Breach of Trust

by DiAnn Mills

  “No way.” She’d ease into beating him.

  Five rounds later and twenty dollars of Miles’s hard-earned money in the hand of the vendor, Paige walked away with an armful of novelties, which she gave to a family with three small children. “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said to Miles.

  “Oh, it’s all a part of my research.”

  Her pulse accelerated into overdrive. “Research about what?”

  He leaned closer and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “About the real Paige Rogers. Is she faster than a speeding bullet? prettier than any belle of the South? It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s Super Librarian!”

  She saw herself flying over Split Creek with a red cape and a book tucked under her arm. She bit back the laughter. “Can’t you accept the fact that I’m a woman of varied interests?”

  “And spoil my fun?”

  A scream pierced the air. Then another—and neither of them were sounds of excitement. Instinctively Paige raced in the direction of the sound, toward a house of mirrors, where a crowd had started to gather.

  “We need help!” a male shouted.

  “There’s a kid down!” another voice called.

  Paige reached for her gun in her new shoulder bag, but logic stopped her from drawing it. The problem could be a fight, something that security had already broken up. Miles called her name, but she ignored him. She pushed her way through the crowd, her hand itching for the gun she could not grasp. A young man lay facedown in the dirt. Blood spurted from his right thigh and formed a crimson pool, a sight from the past she’d seen far too often. Recognition of the mass of black hair and Bobcat sweatshirt sent a flurry of grief and regret to the core of her heart.

  Oh, God, no. Paige bent to his side. “Walt.”

  “My leg,” Walt whispered and squeezed his eyes shut.

  She turned him enough to see he’d been shot in the femoral artery. Without intervention, he’d soon bleed out.

  Miles touched her shoulder. “Call for an ambulance, and I’ll tie a tourniquet on his leg.”

  She ripped off the sweatshirt tied around her shoulders and tossed it at him.

  They exchanged a brief look while he twisted the arms of the sweatshirt. A carny handed him a wrench for the tourniquet. Paige retrieved her cell from her purse and punched in 911 while scanning the crowd. Later she’d work through her anger. A teenage girl with raven-colored hair stood above her sobbing. Paige had seen her at the library with Walt.

  A teenage boy reached out to comfort the girl. A father yanked his child out of the way of the horror. A mother shielded her daughter’s eyes.

  “Please, stay back,” Paige said. “An ambulance is on the way.” She sifted through the sea of faces for the shooter.

  “Anyone see what happened here?” Miles’s voice thundered around her as he finished tying the tourniquet around Walt’s leg.

  No one responded.

  “Paige.” She recognized Voleta’s voice beside her. “What’s happened?” Terror seared her face. “Oh no. It’s Walt.”

  “Help will be here soon.” The two men and the woman whom she’d seen earlier were not around. Paige wished she’d snapped their pictures, but she’d memorized the way they’d walked and looked.

  “How bad is he? There’s so much blood.” Voleta stared at him, her face growing pale.

  Paige grabbed Voleta’s shoulders and swung her around. “Don’t look at him. I can’t take care of both of you.”

  “Okay. What can I do?”

  “See if his parents are here. Don’t scare them. Just bring them to Walt before the ambulance arrives.”

  Voleta hesitated and chanced another look at Walt.

  Paige had no patience for weakness. “If you can’t help, then stay out of the way.”

  The sobbing girl, who was one of Walt’s friends, fell to her knees. “He was teasing me about the way I laugh. And then he grabbed his leg and fell.”

  “Did you hear the gun?” Paige asked.

  “No. Nothing,” the girl said.

  Amateurs didn’t use silencers. Who could stoop this low? A chill raced alongside her thoughts. Ty Dalton? Would he now add attempted murder to suspected arson? She didn’t read Chris into this . . . unless he was provoked by his dad.

  Chapter 38

  Paige paced the tan and brown tiled hallway outside the surgical waiting room. She ached for Walt’s family in a way that left her physically ill. A sixteen-year-old kid battled for his life in emergency surgery. Anger and grief fused with a lust for revenge against whoever had pulled the trigger. The question she hadn’t been able to answer was why someone had found it necessary to shoot—maybe kill—Walt. But Ty Dalton kept rising to the top of the list. Maybe he’d gone nuts with this thing about Chris playing quarterback. Or maybe Chris hadn’t been able to take the pressure at home anymore and lost it. Nothing in her reservoir of possible explanations made sense.

  She still suspected Ty of being the mole, and that meant he could have a silencer. She shoved away the thoughts about Chris, wanting to believe he was a good kid trying to figure out where he fit in the world. From what Miles had said about Chris’s back and not wanting to play college ball, Paige doubted his involvement. But she wanted to know where the Dalton men were at the time of the shooting.

  If Dalton worked for Keary and had decided to venture off on his own personal vendetta, Keary would be furious. Welcome to the no-spin zone.

  Walt’s parents sat to the right of Miles. Mrs. Greywolf wept silently. The couple held hands with rosary beads dangling from their union. Two small boys and a girl swung their legs back and forth in their chairs. The children were too young to understand that their brother lay close to death. Paige watched Miles’s eyes move from the grieving parents to the doors of the emergency room. He’d divided his time between the kids and Walt’s parents. Everyone waited for the doctor to step through the outer doors.

  Walt’s dad cleared his throat and swiped at a tear rolling down his dark cheek. He wore a tarnished WWJD bracelet on his left hand. Paige stared at the bracelet, allowing Jesus’ sacrifice to sink deep inside her.

  About a dozen other kids had taken residence in a corner, talking, crying, praying. Chris and his mother stood with them. Parents and two pastors and a priest from the community offered hope and attempted to answer questions. Maybe she should pose her own questions to the pastors about God allowing this to happen. But those righteous people wouldn’t want to hear her thoughts about retribution. She glanced at her watch. Palmer needed to be notified about this latest incident, especially if Ty was involved.

  What if it were Nathan fighting for his life? She remembered the car chase through the streets of Nairobi with bullets flying at her and Nathan. Desperation and a desire to land a death punch to Keary had stayed with her for days—even now. Palmer used to say she was a human black widow. And that was before she had a son. She had to find a way to see him. Counseling wasn’t going well. And no wonder. His mother had died, he was surrounded by strangers, and the woman who’d said she’d be his second mommy had deserted him.

  Paige walked to the window of the waiting room and stared out at the late afternoon sun. What a blessing to enjoy comfortable daytime temperatures before the cold days of winter settled on the drought-ridden land. She turned her attention to the anguished people and saw Miles had made his way to her side. The sadness surrounding the waiting room and her concern for Nathan and all those she held dear had taken its toll. She wanted to tell him about herself. She needed a friend. And although company protocol frowned on what she was about to do, her heart overruled it.

  “The mercury dropped.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”

  She wrestled with what she could say and what was classified information. “I ache for Walt and his family.” She glanced away. “I ache for things I can’t change.”

  “Talk to me, Paige. Don’t carry whatever it is alone. I’ve wanted to help all along, and since the car bomb .
. .”

  She walked out to the hallway by the elevators and turned to face him. “Julius Caesar didn’t see it coming.”

  “Would it have made any difference?”

  “Depends on his advisers. Once you said the time would come when I’d tell you the truth. Can we take a walk?”

  He pressed the elevator’s down button. They rode in silence as though she suspected the walls to contain untraceable wires. Miles smiled. The muscles in his face showed his sincerity. The light in his eyes emitted his love. Was she being selfish in wanting to confide in him, knowing he could be the next target? He’d earned her trust and her love, but that didn’t equate with losing his life.

  “Don’t change your mind about telling me,” he said.

  She’d lost some of her ability to remain stoic. “You’re getting good.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Outside the hospital a slight wind blew through her hair. She rubbed the chill bumps from her arms and questioned whether the cool breeze was the early evening temperature or her icy heart. Miles slipped off his jacket and laid it across her shoulders. Her bloodstained sweatshirt was somewhere with Walt. The ER doctor had said the tourniquet had saved the boy’s life, but the loss of blood had caused his blood pressure to dip dangerously low. It could have been Nathan.

  To the west, the sun had started its descent in chalky shades of yellow and orange. Miles deserved to know the underlying factors of why she’d chosen to live an alias life and how the past and present connected to Daniel Keary. Palmer would have her skin for this, but right now it didn’t matter. Her emotions wavered between sobbing on Miles’s chest and driving to Dallas to hold her son. Both choices were selfish, but she couldn’t help herself.

  I need help here, God. I need You.

  She hoisted her shoulder bag and made her way to the prayer garden adjacent to the parking lot. A manicured lawn and flower beds created an atmosphere of peace. She walked the perimeter of the garden and then stopped at a small waterfall and dipped her fingers into the cool water. Pennies lay in the bottom, as though desperate people had cast one last hope for whatever plagued their hearts. Prayers hadn’t worked. Noninvolvement hadn’t worked. Neither had logic or reason.

  When Paige saw no one was standing nearby, she walked to the end of a sidewalk where an empty bench offered privacy. She finished forming what she could reveal. Operatives always had stories to back up stories to back up stories. But this was an exception. This was the man she loved, and although she couldn’t tell him all of the truth, she could tell some.

  “This goes much deeper than my false ID. You don’t know me at all.”

  He hesitated. “You might be right.”

  A car drove by. A family turned into the parking lot.

  “This stays with us,” Paige said. “Even a well-read librarian can’t defuse a bomb and be a crack shot with a rifle.”

  “Unless her older brother is in Special Forces,” Miles said as though attempting to lighten the tension.

  “You’re not as far off as you might think.” Paige eyed him closely. “I used to work for the CIA in field operations. My last assignment was in Africa. Angola, to be exact.”

  Miles pulled back in obvious amazement. “The CIA? You? Like spies and satellites and terrorism? You were part of that? You’re kidding me, right?”

  Paige ignored his disbelief. He’d either believe her or not. “I’ve tried to outrun my past, but sometimes our sins find us out. Or at least somebody’s sins. My last mission was a total bust. One of our team members sold us all out. He and I were the only two who survived, but I couldn’t rat him out because I’d been injured and was in and out of consciousness for days. While I was down, the turncoat filed a report saying I had cracked under the strain of field duty and was mentally unstable. I filed my own report, but neither of us had a witness.”

  “You? Ridiculous,” Miles said. “Did you demand a psych eval?”

  “Inconclusive since I’d been trained to combat those kinds of tests. To make matters worse, he gave me orders to disappear and promised that if I ever attempted to bring up the allegations again, he’d kill my parents. At that point, my parents believed I was working in international business. So it wasn’t difficult to fake my death. I quit the CIA with more anger and resentment than anyone should ever have.”

  “Oh, Paige.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” She snapped her response. “I chose that world.” She took a breath and plunged ahead. “Anyway, I changed my name, my looks, and all those things necessary to start life all over again. My former team leader knew I had a minor in library science and arranged for me to live in Split Creek, where he could keep an eye on me.”

  “The man lives here?”

  She shook her head and realized she’d ventured too far to change directions. Oh, the different worlds of Miles Laird and Paige Rogers. “He never bothered me until a few months ago—when his election for governor was only weeks away.”

  Miles grabbed the iron handle of the bench. “Daniel Keary?”

  “That’s him. I’m sure he’s not the only corrupt politician in our country. Chew on this: his ambitions far exceed the governorship, and he has more charisma than a Pentecostal convention.”

  “And he sent that guy who stopped you on the road?”

  “It all began again, even a threat to my parents if I didn’t agree to help him with his campaign. I refused, then learned the CIA had reopened his file due to some questionable oil dealings.”

  “I see.” Miles nodded. “If he could convince you to work for him, then your former accusations would look contrived, and the investigation might be canceled.”

  “Something like that. Miles, I wanted to tell you the truth about me when you explained to me about your brother. All I could think about was the pain I’d inflicted on my parents. How my death must have devastated them. More important, you saw me deactivate a bomb. What you know about me cannot leak out. And there’s more. I agreed to come back on board with the CIA to prove Keary’s guilt in exchange for my parents’ protection.” Paige stared into the pool of water containing the many pennies.

  “Aren’t there programs to protect your parents?”

  “Who’s the enemy? Keary was exonerated from any unlawful activity. His record was filled with outstanding service, and mine was tainted with accusations of mental incompetence. Keary was satisfied with the original result of the company’s investigation. He’d secured the dead bolts on all the doors that would lead to the truth. But he didn’t count on the CIA digging up new allegations.”

  Miles stiffened. “To think I planned to vote for him.”

  “So does most of Oklahoma.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing. You aren’t getting any more involved than as my sounding board.” She gave him a wry smile. “You can also pray that I don’t lose it and kill Keary.”

  “You’re serious?”

  She didn’t respond. Neither did she volunteer details about any of the things she’d already done in the name of national interest.

  “Don’t you know I love you?” Miles’s words hinted of anger.

  “Love is . . .”

  A pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and parked. No one got out.

  “Wait until this is over; then we can talk.”

  “That’s fair.”

  She noted the license plate of the truck. Emotions could be put on hold—all of them. “I came to Split Creek with the resolve to push the past as far away as I could. I wasn’t able to kill Keary for the same reason he couldn’t eliminate me. The CIA would be all over it.”

  Miles looked away. “No wonder you didn’t want to drag George into the car bomb situation.”

  “Don’t underestimate George.” She recalled the shooting at the library. “He’s a smart man. It won’t take too long for him to start asking questions about the unusual things going on.”

  “Should you confide in
him?” Miles asked.

  “No.” Paige shook her head. “Then he’d become a target. And Keary has mentioned you, so don’t think you aren’t already involved.”

  He swung his arm around the back of the bench. “I love you. I’m not afraid of Keary.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You should get into your truck and drive as far away from me as you can.” She braced herself against what she must do now. “I have a request.”

  “Name it.”

  “We need to stop seeing each other.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Listen to me, please.” Paige touched his arm, and he looked back at her. “Your life is in jeopardy as long as we’re together. I need your prayer support and willingness to let me lead. Folks need to believe we’re no longer together.”

  “Like I can’t play spy games?”

  “You don’t wear a muzzle when you play with the big dogs.”

  As much as Paige loved Miles, she had to chase him away. After all, she’d done quite well by herself for the past seven years. A life with him was a foolish fairy tale—a fantasy. At times she’d thought they could make it together, that the two of them could exist without him knowing the truth about her. But now that Nathan was in the picture, that was impossible. And as long as Keary was allowed to live free, every life she touched faced destruction. Faces of her parents, Nathan, Miles, Voleta—all those she loved passed through her mind.

  “I can’t stop you from refusing my company,” Miles said. “Neither can you stop me from camping on your front porch. You can’t go to George to file a restraining order because then you’d have to fabricate a reason to keep me out of your life.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I’m a part of this, and I’m not deserting you.”

  Miles stood from the bench, his face reddened, and his breathing deepened.

  Her gaze swung around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ty Dalton worked in Angola for WorldMarc—little over five years ago. Chris told me about it. And that’s the same company that Keary brokered oil deals with.”

  This was part of the story that she hadn’t intended to discuss. “Could be a coincidence.”