Page 77 of A Surefire Love
He took a second pass. And a third.
The kid might’ve left before he’d arrived. Or someone might really need his help and not want to admit it. If the student thought he’d left, he or she might come out of hiding.
He shut the lights off, went outside to move his car out of sight, and jogged back, staying in the shadows. A couple of homes stood across the road, and if someone spotted him skulking around the building, they might call the cops. It’d sure be fun explaining this.
He let himself in through a seldom-used back door and crept through the dark to the sanctuary. There, he waited. The heat kicked on. A distant siren sounded. A clunk turned his head, but when it sounded again, he realized it came from the ductwork.
How long would a displaced student hide?
Blaze might have ideas about what to do, given how often she’d been left to fend for herself, but was it worth waking her in the middle of the night when he was fairly certain he was here alone?
Probably not.
He stood in the darkness. “If you’re here, I can help.”
No one stepped through the shadows.
What more could he do?
Defeated, he dragged himself home and went online to order cameras for all the doors, including the emergency exits. He’d get the board’s approval before he installed them, but he wouldn’t ask the church to foot the bill when the budget was already tight. Helping a hurting student was worth a few hundred dollars of his own money.
He was comparing camera features when his phone vibrated. He pounced on the device, expecting another movement alert.
Instead, he found a message from Eric Newsome. At two in the morning? He tapped to read the text.
The church is on fire.
29
Blaze let her eyes sink closed as she stretched first thing in the morning. Her muscles responded with the languid ease of a sleepy cat. How long had it been since she’d slept so soundly? Weeks? Months? Ever?
For the first time in her life, she had a diagnosis and a plan for dealing with the symptoms that haunted her. She’d been on an amazing first date. Mercy was doing well too.
Her eyes eased open to sunlight glowing through the curtains. She rose and pushed the fabric back so the rays spilled over her. It was like Jesus had finally lifted the shadowy curse she’d described to Anson, and the future looked bright. It was almost like going back to before she realized her mom was an alcoholic. Before the garage fire.
Your brain is a powerful asset, Jennifer.
The compliment was flattering, but the use of her name had hit her more powerfully. She should’ve taken Anson up on his offer to call her by her given name, at least once in a while. Not the full name—she’d never gone by Jennifer—but she was no longer the little girl who’d been called Jenny, either. Jen, perhaps?
Her stomach flipped at the thought of that name on Anson’s lips. She turned from the window and headed downstairs to make coffee.
As she padded through the living room on her way to the kitchen, she spotted her testimony littering the armchair beside the couch. She plucked the pages up. She shouldn’t have left such personal notes out for anyone to read, especially not spread all over Mercy’s favorite chair.
Blaze straightened. Shewouldn’thave left the testimony like this. She’d left it on the coffee table to edit later. She hadn’t thought Mercy would notice it next to the stacks of forms, bills, and junk mail. Blaze herself couldn’t say whether the papers had been on the chair or the table when she’d come in last night.
She leafed through the papers. Several had been wrinkled. Mercy had definitely read the pages. Her gaze landed on a line near a newly torn edge:I resented having to take care of Mom and Mercy.Blaze’s stomach rolled. She’d made her sister feel like a burden. How could she have been so careless?
Mercy was usually up by now, but if she’d read this, it was no wonder she hadn’t shown her face yet.
Blaze went down and pushed open her sister’s bedroom door. Light from the window spilled over the empty bed. On the nightstand, her sister’s phone was still on the charger.
“Mercy?” She flicked on the light. BunBun froze with his mouth full of hay. After a moment, his nibbling continued. Mercy wasn’t by the desk, closet, or hutch.
Blaze forced a deep breath. Maybe Mercy was in one of the bathrooms or the kitchen.
She hurried through the house calling her name. She checked the unfinished storage space and every closet. Dread grew in her stomach as, room after room, her calls went unanswered.
“Mercy?” She returned to her sister’s room.
