Stranger in the Night (11 page)

“How come you followin’ her around with your tongue hangin’ out, dog?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Look at you all buff with your big muscles—tryin’ to be the man so you can impress your woman. Yeah, don’t think I’m blind. You and
her ain’t no different from me and Raydell. What happened that night happened—but it wasn’t all my fault. Raydell was givin’ me the look, too. Anyhow, I’m done with all that. I got me a job and I don’t need no man.”

Liz touched the girl’s arm. “Where are you working, Shauntay? Do you need a ride?”

“D’Shondra’s Braids. I can walk…but…”

“Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

As Shauntay handed her children to a volunteer and the two women pushed open the door, Liz glanced back at Joshua. “Don’t forget Podunk’s.”

He called after her. “It was Duke. I talked to the dog, okay?”

The door swung shut. Someone pressed something into his hands. He looked down into a pair of bright brown eyes. A baby.

“Do
not
go!” Molly grabbed Liz’s shoulders and stared her down. “Are you nuts? It could be a gang thing like the other night. But instead of the dog,
you
could be the one who gets stabbed. Or shot.”

“It’s not a gang thing. Someone wants to return the man’s phone, that’s all.” Liz felt around the bottom of her purse for her car keys. “It’s a public place. Podunk’s—nothing will happen there.”

“If nothing will happen, why do you need to go? The guy is a Marine, for goodness’ sake. Let him take care of it himself.”

“That’s exactly why I need to go. He said it himself—he’s a loose cannon.”

“And you can fix that?” Molly maneuvered until she stood between Liz and the cubicle’s exit. “You will not go, Elizabeth Wallace. You will drive home, make yourself eat dinner and sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.”

“Look at you, Liz! You haven’t slept in weeks. You’re a wreck, and I’m scared something is going to happen to you. Even without that nutty man around, you’ll probably drive into a
wall. You can barely hold your eyes open. And now you’re going to some restaurant to protect the guy from a stalker?”

“I can’t protect Joshua Duff from anyone. But I can at least be there. From a safe distance, I can watch what happens. If there’s a problem, I’ll call the police. Now move, please. The guy on the phone said six straight up.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You hate Cajun food.”

“This is not about food. It’s about your life.”

“Molly, please don’t be melodramatic. I understand your concern. The times I’ve been around Joshua were…strange.”

“This morning he thought you were a ghost.”

“He has a touch of PTSD. They all do—the war vets—and he insists he knows how to get through it.”

“He said he’s talking to someone, right? So it’s probably another woman, Liz. He’s found a girlfriend, and he was letting you know.”

That possibility had bothered Liz all day. The Somali refugees she’d visited in the morning were having trouble rationing their food stamps and other vouchers. Their phone bill was outrageous from calling Africa. They had fallen into debt after only two months in America. One of the older boys—frustrated and angry over struggles with English—had stopped going to school. The mother seemed depressed, and the father had made a serious mistake at his new job. The family meeting lasted several hours, and Liz’s efforts to communicate in Swahili illustrated how far she still had to go before she would ever be ready to live and work overseas.

Through the entire time she spent explaining that junk mail coupons did not entitle people to free money, she kept thinking about Joshua. His face in the mirror. The touch of his hand on her arm.

I do need you,
he had called after her as she tried to run away. But did he? What could she offer him? The pull between them
could only be physical. Or perhaps it was a result of Liz’s constant drive to save the world, as Molly had so often chastised her.

“I do not have romantic feelings for Joshua Duff,” she told her friend. “I’m concerned about his state of mind, that’s all. Now let me pass so I can get to the restaurant on time.”

Molly stepped aside. “This is such an about-face from what you said before. Come on, Liz. You have a schoolgirl crush on the guy, even though you know it will come to nothing. He’s leaving for Texas. You have plans of your own. Don’t keep finding ways to see him.”

“I need to do this one last thing.” Liz moved down the hall, her heart rate increasing with every step. “You didn’t see those three guys the other night. They came at us, Molly. If Joshua hadn’t produced that knife out of thin air, I don’t know what would have happened. Besides, the man who called me on the phone sounded threatening. He said his people had been following Joshua. How can I stand back and let him walk into something dangerous?”

“You said this wasn’t a gang thing! You said you knew you couldn’t protect him!” Molly’s accusations flapped overhead like laundry on a line. “You said you weren’t going to try to do anything! You told me you knew how to handle this!”

“I do.” Liz pushed open the door of the Refugee Hope office building. “Bear with me, Molly.”

“Liz, you’re my friend!” Molly looked as if she might cry. “I know we’re both a little crazy. This refugee work is…it’s nuts. People who give their lives to do this kind of thing have to be a little wacky to begin with. But you haven’t slept and you’re stressed out about Africa and now the Marine Corps has come calling. I’m scared for you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll phone you from Podunk’s.” Liz waved over her shoulder as she trotted to her car.

It was a short drive to the restaurant, but she was late. Her
watch read five minutes past the hour. Stomach churning, she parked and hurried to the door. Inside, the place was crowded and dimly lit. She searched for Joshua but didn’t see him.

“Next! What you want, lady?” The man behind the counter was impatient, tapping the side of the cash register.

She elbowed between people waiting to pick up their orders. A quick glance at the menu revealed a list of things that would mess up her already fragile digestive system.

“We got a po’boy special. Shrimp. You want that?”

“I’ll take red beans and rice,” she told him. “And water to drink. Nothing else.”

He shouted the order over his shoulder as she dug for cash. As she paid, she spotted a familiar figure in one corner of the restaurant. Senses prickling to life, she took her number and stepped away from the counter.

One hand propped on the wall, Joshua stood facing a smaller man. Their conversation was earnest, animated. She could see the exchange heating up. The man leaned closer, punctuating his words with a pointed finger.

Scrawny, he had pimpled caramel skin. He wore a purple do-rag. Hypes?

He would not be alone. She looked around, searching the gloom. There, near the front door.

Two young men waited, hanging back, watching. One sported a gold chain necklace with an emblem pendant she didn’t recognize. The other was heavily pierced—both ears, eyebrows, lower lip. He had a skinny goatee that ended in loose wisps of hair.

Her heart stumbling over itself, Liz tried to edge casually in the direction of the two by the door. She reached into her purse and palmed her phone. The emergency number was a single button away.

“He gonna just give it to him?” the man in the necklace
asked the other in a low voice. “Dog, he better not give that thing away without makin’ the contact. It’s all we got.”

“Mo Ded’s watchin’. He’ll make sure it goes down right.”

The name jangled Liz’s nerves. Mo Ded. The leader of the Hypes. How could he be watching? Surely she would have noticed the man. She scanned the restaurant again. A couple of businessmen in suits, their ties loosened, sat in one booth. At a table, a family with four restless children dropped napkins, knocked over glasses, squabbled. A teenage couple laughed as they ate. She saw no one who could fit the description of a gang leader.

“I recognize him now, yo.” The youth with the piercings elbowed the other and pointed at Joshua. “He’s the guy from the other night. The one with the knife.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. How come he here and not her?”

“Maybe he her homeboy.”

“Naw. He gotta be the shotcaller. Look at him, dog. We better step in.”

“Number forty-seven! Lady, I called you three times already!”

Liz flinched as she realized the man behind the counter was shouting at her. Swallowing, she left the two by the door and took her tray. She tried not to tremble as she carried it in front of them and found an open table. Now her hand was off the phone, and she could see that Joshua and the other man were arguing.

As she set the tray on the table, Joshua grabbed the pimpled kid’s T-shirt at the throat. He lifted him off his feet and gave him a rough shake. At that, the two by the door set off across the restaurant in the direction of their friend.

“Joshua!” Liz cried out.

She moved toward him, but another man stepped into her path. She saw little of him. A white T-shirt. A leather strap collar with a single purple bead. An angular face. Green eyes. The stench of dried sweat…and something else…flooded her nostrils.

His hand clamped her shoulder, shoved her down into the chair.

“Stay put.”

She knew that voice. Grabbing her purse, she searched for the phone. When she lifted her head, it was all over.

The men had vanished. A waitress sauntered past and straightened bottles of hot sauce on Liz’s table. No one in the restaurant seemed aware a confrontation had occurred. From a booth against the far wall, one of Joshua’s legs jutted out. At an odd angle, it didn’t move.

With a gasp, Liz lurched up from the chair and ran to him.

A
s Liz reached the booth, Joshua stood. Circling, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and pushed her behind him. And then they were both seated, pressed together against the wall, hidden from view by the high bench on the other side of the table.

She covered her face with her hands and blew out a breath. “I don’t believe this.”

“Why did you come?” he demanded.

“You should have brought Sam and Terell!” She couldn’t hold back the anguish. “What were you thinking? They could have killed you. It wasn’t just that one guy, you know.”

“It’s never just one. Liz, this is what I do. My job for the last ten years—it’s what I know. Why are you here?”

“Because I figured you’d do something stupid like this. I knew you wouldn’t ask for help, and then you’d get hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” He set his cell phone on the table and gave it a spin. “See? Got ’er back.”

“Oh!” She grabbed the thing and shook it. “For this you risked your life? For a dumb phone?”

“And you? Why did you risk your life?”

“My life wasn’t at risk. I was standing way over there. That’s my tray, see? That table by the door. And I saw two guys watching you, keeping track of the whole thing. There was someone else, too. When I tried to reach you, another man stopped me. He smelled…awful.”

“So that’s four. I’ll bet there were more.” He studied her face. With his thumb, he brushed her cheek. “Liz, this morning you said you’d given me the message and that was it. I thought you were gone. I thought you were finished with me. Now this.”

“I
am
finished with you.” She pushed at him with her shoulder. “Move over.”

“Why? I like this.” He leaned in. “As opposed to Mo Ded, you smell great.”

“That was him? Did you know he was here? Had you seen him when you came in?”

“Didn’t I just tell you this is what I do?”

“Why did the Hypes have your phone? Why had they been following you?”

“Not sure about that part. I tried to get it out of the little guy. He wouldn’t talk.”

“What did they want, Joshua?”

“Contact.” He rubbed his brow. “I can’t figure it out. It looks like a gang thing, so I don’t understand the connection to me. What I did—Iraq, Afghanistan—it was tracking insurgents with a focus on counterterrorist stuff. Mainly al-Qaeda, mujahideen, the Taliban, you know, the groups go on and on. That was my work, and I’m good at it. But St. Louis? I never heard about cells or other activity like that before I came.”

“They must have traced you here.”

“And put
kids
onto me? They’re punks. Trained, maybe. Smart, probably. I’ll give them a little credit for savvy and tactics. But they’re nothing like the men I knew over there. Those guys
are warriors, fierce, eager to die for their cause. The boy who gave me the phone? He was a baby. The whole thing with the purple colors, the body piercing, the tattoos is a puzzle, too. Muslims don’t do tats, Liz. Marking the body is forbidden in Islamic law. Even with my Muslim allies, these things caused me problems.”

He gestured in disgust at the symbols on his upper arms. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I have to think it’s something else. But the gang stuff is Sam’s problem. A turf war. So why would they come after me? Why grab my phone?”

“The phone was just a way to meet you.”

“They know how to do that. They met me the other night.” He leaned back against the bench and shut his eyes. “Could the Hypes be connected to terrorism? Al-Qaeda isn’t above using anyone—women, children, even the disabled and mentally handicapped. They’ll do whatever it takes. But these scrawny St. Louis kids? I can’t make it all add up.”

Liz couldn’t resist laying her hand on his arm. “Joshua, why don’t you go on home to Texas now? You didn’t ask for this gang problem, and you’ve done everything you need to do in St. Louis. I’ll take care of the Rudi family. I remember what I said when you first came to my office, but I really don’t mind helping them on the side. They’re nice people, and I have the contacts and the skills.”

“That girl just dumped your tray.” He was looking across the room. “She works here. She thought you’d gone.”

“I don’t care about my dinner.” She slid her hand down his arm and wrapped her fingers around his palm. “Joshua, I care about
you
.”

His head swung, his eyes focusing on her. “There are still three of them in here, Liz.
Keep looking at me
.” He reached up and touched her jaw, tipping her head in his direction.

“They work in threes,” he murmured. “I need to get you out.”

She tightened her grip on his hand. “Joshua, this is about you, not me. They’re going to hurt you.”

“These three are only on watch. Keeping tabs. The conflict is over for now.” He smiled at her. “Liz Wallace, you’re following the wrong man around. I’m dangerous.”

“Dangerous but not crazy.”

“True. When the guy with the phone kept poking at me, I triggered. But I didn’t go into a zone. I stayed with reality.”

“So that’s good.”

“But the work I did, the people who gravitate to me because of my past—bad. The three kids over there—
don’t look, Liz
—they’re after something. I don’t know what it is, but they need it. Their boss stationed them in here because he’s desperate. There’s an anxiety I recognize.” He paused for a second. “And here comes the waitress.”

“Did you want to see a menu?” The young woman slouched one hip out, pen poised over a pad of paper. “We’ve got a po’boy special tonight. Shrimp.”

“Bring us two,” Joshua said, holding up fingers. “You got hot tea?”

“I can make some, I guess. We have tea bags.”

“Two cups.” He glanced at Liz. “I hope that’s okay. Gotta have my tea. Make it the green stuff with the cardamom in the bottom.”

“We don’t have anything like that at Podunk’s.” The waitress was frowning. “Ours is brown.”

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll take brown tea. Milk and sugar, too.”

As the waitress walked away, Liz made a subtle effort to search the room for the three gangbangers Joshua had mentioned. Or terrorists. Or whatever. She could see almost nothing as the light faded outside. The little restaurant relied mostly on candles in red jars centered on each table.

“I thought we were leaving,” she said as he relaxed, leaning
his shoulder against hers. “A few minutes ago, you wanted to get me out of here, remember?”

“Changed my mind. Might as well eat. Besides, I like this.” He focused on their clasped hands. “I don’t know what to do with you, Liz. I need to keep you as far away from me as possible. But I want you to stay close, too. Close enough to touch.”

“Rumor has it you’re dangerous and crazy. I ought to run.”

“Maybe not.” He toyed with her curls. “A woman who would go to Africa must like a little danger. Maybe she’s a tad crazy, too.”

“I’m not crazy like that. Everything I do is serious, focused. I take risks, but they’re well-calculated ones. My family is conservative, religious, socially conscious. We’re descended from William Wallace of Scotland, if that tells you anything.”

“
Braveheart
. Dying for the cause.”

“That’s us.”

“Wallace was pretty crazy, wasn’t he? The blue face paint and the yelling?”

“Not my branch of Wallaces. Somber as the grave. My two sisters and I grew up doing activist things with our parents—protesting and marching. But all for severely rigorous concepts. No liberal agenda. We were about changing the world through Christianity. Protecting the unborn. Shutting down smut peddlers. Stuff like that.”

“My upbringing was a bit different. We went to church, sure. But Dad was busy making money. I guess materialism and capitalism would be the little idols in the Duff family closet. As for socially conscious—oh, yeah, if you’re talking about the social scene at the country club. We were very conscious of that.”

She laughed. “I painted signs. Good handwriting, you know. Lettering slogans was always my job before we went out on protest marches. My older sister hammered the poster boards onto pickets for us to carry. My younger sister packed meals.”

“Family fun.”

“Quite adventuresome if you didn’t mind the occasional rotten tomato. Effective, too. My family helped shut down smarmy businesses and open prison doors and get legislation passed. TV cameras couldn’t resist three little curly-haired girls in matching polka-dot dresses toting placards around. The Wallace kids made the nightly news a lot—Lucy, Liz and Laura. We turned out all right, I guess. Lucy is a missionary doctor in India. Laura has a law practice in California. Immigrant rights.”

“And Liz is going to Africa under the blue banner of the United Nations.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Any of you married?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure how well political activism mixes with raising families, though our parents did a pretty good job.”

“You don’t want a husband? Kids?”

“I don’t think about it much.” Looking into his snow-flecked cobalt eyes, she could read nothing. “What about you?”

“Not till now.”

Before she could respond, the waitress slid a couple of plates across their table. “Two shrimp po’boys. I couldn’t find teacups. Sorry.”

She set foam take-out cups filled with steaming water in front of Joshua and Liz. Each held a tea bag seeping brown color into the hot liquid. A handful of artificial creamers and sugar packets spilled out of her pocket onto the table.

“I asked for milk,” Joshua called after the waitress as she sauntered away. He muttered, “Nondairy creamer. Among America’s worst inventions. So, do social activists bless their meals in public places?”

“Always. I guess praying out loud is not such a great idea in Afghanistan.”

“Not if you want to keep your head on.”

He smiled, leaned closer and murmured a brief prayer. When Liz opened her eyes, he was already biting into the sandwich. She thought about asking him again to move over. He had wedged her against the wall, without elbow room or even much breathing space. But something about their closeness appealed to her. Her life was spent keeping a careful distance—from the refugee families, from coworkers, even from the men she dated.

Joshua was an invader. He had walked into her office cubicle and demanded attention. She wasn’t able to dislodge him from her private space then…or now. And she had come to welcome his presence even as it disturbed her.

“This is the worst tea I’ve ever tasted,” he announced, finishing it nonetheless. “Criminal. I’ll make you a proper cup one of these days. Most guys leave with trinkets from the bazaar or souvenirs someone was hawking on the street. I came back with lots of tea.”

Joshua had downed the po’boy faster than Liz had ever seen a sandwich disappear. He ate one-handed, his right hand holding the food while the left stayed in his lap. A Muslim custom, she recalled from her agency’s literature. He had learned to blend well. She made barely a dent in her own meal. With her stomach in knots, she couldn’t eat.

“So, it wasn’t all bad over there?” she asked. “The tea sounds nice.”

“Bad? Nah, lots of good stuff. The languages are beautiful—Dari and Pashto. The Hindu Kush—those mountains are spectacular. The Bamyam region where the two Buddhas used to stand before the Taliban destroyed them. Amazing. Kandahar and Kabul are fascinating cities. Afghan food tastes great. Naan is the bread, and shish kebab is a staple wherever you go. Pilau is a mix of rice, orange peel, almonds, raisins and chicken. Nothing better.”

“You liked it out there in the big, wide world.”

“I like it right here.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “That’s another line, in case you didn’t catch on.”

Her cheeks went hot. “I caught it.”

“You smell good, Liz.”

“You mentioned that. It’s nothing, though. I don’t wear perfume.”

“It’s you.” He gently kissed her cheek. “This morning when I held you for a second…I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. I was worried because you were in your dress and I’d been sweating.”

“I remember.” She sighed. “I tried to recall being scared, but I couldn’t. I’m not sure why, Joshua, but you don’t frighten me. Some of the things you do, maybe. But not you. You’re…comfortable.”

“Me?” He chuckled. “Now that’s a first.”

She leaned her head back on his arm. “I feel safe.”

“You’re not safe, Liz. I’m plotting against you all the time.”

“No, you’re not. You’re always protecting me. I like that.”

“If only you knew. I’m scheming for your downfall. Thinking about holding you. Thinking about kissing you. Thinking all kinds of things.”

She closed her eyes. “Good luck, soldier. I’m a labyrinth. You’ll never find your way through me.”

“And I’m a tracker. I can get to the center of any maze you design.”

“Stop talking and drink my tea. I’m tired.”

Despite the crowded restaurant, the clinking plates and the chatter of diners, Liz was suddenly so relaxed she could barely focus. The New Orleans jazz playing in the background and the scent of melted candle wax oozed through her, and she felt herself drifting. Something about the solid muscle of Joshua’s arm behind her head…the warmth of his hand on her arm…the press of his lips against her temple…the touch of his fingertips in her hair…