Secret Agent Minister. Lenora Worth
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Pastor Dev whispered. “Then we’ll find a way to get to our next destination.”
Lydia didn’t even know they were near a river, but a few miles later, sure enough she could hear a soft gurgling off in the distance. The Chattahoochee? Or maybe all that gurgling was coming from the bleeding man in the granny wig who was probably hobbling along after them.
“What will be our next destination?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“New Orleans,” Pastor Dev said as he shoved her into the shadowy oaks and pines.
She gave him just enough time to get them hidden, then stopped. “I can’t go to New Orleans. My parents would have a royal hissy fit about that.”
“I’ll be with you,” Pastor Dev said in that condescending, I-know-best voice. “You’ll be safe.”
“Not in that city. My grandmother says the French Quarter’s a regular den of iniquity.”
Taking her by the hand, he stalked through the woods as if he knew exactly where he was going. “Not all of New Orleans is like that, Lydia, and besides, you don’t have any choice. Those are my instructions.”
“To get us to New Orleans?”
“Yes. We need to get out of Georgia.”
“Is the dwelling of light there—in New Orleans?”
He shook his head, then let out a sigh. “You are so smart.”
She refused to let flattery stop her. “Just answer me.”
“Yes—that’s a code for a safe house. Can you trust me?”
“You said I don’t have any choice.”
He gave her a long, steady look. One of his commando looks. “I’m sorry about that. Do you trust me?”
“I’m trying, Pastor Dev. But you have to admit this is all a bit new for me. You might need to give me a few minutes to adjust.”
“Okay. Take all the time you need. But remember, you have to listen to me and trust my decisions.”
“Okay.”
They walked along in silence for a few minutes. Lydia used the time to pout. She liked to be in control of any and all situations and right now she felt completely out of control. “Can I at least call my parents now?”
“They have been apprised of the situation.”
Lydia stopped again, then glanced over at him. “They have? Who did the apprising?”
“We have operatives everywhere. The situation has been explained in detail. Your parents know you’re safe and with me.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
In a lightning move, he tugged her close. Which, in spite of her pouting, did make her feel better. “You shouldn’t be here, Lydia,” he said, his gaze moving over her face.
That soft-spoken, regret-filled statement didn’t set well with Lydia, since she had always dreamed of being in his arms. But she understood what he meant. Actually, neither of them should be here—technically speaking.
Lydia shrugged. “I’m here now. No use crying over spilled milk.”
Then he started laughing. That didn’t help Lydia’s mood. She backed away from him, pushing her hands through her tangled hair. “You think that’s funny?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” He pulled her back into his arms.
“It’s just that…Lydia, you amaze me. You are so practical and pragmatic. Spilled milk.”
“Well, this is a big old puddle of a mess, don’t you agree?”
He probably could tell she was getting all worked up. He didn’t try to hug her again. Instead, he stopped laughing and let out a sigh. “That is correct. A big mess that I’ve somehow managed to get a nice girl like you involved in. Not only that, but one of the best men I know died tonight. Because of me.”
What could she say to that? She’d been so scared and confused, she hadn’t even stopped to think about his friend. She couldn’t resort to bickering and sarcasm after hearing the anguish in his words. Especially his next statement.
“This is all my fault.”
Since Pastor Dev walked on ahead, she had to follow him or risk getting left out in the Georgia woods with all the varmints and bugs and men in wigs. She caught up with him, but remained silent, sending up prayers for the soul of his friend. Lydia’s mother had always told her silence was golden. Since the woods were so dark and quiet, with only the moonlight and stars to guide them, she decided it was a good time to go to God in prayer about this whole bizarre situation.
Lydia worried as she prayed, not only about herself and her life, but also about Pastor Dev. He was right. He’d lost one of his best friends back in that hotel room. Now she reckoned he was grieving in a kind of delayed reaction way. And what about Reverend Pierson’s family? How was anyone going to explain this to them? What about the authorities back in Atlanta? Would they be hushed up, or would Lydia’s and Pastor Dev’s names and pictures be plastered all over the news? How would they ever get out of this?
She asked God all of these questions as they walked along, then she asked Him to show them the way. Lydia knew in her heart that Pastor Dev had to be telling her the truth, but she wondered how in the world such a good and decent man had become involved with killers and thugs. Then she reminded herself CHAIM was supposedly a Christian organization, meant to help those in need. And that would mean sometimes having to deal with dangerous, unscrupulous people.
He’s one of the good guys, Lydia, she reminded herself as she chanced a glance over at him. Remember that. Then she tried to imagine all the places he’d been, the horrible things he’d seen in his operative days. And he’d said he had to retire? What did that mean? Not, I retired, but I had to retire. There was a big difference in that particular wording. And just who wanted him dead?
He’d said he thought he knew who.
So she asked him. “Who’s behind this?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“But you think you know, right?”
“I’m pretty sure, yes.”
“Did you do something bad, for someone to want you dead?”
Dev didn’t speak for a while. Their feet crunched on leaves and twigs, each sound causing Lydia to walk closer to him. He grabbed her hand to keep her from tripping against his feet, since she was like a shadow right at his heels.
“I didn’t do anything bad,” he finally said. “I did do something that made some people very angry at me. But I had my reasons.”
“Such as?”
“I can’t explain it right now, Lydia. I’ve got people investigating things. It’s very complicated.” That was an understatement. He didn’t know where to begin.
“Yeah, well, it would have been nice to be forewarned about…your past life. I’ve known you for a while now, and I never would have guessed—”
“That’s how CHAIM wants things. We’re trained to fit right in, wherever we go. Sometimes, we fit in too well.”
“You can say that again. Are you even a real preacher?”
He looked over at her, masking the piercing hurt her doubt brought. “Of course I am. I attended seminary in New Orleans. I trained to be a minister. I just got sidetracked for a while.” Then he shook his head. “No, that’s not exactly correct. Being in CHAIM taught me more about being a Christian than anything else, even preaching.”
“I guess so, what with all the deception and intrigue. I’m sure that comes in handy each