The Mission (Clairmont Series Novel Book 2)

by L. J. Wilson

  “Mission, are you listening?”

  Sebastian looked from the floor to the Reverend.

  “After intense negotiations, I’ve helped all parties reach a settlement in terms of payback.”

  “I’m not moving one more shipment of drugs. I won’t go back.”

  “No worries there. You’d hardly be trusted with product that has a street value. More importantly, times have moved on and we’re seizing the day. I’m sure you’ve heard my followers talk. Our missions to South America have become quite involved. We’ll continue to make trips there to spread the word. However, the scope of merchandise has changed, along with the flow of goods. Instead of being a safe courier for transfer out, we’ll be bringing another commodity into the country.”

  “You’re going to supply drugs to the largest drug producing country on the planet?”

  “You need to catch up, Mission. Although, like my followers, you haven’t been privy to current events.”

  “Current events?”

  “Rebels are running rampant in what were our finest distribution points. It’s greatly inhibited courier routes. Guerilla forces—in numbers that grow by the day—are waging war over formerly profitable territory. And what they’re in need of more than anything is weapons.”

  “Weapons… guns?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And how is it I fit into this scheme?”

  “Twofold. Your father assures me that you’re skilled in overseeing our travels by freighter. When we dock, you’ll assist in helping guide our goods off ship—trunks of needy items for the infidels, clothing, educational supplies, food. I’m told you’re very good with customs officials. We’ll supply the religion.”

  “And your charitable offerings,” Sebastian said, plugging in the pieces. “They’ll likely have false bottoms. Trunks and crates filled with weapons.” Sebastian snickered—it wasn’t not clever. “Brother Creek, Brother Wheaton, your own son. They’re up for making those kinds of trades—dealing with mercenaries and lawless guerillas, exchanging guns for money. You’d risk their lives like that?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Their only mission is to spread the word of the Lord. They’ll have no knowledge of any side dealings. They never have. It’s what makes you so valuable and expendable all in the same thought. I wouldn’t risk the lives of my followers or son, not beyond ordinary mission work and God’s will. I do, however,” he said, striding silently toward Sebastian, “have no trouble risking yours.”

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Evie Neal?”

  She nodded at Nolan Creek, clamping her hand to her mouth.

  “The mission is in more danger now than ever before. The Reverend is the only person who can or is willing to save him. He’s going to employ him by taking him on our South American callings. He’s confided to me that he can guarantee the mission’s safety and keep him out of harm’s way.”

  Having listened to Nolan Creek’s grim tale, Evie blinked back tears as the gravity of the circumstance sunk in.

  “It wasn’t easy for me to decide. I had to stand before the Reverend and agree that it is a good and righteous thing, to save a man so willing to pull a young woman into his clutches. So I’ve come to warn you. If you go through with this, if you leave Ezra because of the mission, safe harbor and pity will be the last thing the Reverend offers him. That’s the way of it. You’ve made it clear you don’t care what happens to the rest of us, but—”

  “Brother Creek, that’s not fair. You can’t lay that responsibility at my feet.”

  “And yet, there it sits,” he said, pointing as if Evie’s legs were weighted in cement. “It’s why I bring you this counsel. If you’ll not be swayed by our souls, consider what will happen to the mission. Think very hard, Evie, and separate what’s a sinful desire and what’s right. I’ve been doing so since I found the Fathers of the Right. It’s possible.”

  Evie balled her hands into clammy, tortured fists. She could barely fathom the circumstances or the story Nolan Creek had shared. Unless Sebastian accepted the Reverend’s shelter, he’d be a dead man. “You… you’re sure he’ll be safe? No harm will come to Sebastian if he does what the Reverend says, stays in his employ.”

  “All that’s come before you today and this is what concerns you?” He snickered, putting on his hat. “Ezra, he’s some kind of lucky man.”

  “I am indeed—and I praise the Lord for His gift.”

  Ezra stood in the doorway. Evie startled as if she’d seen a ghost. She turned away, rushing to the kitchen, feigning interest in a hand mixer.

  “Brother Kane. You’re back. I’ll be on my way.” Nolan Creek’s voice traveled the short span between living area and kitchen. “Since I won’t be at your wedding, I’ll offer my good wishes now, Evie. I know it will be a perfect day.”

  Evie didn’t respond as the two men traded places and Nolan Creek exited. She put down the mixer, fondling a set of green, glass mixing bowls—a gift from Adah. “It’s so like your mother, so sweet of her to part with these.”

  “My father said he’d buy her a new set next time he goes to North Good Hope. It made her happy for you to have them.” Ezra, who’d come into the kitchen, slid his arms around Evie. “Before, you were upset about something. Now I find you having a love affair with kitchenware I know doesn’t mean that much to you. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? You seem more upset than when I left. Did Brother Creek say something bothersome?”

  She turned in his arms, unable to hide wet lashes. “He only reminded me how important tomorrow is,” she said, her voice cracking. “The reverence of the occasion. That’s all.” While she kept still, a whirlwind brewed inside Evie. Everything she’d been taught and warned about was being challenged in one dizzying, frantic afternoon. She clung to Ezra. It hadn’t been a lie. The feeling was familiar and safe and lovely.

  Why couldn’t she be happy for that? Clearly, it would solve every problem. While the rest of Evie tried to rally those feelings, her heart was the lone dissenter. It ached wildly for feelings Ezra could not evoke. And now, after knowing Sebastian’s touch, Evie’s awareness was acute. Yet dwelling on it helped no one. “Ezra,” she said, her voice beaten to a whisper. “Tell me something. Would marrying me make you truly happy?”

  “How can you ask such a thing? Marrying you is the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” He tucked her tighter to him. “I know we’ve had a few spats of late. I know you’re a strong thinker, Evie. God help me, it’s one of the things I love most about you.” Ezra eased back, his face as solemn as hers until he smiled. “That’s when it’s not driving me completely mad, challenging the very way we live. I think we can agree that obedience is not your strongest virtue.”

  Evie looked away.

  “But as long as we’re married… It’s true. Being your husband, nothing would make me happier.”

  Guilt and gratitude came with his embrace. But mostly the hug kept Evie from looking Ezra in the eye. “That’s kind of you,” she said, yielding to the rules and rituals of the Fathers of the Right. “I’ll work on that, I promise. Clearly, for every reason under the sun, being your wife is what I’m meant to do.”

  Sebastian read the letter from Andor. He crumpled it, sending it airmail across the cabin. Brother Wheaton looked up from his readings, though he didn’t respond like any normal person asking, “Hey, what’s wrong?” In this tight-knit place of communal living, Sebastian was decidedly alone. He walked to the window and peered out. That got a rise out of Brother Wheaton who, unlike Nolan Creek, stood, prepared to meet a challenge. It dulled Sebastian’s impulse—which was to find Evie and get the hell out of there, together. Going about it rashly wasn’t a smart idea. Sebastian turned. The balled paper sat on the floor. He shot a frustrated look at Brother Wheaton and retreated to what had become his side of the cabin. Smoothing the crinkled pages, Sebastian reread Andor’s note. Bottom line, if Duncan Kane had been unconvincing, Andor’s letter stressed the gravity of the situation. He moved his eyes over th
e words.

  “Gios, it took much effort to negotiate this peace with the Godfathers in Greece. It no longer matters whether you are to blame for the loss of product and money. But understand that only you can repair it. If not for me—which I suspect would not convince you—think of the others, your Uncle Paulos, his family, and Vinny’s, men on the Diamatis who are your friends. Innocents who will pay if you are weak in reply. I know this much about you, gios: I have no influence but loyalty does.”

  Sebastian slumped onto the edge of the bed. The mattress was feathery, the irony rock solid. Who would have thought he’d end up with a worse problem than when he arrived in Good Hope? Busted ribs and no future suddenly didn’t sound like such a raw deal. He dragged in a breath and looked at the duffel bag. Reverend Kane’s strengths were about control. When it came to his followers, clearly the man had never done much actual snooping. If he’d only searched the leather bag he would have found a bank book tucked into a side pocket. It wasn’t a fortune—most of the money had gone to relocating Bim’s village. But Sebastian had been wise enough to put a few thousand aside. He’d kept it in anticipation of trouble, though this exact situation hadn’t crossed his mind. The money could get him moving. Get him—and now Evie—somewhere else.

  He touched the letter, which lay beside him, and thought of the wild chain of events that had led him here and to her. Evie was the anchoring peace in a sea of chaos. He considered Bim. Bim who was smart and trustworthy and indebted to him—not that Sebastian had planned on asking for repayment. But now… He considered the bank book again. Bim understood the rigors of acclimating to a whole new world. If Evie was willing, maybe he could work it out. Hell, if she refused to marry Ezra, what life would there be for her here? Sebastian couldn’t leave her in Good Hope, not under that circumstance. Nor could he take Evie with him to South America. But Sebastian could arrange to keep her somewhere safe until he satisfied the Godfathers or found another way out.

  He spent the rest of the night honing his plan and waiting for his chance. It came the next morning. Brother Wheaton left and Brother Ott took over. He was an elder member of the Fathers of the Right, and the one most likely to doze off. Sebastian made a short excuse about taking a long bath. By the time he ran the tub full, he could hear Brother Ott snoring. It was almost too easy, retrieving the duffel bag and slipping out the cabin door.

  It was Saturday, but the main street of Good Hope looked like it did on a Sunday, devoid of life. He’d overheard enough talk to know that the bakery did its biggest business on Saturdays. Sebastian approached the shop. Dust and confusion swirled. There was a sign in the window: Closed for Wedding. Sebastian looked toward Evie’s house, sprinting the short distance. As he peered through the window he only saw a naked dressmaker’s dummy. Bells chimed. The meeting hall sat on a diagonal, farther down the street. Sebastian swallowed dry air and hope as he began walking, then running, taking the front steps of the meeting hall three at a time. At the door, he hesitated. He pressed his ear to the wood. There was no sound. He eased it open, slipping inside. Glancing around the dim vestibule, he faced another set of doors. They opened. A boy, about five or six, came out. He blinked up at Sebastian, startled by a stranger in his small world. Sebastian squatted, pressing a finger to his lips. He whispered, “Is everyone inside?”

  The boy’s eyes were full moon wide. But he relaxed, smiling at a man who surely had to be one of them. He whispered to Sebastian. “I have to go to the bathroom.” The boy started toward a set of stairs but turned back. “Mother says it’s okay if I miss the part where the man and wife are to kiss.”

  With an iron weight sinking into his gut, Sebastian managed to rise. The door to the inner sanctuary hadn’t closed tight. He inched it open and ducked inside, standing in a shadowy corner at the rear of the meeting hall. The angle was as unforgiving as the reality in front of him. Evie faced Ezra, wearing the gown she did not love. But her hands were in his as all eyes were lowered in dutiful prayer. All except Evie’s. She stared past Ezra’s bowed head, her eyes steady on a stained glass window. Sebastian looked toward it, an unlikely green hue dominating. A stronger energy, maybe a longing for what would never be, drew her gaze to Sebastian’s. In the midst of her public wedding, the two shared a private moment. He shook his head slowly, feeling the heart she’d unearthed shatter. While his expression had to read as devastated, hers was resolute, determined. A sudden flinch conveyed the bride’s only outward ambivalence. But Ezra sensed this too, and Sebastian watched as he tightened his grip around her hands. His fair head rose and he smiled at Evie, who looked back just in time to say she would be Ezra’s wife.

  Present Day

  Marriage. Alec continued to mull over the manmade institution from the balcony of his La Carta hotel room. Partly because he’d been listening to one rekindle—Jess and Julian sweet talking each other on the balcony below. And partly because not being married always made Alec think of his parents. Nowadays tying the knot was optional, back then, not so much. He sipped a cup of strong coffee, wishing he’d pressed his parents for more of a reason when he was twenty or twenty-two. “Come on, Pop—what gives? Five kids and a forever gig between the two of you, and yet…?” But back then, it wasn’t something a guy that age spent time thinking about—it was just a fact, like they lived in the Dutch colonial on Lakeshore Drive.

  Alec turned his attention to the early morning street scene, which differed considerably from a sedate Nickel Springs setting. Vendors came to life, putting out their wares—everything from live chickens to a tobacco stand. Packs of unattended kids roamed the congested thoroughfare, merchants shooing them away. From his fourth-story point of view, he saw an inviting beach and azure ocean. If it weren’t for the remote access, the place had all the makings of a top-notch resort. He pressed his arms into the creaky rail and sighed—a land developer he wasn’t. Alec’s senses traveled downward, drawn again to Jess and Julian’s voices.

  After securing her safety from the La Carta jailers, exhaustion had overtaken the three of them. They’d decided to call it a night—at least it’s what Julian had pushed for and won. Alec let it go. It was late. The island would have to wait until morning. Another reason he’d backed off—Jess. Alec suspected she was more shaken up by her jail time than she’d let on. She had to be. It was the only explanation for her quick acceptance when Julian suggested they share a room. At the rail, Alec heard laughter. He almost backed off but instead found himself caught up in old-fashioned eavesdropping.

  “It makes me happy to see you smiling this morning.”

  “Freedom will do that. Thanks again for coming, Julian.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t? Here, more coffee.”

  “She’d rather have tea…” Alec murmured. It’s what Jess made when things weren’t right—a bad cold, a bad day, a worse than usual phone fight with Julian.

  “I… Well…” she said. “Before yesterday, our last conversation wasn’t our best.”

  Alec tried to translate a lingering silence.

  “Maybe not that part, but these past few hours…Definitely not the behavior of two people on the verge of divorce.”

  Alec heard laughing… giggling. Jess didn’t giggle.

  “But, Julian, maybe last night—us—was just reflex.”

  “Or maybe she was scared…” Alec said slightly louder.

  “Reflex?” Julian said. “Nobody makes love like that out of reflex. You wanted it. You wanted us.”

  There was another patch of silence—but Alec knew that one. It was Jess weighing her words. She was a careful thinker.

  “I wanted what we had six years ago, Julian. No part of my travel plans for 3Cs magazine included coming here to sleep with you.”

  “Maybe I’m just the culture, customs, and continent you can’t get away from,” Julian said, riffing on the magazine’s full name. “It appears—”

  “We have unfinished business.”

  “Exactly,” Julian said. It was followed by another pause, one that als
o required no interpretation. “So how about letting me demonstrate another custom?”

  Alec realized how hard he’d been gripping the balcony rail. A rotted piece of wood gave way. He let it go. Jess’s personal life was none of his business. He retreated—mentally, physically. The tight vintage square footage was dated, a worn out room with a turquoise floor, chipped paint showing bare wood. Alec felt cornered, unable to escape what was going on under the paint, under the floor, under Julian. The hell with this… It was Jess’s mistake to make.

  On a vigorous run through La Carta, Alec headed up a scorching trail that led to the outskirts of town, five, maybe six miles. From the edge of lost, he stuttered to a stop. Heaving deep breaths, Alec checked the compass on his watch. He pinched his eyes closed, all parts of him numb—only the slight pulse of heat-inspired nausea. Opening his eyes, he guessed his roommate and her almost ex might be ready to get to work. It was all that mattered.

  Alec jogged back at a slower pace, passing by the neighborhoods of La Carta. Electrical lines were spotty and outhouses were common. Time had forgotten this place—maybe forsaken it. Except for a few hit-and-miss satellite dishes, it looked like hellish poverty. Glorified shacks passed for houses and emaciated stray dogs wandered in droves. Between the edge of the town and bungalows was a school. It looked large enough to accommodate the urchins he’d seen wandering the streets. He supposed a truant officer was not a priority here. The building looked dated, though well-built compared to everything else. He watched for a while, still catching his breath.