Silent Protector
His life as a U.S. marshal was something Pastor Ian McNeal had left behind…until he's asked to care for little Charlie Troop. The boy witnessed a terrible crime and hasn't spoken since–except to his Auntie Liz, the one adult he trusts. Ian just wants to find the truth, something only Charlie can reveal. But Charlie isn't talking, and Liz is determined to protect Charlie against anyone who'd hurt, frighten or pressure him–including Ian. Yet with a killer dead set on making sure Charlie never speaks again, a protector like Ian is just what Liz and Charlie need.
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“Charlie is a witness, Liz. He has seen his father’s killer. We need him.”
“You need him?” She tightened her lips before speaking again. “What about his needs? Hasn’t he suffered enough without being dragged from everything he’s known to live with strangers? He needs to feel safe, not scared.”
Ian held her gaze. “If Charlie testifies against his father’s killer, he can bring down that man—a man who could destroy many lives—more than you know.”
Liz went cold, despite the lapse in the breeze that had offered relief. So that was it. They stole Charlie, hoping her nephew would give a statement that they could use in court, without caring about his emotional well-being.
“So as long as you get your killer—that’s all you care about?”
Sighing, he shook his head, then looked into her eyes. “That’s not true.”
BARBARA PHINNEY
was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.
Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as
a little child, he shall not enter therein.
—Mark 10:15
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Someone was trying to run her off the road!
Liz Tate gripped the rental car’s steering wheel tightly, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to keep the car straight.
And not careening off the edge of the newly built causeway and into the deep water to her right.
Please, Lord, help me!
The SUV beside her, some dark blue thing she didn’t dare get a good look at, scraped up against her driver’s side once more. A painful sound grated through her senses. The sickening shove bumped her closer to the loose gravel and rocky edge.
She swerved back, slamming on the brakes to help control her car. The tires bit into the gravel then spun and slipped farther. The other vehicle backed off.
She was losing control of the car! With a wild glance over her shoulder, she yanked the vehicle back onto the road again.
Filled with dust and gravel, her brakes squealed in protest. She fishtailed uncontrollably.
Close to the end of the causeway, the SUV beside her rammed her side again. The force knocked her against the driver’s door.
Liz felt her rental spin and lurch over the gravel, catch and bump on the jagged rocks that lined the water’s edge and saw nothing but slushy, dark water ahead.
She’d come down here to Florida to find her nephew Charlie, following a set of circumstances almost too fearful and incredible to believe. And now, as the hood of her rental splashed into the murky water, as that water surged over her windshield, she knew that she’d never see Charlie again.
Keep him safe, Father God. Because I’ve failed him again.
“Are you thirsty, son? Do you need a cold drink? Something to eat?”
But Charlie Troop sat mutely across the cluttered office from Ian MacNeal, his young eyes downcast, just as he’d been for the entire flight down here from Bangor. The child hadn’t said a word to him. Not a single word. This was the boy’s second full day here and still nothing. He refused to speak.
Even when the boy’s hair had been shorn off yesterday, that matted, dirty mess of dark curls and knots that perpetually fell into the boy’s eyes, he’d said nothing. It was too hot to bear here, Ian figured, but that wasn’t the whole reason for the cut. After Charlie’s hair had been trimmed down to a longish crew cut, Ian had bleached the remaining length a dark blond. He had then given the boy a pair of glasses to wear.
Charlie had studied his new look in the mirror. But after that, his gaze fell to his feet again.
It cut Ian to the core to change the boy’s appearance, but his safety was too important. He needed his look altered.
Ian had tried several times to initiate a conversation with the ten-year-old, but Charlie would drop his gaze and bite his lip. And remain completely silent.
Even Ian’s new assistant, Monica, a young woman whose own parents died suddenly a few years ago, tried to reach him, but Charlie stalwartly refused to speak to anyone.
Patience, Ian told himself. The psychologist who’d assessed the boy said he’d been traumatized by what he’d seen. With patience, trust and time, the child would talk. Just don’t push him or he’d slip further into his mute shell, the specialist had advised.
