Janet Evanovich - Full Speed

She wore a short denim skirt and a tight fire engine red tank top that fit snug against lush breasts and left very little to a man's imagination. Her stilettos showed off a pair of long, shapely legs that had captured the attention of most of, if not the entire, congregation. Rhinestones dangled from her ears and flashed each time she moved her head. She turned slightly, snatched off her sunglasses, and mouthed something to a heavy woman who seemed to be giving her the most trouble.

Max frowned. Even if she was in disguise, it would have been impossible for him not to recognize Jamie Swift. "I don't believe it," he muttered under his breath.

Dave leaned close. "What is it?"

"Trouble," Max said.

* * * * *

The congregation burst into the hymn "Bringing in the Sheaves" as Jamie finally managed to squeeze herself between two people. She held her head high and ignored the looks of disapproval coming from the women around her, even as their husbands tried not to stare. Not that she blamed them. Her slut suit, as she had referred to it to Fleas, was way over the line, as was her wild hair. The wig had cost more than she'd planned to spend, but it looked like the real enchilada. She had floozy written all over her. She only hoped Harlan Rawlins noticed.

Her plan depended on it.

* * * * *

Reverend Harlan Rawlins appeared during the last stanza of the song. He carried a cordless microphone, and he joined the singing. He had a strong, well-modulated voice, and he sang with confidence. Jamie studied him closely. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but she certainly hadn't expected him to be so handsome and polished. Vera had taken Jamie to a couple of tent revivals when she was young, but those ministers wore cheap suits and yelled a lot.

Harlan Rawlins did not look like any minister she had ever seen. He looked like a movie star. But there was more to him than good looks. The man had presence. He exuded such charisma that it was easy to see why people followed him, why women might find it difficult to say no to his advances. The air seemed electrified, and Jamie could literally feel his energy from where she sat. She needed to remember the exact feelings he evoked so she could make note of them later. Her readers would want to know what it was about the man that had made him so successful, that made people dig deep inside their pockets to support his ministry.

Jamie was so focused on the man that she was only vaguely aware of the shuffling of feet behind her.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Jamie glanced over her shoulder and gaped at the sight of Max Holt.

Max looked different, his hair in a buzz cut, face unshaven. She dropped her gaze to his uniform where the name Bennett Electric was stitched across his shirt pocket. Jamie wasn't surprised to find him in disguise; what shocked her was the fact he could pull it all off and still look sexy as all get-out. She realized Max was staring at her as well.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in a whisper.

"I'm here for the same reason you are," she replied.

Several people turned and glared at them. "Shhh!" the lady beside her said.

Jamie suddenly remembered how things had ended between Max and her the night before.

"Go away," she whispered. She turned and faced the front, but the hair on her neck prickled. She could feel Max's eyes on her. Well, let him take a good look at the new Jamie Swift, she thought.

The song ended, but Harlan remained quiet and smiling. His eyes scanned the congregation; he nodded at several people he seemed to recognize.

"Brothers and sisters, it is great to be back in Sweet Pea, Tennessee," he said. The crowd cheered. Jamie felt something at her ear.

"Why are you dressed like a hooker?" Max asked.

The people were so busy clapping that those around her didn't seem to notice. "I'm here to get my story, Max," she replied.

"Dressed like that?"

She smiled and fluttered her long lashes. They were as fake as the cleavage that peeked over her tank top. Funny what a pair of false eyelashes and a good push-up bra could do. "Yes."

The woman beside Jamie nudged her. Jamie tossed her a dirty look but faced the front once more.

Harlan waited until the people sat and grew quiet before speaking again. "I have been on the road for weeks, living out of motel rooms and counting off the days until my return. I'm home with my family and friends now, sleeping in my own bed, and eating home-cooked meals. Praise God!"

This time the congregation laughed and applauded, and Harlan laughed with them, his smile enhanced by beautiful teeth that shone a bright white against his tanned face. Jamie thought he looked like he belonged in a toothpaste commercial. His navy suit, obviously tailor-made, emphasized a fit body and brought out his blond hair.

"Dorothy was right," he said. "There's no place like home." More applause. After a moment, he grew serious and closed his eyes. "Let us pray."

When the prayer ended, Rawlins walked out to the very edge of the platform. He had a habit of pausing before he spoke, as though waiting for every eye to see him, every ear to hear what he had to say.

"You know, brothers and sisters, this ministry has surely been blessed. We've fed thousands through our outreach program, and each year our young people travel to the poorest areas, patching holes in rooftops, installing windows where families have nothing more to keep the cold out than plastic or cardboard. Yet there are still folks, our neighbors, mind you, who don't have inside plumbing or electricity. But God bless our local volunteers who have gone into these homes and donated their skills so these poor people can enjoy many of the things some of us take for granted." Another pause. "But you know, feeding people and keeping them dry and warm isn't enough.

"Someone once asked Mother Teresa what people needed most in this world, and she had a surprising answer." He looked about the congregation. "What do you think is the single greatest need people have today, brothers and sisters?" Harlan folded his hands behind his back and paced the stage. "You know if someone had asked me that question, I would have had to think about it.

"We see pictures of starving people in third world countries, children in cancer wards and burn centers who live with pain on a daily basis, and we see single parents trying to play both mama and daddy because of the staggering divorce rates. Many of these parents can't afford child care, so the children are left to fend for themselves. And when boys and girls don't have adequate supervision, they get into bad trouble. Where do you think they end up?"

"In jail!" a man shouted from the audience.

"Yes, sir," Harlan replied. "These kids get addicted to drugs, and they commit all sorts of crimes in order to support their habits." Harlan looked sad. "These young people are filling our prisons today."

He walked over to the podium, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and mopped his eyes. "Please forgive me," he said. "This is not the sermon I had planned to give. I didn't prepare for it. But I spent a long time in prayer this morning, and this is the sermon the Lord gave me."

Harlan gazed across the crowd, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, barely a whisper. "But Mother Teresa was not as concerned about hunger or illness or the breakup of families. The woman who witnessed the absolute worst in human misery, who lived among the poorest of the poor, and who saw every horrific disease known to man was more concerned with a different affliction, and that affliction, brothers and sisters, was loneliness."

Harlan raised his voice on the next sentence, and he began to speak quickly, as though he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Loneliness. That feeling of isolation and the thought that nobody cares. It eats through the human heart and soul like maggots, because when people suffer loneliness they feel unloved, and when there is no love, there is nothing!" Harlan pounded on the podium and shouted the word. "Nothing!"