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  The Guardian

  “An entertaining thriller-cum-romance-cum-conversion story is what readers get in this fast-paced novel . . . . Christian readers will relish this intriguing tale.”

  PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

  “More than an investigative thriller, this is a great romance dealing with complex matters of faith.”

  ROMANTIC TIMES

  “Another exciting new thriller from an up-and-coming talent in Christian fiction.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Page-turning excitement...true spiritual conflict...romance. I can’t wait to read her next one!”

  HANNAH ALEXANDER, author of Silent Pledge

  Danger in the Shadows

  “Dee Henderson had me shivering as her stalker got closer and closer to his victim. The message that we have nothing to fear as long as God is in control was skillfully handled, but I got scared anyway! I highly recommend this book to anyone who likes suspense.”

  TERRI BLACKSTOCK, best-selling author of Emerald Windows

  “A masterstroke! . . . Dee Henderson gives the reader not one but two irresistible heroes.”

  COMPUSERVE REVIEWS

  The Negotiator

  “Solid storytelling, compelling characters, and the promise of more O’Malleys make Henderson a name to watch. Highly recommended, with a cross-genre appeal.”

  LIBRARY JOURNAL

  “Dee Henderson has deftly combined action, suspense, and romance in this first-class inspirational romantic suspense.”

  AFFAIRE DE COEUR

  The Truth Seeker

  “Another fantastic, page-turning mystery by Dee Henderson! Heartwarming romance and exciting drama are her trademark, and they’ll be sure to thrill you a third time!”

  SUITE101.COM

  “Read one book by Dee Henderson, and I guarantee you are gonna be hooked for life!”

  THE BELLES AND BEAUX OF ROMANCE

  “For a complex story and profound statement on Christianity, read The Truth Seeker.”

  THE ROMANCE READERS CONNECTION, Inspirational Corner

  The Protector

  “There are very few books that touch the soul and the heart while trying to deliver an inspiring message, but Ms. Henderson always manages to accomplish this feat.”

  BOOKBROWSER

  “A riveting addition to the series!”

  HUNTRESS BOOK REVIEWS

  “The Protector is vintage Dee Henderson.”

  WRITERS CLUB ROMANCE GROUP ON AOL

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  The Guardian

  Copyright © 2001 by Dee Henderson. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph copyright © 2005 by Guy LeBaube. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph of columns copyright © by Josiah Mackenzie/iStockphoto.com. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Ron Kaufmann and Dean H. Renninger

  Previously published in 2001 by Multnomah Publishers, Inc. under ISBN 1-57673-642-3.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1952 [2nd edition, 1971] by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-4143-1057-2

  Build: 2014-06-04 11:26:58

  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

  Author Note

  But truly God has listened;

  he has given heed to the voice of my prayer.

  PSALM 66:19

  TITLES BY DEE HENDERSON

  THE O’MALLEY SERIES

  Danger in the Shadows (prequel)

  The Negotiator

  The Guardian

  The Truth Seeker

  The Protector

  The Healer

  The Rescuer

  UNCOMMON HEROES SERIES

  True Devotion

  True Valor

  True Honor

  Kidnapped

  The Witness

  Before I Wake

  Prologue

  “Can I take Mom the flowers?”

  They were not allowed inside the ICU, but the nurse who had come out to the waiting room nodded anyway. Janelle knew what the boy did not, and it made her want to cry. His mother was dying. Let him take the flowers.

  Marcus was such a polite young man, patiently sitting alone in the ICU waiting room for the brief visits allowed each hour. He had been coming for the last nine days. A neighbor who worked at the hospital brought him in each morning, and each evening took him home.

  He had brought roses with him today, three of them, carefully wrapped with a damp paper towel around the stems, foil around that. There were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. He had told her yesterday that he was tending the rose bushes during his mom’s absence.

  “Can I get you something to eat? A grilled cheese sandwich maybe?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She was positive the boy was hungry, but there had been a tirade the one and only time his father had come to the hospital and found him sharing a sandwich with an orderly. Marcus had politely refused the offers of food ever since.

  “The chaplain is with her now,” Janelle told him, and the boy’s relief was visible.

  “He prays good.”

  “You pray wonderfully too.” She had seen him with his mother’s Bible, struggling to sound out the words as he read.

  “I try.”

  He pushed off the molded plastic chair, not tall enough for his feet to reach the floor when he was sitting down. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  “You’re welcome, Marcus.”

  She watched him walk to the glass door of the ICU, use all of his weight to pull it open.

  He hadn’t asked her if his mom was getting better. It was the first time he had not asked.

  * * *

  It was hard to breathe; her lungs kept filling up with fluid. She had rallied today, and it was with a sense of urgency she knew she had to see her son. Renee heard Marcus before she saw him and wiped away any sign of the strain, smiling toward the door. He came in escorted by the supervising nurse, carrying flowers.

  Her heart tugged at the sight of him, wearing his favorite baseball shirt, washed but wrinkled, and blue jeans that would need a stain remover. He had asked her yesterday how to do the laundry right.

  She hugged him, ignoring the IVs, marshaling her strength to make her grip firm. Her smile came from her heart. “You brought me flowers.”

  “I picked your roses. Was that okay?”

  “Very okay. They’re beautiful.” She laid them on the blanket at her chest so she could enjoy them.

  The chair scraped against the tile
floor as Marcus pulled it to the edge of her bed.

  He eagerly told her about the kittens at the neighbors and the way the black one with one white paw liked chasing a feather duster. She let him talk, smiling at the right places, watching him, holding his hand. Her son. The joy of her life. The doctor had told him laughter was good medicine, and he had latched on to that and taken it seriously, coming with a story each day to make her laugh.

  She would ask about his morning, but in the last couple days he had started to avoid answering that question. It wasn’t going well at home, and he wanted to be her guardian and not tell her. She brushed her fingers through his hair; it would need to be cut soon. She hoped he didn’t end up having to do it himself. His father would not think of it.

  “Mom?”

  She had drifted on him; the story was over. She smiled an apology. “I’m laughing inside, honey.”

  “It wasn’t very funny.”

  That drew a chuckle.

  Her strength was fading and she could hear the wheeze returning.

  Marcus’s hand in hers squeezed tight. “Shall I get the nurse?” he asked, his voice calm but his eyes were anxious.

  Two minutes with him. It wasn’t enough. But the reality could not be denied. “Yes.” He moved to slip his hand from hers, and instead she tightened her hold. “Before . . . you do. I want my kiss.”

  He grinned. He was a boy again instead of the solemn young man. He leaned across the railing to rub his nose against hers, then kissed both cheeks European style. “Love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.” She held him tight. “And Jesus loves you.”

  “I know.”

  He went to get the nurse.

  The simple faith of a child. She was grateful. He had found something strong enough to get him through what was coming.

  She panted for breath. They would clear her lungs again, and soon would have no choice but to put her on to the respirator. She feared she would never come off it. The doctor’s reassuring words could not change what she knew in her spirit was coming. She gripped the roses and a thorn pierced her finger. Despite the fever she was shivering again.

  She would be leaving Marcus with only his father. It was a heavy burden to place on an eight-year-old’s faith. A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She had already cried for her husband and her son, for everything lost that could have been. Tears now would literally choke her. Jesus, be my son’s guardian. He needs You.

  Renee closed her eyes and focused on living one more day.

  * * *

  Marcus scuffed his tennis shoe against the tile floor and stared out the waiting room window, wiping furiously at the tears. He had to stop crying; they would see and they wouldn’t let him visit anymore. The thought was a panic rising in his chest. He gulped back a sob and worked his jaw.

  She wasn’t getting better.

  He had to pray harder.

  Chapter One

  U.S. Marshal Marcus O’Malley tucked the cellular phone tighter against his shoulder as he studied the latest photographs sent by the North Washington district office. Eighteen faxes. The picture quality grainy at best; the information about each individual sketchy. Each had made threats against judges attending this July conference at the Chicago Jefferson Renaissance Hotel. The pages crinkled as only cheap fax paper could as he thumbed through them, memorizing each one.

  “Kate, what are you not telling me?” He was trying to have a telephone conversation with his sister while he worked and it was . . . interesting. He would have said aggravating, but he loved Kate too much to get annoyed with her easily.

  His sister Kate O’Malley could be clear or ambiguous at will. As a hostage negotiator she knew how to choose her words, and she was being deliberately obtuse at the moment. It was 7:05 P.M. Friday night; Supreme Court Justice Philip Roosevelt would give the keynote speech at 8:00 P.M. before an audience of over twelve hundred, and Marcus did not have time to read between the lines.

  Kate was trying to tell him something without breaking a confidence; that told him it was family related. And it was important enough she was willing to go to the edge of that confidence to let him know about it; that told him it was serious.

  “She was supposed to tell you last night . . . ”

  Marcus flipped back to the ninth fax and frowned. Something about the picture was triggering a glimmer of a memory. Tom Libour: Caucasian, early forties, clean shaven. It was an old memory, and he could feel it flitting just beyond his recall. He didn’t forget cases he had worked. Maybe something his partner had worked? He scrawled a note beside the photo, requesting the incident report be pulled. He passed the stack of faxes back to his deputy. “Who?” Jennifer, Lisa, or Rachel? In a family of seven, Kate had just cut the list in half.

  The seven of them were related, but not by blood—by choice. At the orphanage—Trevor House—the decision to become their own family had made a lot of sense; two decades later it still did. As the oldest, thirty-eight, he accepted the guardianship of the group; as the next in line Kate protected it, kept her finger on the family pulse. He didn’t mind the responsibility, but it often arrived at inconvenient times. What was going on?

  “I’ve said too much already; forget I called.”

  “Kate—”

  “Marcus.” Her own frustration came back at him with the bite in her voice. “I didn’t ask to be the one she chose to tell. I’m stuck. I’ll push her to tell you; it’s the best I can do.”

  The family was close, but Kate—she was the one he talked with in the middle of the night; they had shared the dark days. They were the oldest, the closest, and there was no one he trusted more than her. “How serious is it?”

  He retrieved his black tuxedo jacket from the back of a folding chair. He would be standing behind the Supreme Court justice during the speech doing his best to look interested while he did his real job—decide who in the crowd might want to shoot the old man.

  “I’m pacing the floors at night.”

  Marcus, reaching to straighten the lapel of his jacket, stopped. Kate had the nerve to walk into situations where a guy held a bomb; the last thing she did was overreact. Something that had her that worried—his eyes narrowed. “Who, Kate?” He couldn’t take the weight off her shoulders if he didn’t know. If Kate had given her word, she would never say, but he couldn’t just leave it. He needed to know.

  “Can you get free later tonight?”

  Time was tight. This was the biggest judicial conference of the year, but he wasn’t about to say no. Quinn would do him a favor. . . . “The banquet and its aftermath should be wrapped up by ten-thirty. I can meet you after that.”

  “We’ll join you even if I have to drag her there,” Kate replied grimly.

  “Deal. And even if it’s just you, come over.”

  “I’ll be there. Besides, it’s probably the only way I’ll get to see Dave.”

  Marcus spotted FBI Special Agent Dave Richman on the other side of the room, deep in a discussion with the hotel security chief.

  This conference had attracted explosive media attention. The Supreme Court was about to go conservative. With the announcement by the president of a nominee to replace retiring Justice Luke Blackwood, the landscape of the law across the nation would forever change. Most of the judges on the president’s short list were in attendance. Dave had drawn the unenviable job of trying to figure out how to control and manage the media access.

  “He’s here. Do you want to talk to him?” Dave and Kate were dating. Dave having even gone so far as to formally ask all the guys in the family for permission. It was serious on her side too—Kate didn’t let just anybody outside of the family get close to her heart.

  “No, I know you’re swamped. I just miss him.”

  She was in love. Everyone in the family knew that. Her face brightened when she saw Dave, and that impassive control she kept around her emotions, so necessary for her job, disappeared. Even her Southern accent intensified. Marcus kidded her about being love stru
ck and she teased him back about hovering. That was okay; she needed a big brother watching out for her. “Then you definitely need to come over tonight. I’ll tell Dave to expect you.”

  “Let me surprise him. Besides, knowing my job, I’ll probably get yanked by a page on my way over there.”

  She sounded irked, and he enjoyed that. “Love can be so rough.”

  “Just wait; your turn is coming.”

  He wasn’t seeing anyone now, and short of someone colliding with him, at the moment he didn’t have time to notice anyone. His hands were full with his job and the O’Malley clan. But knowing Kate, she would probably try to set him up the first chance she got. She loved to meddle in his life, just like he did in hers.

  And he knew if she did he’d have to grouse about it just for the principle of it, but he wouldn’t really mind. There was never going to be time to date in his schedule; it would simply have to be found. “Good-bye, Kate. I’ll see you later.”

  He closed the cellular phone and his amusement faded. What was wrong? Jennifer O’Malley had just gotten engaged; he didn’t think it was her. That left Lisa or Rachel. Lisa was always getting into trouble with that curiosity of hers, but if he had to place a bet he would guess it was Rachel. She had been unusually quiet during the Fourth of July family gathering only days before.

  Marcus had no choice but to set aside the problem for the moment. He joined his partner Quinn. “Are we ready?”

  “I think so.” Quinn looked like he hadn’t slept in the last couple days, but then he normally looked that way so it was hard to tell. Quinn had general hotel security: 37 floors, 1,012 rooms, and 50 meeting rooms to cover—it was like trying to plug a leaking dam with cotton balls. Unlike a federal court building where they could screen who entered or left the building, what they carried, this hotel was wide open to the public.

  “I got the hotel to agree to close delivery access to the kitchens for the evening; it freed up another three men for ballroom security,” Quinn noted. “And I moved Deputy Ellis to Judge Blake. Ellis has covered the Fourth Circuit in the past, maybe he’ll be able to talk the judge into following basic security guidelines.”