Secret Agent Minister (10 page)

“You have a point,” John said. “If Eli thought you’d been killed, he might go after the cartel again. Either to avenge your death and that of his family, or to join up with them as a reward.”

“And the glaring problem is,” Alfred added, “we don’t know which way Eli has turned. He might be back in the fold, or he might be lost to us forever.”

Dev got up and walked to the big window that gave a stunning view of the hill country surrounding the secluded hideaway. “Then we have to keep searching. We need to put out more encryptions, see if we get anyone’s attention. If Eli is in danger and if he wants our help, he’ll answer us.”

Alfred turned to the command system set up on his antique teakwood desk. “Then let’s get to it.” He keyed in a message, then turned to face the others. “Each guest room here is equipped with laptops—cleared for use by CHAIM members only. Check yours when you retire to your rooms. All we can do for now is watch and wait.”

“And pray,” Gerald replied.

Dev stayed by the window, his thoughts on Lydia. Her safety was his main concern right now. If Eli had turned rogue, he wouldn’t stop at just getting even. He might kill Lydia, just to get to Dev. But if Eli was in trouble, if someone from South America was after the entire CHAIM team, then they would do worse damage, far worse damage, than Eli ever thought about. Because these men were the very essence of evil.

And he shuddered to think what they would do to an innocent young woman.

Lydia woke to late-afternoon sunshine streaming into her room. Rubbing her eyes, she longed for her own bed back in Dixon. Even though this white-wood, elegant sleigh bed with the beautiful peach silk comforter and sheets was lovely, Lydia felt strange being encased in so much luxury.

“My mama would flip her lid,” Lydia said to herself, her voice sounding scratchy and husky.

She got up, determined to try and salvage what little decency she had left. She felt so out of sorts, dressing up in fancy evening clothes, kissing a man in the shower, sleeping the day away. This wasn’t Lydia’s style. She was used to hard work and a strong moral fiber. Not silk sheets and sparkly dresses.

But everyone she’d met on this strange trip had been kind and devoted. All believers, even if they did march to the beat of a different drummer.

“Are You trying to teach me something, Lord?” she asked as she hurried to the big wardrobe across the room. Rita had told her she’d find clothes inside. “Are You showing little sheltered, protected, narrow-minded Lydia Cantrell that the world is made up of all kinds of Christians?”

The silence of the still summer day echoed out over her head. “Okay, maybe You’ve just abandoned me all together.”

She instantly regretted thinking that way and said a quick prayer for forgiveness. God had not abandoned her. He’d been right there, helping Pastor Dev to protect her. And being alive on this nice summer day was proof of that.

“I’m going to shut up and get dressed,” Lydia told herself and God. She found a nice floral T-shirt and some denim capris in her size, wondering how everyone knew how to dress her. At least she was learning important wardrobe tips, if nothing else.

She’d just started combing her hair when she heard a knock at the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Alexandre, ma’am. I’m to bring you to the dining room. Casual dress is fine.”

“I’ll be right there,” Lydia replied to the butler, thinking casual was more to her liking. Looking in the bottom of the wardrobe, she found some pink leather flip-flops. They matched the flowers in her shirt, so she put them on and found they to fit. “Close enough.”

But before she could reach the door, it swung open. In pranced Rita and Sally Mae, all smiles and floral scents.

“You can’t possibly go to dinner without proper makeup,” Rita said, slapping her Mary Kay case down on the bed. “We sent Alexandre away. Honestly, that man is the most uppity butler I’ve ever seen. He didn’t want to let us in. Sit down over here, honey, and let us work on you a little bit.”

“I don’t want much makeup,” Lydia replied. But she sank down on the soft cream-colored stool in front of the elaborate French provincial vanity. “I just need a little blush and gloss. You know, Kissie fixed me up in New Orleans and it was just a tad too much.”

“We understand,” Sally Mae said, smiling at Lydia’s reflection in the mirror. “You don’t want to paint the barn door too red, right?”

Lydia nodded, confused. “Right.” Then she pivoted. “Is Kissie okay?”

“She’s fine. The girl who tattled has been taken care of—sent to a rehab center.”

Lydia sighed. “I’m glad Kissie is all right. I liked her, even if she did dress me in slinky red.”

“We won’t overdo it, but you don’t want to look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet,” Rita said, then grinned at Lydia’s shocked expression. “Like an old mare that’s been on a long gallop.”

“Oh.” Lydia shook her head. “I don’t want to look like an old mare, that’s for sure.”

“You will look just right,” Rita said, one diamond-heavy finger posed on her face as she analyzed Lydia’s skin. “Nice complexion. So creamy and with just a touch of cute freckles. And that hair—it’s to die for.”

“Well, someone has been trying to kill me,” Lydia quipped.

“She has the right attitude,” Sally Mae said, her diamond tennis bracelet winking at Lydia. “When you love a CHAIM man, you have to have a sense of humor.”

“How did y’all do it?” Lydia asked, curious and hoping to gain some pointers. “How’d y’all meet your husbands?”

Rita chuckled as she plucked Lydia’s eyebrows. “I sold Mary Kay to John’s mother and sisters. They set us up, but of course, he balked. CHAIM men have a definite commitment problem, being as they are always out saving the world and all that.” She shrugged. “But I didn’t give up. I just bided my time and waited for him to come home. Then I pounced on the man and told him I loved him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. He was so overwhelmed, he said yes right away. That was thirty-five years and three children ago. I’ve prayed many a night for him to come home safe. Now he’s retired and I’m as tickled as a pig in a mud puddle.”

Lydia laughed, then turned to Sally Mae. “Your turn.”

“I was a CHAIM operative,” Sally Mae explained, grinning. “Met Gerald in London. It was during the late seventies and we were in place to watch some really aggressive cult members who’d snatched a young American girl. I posed as a free-spirited girl and infiltrated this rather nasty cult. He was my contact person on the outside. It wasn’t love at first sight. He had to chase me until I let him catch me. Been letting him chase me for over thirty years now.”

Lydia was amazed that petite, spry Sally Mae with the long, perfectly manicured pink fingernails and matching toes had been an undercover operative. “That must have been some adventure.”

“It was. We saved a lot of Christians from terrible things. And CHAIM still does that.”

“These are hard times,” Rita added, her fingers buffing and blending Lydia’s eyes and face. “World terror, countries in chaos, and the innocents who get caught in the fray. Our men are very special to us, but when called to duty, they have to go.”

“For the greater good,” Lydia said, her eyes going wide as she stared at them in the mirror.

“For the greater good,” Sally Mae repeated. “I see you’ve heard some of the rules already.”

“More than I ever wanted to know,” Lydia said.

“It’s all about serving the Lord,” Rita said, her hand holding Lydia by the chin while she painted gloss on Lydia’s lips. “These men are trained to help Christians the world over. But sometimes, it’s all about loving your man so much it hurts.”

“I do,” Lydia admitted, the pain of that admission searing her heart. “I loved him when I didn’t know about any of this, and I think I love him even more now. But I don’t think he’s even aware of it. He was barely aware I was even alive until someone tried to kill both of us.”

“Oh, he’s aware, all right.”

They all turned as Lulu came clicking into the room, a soft smile on her face. “In fact, I feel pretty sure that if we don’t get you out there to dinner soon, the man will come charging in here and throw you over his shoulder, the way Alfred did me when I refused to elope with him thirty-six years ago. I was a debutante and sorority girl and he was a hard-edged wildcatter, but mercy, I didn’t want to admit that I loved him. So he kinda took matters into his own hands.”

Stunned, Lydia said, “Oh, Pastor Dev would never—”

Just then, there was a pounding on the door. “Lydia, are you in there? Is everything all right?”

It was Pastor Dev.

“I’m coming,” Lydia called. “I’m fine, just running a little behind.”

“Well, hurry up. I was worried sick.”

“I rest my case,” Lulu said, a knowing smile on her face. “Now, suga’, let’s get out there and have a nice evening with our menfolks.”

“But…I need to know how to do that,” Lydia whispered. “I mean, I need to know how to love such a complicated man.”

Rita finished, then rubbed her hands together. “Oh, that’s easy, honey. Just keep smiling and praying. No matter how much your poor heart is breaking.”

“For the greater good?”

“For that, and your own sanity.”

L
ydia woke with a start.

Someone was in her room. She couldn’t make out any human shapes since it was raining heavily and there was no moonlight. But she could feel the presence in the big wide bedroom.

And she could hear her own fast breathing.

She pulled the covers up to ward off her fears. “Who’s there?”

Nothing.

The rain fell in a continuous drone, muffling any noise that might seem different. When had the storm approached? And how had she slept through that and someone entering her room? Maybe she’d just been dreaming.

Just to be safe, Lydia searched for the phone on the bedside table. There was a red button for emergencies. Lulu had shown it to her and stressed that she should touch it if she felt in danger.

She reached for the button, but a strong arm pushed her hand away. Her breath caught and a cold wave of fear rushed through her system. She tried to speak, but no words would come.

“I wouldn’t call anyone just yet.”

“Alexandre?” She recognized the cultured voice of the butler. She almost wanted to giggle—they could actually say the butler did it. But she couldn’t muster even a scared chuckle. She swallowed, prayed, tried to think. Tried to stall him. “Alexandre, is everything all right?”

“No,” the man holding her said. “Everything is not all right. You’re a very pretty woman, but you know too much. You’ve seen too much. I hate to do this…but beware the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Lydia watched as he raised a pillow in the air, and she knew right then that she would die if she didn’t do something quick to help herself. If she could just make it to the French doors and then the porch, she could trip the alarm system. She had to do something, right now.

In his room across the hall, Dev sat skimming his e-mails. He couldn’t sleep, so he’d decided to give it one last shot. Blurry-eyed, he blinked as the screen flashed white and alive before him. Then he saw it—an instant message popped up on the screen.

The black sheep has no shepherd. He has no master. He is scattered on the mountain.

Dev sat up in his chair, his mind humming, his heart racing. Eli?

The Disciple had a mountain retreat in Colorado, and he’d always joked that he was the black sheep of their particular team. Was Eli trying to tell Dev something?

Dev typed.

‘What do you understand that is not us?’

Eli would know to look to Job. He’d know the verse and understand the code. What do you know?

The answer came quickly.

‘Both the gray-haired and the aged are among us.’ Hide anything received.

Not “Do not hide” like the original verse from Job. But “hide.” Eli wanted Dev to withhold information? That could be a trick, or it could be a warning. Did Eli know something that would help them both?

His pulse pounding, Dev typed,

‘What shall I answer you?’

The response came back. The black sheep has no shepherd. Then no more codes, but an outright denial.

I didn’t do it, Pastoral. It’s a setup. Beware the gray-haired man. Don’t walk with the wicked men.

Then Eli was gone, leaving Dev to stare at the words frozen on the screen. Eli had broken procedure to speak bluntly, which meant he, too, was on the run. Dev could only hope no one else had intercepted the message. But who? What was Eli saying? He’d repeated part of the message Kissie had sent earlier, so Dev knew Eli was keeping tabs on them. But what was he trying to say?

Dev thought back—what gray-haired man? Did Eli mean the man dressed as a granny woman back in Atlanta? Or the three men who were now helping Dev? They all had a tinge of gray in their hair. But even that description could be some sort of coded warning. Who else had helped Lydia and him? Kissie? No one in her charge had gray hair.

Then it hit him as though doused by the rain outside.

The Peacemaker. He certainly was a distinguished-looking, gray-haired man. And because of the mask, Dev had never actually seen his face.

Was Eli trying to warn him that The Peacemaker was behind this? But that didn’t make sense. The Peacemaker had purposely helped Dev and Lydia in New Orleans. Thinking back over it, Dev realized The Peacemaker had been the one to send him here to Eagle Rock. He’d also been the one to give Dev a message from Kissie. And that message had saved Lydia’s life. So how could he be involved, other than trying to help?

But…Dev hadn’t confirmed that message. He hadn’t spoken to Kissie again since coming here. He’d only talked to her about the poisoning and how to stop it. Grabbing his Treo, he immediately dialed Kissie’s private number.

She didn’t answer. And he didn’t dare leave a message.

Dev got up and ran a hand through his hair. The rain picked up, the wind howling around the long, rambling house. He heard something bang, then he heard what sounded like a scream. The next thing he heard was the alarm.

Lydia!

Dev dashed across the hall to Lydia’s room, his fists banging hard against the door. “Lydia?” The door was locked, so he quickly stepped back, aiming his entire body against the heavy wood. The door-jamb shattered even as his shoulder throbbed with a white-hot pain, but he was inside and running before he even registered that.

“Lydia?” He called her name over and over as he raced to hit the light switch. When he turned on the overhead light, he saw the crumpled form of Alexandre near the night table, a shattered lamp pedestal lying nearby, and the patio doors wide open. Then he saw Lydia standing out in the middle of the yard, rain washing over her.

And she was screaming.

Lydia hadn’t known what else to do. She’d received an e-mail long ago with self-defense tips for women. She’d memorized it. And boy, had those tips come in handy tonight.

First, she’d managed to use her own trapped arm for leverage, yanking with all her might so she could land a kick in his midsection. That had caused Alexandre, the so-called butler, to scream out in pain. Then she’d used her free elbow to jab him in the face and her fingers to poke at his eyes. He crumpled away from her. Since his only weapon was a pillow, Lydia could only imagine that he’d planned to smother her, asleep or awake. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

While Alexandre held his hands to his eyes, Lydia, working on pure adrenaline, hit him over the head with the crystal lamp on the side table, and ran for the doors, opening them wide, welcoming the blaring sound of the security alarm.

The rain felt good on her fevered skin, the wind cold on her heated face. She remembered to scream as loud as she could. And she was still screaming when Pastor Dev grabbed her up in his arms and pulled her back to the long porch.

“Lydia,” he said, his hands on her hair. “Lydia, are you all right?”

She stopped screaming, her breath coming in big gulps now. “I’m fine. Just mad, is all. The butler tried to kill me. How stupid is that?”

The look in his eyes—part terror, part admiration—told her that he did care about her. And that gave her a sense of calm. Gulping a deep breath, she said, “I’m all right, really.”

“Thank You, God,” Pastor Dev said, lifting up the prayer to the heavens. Then he pulled Lydia into his arms and held her close. “I’m so sorry. I was supposed to be watching out for you.”

“I’m all right,” Lydia kept telling him. “I…I remembered…somehow I remembered my self-defense tips.”

He pulled back to stare down at her. “You sure did. Alexandre looks pretty beat-up.”

“He made me mad,” she retorted. “I’m just so tired of people trying to kill me. They act nice, then they turn nasty. It’s just not right.”

Pastor Dev planted a kiss on her wet forehead. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Do you know that every time you kiss me, I’m all wet?” Lydia asked. “It’s not very romantic.” Then she held a hand to her mouth. “Oh, never mind. I mean…forget I said that. You were just being kind.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he just stood there looking at her, his dark eyes as bright and shimmering as the rainwater falling off the tiled roof. “Lydia, I—”

They were interrupted by a herd of Eagle Rock dwellers coming out onto the porch. Lulu had on a white satin robe, her hair still just as big and perfect as it had been all day. “Mercy, what in the world happened in there?”

Alfred was right behind her, the few hairs he had on his head standing straight up. “Alexandre is hurt.”

“Alexandre tried to harm Lydia,” Pastor Dev replied. “I hope he’s more than hurt. Don’t let him get away.”

Alfred shouted back into the room. “Detain the butler.”

“My Alexandre?” Lulu asked, her hands on her hips. “But…that just doesn’t make sense.”

“Nothing does right now, darlin’,” her husband said. “This is worse than a bee after a bull. We can’t trust anyone.”

“Alexandre?” Sally Mae stood just inside the open doors, her hair down now and hanging in waves to her waist. “I can’t believe it. We did a thorough background check on that man.”

“He’s only worked for us a few months,” Lulu pointed out. Then she gasped. “He was planted here, wasn’t he, Alfred?”

“Apparently,” Alfred said, his gaze sweeping over the others. “We have to be more careful. I’ll have to have a meeting with the other employees and explain what happens when someone is disloyal.”

Lydia didn’t dare ask about that. She tried to remember that CHAIM didn’t want to do harm, but anyone would do harm to protect their loved ones, wouldn’t they? Even this Disciple person everyone was talking about.

That made her remember something Alexandre had said while he held her down. “Alexandre told me to beware the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Do you think he was talking about The Disciple?”

Pastor Dev looked at John and Alfred. “I’ve had a message from The Disciple.”

Alfred nodded, his expression taut. “Why don’t we get you two dry then meet in the kitchen. You can fill us in.”

“I won’t meet without Lydia. I’m not leaving her alone again.”

John nodded. “Lydia can be trusted.”

Lydia beamed in spite of being so scared. She’d rather be in the thick of things than resting comfortably in a room where she’d almost been smothered. “I’ll go get changed.”

Lulu guided her back inside. “You remembered to open the doors to set the alarm off. Smart, honey, real smart.”

“I can take care of myself,” Lydia replied. But she gave the still-moaning Alexandre, who was being held down by Gerald and the very strong-armed Rita—who looked stunning even without all her Mary Kay—a very wide berth. Lydia did not want to have to kick Alexandre back down. But she would. She’d had just about enough.

Everyone left, Gerald dragging Alexandre out. Pastor Dev turned at the door, facing Lydia and Lulu. “I’ll wait right outside.”

“I’ll get her dressed,” Lulu said, patting his arm. “I’ll make sure—”

Pastor Dev didn’t let her finish. Pushing back inside, he asked, “Are you sure you’re all right, Lydia?”

Lydia nodded. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m not going into shock and I’m not going to fall apart. I just want this to be over.”

Lulu shot a worried look at Pastor Dev. “Maybe I should give the two of you some privacy.”

“Good idea,” Pastor Dev said, his eyes on Lydia.

Lulu nodded. “Coffee. We need coffee. And I don’t need a butler to make that.” Then she added, “You have five minutes before I come back.” She left, but not before giving them a long, meaningful glance over her shoulder.

Lydia waited while Pastor Dev stood in the open doorway. Not wanting to add to his burdens, she said, “I’ll be fine, honestly.” Then she saw him wince and grab his right shoulder. Unable to stop herself, she touched her fingers to his mighty biceps. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” he said, eyeing the splintered door frame. “I ran into the door.”

“You broke the door down,” Lydia said, observation style.

“I broke the door down,” he replied, commando style.

“You did that, for me?”

“I…was afraid—”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Lydia,” he began. Then he stopped, let out a frustrated sigh and pulled her into his arms. This time, he didn’t kiss her to calm her down, or to shut her up. This time, Lydia had no doubt that he was kissing her because he wanted to.

So she kissed him back, wanting this, too.

The room was quiet, the only sound the rain now coming soft and gentle outside the house. That and Lydia’s contented sigh as the man she loved showed her with tenderness what he couldn’t say with words.

He loved her, too. A little bit at least.

Dev stared across the table, trying to look anywhere but into Lydia’s big, questioning eyes. It had been so hard, earlier, to let her go, to stop holding her, to stop kissing her. But he’d somehow managed to pull away, to push her back into her room and urge her to change out of her wet pajamas.

He couldn’t allow his feelings for Lydia to sidetrack him. Someone was out to do him in and he was beginning to think that
someone
was much closer than he had imagined. His gut told him to believe Eli’s warning.

Which meant he had to keep Lydia close, but he also had to keep her at arm’s length. He had hoped to leave her at Eagle Rock, safe and sound, while he finished this job. But now he couldn’t do that. Now he had to take her with him. Just until this was over. And he could only wonder what their lives would be like if and when this were ever truly over.

“Here, Pastoral, drink this.” Lulu handed him a large glass of orange juice and two pain pills. “You look like you need it. Your arm is bruised.”

He didn’t miss the meaning in her eyes. Her expression held the same warning look Kissie had given him in New Orleans the night he’d first seen Lydia in the red dress. Lulu Anderson was a wise woman. She knew more than just his arm was bruised.

He had to hold it all together. “Thanks,” he said, taking the juice from Lulu. He tossed back the pills, then drank the juice, his eyes closed. When he opened them, Lydia was still staring over at him.

They were all up now and Lulu was cooking an early-morning breakfast of blueberry pancakes and bacon. The aroma of the sweet pancakes merged with the tantalizing smell of crisp bacon. Dev wasn’t hungry.