Critical Praise for
HANNAH ALEXANDER'S
Novels
SACRED TRUST
“Alexander is great at drawing the reader into her story line and keeping them hooked until the resolution of the plot.”
— Christian Retailing
A KILLING FROST
“Running dialogue and a few twists will keep romantic suspense fans coming back for more.”
— Publishers Weekly
DOUBLE BLIND
“Native American culture clashes with Christian principles in the freshly original plot.”
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews
GRAVE RISK
“The latest in Alexander’s Hideaway series is filled with mystery and intrigue. Readers familiar with the series will appreciate how the author keeps the characters fresh and appealing.”
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews
FAIR WARNING
“The plot is interesting and the resolution filled with action.”
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews
LAST RESORT
“The third novel in Alexander’s Hideaway romantic suspense series (after the Christy Award-winning Hideaway and Safe Haven ) is a gripping tale with sympathetic characters that will draw readers into its web. The kidnapped Clarissa’s inner dialogue may remind some of Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones. ”
— Library Journal
Sacred Trust
Hannah Alexander
To the Great Physician,
the Author and Finisher of our faith.
In memory of our fathers:
Johnie R. Cook & Ralph B. Hodde
We wish to thank Joan Marlow Golan and her excellent staff for giving us this opportunity to share our books with a new reading audience.
Sacred Trust
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Prologue
F rankie Verris held the plastic cup in his trembling left hand and stared out the bedroom window. Broken limbs from winter storms littered an unmowed lawn. Weeds lay flattened in the vegetable garden. The jonquils and tulips, which Doris had always loved so much, had refused to bloom this spring. It pretty well summed up Frankie’s life over the past year, with Doris gone. Another sleepless night, filled with pain and loneliness, had brought him to this despair.
He looked at the easy-open prescription vial in his right hand, cherishing even the look of his wife’s name on the white label. Why hadn’t he cherished her more when she was alive?
With unsteady fingers, he flipped off the cap and poured the pills onto the dusty chest beside the window. They had helped Doris sleep. Would they work for his pain?
He gagged on the first swallow, but it finally went down. He sank into the bedside chair and took two more. They went easier. He watched the silent flight of a hawk as it winged over the horizon of forest past the yard. Everything seemed to remind him of Doris these days. She’d loved the hawks because of “the poetry in their wings.” She’d loved so many things. She’d loved him, unworthy as he was.
She’d loved God most of all.
For years Frankie had been jealous of God, often resentful because of the special relationship Doris seemed to have with Him. And now God had taken her and there was nothing left.
He swallowed two more pills, then kept going, two at a time. It grew easier and easier.
The drug was fast acting, and he appreciated that. He didn’t want to sit around and wait for it to work. In fact, he thought he might be feeling the first effects already….
Jacob Casey gripped the telephone receiver hard, fighting back another wave of pain in his upper thigh. “Hello, emergency room? This is Cowboy again. I’m coming in with another injury.” It had been a few months since they’d seen him, and he’d never been there in the daytime. Maybe today’s would be a different staff, and maybe this time the doc on duty wouldn’t give him the familiar three-hour sermon about being careful around wild animals.
He grimaced as the secretary questioned him. “Nope, no ambulance. I’ll do it myself.” He’d called an ambulance once—last year when the bison had kicked the paddock gate over on him. It had taken him longer to get to the hospital then than ever before or since.
He looked down to find more blood dripping from his thigh. “Can’t take the time to talk. Just be ready for me. My pet cat bit me. No rabies, so don’t even think about shots.” Leonardo was well vaccinated.
With a short grunt Cowboy hung up the phone and reached for his hat. The room started to go black on him, and he lowered his head. Must be losing more blood than I thought. Forget the hat. He picked up his keys from the kitchen table and flung one last, angry glance out the window toward the cage outside where Leonardo the lion paced from end to end. Let him go hungry if he was going to behave like this.
At this rate there would be blood all over Cowboy’s beautiful vintage Mustang. That cat had a lot to answer for.
Frankie stood up unsteadily from his perch at the un-curtained window. The sun had passed the tree line and now blasted through the bedroom with unrelenting