My head bucked against the ground. I was now looking in the direction of Trenton University.
What sounded like firecrackers blasted all around us, lighting up the night sky, and I thought I heard Cody yelling. My friend always did like firecrackers, but these seemed to have surprised David, like candles reigniting after having been blown out.
I fought to keep my eyelids open to see what might befall David and Cody and the firecrackers, but they were shutting off involuntarily. Blackness was overtaking me.
With my last bit of mental clarity, I spoke a prayer, just a simple prayer—that somewhere on the other side, where the will ended and faith became sight, I might find Stephanie, whom I loved.
28
ONE MONTH LATER
I stood straight and proud, albeit on crutches. The spring sun was making me warm in my suit. A couple dozen chairs were angled toward me on either side of the center aisle. Faces beamed and presents glistened from a table in the back.
Music played—just no Mozart.
“You nervous?” Cody said, leaning in from his position to my left.
“You have the ring?”
Cody squinted hard and bared his teeth playfully.
“Funny.”
The entrance music played and the guests turned their heads.
Stephanie turned into the center aisle, hair done up and beautiful, her dress white and sparkly. She was radiant in every way, with the kind of piercing eyes that could speak more persuasively than most people’s mouths.
The agent who had been assigned to protect her, Whalen, never stood a chance. Sure, Agent Hernandez may have popped out of the bathroom at a fortunate moment, but it was Stephanie’s way with words and the brilliance of faking her death with ketchup that had saved her and the girls while also fooling the conductor.
Cody whistled and I jabbed him in the side, never taking my eyes off Stephanie.
“No, no, no,” Isabella said, stepping in front of Cody and me. “You can’t be moving.”
All of Isabella’s birthday friends, most of them eating cake in their seats, sighed.
“Just let them kiss and be done,” a boy named Alvin said. “I want to jump on the trampoline.” His mom, standing by the food table with half a dozen other parents, scolded him.
The three other adults in attendance—Rosetta, Alec, and Janet—smiled. I didn’t know what we were to each other, but having them here at Steph’s adamant request . . . it felt right.
Like Cody and me and every other so-called knot, they had consequences to face for the parts they’d played in the string. Not as terrible as those who’d lost their lives, but tormenting nonetheless.
Rosetta would have to learn to trust again.
Alec would have to pay for the secret he’d been hiding.
Janet might never again touch an electronic device after the elaborate staging she’d been forced to do for the conductor.
Stephanie finished her walk toward the makeshift altar. “You’re the ones who said yes to playing groom and groomsman. And let me tell you, if you don’t pull it together”—she wagged her finger at us—“little miss wedding planner is going to have us out here all day. Comprende?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we said.
Stephanie winked and made her way back to the other mingling adults, waiting for Isabella’s cue to begin again.
“Anything yet?” Cody said.
I knew what my friend was asking about. I knew who he was asking about. “No.”
He looked out over all the little cake-eating munchkins, who were looking as though they only had so much pretend wedding left in them. “We’ve got his name, face, DNA, the names, numbers, and addresses of everyone he’s been in contact with. Security details assigned, witness protection for those asking for it. His string is broken, and he can’t stay gone forever. The nation’s best are gunning for him now. He’s done.”
“You should have gone after him,” I said.
Cody scoffed. “Yeah. Chasing the conductor through the hundred-acre wood seemed much more attractive than saving your butt. They’ll find him, Haasy.”
But I wasn’t so sure. It was the way the conductor had spoken, his word choices and facial expressions. This wasn’t a guy who’d call it quits. How he’d spoken about this being nothing—it gave me the feeling I hadn’t seen the last of him. Which meant the people I loved hadn’t either. Stephanie and the girls wouldn’t be safe until the conductor was either behind bars or dead.
“I don’t think that’s enough.”
“What do you mean?”
I stared at Cody, not hiding my intent.
“You’re going after him.” My friend wasn’t pleased. “Better be with a badge.” He looked toward Stephanie’s charred house. “We’re already leashed up for treating the armory like a bargain bin.”
I nodded and jutted my chin at a car approaching Stephanie’s driveway.
“Bureau folks?” Recognition hit Cody. “Are you going back?”
“Just a debrief for now.”
“Steph know?”
About the meeting, yes. But about everything I had been thinking since I’d taken a leave from the university and SWAT . . . no. “I have a lot to think about.”
Isabella shouted, “It’s ready!” She hit Play on the walk-in music for Stephanie once again.
We remained perfectly still this time.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Steph as she stepped into position and began her walk. I loved this woman and only wanted to be with her. But my mind was telling me that the only way to keep her and her daughters safe . . . was to leave them and track down the conductor.
Still, nothing was certain. If the FBI would have me back—a big if—would they allow me to run point on the search for David? If so, would Steph feel safer with me in Trenton, or knowing that I was chasing the one who’d made her life a nightmare? If finding the conductor was the only way to keep Steph and the girls safe, should her feelings even factor in the decision?
“Didn’t know a wedding could be such a bleak affair,” Stephanie said, stopping a few feet in front of me.
I forced a smile as one of the kids in the front row, Charles, pudgy and stout, stood up when Isabella drilled him with her eyes. It was Charles’s job to play the role of minister.
“Who’s giving Miss Banks to this other person?” The boy’s eyes grew large as he realized his misspoken line.
Stephanie bent at her knees and pressed air between her thumb and index finger. “This close.”
With a twinge of irritation, Isabella, playing the role of father of the bride, said, “Her daughter, which is I, and Tilly, who is younger than me.”
Stephanie grinned, trying to hold in a chuckle, and took up her position across from me. I took her hands.
The boy minister held up an open hand, which still had a good amount of cake on it. “Rings?”
Candy rings were produced. Cody handed a blueberry one to me while Isabella gave strawberry to Stephanie.
Minister Charles looked up at me, squinting. “You like her?”
I nodded at him.
Charles turned to Stephanie. “You like him?”
Stephanie smiled and winked at me.
“Gross,” the boy said.
Isabella dropped her head and looked to be about a millisecond away from throwing a fit.
Seeing this, Charles, who looked to be in no mood for another run-through, blurted out, “You may kiss the bride!” He made a break for the food tables, and Isabella gave chase along with the rest of the kids.
Stephanie, Cody, and I laughed. But I never let go of Stephanie’s hands, and she noticed. I pulled her in close for a kiss.
“Markus Haas, during rehearsal?”
I kissed her and slipped something into her hand.
Steph pulled back, looked down, and saw the ring—the real one. She tried to speak but choked back tears and clung to me, and I to her.
We kissed, unconcerned with breathing.
Difficult decisions l
ay ahead, but this was the love of my life, the woman I wanted to spend my life with—and I’d do anything to keep her and her daughters safe.
“If you can be patient with me, I’m learning this faith thing.”
“Learning?” She shook her head, her smile fashioned by God himself. “You’re doing so much more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“OODA,” she said before grabbing my face and kissing me again.
I felt a presence mid-kiss and opened my eyes.
It was Cody, leaning in close. “Ya done? Because I’m freaking out here!” He hugged us and tried to pick us both up. “Love you guys.”
We pulled apart, and Cody’s eyes were drawn to the driveway. “Your visitor has arrived.”
“Visitor?” Steph said.
“I promise I’ll be right back,” I said to her.
“Hurry.” She smiled and nearly skipped her way over to the other parents, officially ending the party so that cleanup and goodbyes could commence.
I crutched my way to the car that had pulled up. Cody followed but kept his distance.
The back window rolled down.
“Can you give me five?” I asked.
“Take ten,” the man inside said. “I’ll chat with Caulkins there. He doesn’t shut up, from what I hear.”
Cody perked up. “So you’ve heard about me,” he hollered. “Looking for talent?”
I grinned and made my way back to Stephanie to help her clean up, but by the time I made it across the lawn, she was already hauling a load of wedding props over to the tiny house we’d set up for her. One would think downsizing from a four-thousand-square-foot home to something that sat atop a trailer would prove challenging. But the girls loved the tighter quarters—and even though Steph hadn’t verbalized it, I could tell she was experiencing relief now that the house Declan had built had burned.
Grabbing the edge of the tablecloth, which I figured was something I could pick up without making it worse, I noticed something at the end of the table. A card. Must have fallen off one of Isabella’s presents.
I picked it up and read the calligraphy, which simply read, Markus Haas.
I opened it.
Congratulations—we’re all fans now. Cordially, The Beekeeper.
Acknowledgments
Luke, for your insight, support, and friendship.
Kelsey, for making sure this story was told right.
Jessica, for your sharp eye and encouragement.
Woods Coffee and Starbucks, for your hospitality.
Caleb Breakey and his wife spent their wedding money on fifty-two books about writing fiction. Then, for years, he spent his days off penning stories for sixteen hours straight. He loves fiction because it teaches without a lecture, inspires without a speech, and entertains without any props.
Along with being an ECPA Award finalist and a winner of the prestigious Genesis Contest for fiction writers, Caleb is also the founder of Sermon To Book and Speak It To Book, the premier ghostwriting agencies for faith-filled thought leaders.
Caleb writes in the beautiful Pacific Northwest alongside his wife, Brittney, and enjoys visits from two mischievous mini huskies and a smiley Shiba Inu.
www.getthestring.com
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Table of Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
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