Page 79 of Dead Drift

Tanner shifted. At times, most times, Luke spoke just as vaguely as her dad. Perhaps a tool of the trade.

Her father studied Luke for a moment and then asked, “I don’t believe you had a chance to respond to my earlier question. Do you believe Ebeid had an alternate location ready, or do you think you gained some time while they’re trying to regroup?”

Luke shrugged, his hands in his tan pants pockets. “Considering both Bedan and Ebeid’s thoroughness and meticulous attention to detail—” Luke sighed, raking a hand through his brown hair—“I fear they had a backup location. And in all honesty, we have to face the possibility that we might not find it in time. We need to focus on determining the deployment locations and intervening before they release the anthrax into the air.”

David rubbed his chin. “I agree. You have to plan for that contingency, but let’s pray we find the new location so it doesn’t come down to the wire.”

“We?” Tanner said. Had her father just said we? As in, he was planning to join their efforts? She had expected him to declare he was off on another case—posthaste.

Her father’s brown eyes fixed on her. “Yes, Tania. I plan to stay and see this through. To be of any help I can.”

“So, you’re staying?” she asked.

“As long as I’m able, but that depends on my boss.”

Before she could react—or most likely overreact—Tanner politely excused herself and moved into the main warehouse storage area, her ballet flats nearly silent as she walked along the concrete floor.

Her chest constricted. Her dad in her life, daily, after all this time.

Declan’s footfalls echoed behind her, the soles of his loafers tamping along the floor. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, engulfing her in the big bear hug she loved so much, and rested his head on her right shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against hers. “You okay with this? With your dad staying on with the team?”

“I don’t have a choice.” It was nice in some ways to see her dad, but in others, it only brought hard memories of her childhood flooding back.

“I know.” Declan sighed. “And I’m sorry, but on the plus side, it appears he has a lot of intel to offer.”

“Yeah.” She swiped the moisture from her eyes.

“Hey.” He squeezed her tighter. “I’ll walk right beside you through whatever his being here brings.”

She leaned her head against his strong chest, his muscular arms and six-foot-three solid frame making her feel safe, protected, and most importantly, loved. A line from her favorite psalm floated through her mind.

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.”

Declan had her, but even more importantly, God had her, and her Savior would never let go.

Calm settled in her soul as she reflected on God’s presence and protection in her life. She wished her parents knew Jesus. After she became a Christian, she’d tried sharing the abundant, overflowing joy she was experiencing as a new creation in Christ, but her parents had only attempted to shame her for leaving her Jewish faith behind. By believing in Jesus and His truth, she’d severed the threadbare string that had connected her to her parents. And they’d effectively disowned her.

It’d been a decade since she’d seen them, and now her father—her stern, secretive father—was here in her space, in her life. And his stoic demeanor indicated his hard heart hadn’t softened much in their years apart.

Deliberate footsteps sounded behind them, and then her dad stood before them. After pressing a kiss to her temple, Declan straightened and moved to clasp her hand, interlocking their fingers.

“May I have a word with my daughter?” her dad asked.

At least he still acknowledged she was his daughter, though he hardly treated her as such.

Declan looked to her and lifted his brows.

She nodded in affirmation, unable to stem the curiosity of what her dad wanted—would it be another chastisement or lecture this time?

Either way, she’d stop it in its tracks.

“Thank you,” her dad said as Declan excused himself, giving Tanner’s hand a reassuring squeeze before leaving.

“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” he said, assuring her he’d be within earshot if she needed him.

Her dad slid his hands into his trouser pockets, watching as Declan walked away. “He’s quite protective of you.”

“Yes, he is.” But in a respectful, loving, supportive way—so unlike her dad’s authoritative and controlling protection.