Her father picked up the bible and said, "Some people have a heart for God. That is that, they love God and they know He only wants what is best for them, so they want to do what He instructs them to do. But other people, selfish, prideful people, they don't care what God thinks or wants, they just want to do what feels good to them at the time. God calls them a stiff-necked people, meaning they won't bow their heads to Him or His will. They won't humble themselves."
He pointed at the windowsill.
"Now just watch for a few minutes," he said.
Jolene, her two sisters and her brother all watched raptly, waiting to see the mystery unfold. And soon they saw a whitish crust begin to form over the surface of the blue heart. The more it dried, the harder the shell. And soon, small cracks began to appear on it.
At the same time, the short, fat candle was beginning to soften and melt, caving in on the bowl where the little black wick stood.
Jolene's father pointed out the window. "Think of the Sun as God's power. The same power is hitting both of these hearts, the wax and the clay, but it is the nature of the heart's themselves that are reacting differently to that power. When God shines his power on the heart that loves Him, it softens and melts. But when God shines his power on the heart that hates Him, it hardens into a rock. God knew the nature of Pharaoh's heart. He knew that if He showed Him that He was the true God and that Pharaoh's gods were false, that his pride would harden his heart against Him. And God was right."
Gil's heart had once been like the clay, hard and in rebellion against a God that he said he didn't believe in. The war had helped do that to him and it had taken a lot of discussion and burning of the midnight oil before she and her father could convince him of the truth of God.
But Gil was honest above all else and the night finally came when he saw that his arguments had been proven wrong and he surrendered his life to the Lord. On that day, his heart had changed from clay to wax and he had melted.
And now that Gil's heart was malleable, Jolene had seen the shape that the Potter was molding it into, and it was a beautiful shape, full of love and caring and generosity. He was becoming the man she had always dreamed of having and loving for all eternity. Gil loved them with a sacrificial love that made her own heart melt.
Her fingers moved to the flat muscles of his stomach, then to the defined curves of his powerful arms and shoulders; up to his throat and cheek. She played a nail around the curl of his ear. Oh how she loved him. She hated the sin of the world because of how it hurt him, how it made him fear for them. The things he had to see, to witness, to deal with. The people… the terribly hurt people… the terribly mean people… the terribly bad people. So many tragedies, so many lives in ruin and chaos.
A part of her wished he'd quit, but the other part, the larger part of her knew that he also loved the job. That he craved the action, the chase, the hunt. He was the little boy who loved superheroes, grown up to become one himself. She also knew that if he quit, the world would be the worse for it. Because he was exactly the kind of man that should be a cop. The kind of man everyone would want to be a cop. The kind of man that did what was right and risked the consequences. The kind of man that would give his life to save another's. He really was a superhero, only he wasn't bulletproof. He didn't have super strength or super speed or x-ray vision and he couldn't fly. She loved him all the more for it. Because he was a hero without the super. He did what they did even though he was mortal. A man who could hurt and bleed and die.
And one thing more.
Gil had given her Marla.
And Marla was the light of her life. Jolene had always loved God, but she had moved into a new relationship with Him now that she herself was a mother. Jolene had come to believe that children are God's way of showing us why He made us. Our own acts of creation. Our own acts of love. He made us because He wanted to shower us with His love; to be able to let us know what it is to be alive, to exist, and to be able to experience the wonderful bonds of relationship.
And because of God's great act of love, Jolene was able to have that bond with Marla, a relationship that helped teach her the greatest depths of love.
And Gil loved Marla just as much as she did. Marla was a daddy's girl for sure and she had him as wrapped around her finger as any one man could be.
The two of the them were inseparable and next to God, they were the most important things in her life.
Gil moaned in his sleep, his fists clenched as his eyes moved beneath their lids.
Bad dreams, another part of the job. He deserved so much better. She wondered what was going on in that world of sleep inside his mind. He seldom spoke of his dreams, even when she asked. He said he almost never remembered them, but there was something about his eyes when he would say it that made her think he wasn't being completely honest. Some nights he would cry out. Some nights he would say things, little snippets that would give her a glimpse into his psyche. Sometimes it was about the war, sometimes about his police work. But always it was bad; a battle where his men were being killed, a suicide he couldn't save, an accident victim crushed inside a mangled vehicle. People hurt, people dying, people hurting other people, and her husband having to deal with all of it.
A sudden rage burned through her at the thought of all the pain Gil had had to absorb through the years, both physically and emotionally.
He was hurting now, she could feel it. He had been ever since the night of the shooting. The night the nurse and the police officers had been killed. The night the children had been hurt.
She touched his cheek, brushed her fingers along his forehead, and he relaxed; his fists unclenched and he quieted.
She had seen him like this before, only not as bad. Jolene thought maybe it would be a good idea to call her dad. He might be able to help Gil; to make him feel not so responsible for everything that happened to everyone. Gil thought he should always be able to save everyone and when he didn't, he took it very personally. He was the sheep-dog, ever vigilant, ever ready for action.
Yes, she would call her father tomorrow and see if he could come over this weekend. That made her feel better.
Jolene ran her fingers over the muscles of Gil's chest again. Such a strong man in so many ways. He was brave to a fault.
Thinking of his bravery made her remember they had the award ceremony to go to tomorrow night. She smiled. He deserved it. He deserved it so much.
Jolene's fingers tickled their way to his belly button. She considered waking him, but then Marla wiggled between them and she decided to let them sleep. She kissed them both and closed her eyes.
How good God was to her.
22
Majoqui sighted in on the driver. He was old, maybe seventy-five, with thin gray hair and a face lined with wrinkles. He was scooted up close to the steering wheel, as the old often do, as if the extra few inches could help their failing eyesight. The high powered scope made out every detail, even from this distance. The bridge had been constructed for the Light Rail project, but the next run was over an hour away. He had time.
It was almost ten o'clock at night and the street was nearly deserted, it being a weeknight. Majoqui had been lying in the same position for over four hours, killing driver after driver, in his mind, as they drove at him along Kipling Parkway. Most men could not have endured such a position, but Majoqui's patience was a thing of legend among the Mara community. He'd once lain upon a pile of rocks and steel for five days awaiting his target. The ordeal had almost killed him. Dehydration, the blazing Columbian sun, insects and the sheer shock to his body's system. He lost over fifteen pounds, but the shot had been perfect and had moved him up several notches in the gangs hierarchy. Majoqui had learned the technique of patience from lying for hours on end, perfectly motionless, while his mother rutted with her customers. He'd learned early on that drunk, lustful men could be dangerous, even to little boys of five. It was best they didn't know he existed and so he would lie, silent, motionless, barely breathing, willing himself invis
ible. He became so good at this technique that he had actually come to believe he really did cease to be able to be detected by humans or animals. Even insects seemed oblivious to his presence. They would crawl over him on their way to wherever they were going, but they never bit, stung or hovered around him the way ants and spiders or wasps would do to normal people.
An hour earlier, a group of four teenagers walked below him, talking and laughing. They never looked in his direction, just as Majoqui knew they wouldn't. He was invisible.
Majoqui would be victorious tonight. He would kill this Americano police officer who seemed to have some strange ability over him. He would make an example of him, to both the world and to the spirits, for Majoqui was certain this man must have some connection, some protection from the supernatural realm. How else could he explain the injuries the man had caused to Majoqui or the way the man kept intercepting him? But Majoqui had gone against others who were protected. He had gone against others who were great warriors with protection as well. Always he had won. He won because he respected both aspects of the battle, physical as well as spiritual. So he would make of this police officer the greatest of examples, to pay homage to him and to the spirits that protected him. He would also spread fear through the police community and to the spirits so that they would know not to go to war with Majoqui in the future.
A dark van came straight up the hill on Kipling passing Colfax. A cool breeze rose the hairs on Majoqui's neck and the backs of his arms. He snugged the rifle butt in close, knowing, in some strange way that even he did not understand, that his waiting was over. The excitement began to build, but Majoqui held it in check. Discipline was needed here.
The van was still several hundred yards away, but as the scope came to his eye, Majoqui saw the face of his target. It was the police officer Gill Mason.
Majoqui said a quick prayer to the Virgin Mother and curled his index finger around the rifle's trigger.
23
Tamera Sun picked up the meager change and swabbed the table with her towel. It was eleven-thirty and there were no other customers in the restaurant. The two cops who had just vacated the table were regulars and were always nice to her. They were both older, and in the past, she had liked it when they came in. The place had been robbed twice since she started working there. She'd been off both times, but still, the idea of it scared her, and having the police around made her feel safe. But that was before… before Majoqui. Now they frightened her.
They were looking for him; accusing him of terrible things. But she knew his heart, his soul. And there was no way he could have done the things they said he did. He was strong and brave and they were trying to frame him for some government cover up. Just like they did on 911. But Majoqui was too smart for them. They would never catch him. And best of all, the two of them would escape back to his country and be together forever.
Still, she was afraid. She'd had to witness three men being killed right in front of her. The police had shot them down for no reason. They would have killed her too if Majoqui hadn't saved her. Majoqui could have left her, saved himself, just run and never looked back. But he hadn't. Instead, he'd shielded her with his own body as he pushed his way through the mass of people, dragging her to safety and freedom.
The two police officers got into their patrol car. Tamera watched as they drove out of the parking lot and onto the street. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her fear was for Majoqui, not for herself. They wanted to kill him. He'd told her all about it after the scene at the nightclub. How the banker was going to give evidence that the government was behind the collapse of the economy. And how the police had killed the banker and his wife to keep him quiet. They would have killed the children too, only Majoqui stopped them.
She didn't understand all of it, her mind just didn't work that way, but she understood that the cops were bad and Majoqui was good and that was enough for her. She would go anywhere just so long as she could be with him.
Tamera had wanted to leave right away after Majoqui's friends were killed, but he said he had one last thing to do before they could leave. He said he had to stop the man who had killed the banker and his wife and had tried to kill the banker's children. He said the banker had been his friend and that honor demanded he protect the children from further harm.
It was so like him. The way he had protected her.
She loved him and soon they would be together forever and she would never have to worry about people like Dashon or Kyle again.
24
The award ceremony was nice, the dinner and dancing afterward even nicer, but best of all was the ride home. Jolene was beautiful, dressed in a black gown with spaghetti straps and the pearl necklace I'd given her last Christmas. She laughed, telling me how Mike Braden had dropped a piece of shrimp that rolled down his tie, over the rounded hump of his huge chest, down the curve of his stomach and somehow landed in his gun belt. She almost cried when she related how it took him forever to dig it out, fussing all the while that the smell would permanently wreck his leather if he left it.
On the radio, playing low as a backdrop to help Marla stay asleep, the Beetles rhythmically sang a song about how their world was never going to change. I liked the sound of it because, just now, everything in my life was so perfect.
Jolene smiled, her teeth so incredibly white they seemed almost to spark as we drove under the streetlights on our way home. Marla snored lightly in her car-seat, sucking her thumb and cuddling her giraffe blanket close to her face and chest. We'd picked her up from Jolene's sister's house after the party, completely tuckered out. Pilgrim guarded our home.
Jolene stretched against her seatbelt to get a look at her. She reached back and brushed a locket of hair off her forehead and beamed those luscious eyes at me.
"She's so wonderful," she said.
"Stop bragging."
"Is it bragging if it's true?"
"Good point. In that case you'd better add beautiful, graceful, and oh so smart."
"You forgot well behaved."
It was my turn to smile. "Well, that goes without saying. Look who her father is."
Jolene slapped me lightly on the arm. "That's what makes it so hard to believe."
I raised my eyebrows. "Oh so you're going to take all the credit?"
"Most of it." She dipped her head and looked at me from under her brows. "You look pretty sexy in your dress uniform."
"Really?"
Her smile was pure seduction. "Really."
"Is it the tie, the patches, the badge, the gun or what?"
"Yes," she purred.
That sent a tingle through me.
We were just coming up to a red light at Colfax on Kipling. The streets were deserted except for us. I stopped at the light.
"How sexy?" I asked.
Jolene slid a perfectly shaped arm over my shoulder and cupped the back of my neck in the palm of her hand. She pulled me to her and her lips were soft and inviting. I smelled the delicious scent that was uniquely her, tasted the delicacy of her lips, the firm pressure of flesh against flesh.
She pulled back and her eyes were so deep and hypnotic that I could have drowned in them forever.
"The light," she whispered.
"What light?" I whispered back.
She grinned and nodded toward the windshield. "The traffic light, it's green."
I shook my head. "No it's not." And we kissed again.
"I love you," I said.
"I know," she said, and then she grew serious, "I know." And then she kissed me with a passion. As I pulled ahead, my beautiful wife next to me and my sweet daughter in the seat behind me, I wondered how I could be so lucky.
The Beatles sang, ‘Nothing’s gonna change my…’
I was the happiest man in the world.
25
Majoqui put the crosshairs on the woman's forehead. It was an easy shot. He'd made much more difficult ones from far greater distances. His finger was already padded around the trigger as
they crossed Colfax and began to pick up speed. But he hesitated. Something… some inner feeling was bothering him. Majoqui didn't know exactly what it was, he couldn't quite place his finger on it, but it was there and it was real and it would not be ignored.
Majoqui had trusted his instincts far too long to override this strange sense that invaded his courage and stopped him from taking the shot. How many times had this enemy thwarted him? Majoqui's eye still lacked full movement and its sight was not yet clear. His jaw ached, his cheek ached. There was pain in his chest and hip. And his brothers had been killed in front of him and the children, who were to prove the power of Mara, had been snatched from his grasp.
Majoqui wanted the man to watch as he killed his wife and child. He wanted him to suffer for all the wrongs he had done to him. For daring to challenge him. Daring to pit his will against that of Mara's greatest assassin.
Yes, Majoqui wanted him to suffer long and to know that it was his fault. But whatever it was that spoke to him, a sixth sense or spirits or maybe the Mother herself, whoever or whatever it was, was speaking loudly, telling him that he must not play with this man. That he must kill him quickly, kill him now.
In the confines of the telescopic scope, he could capture half of their faces as they leaned close. How perfect it would feel to see the man's reaction as his wife's blood and brains sprayed across his face. It would be justice. The man would have to go to Hell with the memory of his woman's beautiful features erased and replaced with a gaping horror that would stay with him through all eternity. And it was right there, just a tug on the trigger, so easy, so impossible to miss.
Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set Page 54
