Alana Candler, Marked for Murder (8 page)

“And now I have to replace my car . . . and my camera.” A groan escaped her lips.

Suddenly, the sound of her griping filled her heart with shame. “You’re really something, Alana Joy Candler! You just vowed to be thankful for all things, and look at you—bellyaching already.”

Decisively, she stood up and took her coffee cup back to the sink in the kitchen.

“It’s time to put feet to my prayers,” she said. Each word was infused with determination as she closed her Bible and scooped it up from the table. She’d get the name of the man who saved her life and go thank him properly.

After she stood up and tucked the Bible under her arm, she reached to pick up the phone. A pamphlet fell to the floor.

She stared at the thin piece of paper—trying to remember its significance—until the importance of what she was looking at hit her with a force.

Ah ha!
This proved she was in the hotel!

Shakily, she picked up the phone and dialed Brad’s number.

A few minutes later, Brad’s voice traveled across the phone line on a wave of disappointment. “I’m sorry, Alana. The hotel’s not the only business displaying those brochures. Every store in town has a rack full of fliers advertising the waterfalls at Drop-Off Point. They’ll just say you picked it up somewhere else.”

Alana’s sigh blew into the phone. She would love to make it hard enough so Brad would feel the puff of air through the receiver.

“But I didn’t pick this one up anywhere else, Brad. I picked it up at the hotel.”

“I believe you, Alana. I know you’re telling the truth, but we have to have concrete evidence before we go accusing the manager of lying. Please . . . be patient. If he’s involved, we’ll find out. Trust me. Okay?”

“All right, Brad. I’ll try.”

She started to hang up the phone, but suddenly she thought of something else and called back into the phone, “Wait, Brad. Is it okay if I go see Mr. Holbrook? Chet said he’d give me his work address. I’d really like to thank him in person, but . . . is it safe?”

The phone was silent a moment until Brad answered warily. “I’d feel better if I could go with you, but I’ve already sent a memo to all the men for a brainstorming session this morning.”

She waited while he considered the risks.

“As long as you stay with other people and don’t go off by yourself, I think you’ll be okay. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going, and don’t stay out in the open very long. And . . . call me if you see anything suspicious, okay?”

“Okay.” Alana hung up the phone and sat back down at the dining room table. Still a little nervous about the trip to Mr. Holbrook’s office, she gathered her courage around her and went to get dressed. No one was going to keep her from living her life. Thanking Mr. Holbrook was the least she could do.

After checking on little Timmy to make sure he was still asleep, Alana changed into a pair of dress pants and a white silk top Lisa loaned her. She was running a brush through her hair when someone knocked on the back door.

Thinking Lisa had forgotten her key, Alana opened the door and stepped back in surprise. Her brows came together in a frown.

“Martin!”

THIRTEEN

ALANA STOOD STARING AT MARTIN
Strands—a ghost from her past.

“Hey, Alana baby. How’s things goin’?”

She stood staring at his almost too-perfect hair, arrogant stance, and haughty eyes, and anger built up inside of her.

“Martin, what are you doing here?”

The autocratic tilt of his head answered for him. The look on his face said he thought his being there was going to make her day.

“I heard about what happened to you, Alana, and I’m here to take care of you.”

“Yeah, right! Like you took care of me when I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore?”

“Aw, come on, Alana. You know that was just my pain talking. Breaking the windows out of your house was my way of proving to you I cared.”

If it was cold outside, steam would have puffed from her nostrils—she was so angry.

“If you
cared
, you would have accepted responsibility for replacing my windows. Instead, your father handled the interview with the police, and the charges were dropped. I spent all my savings replacing windows. That’s some way to show you
cared
.”

Martin pulled on the storm door to make his way into the house. “Let’s talk about this inside.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said as she jerked the storm door handle and closed it most of the way.

Martin’s lower lids tensed and his nostrils flared. He tugged harder on the door handle, forcing her to let go.

Gaining entry into the house would open a Pandora’s Box that Alana was scared of opening. She retreated back into the room and moved to slam the wooden door. Suddenly, Martin screamed, “My hand!” and she quickly jerked the door back open.

The color of his face turned blood red, and like a bull after a red cape, he plunged through the door until his larger-than-average body was standing inside the room.

Alana shrank in the wake of his fury and watched her terror change him into someone she didn’t recognize. He came at her with both hands raised, and fear turned her blood to water.

He grabbed both of her shoulders and pushed her until she was backed against the wall. Through gritted teeth, he murmured, “I want you back, Alana. I’ll get you one way or the other.”

He twisted her hair in both hands and forced her head back against the wall. Then he leaned forward to kiss her until he heard the same thing she did—the
toot, toot
of Lisa’s van as she honked to let Alana know she was home.

Martin checked his movements and stared at her with disgust.

“You’ll be sorry you dumped me, Alana. I’ll show you—you can’t dump a Strands without suffering the consequences. You better start thinking about taking me back. This ain’t over. You’ll see.”

Stomping to the front door, he pointed his finger at her in defiance and gave her a scathing look before slamming out the screen door. The wooden door stood wide open.

Alana shrank against the wall and tried to breathe. Her air was coming in gulps by the time Lisa finally opened the door and stepped inside the house.

“Alana, honey! What’s the matter?”

Alana collapsed into Lisa’s arms. The tears she thought had dried up returned once again.

FOURTEEN

THAT NIGHT WHEN BRAD CAME
home, Alana was wrapped in a comforter, sitting on the sofa, and staring at the blank TV screen. He sat down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Are you okay, munchkin?”

“Did you get him?”

Without asking who she meant, he nodded. “We picked him up on the road back to Bishop. He swore he was only trying to make you see he still cares.”

A sigh followed a shrug of her shoulders, along with a shiver. “Do you think he’s the one . . . at the hotel?”

“To be honest with you . . . I’m not sure. He says he has an alibi—that he was at a party with his friends. The friends we contacted backed him up.”

“Yeah, they would . . . wouldn’t they.”

Brad closed his eyes and lowered his head. Alana could see uncertainty was clouding his judgment. “I can try to keep him in jail overnight for threatening you—to give us enough time to check his story out with people at the party. But, I’ll have to let him go in the morning unless you press charges, Alana, and I’m not sure that’s the best thing to do. The only thing we can charge him with now is simple assault, and it’ll be your word against his, and his father is sure to get involved. We don’t have the evidence to make a stiff charge stick, and he’ll be mad enough at you without adding fuel to the fire. We’ll keep a tail on him for a while after he gets out in the morning. If we find DNA evidence that proves he was at the hotel, we can put him away for a long time.”

“I’m sure he’s the one behind it, Brad. His eyebrows are thick just like the man at the hotel. If you could have seen his anger . . .” She shivered.

He pulled her to him and held her close. “Trust in the Lord, Alana. He’s kept you safe this far. I’m sure He’s watching over you.”

Alana nodded and let Brad’s words soak into her heart. The verses she read that morning repeated themselves in her head until she knew being thankful was her only option if she wanted to please God.

Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

FIFTEEN

THE NEXT MORNING, ALANA SAT
in the taxi parked in front of a ten-story building with a yellow piece of paper in her hand. She stared at the address Chet gave her and looked once again at the gold plaque on the side of the entrance to the building.

Ah
, 2191. This was it.

The magnificent building sported tall, white pillars and a revolving door edged in gold. Whoever this Jaydn Holbrook was, he certainly worked in an impressive building.

She stepped out of the taxi, glancing at the throng of people passing by, and paid the driver while searching the faces of those around her. Was her attacker close by—maybe watching her from the corner or from another vehicle? After taking a shaky breath, she hurried with resolved steps toward the revolving doors and stepped into the circle.

Inside the building, the butterflies in her stomach increased when she observed the costly furnishings. The inside of the building was even more elegant than the outside. She walked into the foyer and up to a polished desk that sat off to the side of the entrance with “Information” engraved on a plaque across the front.

Smiling at the man behind the desk, she said timidly, “Hello, I’m looking for a Mr. Jaydn Holbrook. I was given this number as an address where I could find him.”

The man looked at her as if she was crazy before he recovered his blank expression.

“His office is on the second floor, ma’am, but you can’t see him without an appointment. Do you have one?”

“Well . . . no, but I just wanted to thank . . .”

Her speech was interrupted by the sound of a trolley full of boxes as it rammed into the side of the entrance door. The boxes scattered all across the marble floor, and the man behind the desk jumped to his feet.

“Hey, be careful with those!” He stomped across the foyer with determined steps to issue further instructions.

Alana shrugged her shoulders and headed for the elevator. Once inside, she pushed the button sporting the number “Two” in gold letters and waited while the doors closed.

So she needed an appointment to see Jaydn Holbrook, huh? Must be pretty busy, and in such a beautiful building. She was impressed—mighty impressed!

The butterflies inside her stomach fluttered when she felt the elevator rise to the floor above, but thinking about meeting this hero of hers made them go crazy. By the time the doors opened, her stomach felt queasy and tense. She came very close to pushing the lobby button and running home with her feelings tucked safely inside her.

Then she remembered—this man risked his own life to save hers. He took time from his busy schedule to give her back her life. At the very least, he deserved a personal “thank you.”

She tightened her lips in determination and stepped out of the elevator.

The uncomfortable feelings she suppressed in the lobby because of the elaborate furnishings completely evaporated when she observed the inviting atmosphere this floor evoked. It was such a strong contrast to the character of the lobby that it took her breath away. Not only was the office warmly decorated, but it looked as if it consumed the entire area of the whole floor.

A secretary’s desk and reception area were centered in the middle of the spacious room. Two solid-paneled doors led to offices on either side of the room, and through the openings, she could see floor to ceiling windows covering the outside walls in each office. Two smaller doors stood behind the desk—perfect replicas of the office doors but smaller. The floor of the entire office was covered with darkly stained wooden planks and was tastefully protected in places with oriental rugs.

A seating area containing leather chairs and a dark coffee table sat in one cozy corner of the room, and a beautiful marble vase of fresh flowers sat on the end table between the two chairs.

Alana stepped into the room and inhaled the smell of its friendliness as it engulfed her. The mahogany desk sitting immediately across the room from the elevator doors was the biggest desk Alana had ever seen. As she walked closer to the workstation surrounding the desk, she sighed with disappointment. The grandeur of the desk was spoiled at once by the clutter spread all over the surface. Papers, books, pencils, mail, and odd pieces of office equipment littered every inch of the desk.

This secretary was the most unorganized person she’d ever seen!

Suddenly, the phone on the desk started buzzing. She tried to ignore the incessant rhythm by looking at the paintings hanging on the wall, but when no one appeared to take the call, she stopped and stared. Should she answer? It really was none of her business, but two years of being an executive secretary compelled her to lean over and pick up the receiver.