nothin’ like that between the pastor and me. Never has been.”
Paul looked closer. Keren had that detached cop expression on her face.
“I was hooking for crack when I met Pastor P. That’s how he knows. He pulled me off the street. He saved me.”
“I didn’t save you, Rosita. Only God can save you. Now don’t change the subject. You watch Manny,” Paul scolded.
“Manny cares about me.”
“If he doesn’t care enough about you to wait for marriage, then he doesn’t care enough about you.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Rosita said with a pout. Then her grin escaped, and Paul knew she was teasing him. “Manny behaves himself, I see to it.”
“Good girl. If you explain things to him, he’ll insist on bringing you home.” Paul reached into his pocket and pulled a ten-dollar bill out. He pressed it into her hand. “Now, no excuses. This will cover the bus ride for both of you.”
Rosita clutched the ten dollars to her chest. “Thank you, Pastor P.” With a bright smile, she whirled toward the mission.
The two of them watched her run. Keren said dryly, “Can you remember ever being that young?”
“I had a paper route from the time I was nine. I worked nights all through high school. I entered the police academy when I turned eighteen and went to night school to get a degree. I don’t think I was ever young.”
Keren took a deep breath. “We’ve got to get back to your apartment. The FBI is sending someone over to inspect the place better than we can, and if they find bugs, they’ll try to trace them. They’re bringing in a profiler from DC. We’ll break this case. We’ll get this lunatic.”
Paul shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do something stupid like touch Keren again. “In time to save LaToya?”
They headed back to the building. Keren said, “Hey, how come she can call you Pastor P and I can’t call you Rev?”
“It’s all in the inflection.”
Keren smiled and something passed between them. A moment of uncomplicated peace.
His phone rang.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pravus leaned close with his fine brush. Details, he loved the tiny details. He imagined how the monks had labored over their translation of the Bible. They’d written it in Latin of course, God’s language.
Opening a vein was like breathing life into dust and making a living being. Pravus could feel it, that he was godlike in his creation, and in his power over life and death. The white dress, virginal covering for the foul sinners he chose. It made the perfect backdrop for his art. To protect his work he’d used brown ink for Juanita, since his plans included getting her very wet. But for the rest of them, he’d paint with his victim’s blood.
A tremor of excitement shook his hand and he pulled away quickly, terrified he’d ruined it. He hadn’t. There was a bit of a waver in the line he’d made, but it was right. It was beautiful. He looked at what he’d done, and he smiled. Pharaoh was a fool. Powerful, but so sure he ruled his little world that he didn’t even know the end was coming.
Paul Morris was such a man. Thought he was powerful. Wouldn’t let the people go. Ran his little kingdom just like he’d run the police department.
Once his hand stilled, Pravus found again that center of peace and power he’d learned at his father’s knee. He’d been taught with the end of a belt to sit still and create.
Father would be so proud.
A few more details. A flourish on the words that made his heart sing. LaToya’s veins provided the life in this work of genius. He stepped back.
“It is good.” His elation was so great he strode to the window to throw it open and shout. He didn’t, of course. He wouldn’t waste his words on a world too ignorant to understand him. Then he looked down to where he always watched and almost laughed aloud.
There was someone who’d want to share the news. The reverend. Standing there with the lady detective. He’d seen her at the site of the explosion and listened, then studied her carefully. Everything was at a man’s fingertips on the Internet these days. Pravus had already done some searching to find out just who she was, and he now had plans to include her.
Reaching for the phone, he wished he could make LaToya scream. That made the pastor do exactly as he was told. But LaToya lay silently on the table. Her arms tied, spread straight out at her sides, her legs secured. He’d cut deep, but it was necessary. He’d let her sin flow out and used it for something beautiful.
By the time he was done, he would save her.
Paul scrambled to grab his new cell phone out of his pocket. He hadn’t let it out of his possession since O’Shea had given it to him. He reached to flip it open.
Keren grabbed his arm. “Don’t!”
“This is my chance. LaToya’s kidnapper is going to give me some order. This is my chance to do it right and get her back.” His phone kept ringing.
Keren’s grip was like iron. “Give me a second.” She pulled her own phone out. With a press of one button she reached O’Shea.
Paul almost pulled away from Keren, but she held him too tightly. “What if Pravus isn’t in the mood to be patient? What if he’s watching us right now?”
“He’s getting a call,” Keren said into her phone. “Are you set?”
She hit a series of buttons on her cell. “Okay, I can listen in, and O’Shea is set to record. Is there a number on your display?”
“I wasn’t told anything about my phone being tapped.” Paul’s phone rang again.
Keren snagged it away from him and quickly recited the number to O’Shea.
“It’s not tapped, not really, we just keyed our phones into the same frequency and muted the speakerphones in ours so he can’t hear us. And we’re recording it, so okay, yeah, I guess it is tapped.” Keren glanced up at him. “You don’t mind, right?”
“Right.” Paul tried to take the phone away from her.
“Cell phones are fast and easy to trace; we need maybe fifteen seconds unless he’s got something special going with it. The FBI should be in place by morning with all their space-age equipment. But we’ve got what we need to track him right now.” Keren shoved the phone into his hands. “Answer it.”
Paul’s finger trembled until he nearly hit the wrong button and accidentally hung up. Then he got it right and pulled the phone to his ear.
“What took you so long, Reverend?”
Paul closed his eyes. Keren’s hand settled solidly on his shoulder. He looked at her, and she gave him an encouraging nod.
“Is this Pravus?” Paul wondered at the name. He’d heard it somewhere. Part of his seminary studies maybe, but that had been awhile ago.
“You know I’ve got little LaToya, and yet you make me sit here with the phone ringing and ringing.” The soft, cultured voice cut like a cold knife. “Almost like you don’t care. Almost like you understand that she needs to die.”
Paul said, as calmly as his terror would let him, “Pravus, you want to rid the world of evil, but you haven’t looked closely enough at LaToya. You picked the wrong woman.” What was he doing, trying to convince him to let LaToya go and kidnap someone less worthy?
Paul began to pray in his heart.
“You told me the same thing about Juanita,” Pravus crooned. “You are weak, Reverend. Twice you’ve begged
