Devotion Apart Read online

  "How long you back for?" He held me at arm's length, then used one meaty hand to touch my chin, to turn my face from side to side. "You didn't come back because you're terminal, did you? You ain't dying?"

  "I'm as healthy as Nightmare," I said, glancing with a smile at Rick. He swore and scowled at me, since I'd messed up his count. Naul laughed, and he handed me a business card with nothing on it but a suffix.

  "Hit me up any time, bro. Even angels need an army once in a while."

  "I'm no angel, Naul. But it's good to know I still have friends around."

  Outside, I climbed into my Jeep and drove out of the Airport District. Meeting with Naul hadn't been on my list of priorities, but I was pleased that God had let me touch base with him. When I had time, I planned to research Naul's profile, but for now, I'd put that on hold.

  Back in the city, I checked my texts and discovered that Karen had found a nice duplex for sale on Liberty Lake, local security included. Sadona was offering a fair price for the whole duplex, and I liked the idea of having two different sizeable apartments, each with three bedrooms, at my disposal. I texted Karen and prayed for the situation involving Sadona. Regardless of her resistance that weekend, she was already involved.

  South of the city, I parked down the street from my father's house, and logged onto RASH. He woke from a nap, then left the house to walk up the block to the corner store. This time, when I entered his front door I carried a bag of groceries with specific health items I knew he wasn't eating, like health bars that were packed with vitamins. They weren't fruit and vegetables, but it was a start. The kitchen was still clean, which was a pleasant surprise.

  I hustled into the back room where my father had been tossing his dirty clothes on an unmade bed. No wonder he was sleeping in the recliner in front of the television every night; his bed was overwhelmed with dirty laundry. Gathering up the four corners of the sheet, I bundled the bulk of the clothes in a huge wrap, which I carried out to the Jeep and set in the back seat. Immediately, my whole car stank.

  At the laundromat a few blocks away, I sat in front of the washer and scrolled through more of councilman McMaster's life. The more I studied his activities, the more I realized how protected he was. Not even Fletcher had realized how closely McMaster owned or worked with dozens of officials, police officers, attorneys, judges, and many white-collar businessmen in the city. The man seemed invincible for the way he imported humans and gave away lives as favors to other predators. Children were currency to this man, and women were cast away after being used. With so many powerful clients, McMaster might've thought he was untouchable, and perhaps he would've been, if I wasn't the one looking to touch him.

  Yet for all of his strengths, I finally found his one weakness, and in that one weakness, I envisioned his entire life being vulnerable. He had a daughter named Ruth who was missing, and he spoke regularly to the missing person's detective in a different precinct than Fletcher's. When I listened to several of those calls, I realized his daughter had been missing for two years. A father, so powerful and in control, couldn't even find his own daughter.

  At that moment, I prayed Ruth was still alive. Satan seemed to be ruining McMaster with all of his strengths, but I anticipated how God would use the councilman's secret weakness to deliver him from his lifestyle.

  "Praise God," I whispered in the laundromat when RASH offered me Ruth's profile, and where she was staying in one of the tent cities nearby. She was alive, but in bad shape. A number of surveillance clips of Ruth McMaster showed her in her early twenties walking the street, looking for johns, and scoring dope. Such footage was uncensored and all of it made me sick.

  I prayed through the second cycle of clothes in the dryer, seeking God's face regarding McMaster and his daughter Ruth. Finally, I felt ready to make the call, dialed his number.

  "I found Ruth," I said, my voice low over the nearby machine noise. A couple of college-kids visited on the other end of the laundromat, but I was otherwise alone. "It's not good."

  "Who is this?" McMaster was in his Bangour Commons apartment. "How did you get this number?"

  "I heard you were looking for your daughter. I'm a. . .searcher."

  "Where is she?" His voice was frantic. "Tell me. I can pay you, whoever you are, Searcher."

  "It'll cost you, but not money."

  "What are you talking about? Who is this?"

  "Clear your schedule for tomorrow."

  "Don't play games with me! You'll regret it."

  "You have to decide what you want in life, Roger. Your daughter, or everything that keeps you from your daughter! She may not have much longer."

  "Tell me where she is!"

  "I'll pick you up outside your apartment around eight tomorrow morning."

  After I got off the line with him, I watched McMaster pace back and forth in his apartment. Several times, he started to call someone, then decided against it. Finally, he threw his phone across the room and the signal was lost. But his home security system was still operating, and he had two other phones and a laptop in the apartment—not to mention thermal imaging from outside drones. Nothing he said or did was hidden.

  From a vending machine on the wall, I bought two mesh bags for my father's clothes. As I removed each item from the dryer, I folded and rolled them, then stuffed them into the bags.

  I returned to my father's house and parked on the curb in front. Instead of breaking into the house, I rang the doorbell this time. I could hear the television inside, so I knew he was home and hopefully awake. After a moment, the door opened, and we looked at each other in the face. He was shorter than I had remembered. Although I had inherited his stature, I had not inherited his girth. His belly seemed to start at his chest, and it tested the limits of his worn and faded belt at the bottom.

  "Laundry service," I said jokingly as I held up the two heavy bags, one of whites and one of colored, but suddenly, I realized he didn't recognize me. "Delivery for Earl Dalton. Is that you?"

  "My clothes?" He squinted through his glasses at the bags. "I didn't order any laundry service."

  "But you are Earl Dalton?"

  "Yeah, but. . ." Befuddlement twisted his face, and he turned back and peered at the back bedroom, as if he hadn't gone into the room since returning from the store to see that anything was amiss. "Okay, you can put 'em in here on the couch. I'll clear a spot."

  Beer cans littered the sofa, and dribbled beer had stained the fabric.

  "Well, these are clean clothes, sir." I didn't set them on the sofa. "Maybe you have somewhere else to put them? How about in drawers?"

  "Okay, back here." He led me into the back bedroom. "I hope you don't expect a tip. I didn't ask for no laundry service. Someone thinks they're helping me, and I don't know why. I didn't win anything."

  In the bedroom, I set both bags on the stripped bed, then opened all of his drawers. He had more clothes than I did. One item at a time, I laid the clothes in the drawers. I wasn't in a hurry as I waited for him to take a good look at my features. How could my own father not recognize me?

  "Don't worry about it," I said as I worked. "It's all part of the service. Sometimes we don't need to do anything to be treated well. Sometimes we're shown favor based upon others, not ourselves. That's the way it was with me. That's what grace is, you know? That's favor we don't deserve."

  "And you work for this service?" He rubbed his forehead. "I don't know why someone would pick me."

  I closed each drawer as I filled them, then hung the two empty laundry bags on wall hooks where he could fill them up instead of piling dirty clothes on the bed. Next, I spread the washed sheets on the mattress and made the bed.

  "Everybody's somebody, sir. You're special to someone, and that makes what I do for you an honor for me. It's all covered by the service, but the real reward is getting to know the people, people like you."

  "Yeah, I'm no one special. Famous people are worth knowing. I just sit in my house all day minding my own business. Plus my health is bad.
"

  "Maybe that would change if you didn't sit in your house all day." I tucked in the last corner and rested my hands on my hips. "I bet I could get us a couple fishing licenses. I haven't been fishing for a while. How about you? Liberty Lake must have boats for rent, right?"

  "I don't have no money for that." He seemed to snarl at the idea. "And I don't like going outside."

  "Hey, I'll bring an umbrella or something so we can stay out of the sun. How's Thursday sound? Just two guys on the lake, fishing. Unless you'd rather go water skiing."

  "No, not no water skiing. I have plans Thursday."

  I slapped him on the shoulder, knowing his calendar was clear.

  "That's right, fishing plans. I'll pick you up around dawn, all right? You got a fishing pole?"

  "No, why would I have a fishing pole?"

  "I'll get us a couple poles, and I'll recon the lake."

  "Recon?"

  "Find out on which side the fish will be biting. Probably the east side in the morning, where there's shade. Okay, Thursday morning then. I'll get the gear, and you pack us some snacks."

  "Uh, beer?"

  "No, something healthy. Actual food would be best, something two guys can chomp on while enjoying the great outdoors."

  "I think I have stuff in the kitchen. Your, uh, service put it in there." Together, we walked back through the living room and to the front door where I turned and offered my hand. I couldn't remember ever shaking my father's hand.

  "It's been a pleasure, sir."

  "This ain't part of the service, is it?" He limply shook my hand. "I mean, the fishing. You're not getting paid to go fishing with me, are you?"

  "Absolutely not. We'll just be two buddies out in God's wilderness because we choose to brave the outdoors."

  "I think the lake is manmade."

  "It still needs to be conquered, right?" I laughed and swung open the front door. "I'll see you Thursday morning, Earl. Just think! We could be eating lake trout by Thursday night!"

  "Wait!" he called when I was halfway up the walk to my Jeep. "You didn't tell me your name."

  I turned and looked back.

  "It's Cord." I watched his face for joy, anger, sadness, or shock, but there was nothing. "You can call me Cord, okay?"

  "I think. . .I once knew someone named Cord. A long time ago."

  He stood in his doorway, a lonely, dying man. And I loved him, even though he didn't recognize me, or he refused to realize it was me, or it was too painful to admit that it was me. Whatever the case, he was my father. I didn't need his acknowledgment to love him, and maybe that was God's intention between us all along—for me to love my father willingly, not because my father deserved my love. I was learning to be a son for the first time.

  Tears blurred my vision as I drove away. I wiped my face dry, cleared my throat, and focused on the following day's trial, which was to be spent with Roger McMaster. Could I deliver his daughter to him? Could I tear McMaster from his life of victimizing the innocent? It was a lot to ask for, which was why I kept talking to God about it, working the plan out in my mind.

  Following my phone's direction, I found the duplex that I'd bought that day. It was now evening, and I was surprised to find Sadona on the porch outside. I parked on Raze Road, and upon approaching the duplex, I peered past the house at Liberty Lake. It was a mile across to the other shore, and over a mile in length, north to south. Although the community wasn't gated, the neighborhood was definitely upper class, and a security blazer prowled up the street, its windows tinted.

  "The owners were so glad to sell this place," Sadona said, rising from the porch, "that they didn't have a problem with Karen and Talia moving in while escrow closes."

  I shook her hand, happy to see her beaming face.

  "I'm surprised you're working so late. I came to check on the property. Looks like you're taking care of the girls, huh?"

  "It's the least I can do, Cord, with the huge commission I'm getting. I'm just watching the place while they're out shopping." She sat back down on the steps, and I joined her. "Your friend in Morliam Acres let you buy this place for strangers? Just like that?"

  "You might be over-valuing money and under-valuing strangers, Sadona." I admired the neighborhood. "We have one job as God's people here on earth, and that's to make disciples of Jesus Christ, so God is glorified. I didn't do that with the first half of my life, but now knowing God's eternal purpose, I can give the rest of my life to it."

  "But not everyone's like you." She stood and looked down at me. "We can't just drop everything in our lives because suddenly Cord Dalton shows up and he wants to do things for God. It's not fair to expect that of other Christians. Don't you get that?"

  "I've pushed for some spontaneity. So what?" I shrugged. "I'm sure you're serving God in your own way, Sadona. Don't worry. I won't pressure you or your friends to help."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Her fist clenched. "How dare you, you self-righteous—"

  "What are you angry about?" I remained seated on the steps, but I held my arms wide. "Others like Karen are getting involved. You don't have to worry, Sadona. Your life doesn't need to be interrupted any further."

  "You!" She huffed at me. "I've never wanted to hit someone as badly as I do right now!"

  "And I can't recall ever talking to another Christian as I am right now. As a matter of fact, I've never had a reason to remind a believer of her Christian obligations to Christ in her own city. It reminds me of Paul asking Philemon to—"

  She hit me hard on the left side of the head, mostly above the hairline, but I felt it. Her fist must've not been clenched too tightly, because an instant later, her breathless gasping betrayed her pain. As she danced away, holding her hand, I stood and tried to settle her down. Finally, she collapsed on the grass and I knelt in front of her.

  "I warned you!" She held her hand, now limp. "Oh, I can't believe I hit you. I can't feel my fingers. I think I broke something. It hurts so bad!"

  "Imagine how my head feels." I chuckled and took her injured hand in my own. "Come on. Let me see it. Open it. Okay, close it. Can you feel this?"

  "Yeah." She flinched as I traced her skin lightly.

  "You probably just bruised a nerve or something. Nothing's out of place. Next time you punch me, clench your fist tightly. Or use your open palm, to make it a solid slap."

  "I saw your challenge on ReVo." She tried to smile at me, tears on her cheeks. "Maybe I shouldn't have hit you at all."

  "Yes, that would work, too. Come on." I led her back to the stairs. "It was my fault. for provoking you."

  "Yes, you did." She still let me hold her hand. "For some reason, I don't think you're finished."

  "No, I'm finished." I continued to examine her hand, the palm, and her fingers, not because there was an injury, but because I couldn't let go. "I just want you to know I'm involving you in what I'm doing, even though you and your friends brushed me off."

  "I thought you said you weren't going to ask us to get involved anymore."

  "I was using reverse psychology. I want you all involved. I need you."

  "We didn't brush you off."

  "Yes, you did. But I'm okay with it. I showed you the courtesy of asking you to be involved, and you declined. Now, I'm not asking. Look, you just found a safe house for two women. That's just two to start with."

  "I'm getting paid to do this."

  "You received a commission for a sale, didn't you? No one's paying you to house sit while Karen and Talia are out shopping."

  "I promised them I'd watch the place until they got back."

  "And that's why I approached you and your friends the other night. You have the heart to care for others. You made a commission today, but normally, helping others will require a sacrifice."

  "I know." She looked away, hiding her face, clearing her throat, and wiping her eyes. "Sometimes God has a hard way of teaching us His will."

  "It'll all work out. You'll see." I raised her hand and kissed her palm, then l
et her go as I stood. "Pray for me. Tomorrow, I'll be in the lion's den."

  I walked toward my Jeep.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" She jumped up and took a couple steps, then stopped. "Shouldn't we talk some more?"

  I grinned and waved, then climbed into the Jeep. I was tempted to stay, not only because I liked her company, but also because I believed she'd had a spiritual breakthrough—at the expense of both of us feeling some pain.

  Since I was in the middle of taking care of a human trafficker, I didn't feel like boyfriend material right now—but it sure felt natural to hold her hand. . .

  Chapter Eight

  It was Wednesday, and for the first time since arriving back in the States, I dressed in front of the mirror. Much of the night had been spent in prayer, but I wasn't tired. I was calm and eager to see how God would drive Roger McMaster to his knees.

  My hair was still an unruly pile of yarn, but at least it was washed. My clothes were in the wash so, I wore jeans and a blue blazer over a white t-shirt and my hiking boots. And to complete my ensemble, I carried my satchel, which contained my bush knife, Bible, phone, and a wallet with an old paper ID.

  Craig had been accommodating if not present. The night before, he hadn't blinked when I'd told him I'd spent over one million dollars for a duplex on the lake to keep the women safe. Instead, he'd promised to back me whether I was taking care of my dad or strangers. I hadn't mentioned my father to him, so I knew that was his way of letting me know he'd been watching me. RASH wasn't profiling my activities in its database, but he could still follow me in real-time.

  With a full day ahead, I ate a full breakfast with Tyler and Janae. They seemed oddly quiet and not as inquisitive as they had been, but I couldn't include them in the Lord's work until they possessed the Spirit of Christ, and as yet, they had not shown interest in the way I'd opened the door in various ways to speak about the Savior. Nevertheless, over sausage, eggs, and hash browns, I shared with them personal news, about how my father was reacting to my gradual entrance into his life.