Stranger in the Night (22 page)

Liz’s room went on and on—with a private bath and sitting area of her own. Her suite opened onto a wide porch, which led to the huge patio that surrounded the swimming pool. For
the party, strings of glittering white lights filled the trees and hung in swags from the porch ceiling.

Caterers had arrived while Liz was taking an afternoon nap. She showered and slipped into a dress and heels. By the time she stepped outside, long buffet tables with white skirts stretched endlessly across the patio. Spits turned meat. Barbecue sauce bubbled in pots. Vegetable dishes sat steaming under silver covers. Bread, cheeses, salads of every kind were spread out in a grand array.

And there were people. Lots of people.

Liz had immediately liked Joshua’s parents when they met at the airport. His father wore a white Stetson, a blue shirt and bolo tie, jeans and cowboy boots. His mother was elegant and pretty with soft blond hair and pearls at her neck. They embraced their son, admonished him, welcomed him, teased him. They had treated Liz like a queen.

“There you are!” Joshua’s father gave a jaunty wave as he crossed to where she stood at the buffet. “You fill up now, honey. We don’t want our guests going away hungry.”

She laughed. “There’s hardly a chance of that.”

“Mind if I cut in? Looks like there’s room for an old fellow to elbow through.” He grabbed a plate and pointed to the prime rib. “Now that’s a slab of meat for you, right there. That’s from our own stock.”

“Killed the fatted calf, did you?” she asked.

He threw back his head and guffawed. “Joshua’s a prodigal son, all right. I thought I’d never get my boy home from the military. Then he stayed so long in St. Louis, we began to wonder if he’d be back at all. Now we understand what was keeping him.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me.” She had forced herself to fill her plate as he talked. The urge to bolt was great, but she kept walking. “Joshua got deeply involved in the work at Haven. Did he tell you about it?”

“The youth center? Yes, great project. Duff-Flannigan is a corporate sponsor, of course. I met Sam Hawke several times. He visited here between deployments. Doesn’t surprise me that he went into nonprofit work. I could tell he had a big heart.”

“So does your son.” Liz glanced over her shoulder at Joshua’s father. In the lamplit darkness she was again stricken by the similarities between the two. John Duff was a handsome man. Rugged, strong, imposing. But Elaine Duff had given her second-born child his blue eyes.

“Joshua played a lot of basketball with the kids at Haven, I understand.” The older man indicated a table near the pool. They walked together. “He said he taught a few classes in the fitness room and helped build some sort of outdoor recreation area.”

“Yes, and it’s getting a lot of use.” Liz hardly knew what to say. What information had Joshua given his family—and what had he kept secret?

She spotted the man himself across the water. He stood at the center of a group of young women. From the way they were giggling, Liz had a feeling they were not his sisters.

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” John said, dismissing the women with a flick of his hand. “They’ve been vying for my boy for years. Known each other since they were kids. Family friends. He used to call those girls ‘the bumblebees.’ They kept buzzing him, bothering him. Elaine and I speculated half the reason he joined the Marine Corps was to get away from them. Now I suspect they’re not much more than gnats drifting around his head. Joshua is all yours.”

“I’m not sure about that, Mr. Duff. We haven’t known each other long.”

“From what he tells me, sounds pretty serious all the same.”

“It happened fast.”

“Always does with Duffs. We never do anything halfhearted.”
He pulled back her chair, seated her and then settled into his place nearby. “I met my Elaine one morning, took her out on our first date that evening, married her two weeks later. Her folks weren’t too thrilled, but thirty-eight happy years later, I think we’ve won them over. It’s true, a Duff never dawdles in matters of the heart. My grandfather had known my grandmother ten minutes when he asked for her hand. Hope that doesn’t scare you, Miss Lizzy.”

She smiled at the endearment. “A little. Faithfulness is a Duff tradition I like. Joshua told me he never breaks promises.”

“That’s right,” he said as he chewed. “We’re Irish, you know. Loyal to the bone. Hotheaded. Stubborn. Smart—gotta put that in. And we don’t mess around. We Duffs know what we want. When we want something, we go get it.”

“And you want Joshua to take his place in the family business,” she said. “Director of oil field operations, was it?”

“President. He’ll run that division.” He had stabbed a fork into his prime rib, sawed off a chunk and was dipping it in horseradish sauce.

“Does your son like the oil field?”

“It’s money,” he said. “No other way to put it. Oil is money. It’s what Duffs do. We don’t have
feelings
for the oil patch—we own it. A master-servant relationship. We’re good to the land, but we make it work for us. It serves our family well. Serves others, too. We created a foundation that helps the needy. You’ll get the picture before long. We’ll take you out tomorrow after church. Sunday drive around some of our property.”

She ate a bite of turkey, marveling at the barbecue sauce. Was that another Duff family tradition—like loyalty and stubbornness?

“Is this a secret?” she asked, pointing to the hearty, brick-red liquid that dripped from her meat. “I’d love to give the recipe to the volunteers at Haven. They’d enjoy using it at the Pagandan barbecue tomorrow evening.”

“What kind of a barbecue?”

“It’s for refugees from Paganda. Joshua didn’t mention it? He’s probably trying to put it out of his mind. The police were hoping he’d be there to finish the investigation. He worked so hard to get the gang to stop claiming Haven as its turf. I hope they can wrap things up without him.”

“You’re saying my boy was doing some kind of investigation while he was in St. Louis?”

A knot formed in Liz’s stomach. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“He said he was helping out at Haven with the fitness room and the basketball. That kind of thing. He met you and wanted time to get to know you better. That’s why he stayed in St. Louis as long as he did.”

“Because of
me?
”

“Well, he did admit he was enjoying the companionship of a fellow ex-Marine while he was adapting to civilian life.” John Duff lowered his voice. “I guess you know Joshua has gone through some harrowing events out there on the battlefield. This isn’t the first time he needed a few weeks to get back in the saddle.”

“Yes, he told me.”

“The last time he came home, Elaine and I could see he was a changed man. He was jumpy, tense, on edge. Like his brain had gotten a little scrambled over there. He did talk to a doc or two on base. Anyhow, it wasn’t long before he came out of it. I think it helps him to be here on the ranch with the family. We feed him right, let him rest. He likes to ride his horse, go camping, be alone. Then he’s fine.”

“That’s good.”

Liz noticed that Joshua was working his way through the clusters of guests, greeting people and then moving on around the pool. He had spotted her and tipped his chin to signal that he was on his way to her side. Though she had missed him, the thought of their encounter made her nervous.

This Joshua was not the man she had met in St. Louis. Like his father and the other men, he now wore a tailored leather coat, jeans and cowboy boots. He smiled more. Laughed easily. His father was right. Joshua was comfortable at home. He belonged here.

“Now about this investigation you mentioned,” John said, drawing Liz’s focus. “Tell me more about that.”

She wished she could think of an escape. If Joshua hadn’t told his family what he’d been doing in St. Louis, maybe he didn’t want them to know. But Duff integrity was important, both men had stipulated, and his father deserved at least some information.

“Haven is surrounded by gang territory,” she said. “One group has been trying to take that street. Didn’t he mention the Hypes?”

John Duff’s brow furrowed. “He said he was helping build a basketball court.”

“The new outdoor rec area, right. That’s where the drive-by shooting happened. I saw the whole thing. It was Mo Ded’s gang—the Hypes—who shot that little boy who’s one of the refugees from Paganda. The child is part of the family Joshua offered to help resettle. That was how I met him. You know? The refugee family?”

As she was speaking, she saw confusion and dismay filter across John Duff’s face.

“The Rudi family,” she continued, hesitantly. “They had left their agency and caseworker in Atlanta when they moved to St. Louis. Joshua met them at Haven. Anyway…Joshua was a lot of help.”

“I thought he was helping kids in a fitness center.”

“Yes, but you know Joshua.”

As she said it, she suddenly realized that maybe this man did
not
know his son. Not really. Not the way she did.

“So—a child got shot?” John asked.

“He’s going to be all right. Joshua was right there when it happened. Actually, that bullet was meant for…for someone else. And…it turned out okay.”

As John Duff carved another chunk of prime rib, Liz searched desperately for a way out of this conversation.

“Your pool must be very nice in the summer,” she offered. “I bet it gets hot here.”

“Yes, but what was this investigation about? The shooting?”

Liz tried to sound dismissive. “Well, the whole gang situation. Joshua looked into the Hypes problem. He was helping the police put together a plan to take down Mo Ded.”

“Mo Ded?” John Duff leaned back in his chair. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I thought Joshua left that kind of thing behind in Afghanistan. Warlords and investigations and shootings.”

She couldn’t resist sharing her admiration. “But your son was amazing in St. Louis. He used all his training, all his skills to help us. Mr. Duff, when people hate each other, whether they’re fighting over land or power or religion or anything else, it doesn’t matter where they live. I wish you could meet my refugees. You’d understand what Joshua was doing. These people have suffered so much. The women come to us, and they’re just broken. The children have witnessed things no child should ever see. The men often have wounds that go way beyond obvious physical scars.”

“And this is what you do? You help these people find new homes in America?”

“In St. Louis. My refugees would have no idea a place like this exists. Your home, the pool, the miles of open land. They could never even imagine it.”

“Imagine what?” Joshua emerged into the light of the candles on the table. He pulled back a chair and sat. “Dad, are you bragging about your big spread? You’d better not be filling Liz’s
head with stories about the Duff family and all our shenanigans. A few of your Irish tales, and she’ll be running for the hills.”

“Your Miss Lizzy is the storyteller tonight. I had no idea what you were up to in St. Louis. Gang shootings, Joshua?”

Both pairs of eyes turned on Liz. One set brown. The other navy-blue.

“I think I may have said too much.” Liz scooted back in her chair. “I thought you’d been talking to your family every day, Joshua. I thought they knew. Lest I get caught in the cross fire here, I think I’ll go grab some dessert. I saw some pecan pie with my name on it.”

Both men rose, a gallant gesture, as she hurried away. Heart hammering, Liz headed for the dessert table. She picked up a plate of pie and a fork and half ran to her room. All she could think about now was going home.

“L
iz.” Joshua knocked again. “Please talk to me.”

The door to her bedroom suite opened, and she stepped out onto the patio. The evening breeze filtered through her hair, lifting the curls and making them dance. He couldn’t resist a touch.

“It’s okay,” he said. “My father and I are fine. It’s true, I hadn’t told him everything”

“You hadn’t told him
anything.
Helping out in the fitness room? Playing basketball with the kids? Joshua, why weren’t you honest?”

“I did those things. My dad and mom didn’t know the details of what I was doing in Afghanistan. Why would I tell them about St. Louis? That kind of stuff is hard for a parent to hear.”

“I’m sorry. I never should have said a word. I stumbled into it because of the barbecue sauce. I was thinking about tomorrow at Haven—the Pagandans and how they would like the taste. I shouldn’t have mentioned the gangs. Or Mo Ded.”

“Or the drive-by shooting.”

“Okay, I blew it.” She hugged herself. “Joshua, I’ve booked a flight. I’m going home tomorrow.”

Disbelief flooded through him.

“Tomorrow? You haven’t seen our land. The Duff-Flannigan building. We didn’t go into Amarillo. There are refugees here, Liz. My mother made some phone calls this afternoon. She found two services that do resettlement work just like in Atlanta and St. Louis. Iraqis and Bosnians are pouring in. And immigrants from down south. Documented, undocumented. It’s a crazy place. The need is here.”

“But my people are there.” Wiping her cheek, she shook her head. “My work is in St. Louis. My Somalis and Burundians and Congolese.”

“Your Africans.”

“I need to be with my Pagandans tomorrow at that barbecue. If something happens—a drive-by, any kind of problem—I should be with them. They need me, Joshua.”

“What about me?” He looked out across the open area around the swimming pool, his welcome-home party still going strong. “I need you, Liz. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Startled at the honest confession, he took her in his arms. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind about me.”

“Why do you think I’m such a wreck? I love you so much. Your father. He’s wonderful. Your mother is beautiful and kind. All these people welcomed me. They think you hung the moon. So do I, Joshua. But I have to go home.”

He wanted to protest. Were a bunch of Pagandans more important than the true love they had found together? But he knew Liz’s heart. He understood how she felt, because he felt the same. That craziness, that intense, mind-boggling drama, that crush of people and need and emotion compelled him, too.

“What time do you leave?” he asked.

Holding her, he tried to memorize the curves of her shoulders, the dip of her back, the sweet fragrance of her perfume. He
couldn’t let her go. It would kill him. But how could he ask her to stay? Stay and be miserable? It would destroy her love for him.

“Noon,” she said. “Your father asked me to go to church with the family. And see the oil field.”

“I want to take you riding. Show you my favorite places on the ranch. There’s a stream. An old abandoned house. A cliff. It’s beautiful.”

Her arms tightened around him. “I’ll visit again, Joshua.” She shook her head. “No, I won’t. It would be wrong to come and go. To pretend it might work out this way.”

“Are you still moving to Africa? Is that what God’s telling you?”

“I don’t feel certain about that anymore. As I thought about leaving St. Louis, I finally understood how much I need to stay right there. I’m going to talk to my supervisor on Monday to see if I can change some of my responsibilities. I want to be inside the homes. Mary Rudi and those two little children—I see how great their need is, and I have to do what I can. Language, reading, even filling out forms and doing homework with the kids, all of it is so important. Maybe in time, I’ll go to Africa. But for now, I have to stay where I am.”

“You’re in my arms, Liz.” He pulled her closer. “That’s where you are. Don’t you feel how right it is?”

“Yes.” Her voice broke. “I do. But not in Texas. It can’t be like it was. You’ll be working in your big office. President of oil field operations. I don’t know what will happen to you—to the man who tracks down Claymore mines. And I really don’t know what would happen to us.”

He let out a breath. “I have to stay here, Liz. This is my future.”

“You made a promise. You’re a Duff and Duffs never break vows. Yes, I know that now—even better than I did. It’s why I love you. But it makes our love impossible.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Then she backed away.
“Let me go, Joshua. Enjoy your party. Give your parents the gift of time, the gift of
you
. They missed you, and they love you so much.”

“Come spend the rest of the evening with me.”

“Chitchat with the bumblebees?” She smiled at him. “No, I’m going to bed now. I have a long day tomorrow.”

Before he could stop her, Liz stepped into her room and shut the door. Alone on the porch, Joshua felt a sudden, boiling, white-hot rage shoot through his veins. Why? Why did it have to be this way? He wanted Liz Wallace. She loved him. They belonged together—even his father had said so.

Afraid of doing something he might regret, Joshua forced the anger into his muscles, filling them, driving him down the porch, through the house, out to the stables. A long ride under the stars. Better than returning to the buffet and the chitchat and the prospect of a long life without the woman he loved.

“Liz?” Ana Burns looked up from a large tub of baked beans. “What are you doing in St. Louis? Sam said you went to Texas with Joshua. I figured the next time we heard from you, we’d be getting a wedding invitation.”

Liz tried to find a way to smile. “I thought I should come back. Need some help?”

“We’ve got it under control. Everyone has been through the line at least once.” Her long, dark brown hair tied up in a knot, Ana set the ladle back into the bean pot and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m surprised how many came this evening. They must have been looking for a reason to get together.”

“Always.” This time, Liz found her grin. “You have to know Africans the way I do.”

Ana wrapped her arm around Liz’s shoulders and began walking her away from the crowd of picnickers toward the sidewalk. Darkness was settling over the outdoor recreation
area, and the streetlamps were coming on. As planned, Sergeant Ransom and a couple of other detectives were working their way through the crowd on the pretext of good public relations. No doubt Joshua had trained them well.

“All right,” Ana said in a low voice. “Let’s have the scoop. Why’d you leave your handsome Marine in Amarillo? Didn’t like his folks? Found out something you didn’t know about the guy? Some big bad secret?”

“No, it was all wonderful.” She halted. “Don’t make me talk about it, Ana.”

“He didn’t reject you, did he? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man that crazy in love.”

“You see a man like that every day.”

“True.” Ana laughed. “Feels like this wedding will never get here. My mother took over the planning—I finally surrendered to the pressure. She’s pouring everything for two daughters’ weddings into one.”

“How’s that?”

“My sister died a few years ago.” Her voice was wistful. “This is helping my mom heal. And it gives me time to focus on Sam and Haven. So why did you come back here, Liz? Miss city life?”

“You don’t let up, do you?” She surveyed the clusters of happy Pagandans seated on blankets on the ground. “This is where I belong, Ana.”

“So does Joshua. Sam can’t stop talking about how much help he was. He would have been a great asset to the Haven team.”

“Joshua had promises to keep.” Liz spotted Charity racing in circles around her father, who was talking to Sergeant Ransom. “I hope the police find out what’s going on. I’m sure Sam told you our suspicions.”

“And I promised to keep my reporter’s nose out of it until they have the whole story. Hard to accept who might be at the root of everything.”

Liz studied Pastor Stephen. A broad smile on his face, the man was speaking with his usual fervor. In fact, he looked very much like he was preaching to the police officer.

“Sam agreed to let him lead a short worship time at the end of the picnic for those who want to stay,” Ana said. “I hope his wife gets back in time.”

“Mary left?” Liz looked around. She could picture the frustration on Joshua’s face at yet another disappearance. “Where did she go?”

“Down to the street corner there. I saw her walk away a few minutes ago.” Ana studied the empty sidewalk. “I wonder where she went.”

“Crowds make her nervous.” Liz thought of her resolution to get closer to Mary and the other refugee women. She had done more than enough office duty. It was time to get personally involved.

“Mary lost her job the other day,” she told Ana. “She was working in a crew—all English speakers, several men. I think that must have bothered her.”

“Too many people around?”

“That’s part of it. She went through a lot in Paganda—her husband and children were killed. Mary was raped.”

Ana’s face softened. “She can’t be comfortable around men. Especially strangers.”

“No. I think I’ll go see if I can find her. Maybe I’ll take Charity with me. Mary doesn’t speak much English, but with Charity’s help I might be able to talk her into coming back to the picnic. It would be good for her to mingle, maybe even make a friend or two who could help her adjust.”

“Listen, if
you
need a friend to help you adjust, I’m right here.” Ana gave Liz a brief hug before stepping away. “Well, looks like I need to swap that empty bean pot for a full one. Good to have you back, by the way.”

Liz watched the tall woman stride back to the food line. Sam was blessed—Ana Burns could grace the cover of any fashion magazine on the stands. But here she was ladling beans while she waited for her wedding day.

Liz found Charity skipping rope in the circle of light on the sidewalk at the front of Haven. The child spotted her and waved. Dashing over, she did a happy pirouette in front of Liz.

“Charity, will you help me find your mama?” she asked, kneeling to bring herself to child height. The little girl’s English wasn’t perfect, but she was learning fast. “Can you help me find Mary?”

Charity’s smile faded. “Mary gone.”

“Yes, down to the corner. There.” Liz pointed. “Come with me. We’ll bring her back.”

The little girl stared into the distance, her face registering an odd mixture of anger and sadness. Then she turned to look for her father. Liz waved at Pastor Stephen—now talking to two detectives on the gang task force.

“We’re going to look for your wife,” she called.

“She went that way,” he replied, pointing. “The grocery market.”

Liz nodded. “I’ll bring her home.”

She took Charity’s hand, and they set off down the block. Her purse locked safely in the trunk of her car, Liz felt relieved to not carry anything. Her morning had begun with loading her travel bag into the Duffs’ car. After church and the drive around the oil fields, she had toted that bag through the airport, onto the plane, into a taxi, up her apartment stairs. Now she and Charity swung their clasped hands as they searched the sidewalks for Mary Rudi.

Coming to the corner, Liz paused and looked around. A grocery market? Was that the sort of store to attract the reclusive refugee? Had it become the sanctuary Mary Rudi ran to when her family or her job became too much?

Spotting a little grocery on the next block, Liz saw that it was open late. Mary was probably hiding in there, studying cereal boxes, examining tomatoes. The idea of the small woman in her big glasses and gaudy head scarf trying to loiter unnoticed amused Liz. If Mary were inside the shop, she wouldn’t be hard to find.

Liz came to the end of the first block. She tightened her hold on Charity’s hand as they waited until the stoplight changed. They stepped down into the street.

At that moment, a large, rusty white car—some ancient vintage Lincoln—pulled out of a nearby parking space. It sped toward them. Surprised, Liz tightened her grip on the child and stepped back. She was halfway onto the sidewalk when the car pulled up in front of them and screeched to a stop. The right passenger doors flew open. Two young men leaped out. One grabbed Liz by the arm, wrestled her down, clamped his hand over her mouth. The other snatched up Charity. The trunk lid flipped open. Liz tried to scream. A third man appeared. Two of them lifted Liz from her feet and tossed her inside. The child tumbled in after her and the lid slammed down.

Darkness. The smell of gasoline and tire rubber. The car gave a lurch, and Liz skidded against the side of the trunk. Her head hit the wheel well. Her elbow jammed into her hip. Charity wailed as the vehicle took off in a blast of exhaust fumes. Lodged against something hard, Liz sensed the pavement rushing beneath the tires.

Gasping for breath, she reached out to steady herself. She had to find Charity, comfort the child. So obvious who had taken them. Scrawny, nervous kids with purple do-rags tied on their heads. Hypes.