Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (42 page)

He took her hand, cradling her fingers in
his. “I should just wheel you out of here right now. Have Grant
create a diversion. Bust you out of the hospital and get someone to
fly us back to Sanctuary.” He smiled to her sleeping form. “I could
do it. I’m getting pretty good at rushing around on airplanes. And
no one would be allowed to come to Sanctuary and look for us. Grant
wouldn’t give them the clearance.”

She sucked in a breath and John watched her
push it out through the tube in her nose. He closed his eyes and
thanked God she was still alive. Andra had a long way to go before
she would be up and running again, but she had time enough to get
there.

John pulled up a chair and sat with his
forearms on his knees and his fingers linked. He wanted her to wake
up. He wanted her to cry and say she didn’t want to go to jail,
that she needed his help to escape her fate. They’d have to pick up
Pat on the way, but John had absolutely no problem running with
her.

He’d miss the rest of his family, but they
could make a new life together. A home and babies of their own.
Little girls with Andra’s dark hair and eyes, pleading with him to
watch them twirl and dance—girls who would have Pat as their big
brother. His son would make a great big brother.

Now he just had to convince Andra how good it
could be.

**

U.S. Attorney Thomas Rutherford the third set
his belongings down on the hotel room desk and slumped into the
chair. He’d never liked plane flights and today’s tiny prop
combined with high winds had left his stomach unsettled all through
the interview.

Tomorrow he was going to have to take the
same journey home.

He flipped open his laptop and stared at the
statement. Although perfectly reasonable, his decision had left him
uncomfortable in an area inside of him that he rarely bothered
with. Long ago he’d have let emotion sway his decision. That was
then.

His life wasn’t going to follow the course
he’d mapped out, if he didn’t endeavor to lead it that way
himself.

His phone rang.

Thomas nearly dismissed the blocked number,
but tonight he was in the mood to give a telemarketer a few choice
words. “What do you want?”

“Thomas Rutherford, U.S. Attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Please hold for the President.”

**

Andra shut her eyes and tried to think of
what to say. “Tired.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He looked so
disappointed. “You’re not well enough for this.”

“John.”

He turned back, already twisting the door
handle. “What?”

“Sit down, John.”

His eyes sparked with something dangerously
like hope and he settled back into the chair. Andra tried to
untangle her thoughts long enough to figure out what she wanted to
say.

“You didn’t leave because you wanted to.” She
spoke slowly, trying to match her words with the speed her thoughts
were able to generate them. The hospital room was dark, except for
the light above the tiny sink in the corner. “Pat was in danger and
you had to go save him. So you sent your mother to sit with
me.”

He didn’t say anything.

“She seems nice.”

John laughed. “She likes to feel needed and
we like having her around so we try to include her when something
is happening.”

Andra blinked her nod. Her eyes drifted
closed and she sighed.

“Does it hurt?”

She shrugged by crinkling her nose. “Fuzzy.
Tired.”

“Sorry.”

She reached out her hand, her eyes still
closed; her thoughts like wisps of smoke. “Don’t go.”

“Honey, I need you to speak English. I only
know a couple of cuss words in Spanish, and how to ask where the
bathroom is.” John’s warm fingers interlaced with hers.

Andra wanted to laugh with him, but she had
to concentrate real hard. “Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.”

His fingers twitched. She heard him shift and
then felt his breath on her face. His lips touched her forehead,
lingering. “John.”

She heard him chuckle a slight expelling of
breath. “I like the way that sounds. I’d like to hear more.” He
paused. “You’re out of it on whatever medication they gave you and
half asleep, but this might be my only opportunity to get an honest
answer out of you so I’m going to say it anyway.”

She was still smiling. “—kay.”

John laughed again. “Andra, do you want to
come back to Sanctuary with me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go out to dinner with
me?”

Dinner? Andra felt her eyebrows draw
together. How about get married and give Pat some little brothers
who adored him and had the same coloring, John’s coloring.

“No?”

Andra opened her eyes. The look on his face
wasn’t good, but she still shook her head. The promise of dinner
wasn’t going to cut it. “I’m going to prison.”

“What if you don’t?”

“Then no, I don’t want dinner.” She took a
breath. “I want…the rest of…all of it.”

He cracked a smile. “Is that supposed to make
sense?”

“¿Quieres casarte conmigo?”

“What—”

She had to stop and think it through, so he
would know what she was saying. She wanted him and she wanted the
question. The one said on one knee. “Marriage. I want to get
married. I want Pat.”

“What about kids...our own baby?”

She didn’t hesitate. She wanted that more
than anything. “Yes.”

His smile got wider. “What if our house had a
room for Aaron?”

“Good.”

He laughed.

It was a nice idea, but was it going to be
possible?

“No, don’t do that.” He shook his head. “I
can see it on your face. Don’t think about it. I only want you to
worry about getting better. The rest of it I’ll figure out.” He
scratched the side of his head. “Somehow.”

Andra shut her eyes and took a long breath.
“Te amo.”

**

John watched the clock tick around. He
watched the rise and fall of Andra’s breathing. His “minute” with
her had turned into hours as he sat waiting for her to wake up and
remember their conversation. He’d borrowed a smart phone and
completely mangled the spelling, but the internet had told him what
she said.
Quieres casarte conmigo.

Marry me.

They’d both made a mess of their first
marriages. There was no guarantee things would be perfect this
time. But the promise of what they had swelled in him until he
didn’t even care about statistics and rationality. He was in love
with her and he wanted to build a life with her in Sanctuary while
he worked as the sheriff and Andra did whatever she wanted to do
that made her happy.

He sat back and rested his arms on the chair.
The last week felt more like a year so he had no problem talking to
Andra about marriage. It didn’t mean they had to get married
tomorrow. These things took time to plan, but at least they’d be
heading in that direction.

The door cracked open and Grant walked toward
him.

John stood up from the chair and took the
paper his brother handed over before he ducked back outside.

John unfolded it a faxed paper from the
president.
Pardoned of all crimes.

He scanned the printed text and sank back
onto the chair.

However, since the witness has resided in
the WITSEC community of Sanctuary, it is the decision of this
Office that she be allowed to return to her home instead of being
released from the program. If she chooses to be released from the
witness protection program, Ms. Caleri will be required to sign a
new agreement prohibiting her from returning.

She needed to choose: return to Sanctuary or
leave forever.

John had chased her halfway across Idaho,
determined to get her free of Palmer, Thanes and the murder
charges. He’d done that. Pat was safe, Elma had confessed. Palmer
and Thanes were both dead. John’s threat had been eliminated, too.
It was up to Andra now if she wanted to come back to Sanctuary when
she was released from the hospital. Likely that day would be weeks
from now when she could walk under her own strength. When her ribs
were healed and the chance of infection or any other lingering
complications had passed. He’d gone over it with the doctor while
she slept, but when did they ever give you a definitive answer?

John was a package deal, a built-in family
and a life in Sanctuary that meant she’d never be able to visit her
child. Not to mention more extended family than she’d probably know
what to do with, given how she reacted to his mother. John allowed
himself a small smile. Life would never be dull, and there could be
a considerable amount of kick-back from the town now they knew her
past.

Could he convince them all she was in the
clear, given it was down to Elma Pepper and Deputy Palmer? John
would have to earn their trust, to show them all that life could be
good. There was a drug problem and Bolton had mentioned someone
making moonshine. He didn’t think the sheriff’s job would be dull,
given the amount of trouble people who got stir-crazy could think
up.

John stepped to the side of the bed. He
pushed back a strand of her hair and let his fingertips linger on
her face. When she woke up, she’d have to decide. And that was all
her. In the meantime there was plenty he could do—especially if he
was going to make his and Pat’s living space actually livable. Nate
and Ben were still in Sanctuary and there were plenty of other guys
who could lend a hand. Perhaps the town would warm up to John and
Andra if they saw him building a permanent life there. He should
rebuild her cabin, too. See if any of that was salvageable.

He held her cheek in his hand, traced the
bruise around her swollen eye with his thumb and said the other
words he’d looked up.

“Te amo también.”

Four weeks later

John stood over the body of Harriet Fenton.
Her living room was trashed and an end table had been knocked over.
The lamp now lay in a mess of broken glass. Harriet was stretched
out on the couch haphazardly as though she fell and landed that
way.

John picked up the needle and deposited it in
its evidence container.

“Hey.”

Bolton stood in the doorway, his face
resigned like this was a scene he’d witnessed many times.

“Hey.” John’s eyes were hot and gritty, his
jaw rough since he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. He’d discarded
the Sheriff’s uniform almost a month before in favor of jeans and a
button down shirt with his marshal’s star clipped to his belt.

When his vision tunneled, he stepped back and
looked again at the room at large.

“Overdose?”

John worked his jaw back and forth. “Likely
the oxycodone that went missing from the medical center yesterday
morning. We won’t know until the autopsy for sure.”

“You’re thinking suicide?”

“Disgraced, marriage disintegrating. Accusing
Andra of murder and then finding out it was Mrs. Pepper.” John
sighed. “Suicide would be my guess.”

“How is Doctor Fenton?”

“I told him there was nothing he could do to
help. He went back to work.”

Bolton made a noise, deep in his throat.
“Right.”

John’s radio buzzed the noise that preceded
Pat’s voice, “Dad!” John pulled it from his belt. “Dad, are you
there!”

John smiled and pressed the button. “Yeah,
Pat. I’m here.”

“Dad a helicopter is coming, just like Uncle
Grant said.”

John’s stomach looped itself into a knot and
he glanced at Bolton who tilted his head to the side, indicating
John should go. John hit the button again. “I’ll pick you up on the
way.”

He raced out to his Jeep and sped down Main
Street, pulling up outside the sheriff’s office. Pat ran out,
followed by Aaron. The young man had recovered from the assault and
was back to his normal self—although now considerably happier since
he’d moved into a spare room at John’s house.

John set off toward the ranch.

His son’s face was bright, the same way it
had been every time he walked back from the library after Skyping
Andra over the last month, while she recovered in the hospital and
then at John’s mom’s house under marshal guard.

John had spoken to her over the phone a
couple of times but she’d been cautious with her words and he’d
been scared to ask what she decided.

Still, he’d gone ahead with the remodel of
the apartment. The neighbors hadn’t been using their upstairs
space, so he’d had Grant sign it over to him and immediately
knocked down the wall between, making the living room and kitchen
area twice the size.

With the help of Bolton and Matthias, Hal and
a handful of others, they’d stripped out everything and completely
redone the two apartments. Now John had a home with room for Aaron,
Pat and himself. Hopefully someday, Andra too.

As an added bonus the bathroom was no longer
green.

That wasn’t all he’d been working on. John’s
faith still felt new, but the past four weeks had been a
crash-course in walking the truth of what God had done for him.

John took a second to glance at his son. “Is
that paint?”

Pat scratched at his temple, where the white
stuff was crusted on his skin and hair. “Ouch. I guess.” He rubbed
at it.

“Did you get the dining room finished?”

He nodded, his eyes sparking again.

In the rearview mirror, Aaron smiled. “All
Aaron and Pat.”

As they got closer to the ranch the
helicopter hovered and then set down. John parked and the three of
them climbed out of the Jeep. Behind the vehicle, two golf carts
and a truck with its bed full of people all parked and the
residents made their way over.

The helicopter sat there, door closed, while
they waited. The crowd of people who had come from town caught up
and assembled around John, Pat and Aaron.