Free Thread of Deceit by Catherine Palmer Page A

to God. That relationship dominated his life, and Haven was the result.
    He had to keep the center going, Sam mused as Ana pulled out of the parking space. Neither lead paint nor a pain-in-the-neck reporter could stop him from giving God his complete obedience. Though he had been forgiven and redeemed, he believed his work at the recreation center was a kind of penance. An earthly labor of love—not only for the children, but also for the One who had given him a reason to live.
    “Reconnaissance,” Ana observed, doggedly keeping to her one-track agenda. “A piece of the puzzle that is Sam Hawke. So that’s why you noticed the way I set my plate and how many napkins I used.”
    “I see things,” he said. “I’m trained to look carefully.”
    “You were a spy in the Marines?”
    “Recon. We went in ahead of the main forces. We were there at the start of the conflict. Planning. Tracking. Scoping things out. Securing zones.”
    “I’ve always thought of reconnaissance as something to do with terrain and assessing the strength of enemy troops. Why were you trained to analyze people?”
    “I’m trained. Let’s leave it at that.” Head turned away, he stared out the side window. Remembering.
    “So you went to Iraq in 2003? What was that like?”
    “It varied. In the north, with the Kurds, it wasn’t too bad. In the south it was sandy and dry. Hot.”
    “You traveled all over the country?”
    “I got around.”
    “Why didn’t you stay in the service? I hear the retirement plan is great.”
    “I needed to make a change. That’s all.” He rubbed his palms on his knees. “We were talking about Jim Slater. He told me he sold real estate in Colorado. Said that’s how he made his money. He didn’t mention he was a widower.”
    “I think that’s what changed him.” She was leaving the downtown area now, driving west toward Ladue. “Evidently he had been very focused on his construction business—”
    “Real estate,” he cut in.
    “You interrupt a lot, you know.”
    “You bother me. You’re irritating, and when people bug me, I let them know it.”
    She smiled. “Nothing I like better than irritating a smug man.”
    Smug. Sam shook his head, wishing he’d driven his own car. “So, Jim Slater lost his wife, and that led him to start an adoption agency in St. Louis. That’s something you don’t hear every day.”
    “Neither is a Marines recon man starting an inner-city recreation center. Why did you do it, Sam? What’s the real reason?”
    He was silent a moment, trying to give her an answer that would satisfy without revealing too much. “I told you already,” he began. “It was Christ. He became real to me over there. It’s hard to explain. You know, it was like I saw myself—who I really was. And I saw Him. I realized what He wanted.”
    “God wanted you to start Haven?”
    “No, I mean I realized not only what He wanted from me…but what He wants from everyone.”
    She glanced at him. “What does He want?”
    “Surrender.”
    Ana scrunched up her nose. “That’s not how I see God. I think He wants our love. Surrender makes God sound cruel. Like He’s a despot.”
    Sam’s memory of the lines of Iraqi insurgents—trudging across the sand, hands on their heads, giving themselves up—sobered him again. “Surrender takes on new meaning to a soldier.”
    As Ana pulled onto the street where Jim Slater lived, she slowed the car. Sam was still gazing through the side window, oblivious to the rows of mansions with groomed lawns and expensive cars in their driveways. Seeing the windswept desert instead.
    “Like turning yourself over to another commander?” she asked. “Is that what you mean by surrendering to God?”
    “I mean dying. Giving up everything that you thought mattered. Letting it go. And the main thing to give up is yourself. Who you are and what you want. You have to die. Your dreams, your plans, your schedules, your family, your money, all of it. Give it away. It