Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

In some ways Eliza felt guilty about how she’d treated Jack. He had been doing his job, after all. His disinterest and rejection, the way he had only pretended to kiss her, all of it was exactly the way he was supposed to act. She should’ve grasped that, should’ve talked herself out of feeling rejected. If she could’ve tolerated his indifference, the way he had only acted like he cared for her, then they’d be headed for Honduras this week.

Instead they were taking part in separate, very dangerous missions.

Eliza didn’t dwell on the fact. She didn’t want to work with Jack, anyway. He should’ve known she was new to this whole undercover thing. Of course she would struggle with understanding the difference between the job and real life.

But there were moments when all she wanted was to be back on Paradise Island, walking the silky white sand, hand in hand with Jack Ryder. Times when she was at the group home and she would slip out back and sit on the family swing. Out there, under the stars, she would remember her time with Jack in the Bahamas very differently.

The touch of his hands on her skin, the way she felt safe and whole in his arms. And even the look in his eyes when they kissed. Especially the last time, in the surf off the beach on Bay Street. If only Jack really was attracted to her. But he wasn’t. Otherwise he would’ve told her—behind closed doors—that he had feelings for her and that he was only pushing her away because his job wouldn’t let him fall in love with an informant.

But he never said that because it wasn’t true. His lack of feelings for her was as clear as the Caribbean Sea.

At the end of the two weeks, Eliza was at the FBI building, sure Jack was still in Dallas and that he would leave for Nassau from there. Which was why she felt her breath catch that afternoon when he walked past her desk in the room where she was working. Jack met with Oliver for half an hour, and then he came back to her. She was still going over names of high school teachers and photos of students she needed to connect with.

“Hey.” He waited a few feet from her. “Am I interrupting?”

She wanted to be mean, reject him the way he had rejected her. But she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The sound of his voice was the best thing she’d heard since he’d gone to Dallas. She slid back from the desk. “I’m surprised you want to be seen with me.”

“Eliza…” He stopped himself. Like there was more he wanted to say. Instead he asked her about training and the work she had ahead of her that Monday. “You have to be careful. The traffickers who work across the street from that school will be armed.”

“Yes.” She stood and walked toward him. But she stopped short. Well short. “They told me that, Jack. Camille’s good. She taught me everything I need to know.”

He bit his lip. “You’ve never been on the streets.”

“I’ve been in worse.” Did he care what happened to her? Was that what this was? She felt her expression soften. “I’ll be fine.”

Jack nodded. “Okay.” He hesitated. “I leave in the morning.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Hey… so I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Eliza.” He looked uncomfortable. As if he were crossing lines just by sharing this much. “I’d like to talk with you. Tonight maybe? At the River Walk.”

Eliza couldn’t have been more surprised if he had told her he’d quit the bureau. She had no idea what he could possibly want to talk about, but she wanted to know. “All right.” She kept her walls up. This was probably only him wanting to apologize. For how he had rejected her in Nassau.

He agreed to pick her up at six o’clock and bring her back by ten. He slid his hands in his pockets. “I can’t be out late.”

“Me, either.” She wouldn’t let him make the rules for her. She was perfectly capable of setting the parameters. “I’d rather be back by nine.”

“Nine it is.” He almost smiled at her. Or at least it looked that way. Instead he kept a straight face and nodded. “See you at six.”

And Eliza could think about only one thing.

What in the world would she wear?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

—Hebrews 13:2

Jack had decided to tell her the truth—he had feelings for her. There was no way around the fact. Still, there could be nothing between them as long as she was an HLCI, as long as she was being paid to do mission work for the FBI and as long as he was an agent.

But she had to know how he felt. So he could explain himself.

She was angry with him, and God had made it clear why. God had made a lot of things clear. Which was one more thing he wanted to talk to Eliza about.

On the way to pick her up that evening, Jack thought about the events of the past two weeks. He and six other agents had stayed at a luxury condo in the pristine Lakeside Tower on Lake Grapevine, a quick drive from the Dallas FBI office. The place was owned by a friend of the bureau, a man who currently lived overseas.

Training took twelve hours a day, three days a week in the condo’s spacious dining room. The other days, agents could do what they wanted. Golf or see the city or make time by themselves. Jack preferred the latter. His favorite spot had been the Northshore Trail, not far from the condo. Whenever he had a spare moment, Jack took to the trail. He had brought his hiking pants and a pair of Shimano trail boots. Work relationships were often built on the golf courses in and near Dallas.

But Jack had wanted to work on a different relationship.

His relationship with Jesus.

The first week at the condo, Jack spent every free hour hiking the trail. It wound twenty-two miles along the northern shore of Lake Grapevine, up hills and through thick brush with frequent views of the expansive stretch of dark blue water. Both cyclists and hikers used the trail, but the terrain wasn’t for beginners.

At the start of the second week, Jack rented a mountain bike. He had ridden often in his days at the Naval Academy, the more challenging the course, the better. The lake trail was one of the most difficult Jack had ridden, and he attacked it each time, flying along the edges of cliffs and powering up steep hills with no care for his safety.

That Thursday Jack left the condo early and rode the bike to the trailhead. He had planned to cover the whole thing, push through the narrow, tougher areas the way he needed to work through the roadblocks in his life.

One mile had led to another and another, and Jack didn’t stop for anything. He forced the bike down craggy sections of rock and along cliffs that seemed barely wide enough to hold a bike and rider. In some ways, the trail reminded him of the Cliffs of Moher, which he’d walked once on a mission in Ireland.

The faster Jack rode that day, the more he became lost in a world all his own. Like he wasn’t really in Texas at all. At first he couldn’t ride fast enough to escape the problems plaguing him. Then, one at a time, the questions began to catch up. Questions were good things, his dad had always told him.

Because the answers wouldn’t be far behind.

Why didn’t he care if he lived? Was that how his family would’ve wanted him to treat life? And how about love? Did he really want to spend his days alone? What about Eliza? Who was going to care for her? Love her? And of course the greatest question of all—was God real and if so, why had He taken Jack’s family?

The questions ran on repeat in his mind. The harder he pushed himself—the more he asked of the bike and his lungs—the louder the questions grew until suddenly he turned a corner on the trail and came to a clearing.