It was time to go.
He turned on his heel and winced at the shooting pain in his right knee. That was one complication he didn’t need, but it wouldn’t keep him from doing what he’d come to do. He limped across the front yard to the stolen car he’d parked at the neighborhood pool. He was ready for all of this unpleasantness to be finished. He missed his home, the peaceful lull of the water lapping against the sides of his boat. But . . . a promise was a promise.
Unfortunately, the oldest son of Michael Fields was still alive and that had to be rectified as soon as possible.
CHAPTER
THREE
SEVENTEEN YEARS EARLIER
OCTOBER
GREENVILLE
Fifteen-year-old Ava Jackson woke with a start, her heart pounding like a runaway stallion. For a moment, she lay in the double bed, listening to the rain lashing her home as though punishing it for merely existing. The vinyl-sided structure shuddered at the strength of the whipping wind. Thunder boomed and she bit back a shriek while jerking the covers to her chin.
Lightning flashed in the not-so-distant sky, illuminating her room for a brief second.
She glanced at the clock and noted the blank area where muted red numbers should glow.
No power.
The door to her room slammed open and she gasped. Then wilted in relief. Seven-year-old Nathan ran and vaulted into her bed to clasp his arms around her neck. “There’s a monster who keeps trying to come through my window!”
“Shh . . . it’s okay. It’s just a storm.”
Another crash of thunder sent shudders through his small frame. “It’s too loud.”
“I know. Come on, climb under the covers. You can stay with me.”
“Good, ’cuz I wasn’t leaving.”
Laughter bubbled up and suddenly the night didn’t seem so scary. Her little brother had brought her nothing but joy—okay, and maybe a few headaches since his surprise appearance seven years ago—and she’d do anything to make sure he felt safe and secure. The thunder boomed once more and he clutched her.
She kissed his head. “Hey, think about this.”
“What?”
“Remember that Bible verse you had to memorize in Bible school?”
“I memorized a lot. Which one?”
“The one from Psalms . . . about when you’re afraid, you’ll trust. Come on. I know you can quote it.”
For a moment he was silent, then his small voice said, “‘When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid.’ That one?”
“Yeah. That one.” She repeated it silently in her own mind. “We don’t need to be afraid.”
“Jesus calmed the ocean one time too.”
“He did?”
“Uh-huh. The disciples in the boat were afraid and Jesus was sleeping. They woke him up and he stopped the storm.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep. Maybe he’ll calm . . . this . . . one . . . too . . .” His words slowed, slurred, and finally stopped.
Soon his even breathing whispered past her ear and her own eyes grew heavy once again. She was simply going to trust that God could stop this storm too. She kissed Nathan’s forehead and had just closed her eyes when a dull thud sounded from somewhere at the other end of the house.
She stiffened. That wasn’t thunder.
Ava eased away from her brother’s relaxed warmth, grabbed her robe from the end of the bed, and pulled it on as she stepped into the hallway. The ranch-style house had a simple layout. Ava’s bedroom was at the very back, across from the master. She peered inside and saw her mother stretched diagonally across the bed, sleeping soundly. Ava spotted the empty wine bottle on the end table. A sigh escaped her. It would take more than a thunderstorm to wake her.
Another thunk sent her heart hammering in her chest. Had someone broken in? No, wait. Her father must be home. He was supposed to have arrived last night but had been delayed due to the bad weather. She continued down the hall, passing Nathan’s room and the full bath she shared with him. At the end of the hall, she walked into the den and paused. Glanced at the antique clock on the mantel, just as another flash of lightning lit up the room. Ten minutes past two. She’d wound and set it yesterday. The pendulum continued its rhythmic swing in stark contrast to the chaos outside.
More noise from the office off the kitchen sent her scurrying toward it. It was probably her father, but she had to know for sure.
A loud crash. A shout.
“Dad!” She raced to his office in time to see him throw a punch at another man’s face. The intruder stumbled backward into the wingback chair in front of her father’s desk. The chair fell sideways. Her father grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the built-in bookcases along the wall.
Ava could only watch, open-mouthed and terrified for her father. A hard punch to her dad’s gut sent him reeling back, even as the attacker aimed his other fist for a head hit. Before Ava could screech a warning, her father ducked. Then retaliated. He went through a series of punches and kicks that left the invader groaning on the floor and Ava gaping.
Just as Ava thought she might be able to breathe again, a knife appeared in the man’s hand.
“Dad! Look out!” She grabbed the lamp from the end table, stepped forward, and slammed the heavy base down on the man’s wrist.
He screamed and turned to glare at her, giving her father a few precious seconds to act. He snagged the knife and had it to the attacker’s exposed throat before she could blink. Her dad’s gaze locked on hers, the glint of admiration there thrilling her despite the panic pulsing her adrenaline into overdrive.
“I’ve got this,” he said. “Go check on your mom and Nathan.”
“Leave you alone with him? I don’t think so. I’ll call 911, though.”
“Ava . . .”
She froze. Whenever he used that tone, she knew better than to argue with him.
“I’ll take care of him. I don’t want to wake up the whole neighborhood with lights and sirens. I’m going to take him to the police station, and when I get back, we’ll talk.”
He was going to take the intruder to the— “Are you crazy?”
He huffed a short laugh, a sound she’d never heard from him before. “Quite possibly, but I’m serious. Don’t argue with me, please.”
Ava studied him a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
“That’s my girl. Go on.”
Still not sure about the wisdom of his decision, she backed out of the office, rounded the doorjamb, and paused to listen.
Words in a language she couldn’t understand filtered to her. Her father’s voice. Sounding like he spoke fluent . . . Russian? The man answered in a guttural tone filled with hate—and something else? A shiver slid up her spine and she tried to commit the sounds to memory.
More soft-voiced, yet intense arguing, then footsteps aimed at the door. She fled back to her room and climbed into the bed next to her still-sleeping brother.
But her mind wouldn’t click off. Her father was not the mild-mannered, soft-spoken, nerdy travel writer she’d known all her life. Tonight, she’d seen a whole different side of him—and she determined to figure out exactly who he was.