"Are you interested in recording for AMG Records?"

"Are you kidding?" He had to be kidding.

"I called Ken Buckingham to let him know you were available," Clint said. "And he wants to talk to you."

"No way!" AMG was Clint's label, the best in town.

"But there's one condition."

Of course, he had known it was too good to be true.

"You have to let me produce the project."

"All right!" Josh screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the back of the bus. Even if he did, they would be happy to hear the news. This could be the biggest break of his career.

"I'll take that as a yes," Clint laughed.

39.

Present Day A warm wind stirred the brown leaves from last year's fall against a backdrop of new life, chartreuse tufts of spring grass and flowering shrubs. Josh watched as Buster ran figure eights around the patio, making an attempt to catch them. The little dog had more energy than should be allowed at this time of afternoon. Or, perhaps, it was just that the convoluted merchandise reports had zapped Josh of energy.

His eyes stung from studying copies of the handwritten merchandise summaries Ryan had turned in for the month of February. The signs were there, just like his accountant had pointed out earlier in the day.

"Embezzlers try to make their numbers look ambiguous," Bob Bradford had said. "Look at the sevens on the report. They could easily be fours."

Josh had agreed when he studied the paperwork.

"His writing is extremely legible in other ways," Bradford had noted. "Alphabetical letters are written with perfect penmanship, but the digits are indistinct."

Once again, Josh agreed. But it was Bradford's last comment that intrigued him. "The brain will read the number it expects to see, although that may not be the number used in the computation."

To test his accountant's theory, Josh calculated the music CD sales total for the last week of February. Adding up the numbers resulted in a tally of one thousand eight hundred and fifty-four dollars. However, the total shown on the report was one thousand and fifty-seven dollars. A difference of seven hundred ninety-seven dollars.

Josh studied the numbers and confirmed the ambiguity of the handwritten digits. If he read the eight as a zero and the four as a seven, he could account for the missing money.

Accident or intention?

He ran totals for several more columns. Based on Bradford's premise, some amounts worked out, but some did not. The worst part, however, was that Ryan's numbers didn't jibe with the merchandise company reports. His road manager's numbers were short, leaving reason for concern.

Josh ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to know for sure. A false accusation would be not only embarrassing but also hurtful and counterproductive. In defense of Ryan, he held two positions, plus this recently added responsibility of merchandise accounting. Perhaps he had made an honest mistake and misread his handwriting.

Josh stretched his aching shoulders, and turned his attention back to Buster. The little terrier was now preoccupied with a cluster of bugs, some of the first of the year. Poised to attack, he eyed his prey. When none moved, the dog provoked them with a well-placed paw. A swarm of crawling creatures scurried across the patio in every direction. Buster ran after one, then the other, zigzagging across the cement.

Josh laughed, happy to take his mind off work for a few minutes.

It was an interesting game of getaway. Some of the insects stopped in their tracks when the dog approached. Others ran. Josh noticed that Buster always pursued the bugs that moved, and he ignored those who stood their ground.

Bingo! Why hadn't he thought about it before now? Make the "bug" move.

He would feed Ryan just enough information to make him uncomfortable if he were guilty.

He would make him move.

With so many things on his mind, Josh couldn't sleep. He would be leaving for the road again tomorrow, and he had checked his to-do list over and over. As always, his main concern was not what he had left to do, but what he could not control, the well-being of his wife, who lay asleep beside him. And their child, whose life was vulnerable to every decision they made.

Staying busy always helped assuage his fears, so during his days off he had jumped headlong into the physical preparation of the baby's room. The small, ten-by-ten-foot room lay directly across the hall from their master bedroom. According to Beth's request, he had painted the walls in rainbow colors, one pink, one green, one yellow, and one blue.

It had been Alex's idea to emboss a large letter into the center of each wall, spelling the word B-A-B-Y. She had volunteered to hand draw and paint the letters onto the pink, blue, and green walls. Beth's job was to embroider the final letter onto a pull-down shade for the window wall. The result had been spectacular. Standing in the center of the finished room gave the illusion of being surrounded by a huge pile of wooden baby blocks.

During the past two days Josh had built and painted a removable shelving unit for the nursery closet. The custom compartments, or cubbyholes, would soon hold stacks of diapers, baby clothes, and stuffed toys. The money to buy the materials for the project had come from his quarterly airplay royalty check from BMI. The amount had been enough to also buy bed linens and pay off the chunk of debt that Beth had run up for the nursery furniture. He would be leaving for the road exhausted but feeling fulfilled.

And ready to catch a thief.

"Josh, can I see you for a minute?" Ryan signaled from the bunkroom.

Josh followed his road manager into the back lounge and closed the door behind them.

"What's going on?"

"We have a problem." Ryan said, taking a seat on the right side sofa. "Some of the merch money is missing."

"What do you mean?" Josh sat on the sofa across the aisle.

"I put the cash in my bunk bag last night, like I always do. But for some reason, I couldn't get it off my mind. Even though it had already been counted and reconciled, I rechecked it this morning, and it's more than a thousand dollars short-$1,326 to be exact."

"Are you certain it was all there last night?" Josh asked, staring into his road manager's frosty blue eyes.

"Absolutely. I counted it four times. Twice last night and twice again this morning."

Josh repositioned himself in his seat. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't want to accuse people, but it's obvious," Ryan said. "Someone on the bus stole it."

Uncertain how he should respond, Josh hesitated, running his fingers through his hair as he thought about Ryan's accusations. Why should he trust the man he believed to be a thief? Was this a preemptive strike? A clever move on Ryan's part?

"Do you understand what you're saying?" Josh could feel his blood pressure rise. "You're accusing one of the men on this bus of stealing."

"I realize that, but there's no other explanation."

"Who do you think did it?"

"This is going to be hard for you, because I know how close you are to him. But I saw Danny messing around near my bunk last night."

"His bunk is next to yours."

"Yes, but he had a funny look on his face, when I walked in unexpectedly. I didn't think much about it until I found the money missing this morning."

"Is that the reason you recounted it?"

"It was. I know you don't want to believe that he-"

"No one is guilty until they are proven guilty. Do you understand?" Josh stood up. The brusqueness of his voice surprised even him.

Ryan sat back in his seat. "Yes, sir."

Sir? Ryan had never called him sir.

"Look," Josh said, poking an accusing finger at the man he believed was really stealing from him. "Keep this between you and me. Do you understand?"

"Okay, but-" Ryan shook his head.

"No one." Josh reached for the button that opened the pocket door. "There will be no false accusations on this bus. You bring me proof, or you bring me the missing money."

He walked into the bunkroom and punched the button on the wall beside Danny's bunk. The bunkroom door closed with a thud, not unlike the ache that now pounded inside his head.

Josh had been uneasy for two days, dreading the television interview he had committed to do to promote this evening's show. He smoothed his shirt, moistened his lips, and listened to the producer count down.

"And four, three, two . . ."

"Welcome back." The pretty, blonde anchor spoke directly into camera one. "We have a special guest this afternoon. Contemporary Christian entertainer Josh Harrison is with us."

She turned to him. "We're glad to have you, Josh."

"Thank you." He took in a deep breath, while pinching the loose skin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Someone had told him once that it would help ease nerves. It didn't.

The reporter flashed a smile. "Is it correct to use the term entertainers for Christian musicians?"

He had never been asked that question. "Sure. Our goal is to entertain people, as well as to spread the message of the gospel."

"You're in town to perform at the civic center tonight, correct?"

"Yes. I'm opening for the Triumphant Two Tour, and I'm honored to be here."

She glanced at her notes. "You're opening for R. O. S. and Fast Train to Glory. Is that correct?"

"Yes, they're our headliners. There are five acts on the show all together. I've been blessed to be a part of this tour for about a year now, and I can tell you . . ." He took another breath. "These groups represent some of the best talent to ever walk onstage, no matter what musical format. I'm honored to be on the same show with them."

"Congratulations on your own successes," she cooed. "I understand you won a Noah Award recently."

"Thank you. I was humbled by that."

"And you got your start in country music? Is that right?"

"No. Well . . . yes. Not performing. I worked for country music star, Clint Garrett, for a couple of years. I was a member of his road crew."

"That must have been amazing. What was that like?"

"It was great. In fact, I recently did some songwriting with Clint."

"How nice. His career has certainly taken off, hasn't it?" She studied her notes.

"Yes. It has. And he's doing well personally."

"That's good to hear. I understand he fought a few demons in his life."

"Well, he did go through some rough spots. But Clint is the first to admit that. He's a Christian now-"

"Christian entertainers love to talk about the before and the after, it seems. Do you have a before-and-after story, Josh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you have a renewal story?"

How much did this woman know about him?

"Well . . . we all do." He offered a tentative smile. "None of us are proud of who we can be at times. But, through the strength of Christ, we-"

"I hope this isn't too personal, but I understand your wife is very ill and pregnant with your first child. How do you reconcile those things with your faith?"

Josh cleared his throat. "That's a good question." One he preferred not to answer. "I . . . my wife and I trust that the Lord will provide. In his grace."

"But an unborn child in danger? How do you deal with that?"

He squirmed in his seat. "You pray a lot. Sometimes, it's your troubles that lead you closer to God."

Or to give up on God.

"I understand your father left the ministry after your mother passed away." Her eyes darkened.

This woman was out to destroy him. Who had given her so much information?

"Josh?"

"Yes. Well, my dad did retire after my mom died. He was exhausted. And not well at the time." Josh dug deep into the mustard seed of faith that survived in his heart. "That's one reason Christian entertainers do what we do. To help people realize they-we-can make it through the difficult times with God's help. My faith is not perfect, but God's grace is perfect."

"Very well said." The reporter glanced to a production assistant, who was signaling that they were out of time. "Thank you, Josh."

The interviewer reached to shake his hand. "Would you perform a song for us after the break?"

"I would love to do that."