“Jack, don’t leave like this. Stay, please. Let’s talk this out. Don’t go.” Tears sprung to her eyes.

Jack started the car and backed out of the drive. Cathy followed him for half a block until his car disappeared as he turned at the end of the street several blocks away. Then, barefoot and wearing only her robe, she stood on the sidewalk and cried.

Tasha and Dewan hosted an informal get-together the first Sunday night of each month, with the deacons and their wives and children coming to their house for coffee and dessert. During their years in Dunmore, they had made many friends, but none as dear to them as Dionne and Perry Fuqua, a couple only a few years older than they were. Dionne was an elementary school teacher and Perry the high school football coach. They had married young, had children in their early twenties and were now parents to a twelve-year-old and a fourteen-year-old, both boys.

While the boys watched TV in the den, the adults sat in the living room talking, discussing everything from local politics to global warming.

“It’s getting late,” Dionne said, interrupting her husband midsentence in his tirade against irresponsible fathers missing from their children’s lives, a pet-peeve with the devoted father of two. “It’s nearly ten-thirty.”

“Stay for a while longer. I want to discuss plans for adding on a Sunday school wing to the church and expanding the sanctuary,” Dewan said. “Tasha just put on a fresh pot of decaf coffee.”

“Yes, do stay. The boys will want to see the end of their program before y’all leave.” Tasha stood and gathered up the empty dessert plates. “Honey, would you get the cups for me?”

Perry glanced at his wife. “Mind if we stay until eleven?”

She smiled. “Okay, but only until eleven. Remember, I’m teaching summer school, and I can’t sleep late tomorrow.”

Dewan gathered up the cups and saucers from the coffee and end tables and placed them on the tray where Tasha had set the plates. As he lifted the tray, he asked, “Anybody want more pie?”

“Not me,” Dionne answered.

“Maybe just a small slice,” Perry said. “Tasha makes the best blueberry pie I’ve ever tasted.”

Dionne shook her finger at him. “What happened to that diet you were planning to go on?”

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” he told her.

Both couples laughed.

“I’ll check on the boys and let them know we’re leaving in thirty minutes,” Dionne said as Dewan carried the tray into the kitchen.

“I’ll cut you a small piece of pie and bring it with the fresh coffee,” Tasha said. “When we come back, you and Dewan can discuss building plans while I show Dionne what I’ve done to the nursery.”

Even though the baby wasn’t due until early September, she had been unable to wait to redecorate their third bedroom. Dewan had painted the walls a pale yellow, and they had bought white furniture, including one of those new round baby beds. They had waited such a long time for this child, a child conceived in love and wanted so desperately.

“We should discuss baby-shower plans,” Dionne said. “Several of the ladies have already mentioned it to me. Your child is going to be surrounded by a congregation of honorary aunts and uncles.”

She had been watching the house for nearly an hour, waiting for the lights to go out so that when she rang the doorbell the odds were that Reverend Phillips would be the one to open the door. There was a chance he would recognize her, but what did that matter? If something went wrong, and she was unable to follow through with the Lord’s plans to punish the reverend, then she could come up with some excuse for being in his neighborhood and ringing his doorbell. But if things went well, Dewan Phillips wouldn’t be able to identify her, because he would be dead.

The lighted face of her digital watch allowed her to check the time in the dark. The watch had been a birthday gift, one she treasured.

Ten-forty. She should have waited until later, but she was so eager to do God’s bidding that she had sneaked away early.

Wait. Be patient.

But she didn’t want to wait. She was pumped with adrenaline and filled with the Spirit. The Holy Ghost had entered her and guided her every move. The Almighty’s desire to punish Dewan Phillips raged inside her, begging for release.

Nothing could go wrong.

No one could hurt her.

She couldn’t be stopped. Not when she was guided and protected by a higher power.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped out of the car, opened the trunk and removed the gas can. After checking her pocket for the lighter, she crossed the street. Glancing around, she saw no one, just a couple of stray dogs half a block away. She noted an SUV in the driveway and wondered why either the reverend or his wife had parked outside of their double garage. People often used their garages for storage, making it impossible to park their vehicles inside. That was probably the reason.

She made her way quietly across the yard, her gaze fixed on the front door. A smile warmed her from within. Courage roared inside her like a mighty lion. While doing the Lord’s work, she was invincible.

Be careful. Don’t do anything foolish.

She didn’t need to worry. God would take care of her. The Holy Ghost possessed a power unknown to mortals, a power that now surged through her veins.

Cloaked in the Spirit, held in the very palm of the Lord Almighty’s hand, she knew no fear. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

The door opened. A tall black man’s outline was silhouetted in the doorway, his muscular body backlit from the light inside the house.

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked.

His voice sounded odd, but he was probably surprised to see a stranger on his doorstep at this time of night.

She smiled. God has sent me to you.

“Are you sure you’re at the right house? This is Reverend Phillips’s home.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she uncapped the gas can she held behind her back, then hoisted it high and threw the contents straight at her target. Before he had a chance to react, she dropped the can, flipped open the lighter and using both hands locked the flame. She tossed the open lighter toward his chest. The lighter hit the edge of his gasoline-soaked silk tie.

Burn in hell for your sins.

The Holy Ghost surged through her, the feeling stronger than ever before.

She backed away from the man on fire and watched him burn. Then she quickly bent down, picked up the metal torch lighter and put it in her pocket.

A woman’s voice screeching for help warned her that she must leave quickly. She had accomplished her goal and done God’s bidding. It was time for her to return home, to rest, to recoup, to prepare herself for the next time.

She yanked the gold chain from her neck and tossed it down on the sidewalk. Then, without a backward glance, she walked away, crossed the street and got in her car.

Jack sat on the back porch, his gaze unfocused as he went over in his mind, again and again, what Cathy had told him. He wasn’t sure how he felt, other than being pissed as hell. But what lay beneath the anger?

He had a son.

He was Seth Cantrell’s biological father.

The logical part of his mind understood why Cathy had married Mark Cantrell and even understood her reasoning about why she’d never told him the truth. But his gut told him he had every right to be angry and hurt, to never forgive Cathy for what she’d done.

I was young and stupid and let Mark and my mother make all my decisions.

Damn Elaine Nelson!

And damn Mark Cantrell. He couldn’t have a son of his own, so he stole my son from me.

Why had he thought, even for one minute, that this time around, he’d get it right? He should have known better than to believe he could finally live a somewhat normal life. He had actually thought he and Cathy had a chance. God, what an idiot he was.