Blind Trust (10 page)

M
adeline stirred when she felt the comfort of a bed beneath her, and a strong man’s arms releasing her. The room was dark, but she looked up and saw the weary face of Sam, her captor, tucking her into bed. His silver eyes were shadowed, and the lines etched in his face seemed much more defined than they had earlier. He was bone tired, and yet he seemed to be concentrating all his efforts on covering her with the comforter he had pulled back. For a moment, she felt a jolt of fear that he’d crawl in next to her, take advantage of her now that they were alone.

His heavy hand rested on her shoulder when the comforter was in place, and she felt his pause and his warm eyes studying her. What was he thinking, she wondered, pretending to still be asleep. Was he considering what he was going to do with her? When his hand lifted, she heard him leave the room. No, Sam wasn’t a threat. It was even possible that he was a nice guy.

Relaxing, she fell back to sleep. In her dreams, an off-key humming set a rhythm in her heart, a soft lullaby that made her smile.

Chapter Nine

C
lint shook Sherry gently, waking her. Slowly, she became aware that the camper wasn’t moving. She sat up. “Are … are we there?”

“We’re there,” he said softly. He touched her warm cheek. “But before we go inside, I want to warn you. There are men with holsters strapped to their chests in there. But you don’t have to be afraid. They’re not here to hold you hostage. They’re here to protect us both. Your father sent them.”

Sherry bolted upright on the bed, her eyes rounded. “My father?”

“Yes. He knows where we are. He arranged for us to hide here.”

“My father
knew
where you were?” The words came out on a shaky, disbelieving breath. “He’s involved in this?”

“Yes.” He silenced her with a fingertip to her lips. “I’ll tell you every—”

“How long?” The question was uttered too loudly, and she grabbed Clint’s arm and shook him. Her eyes blazed with fear and betrayal, and he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer. “How long has my father been involved?”

“Since the beginning.”

Sherry was mute with shock.

“He wanted to protect you,” Clint said in a voice meant to be soothing.

“
Protect
me? He wanted to protect me?” She shook away from Clint and stood up. “I’m sick to death of being protected! And lied to! And afraid! Clint, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I couldn’t tell you everything when I didn’t know if we’d make it here or not. I didn’t want you just knowing that much, and thinking all the way that your father was some kind of criminal. You’ll understand in a minute.” He touched her face again, the gesture bestowing his promise to make things clear. “We’ll go inside and get some coffee, and then I’ll tell you everything.”

Tears sprang to Sherry’s eyes. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Where’s Madeline?” she asked, as if the change in subject could erase the reality.

“Sam took her in.”

“She’s probably scared to death,” Sherry said. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the sudden shivering. “I want to see her.”

“All right.”

Clint stood up and took her hand, but she jerked it away. She had begun to trust him again, because she had wanted to so badly. But somehow the new development, all the lies and betrayals, confused her more than before.

“Sherry, when you understand, you’ll forgive us all.”

Unconvinced, Sherry turned away from him and started out of the camper. Two jean-clad men with pistols strapped to the left sides of their chests waited beside the camper door, and when she saw them, she gasped.

“It’s okay,” he said. He tried to dispel his own uncomfortable feeling at the new men Grayson had sent. “Let’s just go on in.”

The men followed them into the house, where at least ten others, including Sam, sat in a conference over coffee and cigarettes that filled the room with a haze. Sherry gave a dull glance over the men, one by one, wondering how dangerous they were and what they were all hiding from. Her breath caught when her eyes met those of Gary Rivers, the sergeant on the Shreveport police force, whom she had been involved with before Clint. Her mouth came open of its own accord. He had known, too. He, too, had been involved. And when she had begged for his help after Clint’s disappearance, he had lied. He had even asked her out a few months ago, when he had
known
that Clint was hiding somewhere waiting to get back to her. “Gary?” The word in itself was an accusation.

Rivers stood up and reluctantly looked her in the eye. “How are you, Sherry?” The question came as calmly, as guilt-filled, as she expected. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint stiffen and take a step forward.

“I’m just great,” she muttered sarcastically. Raising her chin, she turned to Sam, her eyes narrowed against any more surprises. “Where’s Madeline?”

“In the first bedroom on the right,” he said. “She was dead to the world.”

Sherry shivered at the choice of words. “I want to see her.”

“Go ahead,” Sam said wearily, matching her defiant tone.

She looked at Clint, and with a brooding expression, he nodded that it was all right.

The room where Madeline slept, like the rest of the house, was decorated in rustic neglect. It smelled of dust and mold, and the oak floor was scuffed and scratched, dirty from years of muddy hunters’ boots tromping over it. But the bed looked inviting, and Madeline lay curled up like a baby kitten.

Sherry wanted to kill her. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she shook her. “Madeline, are you all right?”

Madeline pulled the covers up over her head. “Sherry, I’m asleep.” She snuggled into a tighter ball.

Sherry tried to wrestle the covers away from her. “Madeline, wake up!”

“What is this?” Madeline snapped. “Boot camp?”

With a sigh of long-suffering irritation, Sherry shook her head. “Madeline, we were just abducted and driven to some dusty rundown house out in the middle of nowhere after a mysterious plane trip and driving for hours. Doesn’t that make you the least bit curious?”

Madeline shook her head. “It makes me tired.”

“Well, at least that aspect of my curiosity is satisfied. Obviously that man didn’t hurt you.”

“Sam’s a pussycat,” Madeline mumbled.

“A pussycat? Madeline, he packs a gun and he’s dangerous.”

Madeline struggled to open her eyes, but only managed two slits. “Read my lips, Sherry. He’s a pussycat. The worst crime he’s guilty of is singing off-key.” She giggled into the pillow. “And you should hear how he slaughters perfectly good lyrics. There ought to be a law.”

Sherry stared at her friend and wondered if Madeline was right. “Then you think they’re on the right side of the law?”

“Could be.”

Madeline’s noncommittal assessment was exasperating, but for a moment Sherry turned the possibility over in her mind.

“My father’s in on it,” Sherry mumbled finally.

Madeline’s head came up in a sudden exhibition of interest. “Your father?”

“All along,” Sherry said. “Clint just told me.”

Madeline threaded her fingers absently through her tousled dark hair. “Wow. What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing yet. I wanted to see you first.”

“Well, go beat it out of him. What are you doing talking to me?”

Sherry twisted her fingers in her lap. “Gary Rivers is out there too.”

“Gary?” Madeline sat all the way up this time, shaking her head as if to clear the fog. “Wait a minute. Gary was in on it?”

Sherry nodded. “It’s all getting so big, and so complicated. I think I’m afraid to know.”

“Well, it couldn’t be as bad as it seems,” Madeline said. “It never is.” She yawned and gave Sherry her sleepy assessment. “So how’d it go back in that camper? I gave you up for dead when I quit hearing the yelling.”

“We stopped yelling for a while,” she said softly. “All it took was the reality of a knife scar on his side.”

“A knife?” Madeline swallowed. She was fully awake now. “As in sharp pointed thing that does serious damage when thrust into flesh?”

Sherry nodded.

“Go get details, Sherry, before my imagination gets as carried away as yours.”

Reluctantly, Sherry stood up and looked back down at her friend. “How’s your knee? Need aspirin or anything?”

“It’s okay. Sam got me ice,” Madeline said. “Now, go. Get the story, then come tell me what’s going on.”

Sherry left her and headed back up the hall. Lowered voices from the living room beckoned her, and softening her footsteps, she stepped toward the door and listened.

“But he’s dead.” Clint’s voice came clear and angry over the others.

“Did you tell anyone? Your pastor, or a friend?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Clint returned.

“Then obviously Paul told someone. Maybe that’s why he died. Maybe they didn’t think they could trust him because he waited so long to tell them.”

“There was no way I could have known.”

“You could have listened to us.” She recognized Gary’s voice-deep, accusing. “We told you it was too soon to go back there.”

“What was I supposed to do? Just watch my life go by like it’s some bad dream? For all I know it could have been eight more months before I was able to go back. These trials go on forever!”

“Well, your impatience brought Sherry into the line of fire, and nobody’s happy about that.”

“And you think I am? She’s going to be my wife. I would never have dragged her into this intentionally.”

“But you did, nonetheless.”

She heard Clint’s footsteps, heavy, irate.

“You’re not fooling anybody, Rivers,” Clint blurted, “with your sensitive concern for Sherry.”

“Well, at least I
have
some semblance of concern! Not like you, dragging her into this mess just to satisfy your hormones.”

Something fell over and crashed onto the floor, and the noise of a scuffle ensued.

“Stop it, Clint,” Sam shouted. “This isn’t helping anything. We’ve got to stand together. This guy was sent here to help protect you.”

“Somebody’ll need to protect
him
if he doesn’t keep his filthy mouth shut!” Clint thundered. “Why did Grayson send him here, anyway?”

“He trusts him,” Sam said. “There’s no room here for grudges.”

Tension seemed to float in the air like a lethal gas ready to explode with the lighting of a match.

Sherry heard Clint stalk across the room. “I want to make something clear to you, Rivers,” Clint said in the low vibrato of fury. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can take. This is
my
life. I’m the pawn here, not you. None of this was my idea, and I didn’t ask for it. If it weren’t for me, Grayson and Breard wouldn’t even have a case. I’ve had it up to here with putting a hold on my life and waiting to be called to the stand and wondering who’s going to jump out of the bushes next and who I can trust and if the woman I love is going to die because of something that I never even wanted to see!”

Sherry caught her breath and struggled to follow his words.

“I’ll stay here with you for as long as it takes to get out of this, but I’m not going to take any more of your accusations. I could disappear right now and Givanti would go free, and you know it.”

Givanti!
Sherry stepped into the doorway and locked astonished eyes with Clint’s black, piercing eyes. He relaxed his stance a bit at the sight of her. He was the mystery witness in the Givanti trial that her father’s office had been prosecuting. He wasn’t a criminal. He wasn’t a kidnapper. He was
trying
to be a hero.

But one didn’t have to know all the details to see that Givanti must have people after him. And it was her father’s fault that Clint was the primary target for every thug in the area.
Her father’s fault.
No wonder he wasn’t trying the case himself. Her relationship with Clint presented a conflict of interest. Wes had been right. Her father couldn’t be trusted.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Clint said sarcastically, “I need to talk to my fiancée. I’m sure she has a lot of questions, and she’s as entitled to answers as anyone. Is it all right for us to go outside?”

“Yeah, we’ve combed the woods. The place is secure.”

Clint took her hand and started for the door. Two men got up to follow after Clint, and he ground his teeth together and shoved his hand through his hair. “I’d like to be alone.”

“That’s impossible,” Rivers said with finality.

“Then keep your distance,” Clint warned. “This is going to be a private conversation, not a group discussion.”

He led her outside.

The midnight sky was star-studded, and the crescent moon hung overhead like a painting. Crickets chirped a deceitful song of peace, and wind whispered through the leaves and in her hair, cooling the burning feeling of horror shooting through her. The two men waited a few yards behind them, eyes alert and hands at their sides, as if they fully expected to be needed.

“You’re the star witness in the Givanti case,” Sherry said in a low murmur before Clint had the chance to begin. “I’ve figured that out. What I don’t know is how.”

Clint dropped wearily to a tall patch of grass and leaned back on his elbows. “Remember Paul Calloway?”

“The college student in your youth group,” Sherry said. She recalled the handsome young man with blue eyes and shaggy brown hair, and the ambitious spirit they’d all admired. She hadn’t seen him in months. He’d been at Louisiana State University this semester, she assumed.

“He borrowed my coat at a retreat we were on, when the temperature dropped and he hadn’t prepared for it. The last day I saw you I found a vial of cocaine in that coat. I went to see him to confront him about it, and to try witnessing to him. Only it happened that I wound up witnessing a drug deal and a murder, instead.”

Chapter Ten

P
aul Calloway killed somebody?” Sherry asked, amazed. “Paul Calloway tried to kill
me
,” Clint said. The very name made his adrenaline surge, and he could feel his face reddening at the memories. “It’s hard to believe that such a chain reaction could have started from one visit I paid to a mixed-up kid. If I’d only known when I knocked on that door …”

T
here was no turning back. The knock on the door made it final, sealing the decision to confront Paul with his finding. Clint looked down at the vial in his hand and shook his head. It explained a lot of things. It explained Paul’s sudden bursts of energy during the mission retreats Clint had taken the kids on. It explained the wild look in his eyes when he’d shown up late at special events. It explained his distant preoccupation at times when Clint was praying he’d get through to him. He would probably get angry for Clint’s intrusion. But Clint could live with that.

Because it
was
his business. He had grown fond of the twenty-year-old kid who reminded him of himself at that age. He didn’t want to see him ruin his chance at a good life before it even got started. Clint wasn’t about to let him throw it away by getting drawn under the spell of cocaine abuse.

The door opened, and Paul caught his breath at the sight of Clint. “I … I thought you were someone else.” Raking a distracted hand through his brown hair, the young man looked past him, his pale blue eyes darting up the street in front of his house.

“Can we talk?” Clint asked.

“No,” Paul said quickly. “I’m expecting some people.”

“Paul,” Clint prodded. “It’s important.”

“Sorry, man. I’ll call you later.” The door started to close in Clint’s face, but undaunted, he stopped it with his foot.

“I found something in the pocket of the coat I loaned to you last week, Paul,” he said, “And I’m not leaving until I talk to you about it.”

“My pocket? Wh—?” The word got caught in his throat as Clint brandished the vial. With a sigh that seemed more impatient than surprised, Paul stepped back and let Clint in. “I appreciate your returning it, but you can’t stay.”

Clint walked into the house that Paul had said he was taking care of while the owners were in Europe. In one look, he could see the disregard for property—clothes strewn over chairs and sprawled across the floor, dirty dishes cluttering the table, glasses with cigarette butts floating in rancid liquid. Briefly, he wondered if the owners had expected this when they’d asked Paul to house-sit. He turned back to Paul, who was at the window now, peering nervously out. “Man, I mean it. You have to
leave!
”

“Not until we talk,” Clint insisted again. He sat down in a chair and leaned forward. “Paul, you don’t need that stuff. You have a lot going for you, and I don’t want to see you—”

“Okay, fine,” Paul agreed, cutting him off. “I’ll quit.” He took the vial, rushed to the kitchen off the den, and poured it into the sink. Hurriedly, he ran some water down the drain, then came back to Clint. “See? It’s gone. Now will you please go?”

“You expect me to believe that it’s over just like that?”

Paul’s face flushed crimson, and he banged his fist into a wall. “What do you want from me? An affidavit? I told you—” The sound of an approaching car outside stopped his words and he swung back to the window, cursing. “I knew this would happen. They’ll see your car—”

“I’m on my ten-speed,” Clint said. “Who are you expecting—?”

“You have to hide. Hurry up. Get upstairs! Now.”

“What?”

“Hide upstairs, Clint! If these people see you, they’ll kill us both. This is no joke. Get upstairs and hide in the bathroom. And don’t come out under any circumstances.”

“Paul, I’m not hiding anywhere—”

The rage in Paul’s crimson face was urgent, desperate. “Listen to me, man! I’m trying to keep you from winding up just another unexplained stiff. Do what I say!”

The doorbell rang, and Clint began to believe the panic in Paul’s eyes. “Please, Clint!”

Reluctantly, Clint started up the stairs, but he didn’t hide in the bathroom. He got out of sight behind the rail overlooking the lower level. Paul was obviously nervous as he let several men in. Immediately, Clint recognized Tony Givanti, a local businessman, and Steve Anderson, recently named Teacher of the Year at the local high school. He strained to hear as the men filed into the house, arguing among themselves about the price of something for which they were negotiating.

Givanti ordered Paul to show them what they wanted, and as Clint watched from his hiding place, the young man produced several bags of cocaine.

“What’s the street value?” one of the buyers asked.

“Over a million dollars,” Givanti said. “You’re getting a bargain.”

“We can only pay half now,” the buyer said.

Givanti bristled. “No way. We had an agreement.”

“But things didn’t work out like we planned. We had trouble coming up with the cash, but we’ll have the rest by tomorrow.”

Clint watched as Paul’s eyes darted nervously upstairs to make sure he was out of sight, no doubt hoping that Clint hadn’t seen or heard anything. Clint scooted back so the young man wouldn’t see him. So this was how Paul had paid for his sports car. And this house was probably his. And the clothes and trips …

“When you pay the other half, you get the other half,” Givanti said. “I don’t give credit. Tomorrow night, the warehouse on Fourth and Brine Street, you bring the money and we’ll give you the rest of it.”

“But we have buyers tonight, Givanti,” Anderson said. “You know we’ll pay you when we collect.”

“I don’t do business that way, gentlemen. You know that.”

The men were red-faced as they made the exchange. One of them left, but Anderson lingered behind. Clint heard one of the cars drive away, and watched as the argument grew more heated. Givanti got angry and took a swing at him, and Anderson pulled a gun.

Fear coursed through him, and he thought of going into one of the bedrooms and calling the police. He got up quietly, staying in the shadows, and backed toward the bedroom.

The gunshot that cracked through the night stunned him, and he saw Anderson drop to the floor. He stood there, paralyzed, as Givanti ordered Paul to help him with the body. Clint watched as Paul helped the businessman carry Anderson’s lifeless body out into the night. He went to a window and peered out, and saw them dump the body into the trunk of Paul’s car.

He was drenched in sweat and trembling, trying to decide what to do when Paul came back in. Would Paul tell Givanti there had been a witness? If Givanti had so easily killed Anderson, what would he do to Clint?

He went into the bedroom, stepped over clothes and shoes, and tried to find the telephone in the dark. Through the window, he saw them closing the trunk. Paul and Givanti spoke for a moment, and then Paul got into the driver’s seat of the car with the body. Givanti went to his own car and drove away.

That’s it?
Clint thought. Paul was going to leave, and allow Clint to get away? It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t take time to question it. When the two cars were out of sight, he rushed out to the ten-speed he had ridden over, hopped on it, and headed as fast as he could to Eric Grayson’s house. This was too big for a phone call to the police, he thought, and he had to get to safety before Paul came to his senses and came back for Clint. Riding as fast as he could on the back roads, he headed to the home of Sherry’s father, the U.S. attorney.

Eric Grayson listened earnestly to the news and contacted the police himself.

Mentally exhausted, Clint slipped out of the house while Eric was on the telephone, making plans for a major drug bust for the following night at the location Clint had given him. Looking back, Clint wasn’t sure if it was simple fatigue or mental numbness in the wake of shock that had caused him to be so careless. But all he had wanted was to go home and sleep, and wake up to find it had all been a bad dream.

It smelled like rain, and the peaceful breeze sweeping through his hair had given him a false sense of security as he’d ridden his ten-speed up the driveway to his house. He pulled into the open carport and parked beside his car. Reaching for the keys in his jeans pocket, he began to see the scene again.
Murder
, he thought with a shudder. He had witnessed a murder.

He started toward his house, kicking at the pebbles lining the drive, and wondering if he’d handled it wrong. Perhaps it could have been stopped if he hadn’t hidden, if he had let them know he was there. But then maybe he would have been killed instead. And maybe Paul too. How had the kid gotten himself into such a mess?

He flipped through his keys for the right one and stepped onto the dark porch. Feeling for the knob, he tried to insert the key, but a movement in the shadows caught his attention.

Paul was waiting for him, his dark, foreboding eyes angry and vengeful. “They can’t know that you were there,” he said through his teeth. “If he finds out, he’ll kill me, too. No one can know that you were there.”

“Paul, you’ve got to turn yourself—”

But before Clint could get the rest of the words out, Paul closed the distance between them, and a piercing pain jaggedly rending and as hot as scalding metal inside torn flesh coursed through him. He stumbled and clutched at Paul’s jacket, the questions caught in his throat. He heard sirens, heard Paul cursing the fact that he didn’t have time to hide Clint’s body. And then he felt another stab, and darkness closed over him.

He woke sometime later in a trauma unit with Sam as his guard and a doctor at his side, and learned that Paul had left him for dead before he’d fled. Eric Grayson had sent the police to protect him the moment he’d discovered that Clint had left his house. It had been two days before Clint’s mind was clear again … clear enough to know that he was somewhere in south Texas with a battalion of stitches in his side, an IV running sustenance into his veins, and U.S. Attorney Eric Grayson standing over him with the news that everyone involved, except Paul, had been arrested as the drugs were changing hands the night following the murder. Paul was still out there somewhere, a lurking threat to Clint’s life. And for that reason, Grayson said, there could be no communication between Clint and Sherry until after the trial. And that meant there would not be a wedding.

“I want her kept out of this,” the older man told him with pain in his eyes, the only thing that kept Clint from ripping out of his bed and strangling him. “From what you’ve said about the way things happened, I don’t think Paul Calloway is going to want anyone to know that he had anything to do with letting the cat out of the bag.” Eric paced back and forth as he spoke, thinking it all through for what Clint knew was the thousandth time. “He must realize that if Givanti knew he’d allowed a witness to the murder, that Givanti would make sure someone took him out. The fact that he didn’t warn them to change the location of the drug exchange after he knew you’d heard it, tells me that I’m right. He may even think he killed you, and he never confessed things to Givanti, because he’s afraid of him, even in prison. When he hears there’s a witness to the murder, Calloway might figure out that you’re alive. He’ll be interested in finishing the job he started with you, but I don’t think anyone else will be looking for you. We have to keep you hidden until you can testify, or until we apprehend him. Meanwhile, everyone has to think you got cold feet. If everyone thinks you just ran from the wedding, no one will connect you with this, and we’ll have the chance to convict Givanti and catch Paul …”

“But what about Sherry?” Clint demanded. “What will she think?”

Grayson covered the uncertainty on his face with a trembling hand that betrayed his weariness. “We’ll make her think the same thing,” he said quietly.

“That I didn’t love her enough to marry her? That I had to run?”

“It’s better than letting her be used as a go-between. If she knows the truth, it will be obvious. She’ll even try to come after you, or—”

The pain tore at Clint’s side as he tried to sit up. “It won’t work,” he said, as if the simple words could make it true. “She’ll never believe it. She knows how much I love her.”

“Eventually she’ll believe it,” Grayson assured in a soul-sad voice. “And then when the trial is over …”

Clint dropped back onto the thin pillow beneath him, his eyes pleading with the attorney’s. “I was supposed to marry her next Saturday,” he whispered on the deepest note of despair. “How can you take that away from us?”

“It’s simple. If you love her, you’ll see my logic. A heartbreak is easier to heal than a knife wound or a million other dangers. She’s my daughter, and I want her safe.”

“She’ll think I abandoned her just like you did.”

It was a low blow, and it hit its mark. “I know she will. But I’ll be there for her. Maybe I can help her through it. Clint, you have to understand. These men we’re dealing with, they’re ruthless. If they had an inkling that you were involved, they’d go after Sherry just for sport. They’d use her to manipulate you.”