Forgiving Paris: A Novel(55)

“Me, either.” She wouldn’t let him make the rules for her. She was perfectly capable of setting the parameters. “I’d rather be back by nine.”

“Nine it is.” He almost smiled at her. Or at least it looked that way. Instead he kept a straight face and nodded. “See you at six.”

And Eliza could think about only one thing.

What in the world would she wear?





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

—Hebrews 13:2



Jack had decided to tell her the truth—he had feelings for her. There was no way around the fact. Still, there could be nothing between them as long as she was an HLCI, as long as she was being paid to do mission work for the FBI and as long as he was an agent.

But she had to know how he felt. So he could explain himself.

She was angry with him, and God had made it clear why. God had made a lot of things clear. Which was one more thing he wanted to talk to Eliza about.

On the way to pick her up that evening, Jack thought about the events of the past two weeks. He and six other agents had stayed at a luxury condo in the pristine Lakeside Tower on Lake Grapevine, a quick drive from the Dallas FBI office. The place was owned by a friend of the bureau, a man who currently lived overseas.

Training took twelve hours a day, three days a week in the condo’s spacious dining room. The other days, agents could do what they wanted. Golf or see the city or make time by themselves. Jack preferred the latter. His favorite spot had been the Northshore Trail, not far from the condo. Whenever he had a spare moment, Jack took to the trail. He had brought his hiking pants and a pair of Shimano trail boots. Work relationships were often built on the golf courses in and near Dallas.

But Jack had wanted to work on a different relationship.

His relationship with Jesus.

The first week at the condo, Jack spent every free hour hiking the trail. It wound twenty-two miles along the northern shore of Lake Grapevine, up hills and through thick brush with frequent views of the expansive stretch of dark blue water. Both cyclists and hikers used the trail, but the terrain wasn’t for beginners.

At the start of the second week, Jack rented a mountain bike. He had ridden often in his days at the Naval Academy, the more challenging the course, the better. The lake trail was one of the most difficult Jack had ridden, and he attacked it each time, flying along the edges of cliffs and powering up steep hills with no care for his safety.

That Thursday Jack left the condo early and rode the bike to the trailhead. He had planned to cover the whole thing, push through the narrow, tougher areas the way he needed to work through the roadblocks in his life.

One mile had led to another and another, and Jack didn’t stop for anything. He forced the bike down craggy sections of rock and along cliffs that seemed barely wide enough to hold a bike and rider. In some ways, the trail reminded him of the Cliffs of Moher, which he’d walked once on a mission in Ireland.

The faster Jack rode that day, the more he became lost in a world all his own. Like he wasn’t really in Texas at all. At first he couldn’t ride fast enough to escape the problems plaguing him. Then, one at a time, the questions began to catch up. Questions were good things, his dad had always told him.

Because the answers wouldn’t be far behind.

Why didn’t he care if he lived? Was that how his family would’ve wanted him to treat life? And how about love? Did he really want to spend his days alone? What about Eliza? Who was going to care for her? Love her? And of course the greatest question of all—was God real and if so, why had He taken Jack’s family?

The questions ran on repeat in his mind. The harder he pushed himself—the more he asked of the bike and his lungs—the louder the questions grew until suddenly he turned a corner on the trail and came to a clearing.

Easily the prettiest spot on Lake Grapevine.

His sides heaved. Jack walked the bike up the grassy hill till he reached the top. There he laid the bike down and he sat on a flat rock, and all at once he saw his whole life play out before him. The Christmas mornings and summers in Belize, the conversations around the dinner table and the way his busy parents had spent more time with him after Shane died.

Like he was watching an actual movie, Jack could see every detail.

And then he heard the voice. A voice he hadn’t heard since he was a boy.

Jack, I have loved you with an everlasting love. I still love you.

So clear and crisp were the words, Jack stood and jerked his head one way, then the other. He put his hand on his waistband, ready to draw his gun. But there was no one else on the hilltop. The trail was quiet today. Jack had only seen a few hikers the entire morning.

He dropped slowly to the rock again. “God… is that You?”

A warm wind came up off the water and washed over him. I know the plans I have for you, Jack. Plans to give you a hope and a future… and not to harm you.

Agents didn’t cry. That was a rule Jack had set for himself when he began working for the FBI. He wouldn’t let himself linger in sadness over losing Shane or his parents. And so his heart and mind and soul had become a computer. A machine capable of great heroism and unmatched courage and physical strength.

But along the way he had trained himself not to feel sadness.