Stranger in the Night (18 page)

Joshua groaned. “Oh, Liz. Stephen did open up a bit about what Mary endured.”

She nodded. “None of us—even Stephen—knows exactly what Mary went through before she made it to that camp in Kenya. When I got the job at Refugee Hope, the head of my department asked me to read documents about the atrocities so I would have some idea of what goes on. So many of the refugees we bring in from all around the world have suffered these horrors—yet we fly them here and expect them to waltz right in and become perfectly happy, law-abiding American citizens.”

Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, Joshua paused in the stairwell. “I wish I could erase those images from your mind, Liz. You’re too good, too innocent to even know about stuff like that.”

“The women and children in these countries are no different from me, Joshua.” She began climbing again. “They were just as innocent before whatever conflict tore their nation apart. In Paganda, little boys like Virtue were captured by warlords or rebel leaders. Forced to walk for weeks on end. Beaten and tortured and then handed guns and trained to become soldiers.”

“Stop, Liz.” He pulled her against him again. “Stop talking about it. You’ll make it seem real.”

“It
is
real. It’s the kind of terror that Stephen and his children saw and heard about every day. Yet somehow…somehow Stephen still believes in God. He still sees God’s hand in his life.”

She gave a dry laugh. “I can’t believe how determined he is to preach here in St. Louis. Tonight, he told me of his plans to start a church. His son is lying there with a bullet wound, and Stephen is talking about hopes to teach the Bible in the homes of the children who come to Haven. He’s on a mission—on behalf of a God who let his wife get hacked to death…
chopped
is what Stephen said…
my wife was chopped to pieces.
”

Crying now, she sagged against Joshua. He held her, and as
her tears slowed, she heard his heart beating and felt the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. This man was a soldier, too. Had he done things like that? Terrible, wrong, sinful things? Members of the American military had been implicated in torture, rape and even the murder of innocents.

With a shudder, she pulled away and climbed the last few steps to the second floor. As she walked down the darkened hall, she could feel Joshua’s presence beside her, huge and looming. He might have done anything in the past ten years of his life in Iraq and Afghanistan, she realized.

He admitted that certain events had traumatized him. Maybe some of those events involved acts that he himself had committed. Liz had witnessed his anger, his swift and combustive reactions, the confusion and pain that had scarred his mind.

As she stood before the room where the Rudi family had been staying, Joshua’s arm came around her, his hand knotted into a fist as he knocked on the door. When no one answered, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. The room was empty.

He stifled a guttural curse. “She was just here.” He stepped inside, switched on a lamp, looked around. “I don’t believe this woman.”

Liz moved past him toward the beds. “Her things are still here. She’ll be back. Maybe you scared her.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything to her.” He leaned out the open window and studied the steel fire escape. “I play no part in this.”

“You said you manipulated Mary into talking.”

“It’s a technique.” He turned on her. “Wait—are you accusing me of something? Because I don’t like what I’m hearing in your voice.”

Liz pushed her fingers back through her hair. It was after midnight, she was exhausted and she hardly knew how to explain the tumult of emotions roiling inside her.

“It’s just that you put a lot of pressure on people sometimes,
Joshua. You’re intense, and everything you do is
strong
. You storm through life in a forceful way, like you’re on a mission. That’s not always good. Sometimes it can be overwhelming.”

“Look, I didn’t touch Mary Rudi, if that’s what you’re getting at. I did nothing but talk to the woman.” He was at the closet now, picking through her few shabby dresses. “I’m trained to watch people, to study their body language. When I talked to Mary earlier this evening, I could see she was understanding me. She was responding. So I knew she had a little English, and I moved in on that.”

“Moved in on it?”

He swung around. “It’s an expression. What are you implying with these questions, Liz? I didn’t do anything wrong. I need to find out why she keeps running away. She bails out on her job, her family, even an injured stepson. I’m leaving this town in three days, and I have to make sure the woman is functioning. She has to move into the apartment I’ve rented, she has to keep going to her job and she has to at least try to act like a wife and parent.”

“Joshua, maybe she can’t do all those things right now.”

“Yes, she can. She will.” He took a faded cotton dress off its hanger and stuck his hands down in the pockets. “Mary made some deals in this life, just like everyone else. It’s her responsibility to follow through on those promises. When she married Stephen Rudi, she accepted a role. She agreed to play a part. That agreement is important to him and those kids. People make bargains, Liz. We all do. Life is all about give and take, and Mary Rudi is not playing by the rules.”

Liz crossed to the closet and stepped in front of Joshua. “Stop messing with Mary’s clothes. You’re digging around in her private possessions. You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. I’m in charge here, and she’s a deserter.”

“Joshua, this is not the Marine Corps.” She was surprised at the heat in her voice. The weight of the day had crashed in on her, and she was angry. “Mary hasn’t gone AWOL, and you don’t have the right to treat her like a disobedient recruit. You’re not
in charge
. No one is—not even a refugee agency. You agreed to help the Rudis, but that doesn’t mean you can pry.”

“Pry?” He threw up his hands. “I’m looking for clues here. The woman has had a rough life, granted. But she struck a deal with Stephen, and she owes him the courtesy of sticking around and trying to cope.”

He reached over Liz’s shoulder and lifted another hanger from the rod. As he spoke, he held the dress to the light, studying it. “Mary’s got more going for her than she lets on. The woman isn’t stupid. She can understand English. Even with PTSD, she got herself to that refugee camp and found a man to marry her and take her to America. She’s a survivor. She’s a manipulator, too. I don’t like being manipulated.”

“Stop this, Joshua.” Liz snatched the dress from his hands. “What are you looking for? What do you think you’re going to find in Mary’s pathetic little dresses? You’re acting like she’s some kind of criminal for bolting. Put yourself in her shoes.”

“I’m not in her shoes, Liz. I’m in mine. I have a job to do, and she’s messing it up. I don’t like that. She bothers me.”

“Bothers you? Oh, get real. The woman is barely visible. She hides in the shadows. She never opens her mouth. She might as well not exist.”

“Except that she does exist. By hiding or running away all the time, she’s making her presence felt in a big way. She might as well be screaming at me.”

“What is she screaming, Joshua? What is that terrified little woman saying to upset you so much?”

He took the dress from her and hung it back on the rod. “She’s shouting at me. That’s all I know how to tell you. Her
actions are shouting messages that I can’t decode right now. But I’m going to understand Mary Rudi. I’m going to find out what she’s saying, and I’m going to talk back to her in her own language until we have an agreement between the two of us.”

“Is this some kind of PTSD language? Because you’re making no sense to me.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re scaring me.”

He focused on her, his blue eyes blazing. And then the air went out of him. His shoulders sagged. He turned away.

“Never mind,” he muttered.

“Joshua, what’s going on?” Liz touched his arm. “Why are we yelling at each other?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I feel a little bit off right now, Liz. A long day. Working with Raydell and the other guys. Hypes and Crips across the street. Gunfire. Virtue bleeding on the pavement beside me. The smell of the hospital. Mary vanishing twice. A lot of triggers, I guess.”

“We’re both tired.”

“Yeah, but I scare you. I’m too intense.” He absently pulled open a drawer in the table beside the Rudis’ bed. “What was it you said about me? I put pressure on people. I storm through life. I overwhelm you.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Joshua. Maybe your own PTSD is making you act this way toward Mary. And toward me.”

He straightened. “I’m no good for you, Liz. You’re right—I’m intense. I always was, and I always will be. This is who I am, a guy who studies people and hunts them down and looks for clues to break everything apart and try to understand. I’m relentless, okay? I want the things I want. I can’t help that.”

“What are these things you really want, Joshua?”

“Right now I want to break up the Hypes and put Mo Ded someplace where the sun never shines. I want Mary Rudi to
shape up and quit pulling these vanishing acts on her family. I want Virtue to get better and Charity to sleep well at night. I want both of them to live a good long life without any more problems. And I want
you
. I want you, Liz. I want you in a way that’s intense and overwhelming and all the things that scare you. That’s just how it is.”

With that, he looked down at an envelope he had taken from the drawer.

“This is the letter the Rudis had with them the night they arrived at Haven—the letter from Mary Rudi’s brother.” He looked up at Liz. “This postmark…The letter was mailed from Atlanta.”

A ripple of chills slid down her arms. “Atlanta? But I thought the brother lived in St. Louis.”

“Someone in Atlanta mailed this letter to the Rudis not long after they arrived in Atlanta. Someone wanted them to believe that Mary’s brother was here in St. Louis. Someone wanted them to leave Atlanta and take that bus ride all the way to St. Louis in search of a man who doesn’t live here and an address that never existed.”

He jammed the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “Sorry, Liz, but I need to cut out on you right now. I have to go find Mary Rudi. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

She was still standing in the room when she heard his footsteps in the stairwell.

W
hen Liz looked up from the file on a family soon to arrive from Bhutan, she saw Daniel Ransom standing just outside her cubicle. He was talking to Molly.

Sergeant Ransom was a good man. An honorable man. Exactly the kind of man Molly kept at arm’s length in favor of grunge band drummers, street poets, painters, unpublished playwrights and other romantic dreamers who could provide her with neither the strength nor the stability she needed.

Seeing an appreciation for Molly’s perky humor and pretty face in Daniel’s eyes, Liz felt her heart soften. This was the right kind of man to fall for. Not this police officer in particular, but someone like him. Someone calm, competent and at ease with himself. Certainly not a wigged-out ex-Marine who kept storming in and out of a woman’s life and messing up what little serenity she had been able to find.

Since meeting Joshua Duff, Liz felt that everything in her life had gone haywire. She no longer felt secure in her little apartment. The day after the phone call from Mo Ded, she and Mrs.
Gonzales had rigged makeshift alarms at their windows—strings of jingle bells that would wake them should anyone try to break in at night. They had the building manager install new locks on their doors. And they programmed their phones to dial each other as well as the police with the press of a couple of keys.

Liz’s current life was a wreck, and Joshua had done nothing to help her feel better about the future, either. She was more confused than ever—still spending half the night thumbing through her scrapbook and reading her Bible in search of answers.

As for her heart…

“Hope you don’t mind a drop-in visitor.” Daniel stepped into her cubicle. “Your friend said you were doing some filing. She thought it would be okay for me to talk to you for a minute.”

“That’s Molly Sims,” Liz said, standing. “I’m glad you met her. She’s great.”

“Nice lady.” His eyes softened as they focused on Liz. “So, uh…Liz. I was wondering if I could steal you away from this place for an hour or so.”

“Me?” She touched her throat in confusion. As his request sank in, her cheeks went hot—and all at once she understood the power of her attachment to Joshua. Daniel Ransom was a good man, certainly handsome, concerned about the community, responsible, stable and every other dependable thing a woman could ask for.

But Liz didn’t want him. She wanted Joshua.

“I’d love to get away, but I’m totally swamped,” she told the police officer. “I’m preparing for the arrival of a family from—”

“It’s the gang task force,” he cut in. “After the shooting at Haven yesterday, I decided to call an emergency meeting. This is last-minute, so I can’t get everyone together. But I’d really like to have your input, Liz. We need to stay on top of the situation. Especially with some of the reports coming in.”

“Reports?”

“A couple of officers from my precinct contacted me this morning. They patrol the area where your agency has relocated refugees. News of the shooting has everyone upset. They believe the little boy was shot on purpose because of his ethnic background. Our country’s general hostility toward immigrants is clear to these people—even if they don’t speak English that great. They say the police aren’t protecting them well enough, and they’re being targeted by gangs. Molly confirmed that Refugee Hope had a slew of phone calls this morning—similar complaints.”

“She didn’t tell me that. I guess she’s been as busy as I have.” Liz glanced at her file as she stepped around her desk. “When is the meeting, Sergeant?”

“I’m on my way there. Could you follow me?”

Liz hesitated only a moment before picking up her purse. She would need her jacket, too. The morning had brought the first frost of autumn to the city. Her windshield had been covered with a glaze of white lace. Scraping it off had made her late to work.

Liz lifted the receiver on the office phone and pressed Molly’s number. “I’ll be out for an hour or two, Mol. Emergency gang task force meeting.”

“That guy is after you, girlfriend.” Molly’s voice was breathless. “What a hunk! Two men in one month. You have all the luck.”

Turning away, Liz spoke in a low voice. “Why didn’t you mention that we got calls about the shooting?”

“I’ve been buried all morning—schedule problems at the chicken factory where my Burundian women work. Have you ever seen such big brown eyes on a man? You could swim in those chocolate puddles! And that chin—”

“Tell the boss where I’ve gone, Moll. Don’t forget.”

Liz glanced at Daniel and hoped he hadn’t overheard her friend’s exclamations. He was gazing at her from the doorway, his face inscrutable.

“All right,” she told him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The short drive unraveled the last threads of Liz’s frazzled nerves. All morning she had managed to elude the memories of the previous day. Now, stalled in noon traffic and staring at the back bumper of a police cruiser, she recalled walking out of the Rudi family’s little room alone. She hadn’t spoken to Joshua since.

Before she left Haven, Sam and Terell talked to her for a few minutes—confirming what she already knew. They had asked Joshua to stay on in St. Louis as a permanent member of Haven’s staff. He had been evasive, they told Liz. His father’s expectations, his sense of duty, his obligation to family and heritage—all were pulling him toward Texas.

But there was more. Joshua’s friends told Liz they had no doubt he was deeply in love with her. Sam insisted Joshua was a man of total commitment. If he made a statement, it was true. If he gave his word, he kept it. If he set out to do something, he did it.

“He loves you,” Sam told her. “Nothing’s going to change that. I know him too well.”

What about his behavior? she had asked. What about the PTSD? Wasn’t that having a major impact on Joshua’s outlook—including his feelings for her?

Sam insisted his friend had always been edgy and high-strung. Joshua’s experiences in the war had heightened that, had given him moments of confusion and made him a little disoriented. His behavior was not unusual for a soldier recently returned from Iraq or Afghanistan.

And Joshua was adjusting. For the most part, he had control of the reaction triggers. He was focusing now on doing what he could to make a difference at Haven in the short time he had left. Sam told Liz the only wavering he saw in his friend occurred as Joshua tried to decide how to handle the conflict between his commitment to his family and his feelings for her.

Blinking back unexpected tears at the memory, Liz executed a near-disastrous parallel parking maneuver for the benefit of Sergeant Ransom of the St. Louis Police Department. Her car’s front right tire rolled up over the curb, then dropped down again before she finally gave up and switched off the engine. The officer was stifling a grin as she stepped onto the sidewalk.

“I should sign you up for driver’s training demonstrations,” he said. “How
not
to park a car on a city street.”

“Okay, write me a ticket. It won’t be my first.” She brushed past him. “I barely passed that part of the exam ten years ago. I have no doubt I’d fail it now.”

“You just need to practice.” He chuckled as they walked into the police precinct building. “Looks like we have a bigger crowd than I expected. You might need to grab a chair if you want to sit by your boyfriend.”

Liz pulled up sharply at the comment. She didn’t like Sergeant Ransom’s tone. And for some inexplicable reason, she had not expected to see Joshua at the meeting. He had been at the last one, of course, but she knew he was busy now, hunting Mo Ded and trying to put a stop to the Hypes.

Then she saw Joshua’s blue eyes lock on her as she took a seat at the end of the table opposite him. Ransom began the meeting with the police report of the shooting incident. Liz did her best to focus on anything but Joshua Duff. As people spoke up, asking questions and offering comments, she stared at her fingers interlaced on the tabletop.

“The police believe that refugees play only a minor part in this,” Ransom said, drawing Liz’s attention. “We know they’re in the area and they affect the workforce, the schools and, to some degree, the streets. But the police have found no direct link between gang activity and refugees. Would you address that issue, Ms. Wallace?”

Liz realized everyone was waiting for her to respond.

“Refugees can become disenfranchised and vulnerable to problems,” she told the group. “If no one helps them adapt to American culture when they arrive—if they have trouble with the language or they can’t find housing and jobs—they can become very unhappy. Even angry. Refugees with a Muslim background could drift toward extremist cells. Refugee youth who struggle in school might be attracted to gangs. Local residents may resent the influx of immigrants and treat them badly, which increases the refugees’ sense of alienation. My agency, Refugee Hope, works hard to prevent these things from happening.”

“Have you seen anything that would lead you to believe the shooting of the Rudi boy was tied to problems like the ones you’ve mentioned?”

“Absolutely not. I’m convinced Virtue Rudi was shot by accident. It was random gunfire—”

“Not random, Liz.” Joshua’s voice silenced her. “The Hypes had a definite target yesterday. My name—with an X across it—had been sprayed in purple paint on the wall of Haven. Mo Ded staged the shooting down to the last detail. Virtue was in the line of fire, but that bullet was meant for me.”

“I have to agree with you,” Ransom said. “That’s the talk we’re hearing on the street. You’ve earned quite a reputation in the short time you’ve been in our city, Sergeant Duff.”

“Excuse me, Officer Ransom, but I have a question for this man.” A woman Liz recognized as a representative of one of the school groups affiliated with the task force spoke up. “Sergeant Duff, it has come to my attention that in the Marine Corps you were a sniper. Is it true that your job was to stalk the enemy in advance of the front lines—and then kill them?”

Her heart hammering, Liz studied Joshua. How would he respond to this direct query? She saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall before he answered.

“Your information is correct, ma’am,” he said. “Anticoalition
militants in Iraq and Afghanistan are well versed in evasion tactics. The battalion I led was assigned to disrupt terrorist activity. It was my duty to identify and eliminate key enemy personnel.”

“Then it’s true what they’re saying about you,” she responded. “You’re an assassin.”

A buzz of discomfort rose in the room.

“Mrs. Hardy, a Marine sniper is not an assassin.” Ransom’s deep voice silenced the onlookers. “This country is grateful for the service of men like Joshua Duff. And Haven is fortunate that he’s willing to lend a hand there. Sergeant Duff, can you explain to the task force what you’ve been doing on the streets?”

“Simple stuff, mostly,” he responded. “Getting my message to the Hypes.”

Though Joshua’s voice was steady, Liz could see the gratitude written in his blue eyes. It was good to know these two men would defend each other—not only in person, but in reputation, as well.

“I want the gang to know I’m keeping an eye on their leader,” Joshua continued. “Yesterday’s incident confirmed that Mo Ded considers me an obstacle in his effort to shut down Haven. Failure to anticipate the level of his response was my error. I should have been more careful. I take full responsibility for the little boy’s injury.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ransom said. “Our officers patrol these streets, and we’ve learned how hard it is to predict violence. My men risk their lives every day, and the current situation is the most volatile it’s been in years.”

As he continued to speak, Liz saw Joshua’s focus flick toward her. She knew he was recalling the information Ransom had given them the night before in the emergency room.

What greater violence could be lurking for the St. Louis Police Department than a Claymore mine? An ambush could
kill a significant number of law enforcement officers. Many would be left injured, perhaps permanently. Such an attack would leave the streets unprotected and vulnerable.

Exactly what Mo Ded wanted.

Mrs. Hardy spoke up again. “And it’s the police who should be dealing with these matters. I, for one, am uncomfortable with sending a sniper out to hunt gang members. This task force should not condone subjecting our citizens to some outsider’s target practice.”

“I know the law, ma’am,” Joshua told her, his blue eyes crackling. “Anything I do is well inside that boundary. As a civilian, I don’t carry a weapon. And as for
target practice
—”

“Actually, Sergeant Duff is exactly the kind of man we do need in St. Louis.” Liz spoke over Joshua. “On his own initiative, he took personal responsibility to resettle a refugee family here. He found jobs for both parents, settled the children into school and located an apartment where they can live. He has also been working closely with the staff at Haven, even training some of the young men who protect the building and the kids who spend time there. Personally, I think this city has benefitted from Sergeant Duff’s efforts, and as a task force, we owe him our gratitude.”

Amid a smattering of applause, Ransom thanked everyone for attending the impromptu meeting. “Before we close,” he said, “I’d like to let everyone know about a report I was handed a few days ago. It has to do with the movement of cash and weapons in the area.”