Evidence of Mercy
Books by Terri Blackstock
Soul Restoration
Emerald Windows
Restoration Series
1
| Last Light
2
| Night Light
Cape Refuge Series
1
| Cape Refuge
2
| Southern Storm
3
| River's Edge
4
| Breaker's Reef
Newpointe 911
1
| Private Justice
2
| Shadow of Doubt
3
| Word of Honor
4
| Trial by Fire
5
| Line of Duty
Sun Coast Chronicles
1
| Evidence of Mercy
2
| Justifiable Means
3
| Ulterior Motives
4
| Presumption of Guilt
Second Chances
1
| Never Again Good-bye
2
| When Dreams Cross
3
| Blind Trust
4
| Broken Wings
With Beverly LaHaye
1
| Seasons Under Heaven
2
| Showers in Season
3
| Times and Seasons
4
| Season of Blessing
Novellas
Seaside
ZONDERVAN
Evidence of Mercy
Copyright © 1995 by Terri Blackstock
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition July 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-85856-0
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Blackstock, Terri, 1957â
   Evidence of mercy / Terri Blackstock.
    p. cm.â(Sun coast chronicles)
  ISBN-13: 978-0-310-20015-4
  I.Title. II. Series: Blackstock, Terri, 1957â Sun coast chronicles.
 PS3552.L34285E95 1995
 813'.54âdc20
95-33052
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any otherâexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
06 07 08 09 10 11 12 ⢠43 42 41 40 39 38 37 36 35 34 33 32 31 30 29 28
CONTENTS
This book and all those to follow it
are lovingly dedicated to
The Nazarene
Special thanks to Chip Anderson, of Anderson's Optique in Jackson, Mississippi, for showing me his magic; to Carla Nowell, physical therapist at Methodist Hospital in Jackson, Mississippi, for helping me find authenticity; to Ellis Warren, pilot, for talking me through my landing; to Larry Morgan, aircraft mechanic, and Lane Smith, general genius, for helping me create my disasters; to the Cockrells and many others at First Baptist Church in Jackson, Mississippi, for their powerful prayers; to Greg Johnson, for sharing the vision; to the Phillips-Corry class, for leading me to the brink of awakening.
And to Ken, my spiritual leader, for helping me decide where to go from there.
He had waited for a new moon, for he needed the cover of darkness. Tonight was perfect. Dressed in black, he knew it would be virtually impossible for anyone to see him. The airport guard who patrolled the small building in the wee hours would never notice that anything improper was going on right beneath his nose. Not as long as he was swift and quiet.
Checking once again to make sure no one was near, he crept across the tarmac, past the private planes lined up like a military fleet, squinting to read the number and name on each fuselage.
Solitude
was the fourth from the right, just as he'd expected.
With one more quick look around, he bent down and duck-walked under the plane, found the wheel well, and shone his small flashlight to find the spot he needed. Calmly he pulled the tool he'd brought out of his pocket, made the necessary adjustment, then flicked off the light.
It had taken less than thirty seconds to create the catastrophe that would finally make things right. Grinning, he hurried quietly back across the tarmac then broke into a jog for a mile beyond the airport until he reached his car. He'd parked it far enough away so he wouldn't be heard back at the airport as he cranked it. He pulled into the street, keeping his lights off. Laughing out loud, he headed home, eager for the satisfaction he would feel the next time
Solitude
was flown.
Then there would be one less obstacle between him and his prizeâand one more victory to show who was really in control.
S
olitude
âthe perfect name for the toy that defined Jake Stevens, not because he liked being alone. He didn't. He'd always found it better to be surrounded by the right kind of people, and Jake had a knack for collecting friends just like he collected brandy snifters from the cities he'd traveled to. But the only way to be completely autonomous was to be unattached. It was a credo Jake lived by, and it meant that he knew the value of his own solitude. At the top of the pyramid that was Jake's life, there was only one personâthe one he smiled at in the mirror every morning. At thirty-nine, he was just where he'd wanted to be at this point in his life. Unfettered and financially fluid, he had the world by the tail, and today he was going to bag it and take it home.
Ignoring the doorman who greeted him, he trotted down the steps in front of the Biltmore. At the bottom of the steps, his red Porsche idled as the valet got out. “Hey, put the top down, will ya?” Jake called down.
The kid, who looked no more than eighteen, knew exactly how to do it, and as the top began to buzz back, Jake's attention was snatched away by the blonde on her way up the steps. She was college aged, probably twenty years his junior, but he'd never found that to be a problem. Tipping his sunglasses, he gave her that engaging grin that had always worked for him before.
She smiled back, as they always did, and slowed her step as he came toward her.
“I'm not usually this blunt, Ma'am, but I've learned over the years that if I let an opportunity slip by me, I sometimes never get it again. And you are, by far, the most beautiful woman I've laid eyes on since I pulled into St. Clair yesterday.”
She laughed, as though she'd heard the line before, but it didn't seem to hurt his chances. “I'm Sarah,” she said. “Are you staying in the hotel?”
“Yes,” he said, “and if I had time, I'd turn around and escort you right back inside. But alasâ” He threw his hand dramatically over his heart and sighed heavily as she laughed again. “I have to be somewhereâto look at a plane I'm thinking about buying.” He waited a beat for her to be sufficiently impressed, and when her eyebrows lifted slightly, he went on. “Now, I don't want you to think I'm the kind of guy who hits on every woman he sees, but do you think, by any chance, you'd care to meet a lonely transplanted Texan for drinks later? I can call you when I get back.”
He knew he wasn't imagining the sparkle in her eye, for he'd seen it many times before. “I'm in room 323,” she answered. “But if I'm not there, I'll probably be out by the pool.”
The pool,
he thought with a grin.
Perfect.
“I'll call as soon as I get back.”
“You haven't told me your name yet.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Jake. Jake Stevens.”
But already he'd forgotten hers. The room number was all that really mattered. Waving, he trotted the rest of the way down the steps. Tossing a five-dollar bill at the valet, he slid behind the wheel.