was slitting his throat.
The officer took a half step back. “Yes ma’am!”
“I’ll radio to have someone take over for you when your shift ends.” Keren pulled out of the parking lot.
“You went overboard a little scaring that kid, don’t you think?” Paul asked.
“I sure tried.”
Paul slumped down in his seat. “Good girl.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Preach your sermon tomorrow like you’re supposed to,” Keren ordered Paul as she pulled up at the shabby back door of the old brick mission. “It’ll remind you of who you are.”
Paul leaned over and kissed her good-bye, as if he’d done it a thousand times before and it was his right. He pulled back and his eyes ran over her face.
“What’s that thing you’ve got in your hair?”
Keren, flustered, reached up for her leather tie. “It’s the only thing that works.”
“Works? What does that mean?”
“Keeps my wild mop of hair under control.” She pulled the odd contraption free and her hair spread in a riot of curls all around her head.
Paul took the hair ornament. “Beads, ties, weird.” He looked up at her. “You ought to let your hair loose. I love it down.”
Reaching out he caressed it and closed in again.
It took Keren way too long to put a stop to that. She waited until he was inside then drove back to the precinct to sleep.
There was a light burning in the room where they’d met with the FBI, and Keren went to see what was going on. Higgins sat at the desk, Dyson on a folding chair. Both were poring over stacks of paper.
“You’re working late, gentlemen.” Keren wished she’d just walked straight to the room with the cots.
Higgins gave her that I’m-a-predator-and-you’re-lunch look, and Dyson did his odd impression of a mind reader.
“Can you give us a minute, Detective?” Higgins had a way of making requests that sounded like orders. “We’ve got some things we’d like to go over with you.”
Feeling every ounce of the weight of her long hours without sleep… and the poor quality of the sleep when she did get it, Keren said, “Sure.”
“The mayor has asked us to be part of a task force to deal with this.”
“I’ve been expecting that. The bizarre murder, the explosion combined with the second abduction—”
“We want Pastor Morris to be part of it.” Higgins was so alert, Keren couldn’t shake the sense that he was always on the hunt.
“I’m sure he’ll be agreeable to that.” Privately, Keren suspected they’d have more than they could handle if they tried to keep him out.
“Have you made any headway on the profiling?” She sat down on a folding chair next to Dyson. Higgins faced them from across the desk.
Higgins looked at Dyson and Dyson turned his spooky blue eyes on her.
“We’ve come to the conclusion that Pravus has too much inside knowledge of the mission to have done research on it from the outside.”
A chill raced up Keren’s spine. “You mean he comes and goes in that building all the time.”
Higgins nodded. “It’s possible it could be a deliveryman or someone with a reason to be in the mission, but it’s more likely—”
“It’s one of the street people.” Keren hated the thought of it.
“No, it’s someone who’s
Keren considered her impression of evil. She needed to go in the mission when the inhabitants were around. But there was no way to explain that to these men.
“What is it, Detective Collins?” Dyson asked. He was watching her like a hawk… or maybe a vulture.
“There’s a church service in the morning, during breakfast,” Keren said reluctantly. “Someone should attend and get a closer look at those people.”
“We need a list of everyone who is associated with the mission.”
Keren hated the thought of using Paul’s mission service in her police work. It seemed like such a betrayal of people who might be making a fragile step in faith. “It’s a very transient group.”
“It figures this guy hasn’t gone anywhere,” Higgins said sarcastically.
“And they’re not going to cooperate.” Keren was getting tired of Higgins, and all the while he sparred with her Dyson stared, trying to pick up nuances. When he asked questions it was like her every word, gesture, and expression was being watched under a microscope. He was sitting beside her, so if she focused forward she could ignore him, but she could feel his creepy gaze boring into her brain. He was probably a real bust at parties.
“Not cooperating is almost a defining characteristic of street people.” She wished she’d never mentioned Paul’s church. She should have let it come from the FBI. “A lot of them probably don’t even go by their real names.”
“I’ll bet every one of them has a rap sheet and a mug shot.” Higgins slumped back in his chair, but the sense of his utter alertness never eased.
“You know, Higgins, the people at the mission are really going through a tough time.”
“They’re bums.”
“They’re mostly mentally ill, with no family to care for them.”
“They’re drug addicts and alcoholics who did so much damage their families finally washed their hands of them and dumped their problem on the streets.”
“A little compassion wouldn’t be out of place here.” Keren’s jaw tightened. She should drop this. She should get some sleep. “A lot of them are bipolar and they drink and drug to silence the voices in their heads. And a lot of families just can’t deal with it. A lot of them have tried and tried until they’ve given up to save what’s left of their own lives. That mission is trying to do more than just feed them. Paul is trying to lead them to a Christian faith that will give them hope, help them find a purpose for living and a reason to reclaim their sanity.”
“ ‘Paul’?” Dyson asked. “Is he more to you than a witness to a crime?”
Suppressing a flash of irritation, Keren kept quiet. She preferred talking things through, bouncing ideas off O’Shea. The two of them worked well that way. But Higgins just seemed to delight in pointing out the obvious when she’d only meant to run through her thoughts aloud. And Dyson, with his eternal search for the key to everyone’s thoughts, was about halfway to a mental patient himself.
Higgins made a soft scoffing sound. “Figures a mission would force hungry people to sit through a sermon in order to get food.”
Keren’s impression of Higgins dropped through the floor.
“You’re a believer?” Dyson was still watching her. Still reading her mind.
“Why don’t you”—Keren turned and met Dyson’s spooky blue eyes directly—”use whatever ability you have to profile Pravus instead of trying to pick up messages from every tiny expression that flicks across my face? Or is reading minds some trick you do to win bets in a bar?”
Dyson kept staring.
Higgins sat watching, too. Keren decided she’d had enough of it.
“Maybe if I wasn’t running on little to no sleep for the last few days I could enjoy being stared at. I’d enjoy having my faith sneered at. I’d enjoy listening to you mock a man who has committed his life to helping people in need.” Keren rose from her chair. “Yes, he preaches a sermon. He’s trying to give them more than a meal that will last a few hours. But no one is denied food if they refuse to stay. If you don’t have anything to say about the case, then I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
“One more thing before you go, Keren.” Higgins spoke mildly again, but he might as well have shouted at her to stop.
