God Is Not Ashamed Of Oprah (He's Also Not Ashamed of You, So Why Are You ashamed of Him?)

I vividly remember watching an episode of the now defunct Oprah talk show where Oprah Winfrey talked about why she couldn’t worship God as revealed in the Holy Bible. She had opened her Bible one day and had come across one of the various places in the Bible where God was referred to as a “jealous” God. According to her, she based her rejection of God on the fact that there must be something wrong with a God who is creator of the heavens and the earth and yet is plagued by such petty human emotions like jealousy. I have also heard of other people, mainly celebrities like Oprah, who have rejected the God as portrayed in the Old Testament. In these days of political correctness they say they are appalled by the violence portrayed there. They would have liked to write their own Bible but since they can’t, they have rejected God and the Bible and created their own god and have their own rules (which owe nothing to the Bible). Then there are those who are controlled by their desires who see the Bible as nothing but a rule book which consists of do’s and don’ts and are turned off by that. (Is that really what we’ve made them believe?). They have also gone on to make up their own rules as they go. At times, they choose and pick the parts of the Bible they like. The especially like the parts which talk about God loving people as a justification of some of the base desires they have and they reject the other parts. Especially the parts they don’t understand because they don’t want to understand it. The funny thing however is that even though they’ve rejected God and the Bible and are ashamed of both, some of these people like to refer to themselves as “Christian”.

I must confess, I really don’t think much of political correctness. I also haven’t really given much thought to the violence, blood and gore of the Old Testament. They have a problem with a God who takes sides to unleash war on others. For me, the events in the Bible are not things to justify or repudiate or second guess. They were things that happened. Mine is to learn a lesson from the stories about God’s dealings with the nation of Israel and to come to a knowledge and understanding of God from those stories. God’s part is to reveal himself, mine is to see the revelation and believe. I understand that there are those who like to question everything because it gives them a sense that they’re cerebral and rational human beings which in turn is linked to a sense of pride in their own abilities and competencies. They feel a sense of pride in the fact that they’re too smart to believe. That’s not my brief. The people who are turned off by the violence forget that it all happened in a day and time when war was the only way territory and a place to call your own were won. Till today, wars are still being fought. I really haven’t heard any one of those people complain that much about the wars America is fighting. No one can deny that America has always insisted that any war it gets into must be for its own strategic interest. We’ve had wars in Iraq (the first and second parts), Afghanistan, and Vietnam where America was the main aggressor. The usual claim is that these incursions are to help keep American’s safe. That means it’s okay if America fights wars to keep its citizens safe as long as they keep God out of it.

We understand from Genesis that God made man in his own image and after his likeness. It therefore means that the emotions we experience are from God himself. To give an analogy, if I were able to clone a woman and all I wanted was for her to love me and me alone, yet I gave her free will to choose whether or not to love me and she went chasing after other men or things instead of me, I would be angry too. But God’s main emotion when we go chasing after other things is sadness. The Oxford Advanced Leaner’s Dictionary defines the word jealous in relation to God as “(of God) demanding faithfulness and exclusive worship.” I believe that captures the essence of it. God is not jealous in a negative way with dark, nasty thoughts. But his jealousy is one motivated by love when a creator sees his creation going astray and not fulfilling the reason for which it was created.

John 3:16 tells the whole story of the Bible in a few words. God loved us so much that he sent Jesus to the earth to die for us. Hebrews 4:15 says that we do not have a high priest which “cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but was in all points tempted as we are; yet without sin.” I don’t know about you but I’m grateful that God came down to know what it’s like to be me. I also like the fact that God is relational with me. He feels the things I feel. He knows where I sit. I know God is not ashamed of me because the Bible tells me that he loves me. 1 John 4:19 says we are able to love him because he first loved us. Why should I should I be ashamed of someone who loved me enough to send his only son to die for me? God is not ashamed of me (neither is he ashamed of Oprah for that matter. He loves all of his creation). And I’m not ashamed of him either.

DECEPTIO (Excerpt)

“Maxwell, what are we doing here? Why are we stopping?” he asked, his tone rising. “I thought I said that I wanted to go home?”

“Let’s just say that you’re not going home yet. At least not until you answer some questions. And then, maybe not ever.”

“Who are you? You’re not Maxwell,” Rankin shouted.

“You’re very perceptive aren’t you? Somebody give the man a prize.”

“If what you’re after is money, I don’t have any on me so you’ve made a mistake.” Rankin said even as he tried to open the door. The door refused to open.

“Don’t bother trying. It’s locked from here. And that’s a very wrong this to tell someone who wants money. He might think you have no value for your life.”

The mention of his life stopped Rankin cold. “Are you here to kill me? I can assure you that if you kill me, the FBI will track you down and you’ll burn for murder. You can’t kill a United States senator and expect to get away with it.”

“Well someone killed Robert Partridge and he’s still at large. The FBI haven’t caught him and I don’t think they will.”

The mention of Robert Partridge’s name made Rankin break out in a cold sweat. Either the guy knew something or he was fishing. “Who are you? What do you know about Robert Partridge?”  

Morton turned and pointed a gun at Rankin making the other man cringe. “George sends his greetings. He would have loved to be here but he couldn’t make it.”

“You killed him didn’t you?”

“Let’s just say it was a case of him or me. And like I said, I need some questions answered or you just might join him.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why do you people want to kill Susan Partridge?”

Rankin was taken aback. “Wherever did you get that idea from?”

“It’s quite obvious that someone or a group of people are behind her sudden rise. It seems to me like some people are building her up so that they can make a statement with her death. Why do you want to kill her?”

“I don’t know where you got that idea from but nothing could be further from the truth,” Rankin said. It was quite obvious that the man knew nothing and he was only fishing.

“What do you have to gain by killing her? What are you people after?”

“Really,” Rankin said smiling, “I don’t know where you got all your ideas from. We have nothing whatsoever to gain from Susan Partridge’s death. I don’t know what you intend to gain by all this but don’t you think that you should let me go before the police catch you?”

“What about if I tortured you? I’m sure I have enough time to break a few of your fingers or your jaw. That should get you talking.”

Rankin blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

“So if you’re not trying to kill her and there’s no plot to kill her, why don’t you tell me what connection there is between you and George.”

“Because of my work, I know a lot of people, some of whom I can’t remember where I met them,” Rankin said smiling. “I really can’t remember where I met George or put a face with the name.”

“Isn’t it quite interesting that the same person whom you can’t remember had your number as the only number on his phone? And it shows that he called you when he arrived in Washington.”

Rankin shrugged. “He called me but I didn’t remember him. He wanted us to meet up so that we could catch up on old times but we never met. Because you killed him.”

Morton had a strong desire to do something to wipe the smirk off Rankin’s face. He released the safety catch of the gun and leaned forward to press the gun into his temple. “Since you know that I killed George, then you should be aware that I won’t have any compunction about putting a bullet through your skull.”

“But the question is “Will you”? Let me give you a piece of advice. You’re way in over your head here whoever you are. The best thing would be for you to stop pushing your nose into areas where you have no business. That kind of thing is what gets people killed.”

It was Morton’s turn to smile. “So now you’re threatening me?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Rankin said. “Like I said, it’s advice. You either take it or leave it.”

Morton looked at him intently. “I’ll leave it. Could you pass a message to your people for me? Rankin continued staring at him without acknowledging that he heard or understood the question. “Tell them it’s not over. I’m watching.”

With that, he opened the door and stepped out of the car into the dark night.

JC Cruz is the author of DECEPTIO. The book is published by WestBow Press (www.westbowpress.com) , a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers.

DECEPTIO (Excerpt)

CHAPTER 5

Camilla was tired, her feet ached and she had a headache. She was emotionally and physically drained from the shooting of Senator Partridge and the events that had taken place subsequently as a result of that shooting. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and not have to wake up for several days.

However, she couldn’t do that. There was an investigation to be conducted. The person or persons responsible for the murder of Senator Robert Partridge had to be caught and brought to justice. Which was the reason why she and Jeremiah had been going round the student hostels on campus, in conjunction with other FBI agents and police officers from the Chicago Police Department, asking questions and hoping that someone had some useful information they could use that would help them catch the killer. So far, they had come up with nothing useful.

She and Jeremiah had been assigned to the C Tower of the James Stukel Towers, the newest hall of residence on the UIC campus. It was a modern building comprising mainly of glass and steel and it had four towers, all of which gave you different, panoramic views of the Chicago skyline. It was capable of housing 740 students in 4, 5 and person suites. Every two floors were connected by a lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Each hall of residence had what it called a Special Interest Community made up students who were studying the same course. This enabled them to form friendships and share ideas with people from their own fields. There was also a member of faculty living on the premises who was there to help them with any problems they were having.

Presently, she and Jeremiah were on the 7^th floor which housed the Arts/Architecture and Graphic Design Community. They had been interviewing the students they could find in their rooms for some hours and by now, they knew the responses to expect. No one had seen anything suspicious while on the field or noticed anything out of place in the days or weeks leading up to the speech. No one that is except Carey Payton.

Carey was in her first year at UIC and she seemed to really want to help. At first, Camilla and Jeremiah had thought that she just might have seen something. Until it occurred to them that Carey saw everything. Even what other people hadn’t seen.

Based on what she had told them, over the past week she had noticed a short guy with a squint and a limp in his right leg who was disguised as an electrician. According to Carey, he had looked like the “special forces guys you see on television, you know; Green Beret and marines’ type”. She’d noticed that he had been dressed in overalls and carried a bag which then she had thought contained his tools. Now that she thought about it, it had probably contained a gun which he used to kill the senator. However, when it came to getting her to describe what he looked like, they had run into a brick wall. She had vacillated between whether the guy had brown or blonde hair and whether he had a scar or not. When she finally decided he had a scar, she couldn’t decide whether it was on the right or left side of his face or the length. It was obvious she had been watching too many movies.

Jeremiah and Camilla had concluded that there was nothing to be gained by prolonging the interview. Over the past few months they had been working together, they had developed a kind of telepathic communication. At times, all that was needed was a look to pass between them for one or both of them to understand what the other was saying. This time, such a look had passed and they had both stood up at the same time, bringing the interview to an end.

“Thank you very much Casey. I must say that you have been very helpful,” Jeremiah said as he closed his notebook and put it into the pocket of his FBI jacket. “With the description that you’ve given us, I wouldn’t be surprised if we caught the guy before the week was up.”

Casey’s green eyes glowed brightly. “Are you serious? If you catch him, will you let people know that I was the one who told you what he looked like?”

“Certainly,” Jeremiah said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t get to appear on television,” he continued, tongue in cheek, watching as her eyes grew wider. Then he seemed to remember something and he frowned. “However, it might not be safe to mention your name or let you appear on television.

“Why?” Casey wailed.

“Well,” Jeremiah said, as he thought about it, “he might not be working alone. In fact, most likely he was sent by some people who had a grouse against the senator. If we mention your name or let you appear on television, they’re going to come after you.”

“Why?” she squealed. “What did I do?”

“Well, they’re going to say that you ratted on their guy and you and I know that these criminal guys don’t like that,” Jeremiah said solemnly.

Camilla didn’t know whether or not to laugh as the joy and triumph on Casey’s face changed to disappointment, then fear.

“I understand. I don’t think I would want to appear on television though,” she said, shrugging. “I’m not a showy person and I’m sure people would have been stopping me on the road and all that I wouldn’t have a life.” Then she seemed to think of something and a worried frown marred her brow. “Are you sure you won’t mention my name?”    

“I promise,” Jeremiah said as he began to walk toward the door.

Outside, Camilla shook her hand. “Thank you very much.”

Casey gave a tremulous smile as she did battle with her fear. “Just doing my duty,” she said. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” she said as she closed the door.

Camilla punched Jeremiah’s arm.

“Ouch,” he said as he rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

“For lying to the poor girl and then leading her on,” she answered.

“It’s not my fault,” he said, shrugging. “The poor girl wanted to feel useful and needed.”

“But you didn’t have to lie to her about catching anybody. You know the description she gave us was pretty useless. We both know she never saw anyone.”

Jeremiah shrugged again. “It was fun.”

Camilla knocked on the next door. “I would appreciate it if you could curb your comedic instincts until we finish what we came to do,” she said dryly.

“I’ll try,” he said sighing mournfully, “but it won’t be easy.”

Camilla waited a few minutes for someone to answer her knock. When no one came to open the door, she knocked again even as she wondered if there was anyone inside. She had raised her hand to knock a third time when the door suddenly opened.

“Yes? How may I help you?” the girl who stood behind the open door asked.

Camilla smiled even as she and Jeremiah flashed their badges as they had done numerous times that day. “FBI. My name is Camilla Rodriguez and this is my colleague, Jeremiah Walker. We wondered if we could come in and speak with you. We need to ask a few questions about what happened today.”

The girl looked from Camilla to Jeremiah. “You mean the senator’s murder don’t you?” she asked.

Camilla nodded. The girl opened the door wider and stepped back, indicating that Camilla and Jeremiah could come in. Camilla followed Jeremiah into a tastefully furnished living room. There was a television set and two different looking settees’ in the room. There were also different colored throw pillows scattered all over the room. There were also personal pictures of people Camilla guessed were some of the other occupants of the room on every available surface.   

“Are your other roommates around?” Camilla asked as she took in the contents of the room in a glance.

“No. They’ve all gone out,” the girl replied. “Please sit down. My name is Sheldon. Sheldon Gaines. Can I offer both of you anything? Tea or coffee? I’m sorry but I don’t have anything stronger than that.”

“Nothing, thank you very much. Whose room is that?” Camilla asked, pointing to a door that had the poster of the Christian rock band Kutless.

“It’s mine,” Sheldon replied. “Why?” she asked defensively.

Camilla smiled. She could almost feel Sheldon’s animosity and her readiness to defend her faith and what she believed in. “Nothing. I’m a fan too. But I think that I prefer Jars of Clay.”

“You’re a Christian,” Sheldon asked, her eyes growing wider. When Camilla nodded, she smiled. “Cool,” she said enthusiastically.

Camilla didn’t know how long they spent discussing their favorite Christian bands, musicians and songs. They were in the middle of discussing the latest album by one of the bands that they both liked when a voice broke into their conversation. “I really hate to break up this musical love in, but we really do need to get on with why we came here.”

Both Camilla and Sheldon turned to look at Jeremiah. Sheldon took one look at Jeremiah’s bored looking face and turned back to Camilla. “He’s not a Christian is he?” she asked even though she already knew the answer.

Camilla shook her head as she answered, “No, he isn’t.”

Sheldon sighed. “I guessed as much.” She sighed again and asked, “So, what do you want to know?”

“Thank you,” Jeremiah replied, his lips curving in a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “First of all, were you at the venue of the senator’s speech this morning?”

Sheldon grimaced. “Yes, I was. He’s not, I mean he wasn’t exactly my most favorite person in the world; neither did I care much for his politics. But I had an idea that whatever he had to say might probably affect me sooner or later. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to go hear what he had to say. And I was right.”

Jeremiah refrained from asking what she had been right about. “Did you notice anything strange or out of place while you were there?” he asked. “Maybe there was something that happened that you felt was suspicious and made you wonder?”

Sheldon thought about it for a few minutes then shook her head. “To be honest, I didn’t notice anything suspicious. The only thing I really did wonder about was why there was so much security around the senator.”

Jeremiah sighed. “What about in the days leading up to the speech? Or even in the past few weeks? Did you notice anything or anyone that seemed to be out of place, that didn’t fit in? Or was there an event that got you thinking that maybe something was up?”

Again Sheldon seemed to think about it for a few seconds then she shook he head. “No, there’s nothing that I can think of. Everything has been just the same.”

Jeremiah nodded. “What about you? Did you kill the senator?”

Camilla gasped. Sheldon looked at Jeremiah for a few seconds, her face expressionless. Then she laughed softly. “Is it because I’m a Christian? Don’t tell me you’ve been asking everybody the same question?”

Jeremiah rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that. I must be more tired than I thought. Sorry for taking up your time. I’m grateful for your help.” He stood up.

Camilla and Sheldon both stood up. Sheldon looked at Camilla. “There’s going to be trouble soon, right?”

Camilla looked from Sheldon to Jeremiah to Sheldon confused. “What trouble?” she asked.

Sheldon looked at both agents. “People are going to blame Christians for the senator’s death aren’t they? They’re going to want to kill Christians because they’re going to think Christians killed the senator.”

DECEPTIO is JC Cruz first novel. It's published by WestBow Press (http://www.westbowpress.com/), a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers. You can follow him on Twitter @Cruz_JCReal.

DECEPTIO (EXCERPT)

Calvin had broken into a run with his gun drawn from its holster before the senator’s body had hit the ground. He knelt down beside the body which was lying on the stage face down, where it lay after falling from his wife’s hands. He placed his fingers on the neck to feel for a pulse. There was none. The man was dead, he thought grimly. He looked around the field, trying to see if he could see who had shot his principal. Former principal a voice said. The whole place was in an uproar as everyone was trying to run away from the field or was running toward the body. He was soon joined on the stage by FBI agents and police officers some of whom were trying to keep curious onlookers and their phones, away from the body. One of them began feeling his body for a pulse like Calvin had done earlier.

“There’s no pulse. He’s dead,” he said to the FBI agent, trying to save him the trouble of looking for a pulse and then finding none.

“Who are you?” the agent asked with a frown on his face.

“I’m, well, I was one of the senator’s bodyguards,” he said.

“Can someone tell me what is going on here?” a loud, gruff voice asked.

Calvin looked up at the newcomer who had spoken from where he was beside the senator’s body.

"He’s dead sir,” the agent that had been checking his pulse said.

“I’m sure that if you had half of your head blown away, you’d be dead too,” the man said dryly. His eye fixed on Calvin as he asked, “And you are?”

Calvin stood. “My name is Calvin Cordell, part of the Senator’s security detail,” he answered, stretching his hand out for a handshake. When the other man stared at his hand but refused to shake it, Calvin shrugged, bringing his hand back to his side.

“Are you the one in charge?”

“No,” Calvin answered.

“Then who is?” the other man barked.

“I am.”

The FBI agent turned to look at who had spoken. “And you are?”

“Anthony Greaves,” the head of the senator’s security detail and Calvin’s boss answered. He had walked up to the crime scene to see what was happening.

“Marcus Granville, Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago office,” the other man said. The two men shook hands.

Anthony looked down at the senator’s lifeless body. “I take it he’s dead?” he asked.

“You take correctly,” Marcus answered. “I believe you were aware that he was being threatened?”

“Yes,” Anthony answered. “We tried to stop him from coming to give the speech today. There were too many things that could go wrong. And it seems something did go wrong. But he wouldn’t listen.”

Marcus grunted. He turned to Calvin and asked, “Where were you?”

“There,” Calvin said, turning and pointing toward the back of the stage.

“Did you see anything?”

Calvin shook his head. “Nothing.”

Marcus sighed. “It figures.”

Just then, the doctor pushed through the crowd and bent down beside the senator’s lifeless body. A pool of blood had collected under his head.

“I’ll spare you the trouble doc and let you know that the man is dead,” Marcus answered. “I’m sure you’d be more useful attending to the family he left behind,” he said, pointing with his head in the direction of the senator’s widow and children. “And please, can someone take them home?”

The doctor got up and went in Susan Partridge’s direction. Marcus turned to another agent and asked, “Where’s Rutger with the camera and other equipment? We need to process the body and find out all we can before any evidence is trampled upon. And I’d like it to be done while I’m still alive.”

Marcus motioned Calvin and Anthony away from the body. “Have you always been in charge of his security or did he hire you when he got the threats?” he asked.

“Our firm has always provided security for him and his family,” Anthony answered. “We even provided security for his father before him, but the thing is he beefed up his security when he got the threats.”

“And he still got killed,” Marcus said but his tone didn’t indicate he was attaching any blame to anyone. He wiped his face with his hand, a wearied look on his face. “Either they had some help or these religious kooks are very good. I can guess what’s going to happen now. The president is going to hear about this and he’s going to talk with the Director. Then the Director is going to call me and my ulcer is going to start acting up again.” He sighed and looked at Calvin. “Are you quite sure that you didn’t notice anything out of place? Maybe you need to think about it,” he said hopefully.

Calvin thought about it for some time but shook his head. “I’m quite sure I didn’t see anything.”

Marcus sighed again. “I’ll probably need to get a statement or something from you although I don’t see how it’s going to help. Drop your contact details with one of my people. I’m really beginning to wish I didn’t get out of bed this morning.”

Calvin and Anthony watched as he walked back toward the senator’s dead body and started barking orders.

“This is a right mess,” Anthony muttered, running his hand through his hair and looking around. “Something tells me we haven’t heard the last of this whole thing and that it’s going to get worse.”


JC Cruz is the author of DECEPTIO, published by WestBow Press (http://www.westbow.com/) a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers. You can follow him @Cruz_JCReal

DECEPTIO (EXCERPT)

CHAPTER 2

Special Agent Camilla Rodriguez scanned the crowd gathered on the Les Miller field from her vantage point at the back. From where she stood, she had a good view of everything and everyone. Personally, she didn’t think anyone in his right mind would try to kill the senator with the police and the FBI present. Only a suicidal maniac would attempt anything would think of making an attempt on his life. Therefore, to her it was a monumental waste of time that so much manpower had been allocated to prevent something she didn’t think would happen. There were other things she and her colleagues could be doing rather than sitting and twiddling their thumbs as they waited for something that was never going to happen.

Camilla had been shown the letters sent to Senator Partridge. There were three of them and they were supposed to be from some hitherto unknown fundamentalist Christian group called Christ’s Warriors opposed to his message of freedom and rights. The letters had been composed from newspaper cuttings pasted on white paper. They had been analyzed by FBI experts but they had been unable to come up with any prints. All they had been able to find out was the fact that the paper was of the cheap variety that could be obtained from any store. They were also not any closer to finding out more about the group that had threatened his life. That was if such a group actually existed.

Her friends and colleagues knew that Senator Partridge wasn’t exactly Camilla’s favorite person in the world. But the fact that she didn’t like him wasn’t why she wasn’t convinced that there actually was a plot on his life. It was that there were just too many things that didn’t add up. The group that allegedly wanted to kill him was not on the FBI database of fundamentalist or terrorist groups and had never been heard of before. The first they had got to hear about the group was when the senator had come to them with the letters. While she admitted that it was possible for a totally new group who had as their sole aim and purpose, the killing of Robert Partridge to spring up, the fact that they had been unable to find any trace of the group made her skeptical. For all she knew, the only place the group existed was in Robert Partridge’s mind.

The fact that the senator had only come to them after he received the third letter was in Camilla’s view, another reason why she found it hard to believe that such a group actually existed. His excuse had been that when he got the first and second letters, he had believed it was a prank being played by someone he knew. It was only after the third one came that his wife had convinced him to take the matter seriously and come and see the FBI. Camilla found that hard to believe. The senator must have known that he had a lot of enemies because of who he was and the privileged family he came from and that he was making a lot more with his speeches. She therefore expected that if he had received a threat, it was to be taken seriously until it was proved to be a hoax.

Camilla scanned the crowd again this time with the binoculars hanging around her neck. There were quite a few people speaking on their mobile phones but Camilla doubted if there was any one of them who was speaking to the leader of some fundamentalist group. As far as she was concerned, if any one wanted to kill the Senator, he or she had a great chance of succeeding before being caught. Even with all the FBI agents and officers of Chicago police department all over the place and in plain clothes among the people, it was still a nightmare scenario. Not that she was saying that anyone was going to try to kill the senator, especially not any phantom fundamentalist group, but she would breathe easier when the senator gave his speech and left the stage.

Speaking of speeches, she wondered when he was going to come on stage. She looked at her watch. It was some minutes after 11 o’clock. Any moment from now, it would be time for the speech. She hoped that it wasn’t going to be a long one.

“Here, I bought you a hot dog.”

Camilla jumped at the sound. She turned toward the voice and saw her colleague, Jeremiah Walker, holding out a hot dog in her direction with his left hand while in his right hand, he held another hot dog that he had taken a bite from. He had startled her. She had been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t heard him walk up.

“You startled me,” she accused even as she took the hot dog from him. She removed the paper around the hot dog and took a bite. She had not eaten anything that morning. She had only drunk a cup of coffee to fortify herself for the day ahead. Somewhere along the line, she had forgotten she was hungry.

“I didn’t know if you liked mustard or ketchup with your hot dog but I guessed it wouldn’t hurt if it was mustard,” he said. “If you don’t like it, I can go back and get another one,” he offered.

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine,” she assured him even as she took another bite. She sighed with satisfaction as the food hit all the right spots. “What’s a hot dog without mustard any way?” she asked.

He laughed even as he bit into his own. His white teeth showed up against the brown of his face. “Of course.”

“You’re a life saver, you know that, don’t you?” she asked.

“I aim to please,” he replied. He enjoyed the way she ate. She ate heartily like one who was enjoying the food, rather than someone eating just to keep alive. In that regard, she wasn’t like other women. And the fact that she seemed to have a body metabolism that didn’t allow her to put on weight no matter what she eat, didn’t hurt either.

“I was only able to swallow a cup of coffee this morning before I had to rush out of the house,” she said as she chewed. She had almost finished the hot dog. That was another thing; she just seemed unable to take her time while eating. She took the view that it wasn’t the time you took over the food that made you feel full; it was the amount of food you eat. Whether you spent an hour or two minutes, the benefits were the same.

“I’m not really a breakfast person myself,” he said, raising one shoulder in a shrug. He watched as she popped the last bit of the hot dog into her mouth, licking the mustard from her fingers before cleaning her hand with the napkin provided. “You’ve got a bit of mustard beside your mouth,” he said.

“Where?” she asked, raising her hand to clean her mouth, missing the trace of mustard that had somehow gotten on to the side of her mouth from the wrapping around the mustard. “Is it gone?”

“No, it’s still there. Just beside your mouth,” he answered amused.

“Where?” she asked. “Left or right?”

“Right,” he answered, his amusement vanishing as he watched her tongue come out to lick the mustard away. His breathing grew shallow. He wished he could help her lick away the mustard.

“Is it all gone?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, not sure if his voice sounded normal. He didn’t feel normal. He turned away.

Camilla looked at him. He sounded funny. She was about to ask him if he was alright when it occurred to her what might be wrong with him. If it was what she thought it was, it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie. She didn’t know what had set him off and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Ever since Jeremiah Walker had been transferred to the Chicago office of the FBI from New Orleans, he had made no secret of the fact that he liked her. So he only liked her, a voice in her head scoffed. Liked? Liked was a lukewarm word, the voice in her head mocked. Well, extremely attracted to her, she revised mentally. And he felt she was attracted to him too, which Camilla didn’t deny. He had therefore seen nothing wrong with taking the mutual attraction to the next logical level by having an affair. But while Camilla was willing to admit that she liked him as a friend, she wasn’t about to get into a relationship with him. Because they were different.

(JC Cruz is the author of DECEPTIO. DECEPTIO is published by WestBow Press, a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers. You can get a copy from www.westbowpress.com/store)