Page 73 of Concrete Evidence
He stepped closer and gently grasped her shoulders. “You’re not trained, and you’ve experienced how serious these people are. Let me work the investigation and keep you safe.”
She touched his face. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.” Her touch heated him from head to toe. Everything about her he liked. Yet keeping her, Mom, and Tessa safe meant sacrificing his growing feelings. For now.
Marc wished the time at the ranch could have been relaxing instead of requiring a safe-house solution. With Tessa beside him, they walked through the stables. He thought of Roden and how his friend appreciated all the ranch had to offer. Marc needed to check on him before going to bed tonight—after talking to the ranch hands.
“I love the smell of fresh hay,” he said. “Seems like I can taste it, and I mean that in a good way.”
She glanced around them. “All I can say is it’s amazing. I can’t imagine growing up here.”
“Me either.” He reached into his back pocket. “I have an idea to help you stay in contact with your grandmother,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He handed her a small recorder. “A little archaic, but it works. Record messages for her, and I’ll make sure they’re sent to hospice.”
Her eyes widened. “Thank you.” She tilted her head and studied him.
“What’s going on?”
“I was thinking about how God’s helping me deal with Dad’s death and Gram’s sickness. But what about you? How do you handle the bad things in life?”
“I process. Analyze. If that doesn’t work, I figure God had a reason for whatever happened.”
“Dad said the same thing. I mean, God always has a reason for what’s going on. You’re more like him than you think.”
Marc wanted to probe deeper with her claim, but his priority was her safety.
She inhaled deeply. “So you’re Christian?”
Where was this conversation going? “I made a decision at a junior high church camp. My mother is a believer, and I know you are. Why? Is there something going on, and you need to talk about it?”
“Just asking.” Tessa peered inside a stall. “Our dad became a Christian five years ago.”
Marc wasn’t going there about his father when he needed to think through past assumptions and facts. “My faith has its ups and downs.”
“Because of your control-freak personality and job?”
Oh, the bluntness of youth. “Are you analyzing me, little sister?” He sighed for her benefit. “I always have questions about faith and where God fits in the whole scheme of life.”
“But you believe in Jesus?”
Why did this feel like an interrogation? “Yes. Without a doubt.”
“Just checking to be sure. Ready for another question?” He lifted his chin and she continued. “What would you ask Jesus if you had one-on-one time with Him?”
“Hard to wrap my brain around that. I could have a huge list or nothing at all.”
“Jesus can handle all your questions. Are you mad at Him?”
Mad? “And this is all about faith, or are you headed in a particular direction? If this is about my job, I believe faith and my commitment to the FBI walk hand in hand.”
“So do I.” She held up her palm. “I’ve frustrated you. I can tell by the lines crinkling across your forehead.”
He laughed. “You’d do well in law enforcement.”
“Dad said I’d do well in the military. But I’m not interested in either. Talking about Dad and God puts you in a nasty mood.”
