13. Elijah
Images on my screen paint a picture of the man who convinced Andie to leave her home and everyone she’d ever known behind. For anyone taking him at face value, George Johnson looks like any other normal member of society.
His blond hair is neatly cut while his eyes are framed by dark glasses. He’s even smiling widely as though he’s not a predator who preys on young girls.
High school girls.
I shake my head and lean back in my chair. The woman he’s marrying now is barely over nineteen, and based on social media posts, they’ve been together for a couple of years. Meaning he met her before she’d even turned eighteen.
What am I missing?
I study the documents and pictures that make up his entire life, hoping for something that will allow me to paint a massive bull’s-eye on his back for no other reason than I am desperate to take out some of my anger somewhere—even if that’s not a Christian way to handle problems.
I feel like a can of soda that’s been shaken.
And I’m not sure how to relieve the pressure.
The gym certainly hasn’t helped. Since I wasn’t able to get any sleep after Andie and Michael left, I’d gone in, hoping to wear myself out, but it only made things worse.
I’ve prayed. I feel like I’m always praying these days. Seeking strength in my weakness. Power in moments where I’m powerless. But right now, as I sort through Andie’s past, I can’t get my thoughts away from her.
I’d been out of my mind when my nightmare-fueled rage had Michael wrenching me off of her, and all I can think about is how dangerous it would have been if he’d not been here. I like to think I would have come out of it on my own, but I’m not so sure.
Even now, I can smell the blood tingeing the air. The fuel that dripped from the tank of our overturned Humvee. The screams of the dying fill my ears as do the pleas from my fellow soldiers as they begged to be spared.
I suck in a breath and try to slow the heart hammering in my chest.
I’ve spent the last three years trying to outrun the demons that have clung to me ever since that day. I’ve fought for control, for some semblance of peace. Yet, I struggle to find either. There hasn’t been a single night I’ve slept dreamlessly, and I know that there will be no future family for me unless I can get it under control.
What happened this morning when Andie woke me is a stark reminder of that impossibility.
The feel of her arms wrapped around me sneaks up and shoves all other thoughts out of my head. It was as though the entire world fell quiet in that moment. And it was just me and Andie.
Just the two of us.
No darkness plaguing me.
No nightmares echoing in my mind.
Just the smell of her delicate perfume and the feel of her body pressed against mine.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to move past it. The absolute last thing I need to do is lose myself in thoughts of a woman I vowed to protect.
God, please help me focus.
Shoving my past aside, I focus on the screen once more. What am I not seeing? The letters Andie’s assistant brought didn’t contain anything that gets red-boxed. Mainly angry models, jealous designers, and a handful of peers furious that Andie’s designs took off and theirs haven’t.
Nothing that holds any actual weight, though I did run extensive background checks on every single one of them, including her assistant.
Terrified I’m going to miss something, I start over again, scanning the list Andie gave me. Of everyone, George’s brother is the only one who might actually be a genuine threat. Stanley’s the only one who has shown any actual desire to harm Andie. And after the way he grabbed her in that diner, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were capable of far more.
Trashing a house? Absolutely.
Murder? Possibly. Either way, he’s the only one who fits the profile I built.
The door opens, and Lance steps in. “How’s it going?”
“Fantastic,” I reply sarcastically.
He chuckles. “I love it when you sugarcoat things.”
“I’ve got nothing so far. Aside from Stanley Johnson, I don’t see anyone who stands out as a clear threat.”
“What about in Rebecca’s past?”
“Still digging into her.” I minimize the window pertaining to George and pull up the file I’ve got going on Edna’s daughter. “I’ve pulled financial records, her travel over the last few years, places she’s lived, and anyone connected with her or her previous husbands. So far, nothing is jumping out at me.”
“It will.” Lance takes a seat across from me. “Eliza and I are postponing our trip to Boston tonight. My parents will be in town for a couple of weeks this time, and with everything going on, I asked to reschedule.”
I let out a frustrated sigh because I know what him canceling means. He may not be our commander anymore, but Lance Knight is a leader. And he’s worried about me. “Michael talk to you?”
“He sent me a text. Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“You can talk about it, Elijah. Sometimes it helps.”
“What’s there to talk about? We lived, didn’t we?”
“Elijah.” He says my name in the same tone he used back when I saluted him. Then, he’d used my last name, and we’d barely known each other, friends by circumstance, given our assignments.
“I’m fine,” I tell him even as flashbacks of the past assault me. It was Lance’s quick thinking that saved our lives that day, and he took seven bullets to the chest for his trouble. God kept us alive. Why? I’m not sure. But even as grateful as I am that He saved us, I can’t help but hate the fact that the others died.
Three of us out of a dozen men.
I shake my head. “We need to get this figured out so Andie can get on with her life.”
He arches a brow. “She leaving town afterward?”
“That’s the plan.”
“How do you feel about that?”
I glare at him. “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”
“You two just seem to have a connection.” He shrugs.
“We’re not you and Eliza,” I remind him. Lance’s wife was being stalked, and he’d felt a calling to protect her. But this is nothing like that. “Andie is in town because her grandmother passed. Trouble followed her here, and I made a promise to Edna. That’s all this is.”
“Okay.” He shrugs. “Then let’s get it solved. I checked in with the sheriff. He’s got nothing new. Rebecca’s blood work should be back tomorrow, so hopefully we’ll know something more.”
“Will he turn over her phone?”
Lance reaches into his pocket and pulls out an evidence bag before offering it to me. “Gave it to me this morning. He said you can crack it faster than any of his guys.”
“Thanks.” After slipping on a pair of gloves, I break the seal and tip the phone out. Checking the port type, I reach into my drawer and pull out the fit I need then plug it into the computer.
A few keystrokes later, I have access to Rebecca Montgomery’s cell phone. “In.”
“And that’s why you’re the computer guy,” Lance jokes and rolls a chair over to sit beside me so he can see the screen too.
I open up her texts first, and we’re immediately greeted with more naked pictures of Andie’s mother than I ever needed to see. Quickly, I scroll past them, trying to get to the actual message portion.
“It looks like she was in a couple of relationships,” I say. “There’s a lot of inappropriate messages, but aside from that, nothing that mentions Andie.”
As soon as I’ve cleared those, I exit out and head into her call history. Nearly every call is to or from the same number. Which is a massive red flag, given the multiple text threads she had open.
“Read me this number.” I hand Lance the phone and open my search program. He rattles it off, so I hit send and wait a few seconds for the results. “A burner. Not registered.”
“So Rebecca was talking to someone who was using a burner.”
“This number was not among the text recipients either,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
Lance pulls out his cell and fires off a message.
“Sheriff?”
He nods. “I’ll take the phone over once you’re done copying the contents, but I wanted to give him somewhere to start.”
I set up the computer to copy the contents of Rebecca’s phone then stand and head into the kitchen for a coffee. I feel dead on my feet, beyond exhausted, but I’m not sure how I’ll manage to sleep when my mind is entirely focused on Andie and the fact that the only woman who seems to have the answers we need is currently in the morgue.
“You need to talk to Pastor Redding,” Lance says.
“Why?”
“You’re struggling.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Elijah.”
As soon as the coffee begins brewing, I turn to face him. “Look, what happened is over. And my focusing on it is only going to continue making things worse. Besides, I don’t have the time to go over and sit at the church while he tells me a bunch of things I already know.”
Lance doesn’t argue—he never does. Mainly because he likely knows I’ll end up on a church pew before this is all said and done anyway. Lance’s faith is something I have always envied. Even before I was a believer.
My grandmother never made it a big deal for us to go to church, and neither did my parents before they passed. So I didn’t grow up in an environment that taught faith. By the time I was in the Army, I gave God very little thought. Until the day I nearly died. Lance prayed with me. I prayed. Michael prayed.
It was the first time I’d really felt a presence in my life, and while I never told anyone before, I truly believe I witnessed God reaching down and pulling me from the depths of darkness as I lay dying.
A massive hand reaching toward me, a bright light surrounding me—both of those images are burned into my brain forever. It was a turning point for me. A second chance. And I’ve done everything I can not to waste it.
But the pain is still so fresh. So potent. I can’t figure out how to let go. Especially since that was not the first IED I survived. The one just before that… I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“I’m always here if you need to talk,” Lance says.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Focused?” he asks, and I know he’s worried about me slipping up and making a mistake.
“Always.”