The Water Keeper(69)
“How do you know?”
“It’s how we’re made.”
“You’ve seen this?”
“I’ve married these people.”
“Are you a priest?”
I shifted my head from side to side. Paused. Then nodded once. “I’m also a priest.”
“But—”
“Love is an amazing thing. It takes the brokenness, the scars, the pain, the darkness, everything, and makes it all new.”
“You’ve really seen this?”
“I’ve lived this. Known it. Know it.”
“And all this is in Colorado?”
“Yes.” I considered my next question carefully. “You like to read?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’m going to send you some books. Something to pass the time. Mostly they’re just check-your-brain-at-the-door romance novels, but they’re entertaining. They might fill your hope bucket and maybe we can talk about them next time I see you.”
She nodded. Wanting to believe me but afraid nonetheless. When I turned to leave, she wouldn’t let go of my hand.
Walking down the hall, I pressed Redial on my phone.
He answered. “She said yes.”
“I’m on it.”
“And she’s never flown, so—”
“We’ll roll out the carpet.”
“And she likes to read.”
“You asked her that?”
“Yeah.”
“You having second thoughts?”
“Just send her some books, will you?”
“You got a favorite in mind?”
“You know better.”
“I know.” He paused. “The trail on Angel is cold. I got nothing.”
I turned so Summer couldn’t hear me. “I know. I’m thinking they’ll fuel up once more around Miami, maybe take on more girls, then head to Key West and disappear.”
“They know by now. That phone in the tree was put there by somebody who knows what he’s doing. This is not his first time.”
I was about to hang up when I had a thought. “Hey, one more thing.”
He waited.
“See what you can dig up about a Sisters of Mercy convent. Somewhere in South Florida. Probably Key West.”
“Probably a story there.”
“Not sure. That’s where you come in.”
I hung up and pressed the button for the elevator. Standing there, afraid to look at Summer for fear that she’d read my face, I felt her slide her hand in mine. She inched closer, her body touching mine. She said nothing.
Which said a lot.
Riding down the elevator, I knew I needed to speak. I stared at the numbers above us. “We need to get south. Quickly. Things are . . . I can’t—”
She pressed her finger to my lips. “I’m not afraid.”
The numbers decreased by one. When I spoke, it was only to myself, and she couldn’t hear me.
“I am.”
Chapter 31
Four thousand rpm’s felt good. Gone Fiction glided across the top of the water at thirty-one mph. Clay reclined in the beanbag, his feet propped on the front casting deck. Gunner gave his best Titanic impression, hovering over the bow. The wind tugging on and flapping his ears. His tongue wagging in rhythm with his tail.
Summer sat alongside me on the helm seat. She was never far, closing the physical distance between us with each new day. I knew that some percentage of her clinging to me had something to do with the very real possibility that she might never see her daughter again. And with each day that passed, it grew more real. Her proximity to me was a self-protective thing—she wanted something or someone to hold on to if there was no one else.
Ellie sat with her knees tucked up into her chest on the back bench, staring east, mindlessly spinning the ring on her finger. She hadn’t eaten much breakfast or lunch. Fingers’ orange box rested above me, tied into the T-top. Staring down on all of us. Probably laughing. The thought of spreading my friend’s ashes on the water where we first met seemed a long way away.
Truth was, we were in a bad way. Trouble piled on top of trouble.
When Bones and I opened the town, we knew we needed a secluded fortress. Drug-addicted women who have been emotionally, physically, and sexually abused need a safe space to unwind all the knots the evil has tied. Getting free is tough enough without looking over your shoulder.
So we built it in a secure place: a deserted town. Literally. What had once flourished in the late 1800s with schools and churches and shops and kids playing games in the streets became a ghost town when the silver ran out. Situated in a high alpine valley, it’s one of the more beautiful places I’ve ever been. And given newer technology and better roads, it’s now accessible while also hidden. The altitude takes some getting used to when you’re two miles above sea level, but acclimation doesn’t take long. Most folks who live around there have no idea we exist. We like it that way.
To guard us, Bones brought in some ex-Delta guys and SEALs and guys retired from Los Angeles SWAT. We let them live rent-free. Educate their kids for free. Free health care. And pay them to stand guard. Which they do. Rather zealously. Not only that, but most are still on some sort of active duty, which requires them to stay current in their training. And because the mountains around us are some of the toughest anywhere, they bring in their military friends and conduct their mountain and cold-weather urban training all around us. Sometimes they even let me play along. We share stories at twelve thousand feet.