The Wedding: The New Rulebook & Pete Zendel Christian Suspense series, #3

By Joy Ohagwu

CHRISTIAN ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

 

Finding her life and wedding at risk, was only the beginning.

 

Their wedding was the hottest ticket in town, but an enemy wanted in. Everyone that mattered attended, including an uninvited VIP guest who crashed the wedding. But he didn't come just for the wedding. He needed their help. Help which had to happen soon, or it could be too late.

Ruby Masters was happy. Finally, her wedding day was here. She prayed that having put Snowy Peaks behind them, they could now saunter into their happily-ever-after. Will her hopes stand?

Robert Towers counted the days until today—his wedding day, when the love of his life will finally be his. But when anomalies occur before the wedding, he wondered  if his  assumption of their final safety from the reach of the evil masterminds was an illusion or a divine guarantee, even as surprising secrets unfolded.

 

THE WEDDING is Book 3 of The New Rulebook & Pete Zendel Christian Suspense series by USA Today Bestselling & Award winning Author Joy Ohagwu. Read now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Divine Breakthrough Infinity
• Release date: Aug 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524245283

Joy Ohagwu

By God's grace, USA Today Bestselling Author Joy Ohagwu is an award-winning author of Christian Suspense and Romance & Christian Inspirational Fiction. Named by Book Riot in August 2019 as one of the 17 best Christian Fiction authors, she writes heartwarming stories with a healthy dose of suspense, divine inspiration, and happy endings. She credits Jesus with having turned her life around, averted multiple life derailments for her, and she's grateful to be writing stories that embody grace, hope, love, and second (and multiple) chances. She earned a Masters' degree in International Affairs, a Bachelors' degree in Political Science and has been honored with fourteen individual academic awards for excellence by her alma mater and her peers. She lives in the Washington DC capital region.

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Prologue

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PROLOGUE

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Predawn fog hung heavy over the small village of Akok, near Siem Reap in Cambodia, as Cornelius Bona a local farmer, approached the rounded village square. Palm fronds waved from the trees marking the edge where the square met a walkway. Overturned market vendor tables covered with made-up brown tarp cluttered the square as rural Khmer houses receded farther behind the market square.

In his mind, he saw the market’s regular midday bustle—the vendors pitching wares such as luscious ripe mangoes, others busying themselves scooping steamy noodles from cast iron pots, served to hungry patrons on washed plantain leaves. Happy laughter accompanied the meals on those disposable dishes set on wooden tables, while soup steamed from delicate china. Hawkers shouted their products, and the noise of the customers’ never-ending haggling to lower prices until they struck a bargain, served as music.

Now, teenaged youth used carelessly strewn border stones as markers for jumping games as the empty square awaited the daily market’s awakening in a matter of hours. Kids clad in school uniform played with each other as they trekked to far-flung school locations, their shoes already browned with dust.

Bridging a hand at the end of the waist-high, red-clay, mile-long walkway winding into the village square, Cornelius couldn’t help the smile taking over his face in anticipation even as he ignored his clammy hands. He was about to see Amelia, his love. Her smile alone brightened his morning like the rising sun.

He took a sharp turn at the end of the path, but a feeling of being watched made the hairs on his neck stand. He pivoted, seeing no one particularly looking at him, just the throngs of people already traveling in different directions across the empty circular square. Early risers were the norm in Akok, especially those who had to travel to Siem Reap town, for work or for business. At least his farm, though far, was local. He didn’t need a car—not that he had one—or bus to get there.

Cornelius shook off the feeling of being watched and slung a wooden-handled, metal-tipped farm hoe over his shoulder with his free hand. He shoved the other into his pocket, ready to hit the farm. He brimmed with extra energy, but not simply because of love for his work.

Today was going to be a special day. For him and Amelia, it would be. Or rather, he had something special planned for her. After months of scraping savings together, finally he’d bought the ring—her engagement ring. Exactly the type she loved—same one she’d shown him on her girlhood doll, during one of the few times they went to her parents’ house. He knew she’d like it. He planned to surprise her with his proposal this morning, before the day fell into its normal routine. He could only imagine how beautiful it would look on her smooth and slender ring finger.

He stopped at the edge of the village square, eyes searching for either her jet-black hair or her favorite purple hat among the increasing throng of people now approaching. Then far away, he spotted her, and his heart flipped harder than the pink hat she wore today, as it perched unsteadily on her head against a wind threatening to snatch it.

She pressed a firm hand on the hat, while waving to him with her other hand. He smiled broadly, knowing she saw him too. It had been hard to tell with the taller people swiping in and across in front of her, as the village square filled.

But he had eyes only for her. The crowd melted, and he saw just Amelia. Despite the crowd between the steps where he stood and the trees’ edge from where she approached the square, just Amelia and him mattered when the smile lighting her eyes equaled love glowing in his heart for her.

She broke eye contact long enough to point to a row of women’s washrooms close by. He nodded an understanding, and she delayed his yearning to sweep her into his arms as she veered sharply right and disappeared into the row of stalls. He tapped his foot, not in impatience, but in expectancy, waiting.

Amelia entered stall three inside the closest washroom, her usual. Not because it was special. But rather because it always came fully stocked with toilet paper, which the other stalls sometimes lacked. And she’d known that because her mother, one of the village’s few employees, cleaned that stall, always exceptional in her work, while the other stalls were assigned to a younger staff. She usually left wildflowers she’d picked from nearby farms on her way to the square, there. They perfumed the stall with freshness, allowing only refreshing fragrances to greet whoever used it. Her mother had taught her that whatever work she did, do it as though it was your own, and she always did so.

She smiled as she exited the stall and moved to the white, wall-mounted porcelain sink opposite the doorway. The sun, which had been lurking behind the clouds when she’d entered, rose faster and shone through the louvered window above the sink, bathing the area with a golden glow. Cobwebs at the window’s edge quivered as a gentle wind entered the parted louvers.

The three stalls flanking stall number three appeared empty with their doors idling open. The early morning hour was likely to blame as most people were still leaving their homes. The simple thought of meeting Cornelius within minutes drove her heartrate thumping. She checked her reflection in the cracked mirror adjacent to the sink.

Tired eyes and dry lips gave her a worn look, but nothing a swipe of some lip-gloss and a dash of soft face powder couldn’t fix. She worked on her face with both items. Done, Amelia rechecked her appearance, tucked both items inside her purse, and drew a satisfied breath as she removed the hat to fix her hair from the winds’ mess earlier. Then she snugged it back on her head while thinking about her waiting man. God, thank You for Cornelius.

Cornelius, her beloved, was every believing girl’s dream man—a Christian, hardworking, loving, and kind. His callused hands told of his hard work and high level of dedication to his farm. Usually among the first to arrive at the row of farm plots on the village border close to Sonns Systems Company—the only modern company within miles—he was also one of the last to leave most days. He didn’t farm on Sundays to observe the Lord’s Day, though the mostly Buddhist, non-Christian villagers did. But every other day had him hard at work on those six plots. The first one belonged to his dad who was now too old to farm it, and the other five plots he bought with sales from his grains produce. The blistering sun on his back gave him more tan than he needed, but he still worked hard daily.

Pray.

The urge struck her heart, like an instruction from God, but she saw no need to. It was too early to worry about the day ahead. Moreover, she’d prayed before leaving home.

Pray now, Amelia. This time, it came more firmly into her mind.

But she shrugged it off, flipped on the tap, and washed her hands instead, mentally checking off her To Do list for the day.

When she turned off the tap, her cell phone started ringing in her pocket. She dusted off wet hands on her blue dress, pulled it out, and glanced at it. Unknown caller ID flashed repeatedly. She frowned. It had to be one of the kids at Redeemer’s Primary School where she taught Agriculture, and Christian Religious Knowledge. Kids in troubled situations often came to her or called for counsel. Sometimes, their parents called.

Amelia, PRAY! pressed stronger in her mind almost with an audible shout into her soul. But with a hard blink of her eye and a forward tilt of her jaw, she silenced the voice of the Holy Spirit with logic. She had no time now to pray. A kid was calling and needed her help so she could pray afterward.

Early morning calls from desperate parents for her to convince a kid to agree to go to school weren’t unusual. Let me take this one phone call, Lord. Then I’ll pray.

What harm could it do? She tapped Accept, held it close to her ear while looking out the small, louvered glass window at the brightening horizon, and hoped this call would be a fast one. She needed to get out there to see Cornelius, and then proceed to school where the town would vote on Sonns Systems’ actions in their village after school let out—a process she chaired. Hello?

A rushed male voice breathed, I’m an assassin. And I’m going to kill you. A short laugh followed.

Phone still pinned in her ear, she sucked in a sharp breath just as a shot pierced the louver directly in front. It hurled splintered glass into her face.

Amelia instinctively shut her eyes, but the bullet had already pierced through. She slumped to the ground as the phone clattered beside her. Silence enveloped the quiet morning, and eeriness settled on the washroom row. Amelia was dead, and there were no witnesses.

Cornelius waited for Amelia until the sun had fully risen behind him and a worried frown creased his dark, thick brow. He managed to continue saying Good Morning, to the passersby who greeted him, accompanied with a stiff smile. She’d been gone too long. Surely, a trip to the washroom shouldn’t take this long.

Cornelius pressed off the waist-high wall where he’d leaned and lowered himself the three or four steps into the dusty grounds of the village square. Making his way across the now busy square, he turned left and slowed at the entrance to the women’s washroom, hesitating to enter.

He drew a bit closer—just to yell her name from outside—but a lady’s scream from inside pierced the morning stillness. People stopped in their tracks, and their stunned faces silently reproved him. Their askew looks asked why a man stood so close to the ladies’ washrooms. He raised his hands to protest. But another high-pitched scream, followed by a woman in tears as she fled the washrooms and rammed straight into him at the door, shut his mouth.

His eyes trailed her pointing finger to the darkening interior, but he realized soon enough—he knew the crying lady. She’d been one of Amelia’s neighbors before Amelia moved to live at a halfway point between his place and the school.

The horror on her face was only surpassed by the paleness filling it when she recognized him and shook her head vigorously, curls bobbing. She grasped his hand amid tears and blocked the doors, barring him entry. No, Cornelius, no.

He stared at her with creased brows until understanding dawned.

Amelia. He yanked her hand off with a non-gentle arm and pushed into the washroom without announcing himself as was customary. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he scanned the room, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting compared to the brilliance outside. His gaze ran from the wooden beams overhead, over the slightly rusted zinc-covered stall doors to the concrete ground. But he didn’t look for long as his eyes settled on the familiar slender frame in a blue dress sprawled on the floor. He rushed to her side and knelt beside her while hearing more people streaming in behind him. Gasps echoed through the washroom as people looked on while he held the love of his life in his hands and wailed. Noooo!

He bent his head over her lifeless body and sobbed, his heart broken into pieces tinier than the diamond on a silver ring stuck in its case pushing against his skin in his right pocket. He was going to propose to Amelia today. It had taken him five months of hard work to save enough to afford the ring she loved from childhood. And now she was gone.

Pray, Cornelius, pray.

He knew that voice. The voice of the Holy Spirit warned in his inner man. But sorrow swallowed him whole, leaving no other desire but anguish. He chose to wallow and drown himself in it and follow Amelia if he could. As far as he was concerned, without his love, Amelia, the future was over for him.

Cornelius, pray.

But confused swirled over him. How could God want him to pray when he just lost the most important person in his life? Unfair didn’t even begin to describe it.

PRAY.

This time, the sharpness of the instruction jerked him away from Amelia’s body and to his feet, as more people gathered and the washroom filled behind him and Amelia. He walked out the door and could make it no farther before he sank to his knees, still within sight of her body but blocked mostly by the wall’s edge.

Though doubled over with pain and weighed heavy by loss, he obeyed God. His head settled on the cold concrete wall, away from the inside stalls’ window as thunder rumbled overhead. Who could have done this to Amelia? She hurt no one. Had no enemies he knew of. He sobbed harder, and his hands trembled as he managed to pray even as thunder shuddered through the darkening skies again. Lord, why? Whyyyyyyyy? His shoulders heaved with pain. She was all I had, and hoped to have. Why, Jesus?

As more violent sobs racked his curved bereaved form, he poured his sorrow at the feet of His Savior. He didn’t feel the vibration from the phone ringing repeatedly in his pocket. Cornelius obeyed God and kept praying even as his heart kept on shattering into a million pieces. He didn’t know, but heaven mourned too, for a saint come home too soon. For now, only four believers remained at Akok, instead of the five they needed to blossom into a strong church in a short time. The work would be harder. Amelia was crucial to the church’s growth, but she didn’t know. She had been planting the seed of faith in those little hearts of schoolchildren. If only she had obeyed the voice of God, most of Akok would be saved in the not so distant future.…

But Cornelius’s heart tightened with anguish. More tears poured forth, and he stayed on his knees in prayer as the June rain began falling and drenching him fully.

The assassin sighed and cut the call after the third ring. With the crowd milling around the man and the dead girl, he’d lost his shot. This sudden torrential downpour obscured any distant vision. Lucky fella. His phone call usually stopped targets in their tracks, held them in place, making it easier for him to shoot. This second target was supposed to be on his feet near the window, answer his phone, and be dead by now. Not sobbing and crunched up on his knees like he prayed. Even the rain didn’t get him up.

Frustration colored the assassin’s tone as he cursed. He’d have to explain to his client why this one didn’t work out—though he hated failure—and then refund him half his fees. Nothing else he could do about it. If the man still wanted the guy dead, let him get it done by himself. Nothing stopped him from getting his hands a little dirty, corrupt businessman that he already was. He let out another stream of bad words.

Then he unhooked his weapon, packed it up, and readied to leave. He had a flight to catch. His next targets, previously hard to locate, were getting married in thirty-nine hours, at nine a.m. Eastern time, in the US. Of course, he wasn’t invited, but knew where and when the wedding would take place and couldn’t be late. From the looks of it, they had caused his rich, anonymous client trouble. Lots of trouble.

But that wasn’t his problem. His cold heart knew to do one thing and one thing only—shoot—then collect his pay and disappear. Period.

1

A helicopter’s loud whir sounded once, and then again outside The Congressional Hotel’s second floor Bouquet Room’s window. The machine flew against the Silver Stone skyline as Ruby Masters pressed her hand down the mahogany dresser sculpted with ornamental seashell motif hugging the lower drawer. She slipped her feet gingerly into pearly white shoes, lifted her head to adjust her frame on heels, and took some slow steps to test her stance. The shoes felt right, just like when she’d tried them on two days ago, but she hadn’t been sure they would fit. Simply because they were ordered in absentia while she fought for her life, and Robert’s—and ironically Zendel’s—at Snowy Peaks two weeks ago.

Ruby stilled her wandering mind when the noise had passed and listened for a moment to the 40-inch plasma TV yapping endlessly with the news. She lifted her gaze toward