Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (13 page)

“Easy there, Syd.” Lane reclined against her cubicle, his green eyes searching hers. “You don’t want to stir up trouble.”

“Trouble?” she scoffed, then whipped her attention to the line. An automated voice filtered into the reception. “Ugh. Voice mail.” After leaving a message requesting an explanation and whether the incident was truly related to Namibia, she tossed her phone. “Why would they hide this?” She peeked at the screen. “This is a good thing. Helping those who can’t help themselves.”

“It’s a political hotbed.”

She blinked at Lane. “What?”

“Syd!” Buck Kramer’s voice boomed across the maze of cubicles, yanking her around. He stood just outside his door, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a deep scowl. “In my office, now!”

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good,” Lane said, looking over his shoulder.

Dread swirled in her stomach. “The last thing I need right now is to lose my job.” Especially now that her doctor had confirmed the pregnancy. She needed the insurance if she wanted to avoid having to file for reimbursements with TRICARE, which undoubtedly meant Max would find out.

As she stepped away, Lane gently caught her arm. “Let’s do lunch afterward.”

About to agree, she saw something in his gaze that unnerved her and doused her casual consent. Did Lane have romantic notions? Even if she were officially divorced from Max—which she wouldn’t be for many months—it would take much longer than that to heal. To stop hurting. To stop loving Max.

“Sorry, I can’t.” She scrambled for a plausible excuse. Her gaze shot to the monitor that still rambled about the chaos in Mozambique. “I’m going to head over to Mangeni’s to see if I can get anything else out of her.” She slid her arm free with a mumbled explanation of not keeping Buck waiting.

Discomfort bombarded her. Between Lane’s not-so-subtle interest, the exhaustion that came from carrying a precious new life inside her, and the stress over this stupid humanitarian piece that proved to be much harder than it should be, Sydney longed for the days when she was a housewife with a part-time job.

At Buck’s office, she found the door shut. She peered through the glass and saw him rubbing his temples as he spoke on the phone. With a gentle knock, she motioned, asking if she could enter. Instead of waving her in, he shot her a heated glare. The look blasted into her chest, worrying her. After a few more nods to whoever had fouled up his mood, Buck hung up and shouted for her to enter.

Hesitation guarded her steps as she entered. “Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not okay! Shut the door.” He huffed and pushed out of his creaking chair. “I thought you were working on human interest pieces.”

“I am. LaDona assigned me the For Human Sake column. I’ve been—”

“Then what in Sam Hill are you doing calling the Pentagon again?” His round face reddened. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“I … I was ….” She drew in a breath, steadied herself.
I will not cower. I have done nothing wrong
. “The woman I’m doing the first piece on wants to thank the men who saved her village last October. I’m trying to find out who they were.”

“So what do you need the Pentagon for? Why are you harassing the top brass?”

“Harassing!” The accusation slid down her spine like a steel rod, straightening her. “I haven’t harassed anyone. I’ve been—”

Shaking a finger at her, he stormed around his desk. His entire body rippled with the anger leeching out in liters of sweat. “You are not to call anyone at the Pentagon again unless you have my express permission.”

“But—”

“Is that clear?” he shouted, his double chins jiggling.

Mentally and physically, Sydney drew back. He’d never been so … frightening toward her before. Working to calm her ramming heart, she nodded.

He grumbled some curses as he waddled back to his desk and dropped into the chair with another epithet. “You’re going to be the end of me.”

“I’d think you’d be thrilled with a hard-hitting reporter.”

“Not when you get caught and draw every politician down my back!”

She pulled her waning courage up off the floor and stood. “May I ask what they said?”

He scowled at her with a look that dared her to ask again.

Licking her lips, she accepted the grating answer and left, fighting the urge to sprint from the building. As she neared her cubicle, she heard her cell phone’s distinctive ring belting out “Jesus Take the Wheel.” She darted the last few feet and snatched up the phone. The caller ID didn’t register a number.

Brushing aside her frayed nerves, she pressed
TALK.
“Sydney Jacobs.” When no response came, she hunched her shoulders and burrowed into the minute privacy of her cubicle, straining to hear. “Hello?”

“First and only warning. Leave it alone.”

D
awn rose like a specter of doom. Each sprinkle of daylight shattered what little possibility they had of staying hidden. With Datu and seven men from the cave, Jon and Kimber struck out on their journey into the hills. To the Higanti. Ahead of him, four villagers who’d constructed a stretcher conveyed Kezia through the lush landscape. Their dark figures almost blended with the scenery under the tease of light. With each foot he put in front of the other, Jon felt the atmosphere thickening. Soon the skies would let loose their bounty. And they had no shelter, no umbrellas to protect against the inevitable drenching downpour. He smoothed Maecel’s hair, wondering how he’d keep her warm so she wouldn’t catch a cold or worse.

He flicked his wrist and checked his watch. Six thirty. They should’ve been at Zamboanga International Airport by now. Jordan would go ballistic when he found out they’d missed the flight. Shifting Maecel to his left arm, he dug in his pack for the satellite phone.

“Oh no,” Jon mumbled as he tried to navigate terrain with Maecel, the phone, and the uneven path.

Kimber glanced over her shoulder, dark ringlets dangling in her face. She brushed the strands aside. “What’s wrong?”

He met her gaze and held up the phone. “Battery’s low. I’ve got to call Jordan, let him know we’re not going—”

“No! No, no!” Datu snapped, rushing toward Jon. “You no call.”

Jon paused, considering the chief’s son. “I have to. They’re expecting us.”

“No!” Datu shook a stubby finger. “You no call. You call, Mauk come.”

“What do you mean? I’m calling our mission board. They have to know. They might even be able to help Kezia.”

“No. Mauk see all. He know all—he own all.”

“He doesn’t own Island Hope.” Jon glared down at the fierce brown eyes. Yet dread swirled in his gut. He didn’t want to believe what Datu was saying. Didn’t want to believe that a deadly foe could intercept his phone call to IHF. But it made sense. Yet how else would they get help? And if he waited, the sat phone would be dead and there would be no chance.

“Jon,” Kimber said as she took Maecel from him. “Let’s just keep moving. Maybe we can figure something out.”

Figure something out? Was she kidding? If they didn’t make that call now, they never would.

“God will work it out. He’ll show us.” She strapped a blanket around Maecel, effectively creating a sling.

How was it that she always had the peace, the inner strength that he longed for? Would that he could be as confident in God’s ways as she was.
God, help me trust You
. He stuffed the phone back into his pack and followed her. He’d think after eight years of missionary work, three immersed completely in the culture, he’d have that part down pat.

Far from it. Every day, every breath brought him to his knees.

And then there was Kimber. Kimber Leigh stanton, home-schooled, eldest of six children, heart of gold. Many times she’d told him that God had given her everything she ever wanted in life. To have a godly husband, to be a mother, and to work the mission field. Living as an example of Christ’s love fulfilled Kimber in ways that still boggled his mind. Then again, she ministered to the wounded hearts. His job was leadership.

Maybe I just have to figure it out my way
.

He grunted. For as long as he could remember, his way had been the hard way. That’s exactly what he’d done before stepping onto the mission field. Growing up as a preacher’s kid did weird things to him. He wanted to make his father proud but somehow found himself doing everything
but
making the man proud. Kinda hard to live up to the gigantic reputation of a wildly successful, megachurch pastor-father when you’re sliding out of jail on drug-related charges. Two years later, Jon had set out for the Philippines, determined to prove his mettle, his worth as a son of Stephen Harris. A son of God.

And his father would climb the steel rafters of the sanctuary when he found out Jon and Kimber never made that plane.

No. Jon had to find a way to get word to his father or IHF about what was happening. He’d make a call. Just a short one.

But what if Mauk
did
intercept it and learned Jon and Kimber had escaped? Not only escaped, but had Kezia. The sky would unleash more than rain. What hope existed if they got embroiled with the Higanti, who would make sure Jon and Kimber never left alive? Was there any hope to get out of this?

He wiped a hand over his face, swiping the sweat from his skin. Aches dug into his shoulders and back, kneading a hefty dose of tension into the very marrow of his bones.

“We take break,” Datu finally called.

Resting against a palm trunk, Jon dug into the pack and retrieved an energy bar. Maecel’s face lit up. “Me, me, me,” she said with a throaty grunt and motioned for the food.

Jon smiled and broke the bar in two, handing one piece to Maecel and the other to Kimber. He then gave them a water pack. He shifted his position and nudged closer to his wife. Head tucked, he whispered, “I have to call Jordan.” He skated a glance around the makeshift camp. Nobody seemed to be listening, including Kimber, who ate and talked playfully with Maecel.

Was she listening? Had she heard? “I’m concerned he’s taking us to the Higanti, and if
they
learn we’re Christians, we’re dead.”

“You don’t know that’s where he’s taking us.” Her hissed words warned him of her feelings.

The heckling sounds of the tropical forest pervaded the silence that hung between them. Jon lowered himself to the ground, his back to Datu and the others. “But what if it is?”

Kimber locked eyes with him then lifted Maecel up, effectively blocking her face. “Why? Why would he do that? He could just kill us here and get it over with.”

Why, indeed? That was the question plaguing him. Again, the smartest thing was to try to call IHF. “If I can call Jordan, he might be able to get us out, but it’s going to take some time to put together the plans. Until then …”

“We’re on our own.”

His nod felt curt to even him. “We just have to stay alive.”

Her eyes darted to his. “And what if the call brings Mauk?”

“I have to try.” He swallowed the doom hovering over it. “Either way, we’re dead.”

Y
ou have a problem.”

Olin slid a mint into his mouth and looked over the park, appreciating the beautiful sunshine and cool breeze. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and relaxed, his words aimed at the man sitting behind him. “I have many problems, but none that concern you.”

“A woman is inquiring about the missions. She called within two days of Moz. How does she know about that?”

A shallow laugh worked its way through Olin’s chest. “It was on the news.”

“But her questions are detailed. She knows about Namibia, too.”

“Relax, Chairman. My team is well-hidden and will not be blown.”

“If they’re blown, you’re blown. Then I’m blown.”

Olin sighed and watched a green kite soaring overhead.

“I’m not going to let that happen. I won’t go down. You promised me—”