiled. “Besides, these are good.”

  * * *

  Marcus settled in the den to call Jennifer. He wasn’t surprised when Kate answered on her behalf. “Hi, Ladybug.”

  “Marcus.” He heard her smile. “Good timing, as always. Can you do us a favor?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Arrange a delivery. We want Chicago-style pizza for dinner tonight. Two of them. Large.”

  He had to laugh. “I see your solution to this problem is starting with the fundamentals.”

  “Jen is eating like a bird and pizza sounds good to her. But it has to be good pizza.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m already writing it down. I’ll get two sent from Carla’s packed in dry ice if you can find a place to bake them out there.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “It will have to be a late dinner.”

  “First flight you can arrange is fine. Jen takes a late evening nap so we can watch the late shows and get a good laugh.”

  “Ask her if Benny’s cheesecake sounds good too.”

  “Hold on.” A muted conversation went on. “Strawberry topped.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. You’ll like the new specialist from Mayo Clinic; he joined us during lunch. He’s from Louisiana, and he and Jen spent half an hour discussing hot Cajun cooking. Then they started talking about kids and he pulled out his wallet to introduce his favorite patients.”

  Marcus relaxed; a doctor, but also one comfortable being more than that. “I already like him.”

  “He spent over an hour with Tom and Jennifer going over the film from the bone scans of her spine.” Her voice became serious. “They want to try radiation pellets around her spine.”

  He knew the details of that option; it wasn’t his favorite, but he understood why it would be chosen over another chemotherapy cocktail. Jen would be looking at surgery around her spine, something that made him queasy, and then more radiation. “How did she take the news?”

  “A lot of questions; she and Tom are still talking about the risks.”

  “I can’t say I’m thrilled with them either.” They would be taking the gamble that the radiation would destroy the cancer before it destroyed her vertebrae.

  “I think she’s waiting to talk to you before they make a final decision.”

  “Then pass me over and I’ll add my two cents worth to this discussion.”

  “Coming up.”

  The phone at their end changed hands. “Hi, Marcus.”

  Marcus understood immediately why Kate had purposely stayed lighthearted and done the talking. Jennifer’s voice was so weak he could hear her breathing easier than he could her words. The doctors had warned him to expect the weakness to continue until they were able to end this round of chemotherapy and give her body time to recover. “Hi, precious.” He tried to relax.

  “I worried Shari. Sorry.”

  “Jen, it’s good for her to worry about someone else. She’s thinking about you, not the mess here.”

  “Okay.” There was a faint smile. “Let her worry.”

  “She was baking cookies to soften the word that you had calle
d.”

  “Oh.”

  He laughed. Not every batch Shari had baked had been a success. “Relax. These were good. She’ll send you some.”

  “Good.” Her voice grew serious. “You sent a good doctor.”

  “A favor from an old friend,” Marcus reassured before she could ask. The doctor was one of the best cancer doctors in the country, and his time was at a premium. Marcus had tried to offer compensation and had been turned down. “That bank robbery eight years ago where the kids were killed, I mentioned I got to know the local investigator quite well. Your doctor is his son.”

  “I liked him when I met him at Mayo; I like him even more now.”

  “I know he’s suggested several options, recommended one. What do you want to do, Jen?”

  “The surgery might cripple me.”

  “I know,” Marcus said softly.

  “And they’ll need to do it in the next couple days. You won’t be here.”

  “I know that too.”

  The quietness was that of twenty-year friends.

  “Have the surgery,” he said quietly.

  “Will you carry me down the aisle if the worst happens?”

  He moved the phone away so he could bite back tears and steady his voice. “Sure.”

  “I would ask Jack, but he would drop me; fireman that he is notwithstanding,” she said with forced lightness.

  “I’ll walk you down the aisle or carry you. That’s a promise.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “No hair, so my wedding pictures will be interesting.”

  “Rachel will get creative. Trust me, you’ll be beautiful.”

  “Of course. Besides, I’ve always dreamed about being size six for my wedding.”

  He had to laugh. The illness had not robbed Jennifer of her essential good humor. “Pick the dress out, and it will be my wedding present to you.”

  “That’s charming of you.”

  “I’m a charming kind of guy.”

  Shari knocked softly on the doorjamb. Marcus was relieved to see her. He held out his hand and curled his around hers when she joined him.

  “I’ll tell the doctor yes.”

  Marcus’s grip tightened on Shari’s hand. “Do that, Jen. I’ll talk to him in the morning for the schedule details.”