by DiAnn Mills
He stood and faced the window. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he stretched to rid himself of the anger that mounted each time he realized she’d lied to him—and the whole town.
Who are you? And why are you hiding out in Split Creek? Dear Lord, who have I fallen in love with? And You have this all planned out? How about a little insight here?
* * *
Paige’s favorite day of the week, other than Sunday, was Monday. She loved the challenge of a new week and making a list of all she needed to accomplish. UPS had delivered two cases of new books to process. Whether cataloging a fiction title and properly assigning its topics and descriptions or seeking out the correct Dewey decimal number for a nonfiction book, she looked forward to the process—like a puzzle. Books—she loved the smell of them, the touch, the adventure and knowledge on each page.
Yet this Monday her natural enthusiasm waned as she waited for Palmer to report his findings about Miles. By eleven o’clock, impatience attacked every nerve in her body. With the library empty, she punched in the numbers on her cell.
“Palmer, do you have anything on file with the name and photos I sent to you yesterday?”
“I expected your call.”
“Those are fighting words.”
“Imagining you squirm is more fun.”
“Twelve years we’ve known each other, and you haven’t changed a bit.”
“I have to keep my sense of humor or this job would destroy me. But in response to your question—” his voice took on a sober tone—“Miles Laird is clean, just like I said. Everything he told you is true. Regarding his computer security business, he still has access to some secured sites.”
“Can he pull up falsified information?”
“Sure. Have you given him reason to access a secured site?”
Paige shifted from irritation to the many times she’d covered up her past. “His only question is why I don’t support Keary for governor. Had you investigated him before I got involved with the company again?”
“Of course. You know as much about him as we do.”
“That was omitted on my original paperwork.” She laughed in an attempt to soothe her own tension. “But I won’t hold that against you.”
“How kind. Should have a location for Rosa today or tomorrow.”
“Thanks, and I appreciate this.”
* * *
Hours later, the dilemma with Keary continued to roll around in her head. Paige paced her living room searching for answers. She rubbed the chill bumps on her arms—the chill of understanding, like a little girl attempting to jump rope and missing the rhythm until one day her body responds to the beat.
Keary wouldn’t stop at becoming governor. He was much too ambitious for that. For certain, he had his sights set on the presidency. His last speech had been dynamic. He’d called for unity among all faiths in raising educational standards in Oklahoma. His passion for children’s health care rang with sincerity. And his pro-life zeal had earned new support among the Judeo-Christian citizens. Paige fought the churning in her stomach. Keary collected more votes each time he opened his front door.
Reality shook her. Behind closed doors, she could hear him talking about how the country should be run. As president, he’d call in his global chips, and then—look out, America. No longer would we be giving away billions of dollars to countries that would always have the poor and needy. The U.S. would have oil in all the corners of the world where the current administration didn’t want to tread. Who cared about slave labor when America needed oil? Besides, Keary knew how to hide things.
She simply had to stir through each phase of Keary’s habits and associates until the truth surfaced like rich cream. The possibilities swirled in her head. She headed to her bedroom for the notebook concealed in her Bible that contained her thoughts and observations about Daniel Keary.
When successful in bringing Keary to justice, she’d lose all she’d gained in Split Creek, including Miles. He wasn’t the type of man to understand deceit, which was exactly what she’d used. Media attention would expose Keary and her association with the company. Nathan could not, would not grow up here. Small towns were unforgiving, and children were judged for the mistakes of their parents. This home, her new life built on the ashes of her past, would be gone.
Perhaps she’d resign for good from the CIA. She didn’t want anyone else nurturing her child. Again she deliberated whether her son should be adopted by a couple who didn’t work in espionage.
Her phone rang, interrupting her musings. The call was from the safe house. Alarm shoved away all thoughts but Nathan.
Paige recognized Anissa’s voice. “I need to talk to you about Nathan,” she said.
“What’s the problem?”
“He’s not adjusting well to his new surroundings. I mean, he’s stuck here in an older neighborhood with no kids. We can’t let him out of our sight. He can’t find the picture of him and his mother, and he’s crying for his mother—and you.”
“Visiting him is too dangerous. I’m afraid of being followed.” The near catastrophe in Kenya had proven her adversary’s strength. “I’ll add e-mails to my daily calls. See if I can get him to open up. I’ll ask him about his picture. I know he had it with him in the car.” She hesitated. He did have that photo in the car.
“Paige?”
“Nathan had the photograph with him when we took off together in Nairobi.” She wanted to throw something. “That means Keary could have gotten hold of the picture.”
Paige disconnected the call. Her precious son was miserable. Keary might have the lost photo. Maybe Rachel in Nairobi had been right. She should have left Nathan there, where he would have been safe with people he knew and loved.
Chapter 27
Paige polished the top of the library’s return counter with a dusting cloth and a sprinkling of lemon oil. Now to keep anyone from piling books on the damp area until she had time to rub in the polish. This afternoon the library was quiet, with students on computers and other patrons reading. She bent to put away the oil and cloth.
“Miss Rogers?”
She snapped back up. Chris stood alone, weariness tugging at his eyes and a ragged Bobcats T-shirt hanging from his shoulders. “Hi. How can I help you?”
“English is killing me again. Gotta write another paper and put together a PowerPoint.”
She smiled at his pitiful frown, but he obviously wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry. What’s the topic this time?”
“I’m supposed to compare the characters in Night by Elie Wiesel to the guys who built Israel. I talked to my grandpa, but he didn’t know much about either one.”
“Have you read Wiesel’s book?”
“Yeah. It was hard reading about all that stuff.”
“Sounds like your teacher is trying to instill values while you learn how to organize your thoughts on paper.”
“Whatever. You should have read the book.”
“I have. It makes you appreciate our country.”
Chris slumped. “You’ll help me?”
“Might cost you one hundred push-ups.” He smelled like he’d done five hundred.
“Might be easier.”
Paige searched the library’s software program that linked Elie Wiesel’s book with similar information. “How’s your mother?”
“Okay, I guess. Dad’s working late hours.”
She’d heard plenty of rumors about his parents not getting along. But most couples had a tiff now and then. Tiff? I’ve become entrenched in Southern terminology. “Sometimes jobs demand more of us than we’re ready to give.”
“Unless you don’t want to come home.”
She wasn’t about to delve any deeper into Ty Dalton. No wonder Chris couldn’t get along with Walt Greywolf. “Have you started your paper?”
“All I’ve done is name the file and type the title page.”
“Do you have any thoughts about it?”
“Some. Everything seems to jumble together.” He lifted
his laptop from his backpack. “My girlfriend says I’m not organized.”
“We can fix that too. Give me a moment to help a girl at one of the computers.”
A few moments later, Paige pulled a chair beside Chris. He peered into the laptop screen, and his brow furrowed.
“Tell me what impressed you the most about Night.”
Chris blew out a sigh. “That whole holocaust thing—sometimes I think it didn’t really happen, you know? Creeps me out. Like, how could the world let a sketchy guy do all that killing? No way. I mean, I couldn’t have gone through that kind of stuff. Maybe it would’ve been better just to, you know, not really live. Not really make it through. It’s totally whacked.”
Chris’s interpretation hit a sensitive nerve. “I agree. It was a group of people gone mad in a world that didn’t want to get involved.”
“Like a sick world.”
Okay, God, I get the message. “It does seem that way. Have you read anything about the courageous people who formed Israel?”
“Not yet. Thought I could find something online and in a book. You know, I can’t respect people who let innocent people die. How do they sleep?”
What a confirmation for what she was trying to do. “Let’s look at a few of the library’s resources, and then we’ll talk about your paper.” She walked to the wall of books in the 900 Dewey decimal section to pull two volumes about the history of ancient Israel and how the country was reunited after World War II. She laid them beside Chris’s laptop.
He glanced at the titles. “How could so many people stand by and do nothing while the Jews were killed? Man, were they cowards?”
“The cowardice of noninvolvement.” She studied his young face and hoped the world of tomorrow would be better than what her generation had given him.
An hour later, she walked by Chris to see if he was making progress. The boy stared into the computer screen at a map of Angola. Curious, she touched his shoulder.
“That doesn’t look like a map of Israel.”
Chris cringed. “I was getting kinda tired and decided to look around.”
“Why Angola?”
“My dad worked there.”
Cymbals clanged in her brain. How did we miss that? “Doing what?”
“Oil driller for WorldMarc.”
Paige’s pulse doubled. “When was this?”
“About five years ago.”
After I came to Split Creek. “I bet you’re glad he’s home with you now.”
“He made lots of money there. But he wanted to be home with me and my mom. That’s why he quit and bought the mechanic’s garage.”
“Family’s more important than money.”
“That’s what my mom says.”
Paige patted him on the shoulder. His tone left more unsaid than said. She suspected the troubles at the Dalton house weighed on his mind and left him confused. Compound that with the pressures of school and football and the rivalry with Walt, and that led to one hurting teen.
He worked for WorldMarc during the same time as Keary’s involvement with oil. Now she had something else to do. Dalton could possibly be the mole. Possibly a witness to what had happened to the missing villagers. She’d see what she could find once the library closed tonight and she could power up her laptop in privacy.
* * *
Friday afternoon Miles paced the classroom while his students finished a reading assignment. Part of him said to confront Paige about her deceit, and the other part told him to wait until he’d had more time to pray about it. What he wanted to do didn’t sound very God-honoring. But . . . she might have a good reason to keep her identity unknown. A bad relationship in which she had to run for her life or a past that needed to be kept there. He thought back over the many times Paige had said the two of them couldn’t be together, as though she had no control of the situation. He glanced out the window. Yeah, he’d let it ride for a little while.
The bell rang, and he opened the door from his history classroom to the hallway to dismiss his students. He chuckled. Eager couldn’t begin to describe teens leaving class on Friday afternoon and the anticipation of the second football game of the season.
Some of the teachers let it be known that Miles’s habit of greeting students before and after class was a bit old-fashioned, but he knew personal contact created a bond between student and teacher. For some, this was the only positive moment of the day. Perhaps he and his younger brother might have made different choices if someone within the education system had reached out to them. Too many kids led separate lives at home and at school. Miles’s goal was to try to bridge the gap.
Once the last student exited the room, Miles caught a glimpse of Principal O’Connor standing across the hall. Another visit Miles had been expecting.
O’Connor gave a tight smile. “Isn’t this your free period?”
“Yes, but I do have a student coming by in about fifteen minutes.” Miles stared into O’Connor’s eyes, but the man quickly looked into the classroom as though interested in a map of 1750 America.
“This won’t take long,” O’Connor said.
Miles gestured him inside, but he kept the door open. “What can I do for you?”
O’Connor walked to the wall of windows and took a deep breath. “Dalton is the president of the school board.”
“And I’m the team’s coach.”
“He’s threatening to dismiss you.”
“On what grounds? The team’s record? Check the paper’s sports column. We’re slated to head toward state this year.” Easy. Losing your temper won’t solve a thing. “My record for the past four years is spotless, Mr. O’Connor. I’ll give you the same answer I gave Dalton. I have never bowed, nor will I ever bow, to threats. We have a great team this year with great kids playing positions in which they excel. Chris will continue to play receiver, and Walt will continue as quarterback.”
“Your refusal means things could get ugly.”
“Then let them. I’d rather be fired than cower to the school board’s unreasonable demands.”
“I like you, Coach. The kids respect you on and off the field, but my hands are tied.”
“But mine aren’t, and my conscience is clear.” Miles reached out to shake O’Connor’s hand to prove his point. A fire truck raced by, grabbing both men’s attention.
“I’m not taking sides, just relaying what’s going on.”
“Then neither of us has anything to worry about.” Miles stared into the lined face of the man who was nearing retirement. This conversation and what he’d learned about Paige called for a chocolate milkshake to ease his ulcer. Probably two.
Chapter 28
I glance at my watch and pick up the phone. Mikaela needs a little pressure. I want her in Oklahoma City for more reasons than I care to list. Leaning back in my chair, I punch in her number.
“Good afternoon, Mikaela. And how are things in Split Creek?”
“Cut the pleasantries. What do you want?”
“Hostile, aren’t we?”
“Unless you have something to say, I’m hanging up.”
“Oh, I have plenty to say, but for the moment you might want to check out the fire on Lower Bottom Road. I hear a friend of yours is losing his barn. How regretful, especially with his horses.”
I end the call. This should cause her to take notice of me.
Chapter 29
Miles stood back and watched his barn turn into ashes. Not a thing he could do about it, but it made him sick. He’d built the barn himself for his horses and equipment. He even had an office there. Thankfully no one had been hurt and the firefighters had gotten his horses and some of the tack out before the blaze took over. A neighbor came by and transported the horses to his own farm, and another came by and offered his condolences. Most likely the heat had ignited dry grass, and it spread to the barn, but the firefighters had extinguished the fire before it spread to his house.
What a way to end the week. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was focus o
n a football game.
* * *
“Six, five, four, three, two, one.” The scoreboard buzzed like an agitated swarm of bees.
“Bobcats 20, Pirates 6.”
Miles trotted across the field to shake hands with the Pirates’ coaches, then walked back to the sidelines to watch his boys celebrate the win. They were high-fiving and hollering about the “ginormous” plays. He crossed his arms over his chest as though someone might notice how he’d puffed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. What a high. His players had worked hard tonight, and their commitment had paid off. God had blessed them—overlooking the rivalry, the occasional cursing, and how their coach often had to bite his tongue to keep from losing his temper. Miles scanned the defeated team—the slumped shoulders and grim looks. Poor kids. Why couldn’t both teams share in the sweetness of victory? He understood the meaning of healthy competition and the life lessons learned from winning and losing, but he wished more for both sides.
And for a moment, he forgot about the fire.
Miles might have the community’s support, but he didn’t have the school board’s—well, not the president’s anyway. The other members didn’t seem to have a problem with good old Prez Ty dictating how they should vote, but they might find the guts to do otherwise after tonight’s game. How many coaches had been fired for having a winning season? The irony of it all. Ty Dalton emerged from the crowd and stood next to a French horn player who finished up the last notes of the fight song. Obviously Dalton itched to get to his son, which wasn’t a bad thing. But if Dalton would keep his nose out of his son’s business, Chris and Walt might have a chance at friendship.
Miles caught a glimpse of Paige leaning against the wall of the concession stand. She raised both hands to the dark sky in response to the win and limped his way.