Secret Agent Minister (5 page)

“Kissie’s Korner is a very clean place, faithwise. Kissie takes in troubled teens, turns them toward the Lord and sets them on their way. She’s probably saved more teens in her thirty-five years of being an operative than anyone else on the planet.”

“That is mighty respectable.”

“Kissie is a good-hearted woman. She loves the Lord and serves only Him. She doesn’t put up with any bunk, I can tell you.”

“Drunken, rowdy blues players constitute bunk in my book.”

“Kissie doesn’t allow for any of that kind of stuff. Her place is a coffee bar.”

Lydia’s mouth fell open. “Nothing stronger than caffeine? I don’t get it.”

“Neither do the ones who try to pull anything. She boots them out, but they usually come back, begging for redemption. Kissie is that good.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right,” he said as he steered the truck down a narrow street just on the fringes of the French Quarter near Louis Armstrong Park. Then he parked and glanced around, his eyes doing a recon roll. “We’re here.”

Lydia looked up at the massive house in front of them, a soft gasp of shock shuddering through her body. It looked so old and dilapidated she had to wonder if it had been here since the beginning of time, or at least since the beginning of New Orleans. Two-storied and painted a sweet baby-blue, the house leaned so far to the left, a lush hot-pink bougainvillea vine actually floated out and away from it. The house reminded Lydia of an old woman holding a lacy handkerchief. The tall, narrow windows were surrounded with ancient gray-painted hurricane shutters. Antique wrought-iron tables and chairs filled the lacy balconies and porches. Petunias in various clay pots bloomed with wild abandonment all around the tottering, listing porch, while a magenta-colored hibiscus flared out like a belle’s skirt right by the steps. And a white-lettered sign over the front porch stated Kissie’s in curled, spiraling letters that matched the curling, spiraling mood of the house.

“This is a safe house?”

“Completely safe.” Pastor Dev came around the truck to help Lydia out. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?”

“You will, won’t you, Lydia?”

The way he looked at her, the way he asked that one simple question, made Lydia feel as sideways and unstable as this old house, while the look in his eyes made her want to stand tall and believe in him with all her heart.

“I guess I have to, now, don’t I?”

His smile was as brittle as the peeling paint on the house. “Yes, I’m afraid you do. Because, I have to warn you, this is only the beginning.”

“Oh, great,” Lydia said, using humor to hide her apprehension. “You mean, there’s more ahead?”

“Lots more before it’s over,” he said. “They won’t stop until they find us.”

And this time, he wasn’t smiling.

“G
et yourself on in here, man, and give Kissie a good and proper hug.”

The tall, big-boned woman stood at the door of the leaning house, the colorful beads on her long dreadlocks bouncing against her ample arms and shoulders. She wore a brightly patterned silk caftan that swished each time she chuckled and smiled. And she smelled like vanilla and spice.

That was Lydia’s first impression of Kissie Pierre, code name, Woman at the Well. Lydia watched as the voluptuous Kissie grabbed Pastor Dev and hugged him so tightly, he nearly lost his breath. But he didn’t seem to mind. He returned Kissie’s exuberant hug with one of his own, a gentle smile on his face as he winked at Lydia over Kissie’s cocoa-colored shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” Pastor Dev said as he came up for air. Then he turned to Lydia. “Lydia Cantrell, meet Kissie Pierre.”

“Mercy me,” Kissie said, grabbing Lydia by her arm, her big dark eyes widening with glee, her gold bangles slipping down her arm. “You sure are a pretty little thing.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said, the heat of that praise causing her to blush. “And thank you for…helping us.”

Kissie cluck-clucked that notion away. “Part of my job, honey-pie. That’s why I’m here. Now y’all come on back to the kitchen and let me get some decent food and strong coffee in you.”

Pastor Dev guided Lydia through the long, cluttered “club” part of the establishment. Lydia cast her gaze about, feeling as if she were in a forbidden zone. She saw reds and burgundies on the walls and in the furniture, plush Victorian sofas and dramatic Tiffany-style lamps, tassels and fringe in gold and bronze, and a huge white grand piano that sat in a prominent place by the floor-to-ceiling window in the front parlor. Across the squeaking, creaking worn wooden floor of the wide hallway, another room was filled with bistro tables and chairs and a gleaming mahogany bar along one wall. A huge sign running the length of the bar stated “Commit your work to the Lord, and your thoughts will be established.”—Proverbs 16:3.

“I just don’t get it,” Lydia whispered, the paradox of this seemingly decadent place running amok in her pristine mind. “I don’t see any alcohol behind that bar.”

“That’s the point,” Pastor Dev said into her ear. “It’s a cover, remember. The coffee bar works just fine. But Kissie makes it pretty clear that if you enter this establishment, it won’t be to drink liquor and carry on. She offers tea, lemonade and a full range of coffees, as well as all kinds of sweet treats. It’s more of a coffeehouse than a real bar, and her patrons know that.”

“But Kissie has her faith right out there for all to see, right along with her dreadlocks and her coffee and chicory,” Lydia retorted. “How can she get away with that and still run a blues club?”

“Kissie can be very persuasive. She’s like a preacher and a party girl all rolled into one neat package. Since she also lets wayward teens live here, she won’t allow any shenanigans. And that’s what makes everyone love her so much,” he said with a little grin. “Trust me.”

There was that request again. Lydia thought about that, thought about Kissie and wondered how many strange people she was going to have to trust before this was all over. Her notion of a proper Christian included a church dress and a set of pearls—not a bright orange-and-brown silk caftan, shiny gold hoop earrings and two gold teeth to match.

But then, maybe her notions were just a bit narrow-minded and preconceived. Kissie did have a brilliant, loving smile and she had helped lots of people to the Lord, according to Pastor Dev.

Plus, her coffee smelled divine and those cinnamon rolls she slapped onto gold-edged china did look too good to pass up. When she added two slices of crisp bacon, Lydia decided Kissie was her new best friend.

“Thank you,” Lydia said as Kissie handed her a cup of coffee and passed the cream. “I’m starving.”

“’Course you are, child.” Kissie glanced from Lydia to Pastor Dev, a serene smile on her face. Then she motioned for the teenage girl she’d called Jacqueline to leave the kitchen. Jacqueline gave them a blank look, but walked out of the room. Kissie waited a couple of seconds. “I’ve been briefed.” Then she shrugged toward Lydia. “SOP.”

“Standard operating procedure,” Pastor Dev clarified.

“With a special urgency, of course,” Kissie added, her voice low.

Lydia glanced up, amazed that the woman’s laid-back tone had changed to all business now. Watching Pastor Dev and Kissie, she could tell things were about to get serious.

So she took a long drink of her coffee and let out a sigh of relief. For some strange reason, she did feel safe here in Kissie’s Korner.

For now at least.

A couple of hours later, Dev peeked in on Lydia. She was sleeping in one of the dark-shaded upstairs bedrooms, her skin pale against the purple floral sheets and lavender satin comforter, her hair fanning out like golden-brown wheat against the shimmering pillow. Dev watched and listened, glad to hear her steady, peaceful breathing. Maybe she would get the rest she needed so much.

But there would be no rest for him.

So he headed downstairs to the room in the back that served as Kissie’s office. The room with all the computers and monitors and cameras. The official CHAIM room.

“How’s our baby girl?” Kissie asked as Dev entered the long, dark area that had once been a sleeping porch. Neither the sun nor the moon reached this place now. The area had been completely sealed off, a secret place hidden from most that frequented this establishment. There were no windows and a small door hidden behind a kitchen cabinet. Anyone who might notice would just think it was a storage room. Not even Lydia would see this dark corner.

“She’s fast asleep.”

Kissie nodded, causing her long braids to fall against her plump shoulder like fringe falling from an afghan. “Poor baby. This ain’t easy.”

“No,” Dev said, closing his eyes to his own fatigue. “I’m sure the food and the hot shower helped.”

“She’ll be okay. I got a man posted nearby, watching. The whole system is on high alert, of course.”

“Good. What’s the word from upstairs?”

Kissie smiled at his reference. It was a little joke amongst the CHAIM team, and a gentle reminder that none of them was really in charge. God was their main boss.

“Well, the higher-ups are not happy. They believe one of their own has turned rogue. There’s the law, and then there’s the law of CHAIM, you understand?”

“Only too well,” Dev replied, remembering his days as a full-time operative. One did not mess with the system. But apparently someone had.

“So do I have new orders?”

“To sit tight right now,” Kissie replied over her shoulder as she hit buttons and flipped switches. “You’ll receive word soon. But not here. The message will be posted at a different location. Probably somewhere else in the city.” She sat down in front of a flickering computer monitor. “So, let’s see the latest. We’ll look for any unusual activity out there.”

Dev watched as numbers and codes flashed by. “What if it’s Eli, Kissie?”

“Of course it’s Eli, honey,” Kissie replied. “No one else would dare break the CHAIM brotherhood. But Eli always was a bit of a renegade, even after he turned his life over to the Lord. It makes sense that he’d be the one.”

Dev ran a hand over his shower-damp hair. “Eli was one of us, one of the best. And because of me, he’s out there on his own now. I can’t decide if he’s truly gone insane, or if he’s just trying to get my attention.”

“Murder could indicate both.”

Dev stared at Kissie, the pain in her eyes matching what he felt in his heart. “I can’t believe he’d deliberately murder someone—even me. It just doesn’t add up. Whoever did this got the wrong man. That’s not like Eli. He’s more thorough. He wouldn’t kill another person just to get to me. He’d just kill me and get it over with. But Eli was—is—a good man. Or at least he was until I blew the whistle on his extracurricular activities and ruined his life.”

“It wasn’t all your fault, Dev. Eli always had a dark streak a mile wide. We had to rein him in many a time, and you did the right thing by reporting him to our superiors. He was a walking time bomb.”

“But look what it caused. I failed him. I wanted to get him some help, not turn him against all of us. I never dreamed it would lead to murder.”

Kissie turned in her chair. “Are we talking about the current murder, Devon? Or the…other?”

“Both,” Dev said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “And they are both my fault.”

“But you don’t believe Eli actually committed
this
crime?”

Dev thought about that. “It’s just a gut reaction. Eli is hurt and angry, and he’s grieving. But he has the heart of a warrior—a Christian warrior. He wouldn’t do something like this, but I believe his actions might have triggered it, somehow.” He tapped his fingers on the sleek black desk. “And I believe something went wrong. Now Eli’s on the run. He’s either after me—and my hunch is wrong—or he wants to seek my help. Either way, he’s going to be in big trouble when we find him.” The tapping stopped. “And as we both know, CHAIM has its own system of justice.”

Kissie’s bright-red-painted nails hit the keys with precision. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

Dev watched as she typed in:

Pastoral, looking for a lost sheep. Please respond ASAP.

“That’s obvious,” Dev said, shaking his head. “He knows I’ll be looking for him.”

Then she wrote,

Judgment and justice take hold of you.

Dev understood the code. It was Kissie’s way of saying, “Don’t take your own form of justice.” And they both knew that was exactly what Eli specialized in. Even after rigorous training, Eli still had a vigilante streak.

Then she wrote,

Do not walk with wicked men.

Dev knew that Job was CHAIM’s special book of the Bible, the one the organization used to talk in code. Would Eli, known as The Disciple, see the codes embedded in their main Web site and know Dev was trying to reach out to him? Or would this bring Eli right to Kissie’s door? Eli was smart enough to break through the encryptions and find the exact location of the router. He would be here within hours if that happened. Maybe that needed to happen, and if Lydia wasn’t here with him, Dev would almost welcome that confrontation. Once and for all.

Dev thought about the woman sleeping upstairs and vowed he couldn’t let that happen just yet. Not until Lydia was safe. “What now?” he asked after Kissie keyed in a few more carefully worded messages.

“We wait,” she said, her dark eyes giving him a sharp look. “And you try to get some sleep.” When he looked doubtful, she added, “Don’t worry. I rerouted everything and it’s all encrypted. It will only reach those who might be looking for it, and those who know where to look. I believe Eli is good at that sort of thing, but if he’s smart, he won’t come near New Orleans right now.” Then she got up, pushing him toward the door. “Rest.”

“I can’t sleep,” Dev replied. “I have to watch.”

“And pray,” Kissie added with a soft smile.

“Who’s on the agenda for tonight?” he asked, hoping for a diversion.

“The Gospel According to Pauly.”

He nodded, flexed the tight muscles in his back. “I love that band. Perfect harmony of all the oldies but goodies.”

“Good, solid gospel and soul,” Kissie said, getting up to shuffle some printouts. “Can’t go wrong with that mix.”

“I need a good mix to get us out of this mess,” Dev said as they exited the room. “Of course, Lydia and I might have to miss the show.”

“We’ll see, once we receive your next orders.”

After they’d safely secured the secret entrance-way, Kissie turned to face him. “Pastoral, you did everything in your power to keep Eli on the straight and narrow. The Disciple has strayed on his own. He didn’t seek help. In fact, he refused any help…after the South America incident.”

“But he went through his own form of grief and repentance,” Dev said, his voice low. “He went into seclusion, but it was at CHAIM’s demand. It was the best thing he could do, but Eli would have chafed under that sentence. And he would have plotted.”

“Well, now he’s out,” Kissie said with a pragmatic shrug. “And apparently, his time to reflect
didn’t
help him. He’s not well, Devon.”

Dev’s palm hit the granite counter. “That’s because the man is heartbroken, Kissie. We destroyed—”

“Destroyed what?”

Dev turned to see Lydia standing at the arched doorway to the kitchen, her hair cascading around her pale face. “What did you destroy, Pastor Dev? Or is that information classified?”

Everything around here was classified, Lydia decided later. Pastor Dev had refused to clue her in, for her own protection, of course. So she’d spent most of the afternoon either napping underneath one of the many ceiling fans around the big house, or reading one of the many interesting books and magazines Kissie kept stashed in her upstairs living quarters. The woman had everything from
O
magazine to the
Wall Street Journal
and
People
magazine, not to mention various forms of Christian fiction and nonfiction.

Lydia had read an entire
O
from cover to cover—some of those life lessons in there were pretty good. Then she’d skimmed all the celebrity rags—her daddy wouldn’t approve of that—and read a short inspirational romance that had a nice, sweet, happily-ever-after ending.

And wondered if she’d ever have the same.

Then she’d visited with the two girls living here under Kissie’s supervision. Jacqueline was moody and resentful. She hated the foster home system. Amy was sweet and unassuming. She loved being safe here with Kissie. Both had been caught up in bad situations. Jacqueline, alcohol and boys; Amy, in an abusive, drug-infested home. They’d been careful not to reveal too much to Lydia, but they’d plied her with curious questions about everything from her favorite songs to what type of perfume and makeup she liked. Careful to be honest but not too forthcoming, Lydia had indulged in a little girl talk until Jacqueline had gone upstairs to clean and Amy had left to run an errand.