First Chapters with Sherri Wilson Johnson with ebook giveaway!

Some secrets are better left buried…or are they?

Kathryn Bellamy is the Assistant D.A. for Perkins County, Georgia. After detectives fail to retrieve a missing murder weapon, she travels to Cedar Key, Florida to find it herself. She finds more than she ever bargained for when she meets Phil Tagliaferro, a former defense attorney.

Phil is drawn to help Kathryn when he learns she’s receiving threats—until he finds out their pasts are connected and his association with her could mean death for them both. Kathryn won’t leave Cedar Key until she has unearthed the secrets…and the murder weapon, but she can’t do that without Phil.

Secrets Among the Cedars brings two people from opposite sides of a case together with one goal in mind: Justice. 

What else will they find in the process?

Secrets Among the Cedars

Intertwined Series

Book Two

By Sherri Wilson Johnson

Chapter One

Cedar Key, Florida

Kathryn Bellamy leaned against the steel pier railing and took a generous bite of her salted caramel ice cream which teetered over the edge of the waffle cone enveloping it. The creamy coolness slid down her throat as dolphins slipped through the water out to her right. The Gulf of Mexico's balmy salt-infused breeze whipped her hair away from her face and flapped her bohemian skirt and blouse against her road-weary body. It felt good to wear such freeing attire, so different from her normal suits she wore in the courtroom. After working at the courthouse for two solid years, seldom leaving the office before sunset, her hair and skin needed this kiss from the sun. Too bad she wasn't in Cedar Key for pleasure. This tiny fishing village below the Suwannee River would be the perfect place for her to relax and regain her focus on life.

Pelicans and sea gulls soared across the early evening orange and pink sky, and fishermen pulled their boats in beneath billowing clouds. A pelican balanced on the railing and waited for something to eat in the lapping water. Day's end was almost at hand. The six-hour trip from home northwest of Atlanta made Kathryn ache to stretch out on the king-sized bed at her rental condo. She might be here to research the Ezzo murder case, a make-it-or-break-it case for her career, but something about this sparsely populated island on the scrubby nature coast of Florida pushed her woes off the edge of the pier and out into the bayou.

She took another bite of her ice cream and licked her lips, but when whoops and hollers escaped from the people at the end of the pier, her enchantment ended. She squinted in the glare of the sunlight. A scrawny gray-haired man in a T-shirt and cut-off jeans whacked a well-toned and well-tanned young man on the back. What was all the fuss about?

Ice cream dripped down Kathryn's arm, and she took another bite of melting paradise. She wiped her arm and then tossed her soggy napkin in a nearby trashcan, filled with remnants of sunbaked squid and shrimp. Another roar of victory came from the crowd, and she couldn’t help but direct her attention to the racket. Her curiosity ran away with her like a runaway buggy in the Wal-mart parking lot back home. Well, she'd have to meet the locals anyway if she was going to figure out the connection between the biggest murder case in her county and this dreamy spot, so she might as well start with this commotion at the end of the pier.

Kathryn marched toward the excitement, her new leather sandals clacking against her heels and then on the concrete. She ate the last bite of cone and rubbed her fingers together, the sticky ice cream coating her hand and arm. She should've gotten more napkins at the ice cream shop. She laughed and stepped around someone's cooler. Look where she was. The end of a pier with a bunch of fishermen and tourists in a place that felt like it was 5:00 p.m. twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Her stickiness didn’t matter.

She stood on her tiptoes and looked over the crowd. Mr. Center-of-attention held a fishing rod, bigger around than any she'd ever seen before, with a shark, four-feet long at least, attached to its end. He wiped his sweat-dampened brow with a red bandana as the onlookers huddled around him. Kathryn's mouth fell open and alarm inched its way down her spine. There were sharks in the shallow waters of Daughtry Bayou? No way was she going to dip so much as her pinky toe in there. She'd stick to business while she was here and swim in the pool at her condo.

The buzzing crowd dissipated, but her curiosity carried her right up to the lucky fisherman to get a closer look at the shark before he released it back into its natural habitat.

"Hey! Don't throw it over yet. I want to see it." Kathryn examined the leather-like body and the ominous teeth of this notorious creature. "Oh, that gives me the heebie-jeebies." She shuddered and backed away.

When he laughed, a pair of smooth and creamy eyes, the color of her caramel ice cream and at least six inches above her own, knocked all thoughts of his big catch out of Kathryn's mind. His chestnut-brown closely cut hair, side-parted to the left, gave him the look of a schoolboy, but his well-trimmed beard detracted from the boyish guise. What was a polished man like this doing on a grimy fishing pier in this remote place? He fit into this scene as poorly as Daddy did at the bowling alley.

"Did I scare you?" This man, with an upper East Coast accent thicker than molasses on one of Aunt Anne’s biscuits, gripped his fishing rod and held the shark's head down with his foot.

Kathryn gulped down the bulge in her throat and attempted to pull her attention away from his eyes—oddly familiar eyes. Did she know him? She stammered for the right words. "No…no, you didn't scare me." She swept her gaze across the shark, now flopping chaotically on the pier. "But he sure did." She pointed out to the water and shook her head. "To think I was considering going swimming in there!"

"Nobody swims in there." He laughed again and cut the hook out of the shark's mouth. Then he grabbed its tail with his left hand and squeezed its body against his chest with his right arm. He started to hoist it over the railing and back into the water, muscles bulging beneath his soiled tank top.

"Wait! Can I take a picture of it before you throw it back?" No one would believe the shark story if she didn't have proof of it.

"Sure. But hurry." The shark thrashed against his chest.

Kathryn yanked her phone out of her purse, clicked on the camera icon, and snapped his picture. "Thanks!"

He tossed the monster back into the sea. "No problem." He wiped his hands on the back of his shorts and extended his right one to her. "I'm Phillip. How ya doin'?"

Her cheeks burned. It had to be from the sun. At least that's what she'd blame it on. She reached out and accepted his hand, the waves crashing against the concrete pillars. "I'm Kathryn. Nice to meet you."

"Same here." Phillip pulled his hand away and looked at his palm. He raised his right eyebrow and tugged back the left corner of his mouth.

Kathryn gasped. "I'm so sorry! My hand is sticky from the ice cream I was eating a few minutes ago—before you distracted me with your catch." She captured the back of her skirt as a gust of wind threatened to rip it from her body.

"Oh, so it's my fault your hand's sticky?" He winked and commandeered a hook out of his tackle box.

"Maybe not entirely." She giggled. "Someone on the sidewalk told me Island Trading Post had the best ice cream, so I had to try it. I picked the wrong time of day to eat it outside, I suppose, because it started melting before I made it to the pier." She held her right hand up, palm facing Phillip. "Anyway, your shark blood and fishiness trump my stickiness any day."

He tied a hook the size of her cell phone on the end of his line, placed on it a chunk of something that looked and smelled rotten, and released his line out into the brackish water. He lifted his sunglasses from where they hung on the front of his shirt and eased them onto his face then glanced over his bronzed shoulder. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've got some hand wipes in my tackle box there, if you need one."

"Thanks." Kathryn accepted his offer. Ice cream and bait were a disgusting combination.

"If you'd like, we could get an ice cream together this evening when it cools down. They don’t close till 8:00 p.m."

A melted chocolate sensation flowed throughout her at this stranger's boldness. He was braver than most men she knew. "Oh, well, thank you for asking. I'm actually only here for a few days to work and don't have a lot of time on my hands."

He nodded and cranked his reel a few turns. "No problem. Just thought I'd offer."

She crossed her arms and encircled her elbows with her index fingers, something she'd done since childhood when she had a decision to make. Daddy had always warned her against doing it in the courtroom because he said it made her look indecisive. Right now, she was indecisive. She swayed and tapped her right foot on the pier's concrete deck. What would be the harm in a little old ice cream? This guy seemed nice.

She dropped her hands to her sides and balled her fists. No! What was she thinking? This whimsical place had already caused her to loosen up a bit too much. She'd better get back to the condo where she wouldn't be tempted to fritter away any more of her time. "Thanks, but I really can't."

"The offer comes with a rain check. If you change your mind, I'll be here a while."

#

Kathryn tucked her left foot underneath her on the sofa and rubbed her right foot across Sadie's back, calming her woofing. The taupe-and-chestnut brindled Silken Windhound slept on the shag rug between the sofa and the coffee table, her silken, white legs twitching as if she were chasing a rabbit. They'd both slept through the entire night without stirring, the bed in the master bedroom like a marshmallow cloud. Kathryn sunk deeper into the over-stuffed sofa, which she'd be tempted to take home with her if the design wasn't seashells and sand dunes.

She'd never before seen an evening like last night. The sunset's pinks and purples majestically swept across her heart and freed her like an ensnared animal set free from a trap. The sea breeze, a welcome intruder, had rocked her and Sadie to sleep. After the drive down, which had tied her back and neck into knots, and the hours of research she'd done after dinner, a night like last night was the perfect ending to her week. Now she must get her mind off relaxation and back on the case. A win would guarantee her promotion to Senior Assistant District Attorney, and she’d be one step closer to her goals.

Kathryn walked Sadie, tossed her leash on the island's granite top, and opened the treat jar, white with black puppy paws on it. "Here you go, girl." Sadie swallowed the biscuit whole. Goodness, she acted as if she were starving. "Sadie! Shame on you. You couldn't have tasted that." Sadie whimpered and ran to her bed beside the sliding glass door.

Kathryn changed into her white Bermuda shorts, coral camisole, and floral-printed mesh shirt. Back in the kitchen, painted turquoise-and-yellow with starfish and crabs everywhere, she reached for her keys and purse. "I'll be back in a bit." Sadie's white ears drooped, and she whimpered again. "I'm sorry. I won't be gone long. I want to get a good meal in me and get a few things from the grocery store before I start digging further into this case."

She needed to nose around town to see if anyone knew about the pistol used in the murders. She groaned, stepped out on the covered porch, and locked the door. She’d walk to town, but since she'd have groceries when she returned, she'd drive.

She turned on to 8^th Street at the end of the long crushed-shell path, then right onto G Street. Small bushes and flowering shrubs decorating the yards of cottages and condos led the way to town. She rounded the bend where G Street became 1^st Street and inched her way along, studying a ramshackle building on stilts out in the water. It hadn't fared well against the storms and harsh sea winds.

That's how she felt these days. Life as an Assistant D.A. was often like trying to survive a hurricane without a storm shelter. Was the promotion really worth all this?

On Dock Street, where she'd gotten her ice cream and dinner yesterday, she parallel-parked in the only remaining spot in front of a sandwich shop, next to the pier entrance. She climbed the flight of stairs and entered the restaurant. Utensils clinked on dishes and the thirty plus patrons’ voices hummed, while island music serenaded everyone from the overhead speakers.

"Welcome," the waitress wiping down a table in the corner called out and waved. "Feel free to seat yourself. The porch is open out back if you'd like to watch the fishing on the pier."

"Thank you." Kathryn adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her right ear. Her cheeks had to be as pink as a flamingo. She could stand in front of a courtroom full of people all day, but hated looking like a newcomer in a local spot.

"Thanks for joining us today!" The cook yelled through an open window behind the bar.

Kathryn waved and smiled, then scooted toward the porch door. Maybe out there she could sit alone without bringing too much attention to herself. She found a seat at a table with a side view of the pier. An older couple in bike shorts with helmets sat at the table facing the windows, but no one else occupied the porch.

The menu wasn’t anything fancy, just biscuits and sandwiches. At least coffee shared a spot on the menu. She needed a lot of it today to get motivated to work. It might've been a bad idea coming to Cedar Key alone. Without pressure from her co-workers, she wasn't inspired to do anything but relax.

After she ordered a patty melt and fries from a waitress with a smile brighter than the sun, she slid the menu into its holder and yawned. Regardless of her good night's sleep, she'd stayed up too late reviewing the Ezzo file. They'd had enough suspicion to arrest Ezzo on murder charges, but would the charges stick? Ezzo knew the dead men from Long Island but that didn’t mean he was responsible in any way for those deaths. But he had to be. The problem was: without a murder weapon, everything they had was circumstantial.

However, Louie Ezzo was a high-profile man who didn’t seem to be the type of crime lord to waste his time or his freedom on his lackeys, Bobby Esposito and Manny La Duca, and he certainly wouldn’t waste it on small town men from Perkins County like Stephen Diggs and Tommy Jones. It just didn’t fit. Maybe she’d watched too many mobster movies, but a man like Louie Ezzo was powerful enough to hire someone to do his dirty work for him.

The weapon was missing, so that narrowed Kathryn’s chances of nailing Ezzo with these charges. Witnesses had overheard Ezzo in jail talking to someone about Cedar Key and the gun. That's the only lead she had. Her investigators had come up empty-handed when they'd been here. Maybe she’d find a witness somewhere and figure out how Cedar Key factored into these murders. This community wasn't that large. She'd search out the Chief of Police after lunch and see if he could help her make some headway on this case.

The waitress brought a glass of water and silverware to the table, then hovered over the couple, who must have been regulars judging by their conversation with the waitress about their grandchildren. Kathryn sipped her water through a straw and let her gaze follow the pier walkway out to the end where she'd seen the shark and the terrific-looking guy from New York. Phillip, was it?

She pulled out her phone and opened her gallery of photos. She studied the picture of this handsome man with his shark. She sighed. They didn't make them like that back home. Something about him was familiar, but he was no homegrown country boy. Not with that accent. There was no way she'd seen him before.

The patio door opened with a squeak, and Kathryn turned her attention to the intruder of her peace and quiet. A giggle escaped her throat when Phillip shut the door behind him and nodded. She shoved her phone into her purse, heat rushing to her face.

Dressed in blue-and-white plaid shorts, a deep blue graphic T, and sandals, he surveyed the porch through eyes hidden behind black horn-rimmed frames. He made his way to her table, and her heart threatened to leap out of her chest, jump through the screened window, and flop into the water below as Phillip's shark had done yesterday.

Text copyright © Sherri Wilson Johnson, 2015. All Rights Reserved.

~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR 

Sherri Wilson Johnson is a multi-published Inspirational Romance novelist, speaker, virtual assistant and self-publishing coach. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and is passionate about writing, publishing, and marketing.

Sherri has been published in 101 Simple Ways to Show Your Husband You Love Him by Kathi Lipp (Harvest House), Powerline 365 by Nicole O'Dell (Choose NOW Ministries), Open Hearts Family: Connecting with One Another by Jane Seymour (Running Press, Hachette Book Group), The Writing Academy’s Daily Devotions for Writers, and several homeschool publications.

 

She is the author of To Dance Once More, To Laugh Once More, and When Love Must Wait from her Hope of the South series, and Song of the Meadowlark and Secrets Among the Cedars from her Contemporary Suspense series, Intertwined.

Sherri lives in Georgia with her husband and her Chihuahua. She loves spending time with her adult children and friends or curling up with a good book or her current work-in-progress. Sherri enjoys doing jigsaw puzzles in the winter, watching Bob Ross painting videos (although she can't paint), and counts the days every year until she can take another trip to the beach.

Check out Secrets Among the Cedars here.

Leave a comment for a chance to win an ebook of Secrets Among the Cedars!

First Chapters with Gail Pallotta, author of Breaking Barriers

In this action-packed thriller gunshots ring out as Ann Jones enters church. She hides in the bathroom until they stop then stumbles into the sanctuary. The congregation lies dead in pools of blood. To rebuild the church she starts True Light Guardians. At the first meeting she’s attacked by a terrorist but rescued by James Crawford. He melts her heart, cold from her father’s abuse, and they fall for each other. She’s afraid to commit to love that might grow angry later like the type she knew as a child. James yearns to stop other attempts on Ann’s life, but can’t. Tormented by her constant risks, he breaks up with her. When an assault sends her to the hospital, an unlikely ally shares Ann’s plight with James, but he reveals a lead that puts all three of them in even more danger.

 ~~

CHAPTER ONE

Ann Jones smoothed the front of her black skirt as she entered the narthex of the church.

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God almighty...

The powerful song resounded from behind the sanctuary’s oak doors. Late for the service again, Ann hurried past a flower arrangement of brown-eyed Susans on a mahogany table with a picture of Jesus above it.

A loud rat-a-tat-tat-rat-a-tat-tat ripped the air. Was that a gun? She shook her head. The noise commenced again. Screams echoed from the sanctuary, and another round blasted Ann’s ears.

She ran past the receptionist’s desk to the bathroom, ducked into a stall, and crouched on the cold beige tile floor. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she shivered. More bullets rang out. She buried her head in her arms to hush the noise of hate and terrifying cries for help.

Finally, a siren whirred in the distance, and the shots stopped.

Shaking from head to toe, Ann placed her hands on the wall opposite the sinks and moved them up, one over the other, steadying herself as she stood. She took deep breaths, forced one foot in front of the other, and plodded out. Her knees almost buckled as she headed down the hall, the flowers blurring through her tears. She stepped to a door at the sanctuary and stopped in her tracks, her chest so tight she barely could breathe. She reached out to open it, and her hand trembled. What if she could help someone, and she didn’t? She crept inside.

Shattered stained glass lay at her feet in a pool of blood on the hardwood floor. She yelled, sank down on an oak pew, sobbed, and shook. Dead bodies of close friends and acquaintances littered the room, some still sitting in their seats, their lifeless eyes focused on the altar. Others lay flat on the floor in the aisles or between the pews. The minster was facing down in front of the altar. The choir members slumped in their seats behind him, their heads lowered. A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jones. I heard the gun as I gathered the trash can in the men’s room. I dropped it and came running. Before the shooter saw me I jumped in the closet and dialed 911.” The misty look in the janitor’s green eyes faded. Then everything went black.

Ann woke with a paramedic holding a damp cloth on the back of her head. He escorted her away from the massacre, but the memory stayed with her, nagging her day and night. A passion to prevent such an atrocity from ever happening again erupted inside her.

* * *

The following Friday, Ann stood at the head of an oval-shaped mahogany table in the boardroom of independently owned Allied Bank and Trust of White Sands, Florida. The plush black leather chairs and expensive window shades spoke of John Howard, the president’s, success. Ann inhaled deeply and steadied herself before she spoke. “First, I’d like to thank John for the use of this room.” She nodded toward a tall, blond-haired man with a muscular build.

He smiled, and she directed her gaze to the audience.

“Next, thank you for taking time from your evening to attend this meeting. I’ll be honest with you. I tried to ignore the voice in my head that shouted at me to arrange it, but I couldn’t. The surviving members of Christ Church must carry on for those who died. Those who went to worship nearly three weeks ago on a bright, sunny September morning surely expected it to be like any other Sunday.”

Ann held up a handful of papers. “These notes threaten us with more attacks if we return to the church or openly display our Bibles and religious symbols. Yes, they frighten me. But we’ve taken the first step tonight toward defeating this faction and reestablishing our church.”

James Crawford gazed at Ann. His blue eyes pulled her into them like an undertow in the ocean, and she lost her train of thought. She blinked. Annabelle Georgie’s brother. She’d seen him briefly when she arrived. Annabelle was a friend and a member of Christ’s Church. Nonetheless, growing up with an abusive father, Ann had no intentions of letting any man’s eyes capture so much of her attention.

She focused on those attending the meeting. “I love the name we’ve chosen for our group—True Light Guardians. We’ll create a security plan before we reopen the church. In the meantime, convening at different locations should allow True Light Guardians to stay underground. Lloyd Blackwood’s reserved the clubhouse in Dunes by the Sea for us on Saturday, October twelfth. Arrive

at three-thirty, the scheduled time for the Florida College / Florida Tech game. Our meeting will appear to be a football party. Okay, if no one else has anything to add, Lloyd will dismiss us with prayer.”

Lloyd’s lanky body looked like a large puppet springing to life as he stood. He lowered his chin. “Our Heavenly Father, thank you for those in attendance. Please give us the courage and perseverance to reorganize. We ask your blessing on this work. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

Chairs scraped the floor and papers rustled as men and women vacated the room. Mr. Howard clicked off the light and guided Ann toward the parking lot. Knowing in her heart she’d followed a calling and found others to stand with her, she stepped out with a sense of satisfaction.

Mr. Howard paused at the entrance to the building, his height and broad shoulders dwarfing Ann. “As one of the surviving members of our congregation, I want to thank you for insisting we make plans to breathe new life into our church.”

One good thing Ann’s father gave her was his iron will. That, coupled with the strong faith her mother passed on to her, had surely played a big part in allowing her to move forward.

“And thank you for your help.”

Mr. Howard slipped into the front seat of his sports car, backed out, and left.

Ann ambled away from the spotlight into the shadow around her car. Blows smacked her in the back. She stumbled and nearly fell, confusion filling her mind. Another whack landed on her head. She put her hands over it and trembled. Someone thrust a fist in her shoulder. In pain, she screamed and crumpled to the pavement. Suddenly the beating stopped, and feet pounded the cement. An arm draped softly across her shoulder, ragged breaths falling on her neck. “Are you all right? I ran here as fast as I could as soon as I heard you cry out.”

Ann rubbed her aching head, turned, and gazed into James’s blue eyes. “I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.” He gently touched her noggin. “You have a knot. I’ll take you to the ER. Better safe than sorry. But first we need to call the police.”

Why had someone attacked her? Ann clutched her purse. Had he wanted it? Would law enforcement officers ask where she’d been? “We can’t tell anyone about the meeting. No police.”

Wrinkles creased James’s brow as though he was deep in thought. “We’ll say a group from the church met here, but we won’t tell them why.” James pressed his lips tight. “You have to ensure the assault’s on record.”

James’s words swirled in a thick fog in Ann’s head, but he made sense. “Okay. Go ahead.”

James punched 911 on his smart phone and plopped down beside Ann.

Within five minutes a patrol car pulled into the bank parking lot. A policeman with blond hair and a trim build stepped out and marched to them. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Derick Northcut. What happened?” He stopped and stared. “Ann?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry to say, it’s me.”

Derick and Ann had known each other since their teens when Derick moved to White Sands. They’d never dated but had been good friends in high school. They’d shared milkshakes, class assignments, and a few dances too.

“Someone attacked her,” James said.

Derick peered at Ann with anxious green eyes. “Did you recognize the perpetrator?” He pulled a notepad from his back pocket.

“No. He hit me from behind and ran away when James came out of the building.”

Derick glanced at James. “Did you see him?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Derick flipped a page on his pad and redirected his gaze to Ann. “What were you doing at the bank after hours?”

“Mr. Howard, the owner, let us hold a church meeting.”

Derick stopped writing and looked up, his eyes wide. “Are you a member of Christ Church?”

Ann and Derick hadn’t chatted in years. She waved at him when he patrolled in front of Beach Lady, the ladies’ boutique she managed. That was about it. “Yes.”

He stiffened. “That’s nasty business. I’m sorry for your loss. From what we hear, other churches are receiving threats, not only here but in surrounding states as well. We need to stop these hate-mongers before their violence spreads nationwide. Do you think there’s a connection between your incident and the gunmen at your church? Has anyone threatened you personally?”

Ann turned to ice in the warm breeze. No one had addressed the warnings to her. The notes had come to the church through the mail, and one of the other members had picked them up.

What would Derick do as a policeman if he knew about True Light Guardians? Would he report it as an illegal organization to the government? Ann’s heart flip-flopped. His role in life was very different than it had been in high school. “No.”

“Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt you?”

“No. As far as I know, I don’t have any enemies.”

“Well, describe what occurred as best you can.”

“Mr. Howard and I walked out together. He left as I headed to my vehicle. I didn’t hear anyone approach me, but suddenly blows pounded my back so hard they knocked me down. The beating stopped. Footsteps commenced and disappeared into the distance. Next thing I knew James was at my side. He must have frightened my attacker when he strolled out of the building.”

Derick nodded. “Yes, I think he did. For now, you need to visit the ER and get checked out.”

“Yes sir, I’ll take her.” James touched Ann’s shoulder.

Derick leaned down and handed Ann a card. “If you think of anything later, please call.”

“I will.”

James pulled Ann close to him as Derick marched off. “Okay. Let’s stand up. There. Lean on me. We’re almost to my car. Here we are.” He helped her into a black sedan then slid into the driver’s seat. “Apparently, it’s dangerous to be a Christian. I’m on the session of a Presbyterian Church, and we recently received a threat. That’s why Annabelle suggested I visit the group tonight to see how you’re handling your situation.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

“Thank you.” Tears threatened to push themselves from Ann’s soul to her eyes, but she blinked. Crying would only make her head worse.

“If you don’t mind, I might bring some other Presbyterians to the meeting on October twelfth. We won’t share the information with anyone, but we need to band together now as Christians. I think you could help us do that.” James pulled up in front of the door to the ER and parked.

“We must remain underground to successfully put our plan into action, but as long as your members keep True Light Guardians secret, the more the better. Additional members and

ideas will make us stronger. I was shocked to hear the gunmen are terrorizing churches in other places.”

“Clearly the attack wasn’t a single incident, but part of someone’s hit list, probably an organized group.”

James hopped out of the car and trekked around to help Ann out. They strode together through the entryway, and Ann checked in at the desk.

* * *

The Worm hurried past the big window of Calvert’s, the finest steak house in White Sands. He barely glanced at the people sitting at linen-draped tables as he rushed to the back door. He pounded on it with both fists.

Finally, a voice inside yelled, “Boss, there’s someone banging outside.”

More than likely, Randolph Calvert floated from table to table in the restaurant putting on his fake smile and charming the customers with the right words, the ones he’d learned in a special class he attended on how to influence people. As far as The Worm knew, nothing but cold hate flowed from Randolph’s heart.

Finally, he opened the door. “I told you never to come here during working hours.”

“Yeah, well, I got something ta tell ya.”

The cook, Lemmy’s, blue eyes bugged out, but he quickly shifted his gaze to his gloved hands in a bowl of something that looked like marinade. Then he glanced up and flashed a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

The Worm peered at the dish, trying not to stare at Lemmy’s rotund belly. “Looks good.”

Randolph motioned toward a large pantry filled with canned goods and shut the door to the kitchen. He pushed a button and the back wall opened.

“Oh man, not the dungeon again. Can’t we talk in the restaurant? You could buy me a steak or something.”

Randolph pressed his hand against The Worm’s back, pushing him forward.

“Cut it out.” The Worm stumbled.

“You idiot. I don’t want anyone to know I’ve ever seen you. What do you want to tell me?”

“I need to try again. I thought the whole place was deserted when that guy, Howard, you know the one who owns the bank, came out and slid in his car. He should be the last to leave, right?” The Worm gestured toward Randolph, seeking agreement.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I pounced on her and was about to hit her a good one with the club when some man strolled out of the building.”

“Then what?”

“What do you mean, then what? I ran. It don’t do either of us any good if I’m caught.”

“Why you, I oughta knock you up the side of the head.”

“And dirty your hands? I don’t think so.”

Randolph glared at The Worm with dark, evil eyes. “That’s right. You’re disgusting with that black, scraggly stubble and greasy, stringy hair. No wonder someone gave you the name The Worm. You look like slime.”

Fire burned in The Worm’s stomach. He started to inform Mr. High and Mighty a couple guys he served with in the military named him The Worm because he slinked around on patrol without the enemy detecting him. Why bother? The Worm only wanted the $500,000 Randolph offered for killing Ann Jones. “Not everybody wants to look all shined-up and have a dainty little nose like yours. Some people want to look like a man. Anyway, it don’t matter what you think of me as long as you pay me.”

Randolph shoved The Worm’s shoulder. “Sit down. We need another plan. We must stop the little clique she started locally. I knew her at Florida College. She’s brilliant and dynamic. It won’t be long before whatever she concocts with her tiny band of Christians...” His mouth puckered as though he tasted something bad when he said the word Christians. “...will spread to other churches we attack.”

The Worm plopped down in the wooden straight-back chair at the small, rickety table. He hated this hideaway. There were no windows and the bare sheetrock walls, which had never been painted, had turned gray. It reminded him of his room in the house where he grew up. Hopelessness wafted through the air, and the musty smell was the same odor that nearly suffocated him each time his mother locked him in there to keep him out of her way. It was all he could do to breathe in here.

Randolph hit the table with his fist and it wobbled. “I don’t know the source of her strength and brains, but she’s one successful broad when she wants to be. This time it’s imperative that the anti-Christian movement abolish every trace of Christianity. When I was a U.S. senator, I learned as long as people are strong in their faith, some even willing to die for it, those with the movement can’t take over this country. And then, I can’t line my pockets and fork over satchels of cash for you to do our dirty work, so what’s the new plan?”

The Worm could feel the cash in his hands. “I hope you idiots don’t go public as Out to Exploit Others. Nobody will go for it.”

“Of course not. This time we’re thinking of making the mantra Enlightened Fairness for All.” Randolph shrugged his shoulders. “Or, whatever works, whatever people want to hear right now, possibly something about finances and fairness. Yeah, I like that. We’ll see.”

The Worm knitted his eyebrows. It was hard to think around Randolph with grand ideas and schemes flowing from his mouth like a rushing river. “Next time I’ll follow her for a while and find a better place to attack. I’ll pull it off. You’ll see.”

~~ 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR  

Award-winning author Gail Pallotta is a wife, mom, swimmer and bargain shopper who loves God, beach sunsets and getting together with friends and family. A former regional writer of the year for American Christian Writers Association, she won Clash of the Titles in 2010. Her teen book, Stopped Cold, was a best-seller on All Romance eBooks, finished fourth in the Preditors and Editors readers’ poll, and was a finalist for the 2013 Grace Awards. She’s published five books, poems, short stories and two-hundred articles. Some of her articles appear in anthologies while two are in museums. Visit Gail’s website at http://www.gailpallotta.com.

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