Splashdown: A Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 3) (2 page)

Sharee Jergenson hauled back on the dog’s leash. “Cooper, stay!”

When she’d left the house fifteen minutes ago, she assumed the eye of the hurricane stood over them. The relative quiet had deceived her. A lull between bands of rain differed from the eye. She thought she could take Cooper for a walk and make it back without a problem.

Wrong.

Just like she’d been wrong about Lynn. Where was she? Why hadn’t she called?

Rain flung itself in a line across the field and grayed the view of the house on the other side. Above her, wind tossed the treetops in every direction.

Wet and cold, Sharee shivered and dragged the black Lab underneath the cover of pine and oak. He strained against the leash, and she tightened her grip. Of course, he wanted to get home, but with wind gusts up to a hundred miles an hour, she’d keep to the shelter of the trees for a few minutes longer.

The pine trees thrashed back and forth. A loud crack sounded above her. She jerked her head upward in time to glimpse a limb crashing through the branches. She dove to the left, and the branch slammed into the ground a foot away. The leash tore from her grasp, and the dog leapt for the field and freedom.

She shoved herself to a sitting position. “Cooper, no!” But the dog was gone. Jumping to her feet, she raced after him only to have the wind slap her five-foot-two-inch frame sideways. She stumbled and tried to plant her feet. It didn’t work. The wind shoved and flung her along like an out of control wind-surfer. Her heart squeezed.

Lord, help
.

To her right, a small pine whipped back and forth. If she could get there, she could hold on until the next lull in the storm. She angled for it and let the wind drive her. A moment later, she grabbed tight to its small trunk and hung on as the rain whipped her.

The coarse bark scratched her arms, but she pressed against its roughness and tucked her head. The rain continued to pelt her back. Water ran over her face, dripping down the front of her shirt. Cold prickled her skin. Her breathing came in gasps, and she forced herself to relax, counting back from one hundred to one. I’m okay. This will let up in a few minutes, and I’ll get home.

She shifted her stance as the wind’s ferocity increased. Already her arms hurt from her tight hold on the tree.
Lord, please…

A hard body shoved her into the tree. Arms circled both her and pine’s trunk.

“Hey!” She shouted over the noise of the storm and thrust backward.

“Hold still!”

The command—issued at the same intensity as her own—calmed her. She bowed her head again and rested against the tree. Her rescuer jerked as another line of rain hit them. They clung to the tree, neither speaking, until the wind and rain began to abate. As it slackened, so did his hold.

A moment later, she was grasped and twisted around. “What are you doing out here? Are you crazy?” 

Sharee raised a hand to the side of her face. The tree’s bark had branded it. “Trying to get home. Your dog—”

“I told you to let him out. He’d be fine.”

“I didn’t want him to get hurt or run off.”

“You didn’t want
him
to get hurt? Did you think about yourself?”

She swallowed the fear of the last few minutes. “
I love you, too.”

The coffee-colored eyes a foot above her own opened a little. She’d caught him off guard.

A fresh gust of wind hit, howling, and something flew past them. He thrust her against the tree again, his arms encircling her and the pine once more.

Her cheek was pressed against his bare chest this time.
Much better than tree bark
. No wonder he shuddered when the rain hit. He’d come without a shirt.

“Listen to this. Do you feel this? You can’t play in a hurricane.” His voice sounded close, in her ear.

“Quit treating me like a child.”

“Quit acting like one.”

She tried to push him away, but his arms tightened. The wind’s howl almost drowned her next words. “He’s your dog, and you wouldn’t get up.”

“I told you he’d come back. The dog has more sense than…” He stopped.

“Than what? Than I do?”

“
He
came home.”

“
I
was trying to.”

“So I noticed. You looked like a rag doll.”

She raised her head and stuck her tongue out.

His eyes narrowed. “A rag doll, a kite out of control—that’s what you looked like.”

The tone of his words forced her to search his eyes. He’d been afraid for her, had come to rescue her in just a pair of shorts and running shoes. An answer to prayer. She reached up and touched his face and let her eyes convey how much she cared.

The line of his mouth slackened. “I guess I knew what I was in for when I married you.” He bent his head, his mouth—wet with rain—found hers.

Something warm and bright burst inside her. The wind slapped them and multiplied the feelings like repeated explosions on the Fourth of July. God had given her so much, given them so much. His love and protection surrounded their lives.

When he lifted his head, her hands tightened on his arms.

“John.”

“What?”

“I need to tell you…” She stopped. No. She couldn’t tell him now. Not until she was sure.

***

Lynn stepped from the bathroom and made her way to the line for coffee. The long night had passed. What sleep she’d had resembled the light from a lighthouse—off, on, off, on. And the heaviness from yesterday’s discovery hovered close.

Sharee would be worrying about her. Lynn should call, but the thought of the explanation and the questions kept the phone inside her purse.

Earlier, one of the volunteers had let them know that Bella’s fury had turned away last night and was even now making land south of the bay area. Still, the wind and rain would keep them inside most of the day and maybe overnight again.

That unexpected development turned her thoughts to Detective Richards. He hadn’t liked her insistence on leaving. He’d wanted her to come to the Sheriff’s Department. She closed her fingers around the flavored creamer and filled the rest of the cup with it. She’d felt his impatience, something she might be glad for once he started work on Victoria’s case.

She had no idea how the police—no, the Sheriff’s Office—worked. Maybe the man was stuck there and already working on the case. Maybe she should have told him of her suspicions.

Lynn moved to the next table and groaned. Trays of donuts and pastries met her gaze. At the back, a huge bowl of fruit sat. She grabbed a banana and an apple.

Her mind drifted to her condo. Her home. How would the building do? When she’d moved here eight years ago, she’d picked the Gulf-side residence in its small town for a reason. The constant wash of the waves, the quaint shops, and the people—all were different from the big-city life she’d lived. She wanted nothing to remind her of falling in love with someone whose idea of relationship differed from hers as much as the Gulf waters differed from a mountain stream, someone whose lies had brought her world crashing down around her.

She rotated her shoulders, then her head. The Life Center already smelled of sweaty bodies. Guilt crept over her again, and she slipped her phone from her purse. She’d text Sharee and at least let her know she was okay.

A woman’s laugh echoed across the gym floor. Lynn glanced that way and noted the tables had filled with people, some eating, some reading, some just talking. Families sat together. Young girls and teen boys had carved out places for themselves.

The woman, Irene, that had warned her about her purse stood next to a brawny man. His sleeveless t-shirt exposed tattoos and gym-carved arms. Irene touched one of his arms and laughed again. The man glanced down, his mouth forming a smirk. He said something, and Irene laughed but dropped her hand. A moment later, he lifted his gaze and scanned the room. When his look touched Lynn, it stopped. He straightened and smiled.

Lynn shifted her focus from him and headed back to her sleeping bag.
Sorry, muscles. Not interested
. Emergencies could make strange alliances or maybe good friends, but not now. She shivered. Besides, the man’s look and smile left her insides cold.

From the conversations last night, she assumed the Life Center housed both homeless and others that lived in areas nearby. Most had fled the risk of flooding. Once inside the block building, the storm seemed non-existent except if you strolled down the hall to look out the windows. Then Bella’s reality became theirs.

Lynn had never thought of herself as claustrophobic, but she might reevaluate that if forced to stay another night. Her fingers tightened around her phone. Sharee must be praying for her to call because she couldn’t get past thinking about it. She’d text her, and then surf the Net.

Would the news media report the murder of a homeless woman, especially with this storm almost on top of them? She didn’t think they would but hoped she was wrong. Victoria deserved a mention. Her life, like every life, was important.

John Jergenson wheeled his truck off the highway and headed down the church driveway to the back of their house. The Tampa Bay Area had escaped the worst of Bella’s fury two days ago, but John had seen enough damage driving to Stephen Thorton’s and back to know a direct hit would have brought substantial disaster to the region. As it was, the hurricane’s passing had resulted in a call for help from his friend. John had left home early this morning in response.

As he parked his truck now, he glanced at a crowd of people mingling in his backyard and on the deck to his house.
What’s going on?
He grabbed his phone from the consul and climbed down.

A couple of homeless men he knew from Sharee’s work nodded at him. He greeted them and made his way around downed limbs and puddles. He’s spent time yesterday cleaning around the church, planning to spend today picking up their yard and doing minor repairs; but he’d put that off when Stephen called. Tomorrow would do.

A small group of women and children huddled together at one end of their deck. He mounted the steps and saw a stack of new sleeping bags. Pedro Gonzalez pushed open the back door and stepped out.

“John,
hermano
, your wife es
muy
buena
. She has the heart of twelve women.”

John bobbed his head but entered the house without answering. To his right, Sharee stood next to a counter in their kitchen, wrapping a piece of foil over a large pan. Her thick curly hair was held back in a ponytail, and her face flushed with heat. She’d pushed her shirt’s long sleeves above her elbows. Three other women worked in the kitchen with her.

Ahead of him, in the combined dining and living area, about a dozen women and children milled around. Two men, whom he didn’t recognize, sat on stools at another counter separating the living and kitchen areas. Both wore jeans and sleeveless t-shirts. One was thin, the other beefy. He studied them for a moment. All the other men were outside. Why were these two inside?

“Maria,” Sharee said, “I’m putting the Cuban bread in the oven. You’re sure there’s enough chicken for everyone?”

“Si, Senora,” the dark haired woman said. “I have two pots of stewed chicken. Lily is doing yellow rice. Enough for forty.”

A girl, about twelve, lifted her head and nodded. Liquid brown eyes accented an appealing face. She reached for the cabinet above her head and lifted a bowl from the shelf.

On the stools, the two men bent forward in unison. Their gazes followed the girl as she carried the bowl and set it near the stove. John glanced at the girl again and back to the two men.

“It’s almost done. Don’t worry.” The girl’s sullen tone contrasted with her looks.

“We have plenty.” Another woman, her steel-gray hair piled on top of her head, towered over Sharee’s petite form. “We’re just a few minutes away from serving.”

“Thank the Lord and thank the three of you for helping…” Sharee’s voice faded as she leaned over to put the bread in the oven.

The thin man stretched farther forward, eyeing Sharee as she wrestled with the bread. The larger man leaned forward, too, grinned and elbowed the other. John took a quick step into the kitchen and blocked the men’s view. Their heads jerked up. John met their stares with one of his own.

After a moment, the first man climbed from the stool and made his way outside. The man didn’t look homeless to John. Most of the homeless carried little extra weight and had no bulging biceps.

John turned his attention to the other one. “Men outside,” he said and indicated the door with a tilt of his head. “Women, children inside.”

The second man glowered, but he, too, stepped from the stool and made his way out the door. 

Sharee jerked up. “John!” A second passed in silence as they eyed each other. She closed the oven door. “Did you get my text?”

He pulled his phone from his jeans. “No.” 

“You didn’t?” Her voice sounded disconcerted. “I…I tried to call you a number of times.”

“Alan and I had a tree to cut down. It dropped right across Stephen and Lisa’s house. Right over Matt’s bedroom.”

Sharee’s intake of breath was audible. “Is Matt all right? What about the others? Are they—”

“Everyone’s fine. Matt wasn’t in the room at the time.”

“Praise God.”

“Yes. We did some repairs, put a tarp on the roof. I left the phone in the truck.” He paused. He hadn’t thought about it on the ride home. All he’d thought about was dinner, a bath, and his recliner. The tree had been huge, and he felt every one of his thirty-two years as if they were fifty.

“I…” Sharee stepped past the other women, who had stopped and stood gawking at them. She put her arms around his waist. “I wanted you to know about all this before you got here.”

He grunted. That would have been nice. He saw the entreaty in her eyes and bent to kiss her. When he straightened, he sent a smile to the other women. They nodded in quick response and turned back to their work.

“Are we feeding an army?” He asked, his voice low.

“It’s only about thirty-five people.”

“Only. Anything else I need to know? Like maybe what the sleeping bags are doing on the deck?”

“We need to talk—in a little while.”

That didn’t sound good. “Does Alan know about this?”

“I left him a text and voicemail. I…I guess he didn’t get it either.”

John hadn’t needed to ask. Their pastor had worked with him all afternoon and would have mentioned it if he’d known, but if the funds hadn’t been okayed from the church….well…

“Where did you get the money for this?”

“Can we talk later?”

Uh oh.
He studied her face. “All right.”

“Can you help us by getting everyone outside to sit in groups of five or six?”

He drew a deep breath, looked down at her, saw the appeal again. “Yes; but keep the men outside.” He hadn’t liked the men ogling her or the young teen.

“I just needed help carrying the food out.”

“Use Pedro.”

She gave a quick roll of her eyes, but nodded and turned away.

He stared after her. Any serious discussion had better wait past his exhaustion and her busyness. The food smelled good, though. He shook off the tiredness and the hunger and headed for the door. As he did, she pulled paper plates and paper cups from green recycle bags.

His mind began to add: food, paper goods, the sleeping bags on the deck…

***

How much?
John wanted to ask the question again.

Three hours had passed, and wind slapped at their windows. Another band of rain had returned before the homeless finished their meal. Women and children packed into their living room and dining area; men crowded into the garage. Hurricane Bella had passed, but she was dragging her skirts behind her.

The women and children were sleeping on the new sleeping bags inside their house and the men in the garage. John let out a deep breath. At least that was done. He’d made sure he, Sharee and the dog had their bedroom and bath to themselves. They needed to talk.

The bedroom’s darkness hid his expression. A good thing. He stretched his arms up, resting them behind his head, struggling with the need to say something—sharp. The bed creaked as she shifted her weight.

Holding his voice in check, he said, “You spent
half
our savings?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded apologetic.

He cleared his throat. “I knew you’d want to do something for the homeless after the hurricane, but this…”

“It just sort of happened. I didn’t plan it. I ran to the store to get more batteries and water. Just in case.”

“The worst is past.”

“Yes, but I wanted to have them on hand. You’re always saying I don’t plan.”

“Don’t think things through. I bought some before the storm.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can always use them.”

“Okay. I… Well, while I was out, I saw Pedro, Maria and Lily walking along on the road. They’d left the shelter, and the woods are still flooded. They can’t go back yet, so I invited them to eat. Well, I might have mentioned a place to stay for a few days....”

“And everyone showed up?”

“You know people have cell phones today…even the homeless…and bicycles. I didn’t think…” She stopped. The darkness seemed to pulsate for a moment. “Yes, okay, I admit it. I didn’t think it through. I should have asked them not to say anything. I should have known. I work with them every day. I’m sorry.”   

“And they know you too well.”

“It did get out of hand.” 

“You got out of hand.”

“Yes. You’re right.”

She offered no defense. The quiet settled again while he struggled with “wait” and “don’t react.”

“Sharee.” Her name came out in a tone that sounded like a growl, even to him. But half their savings?
Without asking him
.

She touched his arm. “When so many people showed up, I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get in touch with you.”

“Did you have to buy sleeping bags for everybody?”

“They’ve lost everything.”

He didn’t respond. What she said was true, but they’d done without to put away what little they had. He bit back what he wanted to say and told himself to sleep on it.

What surprises had Janice thrown at him that first year of marriage? Not that she and Sharee were alike. In fact, they contrasted in many ways—something he knew from day one. The Lord had allowed him to love two women—two dissimilar, diverse, widely divergent women. He’d spent five years trying to figure out the first; now he’d spend whatever time the Lord gave them trying to figure out the second.

“John…” Sharee’s voice implored.

He heard it, but his mind still wrestled with the deficit in their savings. An apology did not replace money spent.

Sharee touched his shoulder. “You’re much better at this marriage thing than I am. I’m not used to asking someone else what I can do. I’m used to doing what I want.”

“Yeah.”
Let it go, Jergenson. She’s apologized, and nothing can be changed. The money can’t be replaced.
Janice had taught him a lot about the give and take of marriage, and her death had taught him about grief. More than giving into his anger, he needed to help Sharee with that same understanding: marriage was a partnership, a relationship in which both people and their wishes needed to be considered.

“All right. I understand.”

She snuggled her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “Thank you.”

“But we should make these decisions together.”

“I know.”

“We probably won’t be able to afford an anniversary trip to the mountains now. We’ll have to do something different, closer to home.”

“Oh.” A pause followed, then her quick breath. “I didn’t think about that.”

“It’s what we were saving for. That, and I like to have extra for emergencies. We agreed not to charge anything, remember?”

“I know.” A moment later, her breath brushed warm across his chin. “I’ll miss the mountains. Our honeymoon was wonderful.”

He said nothing for a moment. An image of her at the cabin filled his mind. He slipped an arm under her waist and drew her against him. “Yeah, it was.”

“I love you.”

He grunted. “Next time…wait until we can talk, will you?”

“I will. I promise.”

Quiet settled between them. Minutes ticked past. His muscles relaxed. Maybe now…now that she admitted to not thinking things through…maybe she would listen to him about the other.

The silence lengthened, comfortable. With his anger gone and her curled warmth beside him, he began to doze.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Lynn didn’t come by today, and she didn’t call.”

He thrust himself from the edge of sleep. “You got a text from her yesterday.”

“Just saying she was at a shelter and okay. Can you imagine Lynn at a shelter?”

Amusement touched him, but he said nothing. Drowsiness fought with her voice.

“I’m worried. They’re not letting anyone back on the beach until tomorrow. She can’t go to her condo.”

He forced another comment. “She’s a big girl. She’ll find a hotel.” 

“I hope you’re right.” 

He tried once more to rouse himself, but the last thing he remembered was her whispered prayers.