Secret Agent Minister by Lenora Worth Page A

him. He’s not well, Devon.”
    Dev’s palm hit the granite counter. “That’s because the man is heartbroken, Kissie. We destroyed—”
    “Destroyed what?”
    Dev turned to see Lydia standing at the arched doorway to the kitchen, her hair cascading around her pale face. “What did you destroy, Pastor Dev? Or is that information classified?”

     
    Everything around here was classified, Lydia decided later. Pastor Dev had refused to clue her in, for her own protection, of course. So she’d spent most of the afternoon either napping underneath one of the many ceiling fans around the big house, or reading one of the many interesting books and magazines Kissie kept stashed in her upstairs living quarters. The woman had everything from O magazine to the Wall Street Journal and People magazine, not to mention various forms of Christian fiction and nonfiction.
    Lydia had read an entire O from cover to cover—some of those life lessons in there were pretty good. Then she’d skimmed all the celebrity rags—her daddy wouldn’t approve of that—and read a short inspirational romance that had a nice, sweet, happily-ever-after ending.
    And wondered if she’d ever have the same.
    Then she’d visited with the two girls living here under Kissie’s supervision. Jacqueline was moody and resentful. She hated the foster home system. Amy was sweet and unassuming. She loved being safe here with Kissie. Both had been caught up in bad situations. Jacqueline, alcohol and boys; Amy, in an abusive, drug-infested home. They’d been careful not to reveal too much to Lydia, but they’d plied her with curious questions about everything from her favorite songs to what type of perfume and makeup she liked. Careful to be honest but not too forthcoming, Lydia had indulged in a little girl talk until Jacqueline had gone upstairs to clean and Amy had left to run an errand.
    Afterward, bored and looking for something to distract her from all her worries, Lydia had explored the old house, and found all sorts of nooks and crannies. This place was one part history, one part cabaret and one part haven.
    “Lord, I hope you have a sense of humor,” Lydia said to herself now as she slowly made her way down the long staircase. Determined to question Pastor Dev again, she decided to look for him. Both he and Kissie could get gone faster than humanly possible, but Lydia reckoned that was a CHAIM trait. She also knew that even though the two were as thick as thieves and up to their elbows in espionage, they had others stationed here and there, watching out for Lydia. Or as she’d heard Pastor Dev whispering to Kissie, “Keeping visuals.” She had to be in someone’s line of sight at all times, apparently.
    That would explain the tiny cameras hidden everywhere. She’d found them in lamps and in pictures, in plants and in the intricate crown molding on some of the walls.
    Not only was this whole house equipped with more cameras than the Pentagon, but Kissie also employed a lot of hardworking, very observant people.
    A petite little maid here, dusting and watching.
    A nice elderly gardener there, clipping hedges and waiting.
    A cable repairman on the roof, realigning the satellite dish while he did a little recon work on the entire neighborhood.
    “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck,” Lydia said out loud, then instantly wished she hadn’t when she spotted Pastor Dev at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at her.
    “Well, if you did, that must have been one pretty turnip crop.”
    Lydia tried not to blush. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl that way.”
    The smile faded away. “Sorry, old habits die hard.”
    That was sure the truth. Come to think of it, Lydia and the church staff had all been amazed at how quietly this man could enter a room. Now she understood why, at least.
    She met him at the bottom of the stairs, then plopped down. “I don’t like being idle. Idleness is the devil’s workshop.”
    He tilted his head and gave