Page 35 of Tangled Past
Chapter Twelve
The house felt different after the gunfire.
Not just colder from the broken window, though that was part of it, but smaller, too.
Maya sat on the edge of the narrow bed in the back bedroom, a blanket tangled around her ankles. Someone—Rachel, probably—had tucked a fleece throw over the thin quilt, the pattern a faded winter scene of trees and cardinals. The lamplight was soft, turning the corners gold instead of shadowed.
It should have felt safe. It didn’t.
The plywood they’d nailed over the shattered front window creaked when the wind hit it, each groan scraping nerves already raw. Every now and then, a sting of cold air snuck under the bedroom window frame, carrying the faint smell of snow and damp wood.
She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the draft. Maya’s thoughts flicked to Ruth and Samuel, to evenings at their worn kitchen table, a Bible open between them, Samuel’s calloused finger tracing lines as he read. To Ruth, humming hymns while she kneaded dough, flour streaking her cheeks like war paint.
He that keepeth thee will not slumber.
She hadn’t thought of that verse in years. Not really. Not like something that could apply to her.
Muffled sounds permeated the house. The low murmur of men’s voices at the front, the faint creak of settling boards, the occasional crack of the fire in the living room. She took a sip of the tea. Chamomile, maybe, with something sweet. It wasn’t bistro-quality, but it was warm and somehow comforting. Her mind didn’t stay with the tea. It slipped back to the boat. The wind. Her mother’s arms locked around her like a life preserver.
“We’re almost safe. He won’t find us here. Not if we get to Raymond first.”
Maya set the mug on the nightstand, hands trembling. “What were you running from? Who were you so sure would follow us even across the water?”
The question didn’t answer itself. Instead, another sound rose from her memory—the low groan of a barn door. The smell of wet hay. Her mother’s hand shoving her out of sight.
“Stay here. Don’t move. Don’t come out until I say.”
Maya’s fingers dug into the blanket. Her heartbeat picked up. She was back in the barn. She could feel the prickly hay when she touched it. The rabbit fur under her hands. Her bare feet freezing on the floor. The chiming of the wind chimes her mother had bought for her and placed them in the barn that night to help keep Maya calm, yes, but also to alert them ifhecame in.
Her mother said something else, but the words slid away before they formed. All Maya remembered was the tone. Terror. Determination. The fierce love of someone who would walk into the lion’s mouth to save her daughter.
The next images came fast. Her mother stepped out from behind the bale to protect her.
“Lord,” Maya whispered. “I don’t know how to remember the right things without breaking. Is my mother still alive somewhere?” Her voice cracked. “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to ask You for anything after all this time of ignoring You, but please don’t let this be for nothing. Please don’t let this man win.”
Silence answered followed by a soft knock at the door that made her jump.
“Yes?” she called, her voice too high.
“It’s me.” Asa.
Her chest loosened a fraction. “Come in.”
The doorknob turned. Asa stepped inside, closing it most of the way behind him but leaving it cracked, hallway light striping the floor. He’d shed his heavier coat, but his Henley sleeves were pushed to his elbows, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the tension in the tendons of his hands.
“Rachel went to check on JT. She told me I could hover,” he said. “She might have used other words, but that was the gist of it.”
“Rachel is overly protective,” Maya said.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “She is.” He crossed the room slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. It should have annoyed her. Instead, she recognized it for what it was—respect. An understanding of how close to the edge she felt.
“How’s the window?”
“Nailed shut and very ugly,” he said. “Will keeps muttering about insurance forms and structural assessments. JT’s trying to convince him plywood is a design choice.”
Maya’s lips twitched. “I can almost hear that.”
“Declan and Eli are checking the adjoining roads for any parked vehicles that shouldn’t be there. So far, nothing. Tracks show the shooter kept to the trees, came in at an angle, and leftthe same way. No shell casings—we think he policed his brass. He knew what he was doing.”
