Page 78 of Second Chance Serenity

Michael

Being unable to get to the gym has been one of the downsides of having to stay hidden. It’s been a solid week of staying at the Redding’s place, and although I can’t even begin to describe the joy I feel at seeing Reyna every day, I’m desperate for my heavy bag. My weights. For something to work out all of this frustration at having to stay put.

Lance and Elijah are digging as best they can into Zeke’s history, while Sheriff Vick and Carter attempt to get the guys who attacked us outside the banquet to crack. They’re maintaining their story, though.

According to them, they don’t work for anyone.

Apparently, going to prison on attempted kidnapping and assault charges is better than risking the wrath of Zeke Phillips.

Even with the skills Elijah possesses for getting his hands on information otherwise undiscoverable by the most talented investigators in the world, he’s struggled to get anything on Zeke.

The guy is squeaky clean.

Reyna laughs, so I glance up from the laptop I’m using for my own research to watch her eat a ball of uncooked cookie dough. She and Kyra have spent a lot of time in the kitchen, ‘baking their troubles away’—as the pastor’s wife calls it.

When he’s not at the church, Pastor’s helping me rehab, and I’m beyond grateful for the help, given I’m finally able to remove the sling and start moving my arm around. The bullet went into my pectoral muscle and embedded itself, so the damage to the surrounding tissue was substantial.

Nothing that can’t be healed with time and exercise, but it’ll likely cause me aches for years to come—if my prior bullet holes are any indication, anyway.

Someone knocks.

“I’ll grab it.”

As we usually do, Reyna and I move out of sight—just in case. Kyra looks through the peephole, and the confused expression on her face has me drawing my firearm out from its holster, and lining up right behind the door.

It could just be that she’s surprised to see who’s on the other side, but when she meets my gaze and shakes her head, I know she has no idea who the knocker is.

“Do I answer it?” she whispers.

Another knock.

I nod, then remain just out of sight, but close enough that I can pull her out of danger if necessary.

She plasters a smile on her face, then pulls it open. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for Pastor Redding. Is he by chance here?”

“No,” she replies. “I’m sorry, but he’s not in right now. Can I ask what this is about?”

“He knows a good friend of mine—Michael Anderson? And I’m just trying to get a message to him.”

“Oh, I’m afraid Michael is missing. But I can let my husband know you’re looking for him. What’s your name?”

“No need for names. I think this message will come through clear enough.”

I rip her out of the way, throwing her behind me and rushing around the door as the man raises his gun.

There’s no hesitation as I aim mine—and squeeze the trigger.

The echoing boom of a gunshot is not an unfamiliar sound for me.

But I’d hoped to never hear it in my hometown.

I stand on the lawn of Pastor Redding’s house, watching as Sheriff Vick talks to the coroner. Pastor Redding is holding his wife, and they’re lingering near the door where Reyna, Eliza, and Andie stand.

I’m by myself. Hating the fact that danger followed me here because some egotistical psycho wanted to send a message.

Well, message received.

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