 
### Lily's Redemption

### A Novella by Jeffrey Allen Davis

### Smashwords Edition

### Copyrighted Material

Copyright 2010 Jeffrey Allen Davis

This book is a work of fiction. Places, events and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

Published by GCD Publishing

Edited by Karen Griffiths

Christian Fiction

http://www.jeffreyallendavis.tk

http://www.gcdpublishing.co.cc

### Lily's Redemption

### Synopsis

Novelist Thomas Bradford has lived with his young daughter, Melissa, in Central Missouri since the death of his wife. He is surprised when feelings begin to stir in his heart for Kassandra, a new attendee of his church. But a sinister man from her past threatens to destroy the peaceful life that Tom has worked so hard to build.

### Dedication

To My Father, George Charles Davis.

Thanks, Dad, for filling me with a love of reading.

### Acknowledgements

Thank you to all who have helped me along the way:

Karen G., for being the most hard-nosed editor that the world has ever known.

My dear cousin, Taylor, for modeling Lily's eyes for the cover.

Dear Sister Alicea Fournier (fountofblessing.com), who took time from her busy schedule to proofread this project.

Bobby G., Brandy G., Evan G., Patrick S., Joel U., for their grace and understanding.

Also to Evan and Karen G. for their design for the cover photo.

To my guardian angel, Jan Meza-Merritt, who was watching out for me, even when she didn't know it.

To the Pink Cross Foundation (thepinkcross.org), for their tireless devotion to reach out to those oppressed by the porn industry.

To my mother, who has given up her years for her family and continues to sacrifice for me.

To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, Who walks with me daily.

Prologue

Sunday, 7:05 PM

The woman stared intently at the preacher. His words hit her like a fist.

"The Bible says that the penalty for sin is death."

She shook all over. Her terror at that moment was greater than any fear that she had ever experienced. She placed her hands on the pew in front of her to steady herself. Other women in the room had fallen into stupors at various times in the service, but she knew that, if she were to hit the ground at this point, it would not be because of an Anointing of the Spirit.

The beautiful, young woman looked upward, her repentant, green eyes trying to fix upon something that mortal eyes couldn't see. "I'm so sorry," she cried weakly. "I'm so sorry . . .."

Her attention was drawn back to the front of the church by the preacher's next words. "But praise the living God, because that declaration is not the end of the story!" He stepped out from behind the podium. "John 3:17 tells us that Christ didn't come into the world to condemn it, but to save it. He came to give hope to sinners. His precious Blood can cleanse us of anything . . . if we just repent and believe."

The woman ran her fingers through her bleached hair as she wept. _How can He forgive what I've done? How could_ _anybody_ _?_

When the woman opened her eyes, the preacher was staring straight at her. "Some of you have led lives that would floor others. Maybe even me." He smiled warmly at her. "But God has always seen what you have done and He would still extend His hand to you."

For the first time in nearly two weeks, the woman's heart felt lighter. She stepped out of the pew and into the aisle, and then took one step toward the front of the sanctuary. Then she took another . . . then another.

She examined her clothing as she walked. Her jeans were too tight and they were frayed at the bottom of the left leg. Her blouse was missing the top button, showing too much of her womanly charms. Until now, she'd never given a second thought to replacing it.

She looked like a prostitute. Or at least that was how she felt. She knew that she was wearing too much makeup and that she shouldn't have dressed the way that she did when she knew that she was coming here tonight. But what could she have worn? A dress? Any of those that she owned were even less decent.

She came to stand before the preacher. She couldn't look him in the face. He seated himself on the stage with his legs hanging off and dropped to the floor. "What can I pray with you about this evening?" he asked in his soothing voice.

"Forgiveness," she wept. "My sin has caused so many to stumble . . .."

Chapter One

Sunday, 8:00 AM

"Daddy!" called a young voice from the next room. "I can't find my Sunday School book!"

A sharp intake of air shot through Tom's clenched teeth as the blade of his razor nicked his jawbone. "Isn't it with your Bible?" he asked aloud as he grabbed a hand-towel and wiped away some of the blood.

"No," the voice was a little less loud this time. "Never mind. It fell off my desk. I found it."

About half a minute later, a knock sounded on the bathroom door. "Are you almost done, Daddy? I'm hungry."

"Just another couple of minutes, Missy," he responded, his voice distorted by the stretching of his upper lip as he eased the blade down it. "Then we'll have some waffles."

* * *

"I got a '100' on my spelling test Friday," the dark-haired six year-old piped as she poured blueberry syrup over her stack of waffles. The sound of Christian music came in from the stereo in the living room.

Tom had started cutting into his own breakfast. "Wow." He smiled at her. "I'm proud of you. Why'd you wait until today to tell me?"

Melissa set the bottle down and licked a finger that had managed to get a drop of syrup on it. "I forgot."

Tom shook his head. "We were at the Dairy Cone yesterday. If you'd have shown that to them, they'd have given you a free ice cream cone."

"But Daddy," she returned, her left eyebrow cocked, "I didn't need all of that sugar. It's bad for me."

Tom scooted his chair away from the oval-shaped table and grabbed his daughter, pulling her onto his lap. "How many other parents have to argue with their children to get them to eat sweets every now and then?"

Missy giggled. "I'm a keeper, aren't I Daddy?"

Her dad kissed her on the forehead, then replied, "Definitely."

* * *

The church was bustling that morning. Tom pulled his late nineties model Cavalier into the parking space, trying not to be irritated at having to park so far away.

"Wow," piped Missy from her booster seat in the back. "There sure are a lot of people here today."

Tom turned around and helped his daughter to unfasten her seatbelt. "When you have to look hard to find a parking space on Sunday morning, it's a good thing. Your mother always used to say that."

After the two had climbed from the vehicle, they walked toward the building. Tom unconsciously slowed his walking so that he didn't drag Melissa, who was holding his hand and humming a praise tune. They arrived at the glass double-doors and Tom opened one for Melissa, and then followed her in.

Pastor Bill was welcoming everyone as they entered. "Good mornin' Tom! And little Sister Melissa!"

Tom shook the preacher's hand. "Good morning, Reverend."

"Did ya finish writin' that new book yet?"

Tom picked Missy up as he responded, "Not yet. I have another couple of chapters to go. I should finish it tomorrow in time to meet my deadline."

Bill patted him on the back as he moved on toward the Sunday School area. "We're definitely proud of our Christian author."

As the two moved into the crowd, Missy glanced back toward the preacher and asked, "Why does Pastor Bill talk like that, Daddy?"

"I suspect that it has to do with him being from Alabama," was her father's response. "He just has an accent."

"Do all people from Alabama talk like that?"

"Most of them." He looked at his daughter and smiled warmly. "Most people who live south of Missouri would think that you and I have an accent."

"But they're the ones with the accent, Daddy," commented Melissa.

Tom chuckled. The two came to a stop in front of Missy's Sunday School class. He set her down and gave her a hug. "Be good."

"Okay." She pulled away from him and walked into the classroom, unzipping her purple coat as she did so.

After one last glance at her, Tom turned and headed toward his own class.

* * *

"What do we think is the main focus of Jesus's telling the people to let those who were without sin cast the first stone?" asked Mike Weller, the Single Adults' Sunday School teacher. His gray beard, trimmed neatly, framed the wrinkled mouth of somebody who had frowned too much in his youth, but had smiled joyfully ever since.

"It was obvious that they shouldn't be so judgmental of her, since they were all sinners, too," commented Brenda, a beautician who owned her own shop in town. Her perfect, blonde perm bounced as she spoke.

Tom spoke up. "Also, He was reiterating that only He had the right to condemn her, but He chose not to." He ran his fingers through his dark hair.

"Those were the two things I was looking for," commented Mike. "How can we implement these philosophies today? I mean, obviously, an adulteress isn't going to be sentenced to death."

Steve Myers, a lawyer, took a sip from his Styrofoam cup and said, "We're not supposed to turn our backs on someone just because he's a sinner. The homosexual needs Jesus just the same as the liar. The only differences between them and us are repentance and grace. Love them like Christ would, then, after they've been Saved, show them the kind of life they're supposed to lead."

Brenda chuckled.

"What?" asked Steve, his right eyebrow cocked.

"No offense, counselor," she giggled, "but there's just something wrong with hearing a lawyer referring to lying as a sin."

"Yuk, yuk," he groaned.

The class was small, consisting of only five people on a normal week, counting Mike. This week, Cindy, a feisty, middle-aged woman with dyed-red hair who worked at the telephone company, wasn't present. She had mentioned that she would be in St. Louis this weekend.

Mike looked at his watch. "Well, that's it for this week, guys and gal. We'll pick up next week."

As they rose, Brenda looked at the small, adhesive bandage on Tom's face and asked, "Cut yourself shaving, Tom?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "Maybe I should just grow a beard like Mike's."

Mike was already heading for the door of the room. "Hopefully, it'll have a little less gray," he called back.

Tom laughed and headed out of the room, walking toward the sanctuary. It was true that a variety of ages were represented in that Single Adult Sunday School class. Tom was the youngest at twenty-eight. All other singles from the church who were around his age or younger either taught the younger students or still went to the College and Career class. But, since Tom was a father, he had opted for the more mature class when he had moved to the Bluff with Missy. He'd learned a great deal from it, as well.

A head of long, dark hair brushed his hip as two small arms wrapped themselves around his legs. "Did ya miss me, Daddy?"

Tom bent over and picked Missy up. "I always miss you when you're not with me." He kissed her cheek and headed with her toward the sanctuary.

"Timmy Jones tried to kiss Mary Krause when our teacher left the room," Melissa told her father. "She slugged him."

"Don't follow either example," instructed Tom. "My _tae kwon do_ instructor always used to tell us that fighting is the last resort. And you're too young to be kissing." He examined his daughter's six year-old face. " _Way_ too young."

As they stepped out of the hall into the foyer, Melissa asked, "Is she new, Daddy?"

Tom glanced toward the front doors and his breath caught in his throat. The woman standing there was a vision. Her long, brown hair was tied into a simple ponytail. She had full, red lips and she chewed on the bottom one as her bright, green eyes surveyed the crowded foyer nervously. Her clothing was business attire . . . a white blouse, blue slacks and sandals.

Tom started to make his way toward her, but stopped when he noticed Shelly Blanton, the wife of one of the deacons, introduce herself. After that, a throng of people crowded around her. Tom shook his head and headed into the sanctuary. As long as she was being made to feel at home, he would wait until later to introduce himself.

They took a seat at their customary location in the third row. After a few minutes, Melissa, who was turned halfway around and looking toward the back, said, "The new lady just came in, Daddy. Sister Shelly is talking to her and pointing this way."

Tom turned around and noticed that, indeed, Shelly was pointing at them. Then the two took a seat a few rows back, next to Sister Blanton's husband, a man who was exactly a month older than Sister Blanton. The author smiled and nodded politely at the three, then turned around. "It's not polite to stare," he admonished his daughter, who turned to face the front, smoothing her blue skirt as she did so.

The pastor stepped up to the podium and said a few announcements, then the acting children's pastor, a short, balding man named Jim, stood. The children who where under twelve, Missy included, climbed from their seats and walked to the front, forming a line that faced the congregation. Then they sang _Cast Your Burdens Unto Jesus_ , complete with movements.

Tom smiled at his daughter. She really got into that song. It was one of her favorites. She loved the movements, especially the stomping part.

After they finished singing, Brother Jim led the children from the room and toward the fellowship hall, where they would have children's church. As Missy walked by Tom's row, she blew him a kiss.

He blew her one back.

The sermon that morning was about selling oneself out to Christ. The basic point of the lesson was to learn to care about someone other than oneself. It hit close to home for the writer. His life was about his daughter.

After the sermon, Tom headed toward the foyer, where he would meet Missy. Sister Shelly waived at him and motioned for him to come over. He politely joined them at the back of the sanctuary. "What's up, Shelly?"

"Tom, this is Kassandra Moore," the older woman said. "She just moved here from San Francisco."

Tom smiled and shook the young woman's hand. The stark contrast between the vibrant, pony-tailed twenty-something and the grandmotherly, gray-bunned fifty-something with whom she had been sitting was palpable. "What brings you to Missouri all the way from California?"

She smiled back at him, flashing a row of perfect, white teeth. "A change of atmosphere, mostly."

Shelly continued to speak for Kassandra. "Kassy here is interested in working with the teenagers and I told her that you are the acting teen pastor."

Tom shook his head with a chuckle. "I'm not a pastor. But, with a church this small, we can't always get someone who's ordained for the part."

"Shelly tells me that you have the meetings on Monday nights?"

"At six o'clock," replied Tom. "You're welcome to come. I could use all the help I can get."

"DADDY!!!" Melissa's piercing shriek shot through the sanctuary.

"I'm sorry," said the author hurriedly, "I have to go."

He turned and ran into the foyer to find Missy sitting on the floor, weeping. A throng of adults were around her, trying to comfort her, but she would not be consoled. "WHERE'S MY DADDY?!" she demanded.

"Missy!" he shouted over the others. "I'm right here!" He ran up to her and snatched her up. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "I'm right here," he repeated. "It's okay, honey. Daddy's here."

Tom glanced back toward the sanctuary to see Kassandra looking out at him. He smiled weakly, then headed toward the front door to go home.

Chapter Two

Monday, 7:30 AM

Tom finished putting Melissa's hair into pigtails. He smiled, admiring his workmanship. The first time that he'd done this, one of the pigtails was almost a ponytail, being in the back of her head. With a little help from his mother, he had learned to do it correctly. Now, it came as second nature to him.

"Ms. Beeton is going to take you to school today," he reminded her. "I'm going to need to get an earlier start than normal so I can finish my book today. I have to e-mail a copy of the manuscript to my editor by three o'clock this afternoon."

Mrs. Beeton was their neighbor. She was an English professor at the community college in the Bluff and was also a very devout Christian, so she was always happy to hear about Tom's latest books. Her daughter went to the Bluff Christian Academy with Melissa and the two were in the same class. When a deadline was looming, she would often volunteer to take Missy to school.

Missy jumped off the couch and straightened the pleated skirt of her school uniform. "Okay, Daddy," she responded. Her long face betrayed her disappointment.

"Hey," he said as he climbed off the couch and hugged her. "You like Laura."

"I know," she replied as she hugged him back. "She's my best friend." Her bottom lip puffed out. "But I like for to you to take me to school."

He pulled back and used his index finger to gently lift her chin and force her to look him in the eye, "I'll be here all day. I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to. If you need to talk to me, your teacher always lets you call me. You know that."

Missy smiled bravely. "I know."

The doorbell announced Mrs. Beeton's arrival. Tom climbed to his feet as Missy snatched her backpack from the coffee table. The writer answered the door to find Mrs. Beeton and Laura smiling at him from the front porch.

"Please come in, Mrs. Beeton," he said as he stepped aside.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she responded. "It's Cynthia."

"Always at least once more," he smiled.

"Good morning, Missy!" piped Laura, her red, braided ponytail lying over her right shoulder.

"Good morning," returned Missy. "Daddy's finishing his book today."

Cynthia looked at Tom. "Remember, you promised to come and speak to my Creative Writing class on Wednesday."

"I haven't forgotten," he said.

He bent over and hugged his daughter. "I'll miss you all day."

"I'll miss you, too, Daddy."

He pulled back and kissed her forehead. "Daddy loves you."

She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. "I love you, too, Daddy."

"I wish Mr. Beeton were that affectionate with Laura," commented Cynthia.

Tom watched as the three piled into Cynthia's car and drove away, hoping all the while that Mr. Beeton would never have to get the same life lesson that had taught Tom to be so affectionate toward his daughter.

He sighed. He always felt a pang of guilt when he didn't take Melissa to school. She had been his whole world for the past three years.

Tom made himself a mug of hot chocolate and walked to his office. As always, he had eaten breakfast with his daughter before school, so he was ready to get to work . . ..

* * *

It was about noon when the phone rang. Expecting it to be Melissa, Tom saved what he'd written so far and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

_"Mr. Bradford?"_ The voice on the other end was somewhat familiar.

"Yes?" he asked.

_"This is Kassandra Moore,"_ said the voice. _"We met in church yesterday. I'm supposed to come and help with the teens tonight?"_

"Oh, Ms. Moore! I knew your voice sounded familiar."

"Did I call you at a bad time?"

"Not really. I was just about to break for lunch, anyway."

"I was just wondering if there is something that I can bring tonight."

Tom ran his fingers through his dark brown hair as he thought. "We are supposed to have ice cream sundaes tonight. You could pick up some toppings."

"Like fruit and chocolate syrup . . . stuff like that?"

"Yes." Tom climbed from his chair and headed toward the kitchen. "I have the ice cream and marshmallow topping. I also have butterscotch, I think." He arrived in the eat-in kitchen and looked in the cupboard over the stove. "Actually, no. I have caramel. Can you pick up some butterscotch?"

"Absolutely. Anything else?"

"Wear sweatpants."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

* * *

Melissa's fork carried the egg noodle to her mouth.

"Doesn't your grandma make the best stroganoff?" asked Tom.

Melissa just nodded. She never spoke with her mouth full.

Tom's mother, Amanda, took a drink of her iced tea, then asked, "Who's this new girl who's helping you tonight?"

Tom swallowed a bite that he'd just taken and replied, "Her name's Kassandra Moore. She just moved here from California. I don't really know that much about her."

"She just started yesterday?" inquired Tom's father, Bob.

Tom nodded.

"May I be excused?" asked Missy, who had finished her plate in record time.

"Don't you want a piece of apple pie?" smiled her grandmother.

Melissa shook her head. "Maybe later. Can I go watch _Veggietales_?"

At Tom's nod, she climbed from her chair and ran into the living room.

"How come you didn't ask more about this girl if she's going to be helping you tonight?" Tom's father, who looked like a slightly plumper, gray-haired version of Tom, was always blunt. "Aren't you a little more discerning about people helping with the church's kids?"

Tom smiled at his father. "I'll be there. I doubt that she's going to do anything bad." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't really have time to talk to her. I wasn't in the foyer when Missy got out of the children's service and she had one of her panic episodes."

Amanda shook her head. "What did her counselor say about those?"

Tom finished his glass of tea. "He said that she'll probably grow out of them. With Sandy gone, she's just afraid that I'll leave her, too."

* * *

" **KIAH!!!** " Tom's voice shot through the church's small gym, followed by a chorus of adolescents repeating the same word as they kicked at an imaginary target. "Okay, guys," he announced, "that's enough for this evening. We've got ice cream sundaes in the fellowship hall." He looked around at the teens, ranging in ages from twelve to nineteen, smiling at their progress.

Kassandra stood dutifully at the end of the row of teens. She was actually shorter than some of them, but her well-toned figure did not seem out of place in the lineup. Tom blushed, looking away when he realized that he was staring at her. Hopefully, she hadn't noticed.

As they started filing out of the room, Kassandra walked up to him. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk with you before we started. Now I understand why you wanted me to wear sweats."

Tom smiled and nodded, gesturing for her to exit the room ahead of him. "They all seem to like it. We used to do other games, but I taught a tae kwon do class for them about a year ago and they all voted unanimously that they wanted to stick with it. So, every week after the devotion, we do the Bruce Lee thing."

"Is that the martial art that he knew?" she asked.

"No," replied the author. "He made up his own art. I think it was called _Jeet Kune Do_."

The two came to the fellowship hall. They took their places in the kitchen, which looked out over the hall through an open window, and began spooning ice cream into Styrofoam bowls. From that point, it was like a buffet. The students, standing on the outside of the opposite side of the window from Tom and Kassandra, would grab a bowl of ice cream and move to the toppings.

After the twenty students had gotten their sundaes, Tom and Kassandra made sundaes for themselves and took a seat at a table away from the teens.

"No butterscotch?" asked Kassandra, who had put a liberal helping of it on her own ice cream.

"Uh, no," returned Tom. "I can't stand the stuff."

She cocked an eyebrow. "How can anybody not like butterscotch?"

Tom swallowed the bite of the fresh strawberry that he had just taken. "My paternal grandmother always used to have those little butterscotch hard candy disks in her candy bowl and she'd practically force feed them to us grandkids." He chuckled. "To this day, I don't have a cousin who likes the stuff."

Kassandra turned to look at the students. Again, Tom found himself admiring her appearance. She was wearing a UCLA T-shirt and gray sweats. She did obviously take pride in her appearance. Her hair was fixed into a braided ponytail. Her green eyes had just the right amount of mascara on the lashes. Her lips had just a touch of red lipstick.

He cleared his throat. "So, you seem to be in pretty good shape."

Kassandra looked back at him. "I was an actress in California. I had to stay in good shape. Helped with my work."

Tom's eyebrows shot up. "An actress? Wow, have you done anything that I might have seen?"

She shook her head and fidgeted with her hands, ignoring his gaze. "I doubt it. It was low-budget stuff."

She looked back up at him and smiled. "So, where's your daughter?"

Tom was somewhat taken aback by the abrupt change in subject. "She's with my parents. She always stays with them on Monday nights." He shook his head. "She won't be old enough to join the youth group here for another six years."

"Is she okay after yesterday?"

Tom sighed. "Yes. After her mother died, when Missy was three, she latched on to me and wouldn't let go. As long as she knows where I'm going to be at a given time and how to find me, then she's fine. But, if we change something . . .."

"She panics," Kassandra finished his statement.

He nodded. "We go to a counselor. Truth is, I latched onto _her_ when her mother died, too."

"Sister Blanton told me that you were a widower."

Tom nodded. "It's been three years now. God's taken away a great deal of the sharpness, but the ache is still there . . . sometimes."

Apparently feeling uncomfortable discussing Tom's dead wife, Kassandra smiled and changed the subject again. "So, what is there to do that's fun in a town like this?"

Tom chuckled at her. "Absolutely nothing."

Her eyes widened at him.

"We have a five-screen cinema and a couple of really good Chinese restaurants, though."

"Well, I'm personally not busy this upcoming weekend and I'd really like to have somebody show me around."

It took Tom a moment to figure out exactly what she was suggesting. A date would be nice. "How about dinner and a movie?"

"Sounds nice."

"How about I pick you up at, say, six on Friday evening?"

Kassandra flashed him that perfect smile again. "I'll look forward to it."

Chapter Three

Friday, 5:00 PM

"Are you gonna marry her?" asked Melissa seriously as Tom crouched next to her and kissed her on the forehead.

"What?" replied Tom with a question, not quite knowing what to make of his daughter's line of thought. "I'm just showing her around."

"But neither of you are married." She smiled. "And the Bible says that it isn't good for a man to be alone."

Although impressed with his six year-old daughter's grasp of Scripture, Tom shook his head. "I think marriage is something that's a little too early to discuss."

Missy wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. "Will you bring me a grilled chicken sandwich?"

"If you promise to mind grandma," he replied softly.

"She always minds me," commented Tom's mother.

He stood and embraced his mother. "Thanks for watching her tonight."

She laughed as she hugged him back. "Don't worry about it. You really need this tonight." She pulled back. "Besides, you got your book done on Monday, didn't you?"

Tom nodded. "I e-mailed the electronic copy to the editor an hour ahead of schedule."

"Then you need a break." Amanda took Missy's hand and said, "She and I are going to curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and cry ourselves silly watching one of her princess movies."

* * *

Tom pulled into the driveway of the home where Kassandra had told him to meet her. He checked the address again and he was at the right place. The two-story house was a beautiful brick and vinyl-sided building and Tom wondered absently what Kassandra was doing for a living now.

He climbed from his car and examined his attire. A tan pair of khakis and a green, Polo-style shirt were what he'd picked out to wear. He wore brown shoes and a matching belt, since Missy would not let him leave the house if the belt and shoes didn't match. "I hope I'm not under-dressed," he thought aloud.

The sound of a car coming up the road caught his attention. He glanced back the way he had come to see a blue, late model Corvette driving up the road. As it passed Kassandra's driveway, it slowed down to barely a crawl. Tom narrowed his eyes to try to see through the tinted windows, but to no avail. After a few seconds, the tires squealed and the car shot up the road.

Tom shook his head. _What was that about?_ he wondered.

Climbing the front steps, he stood on the covered front porch and rang the doorbell. Footsteps rushed to the door, which opened to reveal Kassandra. Tom's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She wore her hair long, almost reaching the top of her legs. She had donned a modest, red dress with white heels. She wore the perfect amount of makeup. Not so much as a blemish marred her perfect skin.

"Tom!" she piped, flashing her perfect teeth in a smile. "Let me grab my coat."

* * *

"That was really fun!" commented Kassandra. "I've never been taken to see an animated movie on a date before."

The fragrance of the Chinese food that sat on the untouched plates in front of them was barely noticeable to Tom, engrossed as he was in the lovely woman who was dining with him. "I'm sorry," he responded. "I've grown pretty fond of them over the past three years. Our theater shows older movies now and again." He looked across the table at her. "We really could have seen a different movie."

"No," was her response. "I liked it. I'd never seen _Cinderella_ before."

"Really?" Tom shook his head in wonder. "I've seen it more times than I can count. My first time was in college, although it wasn't the _Disney_ version. It was a play based off of the original version. A little more mature."

"How so?"

"Well, for one thing, when the prince was trying to get the shoe onto her step-sisters, their mother cut their toes off to try to get them to fit."

Kassandra's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Where did you see it?"

"I saw it in an English class."

Kassandra fidgeted with her fork. Neither of them had really eaten anything, having spent most of their time talking. "I guess that was your major, you being a writer and all."

Tom nodded. "My dad used to complain that I'd never be able to get a real job with an English major."

"Was it easy to get published?"

Tom laughed. "It was a major pain."

"How so?"

"Well, my dad was sort of correct. There really wasn't much to do with an English degree in Springfield, Missouri. My wife and I lived there after we graduated. She had majored in Business and she'd gotten a pretty nice job after we graduated. Since I couldn't find any use for my degree, I ended up working for a credit card company." Tom sighed. "I wasn't a Christian then. Neither of us were. We argued alot, so I stayed at work and worked lots of overtime and did pretty well selling those credit card add-on services, too." He smiled at himself ruefully. "I worked so much that I brought home as much as she did.

"When I wasn't working, I wrote. I finished my first book a year after we got married, which was right after we had graduated. It was a terrible novel that was about a dirty policeman who killed everybody who wasn't found guilty in court." He rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "I self-published it.

"In the meantime, Sandy had agreed to go to church with a friend and got Saved. Even though I refused to go with her, our home life just changed. She was easier to get along with. I wanted to come home. I wanted to spend time with her. And I did." He chuckled. "And Melissa came along."

Tom's eyes then registered old pain. "When Missy was three years old, her mother and I went to a party with her work. On the way home a car ran a red light and sideswiped us." He looked up at Kassandra. "It hit the passenger's side. It hit Sandy.

"I remember some people helping me get her out and away from the car. We were afraid that it was going to explode. I sat on the side of the street, her head cradled in my lap, telling her that it would be okay. But she was losing too much blood and she knew it. She made me promise that I would keep taking Melissa to church. She made me promise that I would never put work before our daughter. And then, just as the ambulance was arriving, she died in my arms."

Tom rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Turns out that the driver of that car was a drunk nineteen year-old who was on his way home from a frat party. The resulting lawsuit made sure that I didn't have to work for a few months.

"The Sunday after the accident, I woke up remembering my promise to Sandy. So I got Missy ready and took her to church. She wouldn't let me leave her in her preschool class, but she sat quietly with me in the service. She was fine, as long as I held her. At the end of the service, during the altar call, a stranger walked up to me and told me, 'God wanted me to tell you that He is taking care of your wife now. But he has plans for you here.'

"I almost punched him."

Kassandra looked at him in awe. "You almost hit him?"

"I think that, if I hadn't been holding Missy, I would've." He sighed. "I felt bad about it later and went to talk to the man after service. It was only then that I found out that he was a visitor and this was his first Sunday in that church. He didn't know about the accident. He'd never even met Sandy.

"I became a Christian at the evening service that night."

"That's a touching story," commented Kassandra sincerely.

Tom smiled. "After I got home that night, I put Melissa to bed and sat at my computer and a story just started pouring out of me. It was about a boy who found out that his best friend was involved in witchcraft. I wrote until four o'clock in the morning and collapsed on my bed. I finished a 300 page story two days later.

Tom used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of chicken from his moo goo gai pan and held it. "I published it myself, as I'd done in the past." He put the piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed for a moment, then swallowed it. "That big Christian bookstore in Springfield took a few copies on consignment. He sold all of them and bought some more himself. Those all sold, as well. Before long, one of the people who'd bought it contacted me. Her name was Diane Smith and she was an editor for the publisher with whom I now have my contract."

"Wow," murmured Kassandra. "God really did have a plan for you." She nibbled on an egg roll, then asked, "How did you end up in the Bluff?"

"I just wanted us to have a change." Tom shrugged. "I have family here." He looked at her. "And you?"

She smiled. "My aunt lived here. She died last summer and left me her house." She sat the egg roll back on her plate. "Until last year, I wasn't leading a life that was pleasing to the Lord. I did . . . terrible things. He got my attention on Easter Sunday. When I got Saved, I wanted to put everything that I'd done behind me, so I left California and came here." She looked up at Tom. "I'd saved up some money, so I haven't really been looking for a job. I'll need to soon, though. I just wanted some time to relax and . . . learn what God's purpose is in my life."

"Do you like Missouri?"

Kassandra sighed. "As long as nobody recognizes me, I'll love it."

* * *

"Why are we going here?" asked Kassandra as they pulled into the parking lot of _The Book Corner_. "An animated movie, Chinese restaurant and book store?" She smiled good-naturedly. "You definitely are an interesting date."

"This is my favorite place to shop," explained Tom. "The owner's an Italian guy who's been in the states for ten years." He looked at her. "You'll like him."

They walked to the entrance of the store and Tom opened the door for Kassandra, who stepped inside.

"Mista' Bradford!" came a voice from behind one of the bookshelves. "Great t'see ya!"

"Hey Kevin," was Tom's reply. "Any new books in?"

"Yes!" A short, dark-haired man stepped out. "I gotta that new _Clifford_ book for your little'a _Bambina_!"

When Kevin saw the woman standing with Tom . . . and that they didn't have Missy with them . . . he asked, "Where's'a your _little one_? And who is'a this lovely lady here?"

"This is Kassandra Moore," said Tom.

"Mista' Bradford, you neva' tell'a me you gotta _girlfriend_!"

"She's not my girlfriend," responded Tom. "She's new to my church and I'm just kind of showing her around."

"And'a you decided to show her the best'a bookstore in'a the Bluff, no?"

"You got it."

Kassandra was examining a shelf. "Are these your books, Tom?"

Tom walked over to the Missouri Authors' shelf and noticed four books at which she was looking. "Yes," he replied, "those are some of mine."

She pulled one off of the shelf. The cover looked similar to the cover of a _Jaws_ movie, accept that the shark was replaced by a devil. She smiled and immediately walked to the counter. "I'd like to buy this."

"I'll buy it for you," Tom offered.

"Nonsense," she said.

As Kevin rang up the book, Tom caught a glimpse, through the front window of the store, of what he thought was a blue Corvette driving slowly by the building. His eyes narrowed at the memory of the car that he'd seen drive slowly by Kassandra's house. Maybe he had a stalker.

"Don't forget that'a you gotta that reading here on'a Thursday," commented Kevin.

"Oh, boy," he groaned. "What time?"

"Two o'clock," stated Kevin. "You didn't'a forget?"

Tom sighed with relief. "I had, but I'll be here."

"Do you have other plans on Thursday?" asked Kassandra.

"The church is helping with that blood drive at the community college." Tom ran his fingers through his dark hair. "I volunteered to give blood. But I'll be done way before two."

"I should volunteer to help," stated Kassandra.

"And I'll'a have lots'a sweet _cookies_ here for you to build'a back your blood sugar!" roared Kevin with a laugh.

* * *

The smell of Missy's chicken sandwich filled the car as the two pulled into Kassandra's driveway. It made Tom hungry. He realized just how little he'd eaten at dinner, busily talking to the lovely young lady who now shared the car with him.

The two climbed from the car and walked to Kassandra's front door. "This was fun," she commented.

"I agree," replied Tom.

Her eyes caught his. "We should do it again."

He smiled. "Same time next week?"

"I'd love it."

"And after the Bible study on Wednesday night, Missy and I could take you to our favorite ice cream parlor."

"Rocky Road sounds nice."

"They have it hand-dipped."

Then Kassandra hugged him. He was so caught up in the warmth of her embrace and the flowery scent of her perfume that he almost didn't hear her when she said, "Thank you for tonight."

He cleared his throat nervously. "The pleasure was all mine."

She finally pulled away and flashed him one of her smiles, then disappeared into her house.

* * *

Tom opened the front door to his parents' house and stepped inside. Amanda was sitting on the couch. Missy lay curled up next to her, snoring peacefully. Bob lay in his recliner, his snores a little louder.

"How long has she been asleep?" he asked.

Amanda smiled and stroked her granddaughter's dark hair. "About an hour."

Tom realized just how tired he really was. "Do you mind if we just crash here for tonight?"

"Of course not." She climbed from the couch and hugged her son. "I'll get you guys bedding." She gingerly picked Missy up from the couch and asked Tom, "Can you roll out the _hide-a-bed_?"

He took the cushions off and pulled out the bed. "We'll be okay without a sheet under us. Maybe just a blanket and pillows?" Amanda laid Missy on the right side and Tom kicked his shoes off and lay on the left. After his mother had gotten them the bedding, she nudged his father and led him sleepily to bed, stopping in the kitchen to put Missy's chicken sandwich in the refrigerator.

Tom gingerly lifted Missy's head and slid a pillow under it. She mumbled and, for a moment, he feared that he might have awakened her. After a few seconds, she started snoring peacefully again. With a sigh of relief, he rested his head on his own pillow.

As he lay there in the darkness, he could see out of the large picture window that was directly in front of him. He noticed a car slowly circle the cul de sac in front of his parents' house, then speed up and drive away.

His eyes narrowed as he sat up and reached for the cordless phone that sat on the table next to the couch. He thought for a moment to remember a phone number and dialed.

_"Hello?"_ a sleepy man's voice answered.

"Sheriff Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"This is Tom Bradford."

"Bradford! What's so cotton-pickin' important that you've got to wake a man in the middle of the night?"

"I'm sorry, sheriff," was his reply. "But there's a blue Corvette that's been following me all night."

"A 'blue Corvette,' you say?"

"Yes." Tom recalled the times that he'd seen it. "I picked up a girl for a date tonight and saw it then. Then I saw it at the bookstore. And I just saw the same car drive by my parents' house."

"And you could tell for sure that it was the same car in the dark all three times?"

"Well," he admitted, "I couldn't really tell what color it was the last time, but I'm sure it was the same car."

"Did you get a plate number?"

Tom sighed. That would have been helpful. "No, I didn't think to."

"If you see this car again, call me with the plate number. We'll see who it is then."

Chapter Four

Wednesday, 7:35 PM

Tom watched as his daughter spooned a bite of the fat-free, frozen yogurt into her mouth. She swished the treat around in her mouth contentedly for a moment before swallowing it.

"Why didn't you get ice cream?" Kassandra asked her.

Melissa's bright blue eyes locked with Kassandra's green eyes as she said, with total seriousness, "Too much fat is bad for you."

Kassandra glanced at Tom, who shrugged and explained, "I don't know where she gets it."

Kassandra leaned across the table, her eyes once again locking with Missy's, and playfully teased, "It's okay to enjoy sweets every once in a while." She leaned back and offered her cone to Tom's daughter. "Try a bite."

Missy looked disdainfully at the treat, but leaned across the table and took a small nibble. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wow," was all that she could manage.

* * *

After having finished her frozen yogurt, Missy had begged her dad for a scoop of Rocky Road, which she had promptly devoured. Tom had expected her to have a sugar rush, but she had fallen asleep in the back seat of the car on the way to drop Kassandra off at her house.

"Why's she so preoccupied with her health?" asked Kassandra, as she and Tom stood on her front porch, within eyeshot of his car and Missy's sleeping form.

"The counselor thinks it's a defense mechanism," explained Tom. "Sandy died at a young age and Missy doesn't want to repeat that."

"But you said that she died in a car accident."

Tom shrugged. "I didn't say that she was being logical with her defense mechanism. Still, she doesn't eat sweets very often." He looked at Kassandra playfully. "Leave it to you to play the temptress."

Kassandra's bright eyes lost their brightness and she looked down, not meeting his gaze.

"What? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." He put his hands gently on her shoulders. "You got her to come out of her shell tonight. She doesn't do that very often."

She looked back up at him, her eyes once again sparkling. "You didn't offend me." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek where it met the corner of his mouth. Then she pulled back and asked, "See you at the blood-drive tomorrow?"

He could feel his cheeks flush. "I'll be there."

* * *

Tom smiled at his editor's e-mail.

We're looking to put this in hardcover, initially. Everybody loved your manuscript. I'll be in town next week to buy you a celebratory lunch.

-Diane

Hard cover. It was a first. His earlier published books had been helpful financially, but things had still been tight without him working another job. Now, his next book was going to be in hardcover. The advance was going to be larger. The royalties were going to be higher. He was excited.

He closed out of his e-mail program and stood. Walking out of his office, he headed for his bedroom. He stopped at Missy's room and peeked inside. She slept peacefully. She hadn't even stirred when he had brought her in from the car and changed her into her pajamas.

In the darkness, he could see her resemblance to her mother. He felt a familiar ache in his heart as he gently closed her bedroom door and headed for his own room.

A few moments later, sitting on his own bed, he pulled a shoebox from under it and removed the lid. Sandy's happy, blue eyes stared out from the picture on top of the pile of photos inside. He looked at it and tears welled up as he thought to his last day in Springfield . . ..

* * *

Tom stood before the gravestone, reading the inscription:

Sandra Marie Bradford

1977-2002

Loving Mother and Beloved Wife

The tears began to run, just the same as they had done so often over the past year. He glanced back toward his mother's Grand Prix, to where she was currently carrying Melissa. He had asked to be alone with Sandy.

"We're leaving Springfield," he said aloud, the tears cracking his voice. "The Bluff has a really good Christian school for when Missy starts next year." He rubbed the back of his right index finger across the base of his nose as he stared at his feet. "We're going to try going regularly to that little church that you two always visited when we would spend the weekend with my parents. Melissa always liked it."

He sniffed, the tears beginning to make his nostrils fill up. "Truth is, I can't take being in our house anymore." He looked back up at the gravestone. "You haunt my dreams every night. I'm overjoyed because you're back, only to lose you again with the dawn. And my heart can't take losing you one more time." The tears were flowing steadily now. One of them ran down and tickled his chin. He wiped it away.

Staring back toward Amanda's car, Tom could see Missy and her grandmother playing _paddy-cake_. "I've kept both promises to you. Since I sold my first manuscript, I haven't had to leave home to work and I do most of my writing before she wakes up in the morning."

He turned back to her grave marker. "I take her to church every time there's something going on for her age group. And I finally got my heart right with God. So, someday, I'll join you." He wiped his eyes with his right thumb and index finger. "I miss you so much, Honey. We _both_ do. But you'll see. We'll make you proud of us."

He blew her a kiss and whispered, "I love you." Then he turned and headed toward his mother's car . . ..

* * *

"DADDY!!!"

The voice snapped him awake. He must have dozed off while looking through the pictures. He jumped to his feet, dropping several of the photos into the floor, then ran to Melissa's room.

Tom found his daughter bunched up into a fetal position, her blanket over her head. "Missy," he said soothingly as he sat next to her bed. "What's wrong?"

It was only now that he noticed the relentless tapping of the rain on her window. As he glanced toward the window, a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed almost immediately by a peal of thunder. The storm must have frightened her. "Did the thunder scare you?"

She pulled the covers away to reveal a tear streaked face. Her eyes were wide with fright. "I saw the boogieman outside! He was looking in at me!"

Tom picked her up and rocked her. "Honey, there's no such thing."

"I saw him, Daddy." Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck tightly. "He had a scar that ran down his face. Lightning struck and he was right outside my window."

He pulled her away from him and regarded her lovingly. How could he discuss this sort of spiritual war with a child who frightened so easily? "Do you want Daddy to pray with you?"

She nodded.

The two of them knelt next to her twin-sized bed and clasped their hands together, their heads bowed. Tom prayed, "Dear Lord, we know that You can do all things. And Your word tells us that You didn't give us the spirit of fear. We ask You to keep watch over this house. Keep it protected by Your hand. And we'll give You all of the praise. In the Blessed Name of Jesus, Amen."

Missy whispered an amen of her own.

Tom looked at his daughter. "Do you want to sleep in Daddy's room, tonight?"

Melissa smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you." She kissed him on the cheek and he lifted the covers so that she could climb back under them.

"Good night, sweetheart," he said to her.

"Good night, Daddy," she whispered.

He sat in the white rocking chair next to her bed for a few minutes until her breathing became steady, then he got up and tip-toed out of the room.

Tom walked into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic cup from the cupboard, then grabbed the tea pitcher from the refrigerator and poured some. He glanced up at the clock over the counter, which gave the time as 2:30 AM. He had slept for just over four hours.

He had always liked the sound of rain hitting the roof overhead and his favorite time to write was in a storm. It had been this reason that he had spent the extra money for a battery backup for his computer, so that he could write during thunderstorms and not have to worry about power outages erasing his work before he had a chance to save it.

He intended to spend the rest of the time until Missy woke up taking advantage of the storm on his imagination.

As he started to walk out of the kitchen, he glanced out the small window that over looked the street outside. A flash of lightning brought something into view that dropped his heart into his stomach.

A Corvette was parked opposite his house.

Melissa's words came screaming back into his mind: _"I saw the 'boogieman' outside! He was looking in at me!"_

Tom set the cup of tea on the counter and grabbed his coat and a flashlight, then opened the front door and stepped out onto the front porch. As he did so, the tires of the sports car squealed as it sped up the street.

But a flash of lightning illuminated the license plate. And it was a _Nevada_ plate. Tom made a mental note of the number and headed back inside. He checked all of the doors and windows in the house-especially Melissa's-making sure that they were locked. Then he called the sheriff.

"Tom, dagnabbit, what is it with you and late night calls?!"

"I just saw that car again," Tom said. "He was here . . . at my house. And my daughter woke up with someone looking in her window at her . . .."

Chapter Five

Thursday, 9:00 AM

The deputy examined the window outside of Melissa's room. "Sorry, Tom," he commented. "The rain washed away any chances of lifting a print off of here." He turned around and faced the writer. "Either that or he was just careful."

Tom sighed in frustration. "At first, seeing the car wasn't that much of an alarm. But having my daughter wake up in the middle of the night and seeing somebody looking in at her is the last straw."

Deputy Theodore shook his head. "I know how you feel. I have three little ones myself. And, if anybody ever hurt them, there'd be no place on God's earth where the person who did it could hide from me."

Tom shook the deputy's hand, almost laughing aloud. Everyone in town knew that Theodore hated violence. "Thanks for coming out, Ted. Any word back on the plates?"

Ted shook his head. "It'll take awhile to get the report back from Nevada. They might even be stolen, with the person not taking any precautions to hide'em."

The deputy headed back toward his patrol car. "Maybe you should get an alarm system. They don't cost that much and the peace of mind they bring might be worth it."

Tom nodded. "I'll call somebody when I get home this evening."

* * *

Tom's hand flexed the stress ball that the nurse had given him. He watched as his dark red blood flowed through the tube and into the bag that hung from the table next to his bed. Well, he would not really call it a bed. It was more of a cot. But he did not come here for comfort.

He stared across the room at Kassandra, who was handing out cups of soda to people who were giving blood. She seemed so happy to help. He wished that all people could have her attitude.

She finally got to him. "I believe that you said lemon-lime, didn't you?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he responded as she handed the small, plastic cup to him. A straw with a flexible neck enabled him to drink without having to lean forward.

She started to turn away, when he asked, "Why aren't you giving blood?"

She turned back around and smiled, though she didn't meet his gaze. "I can't. I don't qualify."

His eyes widened questioningly.

She looked around, then back at him. "Ask me again, sometime." Then she turned and walked to the next donor.

Tom's curiosity was piqued. But he decided that, if she wanted to tell him, she would.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bradford?" came a voice from behind him.

Tom tilted his head to see who was speaking to him. A student was standing there. He carried a black, leather backpack and wore a black and gold sweatshirt with a _Jameston Camels_ insignia on it. The right sleeve was rolled up and a bandage was fixed over the crease of his elbow, indicating that he had just given blood.

"Yes?" asked Tom.

The young man sat down his backpack. As he leaned forward, a silver cross dangling from a thin chain around his neck fell into view. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind signing my copy of The Witch?"

Knowing that he was doing the reading at the bookstore after giving blood, he had asked the nurse to take his blood from his left arm, as he was right-handed and figured that he might have to sign some books. "I'd be happy to. You don't happen to have a pen, do you?"

The young man produced a copy of the book and a pen and handed them to him. The book was well-worn and an original edition. "So you got it when it first came out, huh?"

"Yes, sir," was the response. "I've read it ten times."

Tom looked at the young man incredulously. "Ten? Did you like it that much?"

The young man smiled warmly. "I had gotten into witchcraft when I was in junior high. Your book led me back into the light." He played with his silver cross absently. "Ten of the other former members of my coven read it and have come to know the Lord, too. You've had a major influence on all of us, sir."

Tom felt tears of joy stinging his eyes. "I just typed the words. And please, don't call me sir. You and I serve the same Master." He opened the front cover and asked, "What's your name?"

The young man answered, "Billy Crane."

He wrote the following inside the front cover:

To my dear Brother in Christ, Billy Crane. May the Lord light your path all the days of your life.

Thomas Bradford

The young man read the inscription and smiled. "Thanks!"

Tom handed the pen back to the student. "You're welcome. What's your major?"

Billy just shrugged. "Just General Education. At least it is for now. I'm going to switch it to Biblical Studies when I transfer to Evangel in two years." He put the book back into his backpack as he continued, "God's called me into the ministry."

"Great for you!" Tom said enthusiastically. "You'll have an amazing testimony. And Evangel is a great college."

Bill threw the backpack over his right shoulder. "That's what I've heard. Your bio says that you graduated from college in Springfield, too. Did you go to Evangel?"

"No. I graduated from Southwest Missouri State." He leaned back onto the cot. "I'm doing a reading from the manuscript of my latest novel at the Book Corner at two o'clock today. You should stop by."

"I really wanted to," replied Billy. "But I have a biology lab at that time. That's why, when I heard that your church was going to be helping with this blood-drive, I came by hoping to find you here."

Tom offered the young man his free hand and Billy shook it. "Good luck to you, Billy."

* * *

Tom signed the last of the books for the students. A Baptist Student Union van had brought twelve college students to the reading. Two more church vans had brought some other college students. He had a total of thirty present for the reading. He had figured that, since Kevin had scheduled it for a weekday, he wouldn't have as many people here, considering the average age of his fans. He just hoped that none of them had cut class to come.

He shook the hand of the last of the attendees then started gathering up his promotional materials. He had stepped toward the front door, when he happened to look out the window and notice a blue Corvette sitting in the parking lot. Steam poured from the tailpipe, so he knew that it was still running. A red-haired girl in jeans that were entirely too tight leaned over the driver's window, blocking the driver from view.

Tom started to head for the front door again but Kevin stopped him. "We sold'a all thirty copies of your last'a book! We need'a to schedule somethin' for when'a your hardcover comes'a out! This is'a magnificent, no?"

Tom looked past Kevin to see the car drive away and the girl heading inside. "Just tell me when," he said with a smile as he patted the bookstore owner on the shoulder.

He stepped past Kevin, who was already heading to the counter to make some more sales, and greeted the young lady as she stepped in. The girl was quite attractive. Her full lips were over-accented with red lipstick and she wore too much blush, but she probably turned more than a few heads.

"Miss?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him haughtily. "Yeah?" She popped her gum as she talked.

"I was wondering if you knew the person who was driving that car?"

She cracked a half-smile. "I knew _of_ him, until today."

"Could you give me his name?"

She looked Tom over, moved her eyes to take in the sign that showed his picture and announced, " _Reading by Local Christian Author, Thomas Bradford_ ," then looked back at Tom and stared at the silver _icthus_ pin that he wore on the collar of his Polo. "He's nobody _you_ would have heard of, church-boy." She shouldered past him and headed into the store.

* * *

Tom sat in the parking lot of the Bluff Christian Academy, waiting for Missy. She had a Bible study on Thursdays after school, but he didn't want to go home for half an hour, then turn around and come back out.

He thought of the way the girl in the bookstore had spoken to him. He wasn't offended. If he was insulted because of Christ, then he would rejoice in that. But he hurt for the girl . . . for what she was missing. And he had really wanted to get information from her about the person who was driving that car.

He closed his eyes and remembered a time when he was with Sandy and his wife had taught him about such a thing . . ..

* * *

Their hands were clasped together tightly as they walked through the food court at Battlefield Mall.

"Are you sure that you should be walking?" asked Tom with concern as he glanced at her rounding belly.

Sandy looked at him affectionately. "The doctor said that he wants me to move around some. Besides, I sit in front of a computer all day at work and you won't let me do anything at home. I'm going stir crazy."

Tom wanted to baby her. He wanted to make sure that their unborn child would be okay. But she was confident. And that set his mind at ease.

As the two made their way around a crowded table, a girl's voice caught their attention. "Hey, _church girl_ ," she said. "Has your baby already started kicking for Jesus?"

"Everyday," responded Sandy with a smile, not even looking at the group of teens.

Tom avoided making eye contact as they walked by, but he couldn't help but notice that they were all dressed in black, wearing matching lipstick and eye shadow . . . even the males . . . and had more piercings than a jewelry store could fill in a week.

He looked back at his wife, who was gently rubbing her own stomach as she walked. "How did they know that you go to church?" he asked her.

She smiled. "Maybe they can feel the Holy Spirit in me."

Tom wasn't sure about that one. "Doesn't it bother you that they were being so condescending to you?"

She looked back up at her husband. "They are hurting, Tom. They need Jesus, but they've found something else to latch on to." She smiled. "I always count being insulted for my faith in Christ as pleasure, not pain."

Tom looked back over his shoulder. "I guess I can't take them too seriously, anyway." He shook his head as he and his wife turned a corner and headed toward a department store. "The girl who was talking to you was wearing a spiked dog collar that was attached to a leash that was being held by the guy sitting next to her . . .."

* * *

Tom smiled and shook his head at the memory. What was even better . . . and humbling . . . was that Tom had seen that same girl, Eileen Harris, come to know the Lord the very same Sunday evening that he had. The two had become friends and Tom had mentored her in her writing. Even now, though she lived with her husband who Pastored a church in Iowa, she would e-mail him stories to critique.

The back door on the passenger's side opened and Melissa climbed in. "Hi, Daddy!" she piped as she seated herself on her booster seat and fastened her seatbelt.

"Hi, honey," he responded. "How was your Bible study?"

"It was good," she replied. "We're learning about Noah and the Ark."

Tom examined his daughter in the seat. "You're almost too big for that booster seat. It won't be long before you can graduate to just a seatbelt."

Tom turned around and started the car. As he backed out of the parking space, Missy asked, "Daddy, can we go get some Rocky Road ice cream?"

* * *

Tom took a drink of his iced tea. Kassandra sat across the table from him.

"So, you must really like this place," she commented to him with a smile.

"Why do you say that?" he asked as he set the glass back onto the table.

"You've brought me here for both dates," was the response.

Tom chuckled. "The owners of this place are Christians. If you come in on Sunday and bring a copy of your Church's bulletin, they'll give you a ten percent discount on your meal. I just try to support Christian businesses when I can." He chuckled at himself. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling."

"That's okay," she replied. "I think it's cute."

"Besides," he continued, "they make awesome General Tso's Chicken here." He reached across the table and put his hand over hers. "We could have gone somewhere else, though."

"No, I like it here," she said, turning her hand over to hold his. "They're really friendly."

As if to support her last statement, a lovely young Chinese woman walked by the table and asked, "How is your dinner tonight?"

Tom smiled at her. "Perfect, as always, Chan Li."

Chan Li smiled. "Father will be happy to hear it. He went to your book reading yesterday. Thank you so much for what you wrote in my copy."

"Don't mention it," he replied. "I just hope you enjoy the book as much as the inscription."

"I am sure that I will," she said.

As Chan Li walked away, Kassandra whispered, "Wow, do people come up to you like that all the time?"

Tom shook his head. "Not really. Some people know me personally and come to my signings. She and her dad just happen to be among them."

"I forgot to ask you where you learned tae kwon do," she said.

"My first semester at SMSU, I took a tae kwon do class for a physical education credit. I really enjoyed it so, at the end of the semester, I signed up through the school that taught the class to be a full-time student. I got my black belt a year after graduation."

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I think that you now know just about all there is to know about me." He stared intently at her. "But you haven't really told me that much about you."

Kassandra looked up, trepidation in her eyes, but it seemed to melt away when she caught his gaze. She smiled nervously. "I graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Theater from UCLA. I did some plays around the city, but didn't really have the money to support myself, so I started acting in some bad, low budget films. Ironically, I made more money doing them, but I also got involved with a bad crowd." She showed him a couple of needle scars on her left arm. "As I told you, I did some horrible things. I was addicted to heroin and I ended up pregnant." She looked up at him, her eyes welling up with tears. "To my everlasting shame, I had an abortion. The doctor goofed and now I'll never be able to have children. God freed me of the heroin addiction, but I'll never forgive myself for what I did to my baby." Her tears overflowed now, running down both cheeks. "I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore." She lowered her head in shame.

Still holding her hand, Tom used the index finger of his free hand to lift her chin so that she was looking him in the face. "That's all behind you now. God's freed you and forgiven you. How could I do any less?"

She smiled and wiped her eyes on a napkin. The two were enjoying their meal, chatting mostly about Missy, when Kassandra looked over Tom's shoulder. "Those two women just left two children by themselves at that table to go back up to the buffet."

Tom turned around to see two children, one who was probably around Missy's age and another who was in a high chair, sitting alone at a table about ten feet away. "That does seem kind of irresponsible." As he watched, the younger child reached out, grabbing a coffee cup, and dumped the contents out onto the table. Some of the coffee dripped off into his lap and he started crying loudly.

A waitress ran over with a towel and started trying to dry off the youngster. The other boy climbed off of his chair and looked fearfully at the two adults, who were running back to the table.

"Get your hands off of my baby!" yelled the younger woman.

The older woman grabbed the older boy's shoulders and snapped, "I told you to watch your brother!"

Chan Li ran up and asked, "What happened?"

The younger woman turned on her. "Are you the manager?"

Chan Li nodded. "Yes, Miss."

The woman's eyes bulged and her face burned with rage. "What kind of a restaurant are you running here?"

Chan Li opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as the woman yelled, "My son just poured hot coffee on himself!"

The older woman smacked the older boy in the back of the head. "I _told_ you to watch your brother!"

Before Tom knew what was happening, Kassandra was up and walking toward the commotion.

"I ought to sue you for everything you have!" raged the younger woman at Chan Li, who had paled and was biting her bottom lip.

The older woman smacked the older boy in the back of the head again. "Why weren't you watching your brother?!"

"STOP!!!"

Everybody turned to look at Kassandra, whose own face betrayed her anger. She pointed at the old woman. "If you smack that boy again I'll be on my cell phone to Family Services so fast, your head'll spin!"

The older woman opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by Kassandra. "I didn't say anything to you that required a response!"

Tom watched his date, his mouth gaping in awe.

She turned to look at the younger woman. "What in the world are you yelling at the manager for?! What kind of an IDIOT leaves two young children at a table by themselves with a cup of hot coffee on it?!" She pointed at Chan Li and the waitress. "Their jobs are to serve you food, not baby-sit!!!"

The younger woman appeared to have lost her voice. She picked up her younger son and the older woman took the hand of the older boy and the four walked out of the restaurant. Tom looked nervously at the waitress, who was also staring at Kassandra in shock. "Uh," he asked timidly to get her attention. "Could we get our check please?"

* * *

"You have some temper," commented Tom. He glanced at Kassandra, sitting timidly in the passenger's seat of his car.

She smiled weakly at him. "Parents shouldn't treat their kids that way."

"I agree." He chuckled. "Truth is, I might have said something, too. But you did great."

Kassandra sighed. "I was the youngest of two children. When I was five, my parents left me with my sister to go to the liquor store for beer for a party that night. My sister was only three years older than me and really needed a babysitter, herself. I got out of the house while my sister was watching television. My parents picked me up a quarter of a mile up the road from our house on their way back from the store."

She took a deep breath, then let it out. "The beating my dad gave my sister resulted in a broken arm and the loss of an eye."

Tom glanced at her in horror.

She continued. "My mother rushed her to the hospital and a Family Services rep was called. My dad even had the gall to explain it to the woman as if my sister had really done something wrong.

"The woman just told him that the two of us were both too young to be left at home alone and took us into state custody."

"You must have felt horrible," said Tom.

Kassandra nodded. "My sister never blamed me, though. We were lucky enough to be eventually adopted by the same Christian family. They were a very loving couple who treated us a million times better than our biological parents had. My sister, who has a family of her own now, got Saved when she was twelve and spent our entire teenage years trying to convince me to do the same." She rubbed the back of her fist against the bottom of her nose. "I finally listened to her last year."

The car pulled into Kassandra's driveway. They got out and they walked, hand in hand, to the front door. "Why don't you come to our house tomorrow night?" he asked. "I'll cook."

"A man who can cook?" she teased playfully.

"Being a single dad has forced me to become a pretty good chef." He chuckled. "We have some pretty interesting things, though."

She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the lips, eliciting a deep blush from him. "I'll look forward to it," she whispered. She flashed him one of her smiles, then stepped inside.

Tom turned with a smile and walked back to his car . . ..

* * *

Kassandra locked the door with a smile. She had never expected to meet a man who would generate these feelings within her.

The young woman stepped out of the foyer and into the living room, then glanced at her answering machine. She had two messages.

She hit the button and listened to the first one. _"Kassandra, this is your sister. How's Aunt Pam's house? Have you found a church there, yet? Call me."_ She chuckled and picked up the cordless phone so that she could dial her sibling.

The machine beeped to indicate the next message. An all too familiar man's voice said, _"Hey, Lily! I finally found you!"_ A sharp intake of air shot into her lungs as she dropped the phone, her heart pounding in terror. _"I can't believe you'd actually try to hide from me. We really need to talk. I'll be seeing you soon. I just wanna get my bearings in this quaint little Bible-belt town you've picked."_

Kassandra covered her mouth with her right hand, backing up until she had reached a wall. She slid down it and wept, "Please, God, no. Please keep him away, Lord. Please . . .."

Chapter Six

Friday, 10:00 PM

"Daddy, I'm done!"

Tom called out from his computer chair. "Did you wash behind your ears?"

"Yes!"

Tom finished typing the paragraph on which he'd been working. "Okay, you can get out!" Tom usually let Missy stay up later on Friday nights.

He heard water splashing as his daughter moved around in the bathtub. A few moments later, she came padding into Tom's office. He looked at her and smiled. She looked so grown-up in her terrycloth robe. He watched as she towel-dried her hair.

"Did you want to look at my ears?" she asked.

"No, I trust you."

As Tom watched, she used the towel to try to dry her hair some more. He wished that Sandy could be there to see this.

"Why don't you brush your hair and get in your PJs?" he asked her after she had dried her hair as best she could. "When you're done, I'll put your hair in a ponytail for bed."

"Okay." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then turned and ran out of the room.

The phone rang. Tom picked up the cordless and clicked the talk button. "Hello?"

"Tom? This is Deputy Ted."

"Hey, Ted. What's up?"

"We got word back from those plates. I was right. They don't belong on the corvette."

"So, they're stolen?"

"Maybe. They're registered to a Marlene Docket for a 2002 Dodge Neon. But they haven't been reported stolen."

"That's interesting." Tom fidgeted absently with the corner of his mouse pad. "Do you think that she knows this guy?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about calling her tomorrow morning."

"Let me know what she says."

"Will do."

* * *

Saturday morning found Tom climbing out of bed at 7:30 AM to be greeted with breakfast on the table. Tom, still in his pajamas and his hair disheveled, seated himself opposite his daughter, who was already eating her waffle.

"Did you pray?" he asked.

She nodded, rubbing her eyes.

Tom smiled at her, then bowed his head and said a silent prayer of his own. Next, he poured some strawberry syrup over his waffle. To her credit, Missy liked to cook. She knew how to use the microwave pretty well and could figure out how to change the settings on it, which was something with which Tom still had problems. But she was a gourmet when it came to frozen waffles.

He started cutting his food and said, "You're up early."

"I've been up for awhile." She yawned, then took another bite and swallowed it. "Somebody kept racing up and down the street real fast." She looked at him. "I looked out the window in my room and it was a blue car. He'd drive up to the end of the street, then turn around and drive to the other end."

Tom's eyes narrowed. _Who is this guy?_ "Did you see the driver?"

She shook her head. "He never got out. He stopped a little after I got up."

Tom climbed out of his chair and looked out the window. No Corvette.

He sighed, suddenly having lost his appetite. "I'm going to take a shower. Make sure the doors and windows are all locked and don't answer the door for anybody you don't know."

* * *

Tom felt more awake after the shower. He wiped the steam from the mirror in the bathroom and reached for his shaving cream when he heard voices in the living room. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from the counter and hurriedly put them on, then opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway.

He walked into the living room to find Mrs. Beeton sitting on the couch and talking with Melissa, who was sitting in the floor at her feet.

"Mrs. Beeton, what brings you here this morning?" he asked.

"I was just wondering if you two had heard the horrible blue Corvette that was shooting up and down the street this morning?" asked Cynthia.

"It woke Missy up," said Tom. "But I slept through it."

"That's what Missy told me," stated Mrs. Beeton.

"She said that he stopped a little bit after she woke up," continued Tom.

Cynthia nodded. "I called the sheriff, but the car was gone by the time he got to my house." She looked curiously at Tom. "He said that you've been seeing this car all over town."

Tom looked at Missy. "Honey, why don't you go watch cartoons in your room?"

Missy looked back and forth between the two adults, then shrugged. "Okay, Daddy." She climbed to her feet and padded down the hallway, disappearing into her bedroom.

Tom took a seat in the brown recliner that sat next to the couch. "The sheriff was right."

"Do you know anything yet?"

Tom shook his head. "No more than you do. I saw the car three times while I was on a date last weekend. And I've seen it a couple of times since then." Tom ran his fingers through his damp, uncombed hair and said, a little more quietly, "Missy woke up the other night and told me that she had seen the boogieman looking in her window. I prayed with her, thinking that she had just been seeing a trick of the lightning, or something. After she went back to sleep, I happened to look out the kitchen window and see the car sitting across the street. He'd been looking in her window."

Cynthia's eyes widened as she took a deep breath and released it. "You didn't tell _her_ , did you?"

Tom shook his head. "Absolutely not. She scares so easily."

"Did Missy give any clues as to what he looks like?"

Tom thought back to that night. He had been half-asleep when he had gone in to see her. Then he remembered. "She said that he had a scar running down his face."

"That's it?"

Tom nodded. "As soon as she saw him, she buried herself under her covers and screamed for me."

"Have you seen him since that night?"

"I saw the car at a book reading that I did at the _Book Corner_ on Thursday. He was talking with some girl, but she was blocking my view of him. I asked her about him and she just told me that he was nobody that I would know."

"Well that would be obvious if you were asking her, now wouldn't it?"

Tom scratched the side of his face, feeling a two-day growth of stubble. "The thing is that she seemed to think that me being a Christian was the reason that I wouldn't know him."

Cynthia cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

Tom sighed. "I believe that her exact words were, 'Nobody _you'd_ know, church-boy.'"

Mrs. Beeton leaned forward, her elbows resting on her denim-covered lap and her chin resting in her hands. "When did you first see the car?"

Tom thought for a moment. It had now been over a week. "It would have been when I stopped to pick up Kassandra."

"Kassandra?"

Tom smiled. "She's this new girl at our church that I've been seeing. When I got out of my car, I saw the Corvette drive by."

"Ahhhhhh . . .," chimed Cynthia. "The plot thickens."

"What?"

"Did you consider that maybe the person was originally stalking this Kassandra?"

Tom considered that for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that. Why would this guy be following _me_ around if that were the case? Besides, I just said that this was the first time that I'd _seen_ him. For all I know, he could have been following me before that."

* * *

After Mrs. Beeton had gone home, the rest of the day had gone by uneventfully. Tom and Missy had done a little housecleaning in preparation for Kassandra's visit. There really was not much to clean. They usually kept a pretty clean house.

Then they had prepared dinner.

Tom used his oven mitt and a potholder to remove the casserole dish from the oven. He removed the lid and cheddar cheese reached from the top of the casserole to the cover. After scraping the cheese from the lid with a butter knife and settling it back on top of the casserole, he placed the open dish on top of a cooling pad on the kitchen table. Already set out were a bowl of steamed broccoli and cheese and a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Tom glanced at his daughter, who was still wearing her blue apron. Underneath it was a blue dress that she sometimes wore to church. She had wanted to "make an impression" on Kassandra, as she had put it, even though Tom was just wearing jeans and a sweater. "She should be here any minute," he told her.

"Do you think she'll like my broccoli and cheese, Daddy?" asked Missy as she untied her apron in the back.

" _I_ always do," was his reply as he did the same with his own apron.

His daughter snickered. "But you have to like it. You're my daddy."

The sound of a vehicle outside caught their attention. They walked into the living room and peeked out the window to see a black, late model Taurus pull into the driveway behind Tom's car.

The two watched as she climbed from the car, carrying something in a paper bag. She had listened to Tom's pleas for her to dress casually, and wore jeans. He couldn't see what her shirt looked like, as she was wearing a purple coat that reached to her knees. As always, she wore just a hint of makeup. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail.

Missy stepped back from the window and said, "I'll go let her in." She ran to the door.

Tom watched his daughter, then turned back to the window in time to see Kassandra straining to look down the street. Then she turned and walked up the steps toward the front door.

Tom walked over to stand just behind Missy as the doorbell rang. Missy immediately opened the door to reveal Kassandra standing on the porch, flashing them both one of her smiles.

"Come in!" piped Missy.

Kassandra pulled open the storm door and stepped inside. "Hi," she said to Melissa. She handed the bag to her and said, "Can you take this and put it in the freezer?"

Missy opened the bag and peered inside. "Rocky Road!" She then ran back into the kitchen.

"Hi," Tom said to her simply.

"Hi," she returned with a shy smile.

* * *

"That was really good," commented Kassandra from her chair across from Tom.

"Did you like the broccoli and cheese?" asked Missy pleadingly.

"I always love broccoli and cheese," she responded.

"Missy made it all by herself," stated Tom. "She's quite a help in the kitchen."

"Well, it was very tasty," smiled Kassandra. "The casserole was creative, too."

Tom chuckled. "That was my invention. I take two cans of beef ravioli and one bag of frozen cheese ravioli and mix them, adding cheese and putting them in a casserole dish." He looked affectionately at his daughter and continued, "She loves it when I make it."

"Can I have some Rocky Road now?" asked his daughter. "We can eat it while we watch _Jonah_."

" _'Jonah'_?" asked Kassandra.

"It's an animated movie about talking vegetables who act out the story of Jonah from the Bible," explained Tom. He looked at Melissa and said, "Okay, but it should only be a small bowl."

She smiled and leaped from her chair, heading for the cabinet with the bowls.

Tom smiled and shook his head. Looking back at Kassandra, who was also watching his daughter with a smile, he explained, "Since she hasn't had dinner with you before, I let her pick out what she wanted to do tonight. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," returned Kassandra. " _Jonah_ sounds lovely."

* * *

As the closing credits rolled, Tom examined the two girls from his place on the couch. Missy snored peacefully in the recliner, a slight chocolate mustache evident. Obviously, her early rise that morning had gotten the better of her.

Kassandra had fallen asleep soon after Missy had. The young woman's head rested on Tom's shoulder. Tom smiled. He liked having her cuddled up next to him on the couch. It occurred to him at this moment that, since he and Sandy had not been Christians at the time when they were dating, they had done quite a few things that they shouldn't have. They had reached a married level of intimacy within two months of their first date. Things would be different this time.

He looked up at the clock on the VCR. It was only 9:30. But Melissa needed to get into bed so that she would be rested for Sunday School.

Tom gently removed Kassandra's head from his shoulder. Her head was now tilted back, her mouth open. Tom then climbed to his feet and stepped over to the recliner, lifting Missy into his arms and carrying her into the bathroom. He grabbed a washcloth from a drawer under the sink and wetted it, then wiped the chocolate from her mouth.

The wetness caused her to stir. "Daddy? Is the movie over?"

"Yes, sweetheart," he replied. "It's time for bed." He set her down and she walked out of the room and headed to her bedroom. "Grab your PJs and put them on and brush your teeth. I'll come and tuck you in shortly."

He walked out and past her room, heading into the living room. Kassandra was awake now, watching him with a smile from the couch.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked with a similar smile.

"I'm sorry," she responded. "I didn't sleep much last night and I guess I was more tired than I thought."

"That's okay," he responded playfully. "I liked being a pillow."

She climbed to her feet and stretched.

"Are you still tired?" he asked. "You could sleep in our guest room tonight."

She yawned, but shook her head. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea. I didn't bring any church clothes."

She walked over to the coat closet and opened the door, reaching in and pulling her coat from a hanger. Within seconds, it was covering her green blouse. Then she handed him his blue coat. "Walk me to my car?"

"Sure," he said. Then he called, "Missy! I'm walking Kassandra to her car. I'll be right outside."

Footsteps hurried down the hall and his daughter, wearing a set of pajamas with a puppy on the shirt, ran into the room and up to Kassandra. She wrapped her arms around Kassandra's waist and said, "Thank you for the ice cream."

Kassandra squatted and hugged her back. "Thank _you_ for the yummy broccoli and cheese."

Then Kassandra, followed by Tom, stepped out onto the front porch. Tom looked back at this daughter and said, "I'll be right back."

She nodded. "Okay, Daddy."

Tom and Kassandra descended the four steps from the front porch, then walked to the car.

Kassandra turned and kissed Tom lightly on the lips. "See you in church tomorrow?"

"I'll be there."

She flashed him a smile, then climbed into the car and started it. He watched as she backed out of the driveway and headed down the street.

* * *

"That was a good sermon, Pastor," commented Brother Blanton.

"It sure was," agreed Tom. "I hear too many complaints from people that their pastors don't speak about prophecy."

Pastor Bill merely shrugged. "It's God's message. I just speak the words."

Kassandra walked up, hand-in-hand with Missy. "I think your daughter is hoping for a grilled chicken sandwich for lunch," she told Tom.

"Actually, my parents have invited us over for lunch," replied the author. He looked at his watch. "They should be home from church by now."

Kassandra looked down at Melissa. "Sorry. I tried."

Missy smiled. "That's okay. You'll like grandma's cooking."

"I wasn't invited," was Kassandra's response.

"Actually, you were the _reason_ that they invited us over," suggested Tom. "My parents want to meet you."

Kassandra looked around at the adults who were all gathered at the front door to the church and bit her bottom lip. "I . . . uh . . .."

"Don't be nervous," joked Sister Blanton, standing next to her husband. "Tom's known his parents for years. You can trust them."

Kassandra chuckled nervously. Looking down at Missy, she said, "Why don't I walk you out to the car?" The two walked out the door, Kassandra's hand briefly touching Tom's as she walked by him.

"She's a sweet girl," commented the pastor as they watched the two head toward Tom's Cavalier.

Tom nodded. "I really like her."

"Little Missy seems to, also," stated Brother Blanton.

The pastor turned back toward Tom. "Just be careful, Tom. She's a relatively new believer. You could be a wonderful influence on her. But don't let it go the other way."

Tom stepped past the preacher and onto the front step of the church. "I appreciate your concern, Pastor. But Missy's a stronger influence on me than anyone I know. And she'd never let me fall away." He grinned and turned toward his car.

* * *

" . . . and so I got out of bed, my stomach incredibly sore, to find that Tom and his cousin had poured all of my powdered floor cleaner all over the bathroom!" Tom's mother had been telling Kassandra how Tom and his cousin, Mindy, had been trying to clean the bathroom right after she'd had surgery when Tom was five. "If I hadn't been in so much pain, I'd have beaten the stuffing out of them!"

Tom smiled and shook his head. "I don't remember any of it."

Amanda cocked an eyebrow at him. "I wanted your dad to spank you when he got home from work, but all he did was break down laughing."

Bob leaned back in his chair at the table and said, "I couldn't help it. The sight of you laying there in bed, your face a beet, and Tom and Mindy with bathroom cleaner all over their heads was just too funny!"

Missy looked at Amanda. "Grandma, can _I_ clean your bathroom?"

All of the adults roared with laughter.

Tom used a fork to move pieces of fried chicken around until he found the liver. He used his own fork to pick it up and stuff it in his mouth.

Kassandra looked at him, her face draining of color. "Did you just eat the liver?"

Tom chewed contentedly for a few seconds, then swallowed. "My favorite part."

Amanda chuckled. "He and his dad would always cut the liver in half and share it while he was growing up. I never could figure out why they liked it."

Kassandra smiled. "I would agree with you on that." She glanced back over at Tom. "And you didn't save any for your father?"

Bob broke in. "I can't eat it anymore. It just doesn't agree with me like it used to."

"So, Tom tells us that you used to be an actress," commented Amanda. "What brings you to Missouri?"

Kassandra smiled. "Mostly a change of scenery, I guess. San Francisco was just getting too unfriendly for me."

"They have a small theater company here in the Bluff," suggested Bob. "It's mostly voluntary . . . raising money for charity, and all. But I'm sure they'd like to have a girl with a theater degree working with them."

Tom glanced over at her. "Maybe doing plays for charity would be a good way for God to use you here."

* * *

Tom walked Kassandra to her car. "Are you sure you won't stick around for awhile?" he asked.

"I really need to get some laundry done," she replied. "I want to make sure that I have something respectable to wear when I talk to the people in charge of that theater company tomorrow."

"So, you're going to try it?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I think so. Will you go with me so I won't be so nervous?"

Tom smiled warmly at her. "You bet."

* * *

Tom's eyes shot open. What had awakened him?

The phone rang again.

Tom sleepily looked at the clock, which told him that it was just after four in the morning. He grabbed the cordless receiver from the nightstand next to the bed and clicked the _talk_ button. "Hello?"

"Tom? It's Deputy Ted. I'm sorry to be calling so early this morning, but I thought you might want to hear this."

Tom wiped the sleep from his eyes. "What's up, Ted?"

"I'd been trying to get a hold of that Marlene Docket the plates were registered to. I just kept getting her answering machine."

"Oh?"

"Word came through the wire last night that she's been reported missing."

Tom was now fully awake. "Missing?"

"Apparently, she's some kind of missionary who drives twice a week to a church in California and hasn't shown up for work. Her preacher and her brother went to her house looking for her. Her car was there, but she wasn't. They haven't heard from her."

Tom ran his fingers through his hair. "How come we haven't heard anything about this on the news?"

"You know how that goes Tom. A preacher disappears and the media doesn't seem to care. One of those half-naked pop stars disappears and it's on every channel."

Tom thought back to the girl at the bookstore who had called him church-boy. Some pieces were starting to fit together. "Maybe, whoever this person is, he has a hate-on for Christians."

_"Wouldn't be the first time I'd heard that about somebody, Tom."_ The deputy cleared his throat. _"The sheriff is going to send one of us around your house periodically throughout the day for awhile. Is that okay?"_

"I'd really appreciate that."

He climbed from his bed and checked to make sure that the windows in his room were locked. "Do you have any idea what church she was affiliated with?" he asked as he walked out of the room, going from window to window and door to door.

Tom could hear the deputy rustling through papers. Finally he said, _"'Glory to the Savior Assembly of God' in San Francisco."_

Tom stopped outside of Missy's room. "Was there any indication of what kind of missionary she was?"

"These papers don't say. The police out there probably have that information."

"I'll look up the phone number for that church online and call the pastor tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

Tom sighed. "Today. I forgot what time it is."

"Call me if you see that car again."

"You bet."

Tom hung up and slowly opened Melissa's bedroom door. She was snoring peacefully but had kicked the covers off of herself during the night. Tom made sure that the window was locked, then turned and pulled the sheet and blanket back over her.

She quieted for a moment and he was afraid that he had awakened her. But after a few seconds, she started snoring again. Tom tip-toed to her door and stepped into the hallway. He decided to leave her door open tonight. There was a stranger out there and Tom wanted to be able to hear his daughter if something should happen.

He made his way to his office. In the center of the room hung his sparring bag. He needed a way to work off some steam and he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore tonight . . ..

Chapter Seven

Monday, 10:02 AM

_"'Glory to the Savior Assembly of God',"_ the woman's voice on the other end announced. _"How may I direct your call?"_

"The pastor's office please," replied Tom.

"He's not in yet this morning. Would you like his voicemail?"

Tom sighed quietly. "That'd be fine."

* * *

Tom knocked on Kassandra's door. Footsteps walked to the door and, after a few seconds, he could hear the click of several locks. The door opened to reveal Kassandra. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. The same, slight amount of makeup was on her face and she wore a pair of blue slacks. She zipped her coat with a smile.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Her lungs filled with air, then released it as she smiled nervously. "I'm ready."

* * *

"Is that all you think I am?!" yelled the young woman, her hands resting on her hips. "Someone to cook your meals, wash your dishes and clean your house?!"

The man looked over his newspaper at her, his mustached upper lip curling into a smile. "Of course."

She untied her apron and pulled it off, then threw it in his face. "Well, if this whole domestic goddess thing is just a job, then I QUIT!!!" She then turned and stormed off the stage.

Tom and the director applauded.

"That was incredible, Kassandra!" yelled the director, Bruce Jones.

She walked down the steps from the stage to stand in front of the two men. "You really think so?"

He nodded. "You've definitely got the part."

Tom shot her a thumbs-up from his seat next to Bruce's.

Bruce turned to look at Tom. "I'm glad you talked me into arranging this today. We don't usually do rehearsals here during a weekday. I just wish that you'd change your mind about writing something for us."

Tom shook his head with a smile. "I write books. I used to work with a guy at the bank in Springfield who wrote plays. It takes a special gift that I just don't have." He stood and said, "That's a whole different ballgame."

Bruce sighed. "It was worth a shot." He turned back to Kassandra. "At least I got a good actress. Tom says that you did some movies in California. I'd like to see them."

Kassandra's smile faded. "I . . . I wasn't a Christian when I did those. That was another life. I don't really even claim them now."

Bruce folded his arms across his chest. "Fair enough. We're doing the Lord's work now. The Bible says that we have to be reborn. It _is_ a different life." He shook her hand. "We'll see you Thursday evening at six for rehearsal."

He turned to head back into his office.

Kassandra smiled and hugged Tom. "Thanks for coming with me today. It meant a lot."

"Don't mention it," he responded. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

* * *

Tom had walked Kassandra to her front door. After a gentle kiss, she had flashed him one of her smiles, then walked inside and set all of the locks on her door.

Tom hadn't remembered her doing that after he had dropped her off from their last date. One lock, maybe. But not five.

He'd headed back to his own house. There were still a couple of hours before he'd have to pick up Missy from school.

As he walked in the front door, he glanced across the room to see that his answering machine was flashing. He checked it to find that he had two messages.

The first was from Diane, his editor. _"I'll be in town tomorrow to buy you lunch. Do they still have that quaint Chinese restaurant there? Call me on my cell."_

The machine beeped to indicate the next message. _"Mr. Bradford, this is Pastor Brian Williams from 'Glory to the Savior,' just returning your call. I'll be here until five o'clock. I guess that'd be seven, your time."_

Tom picked up the cordless phone, dialing the number. After asking for the pastor's office, he waited for the transfer.

"This is Pastor Williams."

"Pastor Williams, this is Thomas Bradford."

" _I was thinking that your name sounded familiar, Mr. Bradford,"_ commented the preacher.

"Maybe you've read some of my books," Tom replied.

" _The writer! Now I remember! My son's read all of your books! To what do I owe the pleasure?"_

"Well, it's not a pleasure call, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"I was hoping that you could give me some information on a missionary that was affiliated with your church. Marlene Docket?"

He could hear the pastor sigh. _"Poor Sister Docket. She hadn't shown up for the weekly meeting of the inner-city missionaries, which worried me. She'd come in with pneumonia once."_

"What did you find at her house?"

"There'd been signs of a struggle. Neighbors said that they had heard yelling there the night before and somebody had even called the police and reported it."

"Did they not check it out?"

"Yeah, but they still haven't turned up anything. You'd be surprised how many threats she got over her work for the Lord. Even she didn't take them all that seriously anymore."

"Threats? What kind of a missionary was she?"

_"She ministered to those who had problems with sexual sin. She specialized in helping people overcome homosexuality, but she also worked with teens who were addicted to pornography, sex . . . the list is ongoing."_ He chuckled. _"When it came out that Bill Clinton was addicted to sex, she even started a prayer chain for him and sent him a letter of encouragement. He never responded to her, though."_

Tom smiled. "No, I guess I wouldn't have expected him to."

* * *

Tom was impressed by how much Kassandra seemed to look forward to the Monday night youth meetings. The past two weeks that she'd helped, she had been indispensable. The teens all loved her and she was always ready to help or pray with somebody.

Tonight, however, she was even more into it. She latched on to every lesson about the kicks and punches of tae kwon do that Tom taught the teens. By the time that the lesson was over, her hair and shirt where drenched in sweat.

During snack time, which consisted of a marble cake that Tom's mother had baked, Kassandra sat across the table from Tom and asked, "How'd I do tonight?"

"You did pretty well," he replied. "Any particular reason why you were so interested in the training tonight?"

She shrugged. "I really haven't been exercising that much since I got here and I realized that I don't want to look bad onstage."

"Well, what we do here isn't really complete, so to speak. There are two really good tae kwon do schools here in the Bluff. Maybe you should check them out."

"What's the difference between the two?"

Tom shrugged. "From what I understand, one is more traditional."

"Meaning?"

"Well, you have to learn the names of the forms that you learn. I didn't go to a traditional school in Springfield."

"I don't think that I'd like a traditional school, either."

"Then I'd try the other. The instructor's name is Dan Mills and he's apparently a really good teacher. He's also been to a couple of my signings before."

"Maybe I'll call him tomorrow." She took a bite of her cake and, while chewing, happened to look down at the sweat stain that spread across the top of her shirt. "Ugh. Sweat."

Tom chuckled. "'No pain, no gain.'"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I was thinking. Rather than us going out for dinner this Friday, how about we eat at my house? You could bring Missy and I'll cook for you both."

Tom's eyebrows rose slightly. "What would we be having?"

"I can cook pretty good Italian," she responded. "How about Spaghetti Alfredo?"

"Sounds delicious."

* * *

"What's troubling you, Tom?" asked Diane from her place across the table. "You haven't been eating that much today."

Diane, whose light brown hair had been pulled back into a bun, had kept her promise to come to town and take Tom to lunch in celebration of his first hardback book. Tom was normally so comfortable with Diane that he had no trouble eating in front of her. But he just did not have much of an appetite today.

Tom sighed. "Well, I think I have a stalker."

Diane's fork stopped its ascent to her mouth. "A stalker?"

Tom nodded.

She set her fork on her plate. "What makes you say that?"

"I've been seeing this blue Corvette all over town lately," he commented. "It shows up everywhere that I do."

"Couldn't it just be coincidence?" asked Diane. "'The Bluff' isn't a huge town, you know."

Tom nodded. "I know, but he's shown up at my house, too." Tom looked across the table at her. "Missy woke up one night a couple of weeks ago and saw somebody looking in her window at her."

Diane's eyes were saucers. "Did you call the police?"

Tom nodded again. "I got the plate number off of the car and gave them to our sheriff, but the plates turned out to be stolen."

"Missouri plates?"

Tom shook his head. "Nevada. And the woman they were stolen from is missing."

"Oh, dear." Diane shook her head. "Have you prayed about it?"

"Yes. But God's silent about it right now."

"He'll reveal it to you in good time. Remember, Tom, His timetable is different than ours."

* * *

Tom set the last of the groceries on the check-out counter as the belt moved along. The cashier moved each item over the scanner. The author watched the half-gallon of Rocky Road ice cream make its way toward the checker. Then he glanced down at his daughter and commented, "I think we've created a monster."

Missy's bright blue eyes met his as she said, "I'm not really a _monster_ , am I, Daddy?"

Tom bent over and picked her up, kissing her forehead. "No. You are a normal child and I'm very happy that you'll eat Rocky Road ice cream."

She hugged him. "I'm glad Kassandra had me try it. I really like her."

Tom smiled. "I do, too."

Melissa pulled back to look him in the eyes. "Is it still too early to tell whether you're going to marry her?"

Tom chuckled at her. "A little bit."

She went back to hugging him. "I hope you do. She's nice."

The groceries made their way slowly toward the checker. Tom tried to remember if he'd forgotten anything. He'd left his list at home and had to wing it tonight. While in thought, he happened to glance at the newspaper rack to see the front page head-line, _Adult Film Producer Files for Permission to Film Movie in the Bluff_ , staring back at him.

Tom picked up the top copy of the American Republic with his free hand and stared at it in shock. What was happening around here lately?

The cashier came to the end of the groceries. "Can you add this, too?" he asked her as he dropped the paper on the counter.

"Sure thing," she responded.

Tom paid his total and set Missy down so that he could push the cart to the car.

* * *

" . . . and bless Daddy and Kassandra and our church," prayed Missy. "And please tell Mommy that I love her. Amen."

Tom's heart was always softened when he heard that last part of Missy's prayer. He knew that she missed her mother. That was good. Tom never wanted her to forget that she had a wonderful and loving mommy.

He pulled the covers back and Missy climbed into her bed. Tom kissed his daughter on the forehead. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

He closed the shades on her window, trying to cover the fact that he was also making sure that the window was locked. She did not seem to notice.

He walked to the door and looked back at her. "Angels will watch over you while you sleep."

She smiled and nodded. "I know that, Daddy."

He flicked the light switch and the room was bathed in darkness. Then he opened the door and stepped into the hall.

Walking into the living room, Tom started to turn the television off, when he noticed that the news was carrying a story about the adult movie producer from the paper today. He caught a flicker of a picture of the man before it had left the screen. There was something about it that unsettled Tom but he couldn't put his finger on it. He switched off the television.

He grabbed the newspaper that he had purchased earlier and sat on the couch. He read the headline and the article, but there was no picture of the man included. Tom shook his head in frustration. The only thing that he had was a name . . . Alan Milton.

Tom dropped the paper back onto the table and walked into his office. He seated himself in his computer chair and moved his mouse to make the screensaver vanish. Then he clicked on his web browser. After the window came up, he typed in the address for a search engine that he normally used.

When the page loaded, Tom typed the name, _Alan+Milton_ , into the Search bar, clicked Go, then waited.

The result was 2,167 hits.

He rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. Then, he went back up to the Search bar and typed _Alan+Milton+pornography_. He then clicked Go and waited.

Three hundred hits was the result this time.

He decided to take his chances and started scrolling. The fifth link was to an article from a certain liberal rock magazine. The title was _Adult Film Genius_.

The article mentioned that Milton was famous for finding new talent. He was singularly responsible for the introduction of Mandy Lee, a famous, Chinese-American adult film star of the 1990s who now wrote and directed movies under Milton's imprint. He was also responsible for Luscious Lily, an up-and-coming star of the present day.

Tom scrolled through the article, trying to find a picture. There was nothing.

He hit the _Back_ button on his browser and continued looking. Finally, he found the web-site for Milton's company, _Temptation Pictures_. Tom was embarrassed to even look at the site, with all of the scantily clad women. Trying his best not to look at them, he followed a link to the page of the president of the company.

Still no picture.

Tom read a recent editorial from Mr. Milton:

I just want to set the minds at ease of our fans out there. The rumors of Luscious Lily's early retirement from the adult film business are false. She'll be back as soon as we come up with a project worthy of an actress of her caliber.

_We're currently working on getting permission to film a movie in Central Missouri. The screenplay was written by Mandy Lee, who will also be directing it. It's about a preacher's daughter who cannot live up to her father's expectations. Expect this one to cross the line even more so than_ The Teacher Who Wanted Her Students _did._

Tom groaned in disgust. "Well, I'm really glad that I never started watching _those_ movies." He closed his browser window, then cleared his history and temporary files so that he would never accidentally go back to the site while surfing in the future.

He leaned back in his chair. He had discovered two things. The first was that Alan Milton did not even have a picture of himself on his web-site. The second was that writing was not Milton's strong suit. An editorial should be more professional. _Of course,_ Tom realized, _I am biased._

* * *

Kassandra turned off the television and, with shaking hands, set the remote on the small table next to her couch. She climbed from the couch, the young, female reporter's words still fresh in her mind, and knelt next to the coffee table. "Lord," she prayed, "I felt so drawn to come here. I felt as if You led me here. But have I poisoned this small town that is so on fire for You?"

And then she wept bitterly.

* * *

The Wednesday night adult Bible study tonight was about sexual sin. Apparently, everybody had heard the news.

Sister Blanton spoke after the study. "We have sixteen signatures so far from our church of those who want to take part in the demonstration across from city hall tomorrow at noon. We're joining together with both of the Baptist churches, the Catholic church and the Assembly of God church and, so far, we have a total of eighty people who are going to be demonstrating." She handed a clipboard to Sister Brenda, on her left. "I'm trying to get more takers."

Brenda signed it and passed it to the person on her left.

Tom bit his bottom lip. He wasn't ordinarily the type of person who would join in on a demonstration like this, preferring to change the world one book at a time. But carrying a sign for a couple of hours might not be such a bad idea, especially if it would get him a view of this Alan Milton.

Tom looked across the circle at Steve Myers. "Any luck finding a legal way to stop them, Steve?"

Steve sighed. "Missouri has decency laws that could work in our favor. It really depends on interpretation."

Tom noticed the clipboard get to Kassandra, who was sitting on his right. She looked it over, sighed, and then passed it to him. He was curious as to why she did not sign it. Of course, she had signed the petition that was going to be given to the judge. Maybe she did not feel comfortable in a public display like that. He really could not blame her. If he hadn't wanted to get a look at the producer, Tom would not have signed up, either. But it seemed to be the only way. So he signed it and passed it to the next person . . ..

* * *

Tom, Kassandra and Missy walked toward their cars. "So, you signed the demonstration list?" Kassandra asked him.

"Yeah," he replied. "This is a good place to raise children. I don't want to see that change." He sighed. "Besides, I would like to give the producer a piece of my mind."

Kassandra nodded silently.

They got to her Taurus. "We'll pick you up for your rehearsal tomorrow?" he asked.

Kassandra smiled weakly and nodded.

"You're not nervous, are you?"

"No."

"Wish me luck at the demonstration tomorrow?"

She nodded again, then leaned forward and kissed him affectionately on the lips. "I love you." Then she climbed into the car, started it and drove away.

Tom stared at her in shock.

Missy giggled. " _Now_ , is it still too early to tell if you're gonna marry her?"

* * *

Tom tossed and turned in the bed. _Why can't I get comfortable?_

He swung his legs over the side and sat there, rubbing his eyes. _What is wrong with me?_

He looked at the clock. _12:30 AM_. He'd been tossing and turning in bed for two and a half hours.

He sighed and climbed from the bed, pulling the sleeve of his T-shirt up so that he could scratch an itch on his upper arm. He sighed again and padded out of the room.

Tom made his way to Missy's room and peered in at her sleeping form. She snored peacefully, wrapped tightly in her blanket.

He smiled. At least he had not kept her awake.

He headed down the hall. Passing through the living room, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic glass from the cupboard. After pouring himself some tea, he sat at the table and opened the issue of a writer's magazine that he had gotten in the mail the day before.

He couldn't concentrate.

And he suddenly knew what was bothering him.

Kassandra had told him that she loved him.

Sandy had been the only woman, other than his mother and daughter, who had ever really told him that. And the last time that he had heard her say it was that horrible night . . ..

Chapter Eight

Three Years Prior

Saturday, 9:47 PM

"We have to move her, son," the old police officer said. His jacket was immaculate. His pants were pressed neatly. His brown eyes were compassionate.

Tom looked over at his wife. Sandy sat in the passenger's seat, her door having caved in and pushed the seat . . . and her . . . half a foot into the car. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing shallowly. Her blood had splattered on the windshield . . . and on him.

"Is it _safe_ to move her?" he asked, tears stinging his eyes.

"We have to weigh whether it's safer to leave her in the car or move her." The policeman motioned for his partner to come over to Tom's Corsica, but the man didn't seem to notice. "You're leaking gas and I don't think that this is very safe." He looked at his partner and yelled, "Where's that blasted fire truck?"

"They said they're coming!" snapped his partner.

"Well get over here and help me!" ordered the first officer.

Tom looked out the bloody windshield. Already, the deputies were pushing the onlookers back. They were right. Tom and Sandy had to get out of that car.

He reached over and gently unclasped the seatbelt that still held his wife in the seat. She groaned and opened her eyes, smiling weakly at him.

"Everything's going to be all right, Honey," he whispered to her. "We're just going to get you out of the car and lay you down while we wait for the ambulance."

She nodded.

He backed partly out of the car, wincing at his own scratches and gashes. He then started to grab her under her armpits, but the officer stopped him.

"Let us do that, son. We don't know the extent of your injuries."

Tom nodded and moved aside as the policeman reached in and gently slid Sandy toward the driver's seat.

She groaned in pain, tears running down her blood-streaked cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "We have to move you. I don't think that the car is safe."

"It's . . . okay," she whispered weakly. "Move me."

He managed to get her out far enough so that the other officer could help him to get her the rest of the way out of the car. They moved her about twenty feet away from the car and sat the two of them down on the sidewalk.

Sandy lay down on her back, her head resting in Tom's lap. He could now get a good look at her. Crimson covered her formerly blue blouse on her right side. Judging by the wetness of her breathing, he guessed that something had punctured her lung.

He brought his right hand up to stroke her brown hair out of her face. It, too, was matted with her blood.

She opened her blue eyes and looked at him with a smile. "I love you."

He nodded, tears filling his own eyes. "The ambulance will be here soon." He fought to control his own breathing. He had to be strong for her. "Everything'll be okay."

Her smile widened, but her eyes were sad. "Don't ever let Missy forget how much I love her."

Tom's eyes overflowed. "Don't talk like that. You can tell her that yourself."

Tears began to run down Sandy's cheeks again. "You can see my chest, Tom. I've . . . lost a lot of blood. It hurts to breathe."

"The ambulance will be here any minute."

A warm, summer evening breeze stirred, and Tom almost felt as if someone touched him comfortingly on the shoulder. But there was nobody there.

"Is the boy who was driving the other car okay?" Sandy asked weakly.

"How can you even ask about him?" asked her husband, who, by now, had stopped even trying to wipe his own tears away. "Look what he did to you."

She slowly brought her right hand up and caressed his cheek. "He needs Jesus, Tom."

Tom closed his eyes in anger. "What's Jesus doing for you now?" he demanded.

"He's preparing a place for me at His Father's table." She inhaled as deeply as she could, and he could hear fluid in her lungs. "I'll be there soon."

"No." He leaned over and touched his nose to hers. "Stay here with Missy and me. We need you." He kissed her lips.

"Listen to me, Tom," she admonished him. "Don't become bitter because of this. Missy's going to need you more now than ever."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't do it alone. You _know_ I can't."

"But you _will_ , Tom. You have to be strong for her." She breathed more shallowly. "Promise me that you'll never put anything before her . . . not your work or your writing . . .. _Nothing_."

He opened his eyes and bit his bottom lip.

"I need for you to promise this, Tom."

He nodded. "I promise."

"And I need for you to promise that you'll keep taking her to church."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "So she can worship the God who's taking you away from us?"

"So that she can worship the God who made her and loves her and who is going to take away this pain." She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. "Please, promise me, Tom."

"I promise." His own breathing was ragged as his emotions overcame him.

"Hold me," she whispered.

He wrapped his arms as tightly around her as he could without causing her more pain. A part of his mind hoped that he could staunch the flow of the blood until the ambulance could get there.

"I love you," she whispered again.

"I love you, too," he whispered back. "Always."

He held her there, the growing crowd of people looking on. He lost track of time and couldn't guess how long it was before he finally heard the sirens of the ambulance. He looked up the street to see the large, white vehicle, its white and red lights flashing, rushing their way.

He smiled. "They're here, Honey."

He looked down at her and his smile faded. A look of complete peace was on her face. But her chest wasn't moving.

She had died in his arms.

The ambulance squealed to a stop and the paramedics leaped out, motioning for him to move out of their way.

"Help her," he pleaded weakly. "Please, help her."

In less than a minute, the man and the woman who had come for his wife were shaking their heads and covering her with a white sheet.

Tom dropped to his knees with a cry of anguish and looked over at the policemen, who were now leading the handcuffed teenager, a cut from his forehead soaking his blonde hair and his fraternity T-shirt, to one of the patrol cars. He had been the one who had been driving the other car. He had been the one who had ignored the red light. He had been the one who had robbed Tom and Melissa of Sandy.

And he was so drunk that he could barely stand.

Tom did not remember his knees leaving the ground. He did not remember his feet carrying him across the street. And he could barely remember the words of rage and hatred that poured out of his mouth as his fist connected squarely with the college student's jaw, just before the police had wrestled him to the ground . . ..

* * *

Tom rubbed his eyes. He had not wanted to remember that night. He had not wanted to think about the most painful thing that he had ever had to live through.

The police had taken the college student to the hospital, rather than the police station. Tom's punch, backed by seven years of training in the martial arts, had broken the boy's jaw. The strange thing was that the boy had not counter-sued. He had not fought in court for a lower settlement. He had pleaded guilty to the manslaughter charges. He had gotten ten years in prison, but had been out on parole in two.

Tom heaved a ragged sigh. Now, Kassandra had told him that she loved him. Why did that bother him so much? Was he scared?

Missy, thankfully, did not seem to mind his relationship with Kassandra. At least it would not be the _wicked step-mother_ complex.

He stood from the kitchen chair in which he had been sitting and headed back to his bedroom, slowing as he passed Missy's door so that he could hear her slight snoring. Then he walked back into his room, set his cup of tea on the nightstand next to the bed, climbed under the covers, and finally let sleep overtake him.

* * *

Tom had a splinter in his right hand. "Where did we get the wood for the handles of these signs?" he asked as he picked at it with the tweezers of his Swiss Army knife.

Brenda gave Tom a good-natured pat on the back. "Brother Bowland brought them from his sawmill. He apparently cut them right from the boards without sanding them."

Brother Jim Bowland, a tall man in his late fifties, looked at Tom compassionately and said, "I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't really have much notice."

Tom smiled at him. "Don't worry about it. If a splinter's the worst thing that I get today, I'll count myself lucky." He finally pulled the tiny piece of wood out of his skin.

There were a hundred and eight people here, from various churches around town. The churches that Sister Blanton had mentioned were here, but some smaller churches had also sent delegates.

A late-model, red Dodge Viper pulled in front of the courthouse and two people climbed out of it. The driver-an attractive Asian woman with flowing, dark hair and a blouse that was unbuttoned much too low to be modest-looked at the demonstrators and frowned. The passenger, a middle-aged, well-muscled man with short, blonde hair and a matching mustache, smiled and headed toward them.

When he got within ten feet of the picket line, he stopped and raised his hands to get everyone's attention. "People!" he called, as he removed a pair of sunglasses from his face. "Why are you so concerned about us? We just want to make a quality film and put money into your community!"

Tom's breath caught in his throat. A jagged scar ran down the man's face, crossing diagonally from just above his left eyebrow to the right side of his chin.

Melissa's words came back to him. _I saw him, Daddy. He had a scar that ran down his face._

Brenda was yelling at the man. "We don't want your kind of money in our community!"

Tom stepped past her. He heard Brother Bowland call out, "A _quality movie_ that's a sex film is an oxymoron!"

Tom came to stand in front of the scarred man. "Nice scar," he commented quietly, so that the yelling demonstrators could not hear him.

The man cracked a half-smile at him. "I've been broken for my own iniquities. I didn't need somebody to do it for me 2,000 years ago."

Tom rolled his eyes, then examined the man. He was a few inches taller than the writer and looked as if he worked out regularly.

"Mr. Milton, I suppose?"

The man's crooked smile widened. "You know me?"

It was taking everything in Tom's power to not slug the man. "I should. Your car's been following me all over town."

The man's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh?"

Tom leaned forward so that the man could hear him whisper, "I recognized you from my daughter's description."

"Your daughter?"

"It seems that, one night last week, she woke up and saw what she thought was the boogieman looking in the window at her." Tom's voice was filled with contempt.

Mr. Milton shook his head. "The boogieman? Kid's have really active imaginations, don't they?"

"Except for the scar that was running down _this_ particular monster's face," was Tom's reply. "Or the blue Corvette that was parked across the street from my house."

Mr. Milton's eyes narrowed as if in thought. "Blue Corvette? No, I drive an SUV."

"We both know that you were there," said Tom. "What do you want with me?"

Alan shook his head. "My dear boy, what makes you think that I was after _you_?" He took a few steps away from Tom, then turned. "All of this'll make sense soon enough, Mr. Bradford." He headed back toward the courthouse.

Tom could have jumped on him. But there were camera crews here and the last thing that he wanted on the six o'clock news was for them to show one of the Christian demonstrators beating the stuffing out of the "innocent" porn producer.

Turning to make his way back to the group, Tom felt Brenda pat him on the back. "Good going, Tom. I don't think anyone else would've had the courage to talk to the man face-to-face."

Tom sighed. "I just wish that I could have accomplished something."

Chapter Nine

Thursday, 6:02 PM

Tom and Missy clapped, along with the few relatives of the different actors who were here for the rehearsal. The actors had done an incredible job. To Tom, Kassandra had been the best.

Of course, he was biased.

He looked over at Missy, who was stretching out both corners of her mouth with her little fingers so that she could whistle loudly. He smiled at her. He did not know where she had learned to whistle. He had never learned how to do it.

* * *

Melissa had finished her scoop of Rocky Road a little bit after Tom had finished his own Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough scoop.

"So, how'd the demonstration go today?" asked Kassandra from her place across the table from Tom.

"We had over a hundred people there." Tom decided not to tell her about his confrontation with Alan Milton.

"Did they get the permit?"

"The judge decided to not make a decision today," was Tom's response. "He wants to think about it for a few days and give a response on Monday."

"May I have another scoop?" asked Missy.

Tom looked at her and shook his head with a smile. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to cut you off." He leaned toward her with a smile. "Too much sugar is bad for you."

She smiled back at him. "Okay, Daddy."

* * *

Tom walked Kassandra to her front door. Missy had fallen asleep in her booster seat on the way, so Tom just made sure that he could see her from the porch.

"So," asked Kassandra, "I'll see you both tomorrow night for pasta?"

"I'm looking forward to it," replied Tom.

She nodded with a smile, not meeting his gaze.

He cleared his throat and began, "Look . . . about what you said to me in the church parking lot last night . . .."

"I'm sorry, Tom," she interrupted. "It was probably too soon for you . . .."

He stopped her by putting his index finger under her chin and gently raising her face so that she was looking at him. "I love you, too." He brought his lips to hers. They felt warm and inviting. She was an amazing kisser. In contrast, he felt clumsy and out of practice.

After they finally . . . and reluctantly . . . ended the kiss, she rested her forehead against his. "I really needed that," she whispered to him.

"I think we both did," was his response. "I'll get better at it once I'm back in practice."

She pulled back and caressed his cheek. "I hope we'll have lots more practice." She turned with her key and unlocked the front door to her house. As she opened it, she turned to look at him with a smile. "See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Tomorrow."

* * *

" . . . and bless Daddy and Kassandra. And tell Mommy that I love her. In Jesus's Name, Amen."

Tom repeated her Amen, then held back the covers. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

She climbed into the bed and he tucked her in. "Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite," she said to him with a smile.

"And if they do . . .," he began.

" . . . take your shoe and beat them 'til they're black and blue," they finished in unison.

Missy giggled. Then she looked more closely at her daddy's mouth. "What's that red stuff that you have around your mouth, Daddy?"

Tom's eyes widened and he blushed in embarrassment. Kassandra had been wearing red lipstick. "I'll have to look," he replied. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Goodnight. Daddy loves you."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

He rose and walked across the room, flipping off the light. Then he looked back at his daughter and smiled at her, blowing her a kiss. She blew him one back and he stepped into the hall.

Tom walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. He stood in front of the sink, examining his face in the mirror.

Indeed, there was some lipstick on his mouth, mostly around the bottom lip. He opened a drawer to his right and pulled a washcloth out and dampened it, then wiped his mouth clean.

He chuckled. He felt as if he were a teenager again.

The phone rang.

Tom left the bathroom and walked into his bedroom, picking up the cordless phone. He clicked the _Talk_ button and answered, "Hello?"

"Tom? It's Deputy Ted."

"What's up?"

"We found that blue Corvette abandoned on Highway Sixty-Seven, about a mile past the Highway Sixty exit."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Have you checked the Vehicle Identification Number?"

"Yep. Belongs to a Mike Morgan from Las Vegas. Turns out he reported it stolen a few weeks ago."

Tom sighed. Now the only proof that he had that the man who had been following him was Alan Milton was Missy's description. Tom did not want to put her through that. "Thanks for calling, Ted."

"There's more, Tom. The trunk had blood in it. Lots of it."

"You think that it belongs to the missionary who's missing?"

"We can't be for sure, but we're searching the area for a body. We sent samples of the blood to the lab in Jeff City for DNA testing, too."

Tom ran his fingers through his hair. "Did you find any fingerprints anywhere in the car?"

"The thief was really careful. Wiped everything clean."

* * *

Tom sat at the computer, his fingers moving quickly and efficiently over the keys. The beginning stages of writing a new book were always the hardest parts for him. He had to introduce each character into his mind and get them all straight on the screen.

Maybe, next time, he would start a series with the same characters.

A knock at the front door broke his concentration. Tom looked at the clock on his computer screen. It was 11:30 AM. He wasn't expecting anybody today.

He climbed from his chair and walked out of his office, heading down the hall toward the living room. All sorts of horrible things ran through his mind, ranging from police telling him that somebody had kidnapped his daughter from the school, to finding Alan Milton standing on his doorstep.

It was the mailman.

Tom opened the door to find the middle-aged, balding man standing there, holding a brown package. "Mr. Bradford?"

Tom smiled. "Yes?"

"This wouldn't fit in your mailbox and I didn't just want to leave it out here on the porch." He handed the package to Tom.

Tom took it with a smile. "Any other mail today?"

The man handed him another letter. It was addressed from Chi Alpha Christian Ministries in Springfield, MO.

Tom's eyebrows arched, his interest piqued. He looked up at the man, who had already started down the steps. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate what you guys do." He shivered. "Especially in this cold."

The man turned back to him with a smile. "You'd be surprised just how warm this coat is."

Tom turned and headed back into the house. He noted the return address on the package . . . or, rather, the lack of one. All it said was _Kassandra Moore_.

He smiled and felt around the large, padded envelope, trying to get a feel for what was inside. There was something hard in there, rectangular in shape. Deciding to hold off the relief from his suspense a little longer, he set the package on top of the television and opened the smaller envelope.

The letter inside read:

Mr. Bradford,

You don't know me. My name is Ron Sanders, the campus pastor for Chi Alpha Christian Ministries here in Springfield. We are a ministry of the Assemblies of God who concentrate on reaching college students for Christ. First of all, I would like to invite you to come and speak at one of our Thursday night fellowships, which we affectionately call "TNF," for short."

The other reason that I am writing this letter is regarding our Brother in the Lord, Jeremy Larsen. I'm sure you remember him as driving a green sports car a few years back and I'm sure that you remember him as the one who hit your car. And I truly am sorry to have to bring up your loss again, but I understand that your wife was a Believer and is now with the Lord.

What you probably don't know is that Jeremy spent two years in prison in Jefferson City and, while there, he was Saved. He learned to play the guitar and led the worship band for the church services in the prison until the day that he was released on parole. He went back to school after his parole, here at Evangel University and is studying to become a minister. He has been an indispensable help to me over the past semester.

Mr. Bradford, I know that your wife's death was a tragic thing. But her sacrifice brought at least two people . . . Jeremy and yourself . . . to a saving knowledge of Christ. And, through your writing and Jeremy's future ministry, God is going to reach so many more lives. That is a legacy that . . . and I think that you'd agree . . . your wife would be proud of.

Of all of the things that Jeremy has done in his life, the thing that still haunts him is the death of your wife. Mr. Bradford, I appeal to you as a Brother in the Lord to come here to Springfield and speak with our dear Brother. I hope that you have found it in your heart to forgive him, as God has forgiven all of His Christian Children.

In His Service,

Ronald P. Sanders

Tom dropped to the couch in shock and took a breath that rattled in his chest. _Forgive him?_ Tom thought. _How could he ask me to forgive the man who stole my wife from me? Stole Missy's mother from her?_

And then a still voice, one that was certainly not Tom's, popped into his head. _How could you ask Me to forgive you, Tom? The torture . . . the nails . . . the Cross?_

Tom's breath caught in his throat. His wife's words from that fateful night came back to him. _He needs Jesus, Tom._ And her death, her ultimate sacrifice, had assured that the boy had found Christ.

Tom climbed off of the couch and to his knees, bowing his head and weeping. "Forgive me, Lord, for the bitterness that I've had in my heart. Forgive me for the hatred that I've carried for the past three years. If You want me to forgive him, then that's what I'll do. I'll go and I'll speak with him, because he and I truly share a bond. Sandy, in her death, led us to You."

The tears flowed down his face as he silently allowed God to heal the pain that he had hidden for so long. Finally, he climbed to his feet and headed toward his office, wiping his eyes with his right hand.

The package on top of the television was forgotten.

Chapter Ten

Friday, 5:57 PM

"What's _Alfredo_?" asked Missy from her booster seat in the back.

"It's a cheesy white sauce," replied Tom. "It's not like the sauce that we normally use." He glanced in the rearview mirror at her. "It's really good."

They turned onto Kassandra's street and drove past three houses until they came to her house. Tom was surprised to see a black Chevrolet Blazer parked in the driveway. He parked next to the SUV and turned off his car.

As he looked up at the front door, he noticed, from the splintered wood on the sides of the doorframe and from a large crack in the door itself, that it had been forced open. Tom's heart pounded in his chest as he remembered the porn producer telling him that he drove an SUV.

Missy had already unfastened her seatbelt and was reaching for the door handle. "Get down in the floor, Honey, and don't let anybody see you," he instructed her.

"Why, Daddy?" She looked at him in the rearview mirror curiously.

"Something's happening in there and it may not be safe." He turned around and regarded her sternly. "Take the emergency blanket from the floor and put it over you. And, no matter what you hear, don't come out until you hear my voice telling you that it's okay."

She did as instructed, her face a mask of worry that broke his heart. He opened his door and climbed out, hitting the automatic door lock button as he did so. A satisfying click sounded from all four doors. Then he closed the driver's door and walked cautiously toward the house.

He heard voices coming from inside. An all too familiar man's voice was yelling, "Do you have any idea how much money your _Salvation_ is costing me? Most of my backers said they'd pull the funding for this next picture without you."

"Good!" came Kassandra's voice. "I don't want you to poison this town!"

"Poison it? What makes you think that _you_ didn't poison it by coming here?"

Tom pushed open the door and peered inside. The door opened into a small foyer. To his left was a large dining room with a long, rectangular table surrounded by eight chairs. To his right was the even larger living room. Kassandra was sitting on the couch, tears streaming from her eyes and running down her face.

Standing over her was Alan Milton, his eyes narrowed in rage. He continued yelling at her. "They're all going to know about you soon enough. I sent a couple of copies of your last film out . . . addressed from _you_." He smiled, his scarred face made even more demonic by the act. "I figure that the writer you've been dating got his copy today."

_Film?_ thought Tom. _The package was from him?_

"Not Tom," Kassandra buried her face in her hands and wept, her slight frame shaking. "Please, not him."

"Just what did you send me?" asked the author as he stepped into the living room.

Kassandra looked up at him with a gasp.

Alan's eyes darted toward him with a sneer.

Tom looked at Kassandra, trying his best to assure her with his eyes that her feelings were utmost in his mind at the moment. "I get the feeling, by the broken door and the fact that she's in tears, that she really doesn't want you here, Mr. Milton."

Alan's eyes did not leave Tom, but his words were addressed to Kassandra. "You'd better tell him to leave, Lily. You've seen what I'm capable of."

Kassandra looked fearfully at Tom. She opened her mouth to speak, but the writer cut her off.

"If you are going to tell me to leave because you're concerned about my safety, then don't. Remember our youth meetings on Monday nights?"

Realization dawned on Kassandra's face. She looked up at Alan, her eyes flaring with anger. "My name is _not_ Lily! And I want _you_ to leave!"

Milton looked at her in shock. But then he cracked a crooked smile and glanced back at Tom. "Why would you want to defend her? If you had any idea what she'd done in her past, you'd throw her out of your life without thinking twice about it."

Tom shook his head. "I don't suppose that her sins were any farther from Jesus's mind while He was hanging on that Cross than mine."

Alan looked back down at Kassandra and asked, "Do you really want me to go?"

She glared back at him. "I want you out of my life forever."

He turned toward Tom and the front door, the smirk never leaving his face. Tom moved to the side to give him space to get by. He came within eight feet. Six feet. Three feet. Then he was standing directly in front of the writer.

It happened so fast that Tom was almost taken by surprise. However, the fist that was intended for his face was caught by Tom's right hand. Tom's left foot shot up, connecting squarely with Alan's gut and doubling the man over. Then, Tom turned and flipped the producer to the floor of the foyer.

The man looked up at him, incredulous and trying to catch his breath. "Aren't all you . . . Bible-thumpers supposed . . . to be wimps?"

Tom folded his arms across his chest. "Where'd you get an idea like that?" He nodded toward the front door. "I suggest that you leave."

Alan climbed unsteadily to his feet and stumbled to the door. He looked back at Tom. "You haven't heard the last of this."

Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'd better have, Mr. Milton."

As Alan walked back to his SUV, Tom watched him out the front door. The man never looked at Tom's car, which caused the writer to breathe easier. Alan climbed into his vehicle, started it, backed it out of the driveway, and squealed his tires as he shot up the street. Tom made a mental note of Milton's California plate number.

Tom turned to find Kassandra standing in the archway that led into the living room, her eyes red and puffy and regarding him with trepidation. He smiled comfortingly at her and she plunged into his arms, her face buried in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," she wept.

He kissed her on top of her head and hugged her back comfortingly. "It's okay," he whispered. "He's not going to bother you again."

After a few moments of letting her cry, Tom finally pulled away and cupped her face with his hands. She looked him in the eye, her own eyes filled with pain.

"I think that you have something that you need to tell me," he stated simply but comfortingly. "Do you have a television in your bedroom?"

She nodded. "Why?"

"I need to get Missy. I'll put her in your room to watch TV while we talk."

"Missy!" Kassandra exclaimed at just above a whisper. "Where . . .?"

"She's hiding in the back floor of my car," he explained. "I'm going to go get her."

Kassandra nodded again. "I'll go wash my face. I don't want her to see me like this."

They parted and Tom walked to the passenger's front door of his Cavalier. He produced his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, then leaned in and looked over the seat. "It's okay, sweetheart. You can come out."

Missy's eyes peeked out from under the blanket. "Is Kassandra okay?"

He smiled. "Yes, she's fine."

"Who was in the big vehicle?"

Tom shook his head. "A very bad man. But he's gone now."

She climbed onto the back seat and unlocked her door, then climbed out of the car. Tom looked up the street, but saw no sign of the Blazer. He picked Missy up and carried her to the house.

"She's gonna need a new door, huh, Daddy?"

Tom nodded simply and stepped into the foyer. Kassandra was standing in the archway to the living room again, her bangs slightly damp and her face free of makeup and tears. To Tom, she looked just as beautiful without makeup as she did while she wore it.

Tom set Missy down. "Honey, why don't you let Kassandra show you where her bedroom is and you can watch some TV while she and I talk for a bit, okay?"

His daughter looked back and forth between the two adults, then shrugged. "Okay, Daddy."

Tom walked back into the living room while Kassandra led Missy down a hallway off of the dining room. He seated himself on the couch and sighed. He had an idea that what he was about to find out from Kassandra would be painful for them both. He closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer for God to give them strength.

He heard a television come on somewhere in the house, then footsteps as Kassandra headed back to him. Finally, she stepped into the living room, her eyes regarding him with fear.

He smiled at her and motioned for her to take a seat on the couch next to him. When she did so, he reached out and took her right hand in his. "It's okay. You can tell me anything. Any kind of relationship is built on trust."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I told you that I used to make low budget films and I told the director of the play that I'm in that I wanted to put it behind me. It was because I was an actress for Alan Milton's Temptation Pictures."

Tom's eyes widened in realization. "You were Luscious Lily."

She looked at him questioningly. "How did you know that?"

"When I first heard that they were trying to do this movie, I went to their web site, hoping to get a look at Mr. Milton," explained Tom. "He had written an editorial that mentioned that the rumors of your retirement were not true."

She nodded. "He was lying."

"And he followed you here to Missouri," gathered the writer.

She nodded again. "I was hoping that he wouldn't be able to find me. He didn't know that I had an aunt here. She was a devout Christian woman and I had nothing to do with her until I got Saved last year." She smiled weakly. "But, when she found out that I had Jesus in my life, she started sending me letters of encouragement with Bible verses all over them." She looked up at Tom. "I wasn't really blood-related to her, since she was my adoptive mother's sister. But she didn't have any children of her own and willed this house to me when she died. She said in her will that she wanted me to get a fresh start."

"How . . .," Tom was afraid to ask, " . . . how did you get into making those movies?"

Kassandra shuddered. "I played in a few plays around San Francisco right after I got out of college. The first two got really great reviews and I was at the top of my game." She took another deep breath and released it. "Then, the third play flopped. One reviewer said that I wasn't believable in my role. I played a girl who had been adopted and was, for the first time in many years, seeing my biological parents again." Tears started to build again. "He said that I was unbelievable in the role that should have been the easiest for me.

"I couldn't bring myself to go back on stage after that. I had lost my faith in my acting ability." She reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I took a job waiting tables at a diner for a month after that, until one of my customers recognized me. We talked a bit about acting and she told me that she worked for a production company that made movies. She said that the actors were well-paid and, most importantly, we really didn't have to have acting ability." She sniffled. "That recruiter's name was Mandy Lee."

Tom nodded. "I saw her with him at the courthouse. At least, I assumed it was her."

"Attractive Asian woman . . . early forties . . . dresses provocatively?"

Tom nodded again. "That's her."

"At that point, I didn't have anything to lose," she continued her story. "So I went for an audition. I sat through the interview, which included a few men . . . guys who invest in Alan's movies . . . staring at me naked." She shook her head. "They never tested my acting ability. They just gave me the first job based on my body."

Tom felt her hand trembling. He looked at her comfortingly. "Go on."

"I got really popular," she said, a bitter smile spreading across her face. "If the movie had my acting name, Luscious Lily, on it, then it was a hit. I did . . . lots of things that are expected of a porn actress onscreen. None of them respectable." Tears started pouring down her cheeks. "Let's just say that I got to know my co-workers _much_ better than anyone should." She glanced up at him. "Remember my abortion? I don't even know who the father was." She lowered her eyes.

Tom used his free hand to wipe the tears from her face.

She looked back up at him lovingly and said, "The one thing that Alan did do was have us checked by a doctor regularly. I have a clean bill of health. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried," commented Tom. "What made you quit?"

"I went home to visit my parents for a family reunion. While I was there, I caught my twelve year-old cousin sneaking around and watching a porn in one of the spare bedrooms." She shuddered as the tears started to flow again. "It was one of mine. I don't know where he'd gotten it, but he was _twelve years old_ and he had a movie that showed me naked and having sex with everyone in the film." She pulled her hand free of Tom's and buried her face in both of her hands.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"I don't deserve this from you, Tom," she managed.

He kissed her on the top of her head. "I love you. Go on."

She finally caught her breath and continued. "I think that I caught him before he got to my first scene in the movie, so I took the tape from the VCR and destroyed it. Something in me clicked and I went downstairs and pulled my parents to the side and admitted to them what I'd been doing for a living for the past two and a half years. They never judged me, but they told me that this had been a wakeup call and that I needed to get out of the adult film business."

She rested her head on Tom's shoulder. "I found a church in San Francisco and went the next Sunday evening. The preacher's sermon was about repentance and forgiveness. And God touched my heart." She took a ragged breath. "And I opened that same heart to Christ that very night."

"I take it that Alan wasn't thrilled with your Salvation?" Tom chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Not at all. He would call me, offering to double and . . . finally . . . even triple what he'd paid me on my last movie. Apparently, his investors were concerned that his recent movies had been less than popular and they wanted me to bring the company back up to its former standards." She sighed. "He first tried being nice. Then, he started getting annoying.

"I had a good support network in that church. I went to a regular, weekly meeting of those who had been stranded in lives of sinful sexual behavior. Alan showed up at one of those meetings and punched the woman who was leading it." She sniffed, her weeping now under control. "I didn't want to cause any trouble for that church, so I came here and moved into my aunt's house."

The two of them sat there, Tom's gentle arms comforting her, for several minutes after the conversation had ended.

Tom sighed. Why would she be afraid that he would judge her? She had found Christ and put everything else behind her.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You can't stay here tonight."

"Where else will I stay?" The way her head was resting on his shoulder, he could not see her face.

"With Missy and me."

She looked up at him now, her tears all but gone. "I don't think that would be appropriate."

He smiled at her. "Don't worry. I'll be a gentleman. We have a spare bedroom. Missy would look at it like a slumber party."

She leaned up and gently kissed his lips. "God really blessed me by bringing you into my life." She climbed from the couch. "I'll go pack some clothes."

Tom nodded. "I'll call the sheriff."

* * *

Ted examined the door. "The guy's got a strong kick." He stood back and took a picture for evidence.

"Apparently not as strong as Tom's," joked Kassandra.

Tom was glad to see that her mood had lightened.

"Well, we have a fingerprint that isn't one of yours," concluded the Deputy. "We have his plate number and vehicle description. I just wish we could find a way to connect him with the blue Corvette."

Kassandra looked at the officer in bewilderment. "Corvette?"

Tom nodded. "He's been following me all over town in a blue Corvette since the night of our first date." He shrugged. "Now I know his motive, at least."

"How did you know it was him?" she asked.

Tom turned around to make sure that Melissa wasn't within earshot. "Missy woke up in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago to find him looking in the window at her." Tom sighed. "She said that he had a scar running down his face. She thought he was the boogieman."

Ted gathered his evidence bags. "I want you guys to be careful. The blood came back as a match of the missing woman."

"What missing woman?" asked Kassandra, her eyes betraying her frustration at not knowing everything that was going on.

"A missionary from Nevada . . .," Ted's eyes narrowed in thought, " . . . Marlene Dockett."

" _Marlene?!_ " Kassandra stumbled back, leaning against the wall of the foyer, her breathing quick and shallow.

"What's wrong?" asked Tom, as he took her in his arms to steady her.

"She's . . . she's the woman who led my small group at the church." Her eyes looked up at Tom and started welling up with tears again. "She's the one I told you about. The one that Alan punched."

Chapter Eleven

Friday, 7:09 PM

"That was her?" asked Tom.

Kassandra nodded. "She's dead because of me." She started weeping again.

Tom shook his head sternly. "It is _not_ your fault. And we don't know that she's dead yet."

"She _is_ dead!" cried Kassandra. "She has to be! Alan's crazy!"

"Would you be willing to testify to that in court, Kassandra?" asked the deputy. "About him hitting her?"

Kassandra nodded, tears still pouring down her cheeks. "I'll do anything you ask. I'll do anything I can to keep him from hurting anyone else."

Ted pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket, along with a pen. "Did anybody else see him hit Ms. Dockett?"

Kassandra nodded, wiping her face with her right hand. "He walked into our small group meeting and did it in front of everybody."

"Do you happen to have the names of the people who were there?" He handed the notepad to her.

"I have even more." She took the pad from him and headed into the living room. "I have all of their e-mail addresses."

* * *

The two adults and the child sat in uneasy silence in Tom's car. The smell of Alfredo sauce drifted into the front seat, reminding Tom of just how hungry he was. Kassandra had put the noodles and sauce in some lidded bowls. A long piece of garlic bread was wrapped in aluminum foil in the back seat, sitting with the rest of the food.

"Are you okay, Kassandra?" asked Missy.

Kassandra turned halfway around in her seat to look at the child with a forced smile. "Of course, honey."

"Your eyes are all puffy."

"I was a little concerned about the mean man that your daddy ran off tonight," explained the woman. "But I'm fine now."

Missy nodded. "I love you, Kassandra."

Kassandra's breath caught in her throat. She looked over to see Tom glance at her with a smile.

"I didn't tell her to say that," he said.

Kassandra looked back at Melissa and smiled, her eyes welling up again. "I love you, too, honey."

* * *

"Do you have a seven?" asked Kassandra.

"'Go Fish,'" responded Missy. Kassandra pulled a card from the pick-up pile and smiled. She set down a set of four fives.

She looked at Tom, who asked her, "Do you have a two?"

She looked at her hand, then cocked an eyebrow at him playfully. "Are you cheating?"

He put as angelic a look upon his face as he could. "Me? I never cheat."

The three of them had eaten dinner, which had tasted incredibly delicious. Kassandra admitted that she had always liked to cook and had taken classes in the culinary arts at UCLA.

"Besides," he continued, "I couldn't see your hand if I _wanted_ to. You guard it too well."

The phone rang, causing the two adults to jump.

Missy looked at Tom. "Are you okay, Daddy?"

Tom nodded, embarrassed at himself. "It's been a pretty jumpy evening."

Kassandra nodded. "Amen to that."

Tom climbed from his chair and walked to the counter, picking up the cordless phone and clicking the _Talk_ button. "Hello?"

_"Mr. Bradford?"_ came the voice from the other end.

"Speaking."

"This is Ron Sanders of Chi Alpha in Springfield."

"Thanks for returning my call, Mr. Sanders."

"Please. We're Brothers. Call me Ron."

"Only if you'll call me Tom."

"Fair enough."

"I just wanted to let you know that I do want to speak with Jeremy. God's healed me of that pain and I want to wish him well."

At a confused look from Kassandra, Tom held his hand up, and whispered, "I'll explain shortly."

"When would you be coming up?"

"Will he be there tomorrow?"

"I can get him here tomorrow."

"Then I'll try to be there by noon."

* * *

"Where are you going to be at noon tomorrow, Daddy?" asked Missy, after she had finished her prayer and climbed into bed.

"Daddy's going to go and meet a young man who is going to be a preacher," he explained as he kissed her on the forehead.

"Will I be staying with Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Probably." He climbed to his feet, still smiling at her. "You wouldn't really have anything to do while I was there."

"I could go," came Kassandra's voice from the doorway to the room. "I'd keep her occupied while you spoke with whoever it is that you need to see."

He looked back at her. "It's about a three hour drive from here."

She shrugged and smiled. "A road trip sounds like fun."

* * *

The two sat, cuddled together on the couch, watching the weather forecast. Tomorrow was going to be cold, but dry.

"Why do you need to see this person tomorrow?" asked Kassandra.

Tom sighed. "He's the boy who was driving the car that hit Sandy and me."

She looked up at him. "Why are you going?"

"He got Saved while he was in prison." Tom rolled his head around his shoulders, feeling the popping of tension in his neck. "He and I share a bond. Her death led us both to Salvation. I wanted to let him know that I forgive him."

"You really do have a big heart," she commented. "You've seen past what I used to do for a living. You've dedicated yourself to being the best father that you can be. You've forgiven the man who killed your wife . . .."

"God's heart's the biggest," explained Tom. "If He could forgive me for my part in Him having to suffer and die, even though He didn't deserve to have to go through that, then I count myself lucky that He has changed my heart to have that capacity for forgiveness."

Kassandra looked at him affectionately. "Is there enough room in that heart for me?"

He smiled at her. "Absolutely."

He caught Alan Milton's name on the news, so that both fixed their attention on the woman who was speaking:

" . . . Milton gave his only reason for withdrawing his petition as, quote . . .'This town is not open-minded enough for the kind of quality picture that we'd be making here.'

"Pastor Mike Jones of Bluff Assembly of God said that this is a victory for all of those who are concerned about the 'wearing down of family values.'"

"Wahoo!" piped Kassandra. "He gave up!"

"I guess that means that you're completely free of him," commented Tom, relief flooding over him.

She hugged him. "Thanks to you."

"Not me. You should thank Someone else for your freedom."

* * *

The trip had been pleasant. Tom had stopped at a fast food restaurant to get breakfast for the three of them. They had eaten on the way, listening to a CD most of the way, until they had gotten close enough to Springfield to pick up one of the town's many Christian radio stations.

"What's Springfield like?" asked Kassandra.

"It's a little, big town," replied Tom.

"What?" Kassandra eyed him in utter confusion.

"Springfield is my favorite place in Missouri," he explained. "It has all of the trappings of a city, but the people all have the attitude of small town folk." He glanced at her. "It's also the capital of the Assemblies of God church and you'll see one on almost every corner. Christianity is much more accepted than what you probably are used to from California and business after business will have those little _icthus_ symbols in the windows or on their letterheads or business cards . . .."

"What's an _icthus_?" she interrupted him with a smile.

"They're those fish symbols that Christians sometimes wear," he told her as he pointed to the pin on the collar of his blue shirt. "It was an early symbol of Christianity."

"I always wondered what those were."

* * *

Tom had to park a good distance from the house, at one of the visitor parking lots. The walk was pleasant, with Tom telling the other two stories about his time on campus.

"There are something like three Taco Bells on campus," he was explaining as they approached the home of Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. One of the fast food restaurants was behind it. "Since the dining halls on campus didn't serve dinner on Sundays, I'd usually end up at that one, writing my stories by hand or talking to Sandy when she didn't go home for the weekend."

As they came to the porch of the two-story house, Tom took a deep breath to steady himself.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" asked Melissa.

He looked at her and forced a smile. "Nothing, sweetheart."

Kassandra took Missy's hand and said, "I think I'd like a burrito. How about you, Missy?"

"I'd like a taco," was the girl's response.

"Let's go get some food while your daddy deals with what he needs to do," suggested Kassandra. She looked at Tom. "Do you want anything? My treat."

"I'll take one of their burritos that has the guacamole in it," he told her.

She smiled, leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. "Good luck."

He nodded. "Thanks."

After Tom had kissed Missy on the forehead, the two of them turned and headed toward the restaurant. Tom started up the stairs to the porch, having to force his feet to take each step . . . having to fight the urge to turn and run to catch up with Kassandra and Melissa.

He made his way to the door and started to knock, when it squeaked open. The man standing on the other side was roughly Tom's age with short, blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a friendly smile.

"Mr. Bradford!" The man stepped aside to allow the writer entrance. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

As Tom smiled weakly at the man, he stepped inside and said, "Tom. Just call me Tom."

"Right," said the man, who now shut the door and extended his right hand. "I'm Ron Sanders."

Tom shook the offered hand. "Glad to meet you." He looked around at the living room, which was filled with folding chairs. A table along the back wall held a dozen pizza boxes.

"Sorry about the mess," explained the preacher. "We had a study here last night about the Tribulation and about fifty people crowded in this room."

"That seems rather small compared to how I remember your group when I went to college here," commented Tom. "You had the biggest ministry on campus."

"We still do," replied Ron. His voice held no pride. "Only a select number could make it last night. Many don't care for prophecy, regardless of how important it is."

Tom nodded. "Even though I wasn't a Christian yet when I went to school here, I did visit one of your Thursday night meetings with a classmate who was trying to win me for Christ. His name was Billy Bowen. Even though I didn't come to the Lord directly through him, I recognized that he planted a seed. I dedicated one of my books to him." Tom blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling. I tend to do that when I get nervous."

"It's totally understandable, given the situation," returned Ron soothingly. "I remember Billy. He was one of the most outspoken Christians I've ever met. He'd go up to a complete stranger and ask him if he knew Jesus."

Tom chuckled. "Yeah, that's how I met him."

"Last I heard, he was working as a school teacher at a Christian school down in Little Rock," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "Maybe you should look him up. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."

"What happened to the pastor who was here then?" asked Tom. "I seem to remember him having dark hair and glasses. I think a goatee, too."

"He's preaching in Scotland, now." Ron shook his head with a smile. "I sometimes wish he hadn't left. I'm just not _half_ the preacher that he is."

"I'm sure you don't give yourself enough credit." Tom patted the man on the back.

"The only credit that I really need is from God."

Tom nodded. "Amen."

"Can I get you something?" offered the preacher. "Orange juice or soda? Hot chocolate? Maybe some coffee?"

"Orange juice would be nice." Tom looked around a bit more, then asked, "So, where's Jeremy?"

Ron, who had walked into the kitchen, came back with a glass of juice and offered it to Tom. "He's on his way. I asked him to come and help me clean up after the get-together last night."

"He doesn't know that I'm here?"

Ron shook his head. "No offense, but I didn't know if you would get nervous and back out. And I didn't want to get his hopes up."

"No offense taken." Tom took the offered juice and sipped it. "I was a little worried, but I brought my daughter and girlfriend for support." Tom realized with a slight amount of shock that he had just called Kassandra his girlfriend for the first time.

"Oh? Where are they?"

"They went over to Taco Bell. Missy's only six. I didn't think that having her meet Jeremy would be a good idea."

Ron nodded. "Point taken."

Footsteps sounded from the steps leading to the porch. "That'd be him," commented Ron.

"Maybe I should sit down," muttered the author.

"Help yourself to one of the folding chairs," was the pastor's reply as he headed toward the door to let Jeremy in.

A knock echoed through the house and Ron opened the front door.

The sight of the young man standing there plunged Tom back to that night three years ago, when he had broken the boy's jaw. The boy was different now. First of all, he was not staggering from drunkenness and he almost seemed to be taller. His blonde hair was trimmed and neatly parted on the side. A silver cross dangled from a chain around his neck that could be seen through the unzipped front of his blue and yellow coat.

"Hey, Ron," commented the young man with a smile. "I'm ready to clean."

Then he saw Tom sitting in the folding chair and the smile faded. "Thomas Bradford? I . . .," his blue eyes moved back and forth between the preacher and the writer, " . . . I don't understand."

Ron placed his hand comfortingly on Jeremy's shoulder. "I think you two have some things to talk about."

Chapter Twelve

Saturday, 11:53 AM

Missy rocked back and forth in her seat in the booth. She munched on her taco, having folded the top of the flour tortilla over the side.

"Is something wrong?" asked Kassandra.

"I've gotta go to the little girl's room," she whispered.

Kassandra nodded. "It's right over there," she said, pointing toward a hall next to the entrance.

"Can you go with me and stand outside?" pleaded the little girl. "That's what Daddy always does."

Kassandra smiled at her. "Of course I will."

The two of them climbed from their booth and headed toward the restrooms. They got to the Ladies' room and stopped right outside.

Melissa looked up at Kassandra with frightened eyes. "You'll be right here when I get back, right?"

The adult woman crouched next to the little girl and kissed her on the forehead. "I'm not leaving."

Missy smiled and pushed open the door to the restroom, then stepped inside.

Kassandra stood at her full height again, leaning against the wall, her arms folded across her chest. She glanced around the restaurant, her eyes taking in the other patrons. One older couple, who had just sat at a booth in the back of the room, held hands over their meal and the man said a prayer. Kassandra smiled. She'd never seen that in a restaurant before.

One customer, who was probably in his late teens, nibbled at his food from time to time as he studied a textbook. She guessed that he must be a student from the university.

Her gaze settled on a couple, both of whom looked about the same age as the student. The boy was regarding her curiously and saying something to the girl, who turned around. When she saw Kassandra, her eyes widened with recognition.

_Oh, no._ Kassandra tapped on the bathroom door. "Are you almost finished, Missy?"

"Almost!" called the girl.

She looked back at the couple, who had climbed from their booth and were making their way toward Kassandra. She glanced upward. _Lord, please . . . why now?_

"Excuse me," said the girl politely as she ran her fingers through her short, red hair. "My boyfriend pointed you out and I can't deny a likeness, but are you Luscious Lily?"

Kassandra smiled weakly at the girl, who was about an inch shorter than herself. She regarded the girl's hazel eyes and decided that lying would not benefit anybody. "I used to be."

"I knew it!" exploded the boy. "I've seen almost all of your movies!"

The bathroom door opened and Missy walked out. "I'm finished. I washed my hands, too."

"Can I have your autograph?" asked the boy, ignoring Melissa.

"Can you tell me how to get into the business?" demanded the girl.

Kassandra sighed as she rubbed her eyes with her right hand. Then, she looked at Missy and said, "Honey, why don't you go over to the table and finish your taco? I'll be there in a minute."

Missy examined the two college students who were standing there, then shrugged and said, "Okay." Then she walked away.

"Alan Milton's in the Bluff, trying to make a movie," commented the boy. "And you're here. So his editorial was telling the truth about you not retiring?"

Kassandra took a deep breath, then released it as she shook her head. "He withdrew his request for a permit. And one of the people who was trying to stop him from making the movie was me."

The two teens stared at her in shock.

"Listen," said Kassandra, "I have retired. I found Jesus and He freed me from that world. It's not the glamorous life that you think it is. It's filled with pain and fear and addiction." She put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Sex is something that is supposed to be saved for a happy and healthy marriage. Porn turns it from the beautiful thing that it is supposed to be into a perversion. It's just Satan's way of trying to corrupt what God gave us."

The two were speechless. Finally, the boy managed, "You . . . you became a _Christian_?"

Kassandra nodded. "And I've never been happier. God has given me what truly matters since I left the adult film business to serve Him." She looked warmly at the girl. "The best advice that I can give either of you is to go over to that house," she pointed at the Chi Alpha House, "and speak with the campus pastor about getting right with God. And put the idea of being a glamorous porn star out of your mind, because it's only a myth."

Then she stepped around the two of them and headed back to the table where Missy waited for her.

* * *

" . . . and Jim told me about Chi Alpha the day I got out of prison." Jeremy had told Tom about his Salvation while in prison and how a minister to the prison, Jim Borden, had led him to Christ.

Tom smiled at him. "That's quite an adventure." Tom was thankful. He felt no animosity toward this young man.

"The very first meeting of that semester, Jeremy came up to me and asked me if he could help with anything," explained Ron. "He's been indispensable ever since."

"I'm glad that you found your calling," commented Tom.

Jeremy's smile left his face. "I've read some of your books. I read the first one . . . the one about the witch . . . and what you wrote about your wife in there." The young man folded his hands in his lap. "How you had been raised by Christian parents, but it had been her death that led you to Christ." The young man looked up at Tom. "I still have nightmares about that night. I still see her, laying there in your arms. She always turns and looks at me accusingly, then dies."

The student's eyes started to fill with tears. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Bradford. If I could change anything about my life, it would have been to not go to that party." He sniffed as tears started to run down his cheeks. "I'd give anything to take back what happened."

Tom leaned forward and rested a hand comfortingly on Jeremy's shoulder. "I'll admit that I hated you for so long. But God reminded me of one of the last things that Sandy said to me."

Jeremy looked at the author expectantly.

"She asked if you were alright." Tom sniffed as his own eyes filled. "She didn't accuse you. She told me that you needed Jesus. Don't listen to those dreams, Jeremy. They are just a product of Satan trying to steal your joy. Rebuke him and know that my wife had already forgiven you when she went to be with the Lord." He smiled as his tears overflowed. "And know that _I've_ forgiven you, too."

"Let's pray," suggested Ron, who leaned forward in his chair and placed one hand on each of their shoulders. The pastor lifted words of praise and the room seemed to fill with the soothing Presence of God. Tom's heart soared. He couldn't help but smile at the joy that now filled him.

Ron finished his prayer with an "amen" that was echoed by the other two.

* * *

Kassandra and Melissa were waiting for Tom when he came out. He smiled at them and hoisted Missy into a big hug. "Daddy loves you."

She hugged him back. "I love you, too, Daddy."

He held her with one arm and took Kassandra's hand with his free one.

"How'd it go?" Kassandra asked him.

"It went extremely well." The three of them started to walk away from the house and Tom noticed two teenagers with dyed-red hair arguing outside of the restaurant.

"I wonder what that's about," he commented.

Kassandra stopped, her eyes regarding the display in interest. "Let's wait and see."

Then the two teens walked away from each other. The girl headed back toward the university, while the boy headed in their direction.

"Why's he coming over here?" wondered Tom aloud.

"Let's find out," replied Kassandra.

The boy came to within a few yards and said, "Excuse me, Miss . . . What was your real name?"

She smiled at him. "Kassandra. Kassandra Moore."

He stepped forward and shook her hand. "I'm Jimmy Rogers. I . . . I just wanted you to know that I was raised in a Christian household and went to church until I was seventeen. That's when I met Amy. She . . . had always wanted to act in those movies. She had the charms for it. And I wanted her to have her wish. But, lately, God has been working on me. Every time I walk by that house," he gestured toward the Chi Alpha House, "it shines at me like a beacon." Then he looked back at Kassandra. "And today, there was your testimony in the restaurant." He smiled weakly. "Amy and I just broke up. What you said had an impact on me." He sighed. "But it didn't on her." He pressed his lips together in firm resolve. "I wanted you to know that I'm heading over to that house and getting right with God."

Kassandra smiled and hugged the boy. "I'm proud of you."

After she pulled away from him, he said to her, "I just wanted you to know that you made a difference." He then turned and walked away.

As the two adults and the little girl watched him walk up the steps toward the front porch of the house, Tom asked, "What was that all about?"

Kassandra moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder, her smile wider than ever. "I'll explain on the way home."

* * *

As the three walked into Tom's living room, Tom looked at Kassandra and Missy. The young woman was holding his daughter, whose head was resting on her shoulder as she slept.

He smiled. "I'm so glad that you and Missy get along so well. You're good with her."

She smiled back at him. "I like her."

"Why don't you take her and lay her in her bed for a nap while I check the answering machine?" he suggested.

Kassandra nodded and headed down the hallway.

Tom looked at the machine. He'd gotten one message. He pressed _Play_.

_"Tom, this is Brother Bill. We're having a meeting of the_ church members _in the Fellowship Hall at five o'clock. I think that it would be really important if you were there."_

Tom's eyes narrowed in confusion. Church meetings were usually scheduled weeks in advance. He checked his watch to find that he now officially had less than half an hour of notice for this one. And why had he emphasized _church members_?

Kassandra walked into the living room and wrapped her arms affectionately around Tom's waist from behind. He smiled and held her hands with his own.

"I have to go to the church," he told her.

"Why?" she asked. He could feel her head resting against his back.

Tom sighed. "I don't know. I just got a message from the Pastor that I needed to be there at five."

Kassandra's head moved away from his back as she glanced at a clock that perched on the wall over the couch. "You have twenty minutes."

He turned and smiled at her. "Will you stay here with Missy while I go?"

She nodded. "Of course. But you might want to tell her that you're leaving. Doesn't she panic if she doesn't know where you are?"

He nodded. "Yeah, she does." He pulled reluctantly away from Kassandra and walked down the hall to Missy's room and stepped inside.

She stirred and opened her eyes as he leaned over her.

"Honey, I have to go to the church for a meeting," he told her. "Kassandra's going to stay here with you. Is that okay?"

She smiled at him. "Okay, Daddy. I'd like that. Can we eat some Rocky Road?"

He nodded with a smile. "Not too much, though."

* * *

As Tom walked toward the church building, he looked at the vehicles that were parked in the lot. He recognized them all and it appeared that the pastor had succeeded in getting every person who was a signed member of the church to come.

He walked around to the side door of the building and opened it, stepping directly into the fellowship hall. He figured that about eighty people were here. The room was loud with individual conversations.

As the door closed behind him, all the conversations stopped and everyone looked at him.

"Please take a seat, Tom," instructed Bill.

The writer nodded, heading for a folding chair next to Brenda, who patted him on the shoulder as he seated himself.

The pastor stood in front of the group and let out a strong sigh. "I checked the church's mail this morning and found a package with a videotape in it."

Tom groaned slightly and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. Milton had told Kassandra that he sent out a couple of copies of her last movie. He'd sent the second copy to the church.

"As I've mentioned to some of you already," continued Bill, "the tape had a pornographic movie on it. The star of the movie was an actress who went by the name Luscious Lily." He sighed again and his gaze settled on Tom. "It was Kassandra Moore."

Gasps filled the room.

"I figured that you, Tom," the pastor said, "should know, especially."

Tom took a deep breath and let it out. "I found out yesterday."

Everyone now turned to look at him.

"Were you going to ask her to stop helping you with the youth?" asked Sister Blanton.

He looked at her in irritation. "I wasn't planning on it."

Her eyes widened in shock. "I don't think it's appropriate for an adult film actress to be helping with our youth. Or even going to our church."

Tom looked at the pastor. "May I say something?"

Bill nodded.

Tom stood and walked to the front of the room. He cleared his throat and looked around at the people who were there. His eyes settled on Bill. "I assume that the package was addressed from Kassandra?"

The pastor nodded. "How did you know?"

"I got one in the mail yesterday. Thankfully, I never had a chance to open it."

The writer sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "When the pastor left his message on my answering machine, I was in Springfield, visiting with this college student named Jeremy. Jeremy is a great kid. He's intelligent and hard-working and oh-so- _very_ on fire for Christ."

Shelly looked at him impatiently. "What does this have to do with your new girlfriend?"

"Jeremy is also the boy who was driving the car that killed my wife three years ago."

Now the room was deathly quiet. He had their attention. "You see, God had me get a letter from the campus pastor of a college ministry near the university. He had me get this letter on the same day that I got the videotape in the mail. And He had me open it first. I found out that Jeremy came to know the Lord while he was serving time in prison for manslaughter for killing my wife." He wiped his eyes, trying to keep from crying. "And I came to know the Lord by taking Missy to church after Sandy had died. Her death led us both to the Lord and I had to go and let my Brother in Christ know that I didn't hold a grudge against him. And, if God wanted me to forgive the boy who killed my wife, then don't you think that He'd want us to forgive Kassandra, too?"

He looked back up at his audience, each person still silent. "That package wasn't sent by Kassandra. It was sent by Alan Milton. He produced the movie and he started losing money when Kassandra found the Lord and left the business. By all appearances, he followed Kassandra here to force her to work with him again. He broke into her house last night and was yelling at her when I arrived.

"I ran him off and then Kassandra told me about her life." Tom looked around at each person in the room. "She told me about a life of pain and suffering and fear that was healed when Jesus came into her heart. She moved here to get a fresh start. She's no longer Luscious Lily, Porn Star. She's Kassandra Moore, our dear Sister in Christ. And Alan Milton wanted to shatter the faith that's growing within her by turning us . . . her Christian family . . . against her. We can't let him do that. I'm not without sin. I'm not going to cast the first stone. Are any of you willing to stand and tell me that you're worthy of doing it?"

Sister Blanton buried her face in her hands, weeping. She was joined by every other woman in the room. The men all smiled at Tom.

Bill rested his hand on Tom's shoulder. "I guess this meeting is adjourned."

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday, 12:52 PM

"Why was everybody so nice to me this morning?" asked Kassandra. The smell of a freshly baked, apple pie that Sister Blanton had given to her wafted through the car. Shelly had told her that she needed to gain some weight.

Tom shrugged, his eyes not leaving the road.

"I never asked you what the meeting was about," she commented, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at Tom. "Did this have anything to do with that?"

Tom glanced over the seat at Missy, who was looking out the window, her eyes barely open. He decided to tell Kassandra what was said. "Remember how Milton said that he'd sent a couple of copies of the movie out?" he said quietly, hoping that his daughter would not pick up what he was saying.

Her eyes widened in shock. "He sent the other copy to the church?"

Tom nodded. "Pastor Bill got it yesterday."

Kassandra blushed and covered her face in embarrassment. "Great, my pastor has seen a video with me naked in it."

Tom reached over and gently took her hand from her face. "Everyone in the church wants to support the steps that you've taken to move away from your past." He smiled at her. "Pastor Bill isn't judging you."

They turned onto Kassandra's street and approached her house. The Cavalier pulled into the driveway. They looked at her front door, Alan Milton's damage evident.

"Do you think that he'll get arrested?" Kassandra asked Tom.

"If they can find him," Tom answered, "he's going to have quite a bit of explaining to do." He looked at her and grinned. "I think his movie-making days are over."

She sighed. "I hope so."

A slight snore drifted over the seat. Melissa had fallen asleep. "I'll grab her," Tom offered.

"No, don't wake her," Kassandra replied. "I'll just run in and get some more clothes and be right back out."

"Are you sure that you want to go in there alone?" he asked with some concern.

"I'll be fine." She leaned toward him and kissed him affectionately. "The contractor said that he could be out to replace the door and frame tomorrow, so I won't have to be such a burden to you two after tonight."

"You're not a burden," he told her.

She smiled at him, reaching over the seat to grab her small suitcase from the back floor, then opening her door and climbing out of the car. After she had closed it, she walked toward the house. Tom and the deputy had put a padlock on the front door so that nobody could go inside while they were waiting for the door to be repaired. She produced the key and unlocked it, depositing the lock in her coat pocket as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Tom leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It did feel different to have no bitterness in his heart anymore. He missed Sandy. That would never change. But he now believed that he and Missy had forged a new life together. And he wanted to include Kassandra in that life.

After a few minutes, Tom heard the front door to the house close. He opened his eyes to see Kassandra quickly replacing the padlock. Then she turned and ran to the car. His eyes narrowed at the look of fear on her face.

When she opened the car door, he said, "Are you okay?"

She climbed into the car, depositing the suitcase back in the floor, then fastening her seatbelt. "I had a message from the deputy. They found a woman's body in a field near Highway Sixty. He wants me to come and identify it."

"Did you call him back?"

She shook her head nervously.

"Let's take Missy to my parents' house. You can call him from there and then we'll go to the morgue together," suggested Tom.

Kassandra closed her eyes and nodded.

* * *

Ted was waiting for them on the front steps to the hospital when they arrived. "Thanks for coming, Kassandra," stated the deputy.

"I'm just doing my duty," she replied. "If it is Marlene, she deserves closure. Besides, I want to do anything I can to make sure that Alan doesn't ever hurt another person."

They followed him into the hospital and rode the elevator down with him. They followed him a short distance from the elevator to the morgue.

The deputy extended his hand to the doctor who was working there. "I'm Deputy Ted. I called you earlier."

The doctor, a thirty-something woman with short, blonde hair and fashionable glasses perched on her nose, held her hands up to reveal bloody, rubber gloves. "You probably don't want to shake my hand right now," she said with a smile.

The deputy chuckled nervously. "Fair enough."

The doctor, Mariah Stevens by her nametag, led them into the next room, where a body was laid out on a table and covered with a sheet. She looked up at the three and said, "I just want to caution you. It's pretty grotesque."

Ted turned to look at Kassandra questioningly.

She took a deep breathe and nodded, so Stevens pulled the sheet back to uncover the face.

Kassandra gasped and turned, burying her face in Tom's shoulder. "It's her," she whimpered with a shudder.

The woman had not decomposed very much. There were cuts and abrasions all over her face and her right eye was horribly purple and swollen.

"How . . . how long has she been dead?" managed Tom.

"We estimate that she was killed sometime Wednesday," responded Dr. Stevens.

Tom looked her in the eye. "But she's been missing for a few weeks now. That means that he kidnapped her and drove her all the way from Nevada to Missouri before he killed her?"

The doctor nodded. "Whoever did this was a very sick person. The wounds on her face are just the beginning. She has cuts, bruises and burns all over her body. The perpetrator even removed all of the fingers on her right hand, then burned the wounds closed."

Kassandra wailed in anguish and Tom wrapped his arms around her comfortingly.

"What was the actual cause of death?" asked Ted.

"A blunt object to the back of the head caused cranial hemorrhaging."

"He was torturing her for weeks," cried Kassandra. "It's all my fault. It's all my fault . . .."

"It is not your fault," said Tom soothingly. "Alan Milton did this."

"And we're going to nail him to the wall for it," grunted Ted.

* * *

Kassandra hadn't said a word the whole drive back to Tom's house from the hospital. He had suggested that maybe a nap would do her some good and she had agreed. She had been asleep within minutes of lying down on the guest bed.

Now, he punched and kicked his sparring bag as hard as he could. He was frustrated by the fact that he could be freed from the hatred that he had felt toward the boy who had killed his wife one day, and then be so angry the next. Alan Milton had kidnapped this woman who had dedicated her life to helping people and serving God. He had driven her across states. He had tortured her for weeks. He had finally ended her life violently. Where was the fairness in that?

Then a Bible verse popped into his head: Matthew 5:10.

He stopped attacking the bag and walked out of the room, heading to his Bible, which lay open on the coffee table. He looked up the verse and read it: _Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness sake: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven._

He sighed, running his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. She had died because of her work for the Lord. She was receiving her eternal reward.

Tom looked up at the clock that was perched over the couch. He and Kassandra had only been back at the house for a little over half an hour. He decided to call his parents to see how Missy was doing.

He walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. After he had dialed their number, he waited for them to answer.

_"Bradford residence."_ It was Melissa's voice.

"Hi, it's Daddy."

"Hi, Daddy! Are you back home?"

"Yeah. Couldn't you tell by the Caller ID?"

"It's not working. Grandpa said they need a new phone. When are you coming to get me?"

"Kassandra's taking a nap right now. And I just got done practicing and need to take a shower. Probably a couple of hours. Is that okay?"

Tom could hear his mother saying something in the background. Then Melissa said, _"Grandma wants to know if you two want to have supper over here. She's cooking meatloaf."_

"That'd be fine," remarked Tom. "Let me talk to her."

"She's got raw hamburger meat all over her hands and doesn't wanna touch the phone."

"Then let me talk to Grandpa."

"Okay."

He heard a rustling as she walked a little bit, then his father's voice came on the line. _"Hello?"_

"Dad? Have you seen any strange vehicles driving around over there?"

"Strange vehicles? Why?"

"Try to be a little quieter. I don't want to concern Missy. The body in the morgue belonged to that woman who was missing. He had kidnapped her and brought her to Missouri and tortured her for weeks before killing her. I'm just concerned. I don't know what he'll do."

"The news said he'd withdrawn his petition to make his movie here. Said he'd gone home."

Tom shook his head, then realized that his father could not see him. "He doesn't strike me as the type to give up so easily. Just keep your doors locked. And do you still have that gun?"

"I've still got the little one that holds one bullet. But I don't keep it loaded when Missy's here."

"Milton doesn't know that."

* * *

Tom had finished his shower and getting dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt. As he headed toward the bedroom to grab a pair of socks, the doorbell announced someone on his front porch.

Tom turned back toward the living room, his eyes narrowing. He walked back in that direction, noting as he passed the door to the spare bedroom that it was still closed. _Kassandra must still be asleep,_ he thought.

He made his way cautiously to the front door and looked out through the peephole to find an attractive Asian woman waiting on the other side. She was looking up and down the street, a worried expression on her face.

He opened the door. "Ms. Lee," he greeted her. She was dressed similarly to the way that she had looked at the demonstration. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"May I come in, Mr. Bradford?" she asked, a slight accent apparent.

He sighed and pushed open the storm door.

She rushed in and closed the front door, locking it. Then she turned to him and asked, "Is Lil . . . Kassandra here?"

"She's taking a nap in my spare bedroom." His eyes narrowed at her. "Why?"

She glanced at Tom's Bible, which sat open on the coffee table, and cleared her throat as she fastened the top two buttons on her blouse. "Alan came back to the hotel where we're staying and said that he'd been to her house, but she wasn't there." She looked around. "He said that he hadn't found anybody here, either. But he'd been here a couple of hours ago."

"We'd been . . . _out_." Tom decided not to give too much away.

She didn't seem to notice. "Mr. Bradford, I haven't been here as long as he has. I just got here on Wednesday, using his SUV to tow my car. I don't know what he's been doing this whole time, but I found dried blood in his room while he was gone this morning. And I had heard about that woman who had befriended Kassandra in her church in California being missing." Tears were now building in Mandy's eyes. "I think he did kidnap her."

"Do you know where she is now?" he asked, still not wanting to give too much away.

She shook her head, tears now racing her mascara down her face. "I always thought that he was a little crazy, Mr. Bradford. But he's really lost it this time. He says that he's not going back home without Kassandra." Her eyes settled on him. "And without making you pay. Then he left again."

"Would you be willing to testify that you saw the blood in his room in court?" asked Tom.

She nodded. "I just wanted Kassandra back. I didn't want anybody to get hurt."

"Have you realized now that Kassandra would be more hurt if she went back to that life?" asked Tom as he headed for the kitchen and the phone.

"I realize that now." She seated herself on the couch, her slight frame shaking.

Tom picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff's office.

"Sheriff's office. Deputy Ted speaking."

"Ted. Tom Bradford here."

"What's up, Tom?"

"I have that woman who was here in the Bluff with Alan Milton in my living room. She says that she found dried blood in his room at the hotel while he was gone this morning."

"Will she testify against him?"

"I think that's an affirmative."

"Mandy!" Tom looked into the living room to see Kassandra there, looking at the other actress in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"I let her in," said Tom. "We'll talk in just a minute."

_"I'll get over to the hotel with another deputy,"_ said Ted from the other end.

"There's more, Ted. She said that he had been to both Kassandra's house and my house this morning while we were out." Tom felt his heart pounding in his chest. "He could have just missed us at her house this morning, since we were there, too. She said that he didn't have any intentions of leaving town until he had Kassandra back and he'd made me pay."

There was silence for a moment. _"Did he see you go anywhere else?"_

Tom rubbed his forehead. "He saw me go to my parents' house that first night that I saw him. That was where I first called the sheriff's office."

"Is that where you left your daughter?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to send the other deputy to the hotel. Meet me at your parents' house."

* * *

Tom's Cavalier swerved onto Franklin Street, where his parents lived in a cul de sac. Tom had wanted to come alone, but Kassandra and Mandy had insisted on accompanying him.

"Calm down, Tom," said Kassandra from her place in the front passenger's seat. "We aren't going to do Missy _or_ your parents any good if we're dead when we get there."

At the end of the street, Tom saw the deputy's car parked in front of his parents' house. "Ted's already there," he commented with some relief.

"Didn't you say that the police station is closer to your parents' home than you are?" asked Mandy from her place in the back seat. "Wouldn't it stand to reason that he'd get here first?"

The car slowed as it approached the circle and came to a stop behind the police car. The three climbed from the vehicle and headed toward the front door, where Tom rang the doorbell. He could hear little footsteps running through the house to come to the front door.

Finally, a familiar, six year-old voice that allowed Tom's heart to settle back in his chest called out from the other side, "Who is it?"

"It's Daddy," he responded with a sigh of relief.

The door opened and Missy jumped into her father's arms. He held her close, comforted by her presence.

"Grandma's got the meatloaf ready," she told him. Then she asked, "Who's this?"

Tom realized that Missy hadn't yet seen Lily's old business associate. "This is Mandy," he introduced her. "She's an old acquaintance of Kassandra's from California."

Mandy smiled clumsily and waved.

Tom moved to the side to allow the two women entrance, then started to follow them in, when Missy asked, "Why's a police car sitting out front, Daddy?"

Tom's heart began to pound in his chest again. His eyes met those of Kassandra as he gently set Melissa down just inside the front door and crouched next to her. "Nobody has come up to talk to Grandma or Grandpa?" he asked his daughter.

She shook her head. "No."

"Missy, why don't you show Kassandra and Mandy where the kitchen is?" suggested Tom. "I'm going to look for the policeman."

"But Kassandra already knows where it is, Daddy," was his daughter's reply.

He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her tight. "Then introduce Mandy to Grandma and Grandpa." He stood again and looked down at her. "I love you."

He started down the steps from the porch as he heard Missy, a tinge of confusion in her voice, reply, "I love you, too, Daddy."

He faltered for an instant, taking a breath to steady himself. Then he continued down the steps and reached the sidewalk. He moved around toward the west side of the house, looking around for any sign of somebody having been here.

He walked past a pile of wood that his father used for the fireplace. His heart pounded harder as he noted that the large chopping ax was not there.

He moved around to the backyard, which was dominated by a large workshop where his dad's skilled hands would often make just about anything out of wood.

Ted lay motionless on the ground in front of it.

Tom ran up to the prone body, which was on its stomach. The back of the head was matted in sticky crimson. He turned the deputy over, but didn't have time to examine him. The descending sun caught another person's shadow over him, holding something over its head.

Tom jumped to his left and the ax blade sunk harmlessly into the ground where he'd been crouched. He whirled around to find Milton standing there, pulling the ax free and regarding him with wild eyes.

"I told you that you hadn't heard the last of me, church-boy," he growled from between clenched teeth.

He swung the ax in a downward arc again, but Tom dodged to the side. Tom knew that he had to disarm him.

Milton swung the ax again, this time in a horizontal sweep. Tom lunged forward and, instead of taking a hit from the ax head, he took a blow from Alan's left arm. It hurt, but he was able to hold off anything more than a grunt. Most importantly, he was able to grab the ax by the handle, just below the blade.

Achieving his black belt in tae kwon do had involved many things. He had to memorize moves and forms, as well as become more flexible than he had ever needed to be.

He had also learned to break boards.

With a loud **KIAH** , Tom's right hand shot down and the ax handle cracked in two. A sharp pain shot up Tom's right arm. The ax handle was significantly more dense than the boards from his old tae kwon do school. He had to ignore the pain.

The blade fell to the ground as Milton looked in awe at the piece of wood that he now held.

The next thing that he saw was Tom's left fist connecting squarely with his nose. Alan stumbled back, spitting the warm, gushing blood that now spilled into this mouth.

Tom leaped from the ground, the top of his left foot connecting squarely with the right side of the man's face. Milton slammed into the side of the shed.

His crazed eyes glared at Tom as he lunged forward, his fist flying toward the author. Tom's left forearm flew upward, knocking Alan's fist off course as Tom's right elbow slammed into Milton's gut causing him to double over. Tom's knee shot up, meeting Alan's chest and causing the air to explode from his lungs. Then Tom's right foot shot upward, around Alan's body. The writer's heel came back down onto Milton's back with a satisfying _thud_ , sending him, face-first, to the ground.

Tom stood in a defensive stance for a few seconds, his eyes wary. Finally, he decided that he had knocked Alan unconscious.

"Tom!" Kassandra was running into the backyard and she almost bowled him over as her arms wrapped around his neck. "Are you okay?"

Tom grunted in pain. "I think I may have broken my hand on that ax handle," he responded as he looked at the swelling that had already started.

Ted groaned.

Tom and Kassandra were at his side in an instant. "How's your head?" asked the writer.

"It's gonna hurt for a few weeks, but other than that . . .." The deputy let his sentence trail off.

"We should call you both an ambulance," suggested Kassandra.

Ted reached his left hand to the back of his head and felt the matted blood. "You know, an ambulance sounds good," he chuckled ruefully.

Then Ted's eyes and Kassandra's eyes were looking upward, behind Tom. The deputy shoved Tom out of the way, his revolver leaping from its holster and firing.

Alan Milton, a bullet hole in his chest, fell to the ground. The boot-knife that had been intended for Tom's back fell harmlessly from the producer's hand.

Tom sighed with relief as Kassandra embraced him. He looked at Ted with gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," was the response. "I'm just glad I remembered to load it before I came over."

Epilogue

Saturday, 1:00 PM

One Year Later

The spoon tapped the wine glass, the resounding clink getting the attention of all of those who were sitting at the long table in the dining room of the quaint, little restaurant. Tom cleared his throat, tugging on the collar of his tuxedo in an attempt to loosen it to comfortable standards, then spoke. "I'd like to thank all of you for being a part of this special day." He looked around at those present. Most of the teens from his youth group were here, along with many of the adults of the church. Deputy Ted was sitting to Tom's left, while Kassandra sat on his right. Seated next to her was Missy, watching her father with happy eyes.

"God has truly blessed me with the friendships that I have here in the Bluff." He smiled. "You are all my Brothers and Sisters in Christ." He looked at Melissa, her light green flower girl dress matching the dress that Mandy Lee, who was sitting on the far side of her, wore. "I have a beautiful, intelligent little girl . . .," he glanced at Mrs. Beeton, " . . . neighbors who don't think that I'm too eccentric . . .," then at Diane, " . . . and an editor who believes in me even when I don't always believe in myself."

He looked down at Kassandra. "And He has now brought a new light into my world." She looked up at him with loving eyes, her face blushing. "I know that He is going to use her for great things." He looked past her at Mandy Lee, whose modest maid of honor dress was a stark contrast to how he had first seen her, and said, "She's already winning souls for Christ."

"Amen!" intoned the beautiful, Asian woman.

Then his eyes settled back upon Kassandra. "I am a very blessed man."

* * *

As the people started filing out of the restaurant, Tom hugged Missy. "Daddy and Kassandra'll be back in a week," he told her. "Take good care of Grandma and Grandpa while we're gone."

"I will, Daddy," she responded. "Will you bring me back something from the Bananas?"

Kassandra leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek. "We're going to the _Bahamas_."

"There, too?" asked Missy.

"We'll bring you something back," replied Tom. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

Tom handed Melissa to his mother, who said, "You guys have fun."

Tom's dad chuckled. "They're newlyweds. They probably won't leave their room."

Kassandra's adoptive parents walked up and hugged their daughter. Cheryl, her mother, said, "I'm so proud that you found a good man."

Tom and his new bride followed the two sets of parents out of the restaurant. As they exited the front door, Kassandra turned and regarded the building. "Do you think that this is going to be difficult?"

Tom followed her gaze. "Anything worth doing always is. But perseverance is what we'll need."

She smiled and locked the door. As they walked away from the building, the sign reading _KASSANDRA'S CUISINE_ , with the words _Opening Soon_ below, blew in the spring breeze.

THE END

As a man who has lived through an addiction to pornography, I have seen the damage that it can do to marriages and families. If you are struggling with an addiction to pornography, there is help. Contact the Pink Cross at thepinkcross.org. Through the grace of God, the burden of porn can be lifted

About the Author

Jeffrey Allen Davis lives and writes in the St. Louis, MO, area. A licensed minister, his work tends to have a Christian worldview, even when it isn't overtly religious.

He recently married and has one daughter and two stepchildren.

If you enjoyed this story, please help the author by leaving a review at Smashwords, Amazon and BN.com.

You can find his other books here. Also, be sure to visit his website and sign up for his  newsletter to get freebies and announcements about new releases. You can also follow him on Twitter or Facebook.

Also Available

from GCDPublishing

INVASION OF THE NINJA

by Jeffrey Allen Davis

Jamie and Yoshi are late twentieth century members of the Funakoshi ninja clan, both trained by Yoshi's uncle, Tanemura. When the Waruiyatsu, a sinister clan with an ancient grudge, attack Jamie's high school and hold his classmates hostage in an effort to bring Tanemura and his two students into the open, Jamie, his clan sister, and a close group of friends are forced to attempt a rescue.

Commentary by Other Authors

When writing the novel, a standard method – some critics may even call it a rule – must be applied for the success of the piece. In literary or cinematic terms, this required rule is known as the "character arc." In all modern films and most modern novels, the main characters are transformed – mentally, emotionally, spiritually – during the journey from the beginning of the story to the end. Sometimes the transformation is for the worse but, usually, it is for the better.

Such is not the case with this novel; its main characters have already undergone their transformations before the story even begins. Instead, what confronts us is the transformation of those around them. Like a steady oak holding fast in the midst of a storm, the characters maintain a stoic, quiet decency while the world at best tries to understand them, and, at worst, tries to destroy them.

Certainly, the back stories of the main characters are told. Using short flashbacks and other techniques, the author walks us through their transformations very quickly. But it is the community's reaction to a stranger that is the main story. In a way, this story is the essence of Christ's passage through the corporeal realm. A stranger in a strange land, loved and admired by some, reviled by others...understood by few, feared by many. And his walk through this new world, like Lily's through hers, brought out the best and the worst in human beings. Fear, hatred or shame are met with courage, love and forgiveness. Just like He did two millennia ago.

This story reminds us all that no soul is beyond redemption, that life and sanity are tenuous, and how one thing, one event in the midst of a thousand random events, can alter a life forever.

David L. Kilpatrick,

Author of UNDERCOVER WHITE TRASH

www.davidkilpatrick.com

_Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words._ (I Thessalonians 4: 13-18 NIV)

I was pleased to hear that Christian author Jeffrey Davis had a new book ready for publication. When I offered to write the Foreword for Lily's Redemption, I was unaware of how closely I would empathize with his character, Tom Bradford. It seemed the character and I shared a similar struggle in life--we had both lost the one person closest to us, other than our dear Savior, Jesus Christ, in death--our spouse. In Lily's Redemption, Tom Bradford's wife, Sandy was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. My husband, Tim died of natural causes, but the pain of losing him was identical to Tom's grief.

Another common thread the character and I share is the fact that we were both left to raise a daughter. My daughter Stephanie is a blessing. I am so thankful that before his passing, Tim co-authored a book, Silent Angel: The Joys and Challenges of Raising a Child With Autism.

In Lily's Redemption, the author weaves a warm and inspiring story of love, trust, and forgiveness.

Reserve a copy of Lily's Redemption for your own reading library. It will encourage and lift your spirits.

Melody Ravert

Author of the SHADOW STALKER and the NIGHTWOLF series

http://www.melodyravert.com
