by DiAnn Mills
“You killed Bobbie?” Loathing caused her to shiver, and she struggled to keep what little composure still remained.
“Why would you think that? I’m simply reporting what I was told.”
“Soon your bag of tricks is going to explode in your face. And you’re going to pay for all you’ve done.” She bit her tongue to keep from saying more.
An oncoming car approached from a distance, its headlights growing brighter as it drew closer. Just like the truth. She ended the call and stretched her back. A few minutes later, she confirmed Bobbie’s death with the hospital in Nairobi. Bobbie had lived longer than anyone had expected, but Paige still wasn’t ready for the news. With tears streaming down her face, she prayed for wisdom in what lay ahead. The more she thought about her friend, the more she realized the unlikelihood that Keary had had a hand in Bobbie’s death. He was no doubt fishing for a reaction from Paige. And she’d given him one that clearly showed her anger.
This madness needed to end soon.
Chapter 33
Thursday morning while driving to the library, Paige called Palmer. She needed to break the news of Bobbie’s death to Nathan, and not over the phone.
“Don’t even think about it,” Palmer said. “It’s too risky. If Keary had someone follow you in Nairobi, you can be sure it will happen again.”
“I managed fine while en route to see Zuriel, but I was extremely careful.” Frustration oozed from Paige’s voice—even if Palmer was right. “I can’t bear for Nathan to learn about his mother from anyone but me.”
“Didn’t he tell her good-bye in Nairobi?” When she didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “In his mind, she’s already gone.”
And Paige had to admit, Palmer spoke the truth.
* * *
When Split Creek High won Friday night’s game, bringing its record to 3 and 0, Miles told Paige that he deserved a trip to the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa.
By midafternoon Saturday, Paige had gained a rich appreciation for the culture and beginnings of Oklahoma. Someday she’d bring Nathan here and let him explore all the learning possibilities for kids. She observed Miles as he stopped to admire another one of Frederic Remington’s bronze sculptures. This one sported a bronco and its rider, one of many on display at the Gilcrease. So intent was his study that she doubted he sensed her scrutiny. His grasp of Oklahoma history spoke of more than textbook interest, but his appreciation of the arts and biographical knowledge about the artists surprised her. He had a lot to offer the kids at Split Creek: his experience in the business world, his faith, and his commitment to expanding their educational perspective.
Paige tapped her finger to her lips and studied a painting near where Miles stood, but that gesture failed to suppress her growing attraction for the man before her. He peered more closely at the horse. The depth of his wide-set eyes revealed his intellect. If she wasn’t careful, he’d catch on to her soon. What a relief to learn from Palmer that Miles had no connection to Keary. And after her visit with Zuriel and the recorded conversation, along with realizing the source of her flashbacks, the company could do a little more digging.
Miles moved to the other side of the sculpture, his back to her. Those massive shoulder muscles would give any man doubts about crossing him. Did he know martial arts? A curiosity on her part. Maybe she’d ask.
He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Are you checking me out?”
“For what?”
“Aw, I think you are.”
When he turned to face her, she feigned interest in the sculpture. “You misinterpreted my admiration for this sculpture for something else way out in left field.”
“Right.”
They’d talked about this trip on previous occasions but had never scheduled a time. She’d given her consent, as long as he understood it wouldn’t be a date. But her involuntary actions were making it look like one. “So, you’re a Remington fan.”
“Muzzleloaders, ammunition, and knives.”
“A devout fan.”
“I like Remington’s bronzes and his paintings. Over the years I’ve developed a respect for the West’s history and how Remington captures it.”
“This is an incredible museum,” she said. “Thanks for asking me along.”
“I agree. Before we leave, I’d like to stop at the gift shop.”
“You?”
“Watch it, lady. A man does have to get in touch with his feminine side at least once in his life. I’m looking for Remington’s Mountain Man or Outlaw.”
The two walked toward the gift shop. Miles took her hand, and she allowed it. I wonder what he’d think of me if he knew about Wednesday night. Another reason why this so-called relationship would have a bad ending.
“I just learned something new about you.”
“Wish I could say the same thing, Miss Mysterious.”
“I’m the cowgirl from west of nowhere.”
“I understand. But I’m trying to get to know you better. What brought you to Split Creek? Bigger cities have libraries with greater career potential.”
“I like small towns—the close-knit community and the way everyone looks out for each other.”
“Some say that can be a deterrent when the whole town knows your business.”
She touched his shoulder with her finger. “Then you and I have to make sure no one has anything to talk about. Besides, you have enough going against you right now with Ty Dalton’s attempts to boot you out of a job.”
“Oh, he isn’t going to convince the school board to get rid of me. One of the other members said no one was paying attention to his ravings. The winning season pours ice water all over Dalton’s plans. But we were talking about you.”
“That’s a dead topic.”
They walked into the gift shop. “You know, relationships are built on time and trust,” he said. “I understand caution and even skepticism. But I’m asking you to give me a chance.”
“I wish I could be the woman you want . . . need.” Paige despised keeping a constant guard on her emotions. Lord, will things ever change?
“Can I help you?” asked a woman behind the counter.
Probably not.
* * *
Miles watched Chris hesitate in reaching up for a pass from Walt. The ball slipped through his fingers. A safety nailed Chris, and a linebacker smacked into Walt. Third time in the afternoon’s practice. Chris’s head wasn’t in the game—yesterday or today. His back might be giving him problems, which meant he needed to be off the field. Chris stood and shook off the tackle, then headed back for the next play. He massaged his neck. Report cards weren’t due, and Chris and his girlfriend were inseparable. What was bothering him?
Miles had a stake in Chris’s life, and he’d been praying for all of his players since before the season had opened. The blessings he asked for them had nothing to do with how they performed on the football field but how they played life.
Once the boys left the locker room after practice, Miles found Chris standing at the door of his office. His stooped shoulders and hands stuffed into his jean pockets said something more than a couple of bad practices was bothering him.
Miles unlocked his office door and gestured inside. “Have a seat.”
Chris pulled the single chair away from the desk as though proximity mattered in the conversation. He dropped his duffel bag and backpack on the floor. Rather than comment, Miles propped himself on the corner of his desk, his usual perch.
“Sorry about practice the last two days.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Your back? Grades? Girlfriend?”
“None of those things.”
Must be home. “Something has you bummed out.”
“Not sure I can talk about it.”
“Do you want to?” The truth probably settled somewhere in the vicinity of the Daltons’ failing marriage, Chris’s choice of college, and the barn burning.
Chris’s eyes darted about the room. “I haven’t told anyone.”
>
“You’re safe with me. The only time I’d ever reveal anything a student told me is if that student planned to harm himself or someone else. If you need to get something off your mind, I’m listening.”
Chris glanced down at his hands. “It’s about my dad and mom.”
Miles despised what marital problems did to kids.
“I found out something on Saturday night that makes me sick.” Chris raised his head and blinked once, then again. “He said he’d been working late at the garage, but I hadn’t noticed a lot of cars sitting around. When I saw Mom crying, I told her I needed to see one of the guys about football practice. Instead, I went to see Dad. Find out if he could be home more for Mom.” Chris shrugged. “But he wasn’t there.”
“And you’re wondering where he was?”
“Oh, I know. One of the guys at school had said his mom works nights at the motel out on the interstate near the casino. She’d seen Dad coming in the back door with some woman.”
“That could be nothing more than gossip, or your friend’s mother could have been mistaken.”
Chris shook his head. “I drove there to see for myself. His car was parked in back, and I waited until he came out . . . with her.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yeah. I was real mad. They came out hanging on each other, you know, like they’d had a party or something. They were kissin’, and he patted her butt. I got out of my truck and hollered at him, and she ran back inside the motel. Didn’t even see her face. I asked him if this was his idea of working late.” Chris swiped at a tear.
“I’m sorry.”
“He told me what he did was not my business. And he reminded me that my truck could disappear if I didn’t watch what I was saying. I handed him the keys. Told him I’d walk home. Dad said I was stupid and gave the keys back to me. Told me to keep my mouth shut.” Chris pounded his fist into his hand. “I hate him, Coach.”
“No, you don’t. Only those people we love have the power to hurt us.”
Tears poured from Chris’s eyes, and all the blinking couldn’t stop the flow. “I didn’t tell Mom. Couldn’t. Shoot, she probably already knows.”
Chris and Miles sat in silence. If and when the kid wanted to say more, the door would be wide open. In the meantime, Miles offered silent support.
“Dad moved out. Probably living with that . . . never mind.” Chris stood and faced the glass window to the empty lockers. “Mom’s better off without him. I told her that. She wants him to come back. Asked me to pray for him. But I told her I couldn’t.” He stared into the locker room area. “That’s it, Coach. I’ll do better at practice. I know all of us have to work together to win.”
“I’m more concerned about you. Why don’t you stop in to see me every day either during my free period or after practice?”
“Um . . . I can do that.” Chris continued to stare out the window.
“Look at me, son, not the lockers.”
Chris turned and wiped his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Don’t be ashamed of your tears. When I’m mad at someone or something, I try to focus on the positive things about them.”
“Yeah, like my dad is nothing but scum. But my mom needs me now.” Chris reached for the door. “Thanks, Coach, and I may take you up on your offer.”
After Chris left, Miles prayed for the Dalton family. Betrayal did a good job of breaking up families, and sometimes those hurt by it never recovered.
Chapter 34
With five weeks until election day, I’m beating down the campaign trail. That part comes easy. The more people I speak to, the more excitement bursts in my veins. What takes up needless energy is covering up the whole Angolan deal nearly eight years ago. Since the election appears to have all of my attention, the CIA won’t take a second look at my getting rid of Zuriel. Stevens has arranged a private plane accident in Angola while Zuriel checks on WorldMarc investments. Neat and clean.
I still have to deal with what Dalton might have learned while working for WorldMarc. Thanks to Stevens, medical records indicate Dalton has type 2 diabetes, and that could play easily into another accident. Having those two out of the way will ease my mind. Mikaela, however, has me frustrated. The company might overlook Zuriel and Dalton, but they’ll never close my file if she ends up dead.
Stevens promises to have Nathan Landerson’s investigation completed by next week. “You’ll be pleased.”
“Are you telling me he’s my son?” That means more than the election.
Stevens chuckles. “Give me a few more days.”
Everything will change with that confirmation. Everything.
Chapter 35
Paige punched in the phone number to Rosa Ngoimgo in South Africa. An operative on the ground there had located her but had not initiated contact. Rosa had been a cautious woman, and Paige had been specific about no one approaching her. The phone rang three times. A woman answered.
“Rosa, this is Mikaela Olsson. Do you remember me?” Paige asked in Angolan Portuguese.
Several seconds passed.
“Rosa?”
“Yes, Mikaela. How did you find me?”
“It took years. I’m working on bringing Daniel Keary to justice.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“And he’s been involved in killing more African people. This time for oil.”
“Thank you for telling me this.”
“I still need your help, Rosa. Your testimony about what happened will put him in prison for the rest of his life.”
“He or Casimiro Figuiera would have my family killed.”
Paige heard someone in the background ask who she was talking to.
“It is not your concern,” Rosa said to the person.
“Is that one of your children?”
“It’s Gonsalvo. He’s a man now, but he hasn’t forgotten what his father told him about Daniel Keary’s betrayal.”
“Wouldn’t he want the man who orchestrated his father’s murder to be brought to justice?” Hope rose in Paige. Keary could be arrested with either Rosa’s or Gonsalvo’s testimony.
“Not if it meant his family was in danger. I’m sorry. I cannot help you. It’s a nightmare that I want to forget.”
“I understand. It’s a nightmare for me too. But think about the other men, women, and children who have died because of Keary. He has to be stopped.”
“Didn’t he threaten your parents?”
“Yes, I have good people protecting them. They could protect you and your family too.”
“Not in Africa. No one is safe here. No one can be trusted but family. You should kill him yourself, Mikaela.”
Paige took a deep breath. She’d shared that sentiment more than once. “Will you take my phone number in case you change your mind?”
Rosa took the number, giving Paige a few moments to form the right words to convince her to testify. “Can I call you again?”
“No. I have chosen to forget yesterday and to live for today.”
Paige clung to her last resort. “Oh, Rosa, if I could finally find you, don’t you think Keary can too?”
“Please don’t call me again.”
* * *
Tuesday evening, Miles laid his Bible and devotional on his nightstand and switched off the reading light. Some folks preferred mornings to get close to God, but he preferred the end of the day. He could drift off to sleep with Scripture or prayers rolling around in his head and sleep like an old man chasing his nightly meds with a bit of wine. Tonight a phrase from his devotional echoed throughout his mind until he closed his eyes to discern what God was saying to him. “Truth is seen in what it does and whom it seeks.”
One of the situations that had hit the top of this evening’s prayer list was about Chris's stumbling onto his dad’s affair. Ty Dalton’s behavior had irresponsibility and deceit tattooed all over it. And even with all Dalton had done, he still had the audacity to call Principal O’Connor yesterday and state his continued effor
ts to dismiss Miles from his coaching responsibilities. Chris had excelled in every game at his current position. Not once had the kid complained about his back injury. Ty Dalton needed a reality check before he lost everything that had once had meaning in his life—his wife and son.
I have no business judging Ty Dalton, considering my own dirty laundry. Lord, how do You love us miserable creatures?
The information Miles had uncovered about Paige yanked at his heart. Who was she? What was she doing in Split Creek under an assumed name, and was she in danger? He’d observed her for the past couple of years, first simply admiring her and then seriously “crushing,” as the kids would say. Truth is seen in what it does. Paige’s morals—the way she dressed, the words she spoke, the unselfish deeds she performed for others—embodied what Miles believed was truth.
And whom it seeks. What was she looking for? Without a doubt, she sought God, but how did she justify the deceit? Was she running or hiding . . . or both? She did seek truth; he was sure of it. One glance at her on Sunday mornings would convince a die-hard atheist that God existed. But how could Paige represent Jesus and lie about who she was?
Miles had not forgotten the confrontation that August evening with the guy in the Town Car who knew Paige by name. Men dressed in three-piece suits don’t visit librarians in the middle of the road to talk about books. And what about the night Daniel Keary landed in the Channel 6 News helicopter on the football field to congratulate the Split Creek Bobcats on their win? Whatever Keary had said to her had made her furious. Her stiffened shoulders had revealed her sentiments louder than the band’s earsplitting fight song.
Both Keary and the driver of the Town Car had some kind of a relationship with a woman who’d lied about her identity. They knew something about Paige that Miles didn’t, and he didn’t intend to stop until he uncovered her secret. Not because he wanted to expose her deception to the community, but because he’d fallen in love with her.
