front door. She smiled so beautifully.
“We have another missing person. A woman. And there’s a carving.”
“Who?” Paul’s stomach skidded. He thought of several women he’d helped over the years. Which one was it? Then he thought of Rosita. Had she gone out last night to meet Manny? He should have double-checked. He should have talked to Manny himself and made sure the young man understood the seriousness of the situation.
O’Shea cut into his panic. “Her name is Melody Fredericks.”
Paul thought for a long minute. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She’s from outside your neighborhood,” O’Shea said. “The preliminary report on her doesn’t fit the profile of the other vics. She’s the co-owner of an upscale Hyde Park restaurant who never got home from work Sunday night. Her husband called the police to check for accident information when she was only two hours late. Outwardly at least, he seems frantic. She’s the mother of two. A couple of unpaid parking tickets are her only brushes with the law.”
“Is it possible it’s a copycat?” Keren asked. “Maybe her husband saw a way to save some money on a divorce settlement.”
“I don’t know yet. My report says the husband is frantic and has an alibi that, at first glance, looks fairly solid, home with the kids. Ten and six, old enough to know what time Daddy tucked them in at night. But they were asleep at the time the wife went missing, so he could have slipped out. But there’s definitely a carving, and it looks like Pravus’s work.”
“What does it say?” Paul was sure he already knew.
“Plague of gnats. “Paul shuddered. “The other two were taken from apartments.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t fit. She’s a well-known, successful businesswoman, with no ties to the mission we can find. She certainly isn’t someone who used to live on the streets and got her life back through the mission.”
“The press isn’t talking serial killer yet. Maybe Pravus picked a higher-profile victim because he wants people to notice.” Keren noticed her barrette lying on a coffee table and picked it up. She groaned in pain when she bent over but went about corralling her hair.
“I’m heading over to her place now. I’d like you to come along, Paul. Maybe you’ll recognize her. We need your help to figure out why she was taken.”
Paul looked at the door to LaToya’s room. “I don’t think I should leave. What if LaToya wakes up? I don’t want her to be alone.”
“Can you give us a minute?” Keren asked O’Shea.
“Sure.” O’Shea walked out of the waiting room.
Keren stood and reached for him. Paul hesitated then took her hand. When she tried to pull him up, he cooperated. Keren’s body was battered, and since she seemed inclined to manhandle him, he made it easy.
When he stood, she went into his arms so simply and beautifully Paul didn’t give a second thought to his concern about being too involved with the police in general or her in particular. He just held her.
They stood that way for a long time, comforting each other, sharing their badly taxed strength. She’d done the same for him in that basement, after she’d defused a bomb and he’d enraged a murderer.
Paul liked her style.
Finally, she pulled back. He bent to kiss her.
Before he could, she said, “Call the mission. Have someone bring Rosita over here.”
“Who? The regulars at the mission are all suspects.”
“How about I go get Rosita and bring her back here then catch up with you. She can call you if there’s any change. We can be back here in a few minutes if she wakes up.” She added, “You know we’ve got to go.”
“This is what I remember about being a cop.” Paul stepped out of Keren’s arms when he thought about the life he had left behind. “All the times I
“Yeah, that’s the way it is,” Keren said with calm acceptance.
“And I was so self-centered. I always thought what I needed to do was more important than anything else… more important than my wife… more important than my daughter….”
“You were needed, Paul. That’s the life of a cop.” Solemnly Keren added, “That’s why you got out. That’s a big part of why I’ve stayed single. For far too many of us it’s not a family kind of life.”
They stared at each other for a long minute. Paul still wanted to close that distance. But he couldn’t do it. Their kisses had always been spontaneous, but now, somehow, it was as if Keren was asking him to stay away, because only hurt lay in pretending it could be different. He had to wonder if it wasn’t at least in part because she was using him, using her connection to the mission to search for a killer. Being a cop first and a woman second.
With a wrench that felt as if it broke something inside him, Paul turned away from her. “You get Rosie. I’ll go with O’Shea to see what nightmare I’ve brought down on poor Melody Fredericks.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Pravus used his own blood to provide for his creation, the sweet, vicious agony of it actually kept the beast quiet. But as soon as he was done painting, the hunger grew again.
He studied the white gown she’d wear and fumed because he didn’t have time and he couldn’t bleed fast enough. He did what he could, but it was infuriating because he was denied her screams, denied her pleas for mercy.
The beast inside him prowled, hungry, prodding Pravus to do this right. Mocking him.
He hadn’t taken the right woman in Melody, and the end for LaToya hadn’t been right.
Pravus should never have run. What lived in him was powerful and dangerous. He should have turned it loose on the reverend and the detective. The beast had urged him to stay, fight, even to the death. But cowardice had won, and Pravus had abandoned his prize.
A quick glance at the newspaper told him the girl had died, and that had given him some shred of peace, but it had been haphazard, sloppy. And it warned him that the park was not a safe place to leave his creations. He was surprised that the police had been there waiting.
That was shrewd. But he was more shrewd.
Looking at the white gown, he saw that instead of the delicate precision of his usual painting style, he’d rushed this, he’d skimped. His child wasn’t perfect. He didn’t care for Melody Fredericks. He didn’t see how hurting her would hurt the reverend, and that was the point.
The hunger to inflict pain on the reverend rose and battered him. Then he had an inspiration and smiled. The risk was high, but it would be worth it.
A high-pitched sound reached Pravus’s ears. For a moment he thought the poor battered Mrs. Fredericks was laughing at him, mocking him, and Pravus turned to strike. But she wasn’t making a sound. That’s when he realized it was his own laughter. Or maybe the laughter of the beast.
Because it was so brilliant. He couldn’t contain his glee when he thought of how hard this would be on the reverend.
Delighted with his inventiveness, savoring the strength he’d honed his muscles to for just this purpose, Pravus waited, bided his time, picked his moment, and disposed of Melody.
When he was finished and back home, the satisfaction faded more quickly than it had before. Though he’d enjoyed it, the beast was starving. He looked around at what he’d created—his children, his people—and wanted them to be free. The reverend had stood in the way of their freedom and now he had to suffer.
He’d loitered at the mission and knew word was spreading that people connected to the Lighthouse were being targeted. And he could see the results of the warnings. No one walked alone except the mindless street people, and they weren’t who he wanted.
But neither was Melody Fredericks. Even though it had been brief, he’d gotten surcease from the appetite of the beast.
