Page 67 of Canyon of Deceit

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THERESE

I woke to angry voices coming from Jurg’s room. Two distinct male voices slashed through the darkness, at times low and other times the harsh tones increased. Alina stirred, and I lightly pressed my finger to her lips.

I crept from the sofa and pressed my ear to the adjoining door. The words spoken in Russian confused me. Alina joined me and wrapped her arm around my waist. She shook. Would she relay their words?

I listened to calculate the depth of anger, praying Jurg and the other man settled their heated differences. Alina released me and stepped backward while her attention stayed fixed on the door. She covered her mouth and yanked me back.

“On the floor. On the other side of the bed,” she whispered.

I grabbed her hand, and we huddled together on the carpet farthest from the adjoining room.

“A man is very mad at my uncle,” Alina whispered.

“What about?” I said in the same hushed tone.

“The other man ordered my uncle to kill me, you, and the Texas Ranger. My uncle told him he gave the orders.”

A crack pierced the air, not loud, telling me the shooter had used a silencer. A door slammed.

Who stood alive on the other side?

Alina and I huddled together, her body quivering. We were not strangers to danger, and the ordeal in Dog Canyon had cemented us.

“Are you okay?” I whispered. “We must continue whispering in case someone with your uncle finds out about us.”

“What if he’s the one who’s hurt? The door’s locked.”

“We’ll wait a few minutes. I’m sure he’s fine.” But I had no guarantee, and if Jurg had been wounded or killed, the person responsible would waste no time coming back to eliminate us—if he knew where we hid. “Who was with your uncle?”

“I don’t know. They said bad things to each other.”

“I’m sorry. No one should ever experience the tragedies you’ve seen.”

“My uncle—”

A knock at the inner door seized my attention.

“Alina, Therese. I must talk to you.” Jurg’s labored breathing alarmed me.

I rushed to unlock the door, and he pushed it open, falling into my arms. His weight knocked me onto my back with his body atop me.

“I’m shot,” he said in a raspy voice. “My side.”

“Alina, I need light,” I said.

She scrambled to flip on the overhead switch. How could I move him off me without hurting him? But I must.

“Jurg, I’m going to roll you off me, but I need your help. Where are you shot?”

“Right... side.”

“Then we’ll move left.”

He attempted to lift himself, and I hid the shock of his massive blood loss. Don’t panic.

Alina knelt next to him, and her frightened gaze showed the seriousness of his injuries.

She caressed his cheek, and his eyes met hers.

For one this young, her courage during crisis spoke fathoms of the strong woman she’d one day become.

Some might say Jurg didn’t deserve a child’s devotion, but Alina witnessed the evil behind his pain-filled eyes and demonstrated caring.

I should too. Within the soul’s portal of Jurg’s eyes, love lingered for the little girl.

Wordlessly, Alina and I managed to roll him onto the carpet, while he endured the excruciating pain. When he lay on his back, Alina lifted his hand into hers.

Blood pooled around an open gap on his right side.

I hurried into the bathroom for a towel, then I applied pressure on the open wound. “See if you can find his phone,” I said to Alina. “He needs an ambulance.”

“No.” Jurg moaned. “No hospitals.”

“You will bleed out without emergency attention.”

“I’m a dead man at the hospital.”

No one should die like this. No matter what he’d done. “I’m not trained to remove a bullet. Is there someone you trust who would come here?”

“Yes.” He closed his eyes. “In the nightstand nearest my window are three cell phones. Bring me the one in the middle.”

Alina rushed into his room to retrieve the phone.

I stared into Jurg’s face, holding the blood-soaked towel firmly. He drifted near unconsciousness, and I feared he’d lost too much blood to survive. “Stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips together while his eyes sealed shut. “I’m trying.”

Alina handed me the phone. “What is the person’s number?”

“Favorites...” His voice trailed off.

Under Favorites ? “Jurg, stay with me. Who is he or she?”

“Vrach.”

I scrolled but how he’d pronounced the name contrasted with the spelling, confusing me. Alina left his side to peer at the screen. She pointed to a name, and I pressed in the number.

“I’m calling from a number at which a man has been shot and needs emergency treatment.”

“Where’s the wound?” a male said in perfect English.

“On the right side.”

“Bullet intact?”

“I guess. It didn’t exit.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Hurry. He’s barely conscious. I’m trying to stop the blood flow.”

The call dropped. Did the man have our location? “Fifteen minutes.”

“Will he die?” Alina’s voice rose above a whisper.

“I have no idea, but we can pray.”

“Go ahead. Is God a superhero? Will he save my uncle and rescue us?”

“He can do anything.”

“Then why are all these bad things happening?”

What could I say? All my life I’d prayed for healing—Kate, my parents, Blane, and other friends and loved ones stricken with illnesses and injuries.

My prayers included enemies but never a man who’d planned to kill me and anyone else who got in his way.

But God instructed believers to pray for all people, friends and enemies.

As much as I wanted to grab Alina and leave him to die, my faith stopped me cold.

I grasped Alina’s free hand, her other one grasping Jurg’s. I held the towel in place in an attempt to plug the hole and clot the blood.

If he lived, he’d kill me...

“Heavenly Father, Alina and I are asking You to save Jurg’s life. Touch him with Your healing power and restore his body. Stop the flow of blood and give him strength to fight the damage done to his side. Give the doctor wisdom and skill in treating him. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Alina sighed. “My uncle squeezed my fingers when you prayed.”

I kept our hands entwined. “We gave him a reason to hold on to life. God knows our hearts, and He hears us.”

Her eyes brightened. “He’ll live?”

“God hears and responds, but His answer is not always what we want. That would make Him a wish-maker.”

Alina’s shoulders fell. “Like in a fairy tale?”

“Exactly. He’s our Father and determines what’s best even in those times we don’t understand or agree.”

She lingered over Jurg. “Like Daddy telling me not to eat ice cream before dinner. My body needs the good things first.”

“Exactly.”

She tilted her head. “I don’t want my uncle to die like Daddy. Then I’ll be all alone.”

How would Alina feel about Jurg when she learned the truth?