prodding, she was going to church more regularly now. Sending a few more prayers heavenward. Working harder to reestablish the once-strong link she’d felt with the Lord.
In the meantime, she was glad her dad was praying for her. Because with Nate shaking the foundations of the calm, placid life she’d established after returning to Starfish Bay, she could use all the help she could get.
Bingo.
Nate squinted at the screen of his laptop, felt for the glass of lemonade Lillian had offered after she’d agreed to let him plug into the modem in her office at the Orchid, and took a sip.
He should have started with the Sacramento Bee instead of wasting time Googling Mark Collier and wading through a bunch of unrelated pages. He’d hit pay dirt with the first blue headline on the Bee’s archives page dated two and a half years earlier.
Mark Collier Memorial Fund Tops $350,000
That had to be Lindsey’s husband. How many Mark Colliers would have lived in Sacramento? But why such a publicized memorial fund? Who was this guy, anyway?
He read the first two teaser lines of text below the date.
“Contributions to the memorial fund established in the name of Sacramento police officer Mark Collier…”
Lindsey’s husband had been a police officer?
Not liking where this was heading, Nate clicked on the link to the full story and continued reading.
“…continue to arrive on an almost daily basis, according to a Police Department spokesperson, who predicted the total may exceed half a million dollars. At the direction of Mark’s widow, who authorized the establishment of the fund, college grants will be given to area students who have demonstrated high academic abilities and an interest in pursuing a career in law enforcement.
“Collier was killed two years ago when he stepped in to break up an altercation between two youths in a parking garage and found himself in the middle of a drug deal. Off duty at the time, he suffered multiple stab wounds—including one to his aorta—and bled to death at the scene. His wife was also injured in the attack.”
The sweet aftertaste of Lillian’s lemonade soured in Nate’s mouth.
Lindsey’s husband hadn’t just died, as she’d told him that first day at The Point.
He’d been murdered.
And she’d watched him die.
Nate closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the desk chair as the words he’d spewed out to her earlier replayed in his mind.
Do you know what it’s like to lay there, too stunned to move, too stunned to help, and watch someone bleed to death an arm’s reach away? Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel that helpless?
Yeah, she did.
No wonder she’d looked shell-shocked at his tirade.
No wonder she carried a gun.
Sucking in a deep breath, he found himself turning to the God he’d distanced himself from for too long.
Lord, forgive me. Let her forgive me.
But truth be told, he didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d hurt a grief-stricken widow who was still recovering from her own trauma. A woman who, despite the chaotic state of her world, had upended her life yet again to return home to assist her ailing father. To tutor struggling students. And now, to launch a crusade to save a place she—and others—loved.
More evidence of her strength.
Yet today, her emotional scars had gotten the upper hand. Because an experience like that affected you for the rest of your life. He knew.
But what of her physical scars? How badly had she been injured in the attack that had killed her husband?
Opening his eyes at last, Nate searched through the remaining stories about Lindsey’s husband, looking for more information. But though he learned a lot more about Mark—he’d not only been a decorated police officer, but in his spare time he’d coached a boys’ softball team in a troubled neighborhood and served on the board of Big Brothers—Nate found no more references to Lindsey’s injuries.
“Did you get everything hooked up okay?”
At
In the meantime, she was glad her dad was praying for her. Because with Nate shaking the foundations of the calm, placid life she’d established after returning to Starfish Bay, she could use all the help she could get.
Bingo.
Nate squinted at the screen of his laptop, felt for the glass of lemonade Lillian had offered after she’d agreed to let him plug into the modem in her office at the Orchid, and took a sip.
He should have started with the Sacramento Bee instead of wasting time Googling Mark Collier and wading through a bunch of unrelated pages. He’d hit pay dirt with the first blue headline on the Bee’s archives page dated two and a half years earlier.
Mark Collier Memorial Fund Tops $350,000
That had to be Lindsey’s husband. How many Mark Colliers would have lived in Sacramento? But why such a publicized memorial fund? Who was this guy, anyway?
He read the first two teaser lines of text below the date.
“Contributions to the memorial fund established in the name of Sacramento police officer Mark Collier…”
Lindsey’s husband had been a police officer?
Not liking where this was heading, Nate clicked on the link to the full story and continued reading.
“…continue to arrive on an almost daily basis, according to a Police Department spokesperson, who predicted the total may exceed half a million dollars. At the direction of Mark’s widow, who authorized the establishment of the fund, college grants will be given to area students who have demonstrated high academic abilities and an interest in pursuing a career in law enforcement.
“Collier was killed two years ago when he stepped in to break up an altercation between two youths in a parking garage and found himself in the middle of a drug deal. Off duty at the time, he suffered multiple stab wounds—including one to his aorta—and bled to death at the scene. His wife was also injured in the attack.”
The sweet aftertaste of Lillian’s lemonade soured in Nate’s mouth.
Lindsey’s husband hadn’t just died, as she’d told him that first day at The Point.
He’d been murdered.
And she’d watched him die.
Nate closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the desk chair as the words he’d spewed out to her earlier replayed in his mind.
Do you know what it’s like to lay there, too stunned to move, too stunned to help, and watch someone bleed to death an arm’s reach away? Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel that helpless?
Yeah, she did.
No wonder she’d looked shell-shocked at his tirade.
No wonder she carried a gun.
Sucking in a deep breath, he found himself turning to the God he’d distanced himself from for too long.
Lord, forgive me. Let her forgive me.
But truth be told, he didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d hurt a grief-stricken widow who was still recovering from her own trauma. A woman who, despite the chaotic state of her world, had upended her life yet again to return home to assist her ailing father. To tutor struggling students. And now, to launch a crusade to save a place she—and others—loved.
More evidence of her strength.
Yet today, her emotional scars had gotten the upper hand. Because an experience like that affected you for the rest of your life. He knew.
But what of her physical scars? How badly had she been injured in the attack that had killed her husband?
Opening his eyes at last, Nate searched through the remaining stories about Lindsey’s husband, looking for more information. But though he learned a lot more about Mark—he’d not only been a decorated police officer, but in his spare time he’d coached a boys’ softball team in a troubled neighborhood and served on the board of Big Brothers—Nate found no more references to Lindsey’s injuries.
“Did you get everything hooked up okay?”
At
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