Breach of Trust

by DiAnn Mills

  Paige’s phone rang. How did he answer? He muffled a “hey” in hopes of sounding like Paige.

  “Mikaela, how are your parents?” a male voice said.

  “This is Miles Laird, not Mikaela. Wherever she is, she doesn’t have her phone. Since you know her by name and apparently know where she is, I need answers.”

  The caller hung up. Was it Keary using a disguised voice . . . or her contact . . . or a new boyfriend?

  * * *

  Miles had read every word on the CIA Web site. He didn’t know anyone with connections there. According to the online information, if someone had information that might be of interest to the CIA, then the person could complete a form or call. He stared at the screen. He’d do both. The process was obviously designed to weed through the phonies and idiots who contacted CIA headquarters every day. Miles wrote in the subject line of his e-mail “For Mikaela Olsson’s contact” and prayed such a person existed and that someone would take Miles seriously. However, the problem in Oklahoma was a national concern, and it did involve two operatives who’d once worked for them. Let the CIA sort out the truth. Miles reviewed his online submission, then clicked Send. What else could he do?

  Tuesday night, Miles paced his house. He didn’t feel like doing anything or talking to anyone. All he wanted was word from Paige, that she’d found help for her problems. TV news had more coverage about Keary’s integrity—nothing substantial, just more of the same glowing reports about Oklahoma’s best candidate. Miles didn’t know whom or what to believe, especially the report of Paige’s admittance into a psychiatric hospital.

  A pounding on the door caused him to jump. Maybe George had learned something about Paige. Maybe she’d returned and wanted to see him. He swung open the door to greet a silver-haired man dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket.

  “Miles Laird.”

  It was not a question. “Yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about Mikaela Olsson.”

  Not another stinking reporter. “Who are you?”

  “An old friend of hers.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. You look like a news reporter to me.”

  “Government security.”

  “CIA?”

  The man pulled his wallet from his jacket and handed him a photo of himself and a gorgeous blonde who looked enough like Paige that Miles knew it was Mikaela Olsson. “This was taken nine years ago when she worked for the CIA.”

  Miles handed the photo back to him in an effort to appear confident. After all, he’d once owned a government security business. “How would I know?”

  The man offered a tight-lipped smile. “This shouldn’t take long. Can we talk?”

  Did he really want him inside? “Do you have a name?”

  “Greg Palmer.”

  Miles hesitated. If Paige had spoken the truth, Palmer could be CIA or a thug for Daniel Keary. His leather jacket had plenty of room for a gun. “I have no idea where she is, but I’d sure like to know.”

  Palmer stepped in without an invitation and closed the door behind him. Little late for second and third thoughts.

  “This isn’t a social call,” Palmer said. “Neither will you need a Band-Aid.”

  Miles forced a grin. “In that case, have a seat. Would you like something? coffee?”

  “No thanks.” Palmer walked into the living room and sat in Miles’s favorite chair. “Mikaela checked into a psychiatric facility in Tulsa on Sunday night, just like you’ve been hearing from the media.”

  “So she is mentally ill.”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  This guy talked in riddles just like Paige did. “What are you talking about?”

  “We’d like for you to pay her a little visit.”

  Chapter 49

  Miles grabbed the pink teddy bear from his truck seat and a plastic container full of oatmeal raisin cookies. Inside his jacket pocket was a jumbo-size bag of Reese’s Pieces. He shut the door, methodically hit the alarm button on his key ring, and walked toward the entrance of the Magnolia Life Center to see Paige. Or Mikaela. Or whatever he should call her. He’d done his homework and called the facility to make sure he could bring a gift and the cookies. Palmer had supplied the bear, but Miles had baked the cookies. He’d purchased frozen cookie dough from the dairy case at the Piggly Wiggly and followed the directions for perfect cookies in ten minutes. Much more of this peculiar behavior and he’d be ready to join the CIA himself. This “drop” role added a little excitement to his life.

  Besides being a part of Palmer’s plan, the cookies and teddy bear were part of Miles’s cover. In case Keary was watching, they made him look like a lovesick redneck. The politician wouldn’t see Split Creek’s football coach as a threat, only as a man coming to pay his cowgirl a visit—no high-tech strategy to pull Paige from the facility nor any CIA professionals making an appearance.

  Miles resisted the urge to scan the parking lot and look for suspicious characters. What did he know about spies and espionage? He’d had to look up a glossary on the CIA Web site to discover that Paige had been an operative rather than an agent.

  She’d checked herself in as Mikaela Olsson, and the news vultures had gobbled it up. Miles was told he’d have to supply identification in addition to securing doctor and patient approval before he would be permitted to see her. He hadn’t been able to think of her as Mikaela. She’d always be Paige the librarian to him: pies on Thursdays, cakes for his football team, and Miles’s dream of a sweet life with her—which was over. She’d stolen his heart and shattered it. Miles tried to tell himself it was over between them, that his errand for Palmer was simply his national duty. Nothing else. The truth had become so distorted. What did he really feel about Paige? As she’d so aptly stated, love and marriage meant a commitment to trust. They didn’t have it. In fact, they didn’t have a thread of it.

  The sprawling redbrick facility near Tulsa used biblical principles to counsel its patients. Despite the lack of luster on the grounds, a statue of Jesus carrying the lost lamb offered a sense of peace. Paige might not be insane, but she did carry a load of guilt and shame for some of what she’d done in her role in keeping the United States safe.

  Ever since Palmer had convinced him to give government security a hand, Miles had sensed relief, and yet he had no clue about the future. He didn’t know what he’d find inside, and every time he thought about it, his ulcer took a giant bite of his stomach. Even if Paige had suffered from a breakdown in Angola, Palmer obviously believed she was right.

  Keary might be ahead in the polls, but he’d lose the war.

  Miles strolled through the double glass doors to the foyer, trying to look confident with the container of cookies, the pink teddy bear, and a racing pulse. A plaque that read “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” was mounted on a wall in front of him. The entrance glistened with cleanliness and the scent of fresh flowers. The earth tones soothed him, even though he wasn’t a patient. But I am a sojourner on a quest for truth. Odd how his mind worked on a higher plane during stress.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Miles smiled at a black woman behind the receptionist’s desk. Her name tag read Janetta Scott. “Yes, ma’am. I called yesterday to see if I could visit one of your patients and to see if I could bring this teddy bear and cookies.”

  The woman had a sincere smile. “I think I took the call.”

  “The patient’s name is Mikaela Olsson.” He studied her face for any sign of condemnation, as if it mattered. He set his gifts on the counter and pulled his wallet from his pocket. “Her doctor has given his permission, and I have my ID.”

  She paused, as though searching for words. “As I mentioned yesterday, Miss Olsson’s permission must also be obtained. I’m afraid she refused the request this morning, and her wishes must be honored.”

  “Would you please ask Mikaela again? I sure would like to give these things to her.”

  The woman stood
from her chair. “I’ll check again. I’ll be back shortly.”

  After waiting at the desk for a while, he decided that Janetta Scott’s “shortly” meant hours. He glanced around at an empty sofa and chairs. An open Bible lay on a table with a few appropriate magazines, mostly devotionals and periodicals with family-oriented themes. Miles moved to the seating area and eased down onto a straight-back chair. He searched for something to occupy his mind. At least there were no issues of Time. He’d already heard about the article soon to be released hailing the perseverance of Daniel Keary in the midst of extreme stress and fear for his family. The Tulsa World referred to Keary as a consummate professional. What a bunch of bull.

  Miles, conscious of his faith-filled surroundings and the facility dedicated to love and good mental health for all those in need, realized his thoughts weren’t exactly inspiring. But he couldn’t deny their validity.

  Janetta Scott returned. “I’m sorry, sir, but Miss Olsson will not see you. She doesn’t want any visitors. And she asked that you not return.”

  Miles frowned. Palmer had prepared him for this. “Would you tell her that I have news about Nathan?”

  Miss Scott dampened her lips.

  “I believe it will make a difference,” he said. “Would you please try one more time?”

  Palmer had mentioned the name Nathan as if he expected Miles to know who—or what—he was talking about. Miles had been too proud to ask for more information. He figured he’d find out from Paige, if it was something he needed to know.

  In less than five minutes, Miss Scott met him with a smile. “Miss Olsson has agreed to see you. If she asks you to leave, then please do so.”

  “I have no intention of upsetting her.” Miles stood from the chair. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me this afternoon.”

  “She will visit with you in the patient area.” The woman gestured down the hallway. “It’s on the right. There’s a garden area outside if you choose to enjoy the beautiful day.” She paused longer than he expected. “Miss Olsson needs compassion and understanding.”

  “I just want to be her friend.”

  “Jesus calls all of us to be friends to those who need love.”

  The nurse’s words wrenched Miles’s heart and renewed his devotion to help Paige with the problem that was bigger than both of them. As angry and hurt as he’d been, she was still his lady, and he wanted to believe her feelings were intact too. He should have stood and fought for her—trailed after her when her car sped out of his driveway after the press conference.

  Keary’s announcement had thrown poisoned darts at Miles’s love for Paige and had nearly been successful. But Palmer’s visit had helped him see that his lady was the real thing. Then guilt had set in. After all, she’d confided in him and then he’d believed the scum Keary.

  The green and tan tiled floor lay before him like Paige’s Green Mile. He shook himself for allowing despairing thoughts to control the mood before he met with her. She would survive this ordeal. Maybe they’d survive this ordeal, and they’d have a good life together. That hope kept him going.

  The teddy bear and container of cookies looked rather pitiful when he’d rather have brought her ten dozen red roses. But they fit the role he needed to play.

  Paige sat curled up on a leather chair with stocking feet tucked beneath her and her toes sticking out. Running shoes sat on the floor beneath her. She wore no makeup—not that she needed it—and her hair hung in greasy ringlets. And her eyes . . . They were light blue, like the sky. The pang of fear that had attacked him moments before now tackled him again. She looked the part of a raving lunatic.

  She wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray Split Creek High sweatshirt. Did her choice of clothes reflect her mood or her desire for what the small town offered? Miles wished he had the answers. Right now, all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and tell her he loved her, maybe offer her some of his own feeble strength.

  Paige made brief eye contact with him, then turned to the window. Conscious of others in the waiting room, he took a seat beside her.

  “Hi. I had a hard time finding you.”

  She picked at an invisible speck of something on her sweatshirt. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

  “You are the best judge of that.”

  “Am I?”

  Her mocking glance sent chills up his spine, defeating his confidence. “I brought you something.”

  Her attention moved to the teddy bear and cookies.

  He offered her the plastic container. “I baked them myself.”

  “What kind?”

  “Oatmeal raisin.”

  “Your favorite.”

  He shrugged. “I kept a few.” He hoped his crooked grin might put a light in her eyes. It didn’t.

  She took the cookies and lifted the plastic lid. “Yum. Is it safe to try one?” So she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

  “Of course. I’ve had my share.”

  She reached for one and took a generous bite. “Miles, these are the frozen kind.”

  “I haven’t advanced to a recipe yet.”

  Her lips turned upward. “You need lessons. And the bear is for me too?”

  He handed her the pink, furry, white-sweatered toy and reached into his pocket for the bag of Reese’s Pieces. “I thought you’d appreciate its feminine qualities. And here’s some of your favorite candy.”

  She took the bear and cradled it in her arms. “This is hard,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he whispered back. Did she mean being in the facility or seeing him there? “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  “Sure. I’ll take my things to my room and grab a jacket and shoes.”

  He pointed to the floor. “Your shoes are here.” Was she okay or not?

  * * *

  Paige had no idea whether everything she said, did, and ate—or even her bathroom habits—were recorded, but she couldn’t take any chances. She assumed the psychiatrist assigned to her had not been sent from the company, but she had no room in her life for assumptions. One of the nurses might be on the company’s or Keary’s payrolls too. Sanity. She had to keep hers intact.

  She set the candy and cookies on her dresser and grabbed her jacket. Miles must not visit her again, and once they were clear of the building, she’d make sure he understood the precarious path he took in loving her. So she hadn’t destroyed that yet. Paige didn’t know whether to be relieved or to dread what Keary could do to him. But foremost in her mind was Nathan and what Miles had learned about him.

  She started to put the bear on the bed, then realized she’d need it to continue playing the part of poor, deranged Mikaela Olsson, who was once a CIA operative who felt no remorse at cutting a man’s throat. Now she was a delusional woman and the topic of far too many media reports. Tucking the Pepto-Bismol teddy into her arms, she slumped out of the small room and back to Miles. For the short time they’d be together, she wanted to enjoy every moment of his presence.

  His smile reminded her of the many times he’d leaned over the desk at the library and flirted with her. And she’d flirted back.

  Miles stood at the glass door leading to the prayer garden. He pointed to her feet and held her shoes in his hand. A female worker observed them. Good.

  “Do I need these? Isn’t it warm outside?”

  “The grass is brittle,” he said. “And your feet might get cold.”

  She handed him Miss Pepto-Bismol and sat in the middle of the floor to twist her shoes onto her heels. She gathered up the strings in both hands as though she couldn’t remember how to tie them. Miles bent and tied both shoes. Paige could not look at him, for he’d see how very much she loved him.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t remember how to do it,” she said.

  “No problem. Sometimes I forget things too.” Miles’s normally jovial tone had a hint of sadness. How horrible to deceive him along with everyone else. He offered a hand to help her up from the floor and proceeded to open the door.


  “I like coming out here.” She drank in the air. “My room feels like a tomb.”

  “Are the doctors helping?”

  Paige purposely gave the impression to those around them that she struggled for an answer. “I’m taking my meds and doing what they tell me. My doctor’s nice.” She shivered—on purpose. They walked several feet in silence.

  “Do you have a favorite spot in the garden?”

  She stopped and slowly turned completely around. “Guess not.” She hesitated, then pointed to an area where three people were admiring the flowers. “Over there.” The elderly man with the threesome had audibly expressed fear of her.

  Paige led the way to a bench. “Hi,” she said to the three. “Do you mind if we sit here?”

  The elderly man and his companions immediately walked away, leaving Paige and Miles alone.

  “They probably know who I am,” she said. “I tried to warn my parents about Keary’s announcement, but they weren’t home. Had to tell them on their answering machine. I should have hit the Delete key on my life when I had the chance.” She studied the flowers a few more moments before sitting on the bench.

  “I highly encourage you to keep your finger off that key. How can I help?”

  “You brought me cookies and a bear.” She held out Miss Pepto-Bismol.

  “It’s a special bear,” he said.

  She peered up at him. Curiosity mounted. “How so? Does it have a football sweater too?”

  “Almost.” Miles lifted the bear from her arms and pointed to the pink heart on the sweater. He placed it back in her arms.

  Her fingers traced the heart. “Sometimes here is what hurts the most.”

  “And sometimes what helps goes even deeper. Palmer picked it out.”

  Paige slipped her fingers under the sweater and pressed into the bear’s body. A bug. A means of communicating. Her heart sped, and she caught his attention. “I love you.” Speaking the words caused her to nearly weep.

  “And I love you.” His face softened. If only they could have exchanged those heartfelt words somewhere other than a psychiatric hospital.