Free The Ambition by Lee Strobel Page A

Strider! Snow’s a big fish. He’s a rising star.”
    “Whoa, I’m still in the investigatory stage.”
    “Is someone leaking something to you? You got insider stuff?”
    “It started with a hunch,” said Strider.
    “A hunch? I hope you’ve got more than that.”
    “I’ve been turning the place upside down, poring over everything I can get my hands on, talking with former staffers and members who’ve left the church — you name it.”
    As usual, Howard was after the headline. “So what’s the angle?”
    Strider swallowed hard. “Nothing concrete yet, but I’m tracking down some real possibilities.”
    Howard looked off into the distance as he imagined a front–page Sunday headline exposing one of the nation’s most prominent clergymen and one of the country’s most influential churches — a celebrated citadel of modern American evangelicalism. He liked what he saw. It was the stuff of Pulitzers.
    “Listen, Strider, nail it down,” he said, standing to signal the end of their meeting. “Nail him.”
    III
    “Tommy O — it’s Dom. Pick up … I don’t like machines. Where were you last week? You’re not bailing on me, are you? You missed a great set — Witkowski walked away with 40 large. He’s back tonight and ripe for the picking. I’ll see you tonight, pal!”
    Tom’s eyes widened as the answering machine clicked off. Forty grand. That would solve a lot of problems. Chase off a lot of creditors. And Witkowski’s an idiot; how many times has he botched a hand? Who knows how much a real player could have scored? Forty grand would get my chin above water …
    Tom put down his beer and massaged his face with both hands. But Bugatti … Maybe there’s another game someplace. Maybe on the North Side. There’s one over on Fullerton …
    He took another swig. No, the Bugattis have their tentacles everywhere; Dom would find out — and then what? I don’t need him coming after me … Still, forty large. One night …
    He glanced around his small house. All the little touches that Laura had added to make it a home were gone with her. Now the place was Spartan, cold, stark. He let his mind linger on Witkowski’s take. Maybe with that kind of money, he could have kept her.
    He gave his head a shake. He reached over and picked up his car keys. Friday night. Time for a weekly date with Phillip Taylor.
    IV
    Gina pulled out a chair and sat down at the round wooden table. Looking up from her salad, Audrey Byrne spoke so softly that she was basically just mouthing the words: “Nothing yet?”
    Gina only briefly looked at her friend and shook her head, afraid she might start to cry if she talked about how Strider hadn’t called in the five days since their blowout at Le Boujolais.
    Gina removed a sandwich from a brown paper bag and the two of them ate in silence. Four or five other teachers murmured throughout the Teacher’s Lounge, quietly enjoying a respite from their students.
    Finally, unprompted, Gina managed to speak. “This is his pattern — whenever we have a fight, he freezes me out. But this time … I don’t know. It seems so final.”
    Audrey looked around the room. “Too many ears,” she whispered. “Let’s go for a walk.”
    They tossed their trash and exited the lounge, turning left down a corridor that became a curved hallway. With the students at lunch and other teachers covering monitor duty, there was nobody around. Audrey unlocked the door to her fifth–grade classroom and the two of them slipped inside, Gina perching on the edge of Audrey’s desk while Audrey eased herself into her chair.
    “I really don’t want to lose him,” Gina said. “I feel like he needs me. Moving out was hard enough, but then to have him propose — oh, Audrey, I don’t know …”
    “Are you having second thoughts?”
    “Yes — and third and fourth. Still, I think it’s the right thing to do. Like Eric Snow said that Sunday a few weeks ago, you can’t be — what’s that term the Bible