The Runaway Pastor's Wife (16 page)

When the alarm sounded at
7:00
, she
had awakened to find Michael’s side of the bed undisturbed. There was the usual
evidence that he had indeed been home—a towel on the floor in the bathroom, his
dirty clothes lying on the floor of his closet. Downstairs she had found the
remnants of an early breakfast. He had left out the tub of margarine and peach
preserves and an empty carton of creamer. Shaking her head, she had switched
off the coffee maker. Fortunately there had been enough coffee left so it
didn’t burn to the bottom of the carafe.

Where are you, Michael?

She had blinked away the tears that stung her
eyes and busied herself picking up the dishes. Even though Eva would be there
any moment to begin her housecleaning duties, Amelia knew she had to stay
occupied if she was to fight another bout of depression.

Now, several hours later, she absorbed herself
in the plans for the upcoming
Evening of Stars,
the fundraiser for the
Democratic Party of Houston. Michael had been a tremendous help in years past
as he used his influence in the sports world to draw many of the biggest names
to appear. But this year he had been impossible. He continually made promises
to contact the various athletic stars he knew so well only to forget and
promise again. The deadline for print advertising was approaching. Amelia had
to produce a list of names to the committee.

But as was always the case, any frustration or
anger she felt toward Michael would eventually dissipate into the familiar
pangs of her breaking heart. She had never stopped adoring him, her charming
and intelligent husband. She had loved him from the moment they first met. He
had brought such joy and laughter into her life.

O
h Michael, what’s happened to us?

“Congressman, Michael Dean on line one.”

“Thank you, Helen.” Elliot Thomas punched the
flashing button on his phone, then leaned back in his chair. “Well, Michael, I
was about to give up on you. Thought you’d decided to throw in the towel.”

“Hardly, Elliot. We need to talk.”

Elliot chewed on his unlit pipe. “I’m all ears,
son. Give it your best shot.”

“Not on the phone. And this time it’s just you
and me. We don’t need your little entourage of muscle. After all, this is a
family matter. At least out of respect for Amelia, we should be able to handle
this one on one.”

Elliot sat up to his desk. “Now that’s pretty
funny coming from you, Michael,” he laughed. “‘Respect’,”
he chuckled.
“Yessir, that’s a good one.”

“Elliot, I’m on my way to your office. I’ll be
there in ten minutes. I suggest you be ready to go. Meet me downstairs in the
garage.”

He was answered with a sarcastic guffaw. “You
really are a comedian, Michael. You think you can just ring me up and snap out
orders when you—”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Michael
interrupted. “You played hard ball with me yesterday—today it’s my turn. I’ll
be there in ten minutes.”
Click.

Precisely ten minutes later Michael pulled out
of the parking garage with the congressman riding in his passenger seat. He
joined the flow of traffic and adjusted his rear view mirror.

“So how do you like playing the big shot,
Michael? I’ll bet it makes you feel pretty good barking out orders at me,
doesn’t it? And I’ll bet you didn’t really expect me to oblige you on this one,
did you?” Elliot shifted his ample body to better face his son-in-law.

Michael’s eyes stayed glued to the traffic
surrounding him. “You’re right. I didn’t expect you to come along without a
fight.”

Elliot laughed again, that wheezy, good ol’ boy
laugh Michael despised.

“Well sir, I don’t take much to being ordered
around, of course. But in your case I made an exception. Your little teaser
yesterday has got me right curious. So tell me. What is this surprise you have
up your sleeve?”

“Ah, looks like you’re gonna have to wait a few
more minutes for that one,” Michael answered, his glare intent on the review
mirror. “I do believe we have a little tail to get rid of first.”

Elliot jerked his head around to look behind
them. Michael stole a quick glance sideways just in time to see a fleeting
grimace that swept across his father-in-law’s face.

“Michael, I think you must be seeing things.
There’s no one following us.”

“Uh-huh . . .” Michael sped up,
taking a sharp turn to the right. He raced through the crowded streets, making
a series of breakneck turns, throwing Elliot from side to side against the
strain of his seatbelt.

“Are you trying to get us killed? Stop this car!
Stop it this minute!”

But Michael was too close to losing Elliot’s
brute squad to stop now. He flew through a corner parking lot and into a narrow
alley. The alley emptied onto the approach ramp to the interstate. Within
minutes, his sleek black Escalade was racing along the expressway toward the
wide open plains, away from the sprawling metropolitan heart of
Houston
.
Elliot turned completely around, no doubt hoping to find his backup.

“All right, all right. So you can outmaneuver my
boys. Big deal. Now just pull this car over and stop all these theatrics. I’ve
had enough of your games. Pull over!”

“What’s the matter, Elliot? Afraid of having a
little fun? Don’t tell me you’re gonna go chicken on me just because you don’t
have your body guards protecting you?” Now it was Michael’s turn to laugh. “Oh,
I wish you could see yourself. Where’s that rock solid self-confidence? Where’s
the cockiness? Hmm?”

Later, as Michael exited the interstate, Elliot
pulled out his monogrammed handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I suggest you get
to the point. My boys will have the police out here in a matter of minutes, so
whatever you have to say, spit it out.”

“You know, you are absolutely pitiful.” Michael
pulled into a secluded area surrounded by a thick stand of trees and bushes.
“When it’s just you, just plain ol’ Elliot Thomas, without your goons or
assistants or mindless constituents, you are flat-out pathetic. All you can do
is threaten to call your boys, threaten to have the entire
Houston
police
force out looking for poor, helpless you. I sure hope Amelia has never seen you
like this. It would ruin her perfect image of dear Daddy.”

“Just shut up and get on with it.”

“Fine.” Michael stomped the brake, forcing a
short skid in the dry
Texas
dirt and gravel. He put the
car in park and turned off the ignition. “There’s no way you’re going to steal
my company from me,” he stated without emotion. “I’ve made sure of that. We
just need to work out the details so there’s no misunderstanding between us.”

Once again Eliot’s sarcasm prevailed. “Oh yes.
And I’m sure you have all the answers. So, just how do you propose to keep your
little company?”

Michael raised his head, looking Elliot straight
in the eye. “Easy. I have a file of some valuable information that I’m pretty
sure you’ll want to keep confidential. Phone records,
photographs . . . Yesterday you tried to blackmail me. Today it’s
my turn.”

“Well now, I believe you’re confused. I believe
I’m
the one with a rather large file on
you.
Concerning certain of your
‘indiscretions?’ Must we go over all this again?”

Michael hoped his laugh didn’t betray his
anxiety. “Oh, I’m not confused at all. Fact is, I have a file of my own. I’ve
tucked it away in a very secure place. And I have no intention of making it
public unless you force me to do so. It’s strictly up to you. However, in the
event anything should ‘accidentally’
happen to me, I have given explicit
instructions for that file to be released to the proper authorities.”
Poker
face. Don’t let him see you’re bluffing.

“What in tarnation are you talking about?”

Michael took a deep breath. Though the late
afternoon breeze drifting through his open window was cool, he felt the
perspiration under his shirt.
Here we go, Dean. Better make this good.

“Christopher Jordan.”

With eyes locked, the silence beat between them.
For a split second, the tiny muscles around Elliot’s eyes flinched. Then just
as abruptly, the wall of steel returned to his glare. The game continued.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Michael threw his head back against the
headrest. “C’mon, Elliot. You know exactly what it means. It means a hunting
trip back in 1992.” He paused for effect. “It means you and Duke should be more
careful when you get drunk.”

“And I suppose this is where I’m supposed to act
shocked and appalled and fall all over myself. But the problem is—I have
absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Michael pressed on. “Oh, you remember the news
reports. Christopher Jordan, out in the gulf relaxing on his boat. Suddenly, a
deadly explosion blow him to bits. Is this sounding at all familiar? There was
hardly anything left by the time the Coast Guard happened onto the scene. It
was dismissed as a freak accident. A ‘faulty gas tank.’ But it was no accident,
was it? That night in the cabin near
Natchitoches
, you
and Duke were pretty careless in your conversation. And maybe, just maybe, I
wasn’t as soundly asleep as you thought.”

The stare down continued. “So you figure to try
to hang me somehow with
Jordan
’s unfortunate demise. Think
you can peg me with that one, do you? That should be mighty interesting,
Michael. If it wasn’t so ludicrous, it would be downright comical. But you and
I both know you haven’t got a leg to stand on.”

“No?” Michael questioned, his eyebrows arched in
mock dismay. He paused, gathering his courage despite the growing knot in his
stomach. He also hoped to give Elliot time to squirm. “Does this ring any
bells?
‘My
Jordan
lies over the ocean,’”
he sang
quietly.
“‘My
Jordan
lies over the sea.’”

Elliot stared straight ahead into the dusk
enveloping the SUV. His teeth were clenched, his jaw throbbing rhythmically. He
spoke not a word.

Good. A crack in the ice
,
thought Michael. He continued the concert.
“‘My
Jordan
lies
ALL over the o—’”

“That’s enough,” Elliot growled in an eerie
hush. He moved cautiously, slowly turning to face Michael. “Now you listen to
me, boy. I don’t care what kind of so-called evidence you think you have on me.
You’ll
never
prove I had anything to do with that explosion. And just in
case you’re tempted to parade your little pack of lies out in public, you best
remember who you’re dealing with. Do I make myself clear?”

Michael felt his heart racing. “I’m not afraid
of you, Elliot,” he lied. “I’ve nailed your hide on this one and you know it.
Your only choice here is to hand over your shares in my company or see your
dirty little secret spread all over the front page of tomorrow’s
Chronicle.
”

“So you overheard some talk. You can’t prove a
thing.”