Save Her Child by CJ Lyons (best historical biographies txt) 📗

the family. It’s not because of your race or you being adopted or even what happened to you in college. It’s because you’ve never truly come to understand what it means to be a Harper, a custodian of a church that’s survived for two centuries. We are the church and the church is our family. And we’ll—I will do anything to protect that family.”

How was that a confession? Confusion and anger flashed through her as she parsed his words. She’d shared her pain, her awful truth with him and it hadn’t changed anything. She still wasn’t worthy of his love, not even of the name Harper.

The church. It always came back to the church. She waited, but he didn’t continue, so she asked, “Anything? Like what?”

“Bend written laws to obey God’s law.” He shifted in his seat. “That’s the real reason why you no longer feel a part of our family, our church. You’ve chosen a profession that requires you to put your faith in men and their laws. Naomi, you need to stop pursuing this woman. She deserves sanctuary, God’s protection. His will must always triumph.”

Now it was her turn to embrace silence. The Reverend was so blinded by his faith that he couldn’t even consider that he was in the wrong. Harper was certain that he knew where Beth and her baby were; he’d practically confessed it. To his daughter, the cop. And he knew that there was not a damn thing she could do. The realization was a gut punch that stole her breath. His almost-confession would never hold up in court, wasn’t even enough to get a search warrant—not after the judge had already refused Luka’s initial request based on the hospital’s video evidence.

“Where is she?” she blurted out. The Reverend responded with an arched eyebrow. “Whether you tell me where she is or not, it’s important that you get the baby to a doctor. Luka wasn’t lying about him being sick, it wasn’t some act to get you to talk. The baby needs medicine and you’re putting him at risk if you’re not getting him help.”

“The baby will be cared for. You’ll have to take my word for that.” His tone implied the certainty of a man guided by a higher power. “Tell your sergeant to stop looking. Now. Before he gets someone else killed.”

“Someone else?” She turned down the drive to Holy Redeemer. “Spencer Standish. You know who killed him?”

His lips pressed together so tightly they turned white. “Give your sergeant the message and leave us alone. I have a plan. God has a plan. You people play no part in it.”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

“For once, Naomi, why can’t you do as you’re told!” His glare blazed across the seat.

When she swallowed, she tasted tears. “Because it’s my job,” she finally said in a calm, steady voice. The voice she’d learned to use out on the street when a situation threatened to erupt. The voice she put on along with her badge and gun every time she went to work.

“Then you understand why you’re no longer welcome here. If you can’t obey God’s will and mine, then that’s your choice.”

The Reverend’s words swirled around in Harper’s head. They mixed with words he’d spoken to her time and again: Your choice, Naomi. Right or wrong. Make me proud. And Harper realized that, no matter how hard she tried, she’d never win his pride, the ultimate gift, the only gift she’d ever wanted from him.

The church stood white against the backdrop of the towering evergreen forest and the darkening summer sky. It was a beacon of hope, but it was a beacon that had always been denied to her. She drove on toward the house, stopping behind John’s SUV and Rachel’s minivan. The Reverend made no move to leave the car.

Harper’s mind buzzed with a thousand questions, but one was foremost. “Does she know?” She nodded to Rachel’s minivan. “Does Mom know? What you’ve done? Kidnapping and hiding a woman and baby?”

“Your mother? Of course not, dear. It’s nothing to do with her.”

Harper almost didn’t hear the Reverend as he opened the car door, humid air rushing in.

“But she won’t argue with my decision. She never does. Goodbye, Naomi.”

He closed the door and left, walking up the porch steps and into the house.

She’d failed. Again. Could you even call it failing when you never stood a chance to start with?

Harper considered her options. Exigent circumstances, a baby’s life at stake. What was stopping her from searching the grounds on her own? Nothing, except she’d probably lose her job if the Reverend filed a complaint against her. She could call Jonah, explain the situation, ask him to search the house and church for her. And risk losing the one member of the family who accepted her for who she was. Maybe she should call Luka, dump it all on him, ask him what to do—and forever lose any credibility she had with him.

Or she could return to the station and do the work she’d been assigned. Krichek was still waiting for her to go through the list of license plates—

And then she realized something. She lunged for her phone from the charger on the center console, pulled up the list Krichek had sent her and that she’d barely glanced at earlier. Plate numbers from the strip mall where Luka had been attacked yesterday, waiting for her to connect them with registered owners. It was scut work, low priority, but now she frantically scrolled down the list. No, no, no, she was wrong, she had to be wrong…

There it was. Rachel’s license plate. She’d been at the strip mall parked right next to Spencer Standish’s office when Luka was attacked. And the Reverend had gone there with Luka—he had to have seen Rachel’s van there.

Was all this silence of the confessional, unbreakable holy vow stuff merely an excuse? Was the Reverend covering for Rachel because she was involved in Spencer Standish’s death?