Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (7 page)

With Pat still sleeping, John had pulled on
jeans and a t-shirt and dug up some clean socks before he slipped
his sneakers on and came down for a look around. The apartment door
was open, in case Pat called out. Especially since in the middle of
the night he’d burrowed into John’s side. Again.

Deputy Palmer sat at his desk and fired up
his computer. “Questions?”

John sat at his desk. The chair was huge and
the stuffing had been squished into submission buy someone whose
frame was considerably larger than his. “Sure. Was most everyone at
the dinner last night?”

“Far as I could tell. I think old man Jenkins
is still at the medical center but he might have been sent home
before the dinner. He has the flu but he’s like ninety.” Palmer
grinned.

There was a lot about him that reminded John
more of a little boy playing dress-up than a man in uniform
protecting his town.

“You’re probably sick to death of shaking
hands. I know I’d never remember all their names if I learned them
in one night.” Palmer clicked his mouse and typed, his eyes scanned
the screen and then he logged it off again.

“The files are all back here?” John motioned
to the wall of cupboards behind him. Each was locked with a
padlock, the keys for which were in John’s safe. “For everyone in
town?”

“Families are grouped together, so you can
find out who testified and who they brought into the program with
them. They’re more like case files than personnel files and there
are one hundred thirty-two which cover all the residents’ cases.
Families are in one file, so there are more than that many people.
Still, it’ll probably take a year to get through all of them.”

John glanced at the cupboard doors. If he
started with Andra’s, would it be obvious why? “And the reports
filed by the sheriff’s office?”

“All that’s computerized now, so you’ll find
it on your desktop although Chandler liked paper so mostly he had
Dotty type up his reports even though that’s not part of her job.
She’ll be in on Monday.”

Palmer filled a hot cup from the pot John had
brewed and set his hat back on his head. Was John going to have to
wear one of those? It was clearly part of his uniform but Grant
hadn’t included one. Was that because he figured John wouldn’t wear
it anyway?

“I’m off to walk around a bit, stretch my
legs.” Palmer zipped up the jacket over his uniform. “I don’t take
the car unless it’s an emergency. Mostly I can get anywhere in town
in ten minutes if needed, but it’s still quicker to run here from
wherever I am and then grab the car.” His face fell. “Still, it’s
been two years at least since anything remotely interesting
happened.”

“I see.”

“The worst thing that happened recently was a
bunch of people’s lawn gnomes got stolen before thanksgiving. But
then they showed up in Hal’s Christmas display over at the radio
station all dressed up as little elves, so everyone got a good
laugh about it.”

“There’s a radio station?”

“Sure.” Palmer indicated the small radio over
by the coffee pot. “Broadcasts most of the day and into the night.
All old school classic rock and nothing else. Absolutely no girl
music, he says.” Palmer chuckled and it sounded like a mouse
squeaking. “Hal’s a hoot and the best source for the weather. He
just knows when it’s gonna turn. And if you need to get an
announcement out people will hear, most everyone listens in just
after dinner. Other than that we’ve got a weekly paper and we get
limited channels from the satellite. That’s why Betty started movie
night.”

“And this Battle Night they were talking
about last night?”

“The Major General started that up. He
decided if there was an invasion then we should probably be ready.
He runs training three days a week, running and push-ups and all
that.” Palmer blew out a breath. “I tried it for a while. I thought
it would be fun but it wasn’t.”

Given the obvious paunch in Palmer’s middle,
John figured being out of shape and not inclined to work out might
have something to do with it. The guy needed to start working out
instead of just sucking it in, or he was going to hit a downward
slope when he reached forty and things wouldn’t be pretty.

“Twice a year they have Battle Night and the
teams are split into squads, some attacking and some defending.
It’s basically capture the flag, which the kids do. But with masks,
and black clothes and paintball guns.” He puffed out his chest.
“It’s all in fun.”

“How many people do it?”

“Like thirty, maybe? Bolton heads up the A
team and they usually win. But Dan Walden from the farm took over
the B team, since Tom broke his foot. There’s a rumor going around
about some secret weapon but no one knows what it is. Or who.” He
headed for the door. “Should be fun. I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe.” John leaned back in his chair. “I
might hang around, check it out.”

While probably a whole lot of fun and the
dream evening for practically every male in town, John couldn’t
help mentally listing all the things which could go wrong.

Palmer lifted his coffee cup in salute. “See
you later, then.”

“Sure. You need anything today?”

He shook his head. “Y’all just get settled
in.”

The man seemed content to run the show for as
long as John needed to get unpacked. Sure, John needed to figure
out getting Pat enrolled in the school and it would take a few
weeks to settle in. But he didn’t need Palmer to act as his crutch
in the meantime.

When the door shut behind the deputy, John
grabbed up the phone and dialed Grant’s number.

“Hey brother.”

“How’s things?” John turned on his computer
and logged on.

“How are things in town?”

Grant was going to brush off John’s question?
“The town is fine. I want to know what’s going on with Genevieve
and the girls. Did you call the therapist I recommended?”

“Yeah.” Grant sighed. His steps echoed
through the phone line and then a door shut. “Brenda’s going to
call Genevieve first thing Monday and ask her if she’d be amenable
to sitting down with me and us talking. But she recommended I come
in alone also.”

“That’s good.”

Grant huffed. “The director of the marshals
does not need to sit down in a…what did she call it? Oh, yeah. A
safe place to talk about his feelings.”

“Be that as it may—”

“No. I don’t want to do it.”

“Do you want your family back?”

Grant sighed but didn’t answer.

Pat emerged from the apartment stairs and
John waved him over. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do this, Grant. Suck
it up and get them back.”

The kid stumbled over, his eyes unfocused. He
climbed onto John’s lap, burrowing in the same way he’d done during
the night.

“Fine,” Grant said. “But you know there’s a
therapist in town. It’s customary for new residents to meet with
her at least once so she can file a report on how they’re
acclimating.”

“Good luck with that.” John wrapped his arm
around his son. “I’m way too busy. Maybe next month.”

Grant laughed. “Door swings both ways,
brother.”

“Not here it doesn’t. Didn’t you know that?”
John laughed. “Did you approve Battle Night? Apparently it’s this
thing they do here.”

“Sure, what’s the harm? The Major General
wants to re-live his glory days commanding troops and the rest of
them are just blowing off steam. It’s mostly harmless.”

That seemed to be the party line.

John clicked his mouse and pulled up the
sheriff’s office reports for the past month. There were less than
twenty entries. “I’ll check it out. If it’s not in the best
interest of the safety of the town, I’m pulling their
authorization. I’m not condoning something that creates mobs of
people racing around trying to injure each other, a mess of stuff
to clean up the next day, or more than a minimum of five minor
injuries logged at the medical center. They can get their jollies
elsewhere.”

“Your call.”

“You’re right. It is.”

Grant chuckled. “I think you’re going to do
fine. Check in with me next week, yeah?”

“Sure.” Pat lifted his head. Before he even
asked, John said to Grant, “Pat wants to know when his bike will be
here.”

“Tell him it’ll be in Monday’s delivery along
with some stuff mom sent.”

John related that to his son, who said,
“Awesome!”

Grant said bye and they hung up.

“So.” He gave his boy a squeeze. “What do you
want to do today?”

“Can we go exploring?” Pat’s stomach rumbled.
“Can we have pancakes first? I’m hungry.”

John flipped on the radio in the apartment
while he whipped up pancake batter. Two rock songs sung by men who
were likely in their seventies by now aired back-to-back before the
DJ came on.

“Better batten down your hatches, folks.
Battle Night begins at eight tonight. If you’re on the street, you
will be shot. Both teams are reporting in, ten privates each and
two sergeants per five-man squad. Lieutenants are Bolton Farrera
for A team and Dan Walden for B team. Major General Halt has
confirmed all slots are now full and the rosters are closed. Good
luck to all. Stay safe. And remember; only losers get dead!”

**

“I want to come!”

John glanced aside at him. “I know you do,
Pat. But it might be dangerous.” He pulled on a jacket, his
shoulder holster snug across his back and under his arms. The
weight of it was familiar, like a pair of boots not worn since last
winter. “You should stay here. Watch one of the movies you have on
your iPad and call me from the phone at my desk if you need
anything. I doubt I’ll be out for long.”

“I won’t get in the way.”

“Pat, I said no. I need to be able to trust
you’re gonna listen to me and do what I say.” Pat looked at the
floor. “Why don’t you hang out downstairs? I don’t want you
answering the door to anyone, but maybe you can call Uncle
Nate.”

“It’s too late tonight. He’s in Florida and
he has a game tomorrow.”

“So call Uncle Ben or Grandma.”

“Okay.”

“Look.” John crouched. “I’m not saying you
can’t go to Battle Night ever. But we don’t know these people. Once
we make friends, then when the next time rolls around we’ll talk
about it again. Does that sound okay?”

Pat bit his lip and tears filled his eyes.
“Are you going to come back?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Haven’t I
come back every time?” John squeezed the back of his neck and
touched his forehead to Pat’s.

John kissed the top of his head and pulled
his son to him. The kid put on a brave face but inside he was dead
scared he was going to get dumped off by another parent. John
hadn’t done him any favors being gone so much. Still, that wasn’t
going to happen anymore. Part of the reason why they were here was
so they could spend time together. To finally be a family, for
real. And forever. It didn’t matter what the town threw at them. It
didn’t matter who these people were. John was going to win at
this—being sheriff being a parent, all of it.

He was going to make that happen.

**

The command center set up at the Meeting
House was a bust. John couldn’t very well observe people acting
natural when they knew he was watching them. Conversations turned
clipped the minute he entered.

The personnel stationed around the folding
tables were mostly aging men who strode around with military
bearing. The coffee flowed thick and fast, courtesy of Olympia who
gave him a wave. The major general shook John’s hand, but quickly
turned his attention back to the map spread on a table in the
center of the room.

Little flags on the map marked each of the
team members, the safe zones and the location of each team’s flag.
Two team colonels were there—Father Mathews, who had given the
prayer at dinner along with a stocky man who had a long beard and a
leather vest and introduced himself as Hal, the radio DJ. Each of
them used separate radio channels to communicate with their
lieutenants.

John didn’t know why either was qualified to
command a team, but there it was.

What bothered John was the two black flags on
the map. When he asked about it, the major general just glared. A
woman in a pant suit who looked like she should have been on staff
at the Pentagon, snapped straight and said, “Those are dark
agents.” As if that explained it perfectly.

John filled a paper cup of coffee and headed
out. He strode by the front window of the sheriff’s office. Pat was
on the computer, probably online. That wasn’t exactly what John had
told him to occupy himself with but he wasn’t going to argue the
point right now. Pat was a good kid but John had been away from him
for a long time. He needed to rebuild Pat’s trust.

He strode down Main Street toward the farm,
since he hadn’t been over that part of town yet. Eventually he’d
have to figure out a route to run in the mornings, get a better
idea of the layout of the town and a good six mile course.

This end of town had a gym opposite the
hardware store, but the glass windows out front showed a boxing
ring and a series of punching bags around the place and that was
it.

The last building on John’s side looked like
a café or diner, with tables and chairs outside wrapping around the
corner. Both the front and side had windows, and the interior would
seat fifty people easily between the booths and tables. Sunday’s
advertised special was going to be roast beef and mashed
potatoes.

Two figures dressed in black strode from the
opposite side of the street. John ducked against the side of the
building and hid in the shadows of the diner’s front door. Armed
with paintball guns and wearing wool caps and goggles, they walked
like it was Sunday at two and they were going out for ice cream.
Both had the letter A drawn on their cheeks.