LOST, BUT FOUND (EXCERPT)

Ruth dove to the center of town and stopped in front of the grocery store. Getting out of the car she walked inside. The bell above the door chimed as she opened it, announcing her presence. She joined the small queue at the counter and waited her turn to be served.

“Good afternoon,” she said, smiling when it got to her turn.

The woman behind the counter smiled back at Ruth. She was in her fifties and her brown hair was almost completely gray. She was small in stature but there was a sparkle in her eyes. “And good afternoon to you too. And what would you be ordering  today?”

“I was thinking of doing some baking for my husband and my daughter,” Ruth answered. “I would like some flour, eggs and some other stuff.” She handed over a list of the things she wanted with the required quantities.

The other woman went about gathering the things that were on Ruth’s list. “You’re new around here aren't you?” she asked, turning her head to look at Ruth.

“Yes,” Ruth said, smiling back.

“Let me guess, you’re not from around these parts,” the woman said as she continued searching for the required items.

“No I’m not. My husband, Greg and Jessie our daughter and I came from Boston, although we are originally from Vermont. My name is Ruth. Ruth Myskill.”

“Pauline. Pauline Foster. So what are city people like you looking for around these parts?”

“My husband Greg got a job here, so we all followed. Hopefully we will be here for a long time.”

“Really?” the woman said turning to look at Ruth with a quizzical frown on her face. “What job is that? I didn't know there was an opening at the high school.”

“It’s not at the high school,” Ruth answered smiling. “My husband is the new pastor at the New Earth Evangelical Church. That is, he is going to be the pastor when Bill Wilkinson retires.”

Suddenly the other woman’s back seemed to stiffen and her movements slower. “The new pastor? I thought Bill was going to continue?”

“Well, you know he’s going to be 75 soon and he has to retire,” Ruth said slowly. She watched as the other woman turned around and moved to the computer to ring up the purchases. The smile had disappeared from the other woman’s face and she had a not-too-pleased look on her face.

“So the church board are still thinking of kicking him out from his church,” Pauline said bitterly punching the computer keys in anger. “We thought they had forgotten about all that nonsense.”

“No one is kicking him out,” Ruth replied mesmerized by the woman’s hands and the anger that moved them.

“And I say that it’s not fair for them to be kicking him out just like that,” the other woman replied in anger. “After all that he has done for the church and the town.”

This time Ruth was silent, not knowing what to say. The other woman was definitely aggrieved with the church board and she didn't want her to find another target in Greg or herself.

“It’s just disgraceful,” Pauline said as she began to pack the items in paper bags. “Disgraceful I say. What do they want him to do when they chase him out? Where is he supposed to go? That will be twenty five dollars fifty cents.”

Ruth brought out her wallet to get money to pay for the groceries now wishing she hadn't come to the shop or introduced herself. It seemed her simple plan of getting to know the people hadn't been so simple after all. She collected her change from Pauline, mumbled a quick thank you and made a quick exit out of the door.

Ruth walked back outside, feeling slightly relieved that she had made it safely out of the grocery store. She walked with the bags to the car and put them in the back. She got into the car but she didn't start the engine, thinking about the little episode in the grocery store. If she’d had slight misgivings before, now she was very worried. If Pauline’s view was representative of the people who attended New Earth Evangelical Church, it seemed that they didn't want Bill Wilkinson to leave.  So where did that leave Greg?

Driving slowly through the center of town, she noticed a coffee shop. She parked in front and got out. She wanted to think and she didn't think she would be able to that at home. Jessie would soon be back and she would get caught up house work again. She needed time alone to herself to think about the situation her family had found themselves in. She walked into the coffee shop and sat at one of the tables, looking round as she waited for someone to come and take her order.

There were few customers there at that hour. Quite a few of the people seated there were in military uniforms. Some were with female companions, some were alone. Ruth remembered that Greg had told her that Fort Rucker the home of Army Aviation was close by and that one of the entrances to the army base was just on the outskirts of the town. Apart from the military types, there were a few other men in the room, taking their time over their coffee. They didn’t look like there was anything they were in a hurry to get to. They didn't seem to have a care in the world.

“May I take your order?”

Ruth jumped, startled by the voice. She turned in the direction it had come from and the sight of a protruding stomach covered by a red check apron filled her vision. She looked up at the owner of the protruding stomach. The woman looked to be in her late twenties with a mass of brown hair that hung limply from her face. Beads of sweat ran down her face. Whether it was from the hot kitchen or from the strain of carrying the weight in her tummy, Ruth didn't know.  It was probably a combination of both, she guessed.

Smiling to win the trust of a stranger for the second time that day, Ruth said, “Good afternoon. Do you have coffee? Preferably decaf.”

“Sure we do.”

“Then can I get a cup of coffee?”

“Sure you can,” the other woman replied, smiling back as she scribbled with her pencil in the notepad she held in her hand. “One cup of decaf coffee coming up. Will that be all or will you be having anything with it? We have pecan pie and muffins if you want.”

“I’ll take the pecan pie,” Ruth replied.

“Okay,” the other woman said as she walked away.

As soon as the waitress went away to fulfill her order, Ruth became lost in her thoughts and they were not pleasant ones. It seemed Greg was already facing an uphill battle winning over his parishioners without them getting to know him or his doctrine first. And it was all because they seemed to be attached to their current pastor who was supposed to retire but who himself seemed too attached to the position. All of which didn't bode well for Greg.

She was deep in thought about how everything was going to work out when the waitress arrived with her coffee. She however didn't notice the other woman until she placed the cup of coffee and the plate with the pie in front of her. Snapping out of her somber thoughts, she looked at the food set before. Now, it seemed she didn't have the appetite for the pie. “Thank you,” she said.

The waitress nodded in response. “You seemed pretty much lost in thought.”

Ruth sighed. “I have a lot of things on my mind. There’s a situation and I don’t see how it can be resolved without someone getting hurt.”

“That’s bad. You wanna talk about it?”

“I really don’t know,” Ruth said undecided. She didn't think it was right to unload all her troubles on a total stranger. Besides, for all she knew, the woman was one of the people in support of Bill Wilkinson.

“If what you’re worried about is that I’m going to blab about it, all I can say is that you don’t know me. I know quite a lot of people who talk about me behind my back. I don’t like it so I don’t do it to others,” the waitress said firmly as she settled in the seat opposite to Ruth.

Ruth felt reassured. “The thing is that it has to do with Bill Wilkinson.”

“Bill Wilkinson,” the other woman repeated woodenly, stiffening perceptibly. Her hands clenched and unclenched themselves involuntarily on the table. Ruth however noticed none of this. She was lost in her thoughts.

“The thing is that Bill Wilkinson is supposed to retire as the pastor of the New Earth Evangelical Church in like six months time. The church board has chosen my husband to replace him and the thing is .....”

“I see,” the other woman said as she stood up abruptly from the chair. Her movements were awkward because of the size of her stomach but she managed it. “I see. So your husband is replacing Bill Wilkinson. So, is he going to come here himself to do his dirty work himself unlike Bill or is that why you’re here? To do it for him?” By now her voice had risen and several other people in the room had risen as well. Everyone was staring at them.

To say that Ruth was embarrassed was an understatement. She stood up as well, reaching out to the other woman, trying to pacify her. “I really don’t know what you mean. I was just trying to say ...”

“You don’t have to say anything,” the other woman said bitterly. “Bill and Ida have said everything that could be said. I don’t go where I’m not wanted and Bill and Ida have made it crystal clear I’m not wanted at their church. Unless you've come to repeat what they've already said. Don’t worry, neither I nor my “bastard” will ever darken the door of your church,” she said with feeling. Her hands were clasped in front of her belly as if to protect her unborn child from Ruth.

Ruth recoiled as if she had been slapped. The word shocked her and made her stomach roll. She couldn't understand what the other woman had just said. Had Bill and his wife really used that word about her unborn child? While she had assumed that the other woman was married, she wasn't one to condemn some other person like that.

“Wait, you don’t understand. It’s not like that,” she said trying to explain. “It’s not what you think.”

“Lady, I think it’s time you left.”

Ruth turned to see one of the military types coming towards them. He stopped for a moment to put his arms around the waitress. “Are you alright Bee?” he asked. She couldn't get the words out to answer him because she seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating. He turned to look at Ruth with menace in his eyes. “I thought I told you to get out?”

Ruth wanted to stand her ground but she could see there was no use attempting to speak reasonably with anyone. Everyone in the coffee shop was looking at her with venom in their eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said as she began to pack her things from the table. “I’m really very sorry. I didn't mean .....”

“Get out,” the man snarled as he held the waitress he had referred to as Bee in his arms, offering her comfort. “Get out and don’t come back.

With one last apologetic look in the woman’s direction, Ruth walked out of the coffee shop.

JC Cruz is the author of DECEPTIO published by WestBowPress, a division of Thomas Nelson publishers.http://bookstore.westbowpress.com/Products/SKU000194087/Deceptio.aspx and LOST, BUT FOUND available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DPLLEUQ/. You can follow him on Twitter @Cruz_JCReal

DECEPTIO (Excerpt

A week after his encounter with George in Lafayette Park, Morton walked into of the lobby of the Grand Hyatt Washington on 1000 H Street Northwest. He walked toward the bank of lifts and waited with a group of people for one of the cars to come down. As one of the doors opened, he moved with the people into the elevator to be taken up to the third floor. He tried to keep from bumping into the others in the car as his arm still hurt where George had shot him.

Stepping out on the third floor corridor, he looked to his left and his right to see if there was anyone watching else there. He looked at the numbers on the door trying to make out in which direction he needed to go. Turning to his left, he walked down the corridor looking for Room 316. For a moment, he wondered whether the room was still unoccupied. Standing in front of the door, he pulled out the electronic key card he had removed from George’s pocket. He inserted the card in the slot and swiped it. For a moment, he wondered whether the card would work. A moment later, the light on the lock turned from red to green and the door opened. He walked into the door and shut it behind him.

He stood there looking around the room and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The room looked unoccupied and the curtains were still drawn over the window. He searched for and found the light switch and flipped it. Light from recessed bulbs flooded the room. The bed was made and there were fresh flowers on the table next to the chair by the window. He walked to the wardrobe and opened it. It was empty. He stepped back from the wardrobe to search the room. He didn’t find anything.

For a moment, he wondered whether George had come all the way to Washington without any luggage but he immediately dismissed the idea. He would have come with at least a change of clothing but there was nothing like that to be found in the room. It was a week since Gorge had come into the room. The most likely thing was that the hotel staff had since come in to clean the room they had taken away whatever luggage was there because another guest wanted to use the room. If that was the case, then the luggage was with the hotel staff, waiting for him to come back and claim it. That meant he was going to have to go down and claim the bag by himself. All he needed was a good story.

Two hours later, Morton walked back into the lobby of the hotel with the intention of claiming George’s luggage, if he had any. He hoped that none of the staff, especially those working in the lobby, would recognize him as someone who had been in the hotel earlier that day. He walked up to one of the receptionists and introduced himself.

“Good afternoon,” he said to the woman standing behind the table, a bright smile on his face.

“Good afternoon sir, how may I help you?” She had an even brighter smile.

“I have a small problem and I was wondering if you could help me in sorting it out.” She nodded encouragingly and he continued. “My name is Sergeant Todd Morton of the 1^st Marine Division. One of my superior officers, Major George Kowolski was in your hotel like a week ago but he was called away unexpectedly on a matter of national security. He was unable to settle his bill or pack his things before he left. It was all hush-hush and required the utmost haste. Now my commanding officer has instructed me to come here and retrieve his things and settle his bill. How do I go about doing that?”

The woman nodded. “What room was he in and when did he check in?”

“He was in Room 316. I’m not exactly sure of the day but it was probably Monday or Tuesday last week.”

‘Let me see.” The woman typed on the keyboard in front of her and then read the words on the screen. “There was a George Kowolski in Room 316 and he checked in on Monday evening,” she said. “He was supposed to stay the night and check out Tuesday afternoon but as you said, he didn’t check out.”

“Thank you so much,” he said smiling. He retrieved his wallet from his pocket and extracted a credit card. “Could you please charge the hotel bill to this card?”

“Certainly sir,” the woman said as she collected the card. She went to a corner and a few minutes later came back with the card and a form. “If you could just sign here sir,” she said pointing to a spot on the form. Morton took the pen she offered and signed on the line. After he had finished, he smiled at her again. “Thank you so much for your help. Then suddenly, he frowned. “I’m sorry for taking up your time, but if he had any luggage, would it still be in the room?”

“No. It would have been taken down to the lost baggage section since the occupant was supposed to have checked out.”

“Can you give me directions on how to get there?”

Five minutes later, he was seated on a leather settee in the lost items section of the hotel, waiting for them to retrieve George’s luggage. He had presented to them his copy of the credit card form to show that he had settled the bill. He only hoped no one would come along asking for more identification before it was released. He didn’t know if the people George worked for had also thought about retrieving his things. If they hadn’t, he wanted to be gone from the hotel before they got round to it.

“Sergeant Morton?”

Morton stood up. “Yes?”

“Here’s what we could find for Major Kowolski.” The man held out a hold-all of intermediate size.

Morton took it from him, weighing it in his hands. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I’m very grateful.” Carrying the hold-all, he walked back to the lobby and out of the hotel where he hailed a taxi to take him to the motel on 31^st Street Northwest where he was staying. Throughout the journey, he kept staring at the rear-view mirror to see if he was being followed.  

We Are Accepted In The Beloved

From a young age I always wanted to write and be a published and well known author. When I published my first novel, Deceptio with WestBowPress, a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers, I didn't really know anything about things like literary agents, proposals or platforms. That means I really didn't know much about publishing, period. However, publishing Deceptio did not put an end to the dream I had of being paid to publish a novel with a major publishing house. I then wrote another novel, Lost But Found. By this time I knew a little about how things worked. I had bought Michael Hyatt’s book on how to write a winning fiction proposal. I sent out proposals to several literary agents. As you would expect, I got a lot of “No’s”. Some didn't reply. In the end, near the end of last year, I finally found someone who liked what I had written and I was told that my work was going to be presented to the people in charge at the agency. I was so excited. I waited to get feedback but meanwhile I must confess I had a few dreams about how much I was going to get offered and how many copies of the book I was going to sell. When I didn't hear back by February, I sent a mail. I got a reply saying that a mail had been sent to me earlier (which I never received) saying the people in charge wanted to go in another direction. Whatever that means.

I also love the law very much and I love litigating. I love the thought of presenting my arguments in such a way that the judge agrees with my line of thinking. And I love winning. However, I felt I was in a rut at work and I felt there were no opportunities for advancement. So I wrote a few applications and sent them to some of the top law firms in my city. Most of them didn't bother to reply. Those that did sent me a mail telling me that after considering my application they didn't think I would be a fit for them. I would be the first to admit that my grades in my law school exam were not the best. So maybe my grades wouldn't look too good on their website. But I thought that the almost ten years of experience I had garnered should count for something. I guess I was wrong.

I'm not going to lie, the two instances of rejection hurt. Badly. But that is what people do, people reject us. If we let it, the rejection we get from people can hurt us and damage us for life. Rejection can make us feel small and unworthy and unlovable. Rejection can make us give up on our dreams. But you know what? Men may reject us because we don’t fit into a certain mould or we don’t fit into a certain picture they have of how they think we should be. But you know what? That’s okay. That’s life. If we are afraid of rejection and we don’t want to experience it, we will end up not living because life is full of rejection. But you know another thing? I'm thankful there’s a God who loves me and would never reject me. I'm thankful there’s a God who has accepted me warts and all. The Bible says God has accepted me in the beloved. God has accepted me, not because of anything I can or will ever do but because of what Jesus did on the cross of Calvary.  So no matter the rejection I face from men, I know God loves me.

So, has the fact that literary agents aren't breaking down my door in a bid to represent my work discouraged me? No. It has made me even more determined to succeed and get a book published by a major publisher. That’s why I'm not going to stop writing. There’s a song I love titled “More Than It Seems”. It’s by the group Kutless. There’s a verse that says, “Passing through the darkness into my own world will I, be more than when I left”. That verse has given me an idea for another novel. And when I'm done and I've written the best novel I can write, I'm going to write proposals and send to literary agents again. And I'm not going to stop till I get a 'Yes". Has the fact that some people think I don’t fit into their law firm made me doubt my abilities as a lawyer? No. Because I know that God and I make a good team. Recently, I have even begun to get leadings that maybe it’s time I and a few friends opened our own law firm.

Am I afraid of rejection? Yes. Am I afraid of failing? Yes. Then why am I going to put myself in the position of being hurt or rejected again? Because I know this is what I was born to do. To deal in words. And there’s nothing that is going to stop me fulfilling what I know to be my purpose. Not even fear. Because God loves me, he’s on my side and he’s cheering me on. And I believe like Paul said, that everything works together for our good. Even rejection.

What fear will you surmount?

JC Cruz is the author of DECEPTIO published by WestBowPress, a division of Thomas Nelson publishers, http://bookstore.westbowpress.com/Products/SKU000194087/Deceptio.aspx and LOST, BUT FOUND available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DPLLEUQ/. 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)