Secret Agent Minister

Lydia Cantrell, of the South Georgia we pioneers-settled-this-town-with-wagons-and-mules Cantrells, apparently wanted to believe him. She bobbed her head. “I do believe you. I do, Pastor Dev. But—”

He grabbed her by the hand, hauling her into the room as he shut the door. Which really threw him and her both, since he had never tried to touch her, not even so much as touch a strand of her hair or press his fingers along her arm as he opened a door for her. He’d always followed proper decorum when it came to his relationship with Lydia. But now, he had her by the arm, tugging her along with him as he grabbed equipment and weapons out of a steel briefcase. A briefcase he’d hoped never to use again.

Lydia looked at him in surprise. “What’s with all those fancy gadgets?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “You don’t even carry a cell phone like most normal human beings.”

It was true. He rarely bothered to use the computer they’d had installed two years ago at the church office. He mostly devoted his time to reading the Word, and taking care of members’ needs and visitation. Dev was a stickler about visitation—always going out amongst his flock, sharing their good and bad times. Graduations—even from kindergarten—weddings, births, medical emergencies, cataract surgeries, deaths, anniversaries, christenings, baseball games, soccer matches, birthdays and retirements. You name it, Pastor Dev was there to celebrate it. The rest of the time, he worked on preaching the word of the Lord. And while he preached and tried to forget the past, Lydia sat in her same pew each and every Sunday, as devoted as ever. She was like a guiding light out in the congregation. A guiding light he refused to lose, ever. And now, she’d been exposed to the ugly side of his life. The secret life. This could get very messy, very fast.

As Lydia watched Pastor Dev gather strange little gadgets involving beepers and bullets, they heard a commotion at the hotel room door.

“Don’t open it,” he said, his fingers working at loading weapons and clicking against a slick cell phone. His whole expression had changed. He looked dangerous.

Lydia watched, awe and fear overcoming her. “What’s going on?”

He grabbed her again. “Lydia, do you trust me?”

She didn’t even have to think about that. “Of course, I do, Pastor Dev.”

“Then you need to listen to me and follow my instructions, do you understand?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes. But—”

He hushed her with a finger to his lips. “No questions now. No time to explain. We have to get out of here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to take you with me. They must be watching. They probably saw you come into the room. You’re in danger.”

“Oh, okay.”

Lydia was completely baffled now. Why was she in danger and where was he taking her? And why on earth was Pastor Dev talking to her in that Mission: Impossible kind of voice, so intense and husky and brusque, so very different from his regular soft-spoken drawl?

“What’s happening?” she managed to squeak out, even as they heard the banging on the door again. “Is this some sort of joke? I know how you and your buddies like to pull jokes on each other.”

“No joke, Lydia,” Pastor Dev said, guiding her to the adjoining room. And he now had a big gun in his hand. A sleek-looking gun with a long, thin barrel. It reminded her of something out of a spy movie. And she had no idea where it had been before. Probably inside that steel case he had hidden inside his real suitcase. Good thing they’d taken the bus to Atlanta. He never would have made it onto an airplane with all those gadgets or that gun.

Because Lydia stood frozen, staring at the gun, Dev shook her gently. “Lydia, I need you to be alert. Stay focused, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We have to get out of here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Lydia, honey, are you with me?”

He moved close enough to see the solid fear in her pretty eyes. “Lydia?”

“I’m with you,” she whispered, slowly moving her head again. “But I sure would like to know why we’re getting out of here. I mean, we can’t just leave your friend in the bathtub. We should call the police. We should—”

“No police,” he said, his tone firm. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise,” he added in a soft whisper, his fingers brushing through her bangs.

She nodded and said, “Okay.”

Then Dev reminded himself that she was probably in shock. Things had taken a distinctively different swing from the original plans. And getting Lydia involved in a life he’d tried to put behind him was definitely not in the plans. But he couldn’t change that right now. He could only try to protect her.

“Let’s go,” he said, throwing a dark shirt toward her. “Put this on to camouflage yourself.”

Lydia put on the shirt. “This smells like your laundry detergent,” she said as he tugged at her sleeves. “I know which brand you use. I saw it on your To Do list one day. Not that I’d ever snoop.”

Dev ignored her chatter. Let her chat. Lydia was a talker, especially when she got nervous. Right now, he had to focus; he had to get her out of here. “Button up,” he ordered, keeping his tone firm.

She hurriedly buttoned the big shirt over her demur summer sweater, a dazed expression on her face.

“Ready?” he asked, his no-nonsense gaze focused on her as he looked directly into her hazel eyes. Dev wondered if she knew how much she meant to him. He’d have to tell her one day.

She nodded and held tight to her tote bag. “I think so.”

Dev worked quickly to get them through the locked door to the empty room adjoining theirs. Putting a finger to his lips, he motioned for Lydia to stay quiet as he waited for the right moment. They managed to sneak down the hall just as the intruders came bursting into the other room.

“We’re going to take the stairs down to the street,” he explained, his voice back to normal now. Almost too normal. He stayed calm and in control, for Lydia’s sake, but taking fourteen flights down to the street wasn’t exactly a leisurely stroll. And leaving a room with his dead best friend in it wasn’t too good, either. But he’d deal with that later. Much later.

“Okay,” Lydia said. What else could she say, since she couldn’t take her chances on the elevator and meet up with those Very Bad Guys? Her mama and daddy didn’t raise a complete idiot, after all.

So down the stairs they went, flying so fast Lydia wondered if her sensible black Easy Spirit pumps were even touching the steps. But she was glad they were durable enough for someone on the run. She was amazed she didn’t even get a blister. And she was also amazed that they didn’t get shot. Lydia could hear the Very Bad Guys clunking down the stairs above them, the sound echoing like a death knell each time they rounded another floor. Then just as they reached the seventh floor, she felt the whiz and ping of a bullet ricocheting off the stairwell, very close to her head.

Screaming, Lydia put a hand up, as if that would stop a bullet from killing her. The look in Pastor Dev’s eyes told her the same thing. For once, the man looked scared. Scared for her, since he grabbed her and held her tight.

“Keep running, Lydia,” Pastor Dev said to her, pushing her in front of him. Of course, he would be the gentleman, even in such a desperate life-or-death situation, so he naturally put himself in harm’s way between her and the VBGs. That was a relief, until she started worrying that he’d get shot and then he’d be dead and she’d never grow old with him, or have his babies or be able to be the pastor’s wife like she’d dreamed about for the last few years. Not to mention, the VBGs would still be after her. And she’d be all alone, wondering how she’d somehow wound up in Pastor Dev’s hotel room with a dead body in the bathtub. Not to mention, having to explain all of that to the entire congregation.

But, she thought as she ran ahead of him, hadn’t Pastor Dev asked her to trust him? Knowing that there was much more to this story, Lydia put her trust in God, praying to Him to help them out of this situation. Right now she only knew three things for sure. She was still in love with Pastor Dev, the Very Bad Guys were still chasing them and they were both in a whole lot of trouble.

TWO

So now they were on MARTA—the Metro Atlanta Rapid Transit System—heading north. Lydia was riding through the city on a commuter train at a very fast speed, sitting by a man she thought she knew. But she realized as she watched Pastor Dev jab at a sleek black PDA, that she didn’t really know this man at all. Since when had he owned a BlackBerry, for goodness’ sake? Her mama would laugh out loud at that notion.

Thinking of her mama and daddy back in Dixon, Lydia felt hot tears pricking at her eyes. She normally was a stand-up kind of girl, good in a pinch, solid in a crisis. But she had to admit, this was a bit much even for someone with her strong constitution. She didn’t know what to do, so she clutched at her loaded tote bag, glad, at least, that she had her own supply of obsessive-compulsive ammunition tucked into the many pockets and packets inside. She had a cell phone—that might come in handy. She had Tylenol and Advil and a little bit of touch-up makeup. Okay, that was maybe a bit vain, but Lydia liked to look her best around Pastor Dev. Which meant she also had some of those travel toothpaste samples. And sample sizes of everything from deodorant to hair spray—all bought with her hard-earned money at the big discount store out on Highway 19 back in Dixon. And boy, had she earned her salary tonight, she thought, her feet hurting from all that pounding and running all over Atlanta.

And she also had a combination diary and day-book, which she was itching to record in right now. She’d always kept a diary, since she’d been old enough to form letters, as her mama liked to tell it. This mess tonight was gonna be a doozy of a story, she decided. But she wasn’t at all sure how it was going to end.

By this time, it was very late and she was so tired she could barely hold her eyes open, so she missed the blur of skyscrapers that turned into suburbs as they headed out away from the city. She missed the ancient old oaks and the tall pines whizzing by. She didn’t even notice the constant stream of traffic along Interstate 75. All she could see was her own shocked reflection in the dark window of the train. That and the image of Pastor Pierson’s bloody body. She wanted to cry about that, but she couldn’t find the tears. Yet. So she prayed for the dead minister, and for the evil person who had killed him.

Lydia had never felt so alone and frightened, even if Pastor Dev did seem like he could handle this situation.

Then it hit her—she could at least call her parents and let them know she was all right. She started digging in her tote, then proudly pulled out the little silver picture phone she’d bought at the big mall in Albany.

Dev watched her, knowing what he was about to do would only confuse her even more. He grabbed her hand, then gently took her phone away. “Don’t do that, Lydia.”

“I need to call my parents,” she said, giving him a hurt look.