Standing at the sink, I stared at my dim reflection in the mirror. Troy often complimented me on my smooth brown complexion and warm, hazel eyes. I was just glad my eyelashes were long and thick so I didn’t have to use mascara. I never wore much makeup, preferring to rely on my own natural, God-given attributes. Glamour and guns only mixed in the movies.
I really needed to redo my highlights, though. I ran my fingers through my short hair and thought about the fine man in the next room. Suddenly my insides started churning.
One part of me wondered why I was tripping. Maybe I just needed to crawl back into bed with him and get some more loving. Or maybe I needed some space. It seems like just yesterday that my first and only love, Max Cross, broke my heart. Max and I dated all four years at Baylor. I majored in Criminal Justice and he was a Business major. We met at a freshman party and were inseparable from then on. He was an exceptionally sexy man with creamy clay skin and hazel-brown eyes that made me melt. I thought we’d get married, and I was devastated when we broke up. I shouldn’t have told him I was pregnant. The abortion broke my heart—and our relationship.
To get over that pain, I took on more shifts at my job at a local restaurant, Texan Grill, where I’d been working to earn money to send back to my mother and sister. It hadn’t been more than three months before the married manager, Damien, and I began having an affair. I knew it wasn’t right. But Damien just treated me so well—like a queen, and I hadn’t been treated like that before. He bought me things and took me on trips. I didn’t know what he told his wife and didn’t care until the day she caught us in the act.
Over the next six months, I applied and got accepted into a training program for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It’s been less than six years. After doing well on other assignments and saving Agent Evans’s life, I now enjoyed the respect of my colleagues. They started calling me “the woman with everything going on.” It was true. I was good-looking, well put-together. Whatever I wore always suited me. And I’d never had a problem attracting a man. But what difference did all that really make? I wasn’t happy. There had to be more to this life than survival. I felt empty and needed to be filled by something everlasting, but how could I get that. The only thing I knew was that I had to change the crazy way I was living.
I sighed and reached to turn on the faucet. That’s when I saw the condom Troy and I had used just hours before. The shriveled-up thing wasn’t balled up in the wastebasket, but curled up on the sink, positioned as if it had been inspected.
“What the . . . ?” I screeched out, completely lost in anger as I realized what must have happened.
Troy’s voice came suddenly from the other room. “You got a problem?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “What is this?”
He made his way to the bathroom, and eyed the condom beside me. “Would you calm down, baby. I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“Troy, don’t play. Did this burst?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure. You’re a grown man, Troy.”
Troy scanned my naked body with hungry eyes and tried to pull me close, but I held back. Didn’t he get that I was pissed?
“I can open another one,” he whispered. “It’ll only take a second for me to put it on.”
“You knew the condom broke, didn’t you?” I said, scanning his guilty face and ignoring his new erection. “I can’t have a baby and work in the FBI!”
“Don’t even sweat that. You’re cool. I’m over thirty. I’ve been sexually active since my teens. I’ve been with lots of women and never had any children. Trust me, it’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing.”
He tried to lead me back to bed, but I shoved him out of the bathroom and closed the door in his face.
See? I chastised myself. That’s why I shouldn’t be doing this.
Troy’s frustrated voice filtered through the door. “Shut me out, then. I’m gonna fix me something to eat. I’m telling you, don’t worry. I know you’re fine.” His confidence made my skin crawl.
When I heard him storm away, I took the only clean washcloth in the place from under the sink and began to freshen up. Emotions started to bubble up. I needed help. I needed something different. I needed not to be in this casual sex relationship.
Deep down, I felt there was only One that could fix this, so I looked up at the ceiling and said, “God, You gotta know this is not a good time for me.” I shook my head. What was I doin’? He wouldn’t listen to me. I’m sure He gave up on me a while ago.
But something—sheer desperation—spurred me to get down on my knees and continue. “Well, if You’re still in the forgiving business, I need help. There’s got to be more to this life than living and dying. There has to be more than just trying to get by. If there’s a better plan, God, help me see it.”
My mom used to make us pray every night, trying to lift our spirits. But ever since I had the abortion after the breakup with Max, I’d strayed away from God. Somehow I just felt unworthy of His love. But at that moment in Troy’s bathroom, I needed to feel close to Him.
I emerged from Troy’s bedroom fully dressed and headed to gather my stuff. Troy heard my steps and caught my arm before I picked up my bag. He pulled me to the television in the living room.
“Can you believe this?” he raged.
A news conference was being held on C-SPAN. A U.S. senator, the Reverend Steven Stokes, was addressing the nation from Atlanta, Georgia. For a brief second, I forgot that I had planned to head to my own apartment.
“Did he say he’s running for president?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Troy confirmed.
I shrugged. “Maybe he can win. He’s a popular senator,” I said, recovering from shock.
“Please! I don’t care who he is. Jackson’s, Chisholm’s, and Sharpton’s poor showings at the polls over the years should be enough to prove this nation ain’t ready for a black president.”
“I don’t know,” I said, lowering myself onto the couch. “That was years ago. Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice have since held cabinet posts—they’ve changed America’s outlook about having a black person in politics. Maybe the nation is ready.”
“Yeah, right,” Troy dismissed.
The reverend’s wife, a beige-skinned, petite lady, strode up to her husband with a bright, confident smile. She wore a navy suit, tea-length with a rounded white collar pressed to perfection. Pearl accessories added a touch of elegance. I admired her style.
Their three children followed, all seemingly in their twenties or early thirties. The eldest, Steven Jr., had a young family of his own with him. But the bad-boy look in his eye told me this guy was probably a bit of a troublemaker.
The daughter, Savannah, was a younger version of her mom. She looked to be in her early twenties. She walked up to her dad, took his arm, and gave him an adoring smile.
The middle child, Sebastian, had a muscular build that made me do a double take. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and a charcoal-colored suit and tie that made him look like an overpriced lawyer.
I didn’t know them personally, but the Stokeses had been in the spotlight lately. The press loved talking about how much the family was putting Georgia on the map. I had seen headlines touting the way their community involvement had helped decrease the number of homeless people, increase the number of corporate headquarters in Georgia, and raise the state’s literacy rate. I’d always felt that though we hadn’t had a black president yet, we needed more politicians to keep reaching for it. And what better candidate than a family man who had been a politician and the leader of a church. Plus, I could get behind someone who wanted to work for America as president and not just push his own agenda. Reverend Stokes seemed like that type of person.
“They seem like the real deal,” I said.
“Whatever,” Troy grumbled, heading into the kitchen. “Wait ’til the press starts eating them up. All their dirty laundry will be out there.” Troy poured himself
a shot of gin. “White folks don’t want a brother in the White House. They’re afraid we’ll get in there and make our own rules.” Troy laughed to himself.
“White people aren’t the only ones who vote. You’ll vote for him, won’t you?”
Troy chugged his drink. “I don’t know anything about the man.”
“He’s black and he’s a Democrat. Plus, he has a good track record,” I said, angry at his stubbornness. “What else do you need to know?”
“Chris, if you ever meet them you’ll probably see they aren’t that impressive. I bet those smiles are only on the surface. Most politicians I come across are phony.”
“All of them can’t be bad,” I said, gathering my stuff. “I imagine their life is pretty wonderful.”
“Then I suggest you apply for the Secret Service temp job, guard them for a while, and find out all their dirty little secrets. Then you’ll see that the rosy picture you’re talking about isn’t so perfect.”
I spotted my toothbrush and makeup case and stuffed them into my Gucci overnight bag. Walking back to the living room, I said, “Temp job? What are you talking about?”
“It was posted through the inner office e-mail system. Something about because it’s election time, the Secret Service needs bodies to help them cover the presidential candidates,” Troy said before kissing me on the cheek and opening his apartment door.
Once on the other side of his door, I raised my eyebrow, nodded my head, and thought, Good riddance, Mr. Evans. And maybe I should look into that temp job. It was time for a new venture.
Chapter 2
Explore
The following week was not easy. I did apply for the temp job with the Secret Service. But I worried about the possibility of being pregnant. What would I do with a baby? I simply forced myself to concentrate on work. And with many files on my desk needing to be reviewed and data entry piling up, I had much to do.
The stress of my life made me glad I would soon be headed to Texas for my college roommate and best friend’s wedding. Although I had strayed away from God, Eden still remained true to the Lord. She was the only woman I was close to, with the exception of my mother and Crystal, my feisty younger sister. Even though we now lived in separate cities, when Eden asked me to be her maid of honor, I gladly accepted.
I was busy typing away at my desk. Over the last week, work had been easy. I didn’t have to deal with Troy, because he was in Maryland working with the DEA on a drug case dealing with suspected trafficking to the D.C.-area high schools. I was thrilled to pieces that we didn’t have to see each other. And since he hadn’t called, I knew he wasn’t trying to deal with me, either.
“Ware,” my supervisor yelled, “I need to see you in my office. Now.”
What’s his problem? I wondered as I rose from my chair.
Everyone in the office considered my boss, Thomas Hunter, an intimidating man. And he knew it. He spent most of his time sitting behind his large mahogany desk barking out orders to other people, instead of being useful in the field. Personally, I rather admired his arrogance.
I stood in his doorway, leaning against the wall, and watched him flip through some files in a tall, wooden cabinet. Hunter’s jet-black hair started high on his pale forehead and extended to a shoulder-length ponytail. Plaques and awards graced every wall. The credenza held photographs of him cavorting with beautiful women in exotic locations.
I folded my arms across my chest and cleared my throat. Hunter scoped me briskly through his wire-rimmed spectacles, then motioned for me to take a seat.
“Good morning, hard worker,” he said in a calm voice that contradicted his earlier tone. As I took the chair beside his desk, he settled into his large leather one behind it.
“Agent Ware,” he said, leaning back, “I know you’ve been frustrated about not being out in the field since the shooting. Your work to date has indeed been impressive, but I’ve been waiting for the right situation to come along. Since you put in for that temp job, I think we’ll give it a try. I have to send a qualified agent to assist with the detail of a presidential candidate. And you did save one of our agents’ life. You’ve proven this is in your blood.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Hunter was actually recommending me for the job. I could have jumped around the room like a cheerleader.
“I trust you’ve heard that Senator Steven Stokes is running for president.”
“Yes, sir, I saw he had a press conference last week.”
“Secret Service said he’s received some death threats.”
I nodded. Presidential candidates were always threatened by crazies with deeply held political views. Adding the race issue to the equation made Reverend Stokes a prime target.
He continued, “They said typically they don’t assign agents before training, but when I sent your profile to the Secret Service they chose you because the protectee wanted an African-American and they thought by having a woman on the detail she’d blend in to many of the locations Stokes visits as well. And I really think it’s a good idea, too.”
“You do?” I asked, knowing that no one else in the office wanted to take the assignment. I wondered what the Secret Service really thought about an FBI agent coming into their ranks.
“I don’t want you to become alarmed, but . . .” Hunter said, sending butterflies loose in my stomach, “Rudy Roberts has been released from the hospital and is out on bond.”
I was so relieved that the bullet didn’t kill Roberts. Though having a criminal out walking the streets certainly didn’t promote peace of mind.
“Roberts is a known felon with a thick rap sheet. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came looking for revenge.”
“You think he may come after me?” I questioned.
“You, Evans, this office, others investigating him. I know the way the case shook you up. I’m just happy to have you away from the whole thing now that we have to deal with it again. If he does come for you, you won’t be here. But I don’t want you to worry about this now.”
Easy for him to say—it wasn’t his life in danger. I didn’t plan to dwell on Roberts, but I couldn’t disregard the threat, either.
“I know you’ll be in Texas this weekend on personal time. When you come back I’m giving you the week off before you head down to Georgia for your Secret Service training.” I was nodding my head as if that was okay, but he wasn’t hearing it. “Get your affairs in order. Then Monday after next you can pick up your ticket at the airport when you head out.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said as I stood to shake his hand.
He gave a no problem nod. “Just make the FBI proud.”
“Will do.”
I walked out of Agent Hunter’s office on a cloud. Guarding the Reverend Steven Stokes would mark an end to my days of boredom behind a desk for at least six months to a year, depending upon whether or not he won the Democratic nomination.
For some reason, at that moment I remembered my prayer at Troy’s house. Maybe God had a plan for me after all. Thinking of God let me not stress about Roberts, Troy, or anything. I’d talked to God and He’d replied. Though my communication wasn’t that clear, I was suddenly ready and willing to get a stronger line with the Lord. I really was on a cloud.
On the flight to Texas, I tried to keep my focus on Eden’s wedding. She was marrying Dion Jones. Back in college, Dion, Eden, Max, and I used to double date. Eden was my girl. She was always there for me. I sure hoped Dion had changed for Eden’s sake or she was going to be in trouble.
Ironically, Eden and I took home pregnancy tests together our senior year. We held each other’s hand as five minutes slowly passed. I looked at mine first.
“It’s going to be okay, Chris,” Eden said with wet eyes.
“I just hope I’m the only one who has to go through this.”
“Come check with me, please. I’m scared,” she pleaded.
Looking at her positive result broke my heart as much as when I saw mine. The rest of the day we were in
mourning.
“What are we going to do?” she asked me.
“I can’t keep this baby,” I told her. “But you may want a family now.”
“Are you kidding?” she questioned as she paced the floor. “I haven’t even finished school. Dion doesn’t have a job. We can’t have kids now. I want to abort.”
Three days later we were at the clinic, scheduling appointments to get rid of our mistakes. We vowed not to mention this to the guys, figuring they would try and talk us out of it.
The nauseating scent of the abortion clinic and the depressing sadness that filled the faces of the many women sitting in the waiting room made it even harder. Eden and I were there for each other, but when they called us into separate rooms I had to be strong. As I placed my feet in the cold stirrups, I knew there was no going back. But when what felt like a vacuum sucked life out of me, I immediately regretted my choice.
Eden nearly went crazy with guilt. She didn’t come out of her room for two days. I could hear her moaning and crying, but there was nothing I could do for her. She shut me out. And we shut out the guys by not answering their calls.
The third day after our procedures, I went to pick up some Chinese food for us. Eden loved shrimp fried rice. When I returned to the apartment, I was surprised to see her sitting in Dion’s lap.
“We can have other children,” he said, consoling her.
Angrily I asked, “You told him. Why’d you break our . . .”
To my surprise, Max came from behind the door and cut me off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I was so upset with Eden. It was one thing for her to share her business with her man, but she crossed the line when she let Max know what I’d done to our child.