Sanctuary by David Lewis Page B

penny such a trip might cost. Yet, why did she care? She’d encountered strangers aplenty through the years. None as scatterbrained and restless, however. Just what Melissa’s story was, she didn’t know.
    Suddenly, out of the blue, a strange feeling of foreboding clouded Lela’s mind. A feeling of … what? Fear? Danger? Puzzled by her own emotions, Lela went immediately to her bedroom, closed the door, and knelt beside her bed. “Lord, I don’t understand why Melissa is here. But I know you have a purpose in this… .”
    She continued to pray for her guest, but the inexplicable fear only deepened in her heart. The fervency of her prayer increased in response, and she stormed the gates of heaven with her petitions for help and peace, until Lela felt like Jacob of old, who had wrestled with an angel.
    She lost track of time as she interceded. And gently, quietly, the psalm came to mind: The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them . A ray of hope pierced the darkness, and with it came renewed peace of mind. Ready to let the quiet embrace her, Lela collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

   Chapter Twelve   
    HE STARED AT THE SCREEN of the small portable computer, took another drag on his cigarette, then ground the butt into the table. Sitting in a motel room specifically designated for nonsmokers, he waited patiently for the modem to dial the number. He had all the time in the world.
    Once the connection was made, he punched the keys, bringing up the Global Positioning Satellite Tracking Web site. He entered his password, ID, and the vehicle control number. Seconds later, he had what he wanted: a detailed local street map and a red star blinking beside the street address.
    He smiled, lit another cigarette, then clicked the screen through several windows, cross-referencing the street address with a name.
    Thaddeus King, 1135 Hunsecker Road, Lancaster, Pennsylvania .
    “Gotcha, Missy James,” he whispered, his smile turning to a full-fledged grin. The state-of-the-art tracking device—a transmitter—on the woman’s Toyota Camry, about the size of a paperback book, weighed less than half a pound. Attached beneath the vehicle magnetically, it linked to the car’s own battery system and harbored a NASA-developed stealth antenna. Undetectable to the casual observer, even a car mechanic could be fooled, assuming the small box performed a computerized automobile function. Accessing the United States Government Military Global Positioning Satellites, the device transmitted its exact location within thirty feet of accuracy.
    What would I do without my marvelous toys? he thought, recalling the startled look on Melissa’s face when he found her just outside Trenton, New Jersey, after she’d managed to elude him in New York. Finding the woman had been easy. A quick call to his GPS tracking service operator had alerted him to her location on Route 30, heading west, even reporting the Camry’s precise speed at the time: sixty-seven miles per hour. Simple as that. And now … she must feel safe again , he thought, chuckling to himself.
    Secure as a mouse in a cat’s paw .
    He was about to disconnect when the thought occurred to him to double-check the history of the transmitter—determining each specific location of the car during the past twenty-four hours. Clicking on history , he discovered Melissa’s vehicle had not been parked at the King residence very long, little more than a few minutes. The first significant stop in Lancaster County—Friday night—had been a restaurant on Route 222, followed by another stop at 702 Hunsecker Road, overnight.
    “Thought you could lose me …” he muttered.
    He cross-referenced that location with the name/address software. Within minutes another name materialized: Lela Denlinger .
    So … that’s where you’re hiding .
    Closing the GPS Web site, he disconnected the modem from his laptop, then attached a portable telephone scrambler to the