Flee From Evil Read online

  She grimaced. “That’s the problem. Most churches I visited barely had enough volunteers willing to help their programs at all. And those that did, usually relied on other parents with special needs.

  “That’s awful.” Vince rubbed his throbbing knee. “The point is to relieve the parents, not burden them more.” He shook his head. “And I can’t help but wonder if we’re losing their other gifts, as well. You know, the ones they bury in the overwhelming care of their child.”

  Cass’s gaze shot to his. “Have you ever heard Isabella sing?”

  “No.”

  “I heard her through the window when I went to interview her at her home.” Cass’s eyes glistened. “I think it’s how she keeps Sean calm. He turns into a pussy cat when he hears it.”

  Vince sat straighter. “We need to get this program going.” His resolve strengthened with each passing day. “I want you to come to the church office next week and order whatever supplies you’ll need for the new classroom.”

  “But—”

  “Let me handle the volunteers.” He winked.

  She jolted and turned away.

  Two hours later, his knee no longer throbbed, but the doctor sent him with crutches just in case. Vince knew it would be better by the next morning having had the same kind of strain a few months back. A little rest and Advil would do the trick. Still, he couldn’t help thanking his God for the chance to spend time with Cass, if even for a little bit.

  Then he thought of the pizza crumb he’d offered Sophie, and how she said it would only make her want more. He looked to Cass, now pulling her car into his driveway, and realized how much he could relate.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So good to be in church together.”

  Cassandra pulled Sophie close. “Mm-hm.” She was glad to worship with her kids again too. So why did the air seem to vibrate with anxiety? Was she really going to sit through a painted-on sermon delivered by that silver-tongued charmer who’d ruined her life?

  Vince strode up the aisle shaking hands with parishioners at the ends of the pews. His gaze caught with the ones in the middle as he waved a greeting then locked on Cassandra. Her heart dropped as his large smile faltered then rallied as if to reassure her.

  He’d asked her to come today. It was important for the special needs program that its creator be present. She sucked in a wad of air, and squeezed Tibo’s delicate fingers. He held gently back.

  Vince returned to the front pew as the worship band started playing. The music and lyrics reminded her of a God in charge, bringing relief to the pounding of her heart.

  Finally, the lights brightened and Vince took the pulpit. “Open your Bibles to First Corinthians, chapter twelve.”

  Vince read the entire chapter, focusing on spiritual gifts, many different parts, and the body of Christ. As he enunciated certain words, like gift and different, Cassandra’s mind wandered to that moment in the emergency room when he’d said, “And I can’t help but wonder if we’re losing their other gifts, as well. You know, the ones they bury in the overwhelming care of their child.”

  Those words had stunned her. To think Vince could be so deep as to look beyond someone’s outward appearance, and consider hidden talents. She checked herself. Vince had seemed deep before, but that was a ruse to get what he wanted. He could always find a person’s vulnerability, only it wasn’t to help, but to exploit.

  Still, it showed he had a keen sense to see beyond the surface. What he could do with that sense if he’d only use it for God.

  “So the body is meant to work together. Where this one is weak, the other uses his strength to assist him, allowing that one to use his or her gift for another.” His blue eyes moved in Cassandra’s direction for one meaningful second. “We,” he stretched out his hands to the congregation, “work as a body. A whole. Together.”

  She shivered. He was using it for God.

  No, no, no. Not Vince. That’s what he wanted everyone to think. He couldn’t have changed that much.

  “Some of you are gifted in administration.” He grinned. “Oh, do I value you. We need you to keep us running. Some are gifted at building.” He grimaced, and a rumbling erupted from the congregation. He held his hands up. “And some of us are not.” He gestured to the piano and drums still behind him. “Some in music and some at teaching. When one assists the other, the other is freed to unleash his or her gifts for our pleasure,” Vince’s gaze rose to the ceiling, “and His glory.”

  He scanned the audience, resting his attention on individuals here and there. They nodded toward him as he did. “Many parts. One body.” He interlocked his fingers. “Its beauty is how it works together. Its function is how each part fills the gap of the other, meets the need of the weaker member.” His eyes became intense. “And what of that weaker member?” At this, he smiled toward Amit. Then, he brushed his gaze past Tibo before it landed on Cassandra. She swallowed at the way his crooked smile took her to memories she wished she could hate. “What does the Bible say about them?” He paused as if waiting for a word from God Himself. “They are indispensable.”

  “Preach it.” A voice called from the congregation. A few echoes followed.

  “What does this mean for Water’s Edge Community Church?”

  Cassandra dropped her attention to her hands folded in her lap as Vince outlined, in detail, the program Cassandra had designed. She didn’t dare look around, now, for fear she’d see a negative reaction in the eyes of the people nearby.

  Vince outlined the whys and the wherefores as if he’d studied her document from every angle, pointing out not only how the parishioners could use their gifts to help, but how it would in turn bring more members to the church freeing them up to use their gifts.

  The room was silent. Cassandra, enthralled by the power this man had with words, with emotion, and the passion of his delivery, swallowed the lump in her throat, almost believing he cared.

  “We need you all to make this happen. The ushers will be handing out cards. If you can volunteer in any way, please take one and fill it out.”

  The ushers stopped at the end of each pew, and handed the cards down the rows. Cassandra dared peek to see if anyone did as she hoped. Some passed the cards, some pocketed them, but many filled them out.

  Cassandra’s eyes burned as her attention rose to the man at the pulpit. His wink froze her. He did it. Just like he said he would. He took care of the volunteers.

  A tear finally fell. She brushed at it, but then another rolled down her other cheek. Her throat clogged. She slipped in front of Tibo, then her mother in the pew. Catching Vince’s concerned expression before she turned, she strode out of the sanctuary, barely able to control the tremors, bolted to the bathroom, and sobbed in a stall until her tear ducts had no more to give.

  ~*~

  Vince watched Cass flee like being chased by the devil himself. What had he done wrong? People were signing up, volunteering for her program, and she raced out as if she were angry.

  Dejected, he stepped aside as Pastor John rose to do the altar call. Vince stayed up front in case anyone came to receive Jesus as their personal Savior. The parishioners bowed their heads for prayer, and closed their eyes as John had instructed. All but young Tibo in the second row and Amit standing in the back. Vince mouthed the words close your eyes to Amit. He smiled big and exaggerated a hard blink as if to obey. Vince blinked back, only to feel the soft gaze of the little boy beside Mrs. Hessing. His expression somehow communicating a peaceful quality that calmed the nerves that had ratcheted at the vision of Cass running from the room. Vince finally closed his eyes too, receiving Pastor John’s words about a Savior who washed away his sins.

  The music ended. One woman had come forward to pray with John. Vince headed up the aisle and out to take his place at the front door. Cass exited the bathroom.

  “What happened to you?” Mrs. Hessing said to her daughter.

  It was apparent by the red swollen eyes. “Had something in my eye. Needed to get it out.�
�� Evidently she’d noticed as well. Tibo grasped her hand, and took in his mother’s face as if studying every cell of her skin. She dropped a kiss on his head and her shoulders seemed to relax at the contact.

  Vince greeted the line of people, but barely heard their words. “Thank you. Thank you.” He said at their accolades of his sermon. A few had twisted expressions and he wondered if he’d answered them correctly.

  “Wasn’t that a great sermon?” He heard Mrs. Hessing’s voice.

  Cassandra nodded, a pained smile on her face.

  Her mother patted her hand as she tugged her toward the door. “Let’s go thank the Pastor. You’re going to have plenty of help with your program, now.” Her tug met with resistance as Cass pointed to her eye, pulled free, and exited out the far door. Mrs. Hessing grimaced after her retreating daughter, then pointed a confounded expression right back at Vince.

  ~*~

  Kevin clapped the dust off his hands as he entered the living room. Cassandra Whitaker sat in a chair, furiously scribbling in a notebook as she flipped through a catalog. Probably from some high-priced furniture store.

  He hovered over her. “Looks like we’re done here. Would you like to take a final walk-through to see if it meets your expectations?” She’d probably find some flaw to complain about.

  She glanced up as if in a fog. “Oh. Uh. Sure. Where are your other guys?”

  “I sent them home.” Didn’t she trust the job was done?

  She flopped the catalog onto the coffee table. School supplies? Must be for her retarded kid. “Show me your work.” Cassandra straightened from the chair, smoothed her hair from her face, and followed Kevin to the new room.

  Kevin led her through the hall and into the first addition. She scanned the ceiling, the walls, and the carpet. “Looks good.”

  Of course it did. Kevin got the best guys he knew to do the job. He wanted to make sure she trusted him completely, while he’d taken every opportunity to look through her possessions. Unfortunately, the only thing of interest he’d found so far was a bank statement with a balance currently down to the minimum. Must be an old one she didn’t use anymore. She probably kept the information from the meatier accounts—and he knew she had some—in another location.

  Cassandra followed him into the next room, barely looking at the care he’d taken to edge the paint, and ensure the molding was straight and flush to the wall. “You guys did a great job. What do I owe you?”

  She wouldn’t get rid of him that easily. He had more searching he needed to do. “Why don’t you let me move the furniture into the rooms before I go?” He could take out drawers and rifle through them when she wasn’t looking.

  Already halfway down the hallway, she called back, “Oh, that’s not necessary.”

  He stepped to follow her. “No. I never consider a job done till everything is right where it belongs.”

  She met him midpoint, checkbook in hand. “That’s very nice of you, but your men are gone. I can handle it from here.”

  Kevin’s gaze hit the checkbook then scanned the empty house. Where was her mother and her kids? How long would they be gone? His attention landed on the lonely woman in front of him, the one who’d grown from the girl who’d never looked his way in high school. The curls escaping her ponytail screamed a vulnerability that made him want to prove his strength.

  She tilted her head, brows crinkling.

  Kevin shook from his thoughts. Back on track. He had bigger fish to fry. He’d like a look at that book in her hand, and figure a way to drain the account. “You can’t move it all by yourself. Let me help.”

  “Actually, I don’t have furniture for those rooms yet, so there’s nothing to move.

  Cursing to himself, he set his mind on overdrive. He needed something. Time was up. “How ‘bout the stuff we moved to open up the wall?”

  “Oh yeah. I guess you could help with that. It’s a long dresser, and a bit heavy for my mom.” She replaced the checkbook on the coffee table. “We can put it in Sophie’s room.”

  Sophie. That cute young thing. He’d been learning a lot about the developing teen over the weeks he’d worked this idea. She was the one who always seemed to be watching the little boy—the kid who couldn’t talk. The idea kept flashing in his mind till the checking account no longer interested him. Cassandra Whitaker’s weakest point—her kids. Now that was an idea that finally gelled, and if he used it, not only could he get his hands on Cassandra’s vast wealth, she’d be the one to hand it to him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lew held the tray of drinks as he slid onto the bench-seat in the stands at the Hagerstown raceway. The sound of roaring motors soothed him like ocean waves did to others.

  Tibo pulled his mom to follow.

  Lew shook his head at the way Cassandra stepped carefully over trash in those dainty little sandals.

  They settled into his favorite spot—close to the track, but high enough to see all the action. People around them stared at the unlikely trio—Tibo, Cassandra, and him—like they wondered how long the prissy-looking chick would stay married to the ragged old coot. Lew laughed at the thought as he checked out the woman next to him brushing track dust from her tidy white shorts. Like he’d marry a Lilly-White. He preferred women with spice.

  Cassandra scowled at his chuckle. “What are you laughing at?”

  He nodded toward the mud stain on the neatly folded cuff of her designer pants. “I guess I shoulda warned ya ’bout the dirt.”

  “You’d think I might have figured it out … since it is a dirt-track race.”

  “Yep.”

  Her smile caught him off guard. “But it was worth it, watching Tibo meet the drivers, and see the cars up close.”

  “Yeah, it was definitely worth it.” Lew felt his lip curl higher up than it usually did.

  After grabbing two sodas from the drink tray, she handed one to her son. “Thanks, Lew.”

  He dropped his gaze to his dusty boots, but felt her eyes bore into him.

  “Really, Lew. No one has ever taken the time to get to know Tibo like you have. And no one shares his passion for cars like you do.” She wrapped an arm around the boy, and he giggled. “This means a lot to both of us.”

  The kid stuck his forefingers in both ears as some engines roared below.

  Uh-oh. “He’s not gonna freak out with the noise or anything, is he?”

  Cassandra looked at her son, whose fingers were pulsing in and out of his ears now. She shook her head. “Oh, no. He’s not trying to stop the noise. He’s making it more interesting.”

  Lew grimaced. “But I thought autistic kids—” He cursed. “I mean, kids with autism,”—he stressed the phrase Kat had told him to use—“hate loud noises.”

  Cassandra’s grin took over her face.

  “What?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It’s just funny seeing you be so PC. Didn’t know you had it in you, Lew.”

  He grumbled. That’s what he got for trying.

  “You’re right. Most kids with autism are very sensitive to loud noises. Tibo is like that with a few things. Sometimes it’s the acoustics of certain buildings—particularly ones that echo. But with most things, he’s a sensory seeker, not a sensory avoider. That’s why he loves the engines, and tries to make the noise have more impact by moving his fingers in and out.”

  Louder roaring sounded from the track. Tibo palmed his ears this time, his smile uncontained.

  Lew nodded. “Sorry ’bout the word.”

  Her brows drew together. “You mean labeling him autistic rather than saying he has autism?” She smirked. “Or are you talking about the colorful word in between?”

  “Well, I guess”—he glanced at the boy who often repeated the last word of a sentence—“both.”

  She turned her body to look right at him. “Lew, lots of people use all the right politically correct language, and never once try to engage my son. They give me all kinds of recommendations they’ve learned from their friends and family m
embers about what to do for kids with autism, and never try to enter our world.” A weight seemed to bare down on the woman’s expression, but she gave him a small half-grin. “You’ve done both.” She faced forward, swallowed hard, and touched the corner of her eye. “Your actions have more meaning than those words ever will. You treat him as what those correct phrases are meant to convey.”

  He straightened his back, but for some reason couldn’t look at the lady next to him. Maybe it had something to do with how hot his face felt right now.

  She took a long draw of her soda then pointed the straw his way. “I never realized you were such a great driver.”

  He chuckled. He liked this prissy woman. But did the guys really have to tell her all the old stories?

  “That one racer, Jeremy Holt, said you were his idol when he was a kid. He wanted to drive just like you.”

  Lew kicked at a beer bottle cap on the board below his feet. “Yeah, well …” He didn’t know what else to say. He missed those days, and wished somehow he could do them over, but not mess them up so much.

  Bouncing, Tibo’s gaze followed the cars taking pre-race laps.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  Did he have to relive that part too? “Started losing.” He ground his bottom lip between his teeth, wishing he had some chewing tobacco. But he quit that stuff long time ago—it was bad for him.

  Cassandra shifted her gaze below as the green flag waved, and the race began. Tibo squealed with excitement, setting Lew’s heart to pound a happy gong. He never knew he could enjoy watching a kid bounce up and down on a seat. Poor boy’s back-side would likely kill him by the end of the day.

  Cassandra laughed and nodded to her son. “He’s like a fun-button in our house.”

  “A fun-button?”

  “Yeah, he turns the most mundane activities into a lot of fun.” She mussed the kid’s hair.

  “Are you calling racing mundane?” Lew tried the offended look.

  She shook her head. “Of course not. You know what I mean.”