Fourth of July (11 page)

“What do you have?” Yusuf’s gruff voice startled her.

The monster was too close for comfort. Danielle stepped a few feet away, hoping she wouldn’t offend him. She bowed her head, pulling her wrap over her hair.

“
Marhaba
,” she greeted him meekly. “The agency does not have any leads. They are working nonstop but they haven’t been able to trace any of the bombs.”

The information was only hearsay, no amount of prying ever succeeded in opening Chris’s mouth.

“Good,” Yusuf said. “Ahmed will be pleased.”

Danielle shivered at the mention of their boss. Yusuf intimidated her but he didn’t have the power Ahmed did.

“Keep us informed of anything you hear.” Yusuf jerked his chin up at her. “You’ve done well. We are always one step ahead of these American pigs. It won’t be long now. Ten days and the weapons will be in position. You can stop pretending to be a brazen American woman.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment she had ever heard from her contact, yet his words made her pause. She enjoyed her lifestyle. She liked being a “brazen American woman.” Yet, she knew as well as anyone that all Americans deserved to suffer. She would do whatever she needed to...for her father.

“Allah be praised,” she murmured.

“I’ll contact you soon. Hopefully in a few days you will have something more substantial.”

With that he was gone.

“
Maa alsalameh
,” Danielle said. “
Au revoir
and good riddance.”

Despite her caustic attitude, a chill crept over her. What if she never got any information out of Chris? How long would Ahmed be content with the same message? The Americans are stupid, they don’t know anything. She hated that she had no clue what they really knew.

Danielle shivered, draping the scarf around her bare shoulders. Where else could she obtain the information she needed? Because of recent job changes at the mayor’s office and the tightened security after the bombings, Chris was her only source. She’d better find a way to turn on the charm and make him forget all about the petite redhead.

IT WAS ALMOST TEN P.M. on Saturday when Alexis placed her Bible on the hickory nightstand. She wished she could concentrate enough to comprehend even one passage. All she could think about was being surrounded by Chris’ brawny arms.

She relaxed into her sage down comforter, closing her eyes to erase the memories; she realized quickly that would not work. The images conscripted into her brain couldn’t be removed by simple willpower.

She stood, reaching her arms over her head. No matter what she did, she envisioned Chris leaning toward her. She could still smell him. He had smelled so good. That made her angry. He’d put cologne on for Danielle, not her.

Locking her arms behind her back, she stretched her pectoral muscles. But he hadn’t been holding Danielle. She caught herself smiling in the dresser mirror.

“Stop it,” Alexis commanded her image.

Oh. What was she going to do? She couldn’t work with a man with whom she was obviously infatuated. Did he share her interest? Was he only caught up in the moment? It all happened so quickly, but the feelings she experienced would not leave.

She sighed, falling back onto her mattress. All these questions were useless. Chris had a girlfriend, he freely admitted he wasn’t a Christian, and they had a co-worker’s relationship. He must have consumed too much wine.

He said he didn’t drink
,
a little voice reminded her. And he certainly didn’t taste like alcohol.

She shook her head, stopping the voice. The night air must have intoxicated him, because he couldn’t possibly be interested in her.

The buzzing of her cellphone interrupted Alexis’ thoughts. Rolling to her side, she glanced at the name display. Oh, help. It was Chris.

What do I do?

Pick up the phone, you silly girl.

She took a few deep breaths. Finally after the fourth ring, she managed to steady her shaking hands enough to lift the phone and slide her finger across.

“Hello,” she fought to sound composed, hating the breathless quality of her voice.

“Hey, Half-pint, it’s Chris.”

She loved the deep, throaty sound emanating through her telephone. She loved the nickname he’d given her.

“Chris,” she paused, heart thudding violently in her chest cavity. Would she experience heart failure right here and now?

“Chris?” she repeated again.

What was she doing? Where had this stupid act surfaced from? Why was she pretending she didn’t know who he was? As if someone else called her Half-pint.

“Harmer,” he supplied, sounding confused by her response, “from work.”

“Chris Harmer.” Good heavens, she was a pathetic actress. “Oh yes, Chris.” She laughed nervously. “How are you?”

“Fine, I’m fine.” His voice had lost the confident edge it usually possessed. “Um hmm,” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh? What did you want to talk about?”
Alexis could have smacked herself. Not the airhead imitation again.
What am I doing?

“I...” he began. “I just wanted to apologize for my conduct earlier.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize. It was nothing.”

It was everything
. Alexis bit her lip, blinking to hold back hot tears.

“Nothing, right,” Chris paused.

“Was there anything else?” Alexis asked.

She crossed her fingers like a little girl.
Please let there be something else. Invite me over for dinner, a movie, anything.

“No, no, there was nothing else I wanted to say,” Chris’ voice was gruff, distant. “I’ll see you at work. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” she whispered.

She held the phone close to her heart as a tear of frustration raced to her chin. She was so immature. She had no right to think Chris was interested in her.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb.” She pounded the phone against her head a few times for good measure. Maybe it would knock some sense into her silly girl-brain.

Falling to her knees, she prayed the Lord would bless her and relieve her mind of this infatuation. She needed to get back to work Monday morning and bury herself in helping others with their psychological problems instead of wallowing in her own.

Chris stared at the phone for several minutes.

Why had he called her?

He’d spent the entire day working up the nerve to call. He had thought through everything he would say, anticipated how she would respond. Now he wished he could erase the entire uncomfortable conversation.

Where had it gone wrong? Probably when she hadn’t even known who he was
,
he thought wryly.

He had expected her to gush with excitement, but instead she was reluctant and distant. The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere near the direction he desired. Why had Alexis melted into his arms last night and now she sounded completely uninterested?

He shook his head, remembering.
He wanted to apologize for his conduct?
Of all the stupid things to say. He didn’t want to apologize. He wanted to reenact the moment minus Danielle’s interruption.

He fell onto his bed, covering his eyes with his forearm to shield out the overhead light. Why would he want to date a Bible-spouting Christian anyway? She would probably bore him to tears. The image of her in a black dress told him differently. Sleep was elusive as usual, but at least he could close his eyes and entertain himself with dreams of their unforgettable, albeit brief embrace.

DYLAN GRINNED AT RACHEL over Madison and Tyler’s heads. She winked discreetly. The preacher was saying something, but Rachel had a hard time focusing on anything but her handsome husband. Madison whispered something to him and his gaze shifted from hers. Rachel sighed happily. Sundays were wonderful. She loved church, the day of rest, and usually Dylan for twenty-four hours with no work interruptions.

The meeting ended. Rachel stood with Tyler in her arms.

“Mommy, I have a secret,” Tyler said.

Rachel leaned her ear close to his mouth. “What is it, sweetie?”

Tyler giggled as he whispered, “I’m glad the pweacher stopped pweaching.”

Rachel compressed her lips to stop a smile. “You should like listening, Ty. He’s teaching us about Jesus.”

Tyler shook his head. “No. He not even say Jesus today.”

Rachel smiled. “I guess you’re right about that. When we get home shall I read you some Jesus stories?”

Tyler nodded. “Another secret.”

Rachel tilted her head toward his.

“I like your Jesus stories best.”

Rachel hugged him and laughed softly. Dylan waited for her with Madison’s hand in his. He placed his other hand on Rachel’s back and guided her out of the chapel. In the foyer, they were separated as they talked with friends. Rachel caught his eye and nodded toward the car. She wanted to get home, put Tyler down for a nap, plug Madison into a show, and spend some quality time with her husband.

Dylan came toward her with Madison in tow. A forced smile played on his lips. He handed her the keys. “I’ll be home in a few hours, sweetie.”

“What?” Her fake smile matched his own. She knew gossipy Lydia Mathers was within range.

“Lydia has a leaky faucet and also needs some furniture moved. Isaac and I are going to help her out.” He leaned in to kiss her.

Rachel’s voice dropped to a whisper against his lips. “What about our quiet time?”

“Uh-huh. We’ll have to do that later.”

Her eyebrows dipped together. “When later?”

Lydia approached and Dylan backed away. Rachel clutched Tyler a bit closer.

“Thanks for sharing your honey with me.” The voluptuous young woman linked her arm through Dylan’s. “I can’t tell you what it means to have a man around the house.”

Rachel didn’t smile. Lydia Mathers was not a woman she wanted touching her husband, ever. “Glad to help.”

Dylan winked at Rachel as Lydia turned him away. The wink did nothing to satiate her. She should be glad he was serving someone, but once in a while he needed to serve his own wife.

“Mom.” Madison tugged on her sleeve.

“What?” Rachel asked distractedly, watching Dylan’s tall, strong form and Lydia’s backside swing as they walked a couple steps.

Madison’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why does Sister Mathers always wear her dresses so tight?”

Rachel gasped, knowing they weren’t far enough away to have missed the comment. Lydia whipped around. Dylan’s eyes widened as he looked at Rachel. “Say something,” he mouthed.

“Madison,” Rachel said. “Please tell Sister Mathers that you are sorry.”

Madison looked confused. She glanced from her mom to Lydia. Finally, she nodded. “I’m sorry, Sister Mathers.”

Lydia nodded, her gaze cool. “It’s all right, dear.”

But Madison wasn’t done. “I’m not sure why I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything bad. My mom taught me that you shouldn’t wear your dresses so tight. It makes things poke out that shouldn’t poke out, if you know what I mean.”

Lydia’s mouth gaped open, but she made no reply. Rachel was already heading for the exit. “Sorry, Lydia. You know how kids are.”

Rachel hefted Tyler higher on her hip and ushered her daughter out the door. Later she’d explain to Maddie why her comment was inappropriate, but for right now she was going to relish the look on Lydia’s face.