Plans, Perceptions, and Providence
By Felicia Ferguson
Shane/Oliver Engaged
Author's Note: Becky Starkwell's personal life has never been hammered out in the canon. All we know for sure is that she wore an engagement ring in Something Good and Dark of Night and that she was on her honeymoon in The Impossible Dream. So, I've decided to play a bit. You'll have to let me know what you think!
As always, none of the characters you recognize are mine. Thanks to Martha Williamson, et al. for this amazing series!
Chapter 3
"Oliver?" Shane's voice, panicked and scared, echoed from the hallway into her room.
Raw anguish tore at Oliver, pushing him toward the door to follow her, to protect her in whatever way he could. Steve stepped inside the doorway, blocking Oliver's exit as the agents led her down the corridor.
Steve's firm grip held Oliver's shoulders, urging him back into the room. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but you can't go with her. Besides, Shane's just being taken in for questioning."
A harsh bark of dark laughter split the air between them as Oliver jerked away from Steve's restraint. Turning on his heel, he stared at Steve through narrowed eyes. "Pardon me, but I specifically remember that man saying she was under arrest. Arrest, from the late Middle English, is a transitive verb meaning to seize or capture not to question."
Steve heaved a resigned sigh and closed the door. "They were a bit overzealous. It's not every day they can use the T-word, well, either of them." He flashed a wry smile and watched Oliver as if assessing his response.
Fury rose, deepening Oliver's voice and tightening his features. "I hardly find this situation amusing. I may not understand the specifics of what is happening, but let me speak frankly and plainly, Mr. Marek. I will do whatever it takes to protect Shane. Whatever it takes. Can you say the same? Or will you allow the aegis of national security to swallow her up in a sea of red tape as innocent collateral damage?"
"Look, Oliver, I don't believe she did this. But it doesn't matter what I believe. What matters is how it looks. And it doesn't look good."
"As her fiancé, I will be engaging legal representation on her behalf. Where might I direct them to go?"
"FBI headquarters." Steve's gaze landed on Shane's laptop where it sat on the nightstand charging. Without a word, he grabbed it, gave Oliver a final loaded look, then turned and walked out the door.
Oliver stared at Shane's ringing cell phone. Becky Starkwell Robbins's smiling face beamed at him from the screen above a pair of red and green buttons. Having never answered a cell phone before, he tapped the green button and hoped the color had the same meaning as it did at a stoplight.
"Shane?"
"No, it's Oliver. Shane's been arrested." The word leapt from his tongue dripping in acid.
Becky's gasp hissed through the line. "By whom?"
"I don't know for certain, but I believe they are with the FBI. Mr. Marek was with them. Whether to ease the process or because he was in league with them, I have no idea." Oliver cleared his throat and marshaled all his reserves to battle the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. "Ms. Starkwell, I must retain the services of an attorney for Ms. McInerney. Might you have any recommendations?"
The words and tone were rigid, off-putting, distancing, and Oliver winced at Becky's sharp intake of breath. But it couldn't be helped. He required every iota of formality he possessed to maintain his equilibrium.
Soothing compassion laced her words. "I understand. John will have a recommendation. Do you know where they took her?"
"Mr. Marek said the FBI Headquarters, but beyond that, I have no specifics."
Becky hummed over the line. "We'll take care of her, Oliver. For now, do the only thing you can do. Pray."
Oliver pressed the red circle, ending the call, and surveyed Shane's room. Her purse sat on the desk next to her room key. Her suitcase lay on the collapsible tray, open, but still filled with her clothing and toiletries. They'd arrived yesterday with plans only to stay three nights before returning to Denver Saturday morning. He needed to extend their stay for both rooms. Picking up the house phone, he called the front desk and booked them through Sunday night. Their flights would also need to be changed, but his mind could not process anything more than the awareness of that need.
Running his fingers over Shane's neatly folded paisley silk blouse, Oliver closed the suitcase and tucked her room key and phone into her purse. He looped her purse straps over his arm and scanned the room again then left for his own just down the hall. Oliver pushed open the door, set Shane's purse on the desk and pulled out her cell phone. He had no idea how to use it, but like the kombucha recipe he experimented with while she was out of the country, he clutched it needing something of her to hold.
He laid down on his bed and the emotions of the day washed over him. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Pulling a pillow into his arms, a poor replacement for the love of his life, he released himself to the torrent. As the tears ebbed, potential realities played out across his thoughts. Shane had been arrested. She could be charged. Tried in court. Convicted. Sentenced. His dreams of their future would evaporate in an instant. They could still marry, but what kind of marriage would it be? What kind of life could they live?
Thoughts spiraling out of his control, Oliver turned on his side, picked up the room's phone, and dialed, praying Dad would answer.
A reluctant and slightly confused, "Hello" greeted him. Oliver nearly burst into a fresh round of tears.
"Dad? Something awful has happened." He spent the next few minutes recapping the day, then fell silent.
"Son, I'm so sorry. How is Shane holding up?"
"I have no idea. I can't see her." Oliver closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Dad, I don't know what to do. Every time I think about what has happened, horrible outcomes are all I can see."
"So, don't think about it." Dad paused and Oliver could imagine him staring off for a moment in his own contemplation. "I remember your grandfather saying when it seems like everything is falling apart, we should think about something else, about stuff that's … what did he call it? True, noble, right …"
Oliver released the pillow and wiped his eyes. "Yes, it's a verse from the book of Philippians. Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
Dad hummed as if absorbing the words. "So, find something that's true, noble, or right and focus on that. And let all the fear, all the worry, go. Do what Gabe says, 'Hand it over.'"
Oliver took in a deep, quivering breath. He could do this. He would do this. He had encouraged Shane to trust God's plan, and he wouldn't do any less.
"I love you, son."
"Love you, too, Dad." He hung up with promises to keep Dad updated. Oliver stared at the ceiling, brow furrowed, as he forced his mind to think differently. What is true? What is right? Shane is innocent of the charges. That is true. God is good and he is faithful. That is also true and right. His timing and plans are perfect. Those are certainly excellent and praiseworthy. David wrote, 'Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.' I believe you are with me God. And with Shane. God, I don't believe you would have put us together only to tear us apart in this manner. You do have a hope and a future for us.
Oliver continued the litany of what he knew to be true until his heart slowly unclenched and his shoulders eased. Sitting up, he pulled open the nightstand drawer. A blue full-sized Gideon Bible lay nestled under a local phone book. Shane's phone still clutched in his hand, he opened the Bible and began to read.
John Robbins stood ramrod straight in the interview room as if well-accustomed to giving orders that subordinates jumped to follow. His salt and pepper hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Shane had no idea how he'd managed to get to her, but he'd arrived within an hour of her and was escorted into her interview room without objection. Given his ease of access and the deference the FBI agents who arrested her showed him, he was a power player in D.C. Shane knew next to nothing about him except that Becky was head over heels in love with him, and that was enough of a recommendation for her.
Shane sat behind the table, hands still shackled but now clasped in front of her, an allowance only given at John's insistence, but nonetheless greatly appreciated. Over the course of what felt like hours, Shane had repeated the same answers to the same questions presented in umpteen different ways.
Yes, I wrote the base code on the thumb drive.
No, I don't know who wrote the additional code.
No, I did not mail the thumb drive to myself.
No, I did not set up an encrypted email account.
No, I did not correspond with anyone using that account.
"All right. That's enough," John said, his tone and gaze implacable. "She's answered your questions and not changed her story once despite your best attempts to trip her up. Go bother someone else or find more evidence and come back with it."
One of the agents shot John a dark, irritated look. "She has to stay here until this is resolved, one way or another."
"And she will," John promised. "Now, go."
The agents left, and Shane heaved a watery sigh. Tears pooled as the emotions and stress poured through her. She closed her eyes, pushing both back down. She needed to focus, not feel, right now.
John pulled a chair by her side and straddled it. His grim expression eased to true empathy, and Shane could see what had attracted Becky to him.
"This is bad, isn't it?" she asked as she mashed her lips together.
John nodded. "Yes, but I've seen worse. The evidence they have is circumstantial, and based on what I know of you from Becks, someone is setting you up. It's just a question of finding out who."
Shane blinked at his nickname for her pseudo-big sister, then tugged her mind back to the conversation. "But how? I don't know anything more than I've already told them."
"I've got the best people on my cybersecurity team working on this. And we've been tracking a person of interest for a while—it's actually why I've been traveling so much lately. As hard as all of this has been on you, it might well end up being an answered prayer."
Curious, Shane considered his words. "You're a man of faith?"
He nodded, eyes radiating a familiar glow that she once believed was only reserved for Oliver's gaze. "Yes, deep faith. It's the only way I can do this job."
A soft, fond smile lifted Shane's lips, and she ran her thumb over her engagement ring. "So is my fiancé, Oliver."
"And you?"
Shane huffed. What about me? She had seen more than her share of things Oliver considered miracles. From the return of her childhood letter to God to Oliver's hailing the exact taxi driven by the man with whom she'd swapped her necklace for his sheepskin. There was even the bigger miracle of Randy Lynn Amidon's rescue.
And she had turned to God once while she waited desperately, helplessly, when the person she loved more than anything was lost in a mountain canyon. She had prayed, and God had come through, returning Oliver unscathed and Joe just in time before real harm could occur.
But did that mean she had real faith in God? She shrugged and flashed a wan smile. "Let's just say I'm open to belief."
John cocked his head to one side and studied her silently. "That's a good place to start."
Yeah, I guess it is.
John leaned his elbows against the back rest, clasping his hands. His platinum and gold wedding band gleamed under the harsh lighting. Shane had already purchased Oliver's wedding ring. A blend of traditional and modern, it was yellow gold, but inlayed with a brushed finish center band. Like their honeymoon, it was kept secret, tucked in a black velvet box in her dresser and hidden away until their wedding day. Would she be able to slide it on his finger as she promised to love, honor, and cherish him 'til death? Or would her current circumstance only get worse?
John leaned toward her, pulling her from her bleak ponderings. "I know it looks grim right now, but trust God. Trust his plan."
Shane stared at her ring and shook her head. "It's funny. That's what Oliver said right before they arrested me."
He gave a brief nod then rose. "God is faithful. Hold onto that." Placing a hand on her arm, his eyes softened even further, and his cheeks crinkled into a warm smile. "We'll get you out of here. And with plenty of time to get you back to Denver for the wedding. Becks would have my hide if I didn't."
Shane chuckled in spite of the circumstances.
John glanced at his watch then pursed his lips. "I'm going to check on my team, but I'll be back. In the interim, I'll see what I can do about getting you some place more comfortable." He paused and looked at her, eyes brimming with confidence and filled with a glow of calm certainty. "And I'll be praying for you and Oliver."
There was no telling time in the interview room, but it didn't feel much longer than a few minutes before the door opened again, revealing a female FBI agent. She wore the same stoic expression as her male counterparts, but she at least removed the handcuffs then escorted Shane to a restroom.
Shane stared at herself in the mirror. Eyes rimmed red and her mascara mostly missing, she looked as worn out as she felt. It would take a few good nights of sleep and several hours in Oliver's company to restore her emotionally, but at least she could do something about her appearance. She dampened a piece of grainy paper towel with water and a glob of pink hand soap then set out to make herself presentable. By the time she looked more like a human being, a loud bang pounded on the door.
The agent led her to what appeared to be a small conference room. A utilitarian couch and coffee table were bracketed by two armless desk chairs. Another interior room with no clock, she still had no way to determine how much time had passed. Shane sank down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. So, what do I do now?
I don't pray to change God. I pray to change me. Dale's words floated up from her memory. At the time they were spoken, Shane had no idea what Dale meant. But then, with nothing else left to do to find Oliver and Joe at the canyon, Shane had hit her knees, asking God to give Oliver strength and protection to survive the night.
So, did she do as she had done in the woods at El Dorado Canyon? Did she plead with the Almighty to give her the strength to face whatever the outcome? To protect her?
She had entrusted Oliver to God, because Oliver trusted him. But could she trust herself, her own life and future to God when she only had a passing knowledge of him? And that based on Oliver's example more than her own personal experience?
Shane leaned back and looked around. Door locked. No cell phone. No computer. She might be indoors, but in reality, she could just as easily have been back in the canyon, once again helpless to do anything. Teeth tugging at her lower lip, she took in a deep breath and slipped to her knees. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
God? It's Shane. I need your help. I'm scared. And Oliver once told me that perfect love casts out all fear and replaces it with hope. He said that kind of love only comes from you, and I really need hope right now. Everything around me right now is falling apart. I've been arrested for something I didn't do, and if John and Steve can't find the truth, then I could go to jail, and the life I pictured living will be over. Oliver, and Becky, and John believe you're trustworthy and faithful. And … I want to believe that … I want to believe … in you … too. God, help me believe. Give me hope. Give me strength. Keep me safe. Please.