For these last years, we’d been staring at dead bodies and crying family members. I was sure it felt good to have two sweet smelling women in the office. Unfortunately, I hadn’t even got a good look at our new profiler Tina. I was too enraged with Haven and her not heeding my warning.
I grabbed my pen and tapped it on the desk. Intrigue and annoyance mingled within my core. I did like that she had strong community ties here. Barron could open doors that had previously been closed to us. With her, we may be able to solve the case faster than expected and prevent a new set of girls from being taken.
No one was sure if the Angel Maker was done or not, but I feared that he was just beginning. He liked the news’ attention too much—loved the flash of cameras and the excitement coming to his town.
Haven Barron may have gone to school with the Angel Maker.
I thought of Reverend Thompson and his son.
She may have dated the Angel Maker or gone to his house to eat dinner.
Many thought Thompson or his people had something to do with the girls’ murders. I found it to be too obvious.
No. We’re missing something. We must keep looking.
This was more complicated then pinning the murders on the most racist white guy in town. If the Angel Maker wasn’t caught, he would keep on going. So many more girls would die. I had to get this right. There could be no mishaps or errors.
Through the glass window, I caught Barron laughing and tossing the end of her ponytail over her shoulders. Apparently, Stein had made a joke that Barron and Richards were both tickled with.
This is a goddamn place of investigation. We’re on a case, not enjoying happy hour.
I rose from the desk and grabbed my keys.
A damn distraction. Barron may have ties to Fullbrooke, but she’ll also have my men wrapped around her manicured fingers. It’s best to get what I can from her and then send her back to D.C.
I headed to the door, opened it, and marched out. “Let’s go.”
Stein raised his eyebrows. “Just me?”
“All of you.” I gestured to Richards and Barron. “Let’s see what the newbies have to offer. Maybe they can put us on a new path.”
Shock hit Stein’s face. “You want the new people to come along?”
“Let’s go.” I marched out, aggravated with the excitement that covered Barron’s expression.
Oh, you’re just ready to start sleuthing, huh? Well. . .you’ll find that being out on the field is not as fun as you think. The blood smells different than it does from a photo.
Surprisingly, Barron got to my side. Her perfume filled the air around me, making me think of fine dining and dancing with an elegant woman. That wasn’t what should’ve been on my mind.
My frown deepened. “Have you familiarized yourself with the case?”
“Yes. Director King gave copies of all the files.”
What did Dad think about her, and why didn’t he prepare me?
My back stiffened. “You met with Director King?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?” I opened the door for her.
She looked at me. “Uh. . .he’s a reserved man, but. . .brilliant.”
“Brilliant,” I muttered as I followed her out of the office. “And was he excited about your appointment to the unit?”
“As excited as you were.”
Father hated pretty girls getting dirtied in crime. Gentleman or chauvinist, I never really understood how he saw women.
My mother represented the traditional type—dutiful housewife. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of me. Father flew all over the country, solving cases and keeping America safe. We saw him when we could. To me, he was my hero. It was one of the main reasons why I’d made the FBI my dream. I wanted to get closer to him. I needed to make him proud.
Stein and Richards followed behind us.
“Are we all riding together?” Stein asked.
“No. Take your car. Agent Richards will ride with you.” I gestured to Barron. “We’ll go in mine.”
Stein gave me a wicked grin.
I ignored him. Surely, he didn’t think I had any interests in Barron.
She spoke up, “Where are we going first?”
I quirked my brows. “Where should we go? This is your town. We’ve only been here for three weeks. In that time, we’ve been met with closed doors and people unwilling to do interviews.”
Barron nodded. “Because snitches get stitches.”
“They don’t trust us. I understand why, but I assumed that since little girls were involved—”
“It is what is.” Barron shrugged.
“So, where should we go?”
“If it is okay, I would like to go to Fullbrooke Baptist Church first.”
I paused in the hallway and studied her. “Where Ariana Waterson was taken. Victim three.”
“Yes. It’s my old church. My mother was Ariana’s Sunday school teacher.”
“Interesting.” Stein walked over. “That was one of the only church members that talked to us besides Pastor Miller.”
“Yes. My mother did say she talked to all of you.” Barron nodded. “I wanted to check something there.”
I eyed her. “What?”
The more Barron talked, the more a little southern drawl peeked out. “There’s a tiny little passageway behind one of the stalls. Real small. When I was a teen, I used to go through it with the other kids and smoke a cigarette during Sunday service. Sometimes Pastor Miller could go on for five hours.”
Stein whistled. “That’s a whole lot of Jesus.”
She smiled at him. “The kids knew about the opening. Pastor Miller’s daughter Julia had showed us one morning.”
“It’s always the Pastor kids that get everyone in the most trouble.”
“She was always a mess. But anyway, there was an opening for the boys’ room too. Sometimes people would go down there and get a little kiss in while the parents were busy with God.”
Interested, I placed my hands in my pockets. “Where does the passageway lead to?”
“The church’s basement.” Another hint of that southern drawl crept through her words. “However, when I hit eighteen, one of the girls tattled and told her mother about the passageway. I think she caught her boyfriend kissing the Pastor’s daughter down there or something. Pastor Miller gathered all the big kids into his office, scolded us, and told us never to use it again. My understanding was that it would be hammered shut. I left for college after that. The few times I visited, I had no reason to sneak through a hole and smoke in the basement again.”
I looked at Stein. “This would explain how the Unsub was able to grab Ariana from the bathroom without anyone knowing.”
Richards spoke up, “Which means he knew the church well. He could be a member. Even one of the teens that went down to the basement with Haven.”
I frowned at her use of Barron’s first name. It wasn’t a good idea to get too close to each other. Many could be dead by the end of a case. In the past, I had gotten close to some agents, just to lose them due to a psycho we were following.
Barron shook her head. “I hope this guy isn’t one of my classmates, but you’re right. It could be someone from the church. That would rock the community. We should keep this quiet until there’s strong evidence.”
I didn’t want to, but I nodded in agreement. “With Barron’s assistance, they may open up. But if they get a hint that we’re looking at them, everyone will go silent.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s go.” I headed off.
Barron was starting us off on the right track and getting rid of blocks in our road to solving this. Less than an hour of her being here, she’d provided us with a good clue for one of the victim’s kidnapping.
Maybe, I’ll let her stay longer. A day or two.
The Angel Maker was like most serial killers. It was like performing a ritual—the dress, bows, wings, and halos. The girls’ ages and characteristics served as some sy
mbolic order to the disorder in his mind. He was putting things back together—making things right somehow. I just had to figure it all out.
The hot sun hit us as we left the station. I turned to her. “Have you gotten settled at the inn yet?”
“I checked in, threw my bags in the room, and came here.”
“Excited?”
“Nervous.”
“You should be.” I guided her to my car, went to her side, unlocked it, and held the door open for her.
She snorted.
I glanced her way. “Something wrong?”
“No disrespect, Agent King, but we’re not going on a date. I can open my own doors.”
“I’m not used to having women in my unit.”
“Apparently,” she muttered under her breath.
Why the hell did I open the door? Of course, I shouldn’t have. I never do it for Stein. Even though Tina Richards was new, I damn sure wouldn’t have done it for her.
I scowled and headed to the driver’s side. When I climbed into the car, her sweet perfume hit me.
Of course, she has to smell good too.
Starting the car, I cleared my throat and did my best to focus on the road. “What did you gather when you went over the files?”
“It’s not a lust-driven murder.” Haven gave me a weak smile. “Thank God for that. I saw that the coroner reported no sign of sex.”
“Correct. That is one blessing.” The car moved forward. I spotted Stein and Richards in the car behind us. “The way he’s killing the girls through smothering points to the fact that he cares for them in some way. He doesn’t want to get violent.”
“It’s as if he has convinced himself that he must kill them but doesn’t want to.”
“Yes. The smothering and dressing up, it’s all a part of his ritual.”
“The wine found in their stomachs is interesting.” She crossed her legs.
Of course, she has nice legs. Even with those pants, it’s obvious.
I placed both hands on the wheel and promised myself I wouldn’t look her way again.
I’ve got to get some sleep. This case is killing me. And I’m trying to find any enjoyment that comes around.
Disappointed at myself, I shook my head. “Further thoughts on the wine, Barron?”
“You can call me Haven.”
Absolutely not.
“What do you think about the wine?” I asked.
“Was bread found too?”
I nodded, knowing that she was walking down the path I had considered.
“Perhaps, it’s communion,” she said. “The last supper.”
“Yes. That’s a growing theory. We think the Unsub dresses them up. He gives them communion. They probably even pray. And then he smothers them.”
“Does he put the wings and halo on before he kills them?” she asked.
“The examiner believes he does it afterwards.”
She let out a long breath. “He’s more religious than I thought.”
“He is,” I said. “Communion is a symbolic practice meant to honor the death of Jesus and the Last Supper.”
“But do you think he believes he’s giving the girls salvation before death?”
“That is a possibility.”
“Have you talked to Pastor Miller about this?”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, there’s someone in the congregation that. . .has come off odd. Perhaps, he could help with the Unsub’s rituals.”
I gave her a wicked laugh. “As you’ve probably assumed Pastor Miller and I did not start on the right foot. He wanted to help with the investigation and keep abreast of what was going on. I refused. Until we have clear suspects, I don’t trust anyone in this town. The only person that will have knowledge of the case is the police and us.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. I had no idea the Unsub put wings and halos on the girls until I read the files.”
“It’s something we’ve been able to keep out of the papers for now.” I glanced at her. “This means that none of your old friends or even your mother gets any details.”
“Of course not.”
“They’ll ask. Trust me.”
“And I’ll say no.”
“Good.” I rounded the corner. “Then, let’s go to the church. And maybe we can have a talk with Pastor Miller. Seeing you might warm him up.”
“Wow. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the place.”
“Do you go to church near Quantico?”
“No. Not anymore. I’m. . .between religions.”
“The FBI will do that to you.”
“Do what?” she asked.
“Have you wondering about God and humanity.”
“That’s fair.” She set that beautiful gaze on me. “And do you go to church?”
“Not since a kid. When I’m off and it’s Sunday, I go hunting. The forest is my church. I can see God in the towering trees. I can hear his power all around me from the sounds of the birds and the way the leaves rustle. The warmth of the sunlight. The blueness of the sky.”
“That’s beautiful. What do you hunt?”
“Myself.”
She laughed. “What?”
“I go out with a gun or sometimes a bow and arrow. . .and I hunt myself.” I checked her reaction.
She smiled. “Like playing chess by yourself?”
“Exactly, but in a much nuttier way.”
“I heard the FBI will do that to you too.”
“Yes. I’m a living example.”
Chapter 4
Smoke Breaks
Haven
Fullbrooke Baptist Church had been my second home. Mom had me here all the time. Mondays, she went to usher meetings. On Tuesday, she met with her ward and served food to the homeless. They could get a bag of groceries if they sat for an hour talking about God. Wednesday was bible study. Thursday, I had Junior Choir practice. Fridays and Saturdays were my only off days unless the Pastor and his wife had an anniversary or birthday, or it was a major religious holiday.
When Sunday finally came, we remained there almost all day—from morning until sometimes late in the evening. We helped with church breakfast before Sunday school and then I volunteered with other teens in the classes. I helped teach bible verses to the younger kids. We took a snack break for a few minutes after that. Then the main service began—hymn singing and scripture verses, psalms, the money collections, and church business. By the time the pastor went up to the pulpit to give his sermon, husbands had fallen asleep and mothers had pinched their kids several times for playing around.
So many memories.
As Alexander drove us up to the church and parked, I stared at the large structure. It was a beautiful building—old stone and stained glass.
For most of my teen years, I saw this place as a cage—a jail of God and a prison for me.
I didn’t want to confess this to Alexander. We were still getting to know each other. But in the past years, I believed God moved within me—within all of us. I could see him in every place I looked. And I wasn’t sure if I needed to go to a church to feel him anymore. Surely, God couldn’t be limited to brick walls.
It was sort of like Alexander’s forest.
As I climbed out of the car, I could feel God in the cool breeze brushing by me and I whispered to his Spirit, “Please, help us find this crazy person. Help us beat the devil. He’s been busy.”
I shut the door and hoped Alexander didn’t hear me.
When I glanced his way, he didn’t seem to notice my muttering.
Seconds later, we headed to the Church—crossing the parking lot and climbing the stairs. Surprisingly, Alexander beat me to the door and opened it.
Even though he was rude when he first met, he’s such a gentleman.
“Thank you.” I stepped inside.
The main office stood on our right. I took the lead and went there first. I could see the other agents—Brett and Tina driving up to the church and parking.
&
nbsp; Wow. This brings back so many memories.
Mrs. Mabel slept in her chair as usual. She was much older now than I remembered. Her hair was grayer. More wrinkles decorated her face. She’d even gained some weight. For some reason, it made me sad to see her age. I liked everyone looking the same, but life wouldn’t allow it. We all had a transformation to go through.
Swallowing, I gently tapped on the door. “Hello, Mrs. Mabel.”
Yawning, her eyes fluttered open. When she looked up, she grinned. “Now, I know that’s not little Haven at my door, waking me up.”
I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
“With your little bad self. What do you want?” Mrs. Mabel slowly rose from her desk. “Come on over here and give me a hug. You don’t know how to give Mrs. Mabel a hug anymore? Scaring me out of my sleep.”
I laughed some more, hurried over to her, and opened my arms. “Nice to see you.”
“Nice to see you. Thought you wouldn’t see Mrs. Mabel again until she was in a casket. The only time you come back around is for funerals.”
“That’s not true.” I smirked. “I was here for Thanksgiving a few years ago.”
“Must have been five or six years. A few?” She hugged me tighter and then let me go. “What are you doing down here? Your mother brags and brags about you. Pisses everybody off on bingo night.”
“Mom is still doing bingo at her house?” I frowned. “She told me she stopped.”
“Well, then you don’t tell her I told you.” She patted my back.
I shook my head. When Mom had bingo night, she brought out tons of food—cooking days ahead like it was Thanksgiving or Christmas. And she liked to put rum in the lemonade. Every now and then, they lit a few cigars. None of those things helped her stay healthy.
Well, Mom and I will be talking about that.
Mrs. Mabel took in Alexander as he ducked his head under the doorway and stepped inside, taking up the whole office’s space. “My. My. You and these white boys, Haven. What are we going to do with you? At least this one knows how to fill a suit.”
“This is not my boyfriend, Mrs. Mabel. This is Special Agent Alexander King. He’s working the Fullbrooke Six’s case.”
Missing Hearts Page 5
