Sanctuary (10 page)

Quickening her pace, Melissa worried that she’d missed her phone call.

“Are you in a hurry?” Lela asked as they approached the sidewalk leading to her house.

“Just a little.” She stopped to admire the garden, hoping Lela wouldn’t pry.

“Shall we cut some flowers for a bouquet?” Lela suggested, her voice higher in pitch than before.

Picking flowers in Lela’s garden would be a delightful experience, but she wanted—
needed
—to send an e-mail to Ryan, risky as it was. She had to make contact with him, even though she’d been warned against doing so. He would receive the message on Monday morning when he turned on his office computer. She’d use his personal e-mail address at work.

“I’ll take a rain check on the flowers,” she said, hoping she hadn’t offended her kind hostess. She could hardly wait to call a cab and get to town, locate a place to rent some Internet time. A short message would soothe some of Ryan’s pain.

Love always finds its way home
, Mrs. Browning used to say. Now, fondly recalling the woman who had served as her second mother, Melissa was surprised to have forgotten the often-repeated words. Remembering gave her permission to follow through with her plan, despite the perplexed look on Lela’s face.

Something’s awful wrong
, Lela thought as she watched the yellow taxicab pull away. She thought of calling Elizabeth and confiding her growing concern about the woman who’d rented her spare bedroom. One minute Melissa wanted to hide away her car, or so it seemed. The next she was willing to pay good money for a taxi to drive her all the way into Lancaster. Well, she didn’t care to think what a pretty penny such a trip might cost. Yet, why did she care? She’d encountered strangers aplenty through the years. None as scatterbrained and restless, however. Just what Melissa’s story was, she didn’t know.

Suddenly, out of the blue, a strange feeling of foreboding clouded Lela’s mind. A feeling of …
what?
Fear? Danger? Puzzled by her own emotions, Lela went immediately to her bedroom, closed the door, and knelt beside her bed. “Lord, I don’t understand why Melissa is here. But I know you have a purpose in this… .”

She continued to pray for her guest, but the inexplicable fear only deepened in her heart. The fervency of her prayer increased in response, and she stormed the gates of heaven with her petitions for help and peace, until Lela felt like Jacob of old, who had wrestled with an angel.

She lost track of time as she interceded. And gently, quietly, the psalm came to mind:
The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them
. A ray of hope pierced the darkness, and with it came renewed peace of mind. Ready to let the quiet embrace her, Lela collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

  
Chapter Twelve
  

HE STARED AT THE SCREEN of the small portable computer, took another drag on his cigarette, then ground the butt into the table. Sitting in a motel room specifically designated for nonsmokers, he waited patiently for the modem to dial the number. He had all the time in the world.

Once the connection was made, he punched the keys, bringing up the Global Positioning Satellite Tracking Web site. He entered his password, ID, and the vehicle control number. Seconds later, he had what he wanted: a detailed local street map and a red star blinking beside the street address.

He smiled, lit another cigarette, then clicked the screen through several windows, cross-referencing the street address with a name.

Thaddeus King, 1135 Hunsecker Road, Lancaster, Pennsylvania
.

“Gotcha, Missy James,” he whispered, his smile turning to a full-fledged grin. The state-of-the-art tracking device—a transmitter—on the woman’s Toyota Camry, about the size of a paperback book, weighed less than half a pound. Attached beneath the vehicle magnetically, it linked to the car’s own battery system and harbored a NASA-developed stealth antenna. Undetectable to the casual observer, even a car mechanic could be fooled, assuming the small box performed a computerized automobile function. Accessing the United States Government Military Global Positioning Satellites, the device transmitted its exact location within thirty feet of accuracy.

What would I do without my marvelous toys?
he thought, recalling the startled look on Melissa’s face when he found her just outside Trenton, New Jersey, after she’d managed to elude him in New York. Finding the woman had been easy. A quick call to his GPS tracking service operator had alerted him to her location on Route 30, heading west, even reporting the Camry’s precise speed at the time: sixty-seven miles per hour. Simple as that.
And now … she must feel safe again
, he thought, chuckling to himself.

Secure as a mouse in a cat’s paw
.

He was about to disconnect when the thought occurred to him to double-check the history of the transmitter—determining
each
specific location of the car during the past twenty-four hours. Clicking on
history
, he discovered Melissa’s vehicle had
not
been parked at the King residence very long, little more than a few minutes. The first significant stop in Lancaster County—Friday night—had been a restaurant on Route 222, followed by another stop at 702 Hunsecker Road, overnight.

“Thought you could lose me …” he muttered.

He cross-referenced that location with the name/address software. Within minutes another name materialized:
Lela Denlinger
.

So … that’s where you’re hiding
.

Closing the GPS Web site, he disconnected the modem from his laptop, then attached a portable telephone scrambler to the phone handset. Although he enjoyed taking chances, his partners were the nervous types. Without the aid of a scrambler, they would insist on speaking in elaborate Russian code, indecipherable to the most skilled translators.

Two short rings, then—“Yeah?” a gruff, apathetic voice answered in his native tongue. “Got something?”

“Found her.”

The voice spewed profanity. “What are you waiting for?”

“Relax. We’ll have what we want by tomorrow.”

“What about the husband?”

“Oblivious,” he replied.

“Then finish this … once and for all.”

He hung up the phone and smiled once again. At times his work was pretty dull. Then there were times like this, when the thrill of the chase filled his soul with macabre delight.

  
Chapter Thirteen
  

RYAN AND DENNY DROVE along scenic Route 1 toward Westerly, Rhode Island, and Watch Hill. Turning south on Watch Hill Road, they burrowed through a wooded and affluent neighborhood until the road became Bay Street, bordered by tourist shops on the left and a boat-congested harbor on the right.

Slowing, they turned right into a small parking lot and parked the SUV facing the dock. They sat for a moment, watching the tourists. In the harbor, moored sailboats rocked with the gentle waves. Sea gulls flew overhead, catching a warm air current and drifting lazily like paper airplanes.

Ryan gestured toward the Olympia Tea Room. “That’s the place.”

They got out, stretched their legs, and crossed the street. Entering the restaurant, they walked through glass doors into a crowded room dominated by dark wood and straight-back booths set in the middle of a checkered floor. Smaller booths bordered the walls near the windows.

They were greeted by the hostess, a pixie-faced brunette, who led them to a spot near the window. Settling into their seats, they waited for a waitress to serve water and deliver menus.

Ryan pointed toward the far end of the room, where the ceiling appeared to be made of wine glasses. “Four years ago, Melissa was over there wiping the counter. First time I saw her.”

Denny twisted in his seat, eyeing the bar and wooden stools at the end of the room. “Proverbial love at first sight, across a crowded room?”

Ryan remembered the day as if it had happened
yesterday
. Melissa’s hair had been pulled back from her forehead and done up in a bun. She’d glanced at him quickly….

“For a split second, our eyes met, and it seemed as if we already knew each other,” he recalled.

Denny nodded and added glibly, “So you just
happened
to walk in here, instantly fell in love, and got married twenty-four hours later.”

Ryan concealed a wry grin. “No … actually it was Bernie’s idea.”

“Your boss?”

“Yeah, he liked to eat here. Told me about this waitress he’d met. He was impressed with her and wanted to hire her as his secretary. Before we hired Marge, he sent me out here to talk Melissa into applying for a job.”

“What happened?”

Ryan chuckled. “Well … for one thing I discovered Melissa doesn’t type.”

“Whoa … strike one.” Denny laughed. “So the secretary thing fell through. But in the meantime, you fell in love.”

“Who’s telling this story?”

“Okay, okay.” Denny put up his hands. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t ask her out right away.”

Denny frowned. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. She seemed reticent at first. Afraid of her own shadow.”

“Didn’t seem so shy to
me
.”

Ryan considered this. “She trusted you.”

Denny stared at him, then grinned.

“So how did
you
win her over?”

“I just kept coming to the restaurant. Asked to be seated in her section. Asked her lots of questions about herself.”

Denny nodded. “And?”

“She answered some of them.” He forced a smile.

“I think I might’ve given up.”

“I did,” Ryan admitted.

Denny seemed surprised.

Their conversation was interrupted when the waitress came to take their order.

Afterward, Ryan observed the activity in the room—tourists and locals. His buddy looked out the window until the waitress returned with their meals. Ryan took one look at the chicken dinner and promptly lost his appetite. At Denny’s encouragement, he attempted a few bites, mostly watching Denny eat.
Old friends are the best friends
, Ryan thought.

Eventually, Denny grew silent, studying him from across the table as if biding his time, waiting for the right moment to probe deeper.

They drank their coffee, and the tension mounted. Denny fixed on him an expression that conveyed,
I’m really sorry to have to ask you this
.

Finally, Ryan said, “Why don’t you just say it and get it over with?”

Denny smiled apologetically. “You know me too well, ol’ buddy.”

Placing the coffee cup on the saucer, he felt uneasy. Denny’s expression was serious, yet his manner seemed nonthreatening. “Last time I visited, I was bowled over by Melissa’s generous hospitality.” Denny’s voice trailed off.

“She knows how to make someone feel … comfortable.”

“And yet …” Denny continued, “the more I talked to her, the more she seemed to be …” He stopped, hesitating once again.

“Go on,” Ryan urged.

“Well … she seemed to be hiding something.”

Ryan shrugged. “Like I said, Mellie has a hard time trusting people. I think it has something to do with her past, with her father abandoning her.”

Denny nodded agreeably, a glint in his eye. “You said you gave up on her. What did you mean by that? Did you stop visiting the restaurant?”

“You’re really interested in this romance stuff, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to help.”

“None of this has anything to do with why she left,” he found himself saying.

“So, humor me, Ryan. What do we have to do besides wait? Tell me the whole story. Start at the beginning.”

Sighing audibly, Ryan felt tense. “All right, you asked for it. I’ll even take you to our beach.”

“Now you’re talking.”

They paid the bill and left the restaurant, crossing the narrow two-lane street. Ryan touched the cell phone in his pocket.

Beyond the parking area, they made their way toward a sandy ridge. Napatree Point lay in the distance. The shoreline was part of a long, narrow cape, jutting into Long Island Sound. On a clear day, you could see out past Fishers Island.

Temperatures had risen in the past hour, but sea breezes made the heat bearable. Scattered low-lying clouds hovered at the horizon line as Ryan hiked up a knoll. There, he and Denny peered at the ocean below. Ryan gestured to the stone jetty to their left, and they worked their way through the sand past wild rosebushes, then crossed a small section of the beach before picking their way across the boulders and rocks stacked methodically to create a breakwater.

When they reached the end of the quay, Denny appeared breathless with wonder, staring at the ocean as if he’d never seen it before. “Melissa told me about your wedding. This must be the place.”

“We came here one evening. Said our vows before a minister we found in the yellow pages, then tossed white and red rose petals into the ocean.”

“Rose petals?” Denny asked. “Another secret meaning?”

“Mixed together, they mean
unity
.” He pointed to the west, to the beach that extended toward Napatree Point. “Mellie and I used to come here all the time.”

Denny shaded his eyes, following Ryan’s gaze. Several families played in the sand, tossing beach balls just a few yards away. A German shepherd barked and scampered around in a frenzy of delight as he chased a Frisbee thrown by a young boy. Farther up the beach, teenagers fished from the shoreline.

“C’mon, let’s go closer to the water,” Ryan said as he led the way.

Away from the rocks, they removed their socks and shoes and headed toward Napatree Point, struggling to walk through the porous sand. As they did, Ryan pointed out the driftwood, seashells, wild rosebushes, sea birds—all the ingredients that gave the beach front its character.

At last he turned to Denny and forced a smile. “When we married, I believed Mellie would open up more in time. And she did … in a way. In her
own
way.”

Denny regarded him thoughtfully. Ryan turned to gaze out at the ocean, lost in the past, as the waves crashed against the shore. They stood for several minutes before Ryan spoke again, as if speaking from the past, removed from a distance in time.

“I still remember the day I found her here… .”

The day had been unusually windy from the start, the sun slipping in and out of clouds. Ryan had arrived at the Olympia Tea Room on a Friday, traveling from Mystic, where he worked. Several weeks had passed since last stopping by the restaurant. He had decided to back off a bit. Melissa, most likely, wasn’t interested in romance. At least not with him. Time to move on.

He marveled at how little he knew of her. She liked flowers and art; never spoke of parents, nor brothers and sisters. And she hailed from Minnesota. That was the extent of it. A couple of months of conversations—sometimes a smile.

So what was he doing back here?
Wasting my time
, he thought, as he stood in line waiting to be seated. Finally, Suzie, the hostess, greeted him. She smiled at him as if he were a long-lost friend.

“Hey, stranger,” she said. “Haven’t seen you for a while.” He’d smiled sheepishly. “Been busy.”

“Too busy to eat?” She laughed. “Listen … I’m sorry Melissa isn’t working today.”

Just as well
. Then Suzie said something that got his attention. “Melissa was asking about you the other day.”

He sucked in a breath, trying to act nonchalant. “Oh … really?”

Her smile broadened. “Yep.” Then she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “She really
loves
to paint at the beach.” She nodded her head to her left, toward the public beach area, out beyond the parking lot. “In fact … she spends lots of time there. Especially on her days off.” Suzie grabbed a menu. “Nonsmoking section?”

“How ’bout I come back later?”

Suzie smiled knowingly. “Good idea.”

Taking the hint, he left the restaurant, making his way to Napatree. Climbing the rim, he searched the beach front and … sure enough, Suzie was right. There was Melissa, sporting a yellow sundress, a refreshing change. She was walking barefoot in the sand at the edge of the water. He spotted a tripod several yards back, supporting a wide easel. One white swan, on a sea of glass, was the focal point of the painting.

Still with her back to him, she tossed pieces of bread to a lone swan, who lunged for each bite. Watching her, Ryan was taken with her beauty, her shoulder-length, sun-touched hair flowing freely in the wind. Unaccustomed to seeing her hair like this, he observed her movements. Tanned and lovely, she leaned playfully toward the swan in response to the bird’s fluid movements. The agile animal had met its match.

Ryan made his way down the hill and sat in the sand, pretending to contemplate the ocean. The beach was relatively unpopulated. Only a dozen or so people. Some jogged by the sea. Others played ball or sat on beach towels in the sand.

He waited, enjoying the moment. Eventually, Melissa reached the end of the little bag of food she had with her and held up her empty hands in apology. The swan waddled off for greener pastures. She crumpled the bag, carried it back to the beach, and tossed it into the community trash can. Then she stopped to scrutinize her painting, picked up a brush and dabbed some additional blue on the calm sea. She stood back, cocked her head as she peered at her work. Seemingly satisfied, she returned the brush to the palette and strolled toward the ocean, her ankles soon enveloped in the incoming tide. Her profile was now visible to him as she gazed toward the horizon with obvious wonderment. A gust of wind had the nerve to assail her, but she shook her head defiantly, clearing her face from errant strands of hair and pinning down her tresses with one hand.

With the sun on her face, illuminating her near-angelic features, she turned bravely to the zephyr. Smiling, she closed her eyes dreamily, as if lost in the ocean’s beauty.

As he watched from his spot in the sand, Ryan thought he saw tears on her face, although he couldn’t be sure. She brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, opening her eyes and squinting against the sun.

After a time she seemed tired and turned to head back to her easel. At that moment she spotted him. Butterflies took flight in his stomach as he registered the recognition in her face, embarrassed to have been caught mid-worship.

She broke into a full smile as he rose to meet her.

“Hi!” she said enthusiastically. “I didn’t see you. How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he replied, mustering his best casual smile. “Nice painting.”

“Thanks. Did you see the
real
swan? I’ve lived here three months, and I haven’t seen anything like it.” Without pause, she began packing up her palette and brushes.