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removed.
    “Is the church open?”
    “Yes, it’s always—oh!” She glanced at her watch and stood. “There’s a service at noon. I can make it.”
    “A service?”
    “It’s Annunciation Day.” She recalled her earlier comparison. “You know, kind of like what we’ve just had, Gabe ?”
    “Gabe.” His smile was unfeigned, the first real one since his arrival. “As in Gabriel the angel?”
    “You came and you announced.”
    “And it’s thrown your world off-kilter, as Mary’s must have been.” He tilted his head slightly, accepting responsibility but not apologizing for it. “Mind if I join you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Understood. Not a problem.”
    The familiarity of him took hold of her once more. How many times had he joined her in a hospital chapel simply to keep her company?
    The truth was, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, she had needed him then and she needed him now.
    She said, “But it’s okay.”
    He gave a slight nod.

Chapter 8
    Sheridan entered the living room that served as their study. They’d furnished it with a large desk and several bookcases. Eliot was in his recliner, his feet on the raised footrest. A book lay open on his lap, his glasses on top of it.
    “Eliot.”
    He looked up. “Is Traynor gone?”
    “No. He’s going down to the church with me.” She sat on the ottoman beside his chair. “Mercedes is already there. Did you remember it’s a holy day?”
    He sighed, a loud exhale of frustration. “And you can’t miss a service.”
    She tamped down her own frustration. She missed services all the time. There was no space in her schedule to attend the daily Mass or even every Sunday. But the ancient liturgy grounded her like nothing else, and sometimes, like now, she absolutely craved it.
    She said as she always did, “Do you want to go?”
    And like always, he replied, “I don’t care to, no. When will you be back?”
    “An hour. An hour and a half at the most. Why don’t you rest? When I get home, we’ll eat lunch and then work.”
    “We are not obligated to entertain him, you know.” Obviously Luke was at the forefront of his thoughts. “I don’t think I was rude to him, but we can’t welcome this sort of intrusion into our lives. I am no longer in service to the United States.”
    “It wasn’t exactly national business that brought him here.”
    “You don’t think so? Sheridan, the man is a CIA operative. He doesn’t have a personal bone in his body. No matter what Calissa told him or what he told us, he came because he has something to gain. You’re not actually considering going to Chicago?”
    “I haven’t thought about going anywhere beyond church.” A shudder went through her. She could not imagine leaving Topala, traveling back into the chaos of the real world, into a huge city. How she had survived five months in Houston during Eliot’s recuperation remained a mystery. Getting them on the plane to Mexico thirteen months ago used up every last ounce of stamina she had. The counselor told her it would be restored. Of course, she didn’t believe that woman’s word about anything.
    Eliot said, “Is there any hint at all in Calissa’s note about why Traynor’s interested?”
    She thought of the note she’d slid into a drawer between the folds of a camisole. It was a banal hiding place, but at least the thing was out of sight. “There was the reference to Isaac and Ishmael.”
    “Two brothers who probably lived in the equivalent of different countries, at odds over family business. A significant age difference between them. A dead, or nearly dead, father. There are similarities to you and Calissa, but beyond those things?”
    She heard the question in his voice.
    And she chose not to answer it.
    There was more “beyond those things,” but what exactly she didn’t understand. Something, though, kept her from wondering aloud with him. Something inside of her curled up protectively around this peculiar message from her sister.
    Calissa