building last week. He’ll come after her if he knows she’s alive.”
With soothing tones that Paul knew she practiced, the woman said, “We can put out the word she died. I know the guy you’re talking about.”
“What is this crawling all over her?” one of the paramedics asked, his voice strangled with horror.
“Frogs,” Paul said hoarsely. “Last week it was a plague of blood. This week is a plague of frogs.”
The paramedic who asked made an inarticulate sound of disgust.
“Where are you taking her? What hospital?”
“We’ll go straight to Cook County,” the woman medic said.
Paul said, “I’m here with a police officer. She chased the man out the south side of the park. I’m going after her!”
The sound of gunfire froze everyone in their tracks. Paul whirled to face the direction of the sound. The direction Keren had run.
“Wait for the police, sir! They’re equipped to handle this!”
“Just don’t let anyone know she survived. Please. Send the police after me.” Paul turned and raced in the direction Keren had gone. The sky opened up and poured.
Paul sprinted toward the shots, sick at heart from what he might find. He heard a car roaring away and tore down one alley after another. He almost tripped over Keren, lying unconscious on the pavement. He had his cell phone out for the second time in minutes, calling for help.
Blood coursed down the side of Keren’s face. The rain pelted her and turned the trail of blood into a red river. Paul fumbled at her wrist for a heartbeat and, when he found a strong, steady pulse, he relaxed for just a second. Her breathing was even and deep. He started checking her for gunshot wounds. It was so dark that he had to wait for lightning to flash for him to see. She had her gun still clutched in her hand, and he pried it free and checked the load. He’d counted the shots. He knew her gun’s capacity and that she’d keep it fully loaded. It was empty now.
All the shots had come from her gun.
The bleeding on her head must be from a nasty scrape, not a bullet. A welt the size of an egg was swelling up from under the scrape. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to the rain to wet it then pressed it against her head to staunch the bleeding.
Paul ran his free hand over her inert form and found no more blood, except on her hands, which were grated raw. He did his best to check for broken bones, and when he found none, he gently held out her hands to the rain to rinse away the worst of the dirt and gravel.
He noticed movement in the alley across from them. All they needed to end this dreadful night was to be mugged. He glared at the alley, hoping he would finally have the chance to do more than just call for help. He had a visceral need to fight back.
Keren distracted him when she moaned softly. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
“Keren? Keren, did he shoot you?” He knew the answer but couldn’t stop the panicked question.
“No,” she groaned, trying to sit up. “I shot
“Don’t move. An ambulance is on the way. You’re bleeding, honey. You’ve got to lie still.” Paul held her down with little trouble, because she was still semiconscious. Trust Keren to fight the world standing on her own two feet, even when she was battered and bleeding.
She said in a husky voice, “I’m drowning.”
Paul realized the now-pouring rain was hitting her right in the face. He leaned over her to shelter her with his body. “Did you really shoot him?”
“No!” she snarled, then she tried to sit up again. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t see anything! I shot at him and I got a couple rounds into the car, but I didn’t even slow him down. They might as well get me a Seeing Eye dog!”
Paul held her down. Then he thought of something that might help. A little. “LaToya’s alive. The paramedics are taking her to Cook County Hospital.” A gust of wind blew the rain sideways so Keren got hit in the face. Paul leaned closer.
The distant sound of an ambulance told Paul help was on the way.
“Is she going to make it?” She sounded like knowing LaToya was alive really had made her feel better.
“I don’t know. But she’s got a chance. Thank God, she’s got a chance.”
“Will you pray with me, Paul?” Keren asked. “Pray for LaToya?”
“I’d love to pray with you.” Paul began speaking to the Lord. “Dear God—”
“Wait a minute,” Keren interrupted. “Something is crawling around inside my clothes.” She reached under her shirt.
Paul realized he had a few wiggly spots, too. “Frogs.”
Keren shuddered. “Gross.” She tossed one frog out and went back after another.
Paul said doubtfully, “Maybe we’d better keep them. They might be a clue.”
“Can you store them in your shirt?” Keren groaned. “I’ve had about all I can take for one night.”
“Yeah. Sure. I don’t mind amphibians in my clothes.” Paul thought gloomily that this was what chivalry had come to. He caught the frogs as she extracted them. She found two, he found five on himself. He gently bundled them up in the front of his sweatshirt.
As the ambulance pulled up, Keren groused, “Did I hear you call me ‘honey’?”
“It must be the head injury,” Paul said.
“It had better be.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pravus, in his fury, brought down a nightmare on Melody Fredericks.
He didn’t play out the ritual like he’d planned, but the satisfaction was surprisingly intense.
Terror such as he’d never known followed him home. He could feel the eyes on him. Surely someone had seen what happened.
Pravus prepared quickly for his artwork. He’d listen and be ready to run, but he couldn’t move yet. The beast was like a starving wolf licking its jaws. He had to paint. He had to create.
Because she’d fallen into his hands, he had no time to prepare, so that would come now. There was an address in her purse, so he could find her house. The reverend wouldn’t even feel pain over this. So why involve him?
Pravus quickly carved the sign for this plague. It wasn’t his best work, but Melody Fredericks wasn’t worthy, so it hardly mattered.
Finishing the plaque in quick time, he slipped up to her home. A pretty house in a nice neighborhood, not the isolated, dreary apartment he was used to. He quietly hung the plaque in place and went back to his creation.
Only to find she wouldn’t supply him with paint. Dead women don’t bleed. He looked from his latest creation to the empty white gown and fumed.
There was no help for it. The only one available to bleed was himself. Pravus raised the chisel to his own arm. The pain was pleasure and the beast was content.
Paul spent the night between Keren’s cubicle—where she seemed determined to make every doctor and nurse who came in contact with her reconsider their occupation—and the waiting area nearest LaToya’s operating room. When O’Shea came barreling into the hospital, Paul turned the tiny frogs over to him.
O’Shea, befuddled, stuck them in a plastic evidence bag as if they might contain fingerprints. They stared, wriggling pathetically, through the bag. O’Shea muttered, “Airholes.” He poked a few before he gently lowered the bag into the pocket of his brown suit.
Then Agent Higgins came.
Paul felt like a criminal under interrogation.
Keren heard them talking and demanded loudly, from behind the curtain, to be included.
“It’ll probably kill her,” the doctor said sarcastically. “But the nurses are pooling their money to hire a hit man
