Like Sheep Gone Astray (7 page)

Life is perfect, she concluded as she pulled out some framed photographs from her briefcase to set on her desk. She studied her favorite picture of herself, a snapshot taken shortly after her graduation from college.
Maybe I'll let my hair grow out again,
she considered while studying the framed portrait. She ran her fingers through her current short, layered tresses, trimmed to professional, polished perfection. She placed the picture strategically on her desk before picking up another one. She stared at the framed photo in her hands. Anthony looked back at her, a playful grin pulling on his full lips.

“Life is perfect,” she murmured to herself. “I'm not going to let anything mess it up. Not even him.” She put the photo back into her briefcase facedown before picking up another picture of her with Cherisse.

“That reminds me,” she mumbled to herself while reaching for the telephone. She dialed quickly as a smile returned to her face. Terri played with the phone cord as the phone rang several times, then listened to the greeting that introduced Cherisse Landrick as the accounting manager of Fabian's Catering Service.

She paused a moment before hanging up, assuming that Cherisse had already left to make the trip across town to meet her for lunch. She tried Cherisse's cell-phone number. When another voice-mail message greeted her, she reached for her car keys, deciding to get an early start to ensure a good table for them at the Westcott Room in the Quadrangle Towers. Terri remembered how busy the exclusive restaurant had been the day before, when she'd met with Reginald Savant. She did not want Cherisse to miss the pasta primavera lunch special.
I don't want to miss that special myself.
She chuckled to herself.

Her mouth watered as she drove through the congested downtown traffic, thinking only of the sumptuous meal ahead of her. She parked the old Mercedes-Benz in an underground garage, giving a quick look over for Cherisse's silver Maxima. As she stepped out of the driver's seat, her eyes caught sight of a white envelope peeking from the floor behind the passenger's seat. PASTOR GREEN was printed neatly across the front.

“What's this?” Terri mumbled to herself, reaching back into the car. As her fingers stretched forward to grasp the letter, she heard loud, echoing footsteps coming toward her.

Terri whisked around, hitting her head on the car door. Even before she could make out the well-defined ebony features in the dim garage lighting, she could smell the familiar aroma of a spicy cologne and the unmistakable scent of leather.

“My apologies, Mrs. Murdock. I did not mean to startle you. Are you okay?” The silky bass voice of Reginald Savant whirled in Terri's ears.

Terri was caught off guard as Reginald wrapped an arm around her, helping her stand upright.
I don't remember him being this tall,
she thought to herself as she stared into his broad shoulders. She tilted her head up to stare into his face. A look of amusement glittered in his dark brown eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, the smile on his lips bewitching.

“Oh—yes.” Terri felt awkward as she quickly regained her composure, closed the car door, and began walking toward the garage exit. “I'm fine. How are you doing today, Mr. Savant?”

“My day just got better.” Reginald continued smiling, watching Terri walk a few steps ahead of him before rejoining her. “Let me get that door for you.” The two were entering an underground corridor that would take them into a lobby in the Quadrangle Towers. As they stepped onto an elevator, Mr. Savant smiled again.

“I must tell you, Mrs. Murdock, I am thoroughly delighted that you will be working with me on the Empress Hotel. I showed some of your preliminary design ideas to a couple of my colleagues. They were equally impressed. Do not be surprised if you hear from some of them. I have quite a few business associates who are venturing out into the world of free enterprise and who are looking for a woman of your merit and ingenuity to help design the way.” Reginald smiled deeply before continuing. “Returning to the Westcott Room, Mrs. Murdock?”

Terri nodded her head. “I've convinced a friend of mine to try their pasta primavera with me today. I'm looking forward to sampling some more of their menu.”

Reginald's eyes never left hers. “Yes, the Westcott Room offers some of the finest dining downtown. I come here often for lunch and meetings, for both business and pleasure. I'm a firm believer that the two can mix.”

The elevator door opened and a large, noisy, well-dressed crowd filed onto the elevator. Reginald stepped closer to Terri. She could almost taste the spicy aroma of his cologne. She looked down at his leather oxfords.
Those shoes had to have cost at least five hundred dollars,
she thought to herself. When the doors opened again, they both walked onto the red-and-gold Oriental rug leading to the Westcott Room.

“My party should be waiting for me, Mrs. Murdock, but we shall see each other again sooner or later. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.” As he disappeared in the crowd of diners, another familiar voice sounded behind her.

“Girl, who was
that?
You've
got
to introduce me to him. That's the kind of brother I'm trying to get with.”

Terri turned around and grinned at her best friend.

“Cherisse, where have you been? I've been trying to call you for the past half hour!”

Cherisse's face suddenly turned serious. “Terri, we've got to talk. You're not going to believe what I just found out.”

Anthony stared at the menu in his hands for the fourth time. Although it was unusually quiet for lunchtime at the Solomon Grill, he was having a hard time concentrating.
You meet with Haberstick at two o'clock.
You will make the right decision.
The sloppily scribbled note haunted him. Who had sent it? What did it mean?

“Look, brother,” Marvin Tucker broke into his thoughts. “I don't mind having that fine-looking waitress coming back again and again to our table, but I'm getting too hungry to wait for you to decide what you want. Con-chita”—Marvin flashed a golden smile while signaling the waitress—“we're ready to order.”

It was not until later, while Anthony nibbled some french fries out of his shrimp basket, that he realized what else was disturbing him. Across the restaurant, in a booth away from the main entrance, was a stocky, broad-shouldered white man in a black suit. He was sipping a mug of hot coffee and reading a newspaper, but Anthony noticed him eyeing him from time to time.

When the man got up, apparently to head to the rest room, Anthony noted his gait, an awkward walk that looked like he was plagued with an old football or war injury.
I've seen that man before,
Anthony thought.
Recently, I'm sure.
He picked up another french fry to munch, but his hand stopped in mid-air.
That man was walking across the parking lot when I got to work this morning, and again just now when I left for lunch! Am I being followed?

Gloria Randall reorganized the papers in front of her.

“Maybe skipping lunch was not such a good idea,” she murmured to herself as a low grumble crawled through her stomach. “But at least I'm finished with this filing.” She smiled in satisfaction, pausing to look at the tasks crossed out on her lengthy to-do list. “Now I can focus on getting the rest of this typing done.” Gloria relaxed in her swivel chair, pleased with the progress she was making with Councilman Walter Banks's files.

This was only her second week, and Gloria was determined to show Councilman Banks he had made a wise decision when he offered her the vacant position during a conversation on the church steps between Sunday services.

As Gloria tapped skillfully on the computer keys, she reflected on how nervous she'd been when she'd told him of her recent training at a technology school, hoping he'd catch on to her willingness to work as he talked to her about how his last secretary had suddenly quit on him; no notice, no note, just up and gone. As a respected public figure, he could not afford to hire another non-professional, and he was highly selective about who would be his new office representative, his executive assistant.

She had done her best to present herself as a hardworking, capable applicant, standing taller than she felt in her secondhand church suit, knowing there were many others with better credentials than her newly earned GED and office-management degree who would covet such a high-profile position. But as had been the case for the past several months, God showed favor on her and blessed her with the job.

Since her recent decision to trust Jesus with her life, Gloria had come to know just what Second Corinthians 5:17 meant when it said, “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.”
I've got a brand-new life, a brand-new job, and a brand-new attitude.
She smiled to herself.

She eyed the cheery greeting card sitting on her desk from her sister.
I am so proud of you. Love, Jackie.
The words sent a warm ripple through her, almost like a bear hug somewhere inside of her. She'd felt the same way listening to Pastor Green the Sunday she decided to join the small congregation of Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills. “Some of you have come a long way, traveling winding roads that have left you tired and worn,” he'd said in that warm, fatherly tone of his. “It doesn't matter where you were yesterday. I'm glad you're here today. Welcome home.”

She heard footsteps behind her and quickly resumed typing before looking up.

“Good afternoon, Councilman. I'm almost finished typing the report you wanted. Is there anything else you need me to do for you today?”

Walter Banks stood quietly smiling for a second as he reviewed some papers she handed him, his friendly face seeming to approve of her diligent work ethic.

“Nothing immediate, Miss Randall.” His smile lingered as he headed for the front door. Abruptly he frowned and turned around. “Actually, there is something you can do for me. I'm late for a meeting at the Westcott Room. Can you look up the cell-phone number of a Mr. Reginald Savant on the Rolodex in my office? He's a constituent who's been seeking support for a business of his. Call him for me, please, and let him know that I am on my way.” Councilman Banks fixed a hat on top of his balding head and left.

Wasting no time, Gloria found the number and dialed.

“Hello.” The rich, bass voice of Reginald Savant seemed to vibrate through the phone. Gloria quickly relayed the councilman's message, picturing a polished, all-too-fine, good-looking brother on the other end.
Help me,
Holy Ghost,
she prayed to herself, trying to keep her mind focused.

“You say the councilman just left?” Reginald spoke softly, making his already deep voice sound like a sultry whisper.

“Uh, yes. He said, I mean, he is—um, on his way now. To the Westcott Room.” Gloria wanted to kick herself.
Be professional,
she reminded herself.

“Hmmm,” Reginald murmured. “That is unfortunate. I just left there. If you do not mind, Miss—what is your name?”

“Miss Randall. Gloria Randall.”

“Yes, Miss Randall. If you can, please let Councilman Banks know that I will have to reschedule our meeting. I do apologize, and I hope this will not diminish his support, but an unexpected, urgent matter has arisen that I must attend to.”

“I'll give him the message.”

“Thank you, thank you. And Miss Randall, I have another message I need you to pass on to him.”

“Yes, Mr. Savant?”

“Let him know that I have fellow contacts who would also like to meet with him at his earliest convenience. His backing is imperative to our progress, so we are expecting nothing less than his full support for all of our plans. Please convey that message to him.”

Anthony stared again at the sloppy handwriting.
You meet with Haberstick at two o'clock.
You will make the right decision.
It was one-thirty now. Anthony refolded the note and put it underneath some papers in his desk drawer. Marvin sat across the office at a computer workstation, nodding his head and tapping two pencils to the continuous beat pounding through his headphones.

“Here comes my part! Yes! Aw, man!
Ooh, ooh, yeah!
” He sang, not realizing how loud his voice was over the music blaring from his headset.

Anthony looked at the clock. One-thirty-seven.
I really need to talk to someone.
The note. The man at the Solomon Grill. The meeting with Haberstick. Everything. Anthony was beginning to feel more unnerved. He picked up the phone and dialed Terri's cell-phone number. Her voice mail came on immediately, signaling that the phone was turned off. He dialed Pastor Green's number, first at church, and then his home. Surprisingly, there was no answer at either.
I guess that just leaves You to talk to, huh, Lord?

Anthony reached for his little green Gideon New Testament.
I need a word from You, Jesus.
Some strength, some peace.
He flipped through the thin, worn pages until he reached Hebrews chapter thirteen. “For He hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me,” Anthony read quietly. The sacred words poured like oil into his troubled soul.

Kent Cassell took another deep gulp of coffee. The waitress at the Solomon Grill had given it to him just the way he liked it—black, with no sugar, or cream, or any of that other frilly stuff. Kent's wife, Mona, often laughed at him, wondering how he could guzzle down such a bitter-tasting liquid. But even she expected nothing less from a man who had the stamina of a mountain lion waiting patiently to single out and then pounce on his prey.

That was how Kent felt at the moment, sitting in his dark green sedan near the parking lot of Haberstick Associates. He had been working steadfastly on this case ever since the regional office of the FBI had contacted the small sheriff's office of Shepherd Hills.

Kent had been on the verge of becoming sheriff himself nearly a year ago. That is until he began asking questions about some local politicians' fund-raising techniques. It seemed that the more information he got, the crazier his life became. First there were the untraceable phone calls to his home made by a silent caller who hung up as soon as the phone was answered. And then there were the repeated break-ins into Mona's home day-care business that left her feeling jittery and him embarrassed. Here he was a cop, and he didn't even know what was going on or how to stop it.