Free Thread of Deceit by Catherine Palmer Page B

doesn’t matter.”
    “How can you say that? Those things do matter.”
    “No. Not with real surrender. Jesus kept saying it over and over, like we were too stupid to understand—and we are. He said take up your cross and follow Me, remember? Your cross is where you die, Ana. It’s the end of your life. He said whoever lays down his life for My sake will save it.”
    “He also said love Me more than you love your own father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters.”
    “Love is important, but surrender is the key. Jesus told a rich young ruler to give up everything and follow Him. He told His disciples that if they gave up their families and properties for His sake, they’d get a hundred times as much in return—plus they’d have eternal life.”
    She shrugged. “But Jesus couldn’t have meant we’re supposed to quit living, could He?”
    “Once you get to that point,” Sam explained, “to crawling-on-the-ground-naked-and-bleeding surrender—you’ll do anything your Master tells you.”
    “And He told you to start Haven.”
    “Yeah.” He kept his voice low, praying she would understand. “After I gave God everything, He gave most of it back. But it was all different. The same—but completely changed. He gave back my urge to dream and make plans. He gave back my scheduling and training and discipline, all those things I’d been taught. And then He told me what to do with them. They’re for Him now. That’s why I started Haven, and that’s why I’ll defend it with my life.”
    Ana stopped the car in the street next to Jim Slater’s gated residence. Sam opened the door and stepped outside, unfolding his tall body into the sunlight. She followed, walking around to join him on the sidewalk.
    “You sound sincere,” she acknowledged. “But I’ve heard people talk that way who didn’t really mean it. People can be deceptive. They may claim to honor God, but that’s to cover a web of lies and dark motives. I know it, Sam. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
    “You don’t trust me,” he said. “I’m not asking you to.”
    “Thank you,” she said in a low voice.
    She looked up at him, her brown eyes lit with gold by the late-afternoon sun. Disturbed by this woman far more than he liked, Sam focused on the large black iron gate. He couldn’t care about the pain in her eyes. Couldn’t take her in his arms and rock away the hurt. Couldn’t let the tenderness take over. Ana was pushy and irritating and nosy. Her writing could kill Haven. She couldn’t be any part of his life, Sam realized. He had work to do, challenges to overcome, goals to accomplish.
    Forcing himself to turn away, he shook the gate. Locked. He studied the two massive concrete pillars topped with decorative statues of cherubs—angelic-looking babies with wings. “Jim’s expecting me this afternoon, but we hadn’t set an exact time.”
    As he spoke, two Doberman pinschers bounded out of a wooded area to one side of the gate and began barking at the visitors. White teeth bared, they snarled and snapped and leaped at the gate, as if eager to lock their jaws on anyone who dared to invade their territory.
    “I guess I won’t be climbing over,” Sam said.
    “The intercom.” Ana reached for a panel on one of the pillars. She pressed a small black button. “Someone will buzz us in.”
    When a voice came over the speaker, Sam gave their names. A piercing whistle drew the Dobermans away, back into the woods, as the gates swung open.
    “Mind if we walk?” Sam asked.
    “Not at all.”
    Jim Slater’s long driveway was lined with wide bands of golden daylilies punctuated by pedestals on which sculpted marble children played and angels danced. Fancy place, he thought. Like a palace. Ana had known exactly what to do with the gate. He glanced at her, wondering about her background. Brownsville, Texas, she had told him. Had her father been wealthy?
    “Yes, James Bond, I grew up in a gated community.” She cut into his