Stranger in the Night (13 page)

“The Corps? Leave it to the younger men. Put your skills and training to use building up this country. We need you here, Duff.”

“One week.” He held up a finger. “I’m moving the Rudi
family into their new place tomorrow. Monday I’ll check with the school, the restaurant, the cleaning business. Make sure things are working out. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can to track down Mo Ded. Saturday afternoon, this old man will be lounging by a pool with a couple of Texas bikini babes for company.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam laughed. “I notice you and Liz didn’t have much to say to each other. I thought that might go somewhere.”

“Nah. Not really my type.”

“Exactly your type—which is why you’re running in the opposite direction. I know, I know. Did the same thing myself. A wife, kids, a house? Not for me. That’s what I thought until Ana. Terell was a real ladies’ man. Now Joette has him wrapped around her little finger. Did you know a junior college has been talking to him about a coaching job? If he takes that job and both of us marry, the bottom could fall right out of Haven. We need someone living in the building. We need you.”

Joshua shook his head. “Lay off the guilt speech, Hawke. I’m giving you a week, and that’s all I’ve got. You know what Pastor Stephen says about everything. God has a good plan for this. Haven is under His wing. It’s going to work out.”

“I’ll take your week, but I’m praying you give your life.” He nodded in the direction of the police officer. “I’ve got to talk to Ransom. We need more cars cruising our street. See you back at Haven.”

“Later, Hawke.” Joshua grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. Autumn was on its way. He had felt the crisp tang in the air that morning, and it reminded him of sunrise in the Hindu Kush.

Crossing the room, he recalled traversing the Shomali Plain north of Kabul. Despite evidence of decades of war and the presence of antipersonnel and antitank mines along the route, the countryside fascinated him. The people, too. He had loved the Istalif bazaar with its wooden shop doors and colorful
displays of vegetables and fruits and open sacks of grain. Images of boys helping their fathers in the market and widows in blue burkhas begging on the roadside would never leave him.

Joshua pushed open the conference room door and started down the hall. Those early mornings had been so cold he had checked his fingers and toes for signs of frostbite. Though his memories were strong, he sensed he would never share them. His parents wanted little part of his past life. His military service alarmed and probably even disgusted them.

In his mind he would always carry images of those barren slopes—mountains still being born, thrusting upward more than two inches every year. Born yet dying. Younger ranges to the southeast blocked their rainfall and were slowly transforming them into desert. Bleak, remote, desolate, mysterious, the Hindu Kush haunted him.

“Joshua, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment.”

The voice in the darkness pulsed out at him. He pivoted, tense and alert. His ears tuned to the click of an automatic rifle. His nostrils flared as he sniffed for gunpowder. Instead he smelled lavender.

She stepped out of the shadow, her eyes lowered. “I waited,” she said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Liz.” He fought to control his breathing.

“Oh, did I startle you?” Now she looked up. “Joshua, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about”

“It’s okay. Walk with me, Liz.” He had it under control. The spurt had triggered him, but he quashed any outward response. Relieved, he opened the door to the police building and escorted her outside.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here tonight,” she was saying. She moved beside him, closer than necessary. Perhaps it was the chilly air. “When Daniel invited me—Sergeant Ransom—he mentioned some of the groups represented, but he didn’t say
anything about Haven. I hope you don’t think I was avoiding you in there.”

“You
were
avoiding me.”

“Okay, but it wasn’t obvious, was it?”

“Yes.”

“I apologize. I felt uncomfortable. These past few days, I’ve thought about you a lot. All the time, really. But after that evening at Podunk’s—”

“Liz, it’s all right.” He turned, stopping her progress along the sidewalk. “It’s fine. I know how your friend feels about me. I know you’re busy. You have other plans.”

“You’re the one with other plans, Joshua. I didn’t want to see you again and feel all these things and then have it just end when you went off to Texas. I thought it would be better to let it go.”

“What were you feeling…
all these things?
”

“Nothing really. Just weirdness.” She looked away and brushed at a curl that had settled on her cheek. “I was comfortable with you the other night. For me, that’s unusual.”

“You fell asleep.”

“Don’t be offended. Please, I—”

“I loved it.” He began walking again. “We’re a couple of high-strung people, but somehow we relaxed each other. I don’t know how that happened, but it was good.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed, why? You were beautiful.”

“No, don’t say that kind of thing! How am I supposed to focus on my work when you keep butting in?”

“I’m butting in? You’re the one who came to Haven and brought the paperwork. You showed up at Podunk’s. I’ve been trying to hold back, but you’re always around. And I like that. I want it.” He focused on the sidewalk. “I don’t know what’s going on, Liz. But I want to be with you. That’s all I can see right now. It’s the only thing that makes sense in my life.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though. I’m sure we stumbled into each other by accident. I believe God knows everything, of course, but He has such different plans for us.”

“I don’t like His plan for you. You shouldn’t be attending a gang task force meeting. You can’t get involved with thugs like Mo Ded. It’s too dangerous. I’m trained. I know how to handle myself. You should stay in the office and do your filing.”

“Filing!”

“Okay, go out and help people. But stay away from violence, Liz. And as for Africa…why do you have to do that? Can’t you think of something more reasonable?”

“I suppose you call tracking al-Qaeda terrorists reasonable?”

“It made sense for me, and I did it well.”

“Someone needs to work in those refugee camps, Joshua. The people will languish unless they’re cared for. Schools, water supplies, food distribution, orientation classes, assistance with paperwork. There’s so much to be done. I believe I could do that work. And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. They had arrived at her car. “Because…okay, I have no right to tell you what to do. I never listened to anyone. Not even the people who loved me the most. I did exactly what I wanted to do, and I don’t have a leg to stand on with you.”

She reached for her car door. “How about sitting, then…with me…” Her brown eyes met his. “There’s something I’d like to show you, Joshua. It’s in my apartment. And that’s not a line.”

He smiled. “Didn’t think so. I’ll follow you.”

Before she could change her mind, he returned to his own car. In moments, they had both pulled out into the street. As he cruised along behind, Joshua searched his motives. He couldn’t deny the anticipation. Being alone with Liz would leave time to talk…and more…

But he couldn’t let it go too far. She would never allow that,
and he didn’t want to make mistakes. All the same, the temptation would be great. He dug out his phone and dialed Sam.

“Hawke, it’s me. I wanted to let you know I’m headed over to Liz’s place.”

His friend’s silence said more than enough.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking. I know what
I’m
thinking—and that’s not going to happen. I need you to keep me on track, man.”

“How can I help?”

“You already have. I’m telling you, so I’ll be accountable.”

“Do you love that woman, Duff? Because you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I haven’t known her long enough. Have I? It doesn’t happen this fast. It doesn’t happen to people who can’t take it anywhere. And we can’t. We won’t. We’re both too smart, too dedicated to the right things. Hawke, I’ve been through deployments and transitions. But I’m scrambled right now.”

“I’ll pray for you—and that’s not some lame cop-out. Joshua, hold firm.”

As the men signed off, Liz turned her car into an underground parking lot not far from the apartment complex where the Rudis would be moving. Joshua frowned. The few cars in the lot were battered. Trash littered the concrete floor pad. This couldn’t be right. She wouldn’t live in such a place.

“What are you doing?” he asked as they both stepped out of their cars. “You don’t live here, do you?”

“Fourth floor. What’s the matter—scared?”

She crossed to him and slipped her arm through his. “Don’t worry, Sergeant Duff. I’ll protect you.”

A
s Liz fitted her key into the lock, she waved at an elderly woman who was carrying an empty glass casserole dish down the hall. “Good evening, Mrs. Gonzales. Thanks for the tamales you gave me yesterday. They were
muy deliciosos.
”

Turning to Joshua, Liz spoke in a low voice. “Her name is Socorro Gonzales. She brings food to everyone on our floor. She’s been like a mother from the first day I moved into the building.”

Now the woman trundled forward, speaking Spanish and gesturing with great animation at Joshua.

“Mi amigo,”
Liz explained. “This is my friend. I’m going to show him the pictures of Africa.
Mis fotos.
”

The door swung open, and all three entered the studio apartment. There would be no keeping Mrs. Gonzales at bay, Joshua realized. So much for private conversation with Liz. The woman was already rummaging around in the cupboard as though she owned the place.

“Galletas?”
she asked.

“No, I don’t have any cookies,” Liz said. “It’s all right. He’s only staying a few minutes.
Unos cuantos momentos, no más.
”

“Ah!” Mrs. Gonzales nodded, firing off another salvo of Spanish words as she hurried out of the apartment. “I come back!”

“She’ll be bringing cookies,” Liz told Joshua. “Have a seat. Sorry it’s not much of a couch. Refugee Hope isn’t exactly a Fortune 500 company. This place is what I can afford. I like the location, too. It’s close to work. Puts me right in with the people.”

“Is that a good thing?” He took one end of the bedraggled plaid love seat. “Liz, this can’t be safe for you.”

“Safety isn’t a priority for either of us, is it?” She picked up the scrapbook and sat down beside him. “This is what I wanted you to see—my trip to Africa. Congo. I put the album together not long after I got back, but lately it’s been haunting me. At night, I go through it, poring over the pictures and trying to remember everything. It’s like I keep thinking that God will show me some new message. Some face I didn’t notice. Some scene I’d forgotten. Anything to make sense of it.”

“What message are you waiting for?” He searched her eyes as she opened the book, spreading it between them. “What questions need answers, Liz?”

“Don’t ask me that. Just look at this. Tell me what
you
see. You and I are alike in how we process things, and I need to hear your thoughts.”

He turned the pages, running his fingertips over the photographs as he absorbed the story of her journey. As Joshua pondered each image, Mrs. Gonzales returned with a tray of chocolate-chip cookies and two cups of piping-hot coffee. She stood, hands clasped, smiling at the pair on the sofa. Clearly she wanted to join them. But with a few words of gratitude and farewell, Liz escorted her neighbor from the apartment.

“Mrs. Gonzales is why I live here,” she told Joshua as she shut the door. “When I moved to St. Louis, I wanted to immerse myself in many cultures and languages. Socorro fled from Nicaragua years ago. She has no legal documents, though she paid taxes, social security and rent and even had a driver’s license for a while. Her husband was an alcoholic who came in and out of her life at random. She raised five children—mostly alone. Her kids live nearby and support her now.”

“She worked somewhere before?”

“Cleaning houses for wealthy gringos. She rode the bus to Clayton and Ladue. I’ve been trying to help her get her papers in order, so she can become a citizen. She’s scared to death that the immigration authorities will knock on her door one day, cart her off to a detention center and ship her back to Nicaragua. She has no family there. Her parents and siblings were all murdered during the war years. Along with her grown kids, the people in this building are her support system.”

“Do you work this hard on behalf of everyone you meet, Liz?”

“Molly says I have a messiah complex. But it’s not that. I have no power on my own. No illusions there. I believe I can help, though, and the desire to make a difference gives my life meaning. You’re the same, right?”

“I’m not sure you could put fighting terrorists for the U. S. government in the same category as ministering to refugees and immigrants.”

“We’re both working for a greater cause, Joshua. We believe we can change the world in some small way.”

Nodding in agreement, he studied the photographs in the scrapbook, but what interested him more were the notations and comments Liz had written in black ink below each picture. This journey to Congo had gone beyond a mission trip. The people, the land, the experiences had slipped into her heart.

She was sipping coffee as he leaned back, his arm along the
sofa behind her. “I see why you want to go to Africa. I understand that—even without this album, I know.”

“Then maybe you can explain it to me. What calls me? Why did I feel such an urging while I was over there, and how can I make sense of it now?”

“I never have understood what reaches inside some people and grabs them by the heart—yet leaves others cold, disinterested, totally indifferent. Is it their personality or education or upbringing or family? Maybe it’s God. I don’t know. I’ve met a lot of guys who set one foot outside their original safety zone, and they can’t ever go back. The experience changes them too much. They have to find a way to keep their finger on the pulse of the world or they’re always uncomfortable.”

“What about you, Joshua? You were changed. You’re one of those who can’t go back, aren’t you? Afghanistan. Iraq. You saw what’s out there. How are you going to live happily in Texas?”

“Happily?” He picked up his cup and took a swallow of the strong black coffee. “I’m not sure happiness is part of the equation. All I know is that to find contentment, I have to do my assignment.”

“What assignment? Drilling for oil and building your family’s bank accounts?”

“You make money sound like a bad thing. My family’s wealth has done a lot of good. We have a foundation, we contribute to a lot of nonprofit organizations, my dad and brother sit on several boards.”

“But do you really want to sit behind a desk, Joshua? I can’t believe that would be fulfilling for you. What kind of a life will you have in Texas?”

“An easy one. And maybe that’s as it should be. My father and grandfather built up Duff-Flannigan Oil to provide a life of wealth, comfort and privilege to their heirs. Am I supposed to turn that down? Am I supposed to shirk my own respon
sibility to the next generation? For ten years, my family accepted that I’d been assigned elsewhere. I did my job for the military, and now I need to fulfill obligations to my father.”

As the coffee warmed him, Joshua drew Liz closer. His hand cupped her shoulder, soft and round. “Odd thing,” he murmured. “Pastor Stephen says duty to my Heavenly Father supersedes the other. I wonder about that. If it’s true…if I can find a way to look my dad in the eyes and tell him I’m never going to run his oil field operation…I’d sure better have a good idea as to what God wants from me instead.”

“You’re a praying man. Do you have the answer?”

He suppressed an urge to tell her he was holding the answer in his arms. Beyond rational sense, Joshua knew only one certainty. He was intended for this woman. Liz Wallace had been sent to him. Placed in his path. Set so obviously in front of him that he couldn’t pretend to have missed her.

But could he say that? Dare he admit something so preposterous? It was too soon. They had met only a couple of weeks before. And he had just returned from an intense assignment. He knew he was still suffering from PTSD, jet lag, exhaustion, sleep deprivation. Any rational assessment would declare his emotion a product of a currently unstable mental status.

“What happens when you pray, Liz?” he asked. “Do you hear God’s voice telling you what to do?”

“Not these days,” she acknowledged softly. “There was a time I had no doubt at all. But now…things feel different…unsettled. I can’t sleep. I’m having a crisis of faith. Not in God—but in myself, in my ability to understand Him. Questions jumble my brain, as though a voice is demanding answers. I shut my eyes, and the barrage begins. Why are you studying Swahili? Why are you living in a big city in a run-down apartment building? Why do you work for a salary that can barely feed you? Why do you think you have to go to Africa? What’s waiting there for you?”

He flipped a page in the scrapbook. Touching the face of a child with large, hungry eyes, he knew the response to her questions. “This is your answer, Liz. This is the voice you hear, and he has the answer to all those questions in your mind. This kid—and the hundreds more like him. They’re calling you.”

“And I know I should go. I wanted to go.” Her voice grew small as she nestled against him. “But now…all of a sudden…things are so confusing.”

For a moment, neither spoke. Though he could see the book, her written words, the little boy’s eyes beckoning Liz, Joshua wanted to deny his own statement.

Liz should
not
go. Africa was dangerous, filled with war and disease and poverty and corruption. She might die there. She should stay right here on this sofa, tucked under his arm, pressed against him, safe and warm.

But what right did he have to hold her? What claim could he make on this woman? None.

Even as he acknowledged the truth, he bent and kissed her cheek. Her hair was soft against his hand as he touched it, curls threading around his fingertips like mist. Then she turned into him, lifted her face, pressed her lips to his. And it was too late. He could do nothing but pull her against his chest and lose himself in her. Her mouth, pillow-soft, worked a magic that spread through him like a flame. The scrapbook slid to the floor. His hands tested, measured, memorized her neck, shoulders, back.

“Liz,” he murmured. “Liz, I can’t keep you, but I want you. I want everything about you. Everything about you in my life.”

“How can this be happening?” Her breath heated his ear, teasing sensitive skin. “Joshua, please make this feel wrong. Help me see how crazy it is.”

“I can’t do that. I may be crazy, but this isn’t. It’s too right to be wrong.” As he kissed her again, Joshua heard a knocking on
her door. It would be the Nicaraguan neighbor, worried—and rightly so.

He drew back. “Liz, let me see you again. Let me spend time with you until we’re both sure. Either we’ll know what’s going on between us is good, or it will stop feeling right.”

Leaning into him, she buried her face against his neck. “I can’t keep seeing you. It’s a mistake. Joshua, this is just physical, right? There can’t be more to it.”

“How will we know unless we’re together? You have to give it a chance. It might be just physical or maybe just some temporary insanity. But it might be God.”

The knocking increased, and she let out a little cry of frustration. “I have to get the door. It’s Socorro.” As she pulled away from him and stood, she laughed. “
Help
—that’s what Mrs. Gonzales’s name means in Spanish. And thank heaven for Socorro at a time like this.”

Before he could rise, she was opening the door and welcoming the little woman inside. “Thank you for the coffee.
Gracias.
” With a glance at Joshua, she shook her head. “Of course, with black coffee in my blood I’ll never get to sleep…as if there were any hope of that after you…after this…”

He stood. “I won’t sleep, either. I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Joshua—oh, please go now. I appreciate what you said about my scrapbook. You’re right. That’s the call. I have to remember the children, their faces. They need me.”

“They’re not the only ones.” Picking up the coffee cups, he nodded at Mrs. Gonzales. “Did you know she’s going to Africa? Liz is going away. Africa.”

“Excuse me, please, I am not speak English good.” The woman was smiling as she lifted both hands in an expression of helplessness. “I try, but I have no words.”

“I don’t have words, either. Not for this.” He focused on Liz. “Your neighbor needs you right here in America. Don’t forget
Mrs. Gonzales. All the refugees you bring in—they need you, too. And a war-weary Marine needs you, Liz.”

He stepped to the door and handed the cups to Mrs. Gonzales.
“Gracias. Me gusta mucho su café.”

“Ah! You speak Spanish. Very nice!” She beamed at him and then at Liz. “This boyfriend, I like him much better to the other one. He is beautiful, no? The face? I like it.”

Liz laughed. “Beautiful? Yes, I suppose he is.”

Joshua bent and brushed a kiss on her cheek. Then he did the same for Mrs. Gonzales. Both women were giggling as he headed down the hall.

Just as Liz shut the door, her phone warbled. So soon? Joshua couldn’t even have made it down to the parking garage, yet he was calling already. Her heart hammering, she answered.

“All right, it’s me,” she said. “What do you want—and be serious.”

“You’re the lady I was talking to before, right?”

The unexpected voice sent a cascade of chilled marbles spilling down her spine. She hadn’t bothered to check the ID on her phone. Now a pair of green eyes flashed into her thoughts. That night at Podunk’s came back in a rush. The vivid memory of a rank smell flooded through her body and made her stomach turn in revulsion.