by Wanda Dyson
“There is a difference between good things and God things.”
Zoe reached for her purse and dumped the contents out on the table. She fished through everything—brush, lipstick, tissues, bottle of aspirin, two pens, checkbook, wallet, receipt from the drugstore—and finally found the card Rene had given her.
Reaching for the phone, Zoe read off the number. Then she noticed the scribble at the bottom of the card. Read Acts 16:16.
Huh? What is Acts? Oh, the Bible. Duh.
Zoe reached over and slid the Bible closer as she slowly sat down. Acts. Acts. She flipped through the pages and finally resorted to the table of contents in the front. It took her another minute or so to locate Acts and then chapter sixteen.
With her chin resting in one fist, she started to read. Once when we were going to the place of prayer, we were met by a slave girl who had a spirit by which she predicted the future. She earned a great deal of money for her owners by fortune-telling.
Zoe winced.
This girl followed Paul and the rest of us, shouting, “These men are servants of the Most High God, who are telling you the way to be saved.” She kept this up for many days. Finally Paul became so troubled that he turned around and said to the spirit, “In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to come out of her!” At that moment the spirit left her.
When the owners of the slave girl realized that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace to face the authorities.
Zoe made a face as she went back and read it again. This was what that guy on television had been preaching about. Then she noticed the little mark by the word fortune-telling. She went to the bottom of the page and found the corresponding mark. Fortune-telling, Soothsaying. Greek manteuomai—to divine, utter spells under pretense of foretelling; divination. See Deut. 18:10; Jer. 14:14.
Under pretense? Zoe felt her temper rise. This is such bunk. I’ll show you pretense!
But as much as she wanted to slam the book shut and walk away, she grabbed her pen and the receipt from the drugstore instead and wrote down the two Scriptures on the back of it. Then she started searching for the first one.
She found Deuteronomy 18:10: Let no one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord.
Zoe felt like someone had just punched her in the heart. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord? Detestable? Did He really think of her that way? As a detestable thing?
She searched for Jeremiah 14:14. Then the Lord said to me, “The prophets are prophesying lies in my name. I have not sent them or appointed them or spoken to them. They are prophesying to you false visions, divinations, idolatries and the delusions of their own minds.”
Zoe leaned back in her chair. The delusions of their own minds. Stunned, she reached over, picked up the phone, and dialed Rene’s number.
“Rene, this is Zoe.” She propped her elbow on the table and brought her forehead down to rest on her clenched fist. “I was just reading those Scriptures you wrote down. I have a question. Does God really think I’m detestable?”
“Oh, Zoe. He loves you so very much. What you are doing grieves Him, but that’s why He’s gone to such lengths to get the truth to you. He’s always loved you.”
Zoe stared down at the Bible, and suddenly a shiver of fear ran down her back. “Rene. You said the last time we talked that I would have to renounce my gift in the way it’s being used right now.”
“Correct.”
“And if I do, then I wouldn’t have it, right? I mean, being able to sense the killer and stuff, that would all stop, right?”
“I don’t know. It’s likely, Zoe.”
Oh, no. There was no way she could stop the killer if she couldn’t use every ounce of her psychic ability to do it. She had to be able to use it or she’d be a sitting duck.
“Zoe?”
“I can’t, Rene. I think I understand all this, and I believe I want to do this God’s way, but not yet.”
“Zoe, don’t fall for this. It’s a lie. You don’t need to be a psychic anymore.”
“Yes, I do. One last time, Rene. I have to.”
“No!” Rene almost sounded as if she was crying. “Please, listen to me, Zoe. God will help you. He will. You don’t need the gift.”
“I’m sorry, Rene. I have to do this. It’s important.”
#
JJ stopped at Zoe’s on his way home from the station. He refused to believe he was just looking for an excuse to talk to her when he went down to Evidence and signed out the blanket they’d confiscated from Jessica Matthews’s crib the morning she was taken. He just needed to apologize. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And he was forty different kinds of a fool while he knocked on her door, baby blanket in hand.
She swung open the door and stood there looking at him without saying a word. Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, almost the same shade of blue as the cotton drawstring pants and short-sleeve shirt she wore. He looked at her bare feet. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Yes.”
Her response was terse. Her voice harsh. He paused. “Don’t you think you should at least ask who it is before you open the door?”
“I looked through the peephole. I knew it was you.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I brought this. . .” He thrust the blanket at her. “From the Matthews’ baby crib.”
“I see,” she replied coolly. She stepped back from the door and waved him in.
The tension was a thick fog, but JJ tried to ignore it.
Zoe took the blanket and sat down on the sofa, ignoring JJ. She closed her eyes, fingering the fabric.
“That’s odd.”
JJ, who was looking around the room, turned back to her. “What is?”
“I can usually pick up something, even if it’s just a sense of the person. But there’s nothing on this blanket at all. It might as well have come straight from a store. I can’t pick up anything.”
“We took it out of the child’s crib. Karen Matthews said Jessica was sleeping on it when she was taken.”
Zoe shook her head. “I can’t pick up anything.” She folded the blanket, stood up stiffly, and handed it back to him. “Will there be anything else?”
JJ took his time standing up. “I’m sorry, but am I missing something here? What’s with the attitude?”
“You’ll have to excuse me, but I see no reason to pretend that yesterday morning didn’t happen.”
“Hey, I haven’t forgotten what happened yesterday morning. I just don’t think it was very smart.”
Zoe jammed her fists on her hips, the fire in her eyes nearly incinerating him on the spot. “I’m not the one who started it, so don’t make me out to be the bad guy.”
“Did I say you started it?” he snapped.
“You’re doing a great job of implying it!”
JJ raised his voice to match hers. “All I said was that it shouldn’t have happened!”
“And it won’t happen again!”
“Not in this lifetime!”
“Then I see no reason to continue this discussion!” She marched over to the front door and yanked it open. “I think this is the way out.”
“Fine!”
He started for the door, but something in her face stopped him. His gaze followed hers down to the threshold. “Oh!”
Dropping the blanket, JJ ran forward as Zoe backed away. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.
He knelt down. Without touching the bloody garment, he determined it was the same color and pattern shirt that Lisa Brandt was supposed to have been wearing.
The killer was taunting them—daring to come up to the house while she was home. Not only at home but in the company of the police. He was thumbing his nose at
all of them. Anger surged as JJ pulled out his cell phone and called Matt.
“We’re talking within the last ten or fifteen minutes. If there’s anyone patrolling nearby, have them sweep. I doubt they’ll find anything, but do it anyway. And I need an evidence bag.”
He glanced at Zoe. Her pale, bloodless face pulled at him even as he fought it. “Go sit down,” he told her, trying not to snap at her.
She disappeared into the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea. He joined her there half an hour later. “Go pack a bag. You’re not staying here.”
She raised one eyebrow. “I beg your pardon.”
“This guy is not kidding around, Zoe. I can’t leave you here alone. He may come back.”
“I don’t think that’s your problem, Detective Johnson. Now, if you don’t mind, I had some reading I wanted to do this evening.”
He pulled out a chair and propped one foot up on it. “Look, I can’t leave you here. Now, be a good girl, pack a bag, grab your book, and let’s go.”
“I’d appreciate it very much if you would leave.”
“Do you have a death wish or something? This guy wants you dead. Do you understand that?”
“I understand quite well, Detective. I’m not a child and I’m not stupid.”
“But you are one of the most obstinate women I’ve ever known.”
“I feel sad for you.”
“Yeah, I can tell you’re just bleeding all over the place for me. Come on, pack some things.”
Zoe stood up and carried her cup to the sink. “I will say this one more time. Please leave. If you don’t, I will call your boss and tell him that you have attacked me, kissed me, and now refuse to leave my home.”
There was something in her tone of voice that let him know she wasn’t kidding. But he still couldn’t keep himself from saying, “You wouldn’t.”
She turned around at the sink and leaned back against it, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh, I would. No one is running me out of my home.”
“Then we’ll carry you out in a body bag.”
She stood there, staring him down. He quickly realized that pushing wasn’t getting anywhere. “Fine. Have it your way.”
#
Zoe waited until she heard the last car pull away from the curb, then curled up in a chair with a book. Everything fell silent again. It had taken hours for JJ to leave, but at least he had stayed outside, directing the investigation and sending Matt in if there were questions. It rankled her, but she did her best to ignore the fact that he was still out there.
It didn’t matter that the words ran together on the pages or that she had been staring at the same page for nearly an hour. What mattered was that she told JJ she was going to read, and by golly, she was going to read.
Slowly she began to hear every little noise. The house creaked. A dog barked. A car backfired. Something scraped across the window.
She jumped at every sound. Even after turning on every light in the house, she wondered if her pride hadn’t made her foolish. She could be someplace safe. Instead, she was holed up in her home, skittish and afraid.
Trust me.
Zoe closed her eyes. Trust who? Her father? He’d already proven that he couldn’t be trusted. Good old Detective Josiah Johnson with the penetrating eyes and devastating kiss? Right. The killer had JJ running around in circles. She had no one to depend on but herself. She had a knife tucked under her thigh, although she didn’t expect the killer to show up tonight. He wasn’t done playing with her yet. She knew that. Just as she knew she would face him.
He’d taken her innocent little sister away from her, and she was going to make him pay dearly for it. She was going to make him suffer. He was going to feel every inch of pain he’d ever inflicted on a child. He was going to beg to die. And then, maybe, she’d let him. Let him go straight to hell where he’d suffer for all eternity. And that wasn’t even long enough.
“He’s going to pay, Amy. I promise you, he’s going to pay.”
Trust me. I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Zoe picked up her book. There was no one she could trust. Not now. Not with this. She had been born for this: to confront a man who had nothing but evil in his heart. She would succeed. Alone. She could do this. She could.
In the meantime, it was going to be a long night.
#
Karen closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep. Ray was snoring softly across the hall in the guest room, and her father had finally left.
When Ray asked if she’d killed Jess or Ted, she’d felt the floor tilt under her feet. Her answer was an almost inaudible “No.”
Then Ray had turned to their father. “Good enough for me.”
Why Ray had come was still a mystery. She hadn’t expected him. But he was here, and she felt nothing but gratitude and relief.
They had retreated to the living room after their father stormed out of the house. There, curled up on opposite sides of the sofa, they had discussed Ted’s disappearance. Ray was convinced Ted had met with foul play after messing around with someone’s wife.
“Ted wouldn’t do that,” she’d claimed, but Ray had only snorted in disbelief.
“I never trusted him, Sis. Trust me, he isn’t worth defending.”
But she’d tried to defend him, finding it more difficult with each passing minute as Ray pointed out the obvious. Suitcases had been found in Ted’s car. He had packed his clothes and lied about going off to meet with the kidnappers. Karen remembered how the police had been anxious to talk to him, claiming he’d agreed to answer some questions. But he disappeared instead. This, as Ray had emphasized, was the behavior of a man with something to hide. Karen’s faith in Ted had slowly begun to crumble, until finally she’d retreated to bed with a headache.
She vacillated between confusion, pain, and numbness. She was no longer sure what she believed or why. Ray accused her of avoiding the truth because it was easier to pretend. She was starting to believe he was right. She’d been so miserable for so long that pretending had become her escape.
It was time to see truth for what it was and deal with it. But was she strong enough to handle it?
She stared at the ceiling with more questions than answers. Had Ted been avoiding the police? Why? Had he lied? Had someone killed him?
Her heart jumped with pain as she twisted her fingers into the blanket and fought back hysteria. He just couldn’t be dead.
#
JJ couldn’t shake the feeling he’d made a mistake with Zoe. Stretched out on his bed, he went over the entire scene with her again in his mind. He’d strong-armed her and he shouldn’t have.
With arms folded under his head, he stared at the ceiling and wondered how to protect Zoe without getting her all riled up. If he hadn’t called her onto the case, she wouldn’t even be a target. But she had become a target, so he was honor bound to protect her.
His fingers itched to pick up the phone and call her—to see if she was okay.
But the phone rang before he could gather the courage to call. He glanced at the clock. It was just after 2:00 a.m. He reached over and picked up the receiver. “Johnson.”
“JJ? It’s Matt. We have another missing child.”
#
JJ zipped up his sweatshirt against the cool spring night as he stood outside the apartment building and talked to a police officer. He couldn’t begin to describe the relief when he arrived on the scene and learned that the killer hadn’t struck again after all. It was a case of parental abduction. The mother had called in a panic sometime after midnight when she woke on the sofa to find that her husband hadn’t returned their son at nine the way he was supposed to. After calling his apartment and finding the phone number disconnected, she’d called the police.
Someone at the station heard that a child was missing and turned it over to Matt Casto, who was on call. Matt had called JJ. Now they could both go home.
JJ climbed into his Cherokee and took a deep breath. He hadn’t realized
how tense he was until that moment. With one hand on the wheel and one elbow propped up on the window’s edge with fingers buried in his hair, JJ drove down empty streets through quiet neighborhoods. Except for the occasional flicker of a television through someone’s curtains, houses were dark. Until he reached Jasper Drive.
He pulled up to the curb in front of her house and stared. The house was ablaze with light.
She had to be scared out of her mind.
Climbing out of his vehicle, he walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Zoe opened the door, looking much the same as she had a few hours earlier, but this time there were dark circles under her eyes and tightness around her mouth.
“I was responding to another call and drove by. I saw the lights.”
She stepped back, silently inviting him in. “I just made some coffee. Would you like some?”
He noticed the tension in her voice and wondered if it was because he was there or because she was frightened. Following her into the kitchen, he spotted the book on the arm of the sofa. She should have finished it by now.
He waited until they were back in the living room with their coffee before he asked, “Having a problem sleeping?”
“I guess you could say that.” She tucked her feet under her.
“You have good enough reason. If I had a killer stalking me, I don’t think I’d be sleeping.”
“I didn’t think it would bother me.”
“Then you’re crazy.”
She shrugged, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve been implying that all along.”
“I didn’t mean to.” He sipped his coffee, struggling to break the tension between them.
He set down his coffee cup on the table next to his chair, clasped his hands between his knees, and leaned forward. “Look, we’ve been at each other’s throats since this began. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t think much of this psychic business. But I don’t want you dead.”
