Breach of Trust

by DiAnn Mills

  She reached out and touched his face. “I can’t.” Her words were soft, tender, spoken with enough caring for him to understand that whatever held her back couldn’t be altered.

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  She removed her hand. “Don’t. Nothing’s going to change.” Paige turned and walked up the steps to her door. “I’ll work on that book list for you,” she said, then disappeared.

  Chapter 5

  Paige closed the door and fought the urge to watch Miles ride away on his Harley. No point in encouraging him any more than she’d already done. No future in it either.

  Leaning against the door, she listened to the motorcycle’s perfectly tuned engine fade into the distance. With a sigh deep enough to sink a battleship, she flipped on the lamp on her desk and took in every detail of the living room. The plush rug beneath her feet contained no footprints. The blinds against the windows facing the road were in the precise position in which she’d left them. Sofa pillows held a set angle, and the mail that lay deliberately heaped onto the oak trunk in front of the sofa had not been touched. No debris from the fallen leaves was littered across the wooden floors.

  In the kitchen, the white ruffled curtain that blew to the left when someone entered the back door still hung vertically. The rug strategically placed at the back door was angled just the way she’d left it. Inhaling deeply, she detected no other scents than the familiar ones that marked her home.

  Fury kept the adrenaline pumping, as though she needed to run another five miles. Jason Stevens had all the credentials of a dressed-up weasel. Most likely Keary had hand-selected Stevens’s image coach to instruct him in voice lessons with appropriate delivery. And that included rehearsals for the precise moment to smile, according to the gender of his target. All paid for by a murderer . . . a man whose ambitions had led to carnage.

  “Keary wants to meet with you. He’d like for you to work with him on the last few months of his campaign for governor.”

  The request was an abomination. Obviously Keary was afraid she’d learned something new—something to slander his excellent reputation. Why had he made the request now, with the campaign near the finish line? That question had dogged her for the past several minutes.

  “Tell Keary to leave me alone,” she’d said. “I don’t waste my time with lowlifes. He’s the type who gives lawyers and politicians a slide downhill.”

  “He’ll be very disappointed.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be very successful without my participation. Ethics is not one of his specialties.”

  Not a muscle moved on Stevens’s face. Not even a blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but he said you’d be willing to help.”

  “Tell him I said no.” That’s when Miles had ridden up on his iron steed. She could have said a lot more. And now she wondered how Keary would respond to her refusal. That might not have been a clever move.

  I blew my cover. Miles knows I’m not who I claim to be. Paige had gone to a lot of work to dissolve her identity. For what she hadn’t been able to do on her own, she knew who to call. She’d secured a new Social Security number, a high school alma mater and college sorority, a Visa card, checking and savings accounts, 4-H blue ribbons, and a MySpace presence to usher in the fresh world of Paige Rogers. All trails of her previous life now led to a death certificate.

  But apparently she’d grown rusty, and that was dangerous. Later she’d phone Miles and smooth things over.

  Paige walked through her small two-bedroom bungalow and continued to look for anything out of place. But a pro knew how to cover his tracks. For the next two hours, she looked for bugs in all of the usual spots—and a few unusual ones. She began by taking her landline phone apart and ended up in the garage, even scooting under her car. The idea of being blown to bits in the morning when she headed for work didn’t sit well either. Everything appeared fine, but her hyperalert state lingered.

  George had suggested a German shepherd to keep the predators away and as good company, but she had no desire to sacrifice a good animal in the event of trouble. If professionals wanted to get to her badly enough, no fancy alarms, dead bolts, or watchdogs would stop them.

  Hunger had assaulted her in the form of a headache and eventually led her to the refrigerator. She’d made a pot of chicken and corn chowder two nights ago, and she was almost hungry enough to eat it cold. While it warmed in the microwave, she wrapped her fingers around a fresh tomato and a cucumber on the windowsill and turned on the water to wash them. Taking a deep breath, she resumed the conversation she’d begun with her heavenly Father before Stevens had stopped his car in front of her earlier this evening.

  The doorbell interrupted her before she got past “Holy Father, I’m in a mess, and I blew my cover.” Caution ruled her senses. Her gaze moved to the top shelf of her pantry. Within seconds, she’d reached behind the extra bag of unbleached flour and the virgin olive oil and tucked her Beretta into the back of her running pants. She pulled her one-size-fits-all T-shirt over the heavy weapon.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Coming.” Paige knew better than to take a look through the peephole. Many an unsuspecting victim had lost an entire face that way. She slipped to the side window where she kept the blind at the perfect angle to view anyone at her doorstep.

  Relieved, she snapped on the porch light and watched the mosquitoes dance around the bulb before opening the door. “Evening, George. Miles said you’d stopped by.”

  “Sorry about the hour. I wanted to take care of an important matter before the morning.”

  “Do you want to come in?” What else had Keary or Stevens done? Her heart thumped louder than the hunger pangs knocking against her stomach.

  “No thanks. Naomi’s in the car, and we need to get home.”

  Paige glanced at the car and waved. “I understand. So does Georgie need help with his homework?”

  “He’d better have his homework done and be getting ready for bed.” He leaned against the doorframe. “What haven’t you told me about yourself?”

  Her senses whipped into attention, while she focused on paralyzing her emotions. She shook her head with a smile. “I’m not following you.”

  “UPS truck pulled up to the library after you left. The driver wanted to leave his delivery with me like he always does with after-hours orders. He had six fancy computers all addressed to your attention.”

  “Me?”

  George reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a delivery slip. “See? Split Creek Library to the attention of Paige Rogers.”

  “Wonderful. We must have a generous benefactor.”

  “But look who they’re from.” George handed her the papers.

  Paige scrutinized the address of the sender. Daniel Keary. Now he thought she could be bought for six computers? Reminded her of thirty pieces of silver. Appreciation for the new computers dissolved into guarded control.

  “That’s the fella who’s runnin’ for governor,” George said, as if she didn’t know. “Independent ticket.”

  “I’ve heard about him.” “Seen him at his worst” fit better.

  “Which brings me back to my original question. Are you holding out on us? related to a rich lawyer-turned-politician? I read the man used to work for the CIA. Do you have connections with Daniel Keary that the rest of us don’t know about?” George grinned like it was all a big joke. Maybe it was, to him.

  “Me? Split Creek’s librarian?”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask. He’s going to be the next governor. You watch and see. Keary’s a good man. Look at what he’s done for Split Creek today.”

  George clearly thought it was all quite amusing. But Keary’s deceit dipped in goodwill left Paige feeling helpless. She clinched her fists. “The library really needs the computers. But I admit I thought I had an outstanding speeding ticket or something.”

  “Aw, Naomi thought it would be fun to tease you about knowing Keary. Almost had you going there, didn’t I? But I’m glad for
the library, and I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “I’m glad you did. The patrons will love this.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And just in time for school.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced about. “I’ll get them computers carted to you in the morning. Sure am curious as to how Keary found out about us, but I can’t imagine it has anything to do with you, little lady. Anyway, there are twelve boxes in all, what with the computers and monitors.” He straightened. “Guess you can go on back to whatever you were doing before I interrupted your evening.” He turned to leave, and she lingered in the doorway.

  “Thanks for stopping by, George. Your visit made my whole day.” Or rather added more silt to the mud.

  “Naomi suggested having the kids from the library write Keary a thank-you note. It might get printed and stick Split Creek on the map.”

  Oh, George, if only you knew . . . The town had been on Keary’s radar for the past seven years. “Good thought. I’ll have the children work on it. Give Naomi my best.” She closed the door and double-bolted it.

  Thank goodness the day was nearly over. Her head pounded, and she still hadn’t eaten.

  The computer delivery frustrated every inch of her. Keary knew her well enough to know she’d never relinquish her disgust for him for six computers. She had no plans to move out of her safety zone to attempt to destroy his campaign. But why ease his conscience by assuring himself his secrets were safe? Her stomach knotted. Someday the truth would surface, but it wouldn’t be she who’d expose him. She’d tried that once and failed.

  * * *

  Miles munched on a fried bologna sandwich and some stale chips. He couldn’t bring himself to eat one more microwave he-man meal. He lifted the carton of milk and downed it. What exactly had happened tonight? The whole scene replayed in his mind. If he’d been under the influence, he’d swear the entire event with Paige and the guy on the road had been an illusion.

  Paige had a few secrets, and he’d tripped onto one of them. Or maybe more than one. Obviously the guy tonight knew more about her than the whole town of Split Creek did.

  Miles shook his head and glanced down at the football plays in his notebook. The Xs and Os all ran together. Bad pun. He needed to focus on important matters, not on a woman who insisted friendship was all she could offer.

  During the summer he’d added a few new plays, and he was anxious to try them at the scrimmage. His team needed a winning season—every coach’s dream. They might make it this season. The returning players were above average, and he had his eyes on a sophomore, Walt Greywolf, a Chickasaw boy who ran like the wind. When that kid wrapped his massive hands around a football, nobody could take it away. Problem was, the boy needed to take the game and his grades more seriously. One of the questions was leadership. A quarterback led the team, and it had to be a guy who wouldn’t crack under pressure. A little motivation and a whole lot of work could mean a full scholarship for Walt. A talk with him and his parents was in order.

  His cell phone rang with the school’s fight song blaring around the kitchen. Miles glanced at the caller ID.

  “Hey, Paige. Need a bodyguard?”

  “Not now. The fort is tied down securely. Just wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue tonight.”

  “No problem. It’s what we cowboys do best.” With the window raised in his kitchen, a chorus of katydids blended with the incessant pounding of his heart, as if he needed a drumroll to accompany her voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m listening.” Hope had taken root once again.

  “The jerk on the road tonight? Well, he’s supposed to be a photographer from Oklahoma City doing a spread on small towns. He came into the library this morning and wanted to take my picture. I refused, and I guess he couldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m really embarrassed about the way I acted. Can’t believe the things I said to you and—”

  “No reason to apologize. I’m just glad I could help.”

  “That wasn’t me. And I’m still shaking from the motorcycle ride.”

  She’d ridden his bike like a pro, and the lie caused the pedestal he’d put her on to wobble a bit. “We could fix that by taking a few more. I even have an extra helmet to keep good old Sheriff George happy.”

  “Not a chance. Oh, he stopped by tonight.”

  “You’ve been a busy girl.”

  “Actually those computers for the library came sooner than we thought. We now have six more. I’ll make a few calls in the morning and see if the process for high-speed Internet access can be sped up.”

  “Thanks. The students will appreciate an extra source for their research.”

  “They deserve all the help they can get. Anyway, you must be worn-out with football practice and getting ready for the new school year, so I’ll let you go.”

  “Anything else I can help you with?”

  “You could promise not to tell anyone I made a fool of myself tonight.”

  “Oh, I could be persuaded.”

  “What will it take?”

  Another wobble. “Nothing, Paige. Your secret’s safe with me. Sleep easy. You might want to talk to George about some pepper spray.”

  “Good idea.”

  Miles disconnected the call. What was Paige hiding? He’d spent years hiding a previous drug addiction—tap-dancing around the truth, making needless phone calls to ease relationships, and working on his skills as a people pleaser so no one would detect trouble. He didn’t want to suspect Paige of leading a double life, but he had seen a woman tonight different from the librarian he’d known for the past two years. The woman tonight was in control and confident. She hadn’t played a role to chase off a wannabe stalker. She was the role. Where did that leave him?

  Get a grip. He’d been watching too many movies and reading too many books. This was small-town Oklahoma. Nothing exciting happened here beyond high school sports and an occasional twister.

  Chapter 6

  Paige sank into the stylist’s chair and tugged out her ponytail holder as though she were yanking out the tangles of her past. She had an hour and a half until time to open the library and more things on her mind than she cared to list. “Do your magic, Voleta. It’s been three weeks, and I see roots. Ugly white ones.”

  “Girlfriend, you’re obsessed with your roots.” Voleta dug her blueberry fingertips into the top of Paige’s hair. “All of my other clients wait four to six weeks for their color.”

  “They don’t have premature white like me.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Voleta picked up the small plastic box on her workstation that contained her clients’ information. “You’ve never let your roots grow out long enough for me to really tell.”

  “It’s a condition I inherited from my mother. At age twenty-five, I turned completely gray, then white.” Will I ever be able to tell the truth about anything?

  “For women like you, I am thankful. Keeps the rent paid.” Voleta thumbed through the box and withdrew an index card that held Paige’s color formula. “Can I talk you into some highlights? It sure would make a great difference.” She gestured around Paige’s face. “You’d look ten years younger. Not that you aren’t gorgeous now.”

  “No thanks. I’m happy with the brown. Reminds me of dark, rich coffee. But you can trim a little off the ends so it rests on my shoulders.”

  “Got it. You know I’m not gonna give up on the highlights. I’m all about making my clients walking billboards, making them look younger and all.”

  “So, it’s all about you then?”

  “Darlin’, it’s always about me. Grab a magazine. I need a minute to mix up your color.” Voleta headed for the supply room, her flip-flops slapping against her heels, and her back revealing a butterfly tattoo that peeked above her jeans. “I saw the sheriff at the doughnut shop this morning,” she called over her shoulder. “He was laughing about his and Naomi’s joke on you last night.”

/>   Paige grimaced. The joke that hit closer to home than anyone here can ever find out. She thumbed through a back issue of Modern Bride. She tossed it aside and picked up a current issue of Farm Journal. “You mean about the computer delivery?” The last thing Paige wanted to discuss.

  “Yeah. Told me he was worried you might be upset with him.”

  She had been too relieved by the fact that George hadn’t actually stumbled onto her secret to be angry. “If George had been anyone else, I would’ve pitched a fit. But I’ve pulled my share of pranks on him too.”

  “I remember when you told him a letter had arrived at the library for him from one of those TV game shows.”

  “He’s never forgotten it, so I guess we’re even.”

  Voleta appeared from the supply closet. “Anyway, congrats on those new computers. It’s a perk for our little town.” She set her bottles on the edge of the sink. “I’ll hush now and mix your color. If I’m not careful, you’ll have purple hair.”

  Paige stared into the mirror of Eleanor’s Shear Perfection. How many folks had George told that story to? She didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but linking her to Daniel Keary was another matter. Usually she counted on this time with Voleta to relax her and talk about girlie things. This morning she was coiled and ready to strike.

  Keary was duping these people—these kind people. He was buying them gifts with his blood money. All so they’d vote for him, and she’d forget what he’d done. She shivered at his deceit—ached to bring him to a stop. The folks of Split Creek had opened their hearts to her. They were strong, real, a slice of America that she believed in. Until now she’d done nothing while he’d run his campaign, spewing the typical rah-rah promises and showing up at community-wide barbecues that people from the Bible Belt rallied to faithfully.

  “Sure you don’t want those highlights?”