Page 26 of Concrete Evidence
EARLY EVENING,Avery’s restless spirit sent her on a five-block walk from the hotel to a nearby church. She’d noticed the structure when she’d first arrived in the area. The nondenominational aspect didn’t matter. Although she had a quiet place in her room to pray, her spirit longed for the peacefulness of a church. Granddad encouraged her to explore solitude in prayer when she needed answers, and normally she followed his advice on everything—faith, career, friends, independence.
She inwardly startled. In all her twenty-five years, she’d agreed and complied with almost every one of his suggestions and recommendations. Until now. Her struggle to pursue truth took root in his convictions. How did she handle the confusion?
Could she even think on her own?
Avery stopped on the first step leading to the church doors. She practiced Granddad’s faith. Worshiped Granddad’s Jesus. Andtreasured Granddad’s favorite Bible version, verses, and songs. He’d been more than a loving grandfather but her father, hero, role model, and mentor. From the time she could walk, he’d taken her to church and Sunday school. Afterward they’d discuss the lesson and sermon over chicken-fried steak with all the fixin’s. He developed a gold-star chart to encourage Bible verse memorization and placed it on his office wall. He’d quiz her, and if she could recite the verse, she added a star to the chart. Ten memorized verses meant date night with Granddad.
Two years at Columbia University for her grad work had forced her to think more for herself. She’d gotten involved on campus and formed her own opinions... although most of them matched Granddad’s.
She’d followed his political career and respected his stands, even when his opponents attempted to shred him. The two shared an interest in math and business ventures. A kindred spirit for horses meant hours of riding the ranch. The silver-haired man with his deep-throated laugh and strong embrace filled her with pride. No matter where they went, she adored and treasured their time together.
Granddad showed her many traits to emulate about him.
His compassion for the downtrodden, often when no one was watching.
His tireless work ethic.
His wisdom.
Mia claimed Avery had lots of book smarts, but wisdom went deeper than fancy initials after her name. At the time, Avery thought the dear woman was teasing. Now... not so much.
Tears streaked Avery’s face. From where she stood on the church steps, Granddad had shown her God in every way except what had transpired this week. The disappointments overwhelmed her, and she failed to get past it.
Avery continued to climb the steps of the gray stone church. Thebuilding reminded her of some of the church architecture she’d seen in England—with Granddad. This one had two locked heavy wooden doors. No way to get inside. Not sure why she thought the door would be unlocked.
Glancing into a gray sky filled with dripping humidity, she retraced her steps back to the hotel. How could she talk to a God she doubted when someone locked the doors to His church?
Heat rose from the sidewalk as though the depths of fire fought to engulf her. She stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to change. The rumbling of a motorcycle caught her attention. She shoved aside her disconcerting thoughts to view a blue Yamaha Tracer 9GT, a match to the one she’d seen at the family cemetery. The rider wore a black helmet and sunglasses. When he waved and pulled alongside her, Avery’s stomach threatened to erupt.
“Hey, sweet girl. What are you doing so far from the ranch?”
Hearing Granddad’s nickname for her and the mention of home alarmed her. “Who are you?”
“The Messenger.”
She’d heard that before. But the voice at the ranch had been distorted, and this was a distinct, younger-sounding male. “For what?”
“You were told to obey your granddad.”
“I’ve done what he asked.”
“Then make sure he knows Marc Wilkins and the FBI can’t help either of you.”
“Take off your helmet and show yourself.” Bullies did their best work when they had the advantage. She looked for a distinguishable trait. He wasn’t a large man but trim with narrow shoulders. Granddad said the details in life were what formed who we were. She glared at him. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I become an assassin.” The cyclist sped away and wove into traffic.
Panic rolled through her. Again she failed to capture the licenseplate like at the ranch cemetery. The light changed. She quickened her pace, her mind weighing Granddad’s every word. She longed to be wrong.
Back in her room, the ache in her heart matched the turmoil in her mind. The motorcycle she’d seen at the cemetery didn’t belong to the dead man but to a man who’d just threatened her. Had he pulled the trigger? Who owned it? The cyclist’s driver warned her to stay away from Agent Wilkins... which translated that the driver, aka the Messenger, was Granddad’s enemy.
A man who had insight into her life.
A man who had followed her to Houston.
A man who either had murdered at the cemetery or knew who pulled the trigger.
A man who had no problem threatening her. But why? She knew nothing.
