Hope White - Hidden in Shadows

Luke grabbed her and hit the floor.

Here she was, knocked on the ground again. Not exactly how she pictured her first night home. She’d hoped to get into a bubble bath to wash the plane scum from her skin, sip a cup of chamomile tea and crawl beneath her down comforter.

Instead, someone was shooting at her.

“Stay here.” Agent McIntyre stood and pressed his back against the wall.

“But the cat—”

He pressed two fingers to his lips to shush her. His expression was fierce, intense. She was glad she wasn’t on his bad side. She started to get up.

“Right there,” he ordered, slipping a gun from inside his jacket.

Her breath caught at the memory of little Armando Morales. Images of the little boy covered in blood, moaning in pain, made her freeze in place. Armando had been an innocent bystander caught in a territorial shoot-out among drug dealers.

Yet he was just a child.

The whole experience reminded her how lucky she was. She may not have had a father or siblings, but she lived a safe, healthy life in Wentworth.

At least she had…until tonight.

The stairs creaked as Agent McIntyre went to investigate. She scooted to the door and leaned into the doorjamb, wishing that this was some kind of crazy dream brought on by exhaustion. Sure, she’d returned home, downed a few scoops of casserole and had crawled into bed. The peas in the casserole didn’t agree with her, sparking nightmares that began with her being chased down by her garage stalker.

Another popping sound shattered that wishful thinking. It sounded farther away than the first, definitely from outside. Her windows hadn’t been shattered by the shots.

“Anastasia?” she whispered, needing a hug, even from a crazy cat.

Hugs were something she sorely missed since Gran passed away and Mom moved to Florida with Lenny. Krista missed a lot of things and had hoped to fill that emptiness with her missionary work with kids, and maybe, in the not too distant future, a loving husband and children of her own.

Only, she was a disaster in the relationship department and had decided to stop looking so hard. She prayed about her life, asked God to help her find inner peace.

Kind of hard to find peace when people are shooting at you.

“Miss Yates?” Agent McIntyre called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes?”

“It’s safe. You can come down.”

She headed downstairs where the intense, yet handsome, agent was waiting for her. Her eyes caught on the gun in his hand and she froze.

He glanced at his weapon. “Sorry.” He shoved it into its holster and pulled his jacket over it to conceal the weapon.

“The gunshot?” she asked.

“A neighbor was trying to scare off a raccoon. The chief’s out there talking to him now.”

“Probably the Bender kid. Someone should tell his dad to lock up the rifle.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Come on, let’s take your statement about the man in the garage before you fall asleep on us.”

She ambled through the living room. “With all this adrenaline rushing through my body I doubt I’ll ever sleep again.”

Anastasia raced past her into the kitchen.

“How about some tea?” she offered over her shoulder.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Was he ever. Agent McIntyre was good at being there to protect Krista, acting confident and unshakable. He was pretty nice to look at, too.

Warning! Sleep alert!

She was not one to ogle a stranger, but she was tired, hungry and confused. A man had broken into her house and garage. Looking for what? And wait a second, why was a federal agent at her house?

She turned to him. “Hey, you never told me why you’re here.”

“First things first. Let’s get ice for your cheek.”

She touched her face. “It looks bad?”

“Not yet, but it will if you don’t ice it.” He took a kitchen towel from the rack, opened the freezer and dropped a handful of cubes in it. He reached out to place it on the bruise and she took it from him.

“Thanks,” she said, holding it in place and leaning against the counter. “You’re an expert at first aid?”

“I’ve been knocked down a few times.”

Yeah, she could see that. He was tough, the kind of man who stayed focused and didn’t back down from a fight.

“Ready to give a statement?” he said.

“Sure.”

Chief Cunningham stepped into the kitchen from the back door. “I gave the Bender kid a lecture about firearms. Took away the rifle for the time being, until his dad gets back from his business trip.”

“I was about to question Miss Yates,” Agent McIntyre said.

“Please call me Krista. Miss Yates makes me feel like an old maid.”

“Okay, Krista.” Agent McIntyre sat at the kitchen table and opened a small notebook.

Good, he looked less intimidating sitting instead of towering over her. The man had to be over six feet tall, dwarfing her five-foot-three-inch frame. His good looks and hard-edged demeanor made her uncomfortable. He was different than the few men she’d dated in Wentworth.

Not just different. He was a cynical man who’d chosen a violent career.

She sighed and found a bag of chamomile tea. She’d lost her dad to violence and saw what violence did to innocent children on her mission trips. Krista believed in discussing problems, praying about them. She wondered if a man like Luke McIntyre ever prayed. She doubted it.

“Can you describe the man in your garage?”

“No, I’m sorry. He was wearing a skeleton mask.”

The agent hesitated in his note taking. Why?

“Did anything unusual happen at the airport in Mexico before you boarded?” he continued, focusing his blue-green eyes on his notepad. She’d noticed their brilliant color when he’d helped her trap Anastasia.

“Nothing unusual other than missing my first flight, which meant missing my connection in Chicago, and then losing my luggage.”

“Did anyone talk to you at the airport?”

“Not really.”

“Anyone at all. The slightest, seemingly insignificant conversation could help us.”

“I chatted with a young mother. She had the cutest little newborn.”

“Any men?”

“I don’t like talking to men.”

The agent snapped his eyes to meet hers. “You don’t talk to men?”

“Strangers. I don’t trust them.”

“Smart girl.”

Irked, she turned her back to him and poured hot water into the cup. “Thank you, Agent McIntyre, but I stopped being a girl ten years ago.”

Silence filled the room. She’d overreacted. She couldn’t help it. Being called a “girl” hit a nerve.

It reminded her of when she was a little girl, innocent and trusting. When she made the mistake of talking to a stranger.

“Anyway, no talking with strangers,” she said, turning to Agent McIntyre.

Chief Cunningham stood quietly in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. He knew the story, the loss and devastation to the Yates family. The chief was the only one who knew the truth, knew that Mom and Krista had fled to Wentworth from California because the little girl had been so close to a killer, looked him in the eye, even shook his hand.

Krista had been only five when she’d told the stranger that Father was still at work in the Lincoln building. No one could have anticipated how that bit of information would change everyone’s lives. It led the disheartened investor to Dad’s office where an argument turned violent and Dad was killed.

After Dad’s death, Mom fretted that the killer would come back for Krista since she’d seen him, so Mom packed up their belongings and moved to Gran’s house in Michigan. A year later they got word that Dad’s killer had been caught and sentenced to life in prison.