Breach of Trust

by DiAnn Mills

  “Something about him bothers me. He comes across as too good.”

  “He’s a Christian, isn’t he? That’s supposed to make a person an outstanding citizen.”

  Paige forced a laugh. “Then why aren’t you going with me to church?”

  “I’m waiting a little while longer to see if my theories about religion pan out.”

  “And what are those?”

  Voleta set her drink back on the coaster. “I’ll let you know. Gotta run, kiddo. I’ll return the DVDs on my way home.”

  After Voleta left, Paige reflected on the evening news. She wished she didn’t know the truth about Keary. If he hadn’t sent the team members in Angola to their deaths, she’d still be an operative today, employed by the company and putting her life on the line to protect the citizens of the U.S.—honest, hardworking people like the ones she’d grown to know and love in Split Creek. People like Mom and Dad, who had no idea what sacrifices others made to ensure their freedoms and no understanding that the ones who made those sacrifices did it willingly without thought of reward. Strange how she could long to be both people at the same time and have such a diversity of opinions that fluctuated with the time of day. No wonder her life was an epidemic of uncertainty.

  This morning she’d received an e-mail from Keary’s campaign headquarters with another request to help with his election. He must know his file had been reopened.

  An eerie sensation nudged at her thoughts. She’d always prided herself on being in control of her emotions and actions. Even before coming to faith in Christ, she’d conducted herself in a manner that in her worldview was above reproach. Back then she represented her country and the CIA; now she represented Jesus.

  Paige started to rise, felt the weight of her bandage and the incessant pain. She dropped back onto the sofa with new resolve. The answer had been there all along, and she didn’t need a burning bush to get her attention. Picking up her cell phone, she dialed Palmer’s number.

  “I’m in,” she said. “But I hurt my foot Friday night. Not much good on the ground.”

  “No problem. We want you right there in Split Creek. Let Keary think everything is normal.”

  “What about my parents?”

  “That’s taken care of.”

  She took a deep breath and noted her shaking hands. “I have something else to tell you.” She hesitated, not wanting to get weepy. She’d been trained to put aside her feelings. “There’s another problem.” Suck it up and tell him. “I . . . have a child.”

  “Are you sure you want to tell me this?”

  A dull ache persisted across the top of her head. “You probably know most of it. While I was in Nairobi, I had a baby, a son. And I gave him up for adoption.”

  “A woman missionary originally from North Carolina.”

  “Yes.” Her mouth went dry, and her breathing accelerated. “I signed the papers as Paige Rogers.” She glanced around the comforts of her living room. “He’s Keary’s son, and no one can ever learn the truth. For me to resume my former role, I must have all the paper trails destroyed that might lead Keary to Nathan.”

  “Let me get this straight. Keary doesn’t know about his son. No clue, nothing.”

  “Correct.” She swallowed the knot in her throat.

  “Consider it done. I’m not at the office right now, but I’ll take care of it personally tomorrow. No one will learn about it. And I’m real sorry.”

  “So am I.” She massaged the back of her neck. Move on. “How quickly do I have security clearance?”

  “How about now?”

  “Good. First thing on my list is to find Rosa Ngoimgo.”

  “That’s the Mikaela Olsson I remember.”

  Yet in the excitement and determination to utilize her training, to do what God required of her, she regretted putting those she loved in possible harm’s way. Palmer was a good man, and he’d stand behind his word. For certain, once Keary discovered she was on the job again, he’d bring out both guns to keep her out of the equation. This must be what faith was all about.

  Chapter 16

  At eight o’clock on Monday night, Paige locked the library and closed the blinds. She breathed in the quiet beauty of twilight and remembered a time when she welcomed the darkness because it camouflaged who and what she’d become. Snatching up a bag of Reese’s Pieces and her laptop, she limped to a chair in front of one of the computers and squeezed in to connect to the Internet. She had a hunch about Keary, or rather his wife, and searching out the information online here rather than grinding her teeth with dial-up at home was easier on her nerves.

  Moments later, she had access to the site that showed her what she needed. Sheila Keary had been on staff at Oklahoma University Medical Center before she’d married Daniel and still volunteered there in the children’s unit. Sheila’s maiden name was Adamson, and her father was a shrewd banker—handy, if Keary ran short on funds. Sheila sat on the advisory board for Oklahoma City’s professional businesswomen and also chaired a nonprofit organization that supplied grants for low-income women who desired to learn a trade. She had nothing suspicious in her background. If she hadn’t figured out her husband’s character by now, she’d learn about it soon enough.

  Sheila’s mother, Brenda Adamson, worked as an advocate for children’s health care. That supported Keary’s desire for children to grow up healthy and safe, his only good point. The Adamsons belonged to a large Southern Baptist church and generously supported missions. Squeaky clean. No ties to anything questionable. Keary may have married into a good family.

  The Adamsons’ son, Lucas, who was older than his sister, worked in government security. Paige slid her fingers into the open bag of candy and leaned back in the wooden chair. Government security. Lucas Adamson wasn’t a familiar name.

  Paige tried another site. Lucas Adamson had held a position in the Secret Service for the past ten years. Solid record. Currently on assignment in D.C. She’d ask Palmer about it. Chances are he’d already run a profile, especially if he’d been keeping track of Keary all these years.

  Scooting back her chair, Paige retrieved her cell phone from her shoulder bag and punched in numbers. Everything she did seemed to take forever. Moments later, Palmer responded.

  “I have a name for you,” she said.

  “When don’t you?” He chuckled. Working with Palmer again had its perks.

  “Lucas Adamson, Keary’s brother-in-law. Anything I should know about him?”

  “He’s not a part of this, but I’ll send you what we’ve learned.”

  “Thanks. What about his campaign manager?”

  “Elizabeth Carlton Howard. Highly respected. She’s a speechwriter. MA from Yale. Whistle clean. She helped Jon Weathers get elected to Congress. That guy was only thirty-three, no name recognition.”

  “I remember. Graduated from OU Law. Moderate Democrat. She also handled his campaign for the Senate. Weathers lost, but he was extremely more competitive than anyone would have ever thought.”

  “From all we’ve seen, she’s strictly aboveboard. I’ll send you the reports.”

  “Okay, now what about WorldMarc? What do you know there?”

  “Looking to be bought by a big public company for about a hundred million. I’m sending you a photo and dossier of Joel Zuriel, who’s been with the company since the start—about ten years. He’s in his early forties, ambitious, and worked with Keary on the latest oil deal. In fact, the two worked on a diamond deal right after Keary resigned from the CIA.”

  “Angola diamonds?”

  “Namibia. Zuriel’s the man we’re watching.”

  Paige opened Palmer’s e-mail and read through Zuriel’s information.

  “He’s single,” Palmer said.

  “Oh, and he likes a woman with a bandaged foot?”

  “He’s been known to step on a few.”

  “Bad pun, Palmer. Send me his info, and I’ll work on this.”

  Immediately her thoughts sprang to Miles and her feelings for him.
Then she focused on her faith. What she’d done in the past to obtain information from men would not happen again.

  “Do you happen to have anything on Rosa?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know the moment we locate her.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get back with you.”

  Paige deleted the call. For the next few minutes, she processed Palmer’s information. All the work she’d done after the bombing in an effort to prove Keary guilty of treason might not have been wasted. However, she doubted if Keary had slipped in his eagerness to acquire the governorship. The weak spot most likely lay in his pursuit for power and the money needed to acquire it.

  Taking a breath, she glanced around the empty library. A haven of sorts, but now it was time to resume her calling. She believed in what she was doing and the CIA’s covert work that protected Americans from those who slithered in and out of national and international borders.

  Paige spent a few minutes investigating Elizabeth Howard with the information that Palmer had just sent. Nothing there either, just as he’d said. An attractive professional woman with a good social smile. She clicked on Joel Zuriel’s intel report.

  Whoa. He’s better-looking than Brad Pitt—but obviously not a humanitarian advocate for Africa. His report held a little more complexity than Howard’s. Zuriel’s VP role at WorldMarc had obviously filled a few material needs. He collected red sports cars like he collected blood diamonds. A collection of photos showed him with exquisite women in a variety of social arenas. Greedy in all things.

  Paige lingered on the pics to see if she recognized anyone before reading on. Values appreciation and respect for his role at WorldMarc—cutthroat businessman, shrewd. Has collected a few enemies. A talker.

  Keary’s connection to blood diamonds didn’t surprise her. What she needed to learn more about was Zuriel.

  I shouldn’t have given up. I should have stuck it out. . . .

  At ten o’clock, she turned off her laptop, assured that no one could turn it on without her fingerprint, PIN number, and three passwords to unlock the encryption. She slipped it into her tote bag and gathered up her belongings. Keary had done a good job in surrounding himself with reputable people. Except Joel Zuriel. Possibly the weak link. If she considered him a possibility, then Keary had already considered means of eliminating him.

  She slipped her purse and tote bag over her shoulder, clutched her keys, and left the library. Instinct had always been a vital part of her survival, except for the months she’d been seduced by the charms of Daniel Keary. Tonight, beneath the warm temperatures of an August sky, she sensed trouble.

  In the old days, Paige wouldn’t have closed a door behind her without her fingers wrapped around a Smith 908 with its black matte finish. In the old days, she wouldn’t have had the safety on. In the old days, her hands wouldn’t have been occupied with two books and a plastic container that had earlier held her lunch. In the old days, she wouldn’t have exposed herself on crutches. In the old days, she’d been Mikaela Olsson, CIA operative.

  But tonight she was wearing two identities, and she was fully aware that Paige Rogers, the librarian with a bandaged foot, wasn’t prepared for whatever lurked in the quiet blackness.

  Years of training raced through her thoughts. Emotions intact and logic on the forefront. She slid her hand inside her shoulder bag, on the far side of her laptop, until she had the Smith 908 firmly in one hand and her keys in the other. As she pulled the weapon to the top of the bag, her fingers touched the trigger. Someone moved behind the left column of the courthouse across the street. Stalkers and hired assassins worked solo. That kept things tidy. Whoever was hiding across the street probably worked alone. She laid her bag and library books on the concrete and awkwardly stood.

  Paige’s car sat directly in front of her, about fifty feet from one of Split Creek’s few streetlights. If her armpits hadn’t been smashed against the crutches, she’d have attempted to make a run for her car. She needed a shield of defense. Using her remote, she shut off the vehicle’s alarm and limped down the concrete steps toward it. Every nerve stood at alert.

  A bullet whistled past her shoulder. The sound of a library window’s shattering glass destroyed her delusion about Split Creek’s peaceful existence. She dropped to the sparse dried grass between the sidewalk and the street where her car was parked. The scent of earth mingled with the stench of an unscrupulous man. Pros miss on purpose or toy with their prey like a cat. Amateurs try and usually miss. Which was this?

  Another bullet cut through the air above her head. Paige tightened her grip on her weapon and crawled across the bristly ground, moving away from the streetlight. The shooter hid in the landscaping of the courthouse. She wished she had the same good fortune. A magnolia tree stood about twenty feet away.

  “If you want to talk to me, you have my attention.” If Keary knew his file had been reopened, then he had nothing to lose by killing her. But would he risk the election?

  A third bullet responded.

  “I hope you’re getting paid well for this, cowboy. Your little rodeo show is going to bring the sheriff here in a matter of minutes.”

  Nothing. Not even a wisp of the breeze.

  “What do you want? Let me guess. You don’t like my politics. Oh, I know. You’re upset about an overdue fine?” From her position on the ground, she scanned the darkness. The figure behind the column slithered back and disappeared. Coward.

  A few moments later, the distinct rumble of a motorcycle reverberated in the night air. Its engine sounded like the pipes on Miles’s Harley. She’d recognize that engine’s purr anywhere. Why was he riding through town? Unless . . .

  “Are you still out there? Obviously you don’t have the guts to state why you’re firing at me. Lousy aim, too.”

  Paige listened until the motorcycle disappeared down the street and toward Miles’s twenty-acre plot, complete with horses, a truck, and a Harley. Suspicions pounded into her brain. She waited a few more moments to be sure the motorcycle had carried away the shooter. Doubt attached its barbs to her logic like a parasite. Trust paid a high price, and she couldn’t let go of those who had betrayed her in the past.

  She crept back to the top of the steps and reached for her cell phone tucked inside her shoulder bag. In the light, she saw a hole in her bag. Thank goodness, it hadn’t pierced her laptop. Whoever had been shooting at her had deliberately sunk a bullet through her bag to prove they could have killed her. Cat and mouse. She punched in the numbers to Miles’s phone and waited until the groggy coach answered on the third ring.

  “I’m sorry to call so late,” Paige said.

  “That’s all right. I hit the hay early tonight. You okay?”

  Relieved that Miles couldn’t possibly have been the shooter, she scrambled to divert the conversation. “One of your players told me Chris didn’t have a good practice. Then one of the cheerleaders said he had the flu.” That part was true.

  “Physically he’s fine. Between you and me, the kid’s an emotional wreck about something. I’d like to think his conscience is getting to him about the way he’s treating Walt.” He yawned. “Might be some problems at home too.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “How do you feel about checking on his mom? Heard some gossip that I don’t want to repeat.”

  “Consider it done. She usually stops by the library on Wednesday afternoons. Is that soon enough?”

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  “Go back to sleep. I’m calling it a night myself.”

  Paige dropped her cell phone into her shoulder bag and crawled back to her crutches. She gathered up the two library books. One was a James Patterson novel. She didn’t need to read about suspense in a novel. She’d lived all the suspense she needed.

  Relief that Miles wasn’t a part of Keary’s ruse gave her a moment of peace. Now she needed to notify George about the shooting before she drove home. Within seconds, she had the town’s sheriff on the phone.

  �
��George, had a little trouble at the library. Someone’s shot out a window.”

  “While you were there? Were you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. Just a lot of broken glass. Is this Split Creek’s first drive-by?”

  “Very funny. Probably some kids out with their daddy’s gun. High on booze or drugs. I have an idea who’s responsible.”

  “This town needs more men like you.”

  “Did you see the car?”

  “No.” Paige glanced about. Dirt covered her hands, khakis, and shirt. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d been outside the library when the shooting occurred. He’d find out soon enough. “Are you headed this way?”

  “I’m walking out the door. You must be scared out of your wits.”

  “A little.”

  She listened to the door squeak, then shut, at George’s house. “Stay inside the library until I get there,” he said. “Then I want to know why you were working late.”

  “Sure. And I was cleaning up from the high school kids. George, don’t use your siren. I don’t want any attention over this.”

  “Why’s that?” His car door slammed shut.

  “Well, I was thinking that whoever did this is planning on bragging to their buds about scaring the local librarian.”

  “I see.”

  “So, if you don’t make a fuss, they risked getting caught for nothing.”

  “Makes sense, Paige. Have you ever thought about going into law enforcement?”

  She studied the outline of her automatic and nearly laughed. “I don’t like firearms, and I’m afraid of my own shadow.”

  “Say, fellow officer, how are we going to explain the hole in the window?”

  George was working on keeping her on the line. Sweet guy, but she’d been through a lot more than the wannabe desperado tonight.

  “I can call someone from Pradmore to replace the glass in the morning,” Paige said.