LITMIR.BIZ

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work for the government, we have our own set of rules. We try not to do any harm—we just get in, get out, and save lives on both sides.”

      “So you’re not violent and mercenary?”

      He looked away, a darkness settling in his eyes. “Only if we have to defend ourselves or the people we’re helping.”

      That thump in her heart was at full throttle now. “How? Why? I don’t understand.”

      “I know it’s hard, seeing me in such a different way. But you’re safe as long as you’re with me. You have my word on that.”

      “But if you’re retired—”

      He glanced around. “Someone wants me permanently retired. Whoever killed Charles Pierson obviously thought they had me.”

      Lydia’s heart sputtered. She couldn’t breath. Hadn’t she figured this out already, since she’d been chased and shot at? But hearing him say it out loud made it so real. “You mean, you might have been the one—”

      His voice went low. “I gave Charles a key to my room, and told him to meet me there. I had to talk to another colleague before our meeting to discuss my speech. Charles went up ahead of me. They must have ambushed him. It should have been me.”

      She stared up at him, flabbergasted at what he was telling her. “You could have been killed tonight?”

      He nodded. “Yes. I’m out of CHAIM and no one, not even the other operatives, knows where I’ve been assigned. But someone has breached the security of the entire organization. Just to have me killed. And I’m pretty sure I know who that someone is.”

      Lydia’s whole body was shaking now. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think beyond the fact that Pastor Dev might have been killed tonight. Up until now, she’d wanted to believe it had all been some sort of mistake, that they weren’t the target. She looked back up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. And then she started shaking so badly, she felt sick to her stomach. With a rush, everything that had happened came at her, causing her to grow weak. “You could have been killed.”

      He touched his thumb to her chin. “I might still be killed, Lydia. And you right along with me, if they find us. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

      He caught her in his arms just before she passed out.

      THREE

      Dev hated to bring Lydia out of the relative peace of her little fainting spell. But he had to, so he carried her to a big stone bench. “Lydia, wake up.” He held her in his arms, scoping the spot just as the little old lady they’d seen on the train came charging around the corner.

      Obviously trying to focus, Lydia lifted her head and spotted the woman. And in her usual Lydia way, said, “How nice. She’s worried about us.” While Dev went into combat mode, Lydia sent the woman a reassuring smile. Then asked, “How long has that nice little lady been tailing us, anyway?”

      “She’s not so very nice, and she really isn’t a lady at all,” Dev whispered. There she stood, glaring at Lydia and Dev through her bifocals. And she was packing more than just antacid and Advil.

      Even in her stupor of confusion, Lydia seemed to figure things out. “That woman’s gun is much bigger than yours, Pastor Dev.”

      “You can say that again.”

      The woman aimed the gun right at Lydia and Dev. Then she spoke. “‘Will your riches, or all the mighty forces, keep you from distress?’”

      “Job again,” Lydia murmured, her shock obviously bone deep. And it was about to get worse, Dev thought.

      Everything after that was in fast-forward. Dev pushed Lydia down into the leaves and grass behind the bench, his hand on her back. “Stay down,” he hissed.

      Since Lydia seemed paralyzed with fear, staying down wasn’t a problem. She cringed low as Dev managed to position himself behind the concrete back of the bench, trying to protect her with his body. But her head came up in spite of his best effort as she strained to peek at their assailant.

      Then she gasped. Probably because she saw what Dev had already figured out. The old lady wasn’t actually a woman. She was a he. A wiry young man dressed like an old lady. And that man was trying to kill them. Shots clinked and pinged all around them, but Dev didn’t let that bother him. He kept Lydia’s head down, his body protecting hers, and kept himself out of the line of fire. While he waited for his chance.

      

      Amazed and paralyzed with fear, Lydia watched him—but it was like a slow-motion dance of some sort, surreal and bizarre. He stood, then crouched forward, all the while firing that big-barreled gun at the enemy. One of the shots hit its mark. But Pastor Dev didn’t kill the VEP—the Very Bad Guys had been elevated in Lydia’s mind to Very Evil People. Pastor Dev shot the man in the leg, causing him to drop his weapon and roll around in agony. The wound must have hurt something awful from the way the man was screaming.

      “Don’t worry, I just maimed him,” Pastor Dev explained, in a tone he might use to say, “Don’t you just love long walks in the woods, Lydia?”

      “What if he tells someone about us?” Lydia asked as Pastor Dev sank back behind the bench.

      “He won’t. Because then he’d have to explain his presence here. And he was never here. Neither were we.”

      “Part of the cover?”

      “Yes.”

      Lydia put her hands over her head and closed her eyes, thinking of her nice little garage apartment back in Dixon. She loved that tiny apartment. It sat right over an old train depot that had been converted into a thriving antiques and collectibles minimall, complete with a country diner, both run by Lydia’s Aunt Mabel. She thought of the wonderful view of downtown Dixon—which encompassed about one square block. She thought of the great old live oak right outside her window, and the Carnegie Library and the Dixon Pharmacy and Soda Shoppe, safe, secure places with ready supplies of books, ice cream, hair spray and flavored lattes. What more could a girl ask for?

      Right then, Lydia could have used a white chocolate mocha latte. She wanted so badly to be back in her four-poster bed with the frilly magnolia-embossed comforter and sheets, reading a good novel from the library, her beloved portrait of Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh in Gone With The Wind hanging on the long wall opposite her bed. Her cat Rhett would be curled up beside her on the bed, his one black patched eye contrasting sharply with his white face. Oh, how she wished to hold Rhett.

      “Lydia, are you all right?”

      She heard Pastor Dev’s words echoing across her mind, tugging her away from that peaceful, normal scene and back to the dark, scary not-so-normal woods. “I’m just dandy. Where’s that strange old woman?”

      “She—he’s over there in the bushes, moaning.”

      “Should we help him?”

      “No. He won’t die. He’s trained to stop the bleeding.”

      “That sure makes me feel better. What now? Will he try to follow us?”

      “No. He’s injured. He’ll have to report back to his superiors that his mission has failed.”

      “And just who does he work for? Surely not CHAIM?”

      “That’s the question, isn’t it? And that’s what our mission is all about. We have to find out who’s behind this and who sent him.”

      “Do you have an idea?”

      “I have a theory. But I have to get to a secure place before I can figure this out.”

      They heard more moans, but Lydia didn’t feel as much empathy now for the old woman–possible killer.

      “Not my problem,” she said, getting up to brush off her clothes. “Let’s get out of here.”

      “Good

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