by DiAnn Mills
Devastation again climbed to the top rung of Paige’s emotional ladder. And as she stood there balancing regret and guilt with her hands tied behind her back, she remembered her parents were safe.
To make matters worse, a white Camry rode her bumper and not another vehicle appeared on either side of the interstate. She glanced into the rearview mirror again. The driver, who looked like a man, wore a baseball cap pulled down tightly on his forehead. Clown hair stuck out on both sides, reminding her of a truck driver strung out on NoDoz.
Paige sped up to seventy-five, then eighty, and the car tailed her like a magnet. She changed lanes, and the car swerved over behind her. Oh, you have no idea who you’re messing with.
Paige’s pulse raced into high gear as her foot pressed the accelerator. If the guy thought he’d succeeded in making her nervous, he’d better think a little harder. All he’d managed was to turn up her internal temperature. She changed lanes again while watching him in the mirror. The Camry swung behind her. This was not a good ole boy taking a break from picking turnips. She caught his attention, and he tipped his hat. Whether he was another one of Keary’s thugs or just a jerk preying on a woman, he needed to know “defenseless” wasn’t a part of her company file.
Paige clenched her fists and fought the urge to spin her car into a ninety-degree turn. The thought of killing the guy didn’t sit well, especially if he wasn’t the real thing. Taking the next exit eased her conscience. If the Camry followed her, she’d take a different approach.
Another mile sped by before an exit sign appeared. Paige flipped on the turn signal and slowed. So did the Camry. So he wants to play.
A stop sign planted in dead brush loomed at the bottom of the feeder. Before coming to a complete halt, she whipped her car left, zipped through the underpass, and turned down a country road with the Camry breathing down on her rear.
“I’ve had enough.” Adrenaline flowed through every inch of her.
She whirled her car into a 180-degree turn in the middle of the road, sending the Camry squealing into the right ditch. She paused long enough to see the driver exit the car. From this distance, she didn’t recognize the person, but she filed the image into her storage bank. Paige waved at the jean-clad driver and headed toward the expressway. This time she decided to take the back way into town.
All of this for a once-a-month, total-body, car-wash tan.
Chapter 8
I want to call her, tell her I’ve read about my contribution in the local paper, but I’d rather have her squirm. Timing is everything with Mikaela, and I’m waiting for the precise moment to unload her next assignment.
She won’t dare refuse, since I hold all the aces.
Chapter 9
Miles opened the door of the library on a warm Tuesday afternoon. The familiar musty scent of knowledge greeted him. As a boy, he’d spent hours wandering among the many adventures in his hometown library in Tennessee, peering inside to see if a journey called his name. He sailed the seas to Treasure Island, solved mysteries with the Hardy Boys, and rounded up the bad guys with Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour.
Miles gestured Walt inside. It was only the second day of school, and already Miles knew Walt needed help. The kid hadn’t ventured into the library since he was in junior high—not because his parents hadn’t encouraged him, but because books weren’t cool. This morning, Walt had shown up at school forty-five minutes early to do homework. His math grades from last year were adequate, but his English and history studies needed a jump start. The slender kid, with shoulder muscles that spanned the doorway and hands that held a death grip on a football, hesitated before stepping inside.
Miles’s gaze trailed to the circulation desk, where his favorite librarian pointed to a shelf of books for a little redheaded girl. Paige must have sensed his presence, for she glanced up and waved before returning her attention to the child.
Love the smile. Hate the rejection.
“We’re going to find a couple of books and some online information this afternoon that will help you write your paper,” Miles said and pointed Walt toward the computer table. “I think you’ll find this less painful than my ground-kissing push-ups.”
“Yes, sir.”
Obviously Walt didn’t find Miles’s comments humorous. “Miss Rogers will help you with the reference material.”
As if on cue, Paige pivoted and smiled. Miles’s heartbeat thudded into overdrive, and his thoughts lingered on the one library adventure he’d most likely never encounter. He made his way to the desk with Walt close behind.
“Do you have time to give us a hand?” Miles asked.
“Of course. How about introducing me to your friend?”
Miles turned to Walt. “My star quarterback, Walt Greywolf.”
She stuck out her hand, and Walt grasped it. “It’s a pleasure. I know your coach is very proud of you.”
“Thanks, ma’am. We try to keep him happy. Keeps the whip away.”
Surprised at the dry wit, Miles focused on his Chickasaw Wonder with new admiration. “How come I don’t see this side of you on the field?”
Walt blushed red. “You just don’t hear it.”
“He has you there, Coach. I never took you for a Simon Legree.” A glint of flirtation sparkled in Paige’s eyes.
“Who?” Walt asked.
Paige walked out from behind the circulation desk. “Simon Legree was a ruthless slave owner in the book Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” she said. “He liked to use a whip on the slaves. Are you sure you haven’t read it?”
“I saw the movie Catwoman,” Walt said. “I get your point.”
“I saw that movie too, and I don’t resemble either one of them—unless I’m pushed.”
Paige laughed softly. “Okay, we’ll not pick on the coach anymore.” She gave Walt her attention. “How can I help you?”
The kid moistened his lips. “I’d like to use a computer. Gotta paper to write on Jim Thorpe.”
“Take your pick of any of these. Need any instructions?”
“No, ma’am.” Walt chose a computer on the far end and slid into a wooden chair.
“Very mannerly. A little shy,” Paige said.
“Well, he just surprised me with his wit. The girls like him, but he fumbles his words.”
“But not with a football?”
“Very funny. Actually he has a lot of talent and potential. Home life is solid, and he’d do much better in school if he’d only apply himself. The family’s poor, which means he works part-time to help out financially. Doesn’t have much free time for studying.”
“From the looks of his left eye, football has a lot of his attention.”
Miles reflected on his team’s turmoil. “That wasn’t from practice or a game.”
Paige stole a glimpse at Walt. “Does his black eye have anything to do with your taking him under your wing?”
Miles seized the moment to lose himself in her eyes. “That obvious, huh?”
“I know you pretty well.”
Miles glanced toward the boy. “He’s a sophomore playing first-string quarterback.”
“I could offer to take a look at his paper before he turns it in. Will he be writing it here?”
Miles leaned onto the desktop. “I have no idea, but I’ll find out. Any help you could throw his way will be greatly appreciated.” He couldn’t even tend to business with Paige without his blood pressure rising to the point of needing medication.
“We’ve got a couple of books here about Jim Thorpe. I can find more info online. I’ll pull something together before you leave.”
“Thanks. I read in the paper that Daniel Keary donated the new computers.”
A cold stare replaced the warm glow. “What of it?”
The sudden shift of mood caught Miles off guard until he remembered the phone call he’d overheard when she’d told someone to “pick them up.”
“So you’re not overly pleased about Daniel Keary’s generous contribution?”
Paige smirked.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. But that doesn’t apply to Trojan horses.” She took a stack of books from a small boy and touched his cheek.
Miles studied Paige until the little boy said his good-byes. “Obviously you haven’t jumped on the bandwagon to support Keary.”
“Has it started to snow in July?”
“But he’s conservative, stands for pro-life, wants to lower taxes, and he’s a Christian. I read that he’s served his country well too. The other guys are jokes.”
“Even Lucifer was called ‘morning star, son of the dawn.’ Don’t be suckered by the image, Coach.”
“Hey, you know something I don’t? He looks like a shoo-in.”
“Whatever. You can nominate him for sainthood. I’m sure his office can supply the forms.”
Miles was taken aback by her sarcasm. The woman he’d grown to know had never been vicious before. “Give me one plank of his platform that you disagree with. That’s all I ask.”
“You’re right. Keary stands for good things. He’s against abortion, wants to lower taxes, and supports faith-based initiatives, but a woman has a right to her own opinion.”
“What is it that you dislike about this guy?”
Paige pulled a book from the shelf. “He shouldn’t have had to give back his medals.”
“Keary?”
“No,” Paige said, walking away. “Jim Thorpe.”
Miles chased after her, and she gave him two books on sports history. “The guys loved your Italian cream cake.”
“Maybe I’ll bake them another one to celebrate their first win.”
“Tough team this coming Friday night. It’s only a preseason game—a scrimmage. But the heat’s on. You going to be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Voleta and I are working the concession stand the second half—more to help her count money than to sell snacks, so see if you can have the game all wrapped up by then.”
“I’ll do my best. How about hot chocolate and doughnuts afterward?”
“I suppose.” Her attention was diverted to the door. Eleanor and old Mr. Shafer shuffled into the library. The man’s lined face reminded him of a walnut.
“There’s your fan club,” Miles whispered.
“Hush. Those are two of my best patrons.”
“I agree. That old man watches me like he’s your daddy.”
She nodded. “Then behave.”
He waved at the couple and anticipated their teasing. The two never failed to point out how he and Paige looked good together.
“There they are,” Eleanor said. Her hair had a rather orange cast. Maybe she was supposed to blend in with the leaves this fall.
“The coach needs to take a cot at the library,” Mr. Shafer said. “Oh, I forgot. He has his own house. A big one too.”
“Have you seen it, Paige?” Eleanor asked. “He’s remodeled it from top to bottom.”
“No, ma’am.” Paige pressed her lips together. No doubt to suppress a laugh. “I’m sure it’s right out of Southern Living.”
“When I did the plumbing, it was right out of a nightmare,” Miles said.
Although he took part in the bantering, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Paige’s aversion to Daniel Keary. Miles had learned something new about her today, and of late those revelations needled at him like a case of the chiggers.
Miles and Walt exited the library with two books and a half-dozen printed pages tucked under the kid’s left arm.
“I’ll take a look at these after work tonight and in the morning before school,” Walt said. “Thanks for your help. I need to bring up my English grade.”
“All I did was point you in the right direction.” Miles touched the kid’s shoulder. “I want to see you on the team and making progress in school.”
“Yes, sir.” Walt startled and frowned.
Miles glanced in the direction of the kid’s gaze. Walt’s fifteen-year-old dented car had a flat on its left front tire. “I’ll help you with that.” A minor irritation Miles could handle.
“Oh, I have plenty of time to change it, but I don’t have a spare.” Walt studied the area a moment more and nodded toward Miles’s truck. “Someone tagged you, too.”
Miles groaned. His front left tire sat squashed against the concrete, and in the heat, sweat already beaded across his brow, more from the rising irritation. “Not much chance of a coincidence, is there?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t suppose they left a calling card.”
“No reason to. We both know who did this.”
Miles chose not to dive into that comment. “Let’s change my flat, and I’ll take you to work. I’ll help you deal with getting your tire fixed later.”
“Like breaking a few heads?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Let me help, Walt. I’ll talk to the sheriff after I get you to work. You’re better and bigger than pranks and flying fists.”
“Do me a favor and stay out of my business. It’ll only make matters worse.”
“Maybe this time, but not if there are any more incidents. I’ll—”
“Look, Coach, you say that life is more than who gains yards on the field. I respect that and what you’re trying to teach us. But, like, when someone doesn’t play by the same rules, then you have to make up your own. You know? Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I’ll find a way to get even.”
Chapter 10
Paige drove home from the library, exasperated with Miles’s and Walt’s flat tires. She imagined Ty Dalton had enjoyed a good laugh, since his garage was the only one in town to fix flats. As much as she’d like to shake some sense into a couple of teenage boys and a father who’d never gotten past Friday night lights, small-town problems were a whole lot easier to digest than international espionage. Especially with lowlifes like—
Her cell phone rang, and she snatched it out of the side pocket of her shoulder bag. The number registered Unavailable.
“Mikaela, I’ve learned a few things about Keary,” Palmer said. “Can you talk?”
“No one in the car but me. What’s up?”
“We’ve reopened his file.”
Hope lifted a notch. “What happened?”
“You’ve heard about the oil deal he brokered in Angola?”
“WorldMarc Oil in Oklahoma City, a private company. Another one of Keary’s brilliant political moves to bring revenue into the state. A big win for folks.” She felt like she was standing in front of a junior high teacher reciting the day’s assignment, except she had more passion for this topic.
“The drilling took place where a village and its people disappeared. It wasn’t the first.”
An old memory surfaced, one laden with the bodies of men, women, and children. “Keary paved the way for those in power, and they owed him. Any witnesses?”
“Not yet.”
Same old story. “Operatives on the ground?”
“Yes. We need you back.”
“Impossible. Keary threatened to kill my parents if I ever came out of hiding.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You weren’t standing over me with a gun.”
Palmer blew out an exasperated sigh. “I want to hear the whole story.”
No one knew the whole story but God. The guilt, the shame . . . “Maybe someday, but not now.”
“Come on back. We’ll keep your parents safe.”
Paige nearly ran a stop sign. “I have to think about it.” Pray about it.
“What’s there to think about?”
If only you knew. “There’s a lot involved.” She blinked and relied on her training to keep the tears away.
“Sounds like a no-brainer to me. People have been killed, and it needs to end. You didn’t try to prove it back then, but now we have a second chance.”
“We?”
“Do you think you were the only one who questioned Keary’s integrity?”
She gripped the steering wheel to keep from agreeing to whatever it took t
o bring Keary to justice. “I’ll call you.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Think about this, church lady. Finding the proof we need will clear your record and give you your life back. We will prove Keary’s role in the Angola incident, but if it doesn’t happen until after the election, the repercussions could be global.” Palmer wasn’t blowing smoke. “I need to hear from you in the next twenty-four hours.”
Paige slipped her phone back into her purse. She trembled. Oh, God, what do I do? Keary can’t get by with this again. He’s got to be stopped. But do You want me involved with the CIA again? Will You protect Mom and Dad? What about the tactics needed to prove Keary’s guilt?
She turned into her driveway and switched off the ignition. The old voices slammed against her logic, the issues she’d never been able to resolve. The questions, doubts . . . and where God fit into the life of a CIA operative. If He fit at all.
Once she was inside her home and the visual check was completed, she wavered between getting online and researching WorldMarc Oil or falling flat on her face and begging God for direction.
How often had she wrestled with the moral dilemma of a Christian working for the CIA? She’d given up the life of an operative and lived a lie to keep her parents safe. But what about the innocent people who’d died in Angola? So many times she wondered if her decisions would have been different if she’d been a Christian then.
Keary was a murderer. He’d betrayed a team of operatives to assist a military coup, and now he was linked to killing innocent people again. Palmer had touched on the possible disastrous effects of the governor of Oklahoma brokering an oil deal that involved a scorched-earth policy.
Citizens would ask if other American-based oil companies had covered up the same type of practice. They would wonder if the government backed them. The world would announce how the U.S. condoned genocide in the name of oil and then secretly covered up its involvement. Americans already distrusted their elected officials. The free world would shake their fists in disgust, and enemies would gloat—an international investigation, skepticism, global unrest, riots, economic and financial ruin. Her thoughts might be exaggerated, but the canal of deceit often led to tragedy. Keary had to be stopped before being elected as Oklahoma’s governor.
