Gundown (15 page)

“So how does all that come around to taking away . . . restricting guns?”

“After I read that book, I had the idea that people could partner together in an alliance. The promise came along, and it all came together in my mind. As for guns, when you think about a peaceful society such as ours, lethal firearms in the hands of criminals and killers is just wrong. Out of sync with who we have become as a people, a society of laws. It’s logical that protecting people from being gunned down is a big way to implement the promise—and to protect our right to life.”

They came to a cluster of bungalows around a central fountain. A bell rang, and teens, middle-aged people, and seniors bustled from one building to another. Hank said, “You’ve got a school?”

“Sort of. Must be time to change classes. We’ve taken a page from the Mormons. This’s a training school for people who volunteer to spread the word.”

And has feathers like a duck . . .

“Missionaries?” For the Apostle Noah?

“Advocates. I look at it this way: the quicker we get the word out and the better we are at doing it, the quicker things can change.”

Mitch had to hear about this.

A lean, dark-skinned man with a bushy black mustache, his head swathed in a kaffiyeh just like the checkered headgear that Yasser Arafat had once worn, hurried up to Noah. “Mr. Stone, Mr. Stone!”

Noah smiled. “Hank Soldado, meet Faruq Al-Kadri. Faruq is the lead Ally in Palestine. He’s here with a group of trainees.”

Al-Kadri absently shook Hank’s hand, his gaze darting to Hank’s face and away. “My pleasure. Mr. Soldado—”

“Hank is my new head of security.”

Now Al-Kadri focused on Hank. His regard was shrewd. “I am most glad to see this happen. After Chicago, well, the movement cannot lose Mr. Stone.”

Stone said to Al-Kadri, “I wish you’d call me Noah.”

Al-Kadri twitched a smile. “It would not be respectful. The American casual attitude does not work so well when we are trying to establish you in my country as a revered world leader.”

Hank looked at Noah. Revered world leader? There was more to this man and his movement than Mitch had let on. Or did he know?

Noah raised a hand in denial. “Faruq, it’s the promise that will bring your people to peace, not some foreigner you shove down their throats as a ‘leader.’”

Al-Kadri scowled and ran a hand over his mustache. “No, Mr. Stone, you do not understand. In my culture, there has to be a central figure, a strong leader we can follow.”

Noah’s scowl matched Al-Kadri’s for fierceness. “I’ve told you no on that, Faruq, time and again!”

The Arab stood his ground. “It must be.”

Hank could see Stone struggle with what to say next. Would he pull rank on the guy? Instead, Noah grinned and then said, “Your training is going well?”

At last the man smiled. “Ah, yes! The teachings of the Alliance are not so different from parts of the Koran.” He frowned. “Though one hopes not so easily distorted by fundamentalists.” His smile returned. “How do you misrepresent a promise to help? My young ones, how is it said, swallow it down?”

Noah laughed. “I think you mean ‘eat it up.’”

Another bell rang and Al-Kadri startled, then checked his watch. “Time for the brainstorming on THREAD. We are trying to find a good Arabic word to use in its place.” He hurried to a bungalow and disappeared inside.

Hank said, “The man has energy.”

Noah laughed. “A half hour with Faruq is like drinking four cups of coffee. But he’s working wonders in Palestine. Their issues are different from ours here, but the solution is the same—a community bound by the promise.”

“So you guys are international?”

“Getting there.” A burst of laughter rose from a cluster of four fair-skinned people who ranged in age from a teen girl to a man in his sixties. Noah pointed. “Some of our Brits. Their branch of the Alliance is growing, and one of their people just won a seat in Parliament.”

He swept the valley with his hand. “I started just wanting to help what’s here. But these days, everywhere is ‘here.’ The details change—guns in this place, terror in that one—but the fundamental causes are the same. Fractured societies, greed, corruption, all the ills brought on when people don’t do what people should do. Help each other. What hurts us most is no sense of community across—”

An electronic chirp interrupted; Noah checked his phone. “I’ve got a conference call to Moscow, if you can believe it. Make yourself at home. I’ll catch you later.”

He hustled toward the central building. Hank strolled.

After circling the grounds, sauntering along the creek and past a neighboring housing development, Hank knew the place could never be properly secure. But it didn’t have to be an open invitation to an attack he thought was certain to come. Stone threatened too many people. Angry, frightened people with guns who knew how to use them.

Near the barn he stopped and gave Mitch a call to fill him in on Stone’s growing fear and his reaction to the bullet with Noah’s name on it at Martha Hanson’s website. Mitch seemed encouraged, and Hank felt the same way. Although he did feel bad about seeing Stone . . . Noah . . . hurting the way he did.

As he pocketed his phone, a cab pulled up beside the main house. A slender woman and a little girl got out, and the woman stood for a moment, probably getting her bearings just as he had. The cab’s engine died, and the big man driving leaned back and closed his eyes.

The child took off running toward the spotted pig. Her brown legs flashed, and then both she and the pig squealed, she with delight, the pig with fright. The sight of the child stirred something inside him that felt good. It was delight.

On a sunny spring day at a playground, he rides with Amy on a merry-go-round, holding on to her to make sure she couldn’t fall off, to keep her safe—

Pain stabbed him in the temple. The memory vanished.

The little girl tripped and crashed on her belly. She lay limp and still.

Hank launched into a run, but the woman beat him to her side. She rolled the child over, and a loud wail sirened when the girl’s breathing kicked in. The mother cradled the child and crooned, “You’re okay. Okay. You just got the wind knocked out of you. Hey, where did that silly pig go?”

Ah, the old distraction trick. The little girl sniffled, then got up to look for the pig. Her mother stood. With thoughtless trust, the child leaned against her mother’s legs as she peered around the yard.

Hank said, “She all right?”

The mother looked to him and her eyes widened. “Mr. Soldado?”

Her scarred beauty was unforgettable. Chicago. The sexual assault, his shooting, then her visit to the hospital. He dredged up her name. “Jewel Washington?”

Tears, Again

Hank Soldado wasn’t the larger-than-life strongman she remembered coming out of nowhere to save her in Chicago. He was—dark. Carrying a weight. But still she was glad to see him. “Yeah, it’s me. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“You here to see Mr. Stone?”

“Already did. You?”

“I’m hoping he meant what he said about jobs out here.”

Soldado’s look eased into a smile. “I think this is one guy who means what he says.” His gaze left her to go to Chloe; it softened with an odd, almost sweet look of pain. “This your little girl?”

“One hundred percent.”

He sank to one knee and put himself at eye level with Chloe. His voice was gentle. “You okay?”

Chloe said, “Yes.” She studied him, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Chloe Washington.”

Soldado took her tiny hand in his and said, “Hi, I’m Hank Soldado.”

Chloe spotted the pig. She sped away, calling, “Here, piggy, piggy, piggy!”

Soldado stood and watched after her. Jewel scrutinized him. His face was composed, but there was tension—

“Mommy!”

Jewel spun to see Chloe racing for her, a pint-sized goat trotting in pursuit, fear on her daughter’s face. When Chloe reached her, Jewel caught her under the arms, laughed, and swung her high into the air. “You’re okay, sweetie.” She lowered her into a hug.

Chloe wrapped her arms around Jewel’s neck, and Jewel held her close. When she turned back to Soldado, her words died on her lips.

Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Mr. Soldado?”

Chloe peered at him and said, “Mommy, the man is crying.”

Soldado’s eyebrows lifted, and then he touched a finger to a cheek. He stared at his fingertip, and his eyes widened as if he were surprised that it was wet. “I’m sorry, I . . . I . . .”

Jewel backed away a step. Normal people didn’t go from a conversation to tears for no reason. “Ah, we gotta get going.” When she passed him, he didn’t even glance at her. After she figured they were far enough away so he couldn’t hear, she whispered to Chloe, “I guess he’s sad.”

“I hope he feels better. He’s nice.”

Maybe he was. But maybe something was seriously wrong with him, too. She glanced back. He hadn’t turned to look after her; he stood, his head now bowed.

When Jewel entered the old-timey building, she found a receptionist chatting on a phone at her desk. Jewel set Chloe down and said, “Now you stay by me.”

She smoothed her pleated blue skirt. What if Noah Stone didn’t remember her? What if there were no jobs in this little town?

The girl hung up, scribbled a quick note, and then said, “Hi, I’m Becky. How can I help you?” She smiled when Jewel asked for Noah, and directed her upstairs. As Jewel turned to go, Becky held out the note and asked, “Will you give this to Noah? We can have the newcomers meeting at Lithia Park where he wanted it.”

Jewel took the note. Hand in hand, she and Chloe climbed the spiral staircase. When they reached the top, a flutter of joy at the sight of Noah Stone surprised her. His smile warmed her, just as she remembered. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Noah came to her, his hand outstretched. “This is my day for surprises from Chicago! Welcome.” He took her hand. “You see Hank Soldado outside?”

The weird incident in the yard flashed in her mind; an impulse followed to tell Noah about it. But she put it away. No matter how wacko Soldado had seemed, she owed him. She simply nodded and said, “Yes.”

Noah’s gaze dropped to Chloe, and his smile grew even warmer. He squatted, held out his hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Noah.”

Chloe put her hand in Stone’s. “I’m Chloe Washington.” Jewel smiled at her daughter’s grown-up manners.

“Happy to meet you, Chloe Washington. Come look at this.” He led her to a window seat and lifted the top to reveal a stash of children’s books. “See anything you like?”

Her eyes as bright as if he had revealed a trove of candy, Chloe dug in and came up with three books, topped by
The Little Engine That Could
. She hopped onto the seat and plunged into the story.

Noah gestured Jewel toward a chair and then took one for himself. “Coffee?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t got long. My ride’s waiting for me, and I have to see about school for Chloe.” She took her résumé from her purse and held it out to him. “I just came to see if you meant what you said about work here.”

“I always try to mean what I say. You’re—a legal secretary?” He took the résumé and scanned it.

Pleased that he remembered, she nodded.

“I’ll give this to Benson Spencer. He’s in the Legal Building. It’s, ah . . .” He turned to the windows and pointed at the stable. “Over there. The courts are crammed, and I’m sure he can use help in our advocacy program.” He looked back to her. “He’s out of town until Friday; can you wait until then?”

She smiled hard enough to make her cheeks ache. “No problem. Thank you, Mr. Stone. You won’t regret it.”

“I already don’t. Maybe you’d like to come to this month’s newcomers meeting and learn a little about the Alliance. But I don’t know where—”

“Oh!” She held out the receptionist’s note. “At some park.”

He took the note and smiled. “Ah, back in the outdoors. Come to the band shell in Lithia Park Thursday evening, five-thirty. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll be there.” She waved to Chloe. “Come on, honey, put the books down and let’s go.”

Chloe’s lower lip stuck out in her I-don’t-wanna pout. Jewel said, “I’ll read to you when we get home.”

Chloe clutched the books to her chest.

Noah laughed and said to Jewel, “Take those with you. You’ll be back soon, right?”

“Right.”

Stone walked to a window. “Before you go, will you come here for a minute?”

She went to his side. Below, Hank Soldado walked toward a car in the parking area.

Noah turned to her. “What happened out there?”

So he’d seen. Of course he had; he wasn’t the type to miss anything. Including a lie by omission.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, really. We were talking, and suddenly he . . . he had tears running down his face.” Noah questioned her with a look. “I don’t know why, and I don’t think he did either. It was a little scary.”

Noah gazed out at Soldado. “Yes, he can be scary. There’s tension in him—like a time bomb. The question is”—he looked back to her—“who, or what, is he going to blow up?”

That evening, Jewel sat on Franklin’s porch swing, her mind whirling with excitement about the chance for a job with the Alliance and worry about the Hank Soldado thing. Here she was in a nice place, a job on the way—and a man she thought was a good guy had freaked out on her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on finding safety at last, but now? Bewildered, she sank into a black mood.