— I Peter 5:7

— I Peter 5:8

Caisee Pells had prayed countless times since she became a Christian, but never with such raw emotion and for as long as she did tonight.

She had been kneeling at her bedside for more than two hours, pouring over Scripture and praying, sometimes to herself but more often out loud. Rather than folding her hands, she placed her palms on the open pages of her Bible — as if she hoped the passage’s meaning and inspiration would soak into her hands and course their way to her heart and soul. Her head bowed, Caisee’s raven black hair covered the Bible as tears softly fell on her hands and blotted the pages.

It had been nearly two months since she and Tate Saunders returned to Duluth in search of her brother, Wakeman. They scrapped together what little money they had and bought a cheap first-floor apartment on the west side of Duluth. Caisee wished they could have afforded two places to live — especially with the tension created by Tate’s pronouncement of love — but she made sure the sanctity of their two-bedroom living quarters was not broken. Unless there was an emergency, their bedrooms were off limits to each other.

Deciding that the type of work they performed was more important than the dollar figures on their checks, they took jobs that exposed them to a lot of people and hopefully would help them stumble upon Wakeman. Caisee was a food server at a nearby Perkins restaurant and Tate found work at the main post office branch in Duluth. But since most of Caisee’s restaurant shifts were at night, and Tate worked during the day, the only times they saw each other were the rare days when they were both off.

So, after searching an endless sea of faces for Wakeman Pells at their jobs all week, they spent their scant moments of free time together searching for him in various spots in Duluth. Each Sunday found them at a different church, as they hoped one day to eventually spot him in a pew or even handing out bulletins. Neither of them could recall Wakeman going to any church service after he ran out of the first one he attended as a youth, but Caisee insisted that he would seek out of the house of the Lord.

In January she teemed with hopes of finding him, thinking he would appear around the next corner they rounded or be found sitting in the next restaurant or church they visited. When February rolled around, Caisee’s hopes began fading and by March she grew desperate, wondering if she had somehow misread the inner conviction that Wakeman would be found in Duluth.

So, even though she had prayed and read her Bible faithfully every day since they arrived, she knew it was time to have what she called a good, old-fashioned prayer explosion. And that’s exactly what she built up to — a prayer that detonated with pure emotion, an open plea to God for help and answers. She began by simply turning to a few verses that comforted her, praying for a bit and then moving on to another verse and prayer. She ended her search at I Peter 5:7 — “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

“Lord, I am casting all my anxiety on You, and it is comforting to know that You not only care for us, but also love us more than we’ll ever know,” Caisee said as her tears continued to keep pace with a soft rain outside. Duluth was in the transition of hard winter and messy spring. “But, right now, I am so confused about so many things that I don’t even know how to express it all to You. …”

She had plenty of topics to bring before the Lord, topped, of course, with finding Wakeman and bringing him safely home to Michigan. But there was also Tate to consider, a man who openly expressed love for her — a love she didn’t know if she could answer in kind. She also prayed about the symbols she routinely saw on everyone’s hands but her own, the same symbols that seemed to be changing on Tate’s hands. What could it possibly mean?

But what troubled her most was the strong feeling that she and Tate were being watched. That sensation gnawed inside her at least once or twice every day for the past several weeks. Tate politely listened when she expressed those fears, but she could tell that he was inwardly dismissive. And regardless of whether intuition or paranoia was at play, Caisee believed she was losing control, her tight grip on reality was loosening and gravity was threatening to pull her into emotional oblivion.

Yes, there was plenty to pray about, and she wouldn’t stop until God’s peace filled her heart and His wisdom put her mind at ease.

But while Caisee struggled to find that peace, and while her teary eyes were glued to her Bible, another set of eyes watched her through a small gap in her bedroom drapes, closely, and with a bit of fascination. The eyes belonged to Doyle Logan, and he, too, was seeking solace. But the road to his peace would be paved only with violence and the death of Wakeman Pells.

Doyle had stood outside her bedroom window nearly as long as Caisee had been praying, safely tucked out of view behind a tree and within darkness that would render him nearly invisible to any passersby. He shivered a bit against the rain, and soon would slip away and resume his search for Caisee’s brother another day. But he repositioned himself under the tree that was giving him some shelter and decided to stay a few more minutes. His hands were sunk deep into his jacket pockets, his left absently gripping the handle of his gun.

Despite falling into the aid of Jacinda Collins and her mysterious vigilante group, Wakeman Pells seemed to have vanished into thin air since Doyle fired several shots into a car he was riding in two months earlier. He couldn’t be found, and when Doyle broke into his apartment one night, he found it completely empty, save for a few dust bunnies and dead cockroaches.

Doyle thought he would never get a second chance, but then later that week, he nearly ran into Wakeman’s sister while getting out of his booth after a late dinner. Fortunately, she did not recognize him. He followed her home and had kept close tabs on her and her roommate ever since.

That’s why he smiled beneath the tree, even as his jacket and clothes were soaked. Patience was all that was needed now. In all likelihood, the girl and her friend would play a big role in the revenge he needed to exact. They would eventually find Wakeman and then Doyle would finish what he had been aching to do ever since Pells killed his wife in a hit-and-run. But if they got in his way, he knew that he would kill them, too.