Page 3 of Delivering David

She unlocked the kitchen door and recalled the ceiling lights were burned out too. At least the light over the stove was on. Where was the new garage opener?

The smell of sweat and beer assaulted her nostrils as a strong hand clamped over her mouth and an equally strong arm wrapped around her chest. She pushed back but her visitor only tightened his grip.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” his clipped English-accented voice advised. “We’re going to have a little chat.”

Remembering a trick she’d learned from a self-defense class, Suzanne went limp, and the man’s grip loosened enough for her to slip free, take the pepper spray from her coat pocket and spray it into her masked attacker’s eyes.

“Bitch”! he screamed, staggering backwards.

“I’ll show you bitch!” Suzanne shouted, spraying him again, keeping her head down.

His shove sent her into the kitchen island. In the seconds it took her to regain her footing, he stumbled through the still open door, into the garage and out into the night. Right behind him, Suzanne slammed and locked the door, and sank to the floor, her breathing coming in short, rapid bursts. Taking out her phone, she called 9-1-1. Within minutes, she heard in the distance the blessed sound of approaching sirens. Grant Miller must have sent someone to be sure she got home.

As the sirens’ wail grew closer, she called her friend and supervisor Elaine Prescott at Families United to ask her about Brotherhood Protectors.

CHAPTER 3

December 27.

Early Friday morning.

“Areyou sure you want this assignment?” Hank Patterson asked.

Sgt. Kristopher Bower, U.S. Army, retired, looked up from the study of the report to meet the unflinching gaze of his boss at Brotherhood Protectors regarding him from the wide screen in the BP safehouse office. “I haven’t had any contact with Syd Phillips’ family since his funeral five years ago.”

“Not even when you got back to Knoxville a few months ago?”

“No, sir.” Kristopher admitted. After years in the Army, not to mention his time as a police officer on the streets of Knoxville, addressing superior officers came automatically. Not that the Brotherhood Protectors’ founder asked for such treatment. But only a fool would not respect Hank Patterson. Kristopher might be many things, but being a fool was not one of them.

“You’ve read the particulars of the case I faxed over?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes, sir,” Kristopher said. “Syd Phillips’ widow Mercy was killed in her home last night by persons unknown and her son David went missing. Shortly after that, her friend Suzanne Bennett–who’d received a call from David and went to the scene–was later attacked in her home. After fighting off her attacker, she called Elaine Prescott who called us for help.”

The beginnings of rage stirred in Kristopher. Breaking into someone’s home was the ultimate insult. To kill those who lived there was even worse. His paternal cop grandfather had taught him that, along with many other things.

But the rage was nothing compared to the old guilt. He’d failed Syd five years ago when Kristopher’s street snitch led them into an ambush and Syd was killed, sending Kristopher back into the Army. It took a moment before he could ask, “What have the police learned so far?”

“Very little.” Frustration kept Hank’s mouth in a tight line. “No one has any idea why anyone would want to hurt Mrs. Phillips or her son. If Ms. Bennett knew anything, she didn’t tell the police. But if she does, Elaine Prescott, will get it out of her because she’s Ms. Bennett’s supervisor at Families United.”

“No doubt about that,” Kristopher agreed. Elaine was engaged to fellow BP member Griff Tyler and an incredible woman. She’d have to be, to have survived her recent ordeal with The Cadre, a notorious crime organization that was building its base in East Tennessee. She was smart, fearless and as tough as any woman Kristopher had served with in the army. “Was Ms. Bennett harmed in any way?”

For a moment, Hank’s eyes twinkled. “After giving her attacker a face full of pepper spray, I’d say he’s in far worse shape than she is. Unfortunately, he was masked and gloved, so all she could tell the police was he was tall, thinks he might be Caucasian and spoke with an English accent. She’s shaken and a bit bruised but that’s all.”

“Good for her,” Kristopher praised. “Have the police found any trace of David?” He searched his memory again for an image of Syd’s son. David had inherited his mother’s blonde hair and blue eyes but even five years ago, he had his father’s lean build.

“No, but according to Grant Miller from KPD, a coat Ms. Bennett described was gone from the back of the chair in David’s room. So were his favorite high-tops, so let’s hope that wherever he is, he’s warm.”

“Absolutely.” Kristopher pushed his fists together. The office desk’s wood wen top was warm, but his hands were still cold. “The bastards have him, don’t they?” he asked. “The ones who killed Mercy?” The words tasted bitter.

“We don’t know,” Hank admitted grimly. “The police started a house-to-house search after they took Mrs. Phillips’ body to the morgue, but as of this morning, he hasn’t been seen by anyone.”

Kristopher nodded. He’d conducted many such searches in his time with KPD years ago. “Did Ms. Bennett stay with Elaine last night?”

“Elaine insisted on it,” Hank said. “We had a Zoom meeting about two o’clock this morning that lasted until almost four. If Ms. Bennett was attacked in her own home right after visiting the crime scene, it suggests the two crimes are related and someone tried to kill her as well.”

“How’d Ms. Bennett respond to that?” Kristopher asked.

Hank shrugged. “Not too well. Imagine your home being declared a crime scene.”

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