The Runaway Pastor's Wife (11 page)

“Excuse me, sir, but you’ll need to disembark.
This is our final destination tonight.” Michael looked up into the kind eyes of
the flight attendant before realizing he was the last passenger left on board.

“You’re gonna love this place, Dean. Best
Mexican food anywhere. And that includes any of those dives down in
Texas
.”

Grady eased his spotless black Lexus into the
parking space he selected far away from the other cars parked outside of
Ricardo’s. Since picking his friend up curbside at the airport, Michael had
kept the conversation light and superficial. The usual kidding and reminiscing
shared by old friends was apparently all Michael was willing to handle for the
time being. Grady knew when his buddy was ready to talk, he would do so and not
before.

“Hey, Mr. Brewster. How are you? You want your
usual table?” The attractive young waitress grabbed two menus and started down
the aisle.

“That would be great, Maria.” Grady and Michael
followed her lead through two levels of the crowded restaurant. She seated them
in a tall booth of polished dark wood. An upside down copper kettle served as
the lampshade hanging over the table between them. It was a comfortable
atmosphere brimming with colorful decor from south of the border, cheerful
waiters, and happy customers—all against a background of festive Mexican music.
A waiter brought two glasses of iced water, a basket of crisp, fresh tortilla
chips, and a small bowl of salsa.

“You need some time to look over the menus, Mr.
Brewster?” the waiter asked, setting the chips on the table.

“I’ll have the usual. Michael, do you like chili
rellenos?”

“Sure—whatever.”

“We’ll have two chili rellenos dinners and two
drafts,” Grady ordered, already reaching for a chip and dipping into the bowl
of chunky red sauce.

Michael followed Grady’s lead and dug into the
chips. “Whoa—I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This was a great idea,” he
mumbled over a mouthful of chips.

“Yeah, this place is amazing. We come here all
the time. I carry the portfolio for Rick, the guy who owns this place.”

“Grady, I didn’t even think to ask on the phone.
How’s
Shari
? And
how are the kids?”

That’s a switch.
In
their usual encounters, Michael dominated the conversation with his endless
list of achievements and name-dropping. For a change, Michael seemed genuinely
interested in what he had to say.

“
Shari
’s great.
Up to her eyeballs in PTA meetings, team mom for Jason’s soccer team,” Grady
answered, ticking off the list on his fingers. “She’s always carting Molly
somewhere—back and forth to piano lessons, gymnastics, Girl Scouts—you name it.
I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to keep up with all of us and seems
to love doing it. We went through some rocky times when we first got married,
y’know. I had some tough challenges with the business and almost didn’t make
it—financially, that is. But
Shari
stuck by me through all of it.
She was incredible. Still is.”

Michael smiled. “Who would ever think you and
Shari
would
be the all-American family? Geez, Grady, you guys sound like June and Ward
Cleaver.”

Grady laughed. “So squeaky clean, it makes you
sick, right? But I can’t complain. How about you? How’s Amelia?”

The waiter returned with their beer then slipped
away. Michael took a thirsty swallow, then set the glass back down. Seconds
passed in silence.

“Michael, what’s going on? I mean, it’s great to
see you, but flying up to see me at a moment’s notice? After all these years? I
seriously doubt you came all this way just to hear about my family.”

Michael looked down his glass as he pulled
another long, slow swallow. Grady noticed a palpable hesitance floating across
the table. His friend started to reach into his jacket pocket, then stopped, as
he tucked something back into the pocket.

“Michael?”

It was obvious he was stalling, thinking. Some
kind of debate going on inside his head. Suddenly, he blew out a heavy sigh.
“Grady, I—” He paused. He threw back the rest of his beer and set the empty
glass gently back on the table. “I need your help,” he began quietly. “I didn’t
know who else to turn to.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m in some trouble. Nothing I can’t handle,
but I—well, I just need a little security to fall back on.”

“
You?
Michael Dean needs a loan? Get
outta here!”

“Not money. It isn’t anything like that.
I . . . I just need to know if I get into a bind, if I find
myself in danger, that I can count on you. That’s all.” He sighed again,
apparently relieved to get it off his chest. Whatever
it
was.

A silent alarm sounded somewhere in Grady’s
mind. He blinked rapidly, hoping to downplay his concern. “What kind of danger?
Don’t you think you ought to tell me a little more about this? Whatever this
‘trouble’ is you’ve gotten into, don’t you think you should tell me what’s
going on?”

Michael sat back, tapping his fork on the table.
“It’s Elliot.”

The conversation stopped as the waiter set two
platters of steaming food before them. “The plates are hot, so be careful. Can
I get you a refill on your drafts?”

Grady spoke up, “Tell you what, just bring us a
pitcher then you won’t have to make so many trips.”

Michael held up his hand. “Mind if we make it a
pitcher of Coke? I’ve got to keep my head straight tonight.”

“Sure—no problem.” Grady nodded to the waiter.

The waiter returned shortly setting a bubbly
pitcher between them. As he turned to leave, Michael and Grady hungrily
attacked the plates loaded with rice, beans, and deep-fried chili rellenos
smothered with a white cheese sauce.

Grady grew increasingly uncomfortable with the
silence. “Now you’ve
really
got me worried. I’ve never known Michael
Dean to pass up a pitcher of beer. So out with it. The suspense is killing me.
What’s Elliot done this time?”

Michael cleared his mouth and wiped it slowly
with the red cloth napkin. He leaned forward over the table and spoke as softly
as he could. “Grady, surely you’ve run into Elliot somewhere along the line in
your business?”

“Yeah, I hear a lot about him. He’s got a
reputation for being obnoxious. He’s a jerk—so what? Aren’t most politicians?”
He concentrated on the food before him, stabbing another bite.

“He’s making my life miserable right now. In
ways you could never
imagine.
” Michael’s eyes locked on Grady’s. “Bottom
line is I can’t talk about this. I just need to know you’ll be there for me if
things take a turn for the worse.”

“What’s in your pocket? What were you reaching
for?”

Michael blinked, patting his hand over his
jacket. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Grady stared into his friend’s eyes, uneasy with
the ominous pleading he saw there. “So that’s it? You’re in some kind of
trouble with Elliot but you don’t trust me enough to tell me about it? C’mon,
Michael!” he snapped. “Who do you think I’m going to tell? You think I’m going
to call up the
New York Times
and give them some kind of scoop on a—a
domestic problem a friend of mine is having with his father-in-law? Give me a
little credit here!” He dropped his fork on his plate and pushed it away.

Michael leaned forward, his voice strained.
“Grady, will you stop and just hear me out? It isn’t a matter of whether or not
I trust you! Geez, if I didn’t trust you, do you honestly think I’d hop on a
plane and come all the way up here to see you about this? I trust you
completely.” He paused then quietly continued. “But it finally dawned on me
that I might be putting
your
life in jeopardy and I can’t do that. I
won’t
do that. You’ve got a family to think about. No, I’ve got to do this thing my
way. You’ll have to accept it on my terms or we drop this. Right here, right
now. That’s the best I can do.”

Michael slowly shoved his half-eaten plate aside
and dropped his napkin on top of it. “Take it or leave it.” He looked up, his
eyes determined.

Grady fought his temper. He broke eye contact,
staring instead at nothing in particular. Then finally, with a heavy sigh, “I’m
sorry, Michael. I had no right to demand anything from you. It’s obvious you
have your reasons for keeping this to yourself. I suppose I can respect that.”

He rolled his neck. “You need a friend—you’ve
got one.” He extended his hand across the table. Michael responded with a firm
handshake. Their eyes met only briefly.

“So what do you need me to do?” Grady asked,
trying to mask his irritation with nonchalance.

“Just be available. That’s all. In the next
twenty-four hours or so, I may need to call you. I’ll be okay as long as I know
I can reach you.”

“No problem.” Grady removed his wallet from his
coat pocket and pulled out his business card. He scribbled a number on it and
slid it across to Michael. “This is my private cell phone number. It’s with me
wherever I go.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Thanks. I
appreciate it.”

“Thanks for what?” Grady laughed. “I haven’t
done anything. Just do me a favor and take care of yourself, okay? I don’t like
the sound of this thing at all. What little you’ve told me, anyway. Although, I
don’t know why I’m not surprised. You always were the one in the middle of
every barroom brawl in town while I was back at the dorm with my nose in the
books.”

“Some things never change, do they, Brewster?”
Michael smiled weakly.

“Evidently not, Dean. Evidently not.”

CHAPTER 7

Eagle’s Nest, near Weber Creek, Colorado

The inside windshield of her Jeep Cherokee
rental kept fogging up, no matter how many times Annie wiped it with her
mittened hand. The snow was falling much heavier now. She scolded herself for
continuing up the treacherous road in such bad weather.

David, what am I doing? You would never have let
me drive in this kind of weather.

The wipers beat back a nervous rhythm, adding to
her tension. She knew she must be getting close to Christine’s cabin. It had
been over half an hour since she left the Williamson’s store.

I wonder if I took a wrong turn?
She
tried to squelch the knot of fear in her stomach. The Jeep was creeping so
slowly, she was afraid she might slip backwards at any moment.
Thank
goodness for the gravel road. I’d be slipping all over the place if it were
regular pavement. Oh God, help me. I’m lost and I don’t know what to do! I feel
so all alone—please show me what to do!

At that moment Annie felt a strange grinding of
the tires against the gravel road. She anxiously tapped the brakes, attempting
to stop the vehicle. The window had steamed up again, blurring her vision and
filling her with panic. As she wiped it again, she gasped as a huge evergreen
appeared suddenly out of nowhere. Jerking the steering wheel to the left, she
felt the wheels skid then lose traction. The Jeep sailed, airborne off the side
of the snow-covered mountain, suspended in mid-air—

Ring . . .

Ring . . .

Annie bolted straight up off the sofa as the
phone rattled her back to reality.

Ring . . .

Her heart raced as she gulped for air. Slowly
gathering her bearings, she realized she wasn’t falling off a cliff. She found
herself standing in front of the oversized sofa. Putting a hand to her head,
she felt drenched in perspiration despite the chill that gripped her.

Ring . . .

Annie tried to pace her breathing as she reached
for the relentless phone on the table. She stammered, trying to speak.
“Uh . . . hello?”

“Annie, is that you?”

She paused, still trying to regulate her heart
rate. “Yes . . . uh . . . yes, who’s this?”

“This is Mary Jean Williamson down at the store.
Are you all right? Bob and I were concerned about you, what with this storm
hitting so hard.”