Silent Protector (10 page)

I
an shut the freezer door. He’d actually been thinking about donating this refrigerator to the Callahans. The bedroom that had burnt was right beside the kitchen, and the old refrigerator had shorted out in the fire.

But he doubted Jenny Callahan would want this thing after what he’d just shoved into it.

“This is the same kind of military web belt used in several Central American countries,” he told George, who’d followed him inside.

“Are you sure?”

Ian began to wash his hands. “About four years ago, just before I left the marshals, I participated in Op Mac and Cheese with the Marines and the SEALs.”

“Op Mac and Cheese?”

“A feel-good operation, created to foster the spirit of cooperation between various forces. To help overcome any feelings of distrust. We worked with some Central American military forces, too. So we all could familiarize ourselves with how the others do things.”

“And did it work? Do they get along now?”

Ian shrugged. “The jury’s still out.”

George chuckled. “Back to the problem at hand, how did a web belt used by a Central American country’s military get on this island, and why is it soaked in blood?”

“We both know that this has something to do with Charlie.”

Losing his smile, the older man nodded. Ian had filled in the ex-marshal with the details of how it was all tied to the illegal importation of drugs. Including how William Smith and Jerry Troop were implicated in an assassination attempt in Central America. Their cartel wanted a prominent politician killed. The politician was bringing the drug lords and crooked police officers to justice. He represented too much of a threat to the cartel, which had diversified into trafficking humans. They were losing the fear they’d instilled in the general population.

“Did Liz agree to ask Charlie about what he saw? I mean, he’s talking to Elsie, but she ain’t going to push him. She believes the boy will tell us when we’ve earned his trust.”

“It may be too late by then,” Ian muttered. “If William Smith is already here, we don’t have much time.”

George tapped the freezer door. “The guy who was wearing this thing may have already run out of time. There’s a lot of blood on it.”

Ian threw open his kitchen door. “Poco was hanging around the trail last night. But before that, when Liz showed up looking for her stuff, she saw the trail and followed it in for a bit. She saw two men talking there, but she didn’t think they saw her.”

“That may not mean anything. Besides, Poco’s nuts. He chases Joseph around and barks at thin air. Maybe the belt belongs to the security firm the resort has hired. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can buy belts like this one on the Internet.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” He stepped outside and looked up. Though the sky was clear above him, the wind had increased and the humidity draped over him thick and hot and heavy. The back of his neck felt wet and sticky.

“That storm’s building up steam, the forecasters say,” George murmured, as if reading Ian’s mind.

“Another thing to deal with.”

“Look, Ian, you’ve got people willing to help you. Use them. You can’t do it all by yourself. Call your supervisor, and let him know you need help. I know you also want to arrange for donations for the Callahans, but they’re okay for the time being. The fire marshal has cleared them to return to their house. The back end was added when their daughter was born and is still structurally sound.”

Ian gritted his teeth. He was always busy but now more so with the weather and keeping an eye on Liz. Who could he ask to help? There were things only he could do.

He looked around. Speaking of Liz, where was she? She must have gone back into the Wilsons’ house to help keep Stephen and Charlie busy. He needed to talk to her.

He’d called his supervisor this morning to ask about how Liz may have accidently passed information on Charlie’s whereabouts. A special agent up there had discovered evidence of tampering with her phone line. A few screws undone and nicks in the paint proved a listening device has been added onto her outside wall. Most likely voice-activated, the man who’d investigated thought.

And though the agent had found several footprints in the soft soil, no fingerprints were found.

Ian shut and locked his kitchen door. He rarely locked his house here in this little village but knew it was time to start.

George had gone on ahead to his house and now was hurrying back toward him. Ian met him halfway. “What’s wrong?”

“Liz isn’t in our house. Elsie says she saw her walking toward the rec center, quickly, she thought.”

Ian scanned the road in that direction. When he’d found the bloodied belt, he’d noticed Monica. Creeping up the road, their gazes had locked for a second, and Ian caught the guilt immediately. He’d already informed his supervisor, who was running a check on her. Ian had looked for her early this morning but hadn’t found her.

He’d seen her hurry away, but he didn’t want to drop the belt to chase her. Had Liz followed her? He strode to the rec center’s front door and found it locked. Immediately, his gaze strayed to the trailhead.

He bolted over to it, noticing when he reached it the freshly broken branches, the small signs that it had been used recently.

Hadn’t Liz come here last night? She’d denied planning to steal Charlie away but rather had claimed she’d been curious. Ian didn’t buy that excuse at all.

He stooped to study a patch of white sand that had been scraped clear by a man’s shoe. The print was too large to be either Liz’s or Monica’s.

Was it made by the man who owned the web belt? Ian studied the leaves, the sand, everything. There wasn’t any blood around. And others used this trail, he admitted to himself. The village men whom Nelson Vincenti had hired walked to work this way because the trail was shorter than the road. Even Nelson could have walked here. He was a hands-on kind of man who preferred to inspect everything himself.

Ian straightened. He walked silently until he reached a fork. Again, there were signs of recent use but nothing he could recognize as belonging to Liz.

Something was wrong. He could feel it on an instinctive level that brought him back to his time as a marshal. Some days had been routine and boring, but some days had been anything but that. They’d spend days tracking a fugitive or hurrying a family to safety or busting down doors in the name of justice. The adrenaline surging within him had kept him going when fatigue would have easily won out.

Today was similar.

No. Different,
he reminded himself. Liz was missing.

His heart turned cold in his chest. Where was she?

“Liz!” he called out. “Liz!”

All silent. Ian frantically scanned the woods, remembering what he’d said to her last night. The forests of the Everglades were devious. They were unique in every angle and yet, they were the same. Even he had to be careful and keep track of his route.

Still, he studied the forest floor. In this small hammock, pine and live oak shaded the ground, allowing air plants and ferns to flourish. Closer to the rec center, the forest was thinner, probably from decades of human use and exploitation. Here, this raised land was virgin and close.

Ian gasped. Through the thick branches and drooping moss, he saw something move slightly. Ian shoved back the branches to race up to it.

Liz! Relief swamped him as he dropped down to his knees.

She looked up at him, and he could see a red welt forming on her cheek. “Don’t move. You may be hurt.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. Except this.” She touched her cheek, then checked her fingers. “No blood.”

“What happened to you? Were you following Monica?”

She looked up at him, dazed and blinking. “How did you know?”

“Because I noticed Monica walking away rather quickly, then you were gone, too, and Elsie saw you head this way.”

She bit her lip. “I followed her. She took one look at that belt and ran off. You were…” She trailed off, then added, “She attacked me!”

Ian lifted her fingers to inspect her nails but found no defensive evidence, just damp sand. He hadn’t been able to catch Monica yet. After this attack, though, he was going to make it a priority.

Ian pulled her back into his arms. She burst into tears. Eventually, her crying eased, and she hauled in a shuddering breath to calm herself further. He tightened his grip on her, rocking her lightly, wishing there was more he could do for her. He tipped his head down, his lips brushing her temple. He could kiss her, comfort—

No.
He wouldn’t risk losing his focus. He set her away from him. “Tell me everything that happened.”

“I followed Monica after you took the belt into your house. But I…I found her digging.” She stood and searched the ground in all directions. “I thought it was around here, but I don’t know. After she attacked me, I fell. That’s when she took off.”

He stood, tipping back his hat. “Did she say anything to you? Tell you what she was digging for? Why was she upset with you?”

“Let me think.” She worked her jaw, frowned and looked deep in thought. “I saw her expression when you picked up the belt. One look at it and she was horrified or scared or something. She turned and ran. I thought she might be up
to no good and want to destroy some evidence, something left near where the dog found that web belt. And you were busy, so I had to leave right away or lose her. I didn’t want her to destroy any evidence. You were already heading into your house…”

She cleared her throat. “But she did say odd things. What were they? She was talking about Charlie, and I asked her why she was so interested in him.”

“Go on,” he urged softly.

“Well, at first, I found her digging in the ground—with just her hands, no less. She got angry, asking why I wanted Charlie.” She wet her lips.

Ian folded his arms. This behavior was totally the opposite of what he’d figured Monica to be. She’d been quiet and kind, saying little about herself except to explain that her immigrant parents had died a few years back and she was all alone. She started to craft souvenirs for tourists, she’d told him, but needed a steady job. He’d hired her to help with “The Shepherd’s Smile.”

Liz brushed back her hair and smoothed the lightweight dress he now recognized as another one of the set that Elsie had made for the women in the village. “She accused me of using Charlie to get money.”

“I don’t know why she said that. But taking off on your own when you don’t know the area and attempts have been made on your life is foolish.”

“I wanted to know what she was doing and if it was related to Charlie. His safety is my priority.”

“And it’s mine, too.”

She tossed back a wayward curl. “Not completely. You want his father’s murderer caught, that’s all. So you can do your job with the marshal agency.”

“Service. The U.S. Marshal Service.”

She flicked up her hand. “Whatever it’s called. That’s your priority. But my priority is Charlie’s well-being. Emotional and physical.”

“We’ve been through all this, Liz. I won’t rehash it. But think about what you’ve just done. I told you not to go onto these trails by yourself. And starting your own investigation was foolhardy. You say Charlie’s emotional health is the most important thing to you, but you go off and put yourself in danger. How would Charlie react if he lost you, so soon after he lost his father?”

Liz swallowed. Then, with a furtive sweep of her hand, she wiped a fresh tear away from her cheek. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone off by myself. I wasn’t thinking.” After quickly biting her lip, she nodded and took a deep breath. “Thank you for reminding me of this. I do need to keep Charlie’s well-being in mind.” She straightened. “Yes, I need to keep that in focus.”

Ian mentally shook his head. What had he just heard? Liz, the woman who’d corrected his mistakes, used logic and compassion at the same time, who was smart enough to locate her nephew, and refused to be made to feel guilty, was suddenly thanking him for pointing out a fault to her?

Whoa. He’d worked with a lot of ego in his time. Even in his days at college after he’d retired from the U.S. Marshal Service, he hadn’t seen such honest contrition.

With the excuse of searching for where Monica had been digging, Ian looked away. He’d never been good at accepting criticism. Too many years of listening to how bad he could be, how difficult he was to control, each year worse than the last. He’d fought back and, even now, he hated when his faults were pointed out to him.

But Liz was showing a side of the faithful Christian few people saw.

Hear instruction, and be wise, and refuse it not,
the Bible said.

Off the top of his head, he wasn’t sure where that passage was found, but it didn’t matter. It
was
wise to accept correction.

Guilt nibbled at him. Whether it was from his harsh words to Liz or because he wanted everything to be done right, he didn’t know.

Forget it. There was too much to be concerned with.

“Since it’s pointless to chase Monica now, we should get you to the clinic. That cut may become infected.”

“A branch scratched me when I fell, but I don’t think it broke the skin.”

He reached out and touched her chin, moving her head to one side so he could study the welt. It really wasn’t that bad, he decided. Maybe he just wanted her out of the forest, to somewhere safe.

“We need to search for whatever you saw with your night vision goggles,” she said quietly. “It might have something to do with the web belt and Monica.”

“But we
will
deal with Monica. For assaulting you and breaking into my computer.” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “We’ll need to backtrack a bit first. I memorized the angle from the center to help us find whatever it is more easily. Let’s go.”

They walked back toward the trailhead, but before reaching it, he turned and pointed. “It was in this direction.” With that, he walked through the forest.

“You’re bending to the left a bit,” Liz noted.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “How do you know that?”

With raised brows, she looked deadpan serious and bluntly logical. “I work at a wildlife refuge. I’ve had to
traipse through dense woods in Maine to follow injured birds. We only do that for the protected ones, but I’ve learned to go in straight lines without using a compass.”