You Don't Know Me (13 page)

“I came to say I was sorry about last night.”

There was that smile that could turn him to lava. Colleen crouched down, put her arms on the windowsill. “I’m the one who should apologize. Deputy Hueston freaked you out, didn’t he?”

Tuck lifted a shoulder.

She rested her hand along his face. “I’m sorry, Tuck. I . . . I shouldn’t have done that. I thought you’d like it. I guess . . .” She caught her lip in her teeth. “I guess I just wanted you to like me.”

His heart nearly exploded from his chest. “I like you, Colleen. I promise.”

“You do?” She smiled, starlight in it.

When she was close to him like this, her smell around him, her skin so milky soft, his brain turned to noodles. He ran his hand up into her hair, letting it fall between his fingers. “Yeah.”

Tuck kissed her. And when she put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, he lost himself.

She drew away, nuzzled his neck. “Want to come in?”

Oh . . . uh . . . Tuck couldn’t answer. He felt himself agreeing as he climbed over the sash and into her room.

The place smelled like her, her double bed a tumble of comforter and white sheets, her walls plastered with inspirational posters—an athlete’s room.

Colleen caught her lip again, folding her hands over her pajamas. “Like my room?”

He might have nodded, but she suddenly pressed herself into his arms, her body soft and flannel.

What was he supposed to do? He nudged up her chin and kissed her again, until he forgot his name, where he was, and . . .

Tuck pulled away, breathing hard. “Colleen, I don’t think—”

She laid a finger over his lips. Smiled, a little tremulous around the edges. He saw a hint of fear in her eyes.

He had to keep his head here. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “But . . . not yet. We’ll be quiet.”

Oh, this wasn’t a good . . .

No. He’d only come to apologize. Tuck blew out a breath, held her away from him. “I shouldn’t be here—”

“I don’t want you to go.” She slipped her arms around his waist.

“I know.” He pushed her hair back from her face. “And I don’t want to go. But . . . Colleen, you’re not making this easy. I didn’t come here to make out with you.” Not really.

She frowned, stepping away from him. “What?”

“I thought maybe I could go to church with you and your family tomorrow.”

“You did?” Then she slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“I . . .” Now he felt like an idiot. “I thought maybe I could talk to your dad, you know, introduce myself. Maybe he wouldn’t think I was such a bad guy—”

“I know you’re not a bad guy, Tuck. But . . . well, really? Why?”

Good thing night filled the room, hid his face, because it felt like it was on fire. “I want your parents to like me. I don’t want to sneak around. I want to sit with your family at the games and eat popcorn with them. Maybe come over on Sunday and watch football.”

Colleen was staring at him as if lobsters were growing from his ears. “I guess that would be all right. I could ask . . .”

“Really?”

She nodded. He caught her wrists, leaned down, kissed her softly.

A board creaked in the hallway outside the door. Colleen looked up, her eyes wide. “Hide.”

He doubted he’d fit under her bed but dove there anyway, feeling like a criminal. Colleen yanked the curtain across the open window and leaped into bed. He prayed that she’d pulled the comforter over her and feigned a deep sleep by the time the door eased open.

If he could have stopped breathing, turned off the telltale thunder of his heartbeat, he would have.

Whoever opened the door paused, watching.

If he could just get away, he wouldn’t sneak into her room ever again.
Please, please . . .

Colleen must be an Academy Award–worthy actress because, finally, he heard the click of the door closing.

Tuck rolled out from under the bed, crept to his feet.

Mrs. Decker stood in the room, her eyes on him, her arms folded over her bathrobe.

He swallowed. “It’s not what you think.”

“Get. Out.”

Colleen sat up, throwing off the comforter. “Mom—”

Mrs. Decker held up a finger, and even Tuck went cold with her look. “Stop talking right now.” She raised an eyebrow at Tuck. “Go.”

Yes, ma’am.
He felt the words even if he couldn’t say them.

Tuck nearly dove out the window, tumbling onto the grass, and lit out for the Laundromat in a full run.

He wiped his eyes twice before he reached the Jeep.

Frank lay on the lumpy sofa, his phone to his ear, listening to it ring in Canada. Or at least, that’s where he thought his partner was. Last time he’d received a text, Boyd said he was headed southeast.

He cradled his head on his arm, still feeling Helen’s hand upon his cheek, imprinted there. He liked it. Too much.

He shouldn’t have walked her home from Annalise’s after the game, but, well, the road was slippery, and she’d already fallen once.

Then Helen had invited him inside for pie. Which he should have turned down also, but he enjoyed her stories about Colleen and Henry and Jason, about Nathan and especially Annalise. He liked seeing her world through her eyes and knowing that for a brief time, he could share it.

He nearly kissed her too. A colossal mistake that Nathan saved him from as the man had barreled out into the street.

That’s my mother.

Yeah, okay, Frank knew that. Yet the words hit him like a roundhouse. Nathan’s
mother
.

But oh, the unfairness hit him too. The fact that the first woman who made him feel whole happened to belong to a family whose lives he was going to destroy.

You’re a good man, Frank Harrison.

Not so much.

He was stuck there, reliving the many reasons why, when—miracle of miracles—Parker Boyd picked up. “Frank. I suppose you’re looking for a sit-rep.”

“Please tell me you’ve located Garcia or at least his trail.”

“Good news. We had a sighting of his car at a motel in Whitehorse in Yukon Territory. I’ve alerted the locals, we have surveillance on him, and we’re going to close in tonight. Hopefully we’ll have him in custody by morning.”

Frank ran his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, seeing splotches of gray. “I need to know first thing, please.”

“You sound tired, Frank.”

He blew out a breath. “I just don’t want to have to uproot this woman’s life. She’s been through a lot.”

“I know she testified against Garcia—”

“And three of his gang members. Her file reads like a bad novel. She hooked up with Blake in high school, dropped out her senior year, and ran away with him. She lived on the street about a year while Blake was a runner for Garcia. Did some drops, started to climb up the ladder. They ran out of money now and again, and I think things got a little rough for her. I don’t know the details—I don’t want to. We stepped in when she was picked up for vagrancy and drug use. She cut a deal with the St. Louis narcotics division to testify against Garcia. But Garcia found her in a homeless shelter she had escaped to before we were able to pull her off the street. Beat her up, left her for dead. Blake went on the run. Annalise was hurt pretty badly—Garcia broke her jaw, a bone in her neck, three ribs. Margaret had a soft spot for her, so before we moved her, she moved in with us.”

“Seriously? Isn’t that against protocol?”

“She reminded Margaret of our daughter, Caroline. And frankly, me too. She was a good girl, just got mixed up with the wrong kid. Garcia threatened to kill her even from prison. And he could do it with his connections, so we decided on an extreme placement.”

“You faked her death.”

“Yes. Only her mother and father know she’s still alive. She’s dead to her siblings. She removed her tattoo, her piercings, colored her hair, and I moved her to Deep Haven, where I’d gone fishing a few times. Quiet, safe community. The kind of place where she could find a nice guy, get married, start over.”

“Which she did.”

“Until I walked in with the news that Garcia is out and looking for her.”

“Maybe she won’t have to leave. If we find him, this is all over. You can leave her be, and she can grow old there.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll let you know what we turn up,” Boyd said. “If he’s there, I promise to get him, boss.”

Okay, he could like the rookie. A little.

Frank hung up. Annalise was right—the den in the basement smelled funny, and with the paneling on the walls, it sort of felt like a prison. Not to mention the toxic fumes of the fresh paint she’d tried unsuccessfully to fan out with the open windows. He wasn’t sure what might be worse: freezing to death under the flimsy blanket—she only had one extra in the closet—or asphyxiating from the paint. As long as he was alive to protect her if Garcia showed up.

He listened to the sounds of the house. The dishwasher humming. The heat kicking on. The creaks of the floorboards overhead.

He sat up. Heard more steps. Silence.

Then, suddenly, the thump of feet, someone running.

Frank had his gun in his hand, pulled out from his ankle holster, before he could form a thought. He launched himself off the bed, taking the stairs two at a time.

No movement in the hallway. Outside, he thought he heard footsteps. He went to the window. The place was lit up like a high-security prison, but he saw nothing beyond the rim of light.

Down the hall, a door opened and closed. Then more footsteps.

He hid the gun behind his back as Annalise came into the family room, her eyes wide, her jaw tight, like she might want to hurt someone.

Maybe him.

“Are you okay?” he said in a harsh whisper.

“What are you doing up?” she snapped.

“I should ask you the same question.”

She ground her jaw, stared out the window. “I can’t sleep.”

“And you think I can?”

She narrowed her eyes at him as if she hadn’t thought of that.

Yeah, Deidre, I don’t find it easy to rip your life apart, okay?
“I thought I heard something up here.”

She shook her head and turned away, studying the wall of pictures, from baby shots to the large portrait of their family in sharp white shirts, seated on rocks, the lake behind them. A beautiful family shot.

Her breath shuddered out of her.

Frank tucked his gun in his belt in the back, pulling his shirt over it. His voice softened. “Really, Annalise, are you all right?”

“No,” she said softly. “I’m not all right. I’m not sure I’ll
ever
be all right.” She looked at him then, her mouth a grim line. “I’ve made my decision. We’re leaving Deep Haven.”

Then she turned and walked away, closing her bedroom door behind her.

How had it come to this? Standing in the Decker family pew, third row to the left of the altar, gripping the smooth wood, singing, “‘As the deer panteth for the water, so my soul longeth after Thee,’” with so much anger in her heart that Annalise could barely stand.

Barely muster a smile.

Barely keep the charade intact.

What she wanted to do was grab her daughter, drag her into one of the Sunday school rooms, and tell her how close she treaded to destroying her entire life.

To ending up just like her mother.

She couldn’t sear away the image of Tucker standing there in the moonlight, deer-eyed. Nor the way she’d wanted to lunge at him and rip him limb from limb.

Leave her alone, Blake!

The impulse, the anger, shook her through. Tucker should count himself blessed to have escaped with his life.

Yes, she needed to get her daughter far, far away.

Either that, or Annalise would let Frank shoot Tucker Newman.

“‘You alone are my heart’s desire, and I long to worship Thee.’” The words tasted like dirt in her mouth as she sang. She couldn’t even feel her soul right now, numb inside her with the circumstances of the past days.

She glanced down the row, past Henry and Jason to Colleen, who didn’t look at her, that wan, petrified expression still fixed to her face as she swallowed hard.

Colleen probably hadn’t a clue what she sang either.

Beside Colleen stood Helen, bright and shiny and aglow. Like she might be in love or something. Because standing next to her, the culprit of this entire fiasco, was Frank, all shined up for church. His hair combed, wearing a dress shirt and a tie under that leather jacket. A proper gentleman.

He hadn’t looked the gentleman last night when Annalise found him wielding a gun in her family room. Yeah, she’d seen it before he slipped it away.

Frank should know there was no use pretending with her.

She glanced up at the screen behind the worship team, realizing she’d lost her place in the song.

But no, she couldn’t sing, not with the darkness inside nearly choking her. She gripped the edge of the pew and managed to glue her smile in place, as if she were contemplating, worshiping God Almighty in the swell of music around her. Instead of bracing herself for some divine lightning to part the roof of the church and turn her into ash right here in the middle of the sanctuary. Good thing the rest of the congregation at Deep Haven Community Church
couldn’t see through her to the lies, like a bacteria, festering inside. They’d cast her out into the parking lot. Maybe throw a few stones.

Not like she’d stop them.

Nathan stood between her and the end of the pew, where she might escape. She hadn’t even been needed in the nursery today—although she’d inquired. She was trapped.

Trapped to face God with her black, disobedient, empty soul. And the truth that she would have to destroy the lives of everyone in the pew because of it.

They ended the song and turned to greet each other in Christian love. Annalise shook the hands of the Kings behind them, Julie holding their cute towheaded toddler.

“I can’t wait until we have a pew like yours,” Julie said. “Such handsome men, and your daughter is your spit image.”

Thanks for that, Julie.
“Little Matthew has grown up so much.” Annalise ran her hand over the one-year-old’s hair, feeling a squeeze in her heart. They all grew up so fast.

They sat and Pastor Dan dismissed the worship team.

Twenty minutes and she could escape to a world of football and hot wings. One last happy moment with her family.

The silence from the podium made her look up.

Pastor Dan stared out into his congregation. She’d liked him the moment she met him—a hands-on kind of pastor who volunteered with the fire department and wore jeans and a flannel vest to preach. He sometimes even took text questions from the congregation during his sermon.

They knew to expect unorthodox sermons from him. Sometimes impromptu prayer for healing. Occasionally a skit or a story instead of a sermon.

Now his eyes surveyed the crowd, something of pain on his
face. “I’m discarding my sermon for today because God has given me something else.”

Annalise stared at her hands, praying that he wouldn’t announce an unscheduled open forum to praise God publicly. Today of all days, she could not stand up, driven by the pressure of the Decker name, and declare something fabulous God had done for her, for her family.

“I’m going to start by reading Psalm 103.”

She drew in a breath, stared out the window toward the parking lot. A flock of Canada geese had landed in the pond outside, probably en route to Florida.

“Let all that I am praise the Lord;

with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name.”

Annalise opened her bulletin to read through the announcements for the week.

“Let all that I am praise the Lord;

may I never forget the good things he does for me.”

Potluck next week. She’d bring a macaroni . . .

Oh, wait. No.

“He forgives all my sins

and heals all my diseases.”

Henry had opened his Bible and was running his finger across the lines, following along. She swallowed down the burning in her throat.

“He redeems me from death

and crowns me with love and tender mercies.”

Nathan leaned back and put his arm around her, tucking her into his embrace. She blinked, fighting back moisture.

“He fills my life with good things.

My youth is renewed like the eagle’s!”

Jason reached over to Colleen, offered her his hand for a thumb war.

“The Lord gives righteousness

and justice to all who are treated unfairly.”

The geese outside lifted suddenly in flight.

“He revealed his character to Moses

and his deeds to the people of Israel.

The Lord is compassionate and merciful,

slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.”

Annalise widened her eyes to dry them, willing herself not to move her hand to her cheek.

“He will not constantly accuse us,

nor remain angry forever.”

Oh, why had Nathan trapped her in this row? She took a breath—too big, for it shuddered back out, and Henry glanced at her.

“He does not punish us for all our sins;

he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve.”

She patted her son on the knee, found another smile, and used the opportunity to run a quick swipe across her face.

There. Normal.

“For his unfailing love toward those who fear him

is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth.”

Had she taken out the wings to thaw?

“He has removed our sins as far from us

as the east is from the west.”

She’d make snickerdoodles this afternoon.

“The Lord is like a father to his children,

tender and compassionate to those who fear him.”

She closed her eyes, the walls pressing in around her.

“For he knows how weak we are;

he remembers we are only dust.

Our days on earth are like grass;

like wildflowers, we bloom and die.

The wind blows, and we are gone—

as though we had never been here.”

She looked down the row at her amazing family, at Helen seated beside Frank.
Never been here.

“But the love of the Lord remains forever

with those who fear him.”

Annalise looked up at Dan, who was reciting the passage from memory, his eyes closed.

“His salvation extends to the children’s children

of those who are faithful to his covenant,

of those who obey his commandments!”

And right there lay the problem. She might have had no choice but to run, and yes, she might have saved lives, but she’d created a life full of deceit. And her children would pay.

“The Lord has made the heavens his throne;

from there he rules over everything.

Praise the Lord, you angels,

you mighty ones who carry out his plans,

listening for each of his commands.”

She’d tell them this afternoon, after the game.

“Yes, praise the Lord, you armies of angels

who serve him and do his will!

Praise the Lord, everything he has created,

everything in all his kingdom.”

She closed her eyes again, willing herself to listen, to dare to feel anything of life inside her, anything of praise.

“Let all that I am praise the Lord.”

Nothing. God had abandoned her in her sin.

Silence filled the church.

Except, of course, for her heartbeat, thundering in accusation.

Annalise opened her eyes and found Pastor Dan standing in front of the altar, on the floor of the sanctuary.

“I have a word from the Lord for you today, church. I don’t know who this is directed to, but someone needs to hear it.” He smiled, something so kind in it that Annalise had to look away.

“‘I love you,’ says the Lord. ‘I see you, and I know you, and I love you. Period. I know stuff about you that you don’t even think I know, and yet I love you. I know the things you’re hiding, and yet I love you. I love you so much that even what I know about you didn’t stop Me from sending Jesus to the cross to save you. In fact, the very fact that you are suffering is why Jesus went to the cross. To redeem you. My love is not an equation, something you have to earn or barter for. I love you—I bless you even in the midst of your sin. Not to condone it, but to remind you of the glorious reunion that awaits when you come to Me. My blessings are to remind you of My great love and to turn you in to My arms. You cannot repay My love. Or My grace. You can only rejoice in it.’”

Annalise couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Perhaps her heart had stopped. She prayed that Dan’s gaze wouldn’t fix on her because she might shatter into weeping in the pew.

“Here’s my only sermon today. Do not let your circumstances define God’s love for you. He loves you. Period.”

Period.

She closed her eyes again, afraid of how the words seeped inside, almost painful.

“I’m going to ask the prayer team to come and stand at the altar. If these words were for you today, please come and let us pray for you. Let’s rise and sing our closing hymn.”

Prayer team. Annalise froze. Nathan unwound his arm from around her.

Oh. No.

But what was she to do?

As the congregation sang the closing song, she slipped out of the pew and, head bowed, joined Pastor Dan at the front. His wife, Ellie, stood on the other side of him.

Please, please don’t let anyone come to me.

They sang through one verse, the next. She saw a pair of hiking boots standing before the elder next to her. A woman in heels chose Ellie.

The last verse.
Yes, please—

Someone in leather cowboy boots stood before her. She smiled and looked up.

Good thing she’d spent years honing her reactions. Kelli Hanson stood before her, tears streaking her thin face. She had her hair in two long red braids, a green bandanna holding them back, and wore a pair of patchwork jeans with the same oversize wool sweater Annalise had seen her in at Thursday’s soccer practice. Her green eyes were red-rimmed, defeated, broken.

“Hi, Kelli,” Annalise said softly. “How can I pray for you?”

Kelli drew in a breath and swallowed, then closed her eyes. “Help me believe in grace.”

Help her believe in grace.

Yes.

Annalise closed her eyes too and took Kelli’s cold hands. And
then because she had no choice, or because she longed to hope, or simply out of pure desperation, she prayed for Kelli.

Hoping that God might hear the silent cry from her own heart.

“Maybe God is giving me a second chance.”

Helen studied her sister for her response, watching for any twitch on Miriam’s face, any stiffening in her shoulders, any rolling of her eyes.

But Miriam continued to pour the batter for the apple bread into the pan, cleaning out the bowl with a rubber spatula, as if oblivious to Helen’s bait. The late-afternoon sun filled the tiny kitchen with the color of orange marmalade, and the smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves could season her home for a month. Across the street, Helen had no doubt Annalise and the boys huddled around the big screen, watching the Minnesota Vikings get annihilated by the Chicago Bears. Poor Nathan. For some reason, Annalise seemed to like the Arizona Cardinals.