“How is Mei settling in?”
Sanctuary’s sheriff, Deputy Marshal John Mason, sat on the couch in his apartment, upstairs from the Main Street store front that was the sheriff’s office. He shrugged to the TV screen, where he’d connected the video call, and answered his brother’s question. “Seems to be doing fine.”
His brother Grant was the former director of the US Marshals, so technically at one time his boss… but no longer. Now the town was unincorporated, and while he was still a marshal, John was more “on-loan” to this unique town. Full of federal witnesses, John was the law in a town of people with prices on their heads. And while he’d heard the story of the tiny witness protection town in Hawaii, from both Grant and Bolton, he was still sure that Sanctuary was the first—and the only—fully functioning witness protection town in the country.
Two hundred people who were his to protect.
“That’s good, I’m glad Mei is doing well,” Grant said, his voice tinny on the TV.
The screen display was split between Grant, a congressman from Utah, a representative to the Secretary of Defense, John’s other brother Nate, and Dr. Elliot—Noel’s father. John had a third brother, Ben, but the man never participated in their Monday morning update meetings.
John said, “Sure. Real good.”
Nate actually snorted at this response. Grant knew just as well as Nate did how John felt about the timing of Mei’s arrival and the fact their brother Ben had done a lot of work in Asia. Nothing that involved Ben was ever coincidental, and he figured this wasn’t either. He just couldn’t figure the woman out. She wasn’t ex-military or CIA that he could tell. Black ops, maybe, given the way she moved. He’d read the file he was given. Whether it was true or not was a guess at best. John just couldn’t shake the feeling Ben had been involved in the woman’s coincidental arrival.
Grant said, “Nate, is everything set with you and Cyan?”
Nate had met and fallen in love with a woman who had lived in Sanctuary as a child and been signed out by her mother at eighteen. Still in danger, Nate had helped her through a hard time, and they’d fallen in love.
Nate grinned. “We should be in Sanctuary in less than a month, after Cyan testifies for the last time. After that it’s all paperwork and packing.”
John returned his smile. He’d be a father again by then. His son Pat was growing like a weed. The kid was best friends with the autistic young man who lived with them, Aaron. A new baby was just what they all needed, and this little one was going to change all of their lives. Not to mention his brothers would be uncles again, and his mom a grandma. It would be nice to have more extended family around full time.
Ben would say that John had gone soft, but he was happy to be soft considering the alternative was being alone.
“Now for business,” Grant said. “You all have the file I sent about the witness from Hawaii who identified himself as ‘Colt.’ This man has requested to be transferred to the protected witness town of Sanctuary.”
John opened the file on his iPad and scanned the text. He gaped at what he read.
Grant said, “Colt’s real name is Malachi Molotov—”
“Absolutely not,” Elliot’s father said. His bushy beard moved as he mashed his lips together, his attention on the papers in his hands. “This man will not be going to Sanctuary, not now and not ever.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” The assistant to the Secretary of Defense closed the file, not even turning past the first page.
The words Russian hitman had stuck in John’s brain, eclipsing everything beyond that point. He sighed. Colt might have made a good addition to the town, but now they would never know. Not when the committee viewed the safety of residents and the integrity of its security as paramount. John didn’t disagree with that, not considering his wife was about to have a baby. But God’s love had filled him, and when it did the job it was supposed to do, it meant that John was filled with grace, hope, and forgiveness. He could let his fear get in the way or his pride, but the purity and all-encompassing nature of God’s love meant John viewed Colt with only possibility. An opportunity to love someone God had put in his path.
He couldn’t do that if they didn’t even let the man into the town.
The call wrapped up with everyone saying goodbye and clicking off until it was only Grant and John left talking. “Anything you need?” Grant asked.
“A structural engineer.”
Grant’s eyes bugged out. “I thought you were going to say ‘baby stuff.’”
John told him about Dan’s house and the ground falling in.
“Is Gemma okay?”
“She seems fine now, just bruises. She lost consciousness, but they released her the next day.”
“Yeah, because you guys don’t have an MRI machine.”
John wasn’t going to disagree. “Elliot knows what he’s doing. He’s a good doctor.”
Grant didn’t look convinced, but that only made John more convinced the man was worried about all of them, family or not, in the town. Sure, they’d had some crazy times lately, the last of which was a bomb going off in the mountain above the ranch. Then Nadia Marie and Bolton got lost outside town, and she came home with a teenage boy who was Bolton’s son. Weeks later Bolton had shown up in a wheelchair.
John blew out a breath. “Some quiet would be good.”
Grant burst out laughing.
“What?”
“Brother, you’re about to have a baby. Kiss quiet goodbye.”
“Oh yeah,” John frowned. “Forgot about that.”
Grant just laughed harder, so John disconnected the call. He didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life. What he needed was to go check on Gemma but not because she’d fallen down a hole.
Gemma hadn’t done anything with the radio station since John had explained both that Hal was her father—surprise—and that he’d given her everything he had. They didn’t know anything about Hal. John had checked his file and discovered the man was one of the first to enter the witness protection town of Sanctuary—maybe even the very first.
According to his file, Hal had arrived with another man known only as Bill Jones. Neither of them had any file recorded anywhere. They either pre-dated John’s paper files, or they simply hadn’t existed before they entered witness protection. Not unheard of, but still rare. Whatever the reason, John was under the impression it was why Sanctuary had been founded in the first place. The secret that had built this town.
And one which had the potential to destroy it.
**
Gemma set the book down and sighed. Gothic horror was all well and good until she actually had to fall asleep. It probably wasn’t a sustainable genre. The library was quiet, and the sun had fallen behind the mountains. Twenty more minutes and she could close up the library, head over to the radio station and do some more reading, figure out what all those Army division-something papers were all about.
She’d almost been tempted to go to church on Sunday morning. Just as it had been tempting to pound on her mom’s door and ask why she wasn’t calling back, like the woman could hide in a town like this.
The low-grade headache she had from her fall was manageable, though caffeine didn’t help. Not in the quantities Gemma drank. Hers was what they called an “addiction” but she wasn’t going to admit to anyone she needed help. She’d just swivel her chair so she could see the empty carafe on the cold and empty pot and stare at it. Shelby had set a limit on her intake. She sighed.
She needed a new book to write.
Urban fantasy. Something with magic and shapeshifters. A quest. No, a boy coming home because the dream of what he’d thought his life would be was now dead. He has a special power. No, everyone else does but he doesn’t...
Gemma pulled her notepad over and started scribbling. It had potential. She’d have to flesh it out. She’d never done a magic-related genre before. Steampunk, yeah, and all those gadgets along with the Victorian outfits had been cool. Fun to get swept away in, even when she was the author.
“Knock, knock.” His voice was like an old quesadilla where all that great melted cheese had gone cold and slimy. “Who’s there?” Andy Evangeline sauntered into the library and headed straight for her. He didn’t need a book. If she hadn’t gone to school with him and seen it with her own eyes she’d wonder if he could even read.
“Hi, Andy.”
He crossed his arms on the counter and smiled. “It’s Terrence. I’ve decided to go back to my first name again instead of my middle name.”
Seriously?
He looked like he expected her to say something, but she didn’t. Why would she care if he was having an identity crisis? She didn’t even like the man and never had.
Gemma had to use a lot of expressions in her writing that she’d picked up from other books and then hoped she’d used correctly. After all, there were no used car lots in Sanctuary, just a couple of cars and a few golf carts, and most people walked or biked where they wanted to go, but she got the idea. Plus, she’d watched movies where the guy who sold wreckers had slicked-back hair, gold jewelry, and a silk shirt. Apparently Andy—Terrence—had as well, because he looked like a used car salesman from every movie she’d ever seen.
“Can I help you find a book?” Please don’t ask for one about dating.
“Sure,” he chuckled. “Got anything about asking the pretty girl for a date?”
Yeah, that was so funny. Ha ha. “Nope. After John didn’t need the book, then Matthias, then Elliot and Bolton, I retired that whole section. The books were deteriorating from lack of use.”
Because that totally made sense. Books totally degraded when you set them on the shelf and didn’t touch them. She nearly rolled her eyes, but anyone that actually did that at themselves instead of someone else should be kicked out of the “independent woman” club.
Terrence coughed. “Yes, well.” He strolled around the counter.
“No one’s allowed back here.”
“Except the volunteers.” He kept coming toward her.
“Sure.”
“And the school teacher.”
She got up. “True, but—”
Terrence walked right into her space. Gemma’s chair-back hit the edge of the desktop and she froze. His body almost touched hers. When she stepped to the right to escape, he stepped also. His gaze tracked down her body and back up, and he leaned forward to grasp the handles of her chair.
Gemma shoved at him to get away, but before she could bolt he grabbed her arms. “I just want to talk, Gemma.”
This was on the top five list of freakiest things that had happened to her. Falling in a hole was only number two.
His face was all innocence, but she’d seen him hit Bolton over the back with a metal folding chair when the man hadn’t been looking. He was practically the reason the former rancher was back in a wheelchair.
Some help, please. She didn’t know who she was asking but was willing to accept whatever came and however it came about.
“And Terrence. Whatever you’re calling yourself. You need to back up, then you can leave or I’m going to call the sheriff.”
His innocent look hardened. “It’s just a chat, that’s all.”
Gemma wasn’t messing around. She wanted his butt out of her library. “Seriously, Terrence. We have nothing to talk about.”
Movement over his shoulder brought her attention around, just for a second her gaze found Dan. Then she stared Terrence down. “I’m serious.”
“I’m serious,” he mock-echoed her. “Lighten up, baby.” His fingers stroked her arm.
Gemma slammed both her palms into his chest and shoved him. Terrence stumbled back two steps.
Dan’s voice drifted across the counter. “She’s serious, Andy.”
He whirled around. “It’s Terrence!” Then he glanced between Dan and Gemma. Then Dan. Then Gemma again. “You guys? For real?” He shook his head, not confused, but like he didn’t know where to slam his fist first. His gaze came to her.
“Baby, he is way too soft for you. You’re wild, and you need someone who can handle that.” He glanced at Dan. “You think you’re up for the task?”
Dan said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Terrence. I came to pick up a book I have on hold.” Peace surrounded him, as though he put it on in the morning like a sweater and didn’t take it off until bedtime. “You need to leave, or Gemma will call the sheriff.”
“Over a conversation?”
Gemma said, “I have the right to ask anyone I want to leave my library.”
Dan shot Terrence a look that almost made her smile. He wasn’t staking a claim, they both knew he’d never do that. Just friends. But he was the guy who wouldn’t let another man hassle her. Terrence gave her the creeps, and he needed to skedaddle.
The English language was so fun.
Terrence strode out, his head high. Gemma put her finger across her upper lip, like the lamest impression of a mustache ever, and found her most ridiculous voice. “You haven’t seen the last of me…” She dissolved into evil-like cackles and then snorted. Super attractive.
When she looked up, Dan was smiling.
“Are you really here for your ‘hold’?”
Dan’s lips curled up into a smile. “You think I’d lie?”
“No, I don’t. But I also don’t recall you requesting a book.”
“I put it in with Elma.”
“I really don’t need to interrogate you, sorry.” She half-smiled and crouched to pull out the tub. His last name on a receipt poked up from the pages of a book. She lifted it out and handed it over. “Grace, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’m starting a series. You’ll have to come and hear it if you want to know what grace is.”
“Nice try.” She chuckled. “That was super subtle.” Gemma turned away. At the last second she caught the look on his face. Grief. Breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t show him that or it would be worse. Gemma checked out his book.
“Are you busy right now?” She looked up in time to catch his shrug.
“I don’t have plans.”
Gemma bit her lip. “Can I show you something?”
Ten minutes later she’d locked up the library, and they walked outside. His truck was parked on the street. “You drove over?”
He shrugged. “You have to turn it on every week or so, or things inside start clogging up.”
“Oh.” She’d never actually ridden in a car. “Can we walk?”
“Still don’t want to?”
She shrugged.
“Okay.” When they got to the radio station he said, “I don’t get it. Did Nadia talk to you about renovating the place?”
Inside, they walked down the hall to the radio room. She had to check and make sure no one was there. “I know I can trust you. We’ve shared more than is normal—even between old friends—as far as I can tell. Maybe it’s normal for Sanctuary, but it could just be that it is what it is.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“You know that Hal Leonard was my father, but there’s more. He left me something.”
His eyes widened. That was Dan, holding his reaction to himself and allowing her to deal with her own feelings and not his as well. Gemma shut her eyes and took a breath. “When he died, John came to tell me that Hal left this place to me. In his will.”
“Wow. He left you the radio station? It was his thing.” Dan shook his head, disbelief plain on his face. “I’ve been thinking about it since you told me. Hal… I don’t know, but your mom? That’s what I don’t get. Why would she never say anything?”
“They kept their relationship a secret. They kept secret the fact he was my father. Everyone thinks my mom was pregnant when she came here, but that would mean she knew Hal before she came to Sanctuary, and he’s been here way longer. For some reason, even here when there’s no danger to them anymore, they still felt like they had to keep it a secret. From everyone. I can’t make sense of any of it. The timing, the reasoning. Nothing.” Gemma swallowed. “There’s more.”
He stepped closer to her. “What is it?”
**
Dan studied the room with its antiquated radio technology. He could hardly believe Hal was her father. The aging biker had been… maybe not a friend, but since Dan’s father and the lettuce incident that sent him on his way to his eternal judgment, Hal had visited the farm almost weekly. It hit him now, though, that Dan had never even been in the radio station before. Why was that?
Over the years Hal had filled a void that should have been left by Dan’s parents. They’d talked about everything. Not that Dan had to talk about God with everyone he spoke with, but faith was so natural to him it always seemed to come up. Hal had listened, and they’d even debated over creation and the existence of God.
Gemma stood taller and blew out a breath. “Okay, I was sworn to secrecy but that’s not what you and I do, so here goes nothing.” She walked to the wall and pressed. A latch opened.
Dan had no time to process the “no secrets” thing. He gaped. “What is…” His words faded as the door opened. File cabinets in a row beside boxes piled on boxes. Some had been opened, the contents disturbed. Everything was covered in a layer of dust, and the light fixture was pure seventies.
Gemma waited until he came to stand beside her, then she led him inside. The room was maybe eight-by-eight, but probably held thousands of papers. She showed him one. “They all seem to be military, like orders. Reports. Briefing summaries. Stuff like that. Lots of, ‘we moved from this place over to this place.’ I looked some of them up in the books I have on Vietnam, because of the dates. They seem legit. I found details of this one patrol, and it really happened.”
She squared her shoulders. “Hal left something in this room that I’m supposed to guard, to make sure it doesn’t get out into the world. Or just Sanctuary. But I have no idea what it could be.”
He waved his hand to encompass the room. “This could be the whole war, start to finish. Why would someone keep so many papers unless all of them were relevant?”
“Or unless you’re burying the needle in a stack of needles.”
“So it could be something, or it could be everything?” He walked to the first file cabinet and opened the drawer. “How do we tell?”
“We?”
He shrugged. “I figure you told me so I could help you look.” Obviously there might be other reasons. She knew practically everything there was to know about him, so why tell him about the room and not have him help? “We’ve been best friends for years.” He hauled two chairs in from the radio room and set them down. “This is what friends do.”
Her smile was hesitant, yet it didn’t take much coaxing for her to brew them some coffee. He’d been up since dawn, but helping her solve the mystery of Hal Leonard being her father was more important than sleep he’d have trouble finding anyway.
Leather jacket, biker boots, and jeans. That long dirty blond hair tied back with a leather strap. As an image, it had worked for Hal. Maybe that had been the point, to deflect people’s attention with the projection—a mask that allowed them to make assumptions about who he was and where he’d come from.
If it truly was a mask, Hal had worn it for years and even extended the guise to include his speech, his music tastes, and his eating habits.
Dan blinked. “What if Hal was one of these soldiers?”
“Or a spy.”
He looked over at her, reading papers. She said, “A lot of people in this town have crazy, crazy stories about where they’ve been and who they were. Andra was an assassin. John was undercover, and Bolton was a criminal. How do we know Hal wasn’t some kind of soldier, like you said, or a government agent?”
“I guess we don’t. Until we find a paper that confirms who he was.”
“It probably wouldn’t even be his real name. How will we know it’s about Hal?”
Would she be able to accept it if her father had been a killer? Dan knew what it was like to live with a monster. The old man could have been anyone and done anything before he came to Sanctuary. Dan didn’t know the first thing about him, other than that he’d met Dan’s mother—who was fifteen years younger—after he got here.
“Do I even want to know?” Her voice was soft, so he figured the question was rhetorical. “Maybe I’m better off being in the dark. I never knew he was my father before a few weeks ago, and I was happy. Sure, there was something missing from my life, but I was content knowing I would probably never get it.”
Dan sifted through papers, while she aired her thoughts out loud.
“He asked me to protect this secret. Whatever is contained here in this room was important to him. Maybe I should just shut the door and never come back here.” She shrugged. “Maybe I should burn it down. Why keep it all if it could be dangerous?”
Dan’s breath caught. Dark eyes stared back at him from a photo, center of the stack of papers in his hand. “Don’t burn it down just yet. I think I want to look through a few more of these.”
“For what?” Gemma glanced up, and the frown disappeared as she saw what he held.
A picture of his father.