Flee From Evil Read online

  “He’s been trying to start a special needs ministry for a couple months.”

  This didn’t sound like the self-centered man she knew. “Why?”

  Kat scanned the hair salon as if looking for someone. “I think it’s because of Isabella.”

  Of course—a woman.

  “Isabella is one of my hair dressers. She’s a single mom and her son has autism too.” She wrapped the small towel around Cassandra’s neck. “She came to our church once, but her son caused such a ruckus in Children’s worship she swore she’d never come back.”

  That’s what caused the fear in the teacher’s eye when she’d mentioned Tibo’s issues.

  “It really bothered Pastor Vince, because he feels those who are hurting are the ones who need the church the most.” Kat led Cassandra to her station. “So he researched the proportion of families with special needs children in the area, and realized the church sees a smaller percentage than the public schools. He says the church should see more, not less.” Her voice became animated. She obviously loved the pastor as much as Cassandra’s mom. Noticing Kat’s intense gaze pointed at her through the station mirror, Cassandra suppressed the eye-roll.

  “He said when Jesus told the weary and burdened to come to Him, that means the church should have more weary and burdened.”

  Boy, Vince still knew how to charm the ladies. Appeal to their vanity and their sense of compassion. If only she could gag out loud.

  The bell on the door jangled.

  “Pastor Vince.” Kat’s smile split her face. “We were just talking about you.”

  At least he had the sense to look concerned, his gaze questioning Cassandra’s reflection. What did he think she’d divulge?

  “Oh yeah?” He had a small tremor in his voice.

  “Did you know Cassandra, here, started a special needs program at her church in Philadelphia?”

  His blue eyes darkened hinting at intense interest.

  “And.” She patted Cassandra’s shoulder. “She’s looking for a job.”

  He stilled.

  ~*~

  Cass looking for a job and him needing someone to design this program. Vince peered at the hefty diamond ring and the fancy shoes resting on the little bar at the end of the chair. Something didn’t set right. He’d heard she’d married rich. Very rich. Had her husband not left her provided for? Or were her tastes too high class now she always needed more?

  No. Not Cass. It was instinct for Vince to think that way given his upbringing on the high end. And even among those he knew from the drug trade. Those who had, wanted more. Like it would fill the chasm in their souls that only deepened with the pursuit of things.

  “I’m not interested in developing a special needs ministry.” Cass didn’t even look at him.

  Her mom gasped, eyes incredulous. “What are you saying? You need the money and you’d be perfect for it.”

  “Your pastor,” her eyes met his for one painful second in the mirror, “does not need to be saddled with an employee just because I need a job.”

  He sat in the station next to where Kat trimmed those luscious auburn curls. Vince’s mind traveled to the memory of the feel of them running through his fingers. He shook out of it, and softened his voice. “I do really need to hire someone.” He thought about the boy with her in church, obviously special needs himself. “You could work from home.”

  “Sorry, I’m late.” Isabella’s Hispanic accent cracked with emotion as she flew in through the back entrance. “Sean had a tantrum at the school, and I needed to calm him.”

  Vince’s heart plunged at the stress on the young woman’s face. He could see in Cassandra’s eyes—so did hers. Would Isabella ever find peace? She dropped her purse at the station where Vince sat, then closed herself into the bathroom, sobs murmuring through the salon.

  Vince glared at the door then back at Cass. He whispered, “She needs you.”

  Cass’s eyes flashed as she mouthed, “That’s not fair.”

  Kat’s brows drew together at the gesture.

  Leaning back in the salon chair, Vince contemplated his one last argument. He knew this would seal the deal. “Unfortunately, if you took the job, you’d have to visit other church services on Sundays to see what their programs are like. I hope that won’t be a problem.” He knew it was the excuse she needed. “Your mom could bring your kids to our church while you check the others out.”

  Cass’s look reminded him of his old best friend, Drew’s, when they played chess. She released a long-suffering breath. “How about we meet at your office to discuss the possibility?”

  He nodded. Check. But something about the tone of her voice and the tension in her jaw told him it was anything but check-mate.

  ~*~

  Archibald Lewis pressed the gas of the big boxy delivery truck, feeling it labor just to make the speed limit. Was he dragging an elephant on its back, by its ear? The slow pace of the ride was maddening. The only worse thing about this job was the cutesy brown shorts they made him wear. It reminded him of the Easter suit his mother bought him when he was five. He tugged at the buttoned-up collar, and wondered again whether or not he should accept Billy’s offer to work at the garage.

  Bah! He couldn’t be an employee of his own boy.

  Lew, as his friends called him, fished the thermos from his pack while cruising the interstate, unscrewed the nozzle and took a gulp of soda mixed with scotch. He needed something to calm the ole ticker that wanted to speed as much as he did—like the old days at the dirt-track.

  A car horn blared. He swore. Probably shouldn’t drift into another lane while someone’s passing him. With a belch he replaced the thermos in his bag.

  First delivery. He rolled his eyes. Billy’s church. The one his son talked about all day long. The one that brought him to Jee-zuss! The boy was practically a preacher himself. It got so bad Lew contemplated stuffing toilet paper in his ears whenever his son visited. Was Lew so awful Billy needed to knit-pick about every last fault? He was only human. Knowing what Billy thought of him, he didn’t need an answer to that question.

  Lew pulled off the exit, down the local roads of Water’s Edge and entered the Community Church parking lot.

  After fishing around the back for the heavy box, he tromped up the steps and into the building.

  “Oh yes! My new computer is here.” The black woman grabbed the box right out of his arms.

  “Whoa, there, woman.”

  She arched a brow.

  “You need to sign the doo-hicky first.”

  She slid the box onto a table and scribbled on the little window.

  Lew released a long breath.

  The woman jerked back and bunched her eyebrows. “You know we have lots of services here for people.” She watched the pen loop her name. “Grief groups, Marriage Prep.” Her eyeballs seized him with an unholy glare. “A.A.”

  Lew shifted. “I don’t need no groups.”

  Billy’s pastor—John, was it?—slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Lew, I see you brought Yolanda’s computer.” His silver-haired head nodded at her to leave.

  She gave one last hard look at Lew and harrumphed as she strolled away with her new toy.

  “You just made her day.”

  “I can tell.”

  John gave a good-natured chuckle. “Stop by and see us on a Sunday sometime.”

  “No thanks, preacher. All that organ music and holy people …” He looked down the hall at the woman with the box.

  “Yep. I guess you’d be disappointed here then, Lew. We sold the organ ten years ago to pay for the band equipment, and nothin’ but sinners warming the pews since the day we opened our doors.”

  Lew’s eyes followed the secretary. “Yeah, I bet.”

  John seemed amused. “Don’t mind her. She’s a sinner too.”

  “Does she know that?”

  John’s eyebrows jumped. “You bet she does. It’s the reason she speaks her mind. She’d rather prevent others from seeing the destruction s
he saw in her younger years. She’s just not real good at …” John twisted his mouth this way then that, “ … softening her concern.”

  The pastor turned to follow the Yolanda woman and called over his shoulder. “Tell Billy I said hi.”

  “Sure.” If he even saw him.

  Chapter Five

  Cassandra hitched her briefcase under her arm pit, straightened her black, pencil skirt and smoothed a curl from her face before entering the church office. This moment felt somewhere between critical job interview and being fed to a ravenous wolf.

  “May I help you?” The thirty-ish woman peeked up from under her desk, a large opened box with plastic wrap and styrofoam sticking out in all directions, beside her. Her expression held more question than necessary.

  “I’m here to interview for the job of Special Needs Ministry Coordinator.” Cassandra kept the business in her voice, though she stacked emotional armor around herself as she followed the woman’s gaze to a crooked window that peered into an office. Inside it, Vince sat at a large desk, piles of paper lining the edges, talking on the phone.

  She gestured to a hard plastic chair. “Have a seat. He’ll be right out.” She grunted and ducked to the floor again, apparently hooking cables to the computer equipment.

  Cassandra did as she was instructed, breathing a sigh while she still had the chance, and peeked again at the misshapen frame around Vince’s office window.

  The secretary lifted from her position, straightened out her clothes then dropped into her chair, pushing buttons on several devices. A smile stretched across her dark-skinned face as she appraised the obviously new equipment booting up. Glancing at Cassandra, her smile transformed into a smirk. “You’re probably wondering why the window to his office looks outta whack.”

  “Yes.” Maybe small-talk would calm her nerves.

  “Pastor Vince cut that into the wall himself after studying a Youtube video on how to install windows.” Her wary eyes told Cassandra what she thought of the idea. “He said if church members were going to build houses and make repairs for the poor, he needed to learn how to be handy with a hammer and nail.” She chuckled. “Truth is, we all wish he’d give up and just rake leaves or something. He spends more time in the emergency room for injuries on sites than he does actually helping.”

  Cassandra looked through the window again, wondering if they were talking about the same man. “Then why does he do it?”

  The woman grimaced. “He has this romantic notion about people who build things. Like they’re all Jesus, the carpenter. And he feels he should be more like them.”

  Vince? He was a bigger con-artist now than ever. How long could he keep up that charade? And what did he stand to benefit?

  “Why a window into the office?”

  The woman sobered. “I’m sure you’ve heard about his history?” She glanced around. “With women?”

  Boy had she.

  “He felt it best that since everyone knows about his past, that his behavior is above reproach and transparent. No chance for rumors. He never counsels anyone unless there is someone out here who can see him, and the blinds to the office are open.”

  It sounded like a fishbowl. “What about the person being counseled?”

  “They can sit on the other side where they won’t be visible in case they become upset.”

  Vince’s constant chatter stopped, and he returned his phone to the cradle. Cassandra couldn’t take her eyes off the man behind the window as he opened a drawer of his desk and grasped something from it. He dropped his head back into the large office chair and closed his eyes, holding the object in both hands as if it brought him life. Finally, his eyes opened, and he placed the object back into the drawer.

  He stood, causing Cassandra’s heart to pound. Why was she here? This idea was pure stupidity. Did she really think she could face this man again and tell him what she thought of his scam?

  The office door swung open and he rushed out. “Yolanda, did the home for the mentally challenged ever call?”

  “No, Pastor Vince.”

  He rubbed at the black goatee that now graced what once had been a smooth, always tanned, jawline.

  Cassandra swallowed the lump in her throat. How could she even speak to this man?

  “They said they were going to send us someone to help with janitorial work.” His eyebrows knotted, his breaths seemed shallow.

  “I know that, Pastor Vince.” Her voice was soft as though to calm the man’s agitated demeanor. Yolanda lifted her hand in Cassandra’s direction. “Your ten-o’clock is early.”

  He stiffened. “Cass—um, Mrs. Whitaker, why don’t you come into my office?”

  Cassandra’s facial muscles jerked as her gaze dropped from his face to her shoes. She stood, entered the office, pulling the chair in front of the desk back a few inches to afford less of a view to the woman outside the window.

  Her muscles seized at the click of the door shutting. Trapped.

  A dramatic pause followed the sound before Vince finally moved behind the desk and found his seat. He didn’t say anything. It was almost as if he thought she should be the first to speak.

  She couldn’t.

  “Cass—”

  “Don’t call me that.” The name felt like tiny bits of broken glass slicing through the inside of her veins.

  He drew in a breath. “Cassandra—”

  ~*~

  “It’s Mrs. Whitaker to you.”

  This was a bad idea. Vince didn’t know why he’d gone along with it. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity while Kat’s eyes were on him at the hair salon, and after hearing Isabella sobbing in the bathroom. He knew something needed to be done. Why had God sent Cass to be his savior? Maybe because she’d been his savior, of sorts, before.

  “Mrs. Whitaker.”

  Could green eyes harden like steel? Apparently.

  “Let’s just clear the air, here, Pastor Vince.”

  “I’d like to.” He didn’t dare look at her. The heat of her anger seared through him.

  “I’m not here because of you.”

  “I didn’t think that.”

  “Or because you made a plea for that poor girl.”

  “I—”

  She held up her hand. “I’m here because I need a job,” she sucked in a breath, “and an excuse not to go to your church on Sundays.”

  He resisted the little smile that tugged on his lips. He knew that would work. “Yes, I am well aware how much you loathe me and need to be out of my presence.”

  “Loathe you? Do you think this is a joke?”

  He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. It traveled along her designer suit that seemed to see a few years use, with frayed edges and slightly worn spots, then met her eyes again. “This is not a joke to me either, Mrs. Whitaker.” His lips almost stumbled over the too-distant name. “I really need someone to design this program, and you appear to be the one most qualified.”

  She pulled a stack of papers out of her brief case and plopped it on his desk. “Then, this is how it’s going to be.” She located a page with a list of addresses. “These are the churches with special needs programs in the Baltimore-Washington area, currently. I will be visiting each on Sundays for the next several weeks to observe how they work. I will interview church leaders and members with special needs children, and will report on my findings once I’ve finished.”

  Vince’s left brow rose involuntarily. Who was interviewing whom? Maybe it was best to let her have her way. Clearly, she knew her stuff.

  “I will also be conducting a needs assessment with leaders of the surrounding community—”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  Cassandra stilled, the look in her eyes reminding him of moments together when she shared her passion for helping others. Her hope, way back then, had been to be involved in program development for those in need. He remembered her chatting on and on about how important a needs assessment was in order to make sure the program met the desired goal without
duplicating services. Her idealism seeped into the cracks he’d laid open to her, breaking through the veneer of his self-absorption. Did Cassandra remember those conversations too?

  “Uh, well. Good. I guess I won’t need to do that.” Her lashes lifted as her eyes hardened. “I’ll need to see what you’ve done to be certain it is adequate for our purposes.”

  “Of course.” He fished through a drawer and handed her a copy.

  She stood, gathered her purse and briefcase, leaving her notes on his desk. She pointed a finger at him. “You stay away from me, and maybe we can make this work.”

  Vince swallowed.

  “I don’t know how you’ve hypnotized my mother.” She looked around. “Not to mention the rest of this congregation, but it won’t work on me. If I could, I’d tell my mother what you are.”

  He only stared. Usually good with words, none came now. None were adequate.

  “But you know I won’t do that, don’t you?”

  “Cass—” His jaw hardened at the flame in her eyes. “You can tell her whatever you think she should hear.”

  She pivoted. The air in the room swirled with the force of the opening door.

  Yolanda stared after Cassandra as she strode out of the office. “Well I guess you didn’t hire her.”

  Vince’s forefinger ran the edge of his goatee. “Actually, I think I just did.”

  ~*~

  Cassandra shook so hard her keys rattled when she attempted to open the car door. She flinched at the screech of tires as a sports car with tinted windows burned rubber against the asphalt in the parking lot. Was the driver showing off, or escaping from someone? After a meeting with Vince Steegle, she suspected nefarious intentions around every corner. She’d have to learn to calm herself. After all, she’d be working for the man. The thought almost brought convulsions. She dropped into her seat, dragged her briefcase across her chest to the passenger seat and closed the door before leaning her head on the steering wheel.

  One. Two. Three breaths.

  She must be desperate.

  The pages of the needs assessment crinkled as she dragged them from her bag and flipped through them. Her eyes burned as they scanned the pages listing statistics from schools, interviews with medical professionals, and concerns from church personnel in the area. Had Vince really done all this? He’d summarized literature on special needs programs, and written a thorough argument for including a ministry at Water’s Edge Community. No wonder the church agreed to pay the part-time salary she’d be collecting.