“I feel like I’ve been played,” she huffed.
The wrecker was finally getting Carter Ballis’s fancy, smashed sports car loaded. In a few minutes, traffic would be able to move. They’d be able to move too.
“Where do we go from here, then?” she asked quietly.
She didn’t want to surrender the case, shifters or no shifters, monsters or not. She wasn’t sure she was going to. But she had to placate Gary; make him think that she was.
“We go back to the precinct. We tell the captain that Ballis had an alibi. We talk to the ADA, tell them the truth: there’s no bodies, no real evidence of foul play. The case gets forgotten. It gets swept under the carpet. Buried. You let it go, and you never breathe a word of this to anyone. Ever. You stay safe. Hopefully, no one will ever know that you saw what you saw. Hopefully, you can keep out of it. Hopefully, you won’t get sucked in like I did.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, Gary leaned over, catching her by both shoulders, forcing her to look at him.
“I mean it. Let it go, Candace. And keep quiet. Stay safe. Please. Promise me.”
“I can’t…I can’t promise you that.”
Gary released her with a sigh, swearing under his breath. Something about stubborn cops who don’t know what’s good for them.
Candace pretended not to hear.
“All I can say is best of luck to you, then,” he said aloud, turning the key in the ignition. Traffic was slowly starting to move. He prepared to slide into the flow of it. “Trust me. You get yourself tangled up in this? You’re going to need it. Even then,” he added somberly, “all the luck in the world won’t keep you safe if they decide to come after you.”
The words sent a chill down her spine, but she didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Gary slid the gearshift into drive and they started creeping forward past the scene of the accident, where one brief moment had forever changed her life and her view of the world.
Chapter Two
Three months later…
Standing outside the little, white church, its steeple pointing up into a grey, cloudy sky, Carter Ballis felt a worm of doubt wriggling into his mind. It was February, and there was a light scattering of snow on the ground. Winter hugged this part of Washington, and the chill breeze piercing his leather jacket reminded him uncomfortably of that fact. Back in Fort Worth, temperatures had been in the low 60s when he’d flown out. It was strange to step off the plane into cold like this.
“Definitely not in Texas anymore,” he muttered to himself.
The parking lot contained only a couple of cars. He hoped one of them would be Ellie’s. It was Sunday morning, and too early for services. He hadn’t wanted to show up directly at Ellie’s house and catch all sorts of flak, all sorts of questions from her family who knew nothing about him. Instead, he’d chosen to come here, to the little community church she attended. With any luck, maybe he’d spot her across the parking lot. Be able to catch her coming or going. Pull her aside. Set up a meeting. He could’ve called her, but he didn’t want to run the risk, didn’t want to startle her. Besides, they needed to have this conversation in person, anyway.
How long he stood in the parking lot, staring at the church’s brown double doors, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like him to waver or waffle. His job depended on his ability to make fast, clear, precise decisions. Something about Ellie threw him, had thrown him since the beginning. Either him or the Talos, but they were so intertwined that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
Finally, he realized the cold was getting to him, causing his newly healed wounds to ache. He also realized that standing there staring at the church doors wasn’t doing him a bit of good. He could either get in the car and wait in the parking lot, basically stalking her, or start searching for her. The pastor would probably be a good place to start. It was a small church, so the pastor would know all of his congregants, right? Why not introduce himself, make up a story, tell him he’d come looking for Ellie—rather Taylor, her new identity. The pastor might be able to arrange a meeting in the church, away from everyone else. Especially if he told the pastor a story bordering on the truth: that Ellie/Taylor was his estranged wife, and he’d come to see what they could do about healing their marriage. That was the kind of thing pastors went for, right? Saving marriages? Marriage counseling? That sort of stuff?
“It’s worth a shot,” he told himself, pushing away from the rental car and approaching the building.
He jogged up the short flight of steps and tried the handle. It twisted but didn’t give. Locked.
Well, it was only 8:30 A.M. What did he expect? Services probably didn’t start for at least a couple of hours.
He gave up on the front doors, walked back down the steps, and headed around the perimeter of the church. The cars in the parking lot meant someone had to be here. Maybe cleaning people. With any luck, he’d run across the pastor or some other church officer who could help him. He found a side door, tried it. It gave, creating little prickles of unease. What scant time he’d spent in churches for funerals and weddings and such had always made him edgy. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had to do with his shifter heritage. Still, it wasn’t as if there were angels with flaming swords guarding the entrances to keep shapeshifters out.
Although, given the shifter community, he wouldn’t be too surprised.
Pushing all that aside, Carter stepped into a carpeted hallway. A drinking fountain was on his right, a men’s bathroom on his left. A little further down the corridor was the women’s. At the end of the corridor was an office, with hallways branching off in either direction. The lights in the office were on, so he headed there first.
The door was half open. There was no sign on it, but he glimpsed someone moving around inside. Taking a chance, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe.
“Hello?”
The man inside didn’t jump, but he did drop the papers he was holding onto the desk.
“May I help you?” he asked, rising.
He was of average height and build, his greying hair cut in a short, military style. His eyes were steely, piercing.
“I hope so,” Carter answered. “I’m a visitor here. Trying to find the pastor.”
“He’s out today with the flu,” the man answered. “I’m the associate pastor. Can I help you?”
He didn’t look like the quintessential friendly, love-everybody type that Carter associated with most preachers. Nor did he give off warm and cuddly vibes.
“Well, again, I hope so,” Carter said. “May I come in?”
“Of course, please do. Have a seat.” He waved Carter to one of the twin chairs across the desk from himself before resuming his own seat. “Are you looking for a church to visit? Thinking of worshipping with us this morning?”
“Er, not exactly. I’m actually looking for someone who I think attends this church.”
A frown appeared between the man’s thick brows.
“Who are you looking for?”
“She’s—well, she’s my wife,” Carter explained. “We’re estranged. She came out here to stay with her mother.” That wasn’t much of a lie. “I’m not sure where she’s living, but I know she attends this church. I was hoping that, if she shows up this morning, you might be willing to set up a meeting between us. It’s important that I speak with her.”