Kill for Me

Chapter Twelve

Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 11:05 a.m.

I can’t do this,” Rocky said. “I’ll be caught.”

“You’re afraid,” Bobby said scornfully.

“Yes,” Rocky said. “I am. You want me to walk into the middle of the town and shoot Susannah Vartanian in the cemetery? In front of everyone?”

“There is anonymity in a crowd,” Bobby said. “Once you fire, you drop the gun. There will be so much confusion, you’ll be able to walk away.”

“That’s insane.”

Bobby grew very still. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do, but-”

“You’ve shown fear at every occasion,” Bobby said harshly. “Yesterday at the bunker. With the nurse. If you plan to hide at every turn, I can’t use you.” Bobby’s brows lifted. “And Rocky, nobody just walks away from me.”

“I know,” Rocky said. If she refused, she’d die here. I don’t want to die.

Bobby was watching her. “You’re afraid. You’re a failure. You are of no use to me.”

Rocky stared at the gun Bobby pointed at her. “You’d shoot me? Just like that?”

“Just like that. If you have no more trust than this, after all I’ve done for you, all your life… You should be grateful. Yet you disappoint me again and again. I have no use for failures. I have no use for you. You’ve failed too many times. This was your opportunity to show me you’re worth saving. Worth keeping.”

Bobby sat calm, confident, and Rocky wanted to scream. Insecurity warred with fear. If she were cast aside, where would she go? She’d be alone. “Can I have a gun with a silencer at least?”

“No. A silencer is a crutch. You have to prove to me that you have the courage to be my protégée. If you are successful today, you’ll never be afraid again. That is what I need in my assistant. What I must have. So choose. Live and serve, or cower and die.”

Rocky stared at the gun in Bobby’s hand. Both choices sucked. Dying sucked more. And she was so damn tired of being afraid.

“Give me the gun. I’ll do it.” But when I fire, Susannah Vartanian won’t be the one to fall. You will. I’ll tell them who you are, what you’ve done. Then I’ll be free.

Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 11:35 a.m.

“Did anybody stay home?” Luke muttered. “Looks like the whole damn town’s here.”

“They are,” Susannah murmured. Standing in the cemetery behind Dutton’s First Baptist Church, she was flanked on one side by Luke, on the other by Al. Chase was somewhere in the crowd, watching, supported by ten plainclothes state cops.

“Do you see anyone that looks familiar?” Luke murmured.

“Just the same old people I grew up with. If you need running commentary, just ask.”

“Okay. Who was the preacher who did the service?”

“That would be Pastor Wertz,” she said softly, and Luke bent his head closer to better hear. He smelled like cedar again today, she thought, the odor of fire and death washed away. She took another breath, filling her head with his scent before turning her focus back to the cemetery in which she’d stood with Daniel barely two weeks before. “Wertz has been pastor since before I was born. My father thought he was a fool. That either meant he couldn’t be bought or that he wasn’t bright enough to play his games. Wertz doesn’t seem much different, except that his sermons used to be a lot longer. Today’s was barely twenty minutes.”

“He’s got a lot of them to do,” Al said. “Maybe he’s pacing himself.”

She thought of all the death inflicted by Mack O’Brien. “You’re probably right.”

“What about the older gentleman with the entourage?” Luke asked.

“That’s Congressman Bob Bowie.”

“His daughter was Mack O’Brien’s first victim,” Luke murmured, and she nodded.

“Standing beside him are his wife, Rose, and his son, Michael.”

“What about the thin, old man beside the son?”

“That’s Mr. Dinwiddie. He’s the Bowies ’ butler and has been since I can remember. The Bowies had live-in servants, and that made my mother jealous. She wanted a butler, but my father wouldn’t allow it. ‘Servants have big ears and wagging tongues,’ he’d say. He did too much business in the middle of the night to worry about a butler.”

“Anybody else I should know?”

“Do you see the older lady with big hair? She’s standing three rows back. That’s Angie Delacroix. She might be a good resource to talk to about Granville and anyone else. Angie owns the beauty shop. She knows everything that goes on in Dutton, and what she doesn’t hear, the barbershop trio see. That’s them, coming this way.”

Three old men had been sitting in folding chairs at the graveside. As one they’d risen and were now making their way across the grass.

“Barbershop trio?” Al asked as the old men approached. “Not a quartet?”

“No. There are always three, and they sit on a bench outside the barber shop all day and watch the world go by from nine to five, Monday through Friday. They take an hour for lunch in the diner across the street. They’re a Dutton institution. The old men in the town have to wait for one of the trio to die before a space on the bench opens up.”

“O-kay,” Luke murmured. “And I thought my great-uncle Yanni was weird for painting all the eyes of his yard statues blue. Which of these guys is Daniel’s old English teacher? He helped us with Mack O’Brien yesterday. He might be willing to give us information again.”

“That would be Mr. Grant. He’s on the right. The others are Dr. Fink and Dr. Grim. All three of them creep me out,” she murmured.

“With names like Fink and Grim, I can understand,” Luke said, amused.

“That’s their real names, too. Dr. Fink was my dentist. I still can’t hear a drill without panicking. Mr. Grant always talked about dead poets. He tried to get me to go out for theater. And Dr. Grim was my biology teacher. He was… different.”

“Different how?” Luke asked.

“He made Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller look like he had ADD.”

“That exciting?” Luke asked, a smile in his voice.

“More so.” She straightened as the three stopped in front of her. “Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce you to Special Agent Papadopoulos and Assistant District Attorney Al Landers. This is Dr. Fink, Dr. Grim, and Mr. Grant.”

The old men nodded politely. “Miss Susannah.” Dr. Fink took her hand. “I didn’t get the chance to express my condolences at your parents’ funeral.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fink,” she said quietly. “I appreciate that.”

The next man brushed a kiss against her cheek. “You’re looking lovely, my dear.”

“And you’re looking well, Mr. Grant.”

“We heard the news about Daniel,” Mr. Grant said, worried. “Is he improved?”

“He’s still in intensive care, but his prognosis is excellent.”

Mr. Grant shook his head. “I can’t believe twenty-four hours ago he gave me a volume of poetry, and now… But he’s young and strong. He’ll pull through.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The third man was studying her intently. “You’re looking peaked, Miss Vartanian.”

She straightened again. “I’m just tired, Dr. Grim. It’s been a long few weeks.”

“Are you taking B-twelve? You haven’t forgotten the importance of vitamins, have you?”

“I certainly could never forget the importance of vitamins, sir.”

Dr. Grim’s face softened. “I was so sorry to hear about your mama and daddy.”

Susannah held back the flinch. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

“Excuse me,” Luke inserted, “but I’m sure you gentlemen have heard about the death of Dr. Granville yesterday.”

All three grimaced. “It’s a terrible shock,” Dr. Fink said. “Before I retired, my dental practice was next door to his clinic. I spoke to him every day. I’d have lunch with him sometimes. My daughter took my grandkids to him for their shots. I had no idea…”

“He was one of my students,” Mr. Grant said sadly. “A brilliant mind. Skipped two grades to graduate early. What a waste. Fink’s right. It’s a shock to all of us.”

Dr. Grim looked most devastated. “He was my star pupil. Nobody absorbed biology like Toby Granville. Nobody knew he had such evil in him. It’s unbelievable.”

“I understand,” Luke murmured. “You three must see a lot that goes on in Dutton.”

“We do,” Dr. Fink said proudly. “At least one of us is on that bench at all times.”

Susannah lifted her brows, surprised. “I thought you had to sit there, nine to five.”

“Well, we don’t leave unless there’s a good reason, of course,” Mr. Grant said. “Like my weekly therapy on my knee or Fink’s dialysis or Grim’s-”

“That’s enough,” Grim said roughly. “He didn’t ask our daily routine, Grant. Do you have a specific question, Agent Papadopoulos?”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said. “I do. Did you notice Dr. Granville talking to anyone unusual?”

All three men frowned and looked at each other.

“Like a woman?” Fink asked. “Are you asking if he was having an affair?”

“No,” Luke said, “but are you saying he did?”

“No,” Grim said. “To say he was a God-fearing man seems ludicrous, but I never saw him in an inappropriate situation. He was the town doctor. He talked to everyone.”

“So he didn’t have anyone he was especially friendly with, or did business with?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Mr. Grant said. “Fink, Grim?”

The three men shook their heads, curiously unwilling to speak against a man who was now known to have been a rapist, killer, and pedophile. But their reticence could also be due to a general mistrust of outsiders, Susannah thought.

“Thank you,” Luke said. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

The three gave Susannah a stern glare, then started back for their folding chairs.

Susannah let out a breath. “That was interesting. I would have expected them to be cool to Al, just because he’s a Yankee, but not to you, Luke.”

“I’m glad I didn’t say anything then,” Al said, mildly affronted.

Her mouth curved a little. “Sorry, Al, but the older generation still holds a grudge.”

“I didn’t expect them to be happy with my questions,” Luke said. “Granville’s scandal is a shock and reflects poorly on the whole town. Who’s the woman with the camera?”

“That’s Marianne Woolf. Her husband owns the Dutton Review.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Daniel said she was voted most likely to do everyone. Now I understand. Whoa.”

Susannah quashed the spurt of jealousy. Men had always had that reaction to Marianne, and the years had been good to her. Susannah wondered if the plastic surgeons had been good as well, but dismissed the thought as petty.

“Marianne must be covering this for the Review,” she said. “Jim Woolf and his brothers aren’t here. His sister Lisa was buried yesterday.”

“Lisa Woolf was one of O’Brien’s victims, too,” Luke said for Al’s benefit.

Susannah didn’t want to think about Mack’s victims. That they were dead too closely tied to Simon, which too closely tied to her. “The man next to Pastor Wertz is Corey Presto. Mr. Presto owns the pizza parlor where Sheila worked and was killed.”

“Presto I know. I was at the scene with Daniel after Sheila was shot.” Luke lifted his head to scan the crowd and Susannah felt cold again. “Two-thirds of the people here are reporters. I thought your parents’ funeral was a media circus, but this is insane.”

She hesitated. “Thank you, by the way, for coming to my parents’ funeral. I know it meant a lot to Daniel to have you and your family here.”

He squeezed her arm. “Daniel’s family. We couldn’t let him go through that alone.”

She shivered, whether from the contact or the sentiment she was unsure. Studying the crowd, she frowned at the figure standing alone off to the side. “That’s odd.”

Al Landers instantly tensed. “What?”

“Just that Garth Davis’s sister Kate came. I didn’t expect to see her here, under the circumstances. I mean, Sheila was one of Garth’s victims. That’s her, standing alone.”

“Maybe she’s just here to pay her respects,” Al said.

“Maybe,” Susannah said doubtfully. “But how awkward.”

“Sshh,” Luke cautioned. “They’re getting ready to start.”

It was a short service, and sad. Next to Pastor Wertz, pizza parlor owner Corey Presto stood quietly crying. Susannah didn’t see any other family or friends. She wondered how many people here had actually known Sheila Cunningham.

Based on the avidly curious expressions of nearly every face in the crowd, not many. Sheila was news. She’d be gossiped about around water coolers for days to come.

Once the news of my statement hits, so will I.

Pastor Wertz began reading from the Bible, his face weary. He’d already officiated over two funerals in as many days and there were many more to come.

She thought about Daniel as Corey Presto put a red rose on top of Sheila’s casket. Her brother had very nearly died yesterday. Had Alex not acted so quickly Susannah might have been standing here again in a few days, burying the last of her family.

And then I would be as alone as Sheila Cunningham had been. More so, because at least Sheila had Corey Presto. I have no one. Susannah swallowed hard, startled to find her face wet. Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her cheeks with her fingertips, stiffening when Luke’s hand brushed her hair, settling on her back, warm and solid. For just a moment she gave in to the temptation to lean, resting her head against him.

And for just a moment she let herself yearn for a man like Luke Papadopoulos, decent and kind. But that was not in the cards. Not after what he now knew. He would be kind because Daniel was family, and he might even be attracted to her, but ultimately the man whose mama still carried a rosary around in her purse would never want… a woman like me. And who could blame him? I don’t want a woman like me.

Pastor Wertz said the “Amen” and Susannah pulled away from Luke, physically and emotionally. Al pushed a handkerchief into her hand. “Your mascara’s run.”

Quickly she wiped her face again. “Did I fix it?”

Al tipped her face up. “Yeah. You okay?”

No. “Yeah.” She turned to Luke. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be fine.”

Luke didn’t look like he believed her, but nodded. “I do need to get back. I have an appointment at two. Call if you need me or if you see anyone who looks familiar.” He looked around. “I did want to talk to Kate Davis. Do you see her?”

Susannah didn’t. “She must have left. This had to have been uncomfortable.”

Luke looked at Al. “There are cops everywhere. If you need to, yell.”

Al watched him go, then looked down at her, brows lifted. “He’s very… nice.”

Way too nice for me. “Let’s go back. I haven’t spent any time with Jane Doe today.”

She’d only taken a few steps when a woman stopped in her path. She was tall, blond, and smileless. “Hi,” she said nervously. “You’re Susannah Vartanian, aren’t you?”

Al’s hand closed over her arm protectively. “I am,” Susannah said. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m Gretchen French.”

The victim Chloe Hathaway said was trying to organize a press conference. How could she have found out so quickly? “What can I do for you, Miss French?”

“I met your brother Daniel a few days ago. I heard he was shot by Randy Mansfield.”

The knot in her chest loosened. “He was, but he’ll be all right.”

Gretchen smiled, but it looked like it cost her. “I just wanted to ask you to thank him for me. He and Talia Scott made a very difficult time more bearable. He’s a kind man.”

Susannah nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

“It’s nice of you to come today, to pay your respects to Sheila in Daniel’s place.”

Susannah felt Al’s grip tighten, bolstering her. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then you knew Sheila?”

“No.” Just say it. Say it. Say it and it will be easier the second time.

Gretchen’s brows crunched. “Then why are you here?”

Susannah drew a breath. “For the same reason you are.” She let the breath out quietly. “I was a victim, too.”

Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “But… I…” She stared. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t know about you either, or any of the others. Not until Daniel told me on Thursday. I thought I was the only one.”

“So did I. Oh God.” Gretchen took a steadying breath. “We all did.”

“I gave my statement to ASA Hathaway today,” Susannah said. “I’ll be testifying.”

Gretchen was still stunned. “It will be difficult.”

Difficult. She was beginning to hate that word. “It will be hell for us all.”

“I suppose you know that better than any of us. I read that you’re a prosecutor now.”

“Now,” Susannah said, and Al squeezed her arm again. But maybe not later. Al was indeed correct that the defense would exploit her status as a victim. But she’d stand with the others now and cross each bridge as she got there. “Miss Hathaway said you’re organizing a press conference. If you tell me when and where, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, please. I’ll give you my card. Call me when the arrangements are made.” She’d bowed her head to search her purse when a sharp crack split the air.

In an instant Susannah was thrown to the ground, her breath leaving her in a rush as Al landed on top of her and all hell broke loose in the cemetery. Around her people screamed and ran as police mobilized to bring order to the crowd.

Dazed, Susannah lifted her head, her gaze locking onto a woman who stood still amid all the frenzied movement around her. She was dressed in black, from her veiled hat to the hem of her old-fashioned dress to the tips of her gloved fingers. The black lace of the veil fell below her chin, covering her face, but somehow Susannah knew the woman was staring. At me.

And Susannah stared back, momentarily mesmerized.

Red lips. She has red, red lips. The color showed through the black lace, creating a startling effect. And then the woman slipped into the crowd and was gone.

“Are you all right?” Al shouted over the panicked screams.

“I’m fine.”

“Stay down another few- Oh, shit.” Al leaped up and Susannah pushed herself to her knees as he lowered Gretchen French to the ground. “She’s hit.”

Twenty uniformed police stormed the area, and Susannah found herself stemming blood flow from a gunshot wound for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Gretchen was conscious, but pale and shaken. The bullet had pierced the fleshy part of her arm and blood was sullenly oozing from the wound.

“Stay put,” Susannah said. “Just don’t move.” She balled up Al’s handkerchief and pressed it to Gretchen’s arm. “Al, get me…” She looked up to find Al’s horrified gaze fixed straight ahead, and her heart stumbled to a stop. “Oh, hell. Oh, no.”

Kate Davis lay on the ground between two tombstones, staring skyward, her white shirt already red with blood. One arm lay flung outward, a gun still clutched in her hand.

Two officers were holstering their weapons. Susannah continued to stare, shocked. She hadn’t heard the shot. But Kate Davis was dead.

Al looked down, stunned. “She shot Gretchen French.”

“Step aside, please.” Paramedics were pushing her out of the way, again for the second time in twenty-four hours. She stood up, her legs like rubber.

“Al…”

His arms came around her, keeping her from crumpling to the ground again as her knees buckled. He shielded her with his body as cameras began to flash. “Just come with me.” He was breathing hard. “Susannah, this is one hell of a fucked-up town.”

“Yeah,” Susannah said breathlessly. “I know.”

Tanner slowed the car and Bobby slid into the passenger seat. “Drive.”

He obeyed and in ten seconds they’d cleared the cemetery gates. “Is it done?”

“Of course.” And exactly as planned.

“Did anyone recognize you?”

“No.”

Tanner grimaced as Bobby removed the veiled hat. “That hat is hideous, but the lipstick is even worse.” He passed his handkerchief across the car. “Clean your face.”

“Sheila always wore this color. I thought it was a nice touch.”

Tanner rolled his eyes as Bobby wiped at the lipstick. “Where’s your gun?”

“I dropped the one I used on Rocky in the grass, just like I’d planned. The other one is still in my pocket.” Bobby fingered the small hole in the pocket’s fabric. “All that training with Charles finally paid off. Two targets hit, using both hands. Ballistics will have a field day doing the matchups.”

“So Susannah Vartanian is dead, too?”

“Of course not.”

Tanner’s head jerked, his frown fierce. “You said it was done. You missed?”

Bobby frowned back. “I don’t miss. If I’d meant to hit Susannah, I would have. I never intended to kill her that painlessly. If Charles can play with her a little, so can I.”

“So who else did you shoot?”

“I have no idea,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Just a woman unlucky enough to be standing next to Susannah at the time.” A laugh bubbled out. “I haven’t felt like this in… well, I don’t remember the last time. Maybe not since I killed that sonofabitch Lyle.”

“Your father had it coming,” Tanner said decisively.

He wasn’t my father. “So did Rocky. Let’s get back to Ridgefield now. We have some things to do before you leave for Savannah.”

Tanner tensed. “Get down. Police car at twelve o’clock.”

Bobby twisted, ducking below the dash. “I didn’t see any police cars.”

“It was unmarked, but it’s gone now. Let’s get out of here.”

Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 12:05 p.m.

Luke ran from his car, heart pounding. Shots fired, Dutton Cemetery. As soon as he’d heard the words on his radio, he’d U-turned and raced back. Susannah was sitting in the passenger seat of her rental car, parked in on all sides. Two state troopers were managing crowd control while an angry Al Landers paced the length of the car.

“What the hell happened?” Luke demanded.

Al shook his head. “I’m still not sure. I don’t think your boss knows yet either.”

Luke stuck his head in the car. Susannah sat, her hands folded in her lap. Her face, as well as the front of her black dress, was streaked red with clay. “Are you all right?”

She gave him a weary look. “The only thing that hit me was Al. Kate Davis is dead.”

Luke frowned. “Kate Davis? You’re kidding.”

“I wish. The police shot her after she shot Gretchen French.”

Luke shook his head to clear it. “Kate Davis shot someone? In the cemetery?”

“Yes,” Susannah said calmly. “Gretchen French. In the cemetery. With a gun.”

“The victim Chloe mentioned this morning? The one who’s mobilizing the other victims to do a press conference?”

“That’s the one. Gretchen’s not hurt badly. The medics have her now.”

Al stuck his head next to Susannah, his expression grim. “What she’s not telling you is that she was standing next to Gretchen at the time.”

Luke’s stomach rolled over. She could have been killed. “I’ll get an update on Miss French,” he said roughly. “Then you’re going back with me.”

She looked surprised. “Kate didn’t shoot me. She shot Gretchen. And now Kate’s dead. I don’t think she’ll be shooting anyone else.”

“Humor me. Please.”

Something shifted in her gray eyes. “You’ve been very kind, Luke, but you don’t have to babysit me. I’ll be all right on my own.”

She’d pulled away even though she hadn’t moved a muscle. “Humor me anyway,” he said, his jaw tightening. “Susannah, I’m so exhausted that it’s hard for me to focus. It’ll just be harder if I’m worried about you.” That seemed to make a difference.

She nodded. “All right then. Should I come with you now?”

“No. Stay here until I come back.” He and Al straightened and regarded each other over the top of the car. “Can you drive this rental car back?”

“Yes. That young woman, Kate Davis. Her brother Garth is the last surviving member of Simon’s club. Is it possible news of Susannah’s statement leaked out?”

“And that she was the intended target?” Luke had already considered it. “I’ll find out.”

Luke found Chase looking down at Kate Davis’s body. Chase looked up sourly. “I’m having a very bad day.”

“So’s Kate Davis,” Luke said. “Who shot her?”

“Don’t know,” Chase said, even more sourly. “Wasn’t any of us.”

Luke frowned. “You mean it wasn’t GBI?”

“No, I mean it was not any law enforcement officer on the premises. No one fired their weapon. Therefore, I do not know who shot this woman,” Chase said testily.

Luke looked around, frowning. “We have a second shooter?”

“Looks like.”

“The bullet hit her straight in her heart. Somebody has a good eye.”

“Yeah, I got that part. At least Kate’s eye wasn’t so good. Gretchen will be all right.”

“That’s what Susannah said. I’m taking Susannah back to Atlanta myself. So what did happen?”

“Kate Davis was in a pocket of people milling around the graveside. There was a huge line of cars waiting to get out of the cemetery and people were getting impatient.”

“I parked on the next access road,” Luke said. “I had to walk, but I got out fast.”

“You weren’t the only one, which was part of the problem. When bullets started to fly, people had already started leaving. It was almost impossible to lock the area down.”

There were still a lot of people in the cemetery, many lined up along the yellow tape one of the officers had strung, hoping for a real-life taste of CSI. “Witnesses?”

“The three old men on the folding chairs had a ringside view. They said they saw Kate with a jacket draped over her arm, looking ‘antsy.’ ” He pointed to the jacket lying on the ground about two feet from the body. “The next moment there was a shot fired and people started screaming. Al Landers tackled Susannah, knocking her down, but it was Gretchen French who was hit. Seconds later, two cops had their guns drawn and pointed at Kate. One told her to drop her weapon. The cops said she looked stunned.” Chase met his eyes. “And then she said, ‘I missed.’ ”

Luke’s blood ran cold. “Shit.”

“Yeah. The next second Kate drops like a rock. She was dead before she hit the ground. Like you said, somebody was a damn good shot.”

“And had a gun with a silencer.”

“Right again.”

“Then the other shooter got away.” Luke refused to let the panic in his gut rise to choke him. She’d missed and Susannah was unhurt. Gretchen’s injury was minor. “I’m glad you’re handling the brass. This is going to make us look like fucking monkeys.”

“That about sums it up. You don’t have to stay, Luke. Ed’s got the scene and I’ll manage the press.” He grimaced. “They all got some great video for their newscasts.”

“I’m glad we were here,” Luke said pointedly, and Chase rolled his eyes.

“You were right. This was no babysitting job.”

“Thank you. I’m going back now. I have to meet Kasey Knight’s parents at two. You know, the parents of the first dead girl we’ve identified. I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Wait,” Chase said. “Weren’t you going to check to see if Granville had a safe deposit box at Davis Bank in Dutton?”

“I went by before the service, but the bank is closed,” Luke told him. “Rob Davis, the bank manager’s grandson, is being buried up in Atlanta today.”

“Because Rob Davis pissed off Mack O’Brien who then killed his grandson in retaliation.” Chase sighed. “Now his nephew Garth is in jail, Garth’s wife and sons are missing, and Kate is dead. I don’t think it’s healthy to be a member of that family.”

“Or a Vartanian for that matter,” Luke said quietly.

“Or a Vartanian,” Chase agreed.

“Excuse me.”

Both Luke and Chase turned to find a pale Pastor Wertz standing behind them. “Yes, Reverend?” Chase asked. “What can we do for you?”

Wertz looked stunned. “I have another funeral this afternoon. What should I do?”

“Whose funeral is it?” Luke asked.

“Gemma Martin,” the pastor replied. “Oh, dear, this is not good. Not good at all.”

“Mack O’Brien’s third victim,” Chase muttered. “Are you expecting a large crowd?”

“The family hired security to keep the media out,” the pastor said. “But they’ve been flying overhead, sneaking through. It’s been horrible. Horrible.”

“We’ll be cordoning off this whole section of cemetery,” Chase said. “It’s a crime scene now. The funeral and burial will have to be postponed.”

“Oh my. Oh my.” Pastor Wertz wrung his hands. “I’ll tell Mrs. Martin, Gemma’s grandmother. She won’t be happy about this. No, not at all.”

“If it’ll help, I’ll tell them,” Chase offered, and the pastor nodded.

“It would, indeed.” He looked down with a sigh. “Poor Kate. She was the last person I would have expected to do this. But I suppose even clear heads can get muddied in times like these, with Gretchen accusing her brother of rape. Her parents would have been so disappointed to see how Kate and Garth turned out. So sad. So very sad.”

Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 12:45 p.m.

Luke glanced at Susannah before returning his eyes to the road. She’d had her eyes glued to her computer screen since they’d left the cemetery. “What are you doing now?”

“Checking runaway sites for Jane Doe. I spent about three hours on this last night.”

“We have people checking all those sites. Why don’t you sit back and go to sleep?”

“Because she’s mine,” Susannah said quietly. “Besides, your people only have pictures of her face all bruised up with her eyes closed. I saw her eyes open. I might see something they don’t see. And I’ll go crazy if I don’t have something to do.”

“That I understand. What did you find out about swastikas this morning?”

“Not much earthshaking. The swastika is used in Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. In all cases, it’s a religious symbol and can represent anything from evolution of life to good luck and harmony. It can mean something different depending on whether it’s right or left facing. Mine faces right, which is strength and intelligence. Facing left,” she said wryly, “it means love and mercy.”

Luke considered it. “None of the brands faced left.”

“I didn’t think so. The Nazi swastika does point right, however.”

“So this could still be tied to a neo-Nazi group.”

“Possibly, but I don’t think so. The Nazi form is very straight and almost always presented at a forty-five-degree angle. The ends are never bent.”

He glanced at her. “Why did you never get yours removed?”

“Penance, I suppose.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “And nobody was ever going to see it, so it didn’t matter.”

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t plan to show it to anyone ever again.”

His frown deepened. “At the beach, or in a relationship?”

“Either.”

There was a finality in her tone. “Why not?”

She made an annoyed noise. “You’re a very nosy man, Agent Papadopoulos.”

“Luke,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended, and she shrugged again, making him angry. “Earlier I was kind. Now I’m nosy.” He waited, but she said no more. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Yes. That’s all.”

He was relieved when his cell buzzed in his pocket. He’d been about to lose his temper, and that was the last thing either of them needed right now. “Papadopoulos.”

“Luke, it’s Leigh. I have some phone messages for you. Is this a bad time?”

Yes. “No, it’s a fine time,” he said. “What is it?”

“First is from the Knights. You’re supposed to meet them at two, but they won’t be here until three-thirty. Second, I got a match to your Ashley C-s name. A Jacek Csorka in Panama City, Florida, filed a missing-person report on his daughter. She’s been missing since this past Wednesday. She’s not quite eighteen.”

“Can you give me the number? Actually, give it to Susannah.” He handed the phone across the car. “Can you copy down the phone number she gives you?” Susannah did and Luke took his phone back. “What else?”

“Alex called. Daniel’s awake.”

He took his first easy breath in hours “Excellent. What about Jane Doe?”

“Still asleep.”

“Can’t have everything, I guess. What about tips on the hotline?”

“Hundreds of calls, but nothing credible.”

“Thanks, Leigh. Call me as soon as Jane Doe wakes up. No change on Jane Doe,” he said to Susannah when he’d hung up. Her eyes stayed locked on her computer screen. “Maybe Jane Doe’s not in there, Susannah.”

“No, she asked for her mom yesterday. Her mother must have loved her. I can’t see a mother not doing everything she can to find her daughter.”

There was yearning in her voice he wondered if she heard. It cut at his heart. “I have another nosy question.”

She sighed. “What?”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“I didn’t mean it to be. In college, before Darcy, did you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” she said coldly, but he was undeterred.

“In high school, before Simon and Granville, did you?”

“No,” she said, angry now.

“And since Darcy?”

“No,” she thundered. “Will you stop? If this is what I have to listen to so I can stay alive, then just throw me to the evil Rocky and be done with it.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked, ignoring her tantrum. “After Darcy, why didn’t you?”

“Because,” she snapped, then her shoulders sagged. “You want my soul, Agent Papadopoulos?” she asked wearily, and for once he didn’t correct her. “Fine. God knows I don’t deserve it. More importantly, no decent man deserves it either.”

“Am I decent?” he asked softly.

“I’m afraid so, Luke,” she said, so sadly it broke his heart.

“So you’ll be alone forever? Is that the penance you’ll pay?”

“Yes.”

Luke shook his head, unwilling to accept it. “That’s wrong, Susannah. You’re paying for something that was done to you. You were the victim.”

“You don’t know what I was,” she said bitterly.

“Then tell me. Talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know. I want to help you.” He sucked in a breath. “I want to know you. Dammit.” His hands clenched the steering wheel, kneading it. “The first time I saw you… I wanted to… know you.” He, normally good with the words women wanted to hear, was stumbling. “I wanted you,” he finished quietly.

She said nothing for a long moment. “You don’t want me, Luke. Trust me.”

“Because you had a one-night stand? So the fuck what?”

“Not one,” she whispered so softly he nearly missed it. Then she swallowed hard. “I really don’t want to talk to you anymore. This is hard enough. Please.”

It was the desperate tremble in her voice that made him stop pushing her. “All right. Will you dial the number Leigh gave you?”

She did, and he talked to Mr. Csorka, who planned to leave right away from Florida, bringing DNA samples from his daughter Ashley. Luke was hoping for his first positive ID on one of the missing girls. Mr. Csorka would arrive sometime after six this evening.

Luke went over every detail of the case in his mind, trying to fill the silence in the car, but every few minutes he’d glance at her, wishing he knew what to say. In the end, he honored her request, and said nothing. When they arrived at the hospital in Atlanta, he hoped she’d say something, but she closed her laptop without a word and walked away.

Feeling very sad and helpless, he let her.

He’d parked so he could go in and visit Daniel, but his cell buzzed again.

“Luke, it’s Nate. I’ve been looking at the pictures on Mansfield’s computer.”

Luke felt a spear of guilt. “I’m so sorry to have left you with this, Nate. I’ve got time before Kasey Knight’s parents arrive. Let me talk to Daniel and then I’ll come help you.”

“Actually, I found something,” Nate said, his voice energized. “Come now.”