Kennedy Stern Christian Suspense Complete Box Set (Books 1-9) (eBook)

“You look really familiar. Did you go to Harvard?”

Kennedy glanced up from her reading at the red-haired stranger. “I’m there now. Are you?”

“I was.” He moved to the seat next to her on the subway and furrowed his brow. “Graduated two years ago. Were we in the same class together maybe? I was a journalism major.”

Kennedy had at least another hundred pages of Dostoevsky to finish by the end of the weekend, reading she couldn’t get done chitchatting on the T with former journalism students. “No, this is my first year.”

He situated his leather case on his lap. It looked heavy. “I swear I’ve seen you before. Did you grow up around here?”

She lowered her book but kept it open to the right page. “No, I’ve been in China for the past ten years.” She thought about her dad’s paranoia, how he still reminded her from a dozen time zones away to stay wary of strangers.

“China?” The journalist leaned forward. “What part?”

Kennedy had lost track of the times she had been asked that by Americans who wouldn't know where to look for Beijing on a map. Sometimes, she took pity and said she lived near the Chinese-North Korean border. Other times, she gave the actual name of the city or province and watched their eyes go blank while they nodded absently. That was usually the tactic she employed when she didn’t particularly feel like talking.

“Jilin Province,” she answered, picking up her book again.

The man’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Were you near Longjing by any chance?”

Kennedy couldn’t tell which impressed her more, the journalist’s familiarity with the Chinese geography or his accent-free pronunciation. When she left Yanji at summer’s end, she couldn’t wait to get “home” to the States. There wasn’t anything for her to miss back in China. But when she got to campus and saw how different most of her classmates were, she realized how wrong she had been. She actually carved time out of her studies last month to go to the Asian-American Students’ first meeting, but she was the only white girl there and never went back.

“We actually lived in Yanji,” she told him.

The man nodded in apparent recognition. “I spent a year abroad in Longjing. I'm going back in a few months.” He patted the case on his lap. A camera, maybe? “Working on my first international documentary.”

The T’s automated announcer called out the name of Kennedy’s stop. She stood and gave him a wave and a little Americanized half bow. “I've got to go, but good luck with that documentary.”

“Yeah, good luck in school,” he managed to reply before Kennedy stepped onto the platform and hurried to the escalators, checking the time on her cell phone.

She adjusted her book bag when she emerged from the subway station. It was one of the chilliest days she could remember since arriving back in the States. The air was crisp and invigorating, and she walked with brisk steps. What a strange coincidence to meet someone so familiar with her home region. She thought about mentioning it to her parents when they talked next. Then again, her dad would probably reprove her for divulging even that amount of personal information. Oh well. Kennedy was on her own now, and she couldn’t waste her life scurrying from every shadow. Besides, Cambridge was a safe town with a public transportation system that was infinitely easier to grasp than the one back in Yanji. She didn’t venture off campus much, but when she did, she never felt insecure. She pitied folks like her dad who lived their lives in constant terror. Why couldn’t he be a little more trusting of people?

A burst of leaves fluttered to the pavement, and she quickened her step. She wasn’t late, not yet, but she walked fast enough that it would have impressed an Olympic speed-walker. She hadn’t seen her childhood pastor in years. His would be the first familiar face she saw since arriving back in the States, and she was anxious to catch up with him.

When Carl emailed her a few weeks ago, she was thrilled at the prospect of getting together. Finding the time to do so was a little more difficult. At least his new center was only a few hops away from campus on the Red Line — a convenient coincidence. Not coincidence. She could almost hear Carl correct her in his melodious bass voice that would make James Earl Jones drool with envy. Providence.

Either way, she was excited to see him. She still remembered his wife Sandy, her Sunday school teacher for years and years, and the one who let Kennedy practice time and time again on her hair until she perfected the art of French braiding.

She saw the dark green sign for the pregnancy center, felt the smile spread across her face, and swung open the door. A little bell announced her arrival. The room was empty except for the fumes of day-old paint.

“Hello?” She held her breath. Was anybody even here?

“Kennedy!” Carl Lindgren bustled out of a back office, arms extended jovially. “You made it.” His voice reverberated off the walls. He grabbed both her arms to draw her in for a rib-crushing bear hug. “You sure have grown since you were little.”

“It’s great to see you.” She didn’t have to feign her enthusiasm. The past two months had been a whirlwind of college orientations, lectures, homework, and already two all-nighters. Seeing Carl’s face was like stepping into a sauna in the middle of winter. The turpentine vapor intermingled with the scent of his shirt, a combination of barbecue, home-cooking, and after-shave that almost matched her father’s.

“When your family left for China, you were such a little thing.” He held his hand at the level of his waist. “Now look at you. All grown up, off on your own.”

Kennedy laughed. On her own meant she lived in a dorm with a theater-major roommate from Alaska, whose entire education — from what Kennedy could tell — consisted of playing computer games, attending rehearsals, and reading an occasional play. Kennedy, on the other hand, was so busy with her pre-med studies and literature classes that she hadn’t yet experienced any of the so-called “freedoms” supposed to come with college life.

Carl gave her a quick tour of the new pregnancy center, which in reality was only slightly larger than Kennedy’s dorm room. There was a main waiting area still wanting furniture, a back office, and a single room tucked in the corner. “Here’s where we do the counseling sessions, and that door there opens to a little bathroom stall.”

“It’s really nice,” Kennedy stated automatically, while her head threatened to lift right off her shoulders because of the fumes.

Carl’s cheeks widened into one of his chipmunk-style grins. “Well, it’s something. We’ll still have to send folks to the Boston campus for ultrasounds until we get a bigger place, but it’s a start. Oh.” His eyes lit up. “Wait until you see what Sandy rigged up for us.”

“How’s Sandy doing these days?” Kennedy followed Carl to his little office, the only room with any sort of décor. A golden placard marked the territory as the Executive Director’s, and the desk was already cluttered with paperwork and framed pictures of fat, cherubic toddlers. A few finger-painted masterpieces were taped to the wall, along with a crayon drawing on construction paper that read I love Grandpa.

Carl shuffled from side to side as he bustled around behind his desk. “You know Sandy,” he said with a beam. “She’s been as busy as ever getting this place ready to open, doing her grandma thing three days a week, overseeing all of the children’s ministry volunteers at St. Margaret’s.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment, but they didn’t lose their playful twinkle. “You know, I haven’t seen you at church, young lady.”

Kennedy had anticipated the remark and was ready with her excuse. “It’s just really busy with schoolwork and all, and it’s hard not having a car of my own.”

“I won’t say anything to your father.” Carl winked. “But you know my Sandy. You give her a call on Saturday night, and she’ll be sure to find you a ride for Sunday morning. Be sure to get her number from me before you leave. Or if you like taking the T, we’re right off the Red Line, Davis stop. Just another fifteen-minute walk from here, really.” He frowned. “But maybe you shouldn’t be walking that far alone.”

Kennedy tried not to roll her eyes. Had he been talking to her dad? She wasn’t ready to make any promises about coming to church, but she’d try finding time soon. It had been years since she had participated in an American service. She was a little nervous she might have forgotten something important. The kind of worship she was used to in China was quite different.

“By the way,” Carl went on, “Sandy told me specifically to tell you she wants to take you out for coffee sometime soon.” He gestured to the entrance of his office. “And if you shut the door, you can see her newest piece of art.”

On the wall hung a...