One mans haven, p.1
One Man's Haven, page 1
part #1 of The Protector Series
Table of Contents
ONE MAN’S HAVEN
Copyright
You’re Invited!
Story Verse
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
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
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BOOKS BY LAURA DOMINO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ONE MAN’S HAVEN
THE PROTECTOR SERIES
BOOK ONE
LAURA DOMINO
One Man’s Haven
Copyright © 2019 by Laura Domino
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
One Man’s Haven is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. The characters and all other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination and are fictional; any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.comThe “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™
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Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7
CHAPTER ONE
Peace was harder to find than a prairie in San Francisco. Sharla walked away from her parents’ graves, not only saddened by the loss of people she loved dearly, but also angered by the idea that both of their deaths were somehow an accident.
Thinking about the conversation she’d had with the police officer was enough to take her backwards into blood-boiling frustration. No investigation. A simple car accident. There was more to it than that. She knew it. And they had to know it, too.
But no one would admit to it.
She wanted justice, but she couldn’t fight the system. If the police weren’t willing to help her find the truth, she’d have a better chance of beating Barry Bonds’ home run record.
“You’re doing it again.” Randy sped up beside her. “Slow down.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop thinking about it.”
Sharla stopped. “About what?”
“We just buried your parents. Let’s think about the good times.”
She nodded. “Leave it to my fiancé to come to my rescue. I’ll have to be good until the wedding so you don’t back out.”
Randy laughed. “Sorry to inform you, but you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Maybe someday, I’ll figure out what happened on that street corner. My dad didn’t run red lights. Not ever.”
“Sharla, stop. Please. Don’t be angry all day. Let’s figure that out tomorrow. We can do something different today.” His voice was compassionate and soft, but his expression was serious.
For now, she’d keep quiet and listen to him. As Sharla trudged across the cemetery grass into one more day of wishing her father would be there to walk her down the aisle, she tried to ignore how much she was going to miss her parents.
Her fiancé held her hand as they walked back to the car, his thumb caressing her skin. The quiet walk with Randy soothed her heart. He was good for her and balanced her with an opposite for everything she was.
“Let’s buy you something. Something pink and frilly.” Randy opened his car door and waited for her.
“What?” She stood at her door watching the wind tip up a few curls on the top of his head. “You? Go shopping?”
“Sure, if it’ll put a smile back on your face.” He held his door open, waiting for her agreement with his eyebrows up in anticipation. She loved it when he did that.
Randy had seen enough tears from her. It was time she put a little more effort into rewarding him for being there for her. If all it took was a smile, she could do that. “You’d really go with me this time?” The corners of her mouth started to stretch out, but she pulled them back in. No smile yet. Let him wait. Her lips pulled into a pucker under a coy expression. A quiet laugh bubbled in the back of her throat as she got in and sat down. He knew her so well. The minute he suggested shopping, the smile was inevitable.
Inside the car, he waited. “Well?”
“I can’t believe you’d go.” She pulled the door closed and felt the urgency to respond before he changed his mind. “Okay. Do you actually think I would turn that down? Let’s go.”
As Randy drove to Market Street, her desire to enjoy the moment with him grew. She wanted to put aside the hurt and grief of the last few days, but her feelings weren’t easy to bury.
He parked and walked with her into the store of his choice. Pink and frilly, indeed. Old Navy wasn’t what she’d expected. Later, they came out with two successes: a cute shirt for her and her first shopping trip with Randy. But there was one thing she’d forgotten.
Sharla grabbed his hand and gave it a tug as they came upon a tree providing sparse shade, halfway to the corner. “Time for a shopping selfie! Come on. This time, I need your smile.” She looked into her phone and gave a picture-perfect dazzler, but his attention was focused across the street.
A gunshot rang out.
Her knees buckled. Cars screeched to a stop. Unable to believe the scene before her, Sharla flicked her eyes right and left to see the world she lived in held captive by a lunatic with a gun.
Randy squeezed her hand and swiveled his gaze, looking for cover. They were trapped on the sidewalk in front of the store’s windows.
Across the street at the BART elevator, an older couple backed into people who had just come up out of the subway. Everyone across the street hurried away from a scrawny man who had just stumbled into the street. Had he come from the subway?
As drunk as he appeared to be, it seemed like someone would’ve arrested him for public intoxication before now. Wherever he’d come from, he was dangerous.
She looked for policemen, but didn’t see any.
The drunk waved his gun at the cars in front of him and wobbled in the middle of the street, his oversized shirt billowing behind him. Railing against an unseen enemy, he raised an upside down bottle of whiskey with one hand, and with the other he raised his gun high over his head.
Randy’s strong hands shoved her against the wall of glass and positioned her in the shadow of his body.
She raised her head to peer over his shoulder. “Randy?”
His head turned slightly as he shushed her.
A man, hidden from the gunman behind a car, dialed his phone. The police would be here soon.
She ducked her head and closed her eyes. Bad things like this happened all over the world, but she’d never had to experience any of it. She was sheltered, and she knew it. And she liked it.
Another shot. Glass exploded onto the street. A shiver ran through her. She just wanted to go home.
She lifted her head and looked for the gunman, as if by involuntary response. More shots were fired at the cars.
Another shot hit the brick column between the windows of the store. Sharla jumped. The people, hiding by a row of newspaper stands, screamed. It was a busy street and there wasn’t much to use for cover. Sharla only saw a fire hydrant, a metal lamppost, and a few skinny trees. Each could barely hide one person. Mounds of people huddled together on the brick sidewalk. Three people near the intersection laid flat with their hands over their heads.
The irate drunkard aimed his gun in the street, apparently at ran
Then, she saw them. Two cops, shielded by parked cars, quickly and quietly advanced towards the gunman with weapons drawn.
Randy raised his head. “Sharla, on the count of three, we’re going to run back to the store’s entrance.”
She turned and saw the door. Then with a glance over her shoulder, she saw the eyes of the man in the street aiming in her direction.
Randy took a breath and began counting, “One, two…”
Another shot. Randy slumped. Sharla screamed.
He took a step and leaned against the window for a moment before sliding down to the sidewalk.
“Randy? Randy?”
He gave no answer.
She swallowed. “Get up.”
As he lay on the sidewalk, a trickle of blood ran out from under him.
D + S
Dorian Whitman alerted the police and put his phone away. He could run up to Sharla and get her out of harm’s way, but with Randy wounded, she wasn’t going anywhere. He might as well wait it out behind a sedan. No point in getting himself shot too.
Sharla pulled up Randy’s neatly tucked shirt and pressed it into the wound, just below the ribs. With brows pinched, she worked to stop the blood flow. More blood escaped. She stopped, eyes wide, motionless, in stunned silence.
The terror on her face filled Dorian’s lungs, captured his breath.
Her hands felt under Randy’s body, cupping, holding him together, but more blood spilled out of his shirt.
Dorian leaned inches away from the car, hating his powerlessness, as her future faded. Pressure to move toward her drenched his muscles, but the chains of his job held him still. Could he help her without being found out? His job was over if she knew she was being watched.
CHAPTER TWO
Sharla couldn’t think. She had no training for this kind of emergency. If only she could gather her courage to do more than cry above the blood stains on his shirt.
The gunman screamed out angry threats, with words so slurred she couldn’t understand him. The glint of shiny black metal made a curious wobbly design in the street as he waved his weapon almost in slow motion.
She looked around to see if anyone was sneaking up to help her, but no one moved. “Help me!” Her sobbing would not allow her to yell anymore at the people huddled in low mounds. The cars seemed abandoned. A few heads bobbed up from behind the dashboards for a quick peek.
How could this happen? She put his head in her lap and hovered over his face to whisper. “Don’t worry. Someone’s coming to help you.” Reaching to stroke his hair, she saw how much her hands were shaking. Immediately, she pulled them to her sides. There was no point in letting him see how scared she was.
Randy’s eyes stared straight up. He whispered, “Jesus.”
Sharla followed his gaze and looked back at him. His face was wet with tears that weren’t his.
The sound of an ambulance siren lifted her gaze. It seemed to echo off of the buildings like they were the walls of a canyon.
Several policemen scattered through the area, not allowing anyone in. Not even the ambulance.
Waiting for help seemed like an endless torture. Planning their attack, the officers used hand signals, as they carefully approached the unpredictable man. Next, one officer yelled at him, while another snuck up from behind and grabbed his gun. One more cop joined in the fight and they wrestled him to the ground.
Her breaths came like earthquakes, shaky and in their own rhythm. Her gaze swept beyond the crowd of vehicles and onlookers to the ambulance waiting but unable to get through. She swallowed back the burning coals of heartache, feeling Randy’s agony with him.
While the three officers secured the gunman and took him off the street, other policemen hurried to calm all of the witnesses coming out of their cars.
But no one had come to help her.
She pulled her fingers in short strokes through his hair, and then noticed her fingers were bloody. Her desire to be tough and help him through this kept her from breaking down. After a deep calming breath, she wiped her hands on the sides of her sweater. “It’s almost over, Randy. It’s going to be okay. See? I’m right here. Do you see me, Randy?”
He gave no answer. His calm expression begged for her touch.
With restless hands, she smoothed his short blond curls away from his pale face. No response.
“No! You’re going to be fine, Randy. Don’t leave me!” Again she clung to his motionless body. His neatly pressed, French blue, business shirt had turned to a deep red.
The police directed the ambulance to the curb. One of the paramedics jumped out with latex gloves already on his hands.
Hope surged within her. Her heart sped up. “Everything is going to be better. Very soon.” EMTs had brought people back from the dead before. Surely they could help him. She touched his clammy, cold skin and whispered, “Just you wait and see. You’ll be patched up in no time.”
Sharla moved out of the way so the paramedics could do their job and prepare to rush him to the hospital. She waited by the wall of glass, her bloody arms folded over her stained sweater. Her tears drained onto her cheeks as they checked Randy for a heartbeat.
One of the men with Randy stopped his phone conversation, put away his phone, and took over for the other one. His expression made her think he was just doing his job, until his final words were spoken.
She took two steps back, turned, and faced the wall between the store windows, seeing nothing but darkness.
D + S
At the curb, Dorian fought with himself over what to do. Sharla’s weakened form shuddered as she leaned against the wall alone. She reached out to steady herself, leaving a crimson handprint smeared on the glass. This time it was Sharla who slumped and fell to the sidewalk.
Dorian recognized the policeman who ran over to her and spoke. After a moment, she sat up and only nodded or shook her head in response.
This was lunacy. He brushed the gritty sidewalk dust from his hands and strode toward her. He had to disregard his first instruction to keep his distance in order to fulfill his second, which was to protect her. He couldn’t do both.
God, thank you for keeping her safe. Now, I wish I’d prayed for you to protect him too.
The crime scene tape closed off the sidewalk to the murmuring crowd behind him. Dorian stepped up to the policeman who was trying to get a response from Sharla. “Not interested in talking yet, is she?”
The officer turned to him, immediate recognition in his eyes. “Dorian, what are you doing here?”
Dorian shook his hand. “I can give you most of the information you need. Oswaldo, I know them.”
The policeman exhaled and gave a knowing nod. “Then stay and help.”
Sharla twitched her nose and rubbed her finger against her purse strap. Her other hand supported her forehead as she stared at the bloody hem of her sweater.
Oswaldo leaned down to Sharla. “Ma’am, are you able to stand?”
She didn’t move.
“I need you to answer me. I’m going to ask this man to get your ID out of your purse. Is that okay with you?”
She took three long blinks before answering. “Mmm-hmm.” She shoved her purse away and hid her face with a hand.
Dorian helped find to her driver’s license and answered his friend’s questions. Her ostrich-skin wallet held pictures of children—her older sister’s children. If Sharla had any hopes of having a family with Randy, they were dashed with one bullet.
After Oswaldo left to question other witnesses waiting nearby, Dorian saw a vacant area by the store’s windows.
Sharla fished around in her purse and pulled out a tissue. “Wouldn’t you know it? My last one.” After wiping her face, she thrust the tissue back into her purse and wrapped her arms around her knees, bowing her head as she shook. Dorian sat next to her and laid his hand on her back. He tried to comfort her, but what could he do? To her, he was a stranger.
The ambulance left with a witness who was grabbing his chest. The policemen finished their report, as the medical examiner’s van drove away with Randy’s body. The traffic was finally moving. Drivers stretched to view the scene as they slowly passed.
