Secret Agent Minister (7 page)

Kissie gave her a long, intense look. “Good, then. ’Cause the better you understand Devon Malone, the more able you’ll be when the time comes for him to reach out to you. He’s gonna need someone strong when this is all over. You just might be the one.”

Lydia let the echo of that prediction reverberate throughout her system. Then she remembered last night and how he’d cried in her arms. How he’d looked into her eyes as if he were a drowning man. A woman didn’t forget a look like that. A woman didn’t forget a man like Pastor Dev.

“I’ll be here, always,” she told Kissie. “You have my word on that.”

“I never doubted it,” Kissie said with a soft smile.

Lydia took a seat on one of the plush settees and waited for Pastor Dev, her thoughts going from a working relationship to something more meaningful and deep. Closing her eyes, she let the soothing praise music coming from the next room help to calm her frazzled nerves.

Could it be so, Lord?
she asked, prayed, hoped. Did the man she love also love her back? Well, he was going through a whole heap of trouble to protect her. And he did have about a million burdens on his mind. Maybe it was simply being thrown together. That alone was enough to make him more protective and considerate.

Lydia thought about that angle, and decided instead of whining and fighting him at every turn, she would try really hard to be more cooperative. She wouldn’t be any trouble at all. She’d do everything he said so that they could get back home to Dixon and the work of the church.

And then, once all of this was behind them and they were back on a routine, she’d see if Pastor Devon Malone still looked at her the way he’d looked at her tonight. And she’d find out if it mattered whether she was wearing a red dress or not.

L
ydia realized two things as she looked through the eye slits of her red-sequined feathered mask at the formal parlor of the elegant Garden District antebellum mansion. One, she was way out of her league with all these rich folks wearing real diamonds and fake smiles. And two, Pastor Dev sure looked good in a tuxedo and a black satin mask.

The big white-columned two-storied house had to be well over one hundred years old. The furnishings were all priceless antiques. And Lydia knew antiques from living over her Aunt Mabel’s Antique Depot. The names Hepplewhite, Chippendale, Windsor and Duncan Phyfe floated through her mind as she admired the huge sideboards and buffets loaded with food and the gleaming secretary sitting in one corner, a crystal bowl of floating magnolia blossoms its only adornment. She was pretty sure the ornate burgundy-and-gold strung rug in the parlor was an aged Aubusson. And the artwork and knickknacks indicated an eclectic taste, with a mixture of old world style and modern abstracts vying for the attention of the dressy crowd.

The French doors on every side of the long square house were thrown open to the mild summer night, while ancient ceiling fans hummed and swirled, bringing down refreshing breezes from the high, ornately scrolled ceilings. Classical music wafted out over the wind, courtesy of a string quartet centered on one of the long verandas.

Lydia tried to concentrate on her surroundings and not on the man who’d gone to find them some fresh lemonade. But Pastor Dev was back, right at her side. In fact, he’d somehow managed to keep his gaze on her as he’d crossed the dining room to the huge punch bowl centered on the long Queen Anne table. She’d watched him, their eyes meeting in spite of the masks they both wore.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a dainty crystal cup of the chilled lemonade concoction. Then he reached his other hand around. “I found some brownies, too. I know you love brownies.”

Lydia could have kissed the man, but then that probably wasn’t such a good idea, considering all the erratic thoughts moving with the same whirl as the ceiling fans through her mind. “Thank you.” She took a bite of a moist chocolate square, and closed her eyes. “You know, I have to say that the eating on this particular little adventure has been fine so far. I’m not starving.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her face for reassurance. “You look fit as a fiddle.”

Lydia laughed at that, and then flushed. “Nothing wrong with my appetite.”

“Sorry.” He gulped his own lemonade, as he looked around. “I would have thought we’d make contact by now.”

Lydia smiled at the way he looked all flustered and embarrassed, and the way he had quickly changed from flirtatious to commando in order to hide his own discomfort. That was rather endearing. But then she remembered the circumstances. Best not to flirt. Best to concentrate on staying alive.

“This mask is making my face itch,” she said after she’d swallowed the last of her brownie. “Can’t we find a corner so we can take these things off for a minute or two?”

“Not until after our contact approaches us.”

“Any idea who we’re looking for?”

“No. That’s how things go with CHAIM. It’s so secretive and undercover, that I might not even see the operative. But I’ll get the message. A word here, a gesture there.”

“Well, that should be easy.”

He laughed at her smirk. “No, the easy part is spending time with you. You look right at home here, Lydia.”

She rolled her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure if he noticed. “Yeah, right. I am not to the manor born, Pastor Dev, as you well know.”

He shook his head. “You could be, though.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said, deciding to just accept his compliment. She finished off another brownie. “Wow, I must have eaten that too fast. I feel a little funny.” She touched a finger to the scratchy stitching and feathers at her temple. “My face feels so warm.”

Pastor Dev immediately became concerned. “Maybe it’s the heat.”

“I’m not hot,” she replied. She felt chills sweeping through her body even as she said the words. She’d felt chilled earlier, but just figured it was because of the cross ventilation from the open doors and the competent ceiling fans. “Maybe I just need to sit down.”

He took her cup and set it on a nearby tray. “Let’s go out on the veranda.”

Lydia nodded. She didn’t want to alarm him, but her skin did feel all clammy and hot now. She went from chills to what felt like fever, back and forth. She wondered if she’d eaten too much sugar. She did have a big sweet tooth.

“Sit here,” he told her as he urged her down onto a lacy white bistro chair in one corner of the planked porch, away from the crowd at the big double entry doors. “There’s a nice breeze here by this big magnolia tree.”

“Thank you.” Lydia sat down, careful to pull her dress around her knees. She breathed in the fragrant lemony scent of the magnolias, then swallowed back the nausea in her stomach. “I’ll be fine. Just got a bit too stuffy in there.”

“Here, get this thing off your face,” he said, tugging at her disguise. Slipping it over her head, he stared straight into her eyes. “You don’t look so good.”

Lydia waved a hand, trying to make a joke. “Not what I expected when I revealed my identity to you at last, kind sir.”

Pastor Dev shook his head, smiling slightly, then he looked around, a frown replacing his smile. “I’m going to try and make contact so we can get out of here and get you home to rest.” Then he put his hands on his hips as he gave her a once-over. “But I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m fine, really,” Lydia said. “It’s nice out here, and now that I’ve removed all those feathers away from my face, I don’t feel so scratchy.”

“I still can’t leave you alone.” He stood over her, protective and hovering. Then in frustration, he yanked off his own simple black mask. In spite of the situation, that made her smile. Then she glanced across the porch and saw a tall, distinguished-looking man staring at her through an elaborate swirling silver domino. Lydia smiled at him. He smiled back. Then he started toward them. Maybe Pastor Dev wouldn’t have to leave her.

“Pastor Dev,” Lydia said under her breath, “we might have company.”

Dev glanced around, his actions carefully controlled. “Okay. Let’s see what happens.” Then he leaned close and slipped his mask back on, then handed Lydia hers. “We have to pretend we don’t see him. Don’t be obvious.” After she grudgingly put her domino back on, he whispered into her ear. “Look at me.”

Lydia did as he asked, glad to have the excuse. “Did I tell you that you look nice in that tux?”

“No, you didn’t. But thanks.” He touched a finger to a stray wisp of hair near her temple. “Is he still coming toward us?”

Lydia made a quick scan of the verandah, her shivers now coming from Pastor Dev’s touch. She quickly reminded herself that this was just playacting. The man moved right past them, and didn’t even bother looking back. But Lydia felt the brush of air as he casually walked by, then strolled down the steps into the big front yard.

“He was right there, but I don’t see him anymore.” Then she looked back up at Pastor Dev, blinking because she was suddenly seeing two of him.

Dev turned again, discreetly showing her a folded note. “He left us his calling card right here in the potted plant.”

Lydia giggled. “You people actually do that—leave things in the potted plants?”

“I know—it’s so cliché, but it worked. Neither of us even saw him do it, but I certainly saw the note lying there when I turned.”

“Glad you’re the one who found it.” She swallowed the ache in her throat and croaked, “What does it say?”

He read it to her in a soft whisper. “‘The eagle dwells on the rock. Go to the eagle.’”

“I guess that’s from Job, too, more or less? What does that mean?”

He leaned close, so the casual observer would think he was filling her ear with sweet talk. “It means we’re going to be traveling again. I know where we need to go now, to keep you safe.”

“How—” Lydia tried to form the words, but her heart rate accelerated too fast, causing her to feel faint. “Oh, boy,” she said, grabbing for his arm.

“Lydia?”

She heard Pastor Dev’s voice, but she couldn’t seem to focus on his words. She tried to stand. “I don’t feel so good.”

He caught her to him. “Lydia, are you sick?”

She tried to nod. Her skin felt as if it were on fire. “Hot.” Then she pushed at him as shivers moved up and down her arms. “Cold.”

Pastor Dev grabbed her by the waist. “Lean on me.”

She tried to do that, but everything was becoming murky. She couldn’t focus. “Hot…cold.” The chills and fever seemed to be warring with her skin, raking her with heat followed by ice. The fire of it hissed over her arms, her neck, her face. “Must be having an allergic reaction.”

Another man came to them. Lydia vaguely recognized him as the Distinguished Gentleman who’d just brushed past with the note. Their contact? Or the enemy? Had he been watching after he left the note?

“Come with me,” he said over her head to Dev.

“I don’t think—”

“You’d better listen,” the man told Dev. “Come with me now. I just got a message from the Lady at the Well. She was afraid to call your line.”

Dev nodded. “Lydia, can you walk?”

“I think so.” She wanted to sit back down and rub this fire off her skin. “Hot. Fire.”

Dev spoke into her ear. “Just hang on, honey. You’re having some sort of reaction. We’ll take care of you, but we have to be very discreet.”

Lydia knew the drill. He didn’t want to bring any more attention to them. Even in her frenzied state of mind, she could sense his anxiety. So she managed a smile. “Let me go,” she whispered to both of the men. “I can get through that side door over there around the corner. No one will notice.”

Dev shot a glance toward the back of the wraparound veranda, where a French door stood open. “She’s right. No one is looking at us and no one is roaming back there. If we take her through the front, everyone will notice.”

The gray-haired man nodded, his eyes calm and sure through the slits of his mask. “I agree. Okay, let’s smile and laugh, just in case.”

Lydia did laugh. She laughed because her skin felt as if a million fire ants were crawling over her. She laughed because she knew she was in serious trouble and that something had gone terribly wrong somewhere between the limo ride and the lemonade. She even laughed at the note in the potted plant. Another good one for her journal.

Then she stopped laughing, the heat of the big, bright blue bedroom they’d stumbled into causing her to want to throw up. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked Pastor Dev, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears. “I did something wrong.” She tugged her mask off and threw it on the floor.

He sat her down in a blue brocade wing chair, his hand touching on the pulse at her wrist. “No, sweetheart, you did everything just right.”

She gulped back a sob. “You called me sweetheart.”

He tossed his mask down next to hers. “Yes, I sure did.”

She lifted her gaze to his face, but he was staring over at the other man. “Her pulse is erratic. What did Kissie report?”

Distinguished Gentleman shook his head, which made him look like a gargoyle with that creepy mask shimmering in gray and silver. “It seems we’ve been compromised. She wouldn’t tell me. You need to call her.”

“I’ll secure the line.” Pastor Dev got out his trusty phone, punching codes while his gaze and one hand stayed on Lydia. “Hold on, honey.”

He was being awfully sweet, Lydia thought, her hands scraping at her burning skin. “I need…I’m hot, so hot.” She tried to speak, but her throat seemed to be closing up.

“Kissie?”

Pastor Dev listened, then hissed a breath. “I’m on it.” He hung up, stared across at the other man. “I need a bathroom.”

Lydia started giggling. “Me, too, come to think of it. Too much lemonade.”

“It’s not the lemonade,” Dev said. “It’s the perfume. She’s wearing lily of the valley.” He was speaking to Distinguished Gentleman, Lydia noted, but she heard him loud and clear. “Amy poisoned the perfume—Kissie thinks it was pesticide. We have to get her washed down.”

Lydia’s head came up. “Me? You have to wash
me
down?”

Pastor Dev helped her up as the other man motioned toward a bathroom just off the bedroom, then headed off in that direction. “Yes, Lydia. You’ve absorbed some sort of bug spray through your perfume—pesticides. That’s what’s making you sick.”

She registered that, then added, “Amy? But Amy was the nice one. She was so sweet.”

“Not that sweet,” Pastor Dev said through gritted teeth. “She’s high now. She traded information for drugs, apparently. Then she agreed to poison you, probably for even more drugs. But Kissie managed to get the truth out of her.”

“Oh, no. The VEPs got to Amy. Poor Amy.”

Distinguished Gentleman looked confused. “Who—”

“Very Evil People,” she said to him over her shoulder as Pastor Dev gathered her up. He lifted her into his arms, then headed toward the bathroom, but Lydia couldn’t enjoy his touch—it hurt her skin to be touched. Then she heard water being turned on, but that didn’t bother her half as much as the white-hot pokers branding her skin and the fact that Pastor Dev had her in his arms and drat, she couldn’t even enjoy it.

“Ugh, pesticides?” she said, her fingers scratching at her burning, itching skin. “I’m allergic to things like that. Hives. I told Amy—I told Amy I couldn’t wear strong perfume. I used the lotion, because the perfume made me sneeze. I only used the lotion. I get the hives if it’s too strong.”

“This will be more than hives if we don’t hurry,” Distinguished Gentleman said. “Most common pesticides don’t cause an immediate reaction, but we don’t know how much she’s been exposed or how long, especially if the girl put it in the lotion. And we don’t have much time before they find out where you two are. This might help temporarily, but she will still need medical help.”

“Do we have people posted?” Dev asked.

“Yes. I’ll alert them immediately.” Then the man nodded toward Lydia. “You take care of her.”