Stranger In The Night. Catherine Palmer
society’s rules are subtle. You were where? Afghanistan? I’m sure you learned their ways.”
“Oh, yeah.” He leaned back in the seat and verbally checked off some of the idiosyncrasies he’d been taught. “The people may seem to be standing too close, but don’t step back. It’s their way. Men walk arm in arm or hold hands—it means they’re friends and nothing more. Never point with one finger. Greet male friends with a handshake and a pat on the back. Belch in appreciation of a good meal. Never drink alcohol or eat pork in front of an Afghan. Don’t wink, blow your nose in public, eat with your left hand or sit with the soles of your feet showing.”
“Well done, Sergeant Duff,” she said. “Then you know that until you begin to understand people, you can’t help them much.”
“And you’re all about helping.”
She pulled the van into a space in the short-term parking area at Lambert. “So are you, Sergeant. We’ve just chosen different ways to go about it.”
Before he could unbuckle his seat belt, Liz hopped out of the van and started for the terminal. Joshua had never considered tracking insurgents a mercy mission. He was a huntsman. A sniper. A warrior who set out on a mission and didn’t stop until he’d accomplished it.
Watching Liz stride purposefully through the sliding-glass door, Joshua realized she might be right about him. Maybe they had more in common than he knew.
Chapter Three
L iz sat at her desk, staring. The stack of files blurred as her eyes lost focus. The sounds of people talking in cubicles nearby faded. Unnoticed, the hand on the clock ticked toward five. Even the candy bar in her desk drawer ceased its demand, its chocolate-caramel siren song ebbing.
“Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty!” Molly breezed into the cubicle. “Time for your happy news report from the Fairy Godmother.”
Settling on the edge of a chair, her favorite perch, the reed-thin woman waved a sheaf of stapled pages. Molly’s exuberance and generally cheerful outlook belied the fact that she had battled an eating disorder most of her adult life. Only Liz knew, and the two made it a matter of prayer each evening before they left the office.
“More trouble in Africa,” Molly began, reading from their weekly headquarters update. “Sudanese refugees are still flooding south. Tribal tension continues to flare in Eastern and Central Africa. The Kenyan camps are full to overflowing. Really? Surprise me some more. Congo and Burundi are still unstable. Rwanda isn’t much better. And on to Asia! Hostility has increased toward the Karen people group in Burma/Myanmar. Refugees are heading for Thailand in record numbers. People are still fleeing Vietnam and North Korea. Yeah—when they can get out. Europe is pretty quiet, but the Middle East is tumultuous. This could’ve been last week’s report.”
Liz had closed her eyes and was trying to pull out any important information between Molly’s running commentary. Sarcasm bordering on outright derision was the woman’s stock in trade.
“Now for our weekly federal government refugee resettlement averages,” Molly continued. “Currently in St. Louis there are 2,500 Somalis, more than 1,000 Ethiopians, 700 from ex-Soviet states, 700 Liberians, 500 Sudanese, 300 each from Bosnia, Vietnam, Iran and Afghanistan. The Turks and Burmese are passing the 100 mark, and Ivory Coast, Sierra Leone, Burundi and Eritrea are catching up fast.”
“Just give me next week’s airport list, Molly.” Liz held out a hand. “I can’t process this stuff right now.”
“What’s going on? Have you been staying awake all night again—plotting your own refugee flight into darkest Africa?”
“No, it’s not that. I’ve had a hard day.”
“The Marine.”
Liz looked up. “You remember him?”
“Who could forget? Every woman in the building—married and single—watched you drive off with the guy this morning, Liz. I’d have been in here sooner but I had to pick up some sardines and Spam to welcome my latest batch of Burmese.”
They laughed together at these favorite foods of the silent, polite and terribly modest people group. It was hard to know what would strike the fancy of a given batch of refugees. A few local stores had started carrying live bullfrogs and eels, packaged duck heads and various other items too pungent even for Liz—who considered herself brave compared to many in the agency.
Molly set her elbows on Liz’s desk and rested her chin on her palms. “What’s his name, where’s he from and how long do you get to keep him?”
“I don’t want him.” Liz let out a low growl. “Men like that should not exist. They complicate everything.”
“But they’re oh, so nice to look at.”
“I can’t argue there. You could drown in his eyes. Seriously, though, this guy is a pain. Very demanding. When he’s not chasing insurgents in Afghanistan, he lives in Texas. He’s visiting a friend here, and somehow he got tangled up with a family of Pagandans.”
“Ooh. Paganda is not a nice place.”
“No, and Joshua’s people have been through the wringer. Global Care brought them in from Kenya, but they’re on their own now. Except for Sergeant Duff, USMC. Their story won him over. The two children hid inside a metal drum while rebels massacred their mother and siblings. Their house burned down around them, but they survived.”
“Wow.” Molly fell silent—for once.
“Joshua met these people last night, and now he’s determined to help them through the entire resettlement process. I told him that was crazy. It’s too complicated and time-consuming for one person, but he wouldn’t budge.”
“Is he aware of the cost? Without an agency supporting the family, that could get expensive.”
Liz paused, weighing whether to tell Molly what she had learned about Joshua’s family. Finally, she spoke. “Okay, the guy is filthy rich.”
“Mmm. Even better. Let’s see. Joshua is rich. Joshua is handsome. Joshua is tenderhearted toward the poor and needy. What’s not to like about Joshua?”
“He doesn’t take no for an answer, he’s domineering, he’s forceful, he’s way too self-assured and…and…” Liz clenched her fists. “I don’t want to like him, Molly!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to Africa. As soon as I become fluent in Swahili and get enough experience for the UN to want to hire me, I’m out of here. I don’t have time for complications. I can’t let myself think about Joshua Duff, and I hope I never see him again.”
Liz shook her head. “No, that’s not true. I can’t think about anything else, and it’s driving me nuts. You know what I went through with Taylor. It took me forever to figure out how wrong we were.”
“I could have told you in two seconds.”
“And you did.”
“Liz, you need a man with backbone. Taylor was idealistic and friendly and good-hearted, but what a pancake. Flat. Boring. Wimpy. Pass the syrup.”
“Molly, please. He wasn’t that bad.”
“Have I been married twice, Liz? Do I know the good ones from the bums?”
“Apparently not. Case in point—Joel.”
Molly stood. “Yes, but I’m not marrying Joel. He’s a friend.”
“You’re sleeping with your friend, Molly. That’s a dumb thing to do. Have I told you that before?”
“Two thousand times. It’s in my DNA to do dumb things with men.”
Liz stood and picked up her purse. “Molly, please stop living this way. You don’t need Joel.