LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      Dev figured she was wondering why he seemed so distant and businesslike. But he had to think; he had to figure a way to get her out of this mess.

      Lydia’s hurt soon changed into frustration. Just a tad irritated, she said, “Give me my phone back, please.”

      “Not just yet,” he said, pulling out his own top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art, shiny black Treo. “We have to wait for further instructions.”

      Further instructions?

      “Oh, okay.” She gave him a wide-eyed look after he pocketed her plain little phone.

      Dev hated to treat her this way, but if she called home, they could easily pinpoint the signal. “I know you think I’m crazy,” he said, a twist of a smile playing at his lips, “but it’s very important that you do not make contact with anyone. It’s too dangerous, not just for you but for your family, too. Do you understand?”

      “Too dangerous?” She stared over at him, her shock evident, her disbelief shimmering in her eyes. “Oh, okay,” she said, not looking okay at all. “Honestly, you sound so condescending. I’m not some child about to have a tantrum.” Before he could respond, she gave him a no-nonsense look. “You know what? I’ve had about enough of this game. You need to tell me what on earth is going on. Because I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’m getting mighty cranky. And that won’t be good for either of us.”

      Now she had Dev’s complete attention. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who could change from mild-mannered to dead serious in the blink of an eye. Thinking he’d better do something quick to calm her bad mood and make up for his rudeness, and because he didn’t have time for theatrics, he gave her a long once-over look, then pulled her against him and said, “Rest.”

      “Huh?”

      Not a very sophisticated response, Dev thought, but she had been fighting mad, so now she probably felt a bit off-kilter and befuddled by his quick mood change.

      “Rest, Lydia,” he said again, reaching around to tug her head against his shoulder. She felt like a small, fragile doll in his arms. “Just rest and then I’ll explain everything. You don’t deserve any of this, but you do deserve some answers.”

      “I sure do,” she said into his T-shirt, causing him to become very much aware of her nearness. Then she mumbled, “Where’d you get this shirt, anyway? You never wear T-shirts, except during basketball camp and volleyball games.”

      Dev decided he could at least talk about that, hoping it would make her forgive him for dragging her all over Atlanta. “My nephew, Scotty, gave it to me. To keep me safe.”

      Something about that confession must have tugged at Lydia’s heart. Her next words were all husky with a little catch of emotion. “That is so sweet.” Then she glanced up at him, her pretty angled face close to his. “I didn’t even know you have a nephew.”

      “He’s six.” He felt the rumble of surprise moving through her. He didn’t talk about Scotty much. “My sister’s kid. They live up north. I don’t get to see them much, but at least he’s safe. Last time I visited, he was having an anxiety attack about starting first grade. I gave him a little pep talk and told him he was my hero. I knew he would be strong and courageous, for his mother’s sake.”

      Dev heard her let out a sigh, then he held his breath as she snuggled deeper in his arms. He’d never realized how fresh her shampoo smelled—like apples and cinnamon.

      “Now Scotty loves school. He told his mom I helped him to be strong. He wanted me to feel safe, too, so he sent me this shirt for my birthday. I promised him I’d always carry it with me whenever I travel. I just slipped it on tonight, because, well, because I miss him and I had him on my mind.”

      He wanted Lydia to understand that Scotty’s safety was important to him. Just as her safety was important to him, too. So maybe she could forgive him for being so brusque with her before. “I’m sorry, Lydia.”

      “For what?”

      “For snapping at you. I have to protect you. I’m responsible for you.”

      “It’s okay,” she said, her words sounding sleepy. “That must be a very special shirt.”

      “It is. Scotty told me he said a prayer for me when he helped his mother wrap it.”

      “Now that just makes me want to cry,” she whispered.

      Dev prayed she didn’t do that. But her voice sounded shaky. “I’m glad your shirt is so blessed.” Then she wiggled closer and drifted off to sleep, the rattle and hum of the fast-moving train seeming to soothe her frazzled nerves.

      Dev closed his eyes, too, then he kissed the top of her head while he held her there in his arms, against his blessed shirt.

      

      Lydia woke with a start, trying to remember where she was. When she looked up to find Pastor Dev staring down at her, and looked down to find herself settled nicely into the crook of his strong arm, she gasped and sat straight up. “What—”

      “The train’s stopping. End of the line. We get off here,” Pastor Dev explained. A little old lady across the aisle smiled over at them.

      And as usual Lydia said, “Oh, okay.” Until she remembered everything that had happened—dead body, bad guys, strange gadgets, a memory of a gentle kiss on her hair—she’d have to get back to that one. “Where are we?”

      “Somewhere north of Atlanta,” he replied as he tugged her to her feet. “Near Roswell, I believe.” But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he glanced all around, his dark eyes on full alert mode. But he was kind enough to let that little old blue-haired lady pass first. He checked the front of the passenger car, and the back, again and again. He gave other passengers a hard, daring stare which seemed to make all of them quake in their boots. Except the grandma. She simply smiled her sweet, wrinkled smile and held on to her sensible black purse as she slowly ambled her way toward the train doors.

      Pastor Dev did one more search. “I think we’re safe. Let’s go.”

      So they got off MARTA along with a few other people—probably night workers coming home from the city. It was very late, actually early morning, the wee hours, as Lydia’s mama would

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