“Hope is a wonderful thing. Remember the story in Job, about the tree that’s cut down, how its stump dies in the dust. Yet at the first whiff of water, it sprouts and puts out branches like a young plant. There’s always hope, my friend—even when all appears to be lost.”

Lost was the perfect description for his current mental state.

Once again, uncertainty assailed him.

Should he talk to the minister? Seek his counsel? With all the work the man had done at his church in the city and the rehab center he’d founded, he’d no doubt brushed up against his share of criminal activity. Perhaps offered advice to offenders. It was possible he could share an insight or two that would provide direction.

Yet short of a suggestion to refuse any future demands from his so-called savior and take the consequences, what could the cleric offer other than an empathetic ear?

“You seem worried, Will.” Reverend Wilson stopped beside his older-model car and pulled out his keys, eyes caring and filled with empathy.

Talk to him, Will. Just tell him.

For a moment he wrestled with that temptation—but in the end, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stifled the urge to spill his guts. “The security around here is on my mind. I don’t like people being hurt on my watch.”

“Well, you’ve taken positive steps to safeguard the girls going forward. What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault.”

Except it was.

He balled his hands. “Yeah.”

“If you want to talk anytime, don’t hesitate to get in touch. You have my cell number—and my ear’s always available.”

“Thanks. Have a good evening.”

“You too.”

Not likely.

Heart heavy, he continued toward his own car as the minister slid into his. Compassionate as Reverend Wilson was, sympathetic as the man might be to the plight of a lost sheep, he couldn’t fix the problem.

Will sighed.

He was in this alone.

And the violence was escalating.

First Stephanie and her boyfriend, now Cate Sheppard.

Who would be next?

Waiting his contact out, hoping those involved grew tired of using this location, no longer seemed like a viable plan. Not if he wanted to be able to live with himself.

Yet if he wanted to live, period, reneging on the arrangement or alerting law enforcement to the next delivery and pickup dates wasn’t viable, either.

These people played rough.

At the crunch of tires on the pavement behind him, he moved aside.

Reverend Wilson rolled by, waving as he headed for the exit.

Will lifted a hand in response and watched the car gain speed.

If only he could drive away from all his difficulties as easily as he drove away from Ivy Hill at the end of his shift.

But that was wishful thinking.

As for the hope Reverend Wilson had referenced?

His was fading fast.