Page 78 of King of Praise
“Oh, but you did?” Scorn colors her words. “The father who abandoned him? Who chose his precious job over his own son?”
The old accusations still sting, though I’ve long since accepted that Sandra’s version of events bears little resemblance to reality. She had been the one to poison Lucas against me, to encourage his worst impulses while dismissing any attempt at discipline.
“This conversation isn’t productive,” I say, acutely aware of Naomi tensing in my arms. “The police are close to closing the case. Let it go, Sandra.”
“Let it go?” She laughs and it holds an edge of hysteria. “Like you’ve let go of Naomi? Don’t insult my intelligence, Micah. I know she was staying with you when Lucas disappeared. I know you’re hiding her somewhere.”
A chill washes over me, pushing back the heat from the fireplace and igniting goosebumps on my arms. She’s fishing, trying to provoke a reaction that will confirm her suspicions, but her words still worry me.
“I have no idea where Naomi is,” I lie, years of practice making the words sound natural. “Why would I?”
“Because you’ve always had a soft spot for pretty young things,” she sneers. “I saw how you looked at her, even when she was still with Lucas. Does it make you feel young again, playing protector to his widow?”
The insinuation makes bile rise in my throat. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I? Then why hasn’t anyone seen her in weeks? Why won’t the police question her? What are you hiding?”
“Nothing to hide,” I maintain, though my heart pounds harder with each word she speaks. “The police have no reason to question Naomi because all evidence points to—”
“Drug dealers.” She cuts in. “Yes, so you keep saying. Well, if you’re so convinced of that, you won’t mind if I hire my own investigators. I have friends too, you know. People who can find things the police might have overlooked.”
The threat is unmistakable. Naomi’s fingers dig into my arm. I want to reassure her, but any comfort I offer now might be overheard and misconstrued.
“Do what you want,” I say instead, injecting boredom into my tone. “You’re wasting your time and money, but that’s your choice.”
“We’ll see.” The satisfaction in her voice sets off warning bells. She thinks she has leverage, some card yet to play. “One way or another, I’ll find out what really happened to him. And when I do—”
The line goes dead before I can respond, leaving her threat hanging in the air. Silence fills the cabin, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire and Powder’s quiet purring.
Naomi turns in my arms, her face pale but composed. “She knows something.”
“She suspects,” I correct, though uncertainty gnaws at my gut. “But she has no proof. If she did, she wouldn’t be making threats. She’d have gone straight to the police.”
“What if she finds something? What if her private investigators discover where I am?” Real fear haunts her voice now. “Micah, I can’t go to prison. I can’t—”
“Hey.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. “That’s not going to happen. I won’t let it happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve got you.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “But I need to go into the city. Deal with this before Sandra’s meddling creates problems we can’t control.”
Naomi nods, though her expression remains troubled. “When?”
“Now.” I hate leaving her alone, especially after last night, but Sandra’s threats cannot go uninvestigated. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock up after me, don’t answer the door for anyone.”
“I know the drill.” She attempts a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Be careful?”
I kiss her thoroughly, pouring all my unspoken reassurance into the contact. When we separate, both breathless, I rest my forehead against hers for a moment. “Always am, lovely. Always am.”
Rising reluctantly from our nest of blankets, I move quickly to prepare for the drive into Columbus. After tossing on some clothes, I gather the things I need—phone, wallet, keys. It feels like another step away from the peace we’ve found in this isolated cabin. Reality intrudes with cruel persistence, reminding us that our sanctuary remains temporary, our situation precarious.
At the door, I turn back for one final look. Naomi stands wrapped in the blanket we shared, her red curls wild around her shoulders, Powder winding figure-eights around her ankles.
The scene burns into my memory—something precious to protect, something worth any risk.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, though we both know circumstances might prove me a liar. “Try not to worry.”
Her smile this time holds more genuine warmth, though concern still shadows her eyes. “Just come back to me.”
