He could find out. The clock on the wall read eight o’clock. Two hours before church started. Would Pastor Joe be there yet?
He set the bible on the floor next to his recliner and then jumped up. Getting dressed only took a few minutes. He’d showered before his daily Bible reading.
When he reached the church, Joe’s truck was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Grant pulled in beside the truck, grabbed his Bible, and loped up to the front of the church. The early sun left a ray of gold to warm the metal of the door knob.
Almost like a welcome.
Grant waited to open the door. He closed his eyes, gulping back the joy flooding through him. How many times had he gone to church as a child? He couldn’t recall, the memories dimmed by both time and self-preservation. He sure as certain couldn’t remember ever feeling this overwhelming happiness, a tightness in his chest that made a deep breath impossible. That propelled a smile to his face.
Only recently, since choosing to believe, had he felt so happy. So at peace. Even all the rules he’d thought he should follow hadn’t bugged him too much. But now, with this morning’s text still running through his mind, joy had blossomed into something new. A precious flower unfurled by freedom.
He grasped the door handle and entered the church. The sanctuary doors were closed but in the hallway, Pastor Joe’s office door stood open. The soft glow of lamplight lit the room. Hopefully the pastor would have time to answer this question before church.
Striding to the room entrance, he paused and knocked softly. No sense in disturbing the guy if he didn’t hear his tapping.
“Come in.” Pastor Joe’s voice rumbled surprisingly loud in the quiet sanctuary.
“It’s me.” He walked into the room, feeling awkward. He hadn’t been in here too much. It seemed like a holy place, stacked with Bibles and reference books in oak bookcases.
Joe looked up from his desk, a gentle smile on his face. A sweet aroma scented the office. Maybe the colorful flowers on the windowsill had something to do with that. They gave the room a nice, comfortable feel. He sat in the chair, returning Joe’s smile with a stiff one of his own.
“You’re up early.” Joe folded his hands and rested them on the Bible lying open on his desk.
Grant cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Something struck me today and I was hoping you could help me with it.”
“Sure.”
“I just thought…” He paused, struggling to voice what had been driving him for longer than he could remember. “For a long time I’ve followed rules. Foster parents’ rules, law enforcement guidelines and now Christianity rules.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up. It only confirmed his theory.
He set his bible on Joe’s desk, a soft thump in the quiet room. “This morning I came across a verse in Corinthians about not being subject to the law. What’s that mean?” Frustration brought his hands back to his lap to clutch at his slacks. “Aren’t there rules to follow? An order to things?”
So intent on making his voice not sound childish, Grant almost missed Joe’s chuckle. The sound of it relaxed something deep inside. He unclenched his fingers.
“This is what’s important.” Joe grabbed his bible and flipped through it, pages rustling. “1 John 3:23. ‘And this is His commandment: that we should believe on the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, as He gave us commandment’.” Joe flopped the pages closed and sat back in his chair.
“You’re saying there are no rules?”
“The Bible is saying there are two main ones. Following the others will branch off of your love for God and your love for others.”
He shook his head, trying to make sense of things. “So there are rules.”
Joe laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a stickler. Yes. There are things a Christian has no business doing and things they should be doing every day. But Christianity is not following a doctrine or subscribing to a certain list of rules. It’s about a relationship with Jesus. From that relationship will flow the desire to do good.”
“Okay.” He leaned back in his own chair, thinking things through. “So, am I supposed to be trying to impress God? I mean, I want to follow everything I’m supposed to, but it’s getting stressful thinking about all the commandments I might be breaking.” He squirmed, wishing the confession didn’t sound so pitiful.
A thoughtful look crossed Joe’s face. His fingers scratched at his jaw line. “These are hard questions. There’s a balance to it. On one hand, you should be stressed. Everything we do and say counts for eternity.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep. But on the other hand, God offers us mercy and friendship. Fellowship. There shouldn’t be stress in that.”
He thought of all the times he’d felt peace since being introduced to Jesus. “I guess I see what you’re saying.”
“Any particular rule causing you stress?”
Grant grimaced. “How did you know?”
“Practice.” Joe glanced at his watch, then met Grant’s gaze. “I have time, if you want to spill your problem.”
This was going to be really awkward. Had Joe ever even kissed a girl? He studied Joe’s face, knowing it was what many women would find attractive. Square jaw and big eyes is how Grant would describe him to a sketch artist. Joe had been wild in high school, now that he thought about it. Probably could understand Grant’s issue.
He cleared his throat. “I want to marry Rachel.”
The smile slid right off Pastor Joe’s face. His head bobbed forward. “And that’s a problem?”
“No, not her. More like my reputation.”
A silent moment passed between them, until Joe’s eyes lit with understanding. Then Grant continued, ignoring the raw burning in his gut.
“People say I’m a player. Rachel thinks so. I’ve been trying to follow the rules, even before I fell in love with her, but now she’s all I think about. And I just don’t want my past to interfere with my plans for the future.”
He met Joe’s gaze, grateful the pastor managed to straighten his face into some semblance of counselor caring.
“You’re worried she’ll say no because you have a reputation?”
“Something like that.”
“We’ll talk about it, but how’s this related to following rules?”
“She breaks them.” His fingers raked through his hair, the gnawing in his gut eating away at his confidence. “How am I supposed to marry someone who doesn’t seem to care about obeying anyone, even God?”
The corners of Joe’s eyes creased. Grant’s hands fisted. This was ridiculous. If Joe kept laughing at him, he’d leave. He could be ribbed by any of his old buddies at the bar. Not that he’d bare his soul to those guys.
He scowled when Joe busted out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” said Joe, shaking his head. “It’s just you’re right, in a way, about Rachel. She’s always been…independent.”
Grant frowned at Joe’s inflection. “I like her independence.”
“So do I. She does have a tendency to be flippant where the law is concerned, but I’ve no doubt you could set her straight on that. She’s very serious when it comes to God.”
Grant thought about that for a second, remembering how when it came down to it, she forgave her sister. Kind of like Alec had Katrina. And last night she’d looked so earnest when she confessed that her law breaking was wrong.
The cloud that had muddled his thoughts since last night lifted. Rachel didn’t have to be perfect for him to love her. No one was perfect. As hard as he tried to follow the rules, he wasn’t perfect either.
Jesus was perfect though. And His plans were perfect. That much he could trust.
He grinned at Joe and rose from his seat. Joe met his hand and they shook. “Thanks Pastor. Things are clearing up for me.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” Joe smiled back. “Just a warning though. Be honest with Rachel. She respects that.”
“Sure thing.” A twinge of panic fluttered for a
second in his gut, but he stifled it with a clean swipe of logic. Some secrets were necessary. She would understand.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Sunday's barbecue filled the state park by the river to overflowing. Cars lined up on the road that led to the parking lot. It was a good thing the church had reserved three pavilions.
Rachel scanned the parking lot, searching for Grant’s squad car. He’d been on duty more than his share lately. Besides church this morning, she hadn’t seen him since the afternoon he’d brought her Chinese, though they’d talked a few times on the phone.
But not about the Mayor. Not about her computer hacking. She sighed and leaned against the tree she’d parked beside. At some point she should tell him her suspicions about Mayor Owens and Slasher. She’d wanted proof, but the easiest way to get it was to break the law.
She couldn’t do that now. Not when God had convicted her it was wrong. That left more surveillance. She could try to find a snitch too.
“All these people belong to your church?” Maggie hopped out of the car and slammed the door closed.
“I guess so. It’s really been growing lately.”
Maggie walked up beside her, forehead wrinkled. “More old people than I thought there’d be.”
“They’ve been here forever. Even before Joe was pastor.”
Maggie glanced down and Rachel’s gaze followed her line of vision. They both wore shorts and flip-flops, but while Rachel’s legs were bare, Maggie’s sported tattoos. Lots of tattoos.
“Maybe I should go home.” The unsure treble in Maggie’s voice saddened Rachel. She reached for her sister’s shoulders and squeezed quickly before releasing.
“No way. You love grilled chicken.”
“But not barbecue.”
“Come on.” She took her sister’s hand and led her to the pavilion with the most smoke pouring from its interior. This morning Maggie had announced she was ready to try church. Shocked, Rachel brought her. She couldn’t let her leave now. Connecting with others of like faith was a great blessing to church-going.
Not that Maggie had faith. But soon, maybe. She’d been absorbed during service, her gaze never wavering from Joe’s pulpit.
They marched across the grass and though Rachel caught a few raised eyebrows, no one dared say a word. They better not, she fumed to herself, outrage spiking through her when Widow Carmichael nudged her elderly companion and sneered at the two of them.
Finally they reached the barbecue pit. Wings and legs sizzled on the grill, their sweet fragrance stirring her stomach to rumble.
“You’re always hungry.” Maggie smirked at her.
“It’s my metabolism.”
“Sure, sure.” She grinned, even though the edges of her mouth looked tight.
Rachel leaned close. “Everything will be fine. Let’s find a seat with someone we know.”
Maggie rolled her eyes, implying she knew no one in this crowd. They backed out of the pavilion and walked to the edge of the river.
The water winked at them, sunlight a shiny starburst on the river's surface. Rachel inhaled deeply, thankful for the day. For her home and the sister who stood beside her. And for Grant, wherever he might be.
She’d thought long and hard about marriage to him. He wasn’t perfect and neither was she. It couldn’t be expected. Not once, though, had she seen him look funny at another woman. His reputation as a playboy seemed to be fading beneath a new reputation. One as a man to be trusted. Both by the town and by her.
Beside her, Maggie snickered. “You’re thinking of him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t sound so indignant.”
She fought the urge to sniff. “I’m just amazed at your powers of perception.”
“Anyone would know. There’s a funny quirk to your lips…”
“Where,” she demanded, horrified. Had anyone else seen her mooning at the river? She didn’t look around but faced the water. The breeze caressed her cheeks, hot and breathy. This would be a scorcher of a summer.
Did Grant like to snorkel? It would be awesome to take him to the Keys.
“Ladies.” His voice broke her thoughts, a pleasant masculine rumble that jolted her senses. She turned, not missing Maggie’s broad grin.
“I was wondering if you’d make it.”
He shrugged. “It’s been chaos at the station.”
“I think I’ll go get a drink,” Maggie said. “Want anything?”
Rachel nodded a no, flicking her sister an appreciative smile. Maggie was going to brave the wilds of an ancient congregation so that she could have alone time with the Grant. Very sweet. She’d have to get her sister something. Maybe a new nightie to make up for the one Miss Priss had clawed.
Maggie left and Rachel followed Grant to an unoccupied circle of chairs. “What’s going on?”
They sat. Sunlight glinted off the badge pinned to his uniform. “Lots of stuff.” He leaned forward, elbows on his legs, hands clasped. “We’ve had some upheaval. The chief just resigned.”
“Already? I didn’t realize things were that bad.”
“Some things may happen…” He hesitated and a churning started in her stomach.
“I don’t like the tone of your voice.”
His lip twitched. “You don’t, huh?”
“You sound afraid. That’s not like you.” Her fingers curled into fists. A clammy hand of panic squeezed her chest. He was hiding something. She’d sensed it before and now here it was again, the mask of a lighthearted man on his features. As if she didn’t know better.
The paranoia refused to subside, even when he flashed his grin at her. Her instincts could be off, she tried to tell herself. After all, she was in love with the guy. That made her vulnerable, less focused.
Grant’s smile faded. “I’m not afraid. I just wish—”
“Grant Harkness.” A woman whose gray curls coiled tighter than the purse of her lips walked up to where they sat. Her sleek black skirt lay stiff against her thighs, and her blouse looked as though it had been ironed with starch. She wore Prada.
Fancy government was Rachel’s immediate thought. The woman had the look of power, though possibly a subservient spin-off and not the source. Public relations?
She narrowed her gaze, watching Grant carefully.
Blank surprise crossed his features. He moved to a standing position in a fluid motion. Rachel followed suit.
“I’m Grant.”
“Marsha Elliot.”
Uh-oh. A flash of panic navigated Grant’s features before he carefully covered the emotion with a cordial smile. Almost imperceptibly, he angled his body away from Rachel.
The muscles in her shoulders tensed.
“Ms. Elliot.” He shook the woman’s hand and gave her one of his dimpled grins. “Why don’t we step to the side and talk?”
Her thin features puckered. “I don’t have time for that. Do you see the third pavilion?”
Both Grant and Rachel turned to their right. A stage of some sort was being hoisted into place by younger church members.
“What about it?” A frown came through in Grant’s tone; he didn’t sound happy at all.
Rachel had no doubt he wanted her gone, but no way could she pass up studying Ms. Elliot. The woman exuded authority and some inner sense prompted her that whatever secret Grant hid from her, Ms. Elliot would bare it.
The breeze picked up and the shouts of young people splashing in the river rode on the current of air. They were unaware of the danger Rachel suddenly sensed.
“The mayor expects you in five minutes,” said Ms. Elliot.
“No one said the mayor would be here.” Rachel crossed her arms.
“A surprise announcement. He thought this would be the perfect place.”
“Why?” Rachel cocked her chin up, curious. Grant might not tell her, but she bet this lady would.
One fine eyebrow rose as Ms. Elliot turned to look at Rachel. “Because this is Mr. Harkness’s church. The mayor is congratulating him o
n becoming the new police chief of Manatee Bay.” She sniffed, then pivoted on her outrageously expensive heels and walked away.
Time seemed to freeze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maggie, scarlet brows prominent against her translucent skin, sprinting toward her. She turned to Grant, every movement feeling as though she slogged through water.
And then the dam broke. White hot heat arced through her, jolting her thoughts into a single question. “Did he buy you?”
Grant scowled. “We need to talk.”
“Answer the question.” She wanted to poke him but wasn’t sure she could keep her finger from trembling.
“No, he didn’t buy me.” He reached for her but she slammed back, almost losing her balance.
“Don’t overreact.” His brows lowered and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll tell you later what’s going on.”
The first sentence weakened the second. Before she could spit out a retort, Maggie showed up. Her lips were white slashes against her skin.
“Can we go home?” Desperation filled her eyes and Rachel cringed. She desperately wanted to duke it out with Grant but at the same time empathy overruled her instincts. Maggie needed to leave. Of course she wouldn’t want to be around Owens.
Carefully, she schooled her features into a calm smile. “Go get the car started. I’ll be right there.”
Maggie rushed off.
She turned back to Grant, pain splicing her, burning down the trust so carefully constructed these past months. One thing she had to know. Licking her lips, she met his gaze.
Sunbeams bounced off his face, turning his blue eyes into ice.
“Why did you tell me to stop investigating the mayor?”
“I can’t talk about that right now,” he gritted out. The skin on his face stretched tight over his cheekbones. “Later, I promise.”
She shook her head, eyes stinging. “All this time, you’ve been on his payroll. Have you helped him kill, too?”
Undercover Love (The Women of Manatee Bay, Book 2) Page 25
