On Wings Of Deliverance

The very idea made Owen’s blood pressure rise.

Bernadette patted his hand. “You’re such a gentleman, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ve traveled to other foreign countries alone, my Spanish is fluent and I’m familiar with the culture. I’ll really be safer without–”

“No, you would not be safer without me!” Owen protested. “Let’s have this out once and for all. You claim to be so good at interpreting men. Did you not see the way that federale was looking at you?” He leaned in, nose to nose. “You. Are. Stuck. With. Me. Period.”

THE TEXAS GATEKEEPERS:

Protecting the borders…and the women they love

ELIZABETH WHITE

A native Mississippian, Elizabeth White now lives on the Alabama Gulf Coast with her minister husband, two teenagers and a Boston terrier named Angel. Beth plays flute and pennywhistle in church orchestra, teaches second-grade Sunday school, and—as an occasional diversion from writing—paints portraits in chalk pastel. Creating stories of faith, in which a man and woman fall in love with each other and Jesus, is her passion and source of personal spiritual growth. She is always thrilled to hear from readers c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY, 10279 or on the Web at www.elizabethwhite.net.

On Wings of Deliverance

Elizabeth White

MILLS & BOON

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I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.

—Psalms 34:4–5

To Mary Ann,

who has prayed faithfully for this story.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to express my gratitude to fellow author Jane Meyers Perrine, who translated my Spanish when she had her own stories to write. ¡Gracias!

Appreciation also goes to Karen M. Wise, whose entertaining and often funny Internet journal of her bus adventure through central Mexico enriched my story with details. Great pictures!

Thanks to my children who put up with me during marathon writing sessions. And to my husband, who came through with great ideas and encouragement when I needed it—all I can say is I love you!

Dear Reader,

Writing Bernadette and Owen’s love story has been a soul journey for me. Over the years I have counseled so many Christian women who struggle with issues of shame and condemnation—remnants of an old life before Christ came in. Words never seem to come to me in the right way when I listen to such heartaches, doubts and fears. My natural response is to write a story to illustrate how God deals with our stumbles.

Bernadette is a character who has begged me to complete her story for years. She was outwardly strong and full of faith, but full of inner feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. The process of creating for her a hero whom God would use to heal those doubts was eminently satisfying. Owen is to me a picture of God’s agape unconditional love.

The Bible, of course, is full of word pictures of lives transformed by grace. Rahab. Mary Magdalene. The Samaritan woman at the well. It’s amazing how we can know “in our heads” that Jesus washes us clean when we come to Him—and then still act in fear. I hope you’ll go to the Bible to reread these wonderful stories, and discover anew the hope available in Jesus!

Blessings,

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

ONE

Yucatán Peninsula, Mexico

“So there I am, all fat, dumb and happy—” Owen Carmichael ducked under the Cessna to check the propeller mechanism “—when my bird’s engine goes out and I see the ground coming at me like a pie in the face.”

Kyle Garrett, the fifteen-year-old missionary kid helping Owen with preflight inspection, gently set down the sand crab he’d been playing with. “So what’d you do?” His freckled face was alive with curiosity.

“About fifty feet off the ground, I pull the nose up real quick, like you rein in a horse. Hand me that wrench, would you?” Owen gestured toward the tool chest sitting on the sand near the boy’s feet. “Then I adjust in the opposite direction so the tail won’t slam into the ground. The wind creates enough lift on the blades to slow the landing.”

“Man, that’s so cool that you can fly a chopper and a plane.” Kyle squatted under the wing to watch Owen work. “I’m gonna take flying lessons when I go back to the States for college.”

“Tell you what, next trip down here I’ll take you up for a lesson.” Deep under the belly of the plane, Owen squinted into the bright sunlight that flooded the beach, which also functioned as a makeshift airstrip.

From Owen’s perspective, the kid didn’t have much to complain about. The Gulf of Mexico lay just twenty yards away, and the ocean spray left a pleasant salty taste on his lips. He wished he had a few more days to spend here before heading back to the south Texas desert.

Unfortunately, his vacation time was up. As a United States Border Patrol agent/BORSTAR specialist, he’d been uniquely qualified to make this supply run down to the coast of the peninsula for Mission Aviation Fellowship. He was glad to do it, not least because of the excuse to check up on Bernadette Malone. Benny had been here for a month as a hurricane-relief volunteer, and he’d missed her—more than he would admit to anyone but himself.

“Hey, Owen?” Kyle’s voice cracked on the upswing. “Hasn’t Benny been driving my dad’s old Jeep?”

Owen turned his head, leaning down to keep from putting a dent in his forehead. All he could see were Kyle’s bare knobby knees and the waves breaking on the beach. “Yeah, why?”

“I think that’s her, coming in from the village.”

Owen yanked a bolt. “Guess she wanted to say goodbye one more time.” Ha, wishful thinking. Benny’s goodbye to him this morning in the cafeteria had been sleepy—cranky to the point of hostility. She was not a morning person.

“She must be in an awful hurry. I’ve never seen her do more than thirty, and she’s spitting sand, driving like a maniac.” Kyle crab-walked out from under the wing.

Owen pushed clear of the plane and stood up, sliding his shades onto his face. “Wow. Look at her go.” The Jeep dodged in a zigzag pattern worthy of a stunt driver in an action film. Bernadette was the most cautious woman he knew. What would make her drive like this?

The Jeep skidded to a halt on the inland side of the beach, parallel to the plane’s takeoff path. Benny hopped out and tore across the sand, arms and legs pumping and her long, curly hair flying like a black flag.

“Owen! I’m so glad you’re still here!” She ran past him and yanked open the plane’s passenger door.

“What are you doing?” Owen exchanged glances with a wide-eyed Kyle, then snagged Benny around the waist before she could clamber into the plane.

She shoved at his hands and seemed to notice Kyle for the first time. Her eyes widened. “Kyle, get out of here! Take the Jeep—head for the jungle!”

Kyle just gaped at her.

Owen grabbed her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?”

Her breath hissed through her teeth. “I’ll explain when we’re in the air. Owen, get me out of here! I don’t want Kyle seen with me. Please, make him go!”

Owen couldn’t see Benny’s eyes behind her mirrored sunglasses. Her dark-olive skin was pasty.

“Owen!” Struggling to pull away, she burst into tears.

“Okay, okay.” Bewildered, he let her go. “Kyle, take the Jeep off the road and head home the back way. I’ll find out what’s the matter and bring her later.”

Kyle saluted and loped off toward his father’s old vehicle.

Benny took a couple of hiccuping breaths. “There’s a man trying to kill me. He said he was FBI—”

“What?” Was she kidding? Benny had a great sense of humor, but she rarely pulled practical jokes.

“She said they’re coming after us both. You’ve got to take me with you!”

“Benny—” He shook his head. “I’ve got flight regulations. And you’re supposed to stay for another two months, right?”

“Yes, but they’ll just have to understand. Please, Owen, he’s right behind—” She gasped and looked over Owen’s shoulder, her face gray. “Here he comes! Come on, we’ve got to go!”

Owen turned. A dark-green Land Rover approached from the direction Benny had come. Something that looked a lot like a gun glinted in the sunlight just over the vehicle’s windshield.

Good night.

“Benny, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Ya think?” She turned, gathering the folds of her full floral skirt in one hand. Impractical in many ways but she was always careful to comply with the missionary dress code—modest tops, skirts past the knees and nothing tight. No pants.

Owen gave her a hand up into the plane, stowed the steps, then ran around to the pilot seat. He had just started the engine when something pinged off the wing with a screech of metal on metal.

Bullets.

He was used to smugglers along the border getting excited about their little enterprises being busted up. But down here in paradise, you weren’t supposed to get hurt—except maybe by renegade jellyfish.

Another round hammered the plane as it taxied. Increasing speed, Owen checked to make sure Benny was buckled in. At least she had that much sense. He put on his headphones and gestured for her to do the same.

Adjusting the elevators, he taxied faster and faster. The airstream caught the wings and the plane took to the sky, leaving the Land Rover on the beach.

Owen turned to Benny. She sat with her head back against the seat, fairly green around the mouth. “Now. You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“Mom! Dad! You won’t believe what just happened!”

Stacy Garrett, missionary nurse and wife of Dr. Wes Garrett, glanced over her shoulder when she heard the voice of her son, Kyle, shouting from outside the one-room clinic. She calmly held the thermometer in little Julio Carillo’s mouth. Kyle got exited about the silliest things.

“In here, son,” Wes called, meeting Stacy’s gaze with twinkling eyes. “What’s the matter?”

Kyle tore into the room, swinging on the doorjamb. “Benny just took off in Owen’s plane!”

“Sweetie, we don’t have time for your goofy jokes.” Stacy patted the toddler’s cheek. “Come get this bag of trash and take it out to the burn pile.”

“Okay, but, Mom, I’m not kidding around. Did you know she was leaving today?” He walked over and grabbed the plastic bag under the window.

“Benny’s got another two months before she goes back. Owen probably just took her up for a ride.”

Kyle shook his head. “He was planning to leave as soon as he filed his flight plan. He was tinkering with something under the plane when she came tearing across the beach. She made me take the Jeep and come home the back way. She looked really scared, and she said—” he took a breath “—she didn’t want me to be seen with her.”

“I’m sure you misunderstood her.” Wes paused over his patient, a woman with a tumor on her neck. “She’ll be back later and explain what that was all about. Now do what your mother says and take out the trash.”

Kyle reluctantly dragged the sack toward the door. “Okay, but I’m telling you something weird’s going on. I heard some popping noises from the beach, like gunshots.”

Wes dropped his stethoscope and gave Kyle a stern look. “Now you’re being melodramatic. That Jeep’s been backfiring for months. I don’t want another word about it.”

“All right.” Kyle shrugged and hauled the trash over his shoulder. “But don’t say I didn’t tell you.”

“What do you think’s going on?” Stacy asked Wes as soon as Kyle was out of earshot. “There was that man who came to talk to Benny yesterday afternoon. She never said who he was or what he wanted.”

“Benny’s a very private young woman, Stace, but she’s an incredible worker. It’s not our place to interrogate her.”

“It is if there’s something wrong and we can help her. That’s what the body of Christ is for. That man had a scary look in his eyes.”

“And I think it’s your overactive imagination. Give it a rest. Haven’t you noticed the way Owen looks at Benny? What we’ve got here is some kind of courting ritual. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

Stacy rolled her eyes at her husband’s smug look. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic. I’ll leave it alone, but if she’s not back here in a couple of hours, I’m calling her to make sure she’s all right.”

Benny had never been bothered by heights. Still, taking off while under fire was unnerving. And then there was the pilot….

Though reassured by his firm grasp of the control column, she found herself shaken by the way he looked at her. Those eyes, an unearthly gold-shot turquoise, always stuttered her brain.

Owen was a crack Border Patrol helicopter pilot. And she’d always been able to depend on him to help out at the orphanage back in Acuña. But how to explain what had sent her on this precipitate and dangerous exit from the village of Agrexco?

“Bernadette—” Owen’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to the control panel “—the FBI does not kill missionaries. And who’s the ‘she’ that said they were after you?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure who that guy was, but he wasn’t FBI. I got an e-mail last night from an old friend saying that three of my oldest friends have died. I have to go back for—for the funerals.”

“That’s not the whole story, is it?”

Benny flinched at the hurt in his eyes. “Owen, I can’t tell you everything. It’s just too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than some guy firing a submachine gun at us?”

He had a right to be indignant, but she couldn’t formulate an answer that made sense. So she clamped her lips together and looked out the window. The bay underneath was blue and serene, and puffy clouds drifted past like a dream. How ironic.

Naturally, Owen wouldn’t leave it alone. “What about the three friends dying all at once? How did that happen? Some kind of accident?”

“The e-mail wasn’t very specific.”

His mouth tightened. “Well, that’s just great, Benny. People spill their guts to you all day long, but you never walk back across the bridge.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know exactly why you left Acuña to come all the way down to the Yucatán. You were afraid I was getting too close to you. Which is also why you’ve ignored me this whole week.”

“I didn’t ignore you! I was busy!” Benny clenched her hands. “We’ve had doctors and nurses and dentists needing translators and—”

“And I wanted to help, but you wouldn’t let me. ‘Go play with the children, Owen. Take this load of supplies over to the camp, Owen. I don’t have time to talk right now….’” He repeated her words with dead-on mimicry. “My Spanish may not be as good as yours, but trust me, I got the subtext.”

Benny looked away. Owen was a distraction, and it wasn’t just those eyes or the deep set of dimples that accompanied his ready grin. He could walk into a room and she’d find herself tuned like a metal fork against a table. Maybe she couldn’t block out that attraction, but she was determined to keep herself committed to her mission.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” It had never occurred to her that he would notice the absence of one person’s adulation. Everybody loved Owen—her supervisors, the children who ran around the village, the visiting medical personnel. Kyle Garrett idolized him. “Anyway, I know you can speak Spanish. That’s why you’re so useful entertaining the kids while they’re waiting to be treated.” She risked another look at him and found him frowning at the instrument panel. “What’s the matter?”

“Uh, we may have a slight problem.”

“What do you mean?”

Jaw shifting, he flipped a switch or two. There wasn’t a dimple in sight. “Either the fuel gauge is out of commission or both tanks are leaking. Neither’s a particularly good scenario.”

“You think bullets hit the fuel tanks?”

“Don’t know. Hold on, let me see who I can get on the radio. Mayday! Mayday! Broncobuster to control tower…”

Benny sat still as his attention focused on the instrument panel and his headset. He was a skilled pilot with thousands of flight hours under his belt, and she could trust him with her life. The Cessna didn’t seem to be losing altitude, but what did she know?

Looked like she’d dodged out of one dangerous situation right into another—worse than the guy in the dark suit and tie who’d shown up at the clinic yesterday afternoon. Flashing a badge, he’d asked if he could have a few minutes of her time.

Surrounded by screaming babies, worried mothers and fishermen with rotten teeth, she’d nearly booted him out without apology. But when he’d asked if she knew Celine Andrews, she’d handed the baby in her arms to Stacy Garrett and stepped outside.

How could anybody have connected her to a woman she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen years old—and traced her all the way to the Yucatán?

Lord, it’s me again. Please help me know what to tell Owen—and give him wisdom and skill to handle this problem with the plane.

She made the mistake of looking out the side window. They had begun to yaw downward and to the right. Nothing but blue ocean below. Her stomach surged. “Owen!”

“Hold on. The radio’s messed up. Must’ve got hit.”

“We’re dropping!”

“We should have enough fuel to clear the Gulf.” Owen winked at her. “Unless you’ve got your heart set on going for a little swim.” He laughed at her expression. “There’s a wide-open field a couple of miles inland, north of Veracruz. That’s where I’m headed.”

“Can’t we land at an airport?”

“Too far away. Hang on.”

The plane began to buck like a mustang. Owen’s full attention returned to the controls. His jaw tightened as he operated the rudder pedals and control column.

Benny’s teeth slammed together as the plane took a roller-coaster dip into a pocket of air. She wasn’t going to scream again. She wasn’t. Gripping the armrests, she closed her eyes. The ride became smooth for several seconds, then hit a corrugated patch that made the plane shake like a tambourine.

Oh, God, have mercy on us. You know I don’t swim well.

“You praying?”

“Of course I am.”

“Just checking. Another few minutes and we’re on the ground. Grab those life jackets under your seat just in case.”

Could one pass out from hyperventilation? She couldn’t remember ever being this frightened—even when the guy in the suit opened fire on her as she was leaving her room early this morning. She fished the life jackets out from under the seats and helped Owen into his. Fastening her own, she reminded herself how far the Lord had brought her. Her life was in His hands, and He could take it or give it back to her.

Your will be done, Lord.

She peeked out the window again at the jade-and-terra-cotta patchwork of coastal landscape below. Owen banked left and the plane stalled as they lost altitude.

“Hey, who knew Mexico had this many trees?” He tensed. “You might not want to look right now.”

“Owen! Look out!” Treetops zoomed at the plane.

“Relax.” Limbs and leaves scraped the belly of the plane. “You’re in the hands of a—”

She screamed as the landing gear came down with a fwump, snicking off the tops of a row of cypress trees. The right wingtip whacked into the trunk of a palm tree. Her stomach was somewhere around her eyebrows. The plane wobbled and skated clear of the trees, the wheels jouncing across somebody’s cow pasture. Another couple of wild bounces and they were taxiing.

Owen applied the brakes, his muscles bulging with the strain of holding the plane steady on the rocky field. Benny watched his face, mesmerized by the fierce concentration in his narrowed eyes, flared nostrils and tight lips. Then she glanced out the windshield.

They were headed straight for a barn.

TWO

Raymond Briggs tossed his navy suit coat across a chair and pushed the rifle case under the outdoor cantina table. Scowling at the pretty young waitress waiting to take his order, he yanked out another chair and dropped into it. Drowning his frustration in a shot of tequila would have redeemed some of this miserable day. Unfortunately, one did not order alcohol at ten o’clock in the morning in a conservative city like Villahermosa.

“Agua embotellada, por favor,” he growled.

The little waitress scurried inside.

Slouching, Briggs unclipped the cell phone from his belt and stared at it. He’d rather face a mountain lion than have to tell his boss he’d let Bernadette Malone slip through his fingers.

How could he have missed that shot? At least once a week, he’d spend a few hours at a practice range so he wouldn’t choke under pressure.

He was a professional. Hidden in the thick vegetation on the outskirts of the camp, he’d waited patiently for a chance to catch the missionary alone. With his binoculars trained on her cabin, he’d seen her and another young woman walk toward a long Quonset-like building, which he assumed to be the cafeteria. Thirty minutes later, she’d returned alone and he’d had his chance. He should have been out of there, his mark dead and no one the wiser; he’d had a silencer on the rifle and he was a genius at disappearing.

But the sting of a mosquito had made him twitch, sending the bullet into the cabin wall. Startled, the woman stood there for a split second. Then, just as he reloaded the chamber, she’d darted toward the old Jeep parked by the door.

Ray kicked the gun case at his feet. How was he going to explain the behavior of this crazy young woman? Why would she drive away from the other individuals in the camp? Dumbfounded, he’d knelt for precious seconds with the rifle held to his shoulder as the Jeep sped toward the main road. Arrogantly sure of his aim, he hadn’t bothered to sabotage her vehicle.

The waitress returned with his bottled water and Ray gave her a few pesos, silently cursing himself, cursing the woman, cursing the humidity that made his shirt stick to his back. By now, he should have been in Cancún enjoying a short vacation before returning to the southwest Tennessee heat.

Thumb on speed dial, he hesitated before dialing the number. The judge was going to go ballistic.

He lined up defenses in his mind like toy soldiers. How could he have known there was a plane sitting on the beach less than five miles away, with a pilot getting ready to take off? Assumptions, as it turned out, had been the source of his every mistake.