by David Beers
“No. You’ve never loved anyone, have you, Luke?” Christian turned around. “You’ve lived your life separate from everyone and everything. Even your girlfriend, Riley—she doesn’t matter to you, does she?”
“I have loved before. Now, my purpose is what matters to me.”
“And what is it?”
Luke stood and walked to the other side of the large bay window. He didn’t face Christian, but looked out at the night. “Do you believe in God?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no proof. There isn’t a wizard in the sky dictating the world.”
“And what about the idea that God is the great clockmaker? He set this universe up and is letting it run?”
“It’s a nice thought,” Christian said, “but again, there’s no proof.”
“I believe in God, Christian. I do not need proof because I have faith. He, or It, exists. That is my purpose.”
“God? When was the last time you went to church?”
Luke smiled, and his teeth were pearly white underneath the lightning’s glow. “It’s more complicated than church.” He turned to Christian. “You didn’t come here to discuss my purpose, though. Tell me why you really think you’re losing your mind? Is the replica of yourself still around?”
Christian nodded.
“And what does he say?”
“That Waverly is wrong. That we won’t find any evidence, but Hinson will continue taking women. Possibly killing them.”
“Is that all?”
“No,” Christian said. “He says that I have to keep going, evidence or no evidence.”
“Faith, the same as I have in God. You have faith in yourself, in your mind’s ability, even if no one else does. I don’t see where insanity comes into play.”
“And the fact that I see visions?”
“Everyone that God spoke to in the Bible could be said to have had visions. Perhaps they did. Perhaps none of it’s real, and they’re all just stories to keep people faithful. Something that has always struck me, though, and perhaps Lucy Speckle would have understood this, is that Jesus’s disciples died by awful methods. Boiled alive. Crucified upside down, like Lucy nearly did to me. They met the man, Jesus, and they all died for him.”
“What are you saying, Luke?”
“Only that faith is a powerful thing. It’s started and ended civilizations. No one had proof; they simply believed and nothing in the world would stop them. Some people might call it insanity, but I think it’s something to be admired. Perhaps even aspired to.”
“So ... listen to the other?” Christian said, knowing what he was asking … and that Luke’s answer could go against Director Waverly’s order. Just the two of them stood in the room, though, with no one else to hear.
“Your faith has served you well so far, as has mine. I think, for both of us, it would be cosmically foolish to leave our faith now.”
CHAPTER 11
“T hey won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“You’re sure?” Ted asked.
“Yes. This went all the way up to the FBI Director, from what I’ve heard. The agents who held you have been corrected; no one will be coming to see you.”
Ted listened to his lawyer over the phone, but he couldn’t shake the way that one man had looked. The older one who leaned against the desk. Luke Titan. Ted knew his name; he had been a rock star in academia. Titan’s face had said that nothing was over, and it would never be over, not until he had what he wanted—which was Ted Hinson and the family he was creating.
“You there?” his lawyer asked.
“Yes. I’m just not sure, Fred. You weren’t in the room. These guys are nuts.”
“Trust me, okay? It’s over. Just stay out of D.C.. Don’t give them any reason to look at you.”
“So I have to restrict my fucking travel?” Ted said.
“No. Just D.C.. Go anywhere else, but leave D.C. alone for a few months. I mean, you don’t have to, but it might make things easier. Although, if you must go to D.C., you’ll be fine.”
Ted swallowed and nodded. “Alright, thanks a lot, Fred.”
“No problem. Call me if you need anything.”
Ted hung up the phone and leaned back in his office chair. His door was shut, but even so, he had spoken quietly to his lawyer. He didn’t want people hearing anything about this, not even a whisper. Ted had pretty much been freaking out since Saturday, and it was already Wednesday.
He didn’t know how they’d found him, couldn’t figure it out. He had spent endless hours trying to understand how it was even possible, but nothing came to him.
It wasn’t possible, yet they had been there—Titan telling him he knew his name.
It still sent chills down Ted’s spine.
And yet another part of him grew angry thinking about Titan wanting to control his family. His ex-wife, Christy, had already tried that. Wrecked Ted’s family, actually. Took his child from him, and the love that they had built. Now, just when he had something good going for him—really good—this man wanted to steal it.
Ted barely thought about the younger agent. Christian Windsor. He had been nothing. The real threat rested with Titan.
“You’re not going to stop me,” Ted said to himself, not hearing the growl resting beneath his voice. “You’re not going to break up my family.”
Sitting in his office in Athens, Georgia, Ted decided that he would keep going. He might need to change his tactics, but that was fine. His lawyer was good, great even, and if he said the FBI was off his trail, then they were.
I know your name. Titan’s voice echoed in his head.
“And I know yours, motherfucker.”
He was already two weeks behind schedule. He’d fix it, though. Tonight.
TED’S original plan had been to find the perfect mixture of wives. He was, of course, still using condoms with them—no one was ready for a child yet, though that was the end goal.
What Titan’s little interruption did was show him that he had to choose between perfection or good enough. Ted was going with good enough.
He had driven around Christy’s neighborhood for an hour tonight, looking at her house with each pass. The lights were on inside and a strange car in the driveway. Ted didn’t need to have Luke Titan’s intelligence to know what that meant. Another man was there. With his wife and his daughter.
Both hands gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles a staunch white. He kept driving through the neighborhood until he saw the car leave. Ted looked into the other car as it passed him, but the night’s darkness limited what he could see, only that a man sat in the driver seat. Maybe four feet from Ted, and yet he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Seven houses down from Christy’s, Ted stopped the car. He looked at the time and saw that it was eleven. The bastard had waited until after Ted’s daughter was asleep before even leaving. It disgusted him, thinking about that—someone else around Callie while she was going to bed.
Focus, he thought. You have a plan and you need to follow through with it.
That was true. Driving around Christy’s neighborhood certainly had nothing to do with it. He would deal with her tomorrow, telling her in no uncertain terms that if she had a strange man around his daughter one more time, they would go back to court.
Now, though, he had to get back on schedule.
Yes, he thought. Getting on schedule will put everything right.
Ted left the neighborhood, careful to do the speed limit. He pulled out onto the highway and started toward Atlanta. It was an hour drive, but he wanted to get there a bit later.
His mind danced around thoughts of Titan while he drove, mixing in the anger and disgust he felt at Christy. He felt like everything was against him, trying to keep him from finding happiness. Since Ted was a child, his mother and father told him the one thing in this world he should seek was happiness. And now, it was like some unseen deity sat behind a curtain, pulling strings to keep him from achieving
his birthright.
Ted finally reached Atlanta, but kept heading south. Atlanta proper had some seedy places, but not nearly as ghetto as he wanted.
Finally, Ted arrived.
The streets were dark, with neon lights illuminating windows of one story buildings. Storefronts such as PAWN SHOP and JADE SPA—everything capitalized. You wouldn’t find any of these businesses near Ted’s neighborhood, but that’s what he wanted.
It didn’t take long to find a prostitute.
She was walking on the road, her skirt nearly showing her entire ass. Ted hadn’t envisioned himself taking a wife like this, someone willing to denigrate themselves to street level—but what was family for if not to help people when they were down? Certainly Ted’s mother and father had done that for him.
He pulled the car into the shop right in front of the hooker’s path. She saw him immediately, and started walking over to him. Ted rolled his window down.
“Hey, baby, you need a date?” the woman asked.
Ted looked at her face, and saw she was beautiful, despite the circumstances she found herself in. He could help her. He could change all of this for her.
“Sure,” he said. “Want to get in?”
“You’re not a cop are you?”
“Ha! No way.”
The prostitute looked at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to believe the white man that had somehow found himself in this part of town.
“Two hundred for an hour,” she said.
“No problem. Wanna get in?”
“Sure, baby,” the girl said and walked to the passenger side of the car. Ted unlocked the door and she got in.
“You got a room around here?” he asked.
“Yeah. Pull out here and take a right.”
“How’s your night going?” Ted asked as he followed her directions. His left hand reached unobserved between his legs, finding the knife he’d been riding with for hours.
“Ain’t bad.”
The prostitute didn’t offer any other conversation as Ted continued driving down the road.
She finally said, “Take a right.”
Ted did, and as her eyes followed the car’s lead, his hand moved ruthlessly, as if it automatically knew what to do—had only been waiting for the opportunity.
The prostitute didn’t even turn her head.
The knife’s metal hilt hit her temple and she slumped to her right, her head smacking against the window. It was the only sound made.
Ted kept driving, calm despite the unconscious woman next to him. It took him about five minutes to find a deserted lot; he worked quickly, putting the woman in his trunk.
He stared down at her, the trunk’s light showing him whom he was adding to his family. She was so gorgeous, he could barely believe it. Far prettier than any of his other wives. Perhaps he had been wrong to only go after middle and upperclass women. Perhaps what he actually needed was a lady of the night to liven things up.
CHAPTER 12
V eronica parked her car across the street from the Atlanta FBI headquarters. She didn’t know how badly this would end, but regardless, she was going inside. A week had passed since her last appointment with Luke, and she couldn’t shake what he said.
Christian needed help.
She had told herself over and over that she wasn’t going to reach out. That she wouldn’t be the one to extend a hand. Truthfully, she didn’t fully understand her feelings toward Christian. Their relationship had been brief, at least compared to some of Veronica’s past ones. It had been physical, but that wasn’t it. She’d had physical relationships before … but if her mind was a beach that Christian held sway over, those other lovers didn’t amass to a single grain of sand.
Veronica walked through the FBI entrance and into the lobby. She went to the front desk, where a young, black man in a suit sat.
“Hi, I have an appointment with Christian Windsor.”
“Your name?”
“Veronica Lopez.”
The man looked at his computer screen for a few moments, then said, “I don’t see your name here.”
“Could you call him? I’m sure he’ll say it’s okay.” Veronica, of course, was sure of no such thing. Most likely he’d turn her away.
The man picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers.
“Hi, Special Agent Windsor, this is Theo Lawrence with security. I have a Veronica Lopez here; she says she has an appointment with you, but I don’t see it on the visitor’s list. Did you forget to add her?”
Another pause and Veronica felt her heart beating inside her ears. She was so nervous: this would be another rejection in her futile quest to just make contact.
“Yes, sir,” the man said. He put the phone down and looked at Veronica. “He forgot to put you on the list. Let me just print you an ID badge and you can go on up.”
It took another moment, and then the security guard handed her the badge. “Do you know where his office is?”
“Yes. Thanks a lot.”
Veronica turned and went to her right, heading to the elevator. She went up to the sixth floor and stepped off, stopping.
She saw Christian’s office. He sat behind the computer. It’d been six months since they last saw each other, and now she realized she was the clichéd crazy ex-girlfriend. Showing up at his place of work to beg him to take her back.
That’s not true, she told herself. You’re not here to beg. You’re here to see how bad he’s doing. You’re here to try and help, if you can.
Veronica started walking again, heading to her lost lover’s office.
LUKE GLANCED up at the perfect time. He sat on the same floor as Christian, and he smiled at what he saw. He was usually very careful to mask his feelings, but the smile slipped by his defenses.
Veronica Lopez stood at the elevator, staring at Christian’s office.
She looked frightened, but that didn’t matter. She was here, and Luke felt a bit of pride in her. She was going the extra mile, showing up at the boy’s place of work.
Maybe you do belong with the three of us, he thought. Your will is fairly impressive, Ms. Lopez.
Luke leaned back in his chair and watched her walk along the floor’s edge, staying outside of the inner office cubicles. His conversations with Christian had been fruitful, and adding this to the mix—it was all superb.
Ted Hinson could go on killing people; Luke was fine with that. Ted would end up dead and the women he took? They held no significance for Luke’s plan. Corrupting Christian Windsor was all important, and Luke had to admit that things were going swimmingly.
VERONICA DIDN’T PAUSE outside Christian’s door to gather herself; she knew he had seen her walking across the floor. She simply arrived, knocked, and watched as he walked across the room.
Christian opened the door and said, “Lying to federal officers is a crime.”
“He’s a security guard, not a federal officer.” Veronica walked forward, not waiting for him to move and give her entrance. Christian lithely stepped aside.
Veronica walked to the conference table and then turned around.
Christian shut the door. “Why are you here?”
“When was the last time you talked to your mom?” she asked.
Christian went over to his desk and sat down, though Veronica remained standing.
“If you’re going to be here, at least keep up appearances and have a seat. You have an appointment with me, after all.”
Veronica knew he was right; she didn’t want to cause him problems or make things any more uncomfortable with his job. She took a seat in front of his desk. “Answer my question. When was the last time you talked to your mom?”
“I don’t know. Four days maybe.”
“It’s been a week, Christian. I called her last night. She said you’re only calling once a week now.”
Christian turned his chair around and looked out the window. Veronica knew why—he hated eye contact during important conversations. He had done this when he first to
ld her he liked her, sitting at that restaurant over a year ago. The conversation had been different back then, though. Very, very different.
“Why aren’t you calling her?”
“You know the answer.”
“I know you’re not well, Christian.”
He was silent and she looked at the back of his head. Veronica didn’t know what was going on inside it, could never grasp the inner workings of this man she loved—and before, she had been fine with that. Now, though, she needed to understand. “Talk to me. If just this once. You think this has been easy on me? The only thing I wanted when I got out of that fucking storage unit was to be with you. I wanted to help you heal and thought you’d do the same for me. Now, neither of us are healing.”
“I don’t know how much more succinctly I can say it, Veronica. The people I’m close to get hurt.”
“Then quit this fucking job. You told me you joined the FBI to help people, but if helping strangers means you have to hurt those you love, then it’s not the right place to be.”
“I can’t quit,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because more people will die if I leave. A lot more.”
“What do you owe them, Christian? Do you owe them your own life? Your own happiness?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t owe them yours.”
“Goddamnit, turn around and look at me,” Veronica said.
The chair spun slowly and he sank deeper into it, like a teenager sitting in the back of class.
“I didn’t come here to ask you to date me,” she said. “I came because I’m worried. Your mother is nearly out of her mind, but she won’t say anything to you about it. She’ll keep acting like everything’s fine because she doesn’t want to put more stress on you.”
Christian was quiet for a second, and then as if she hadn’t spoken, he said, “How are you?”
Veronica laughed. “Me?” She didn’t know how to answer; she hadn’t thought about herself at all when deciding to come here. It had all been about him. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m better than I was. I still have nightmares about Speckle. I have nightmares about you, too. I’m better but I’m not good, Christian.”
