She made peace with Paul and immediately began longing for a return to war. Or at least a demilitarized zone—that would keep him far away from her.
After that long look and the electric heat of his hand on hers, she’d have gone right back to fighting if O’Shea hadn’t been keeping such a close eye on them to see if the cease-fire was real or phony. She was far more comfortable with her hostility than with the attraction. She’d learned in a terribly hard school to accept her lonely life. And she’d been content.
And now Paul had touched her and—as if that electricity had started a motor—suddenly she was alive and awake in a way she hadn’t been in years. Her solitary life wasn’t enough.
But solitary was safe. She liked safe.
“I got the hard copies of Detective Morris’s case files.” An eager young secretary rolled a cart in front of her, bearing the fruit of ten years of Paul’s workaholic ambition. She gave Paul a completely unnecessarily friendly smile and said only to him, “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes, Keren turned to the mountain of paperwork.
He’d been a patrolman for four years, a detective for six. With a suppressed groan and grudging respect, she could see he’d been more prolific than a wheat field full of bunnies.
“Start with the computer. We can thin this down.” O’Shea nodded at Keren. She took over the cyber war portion of this mess.
Before they’d gotten a good start the phone on O’Shea’s desk rang. After a few quick words he hung up. “The medical examiner is ready to autopsy our vic. Let’s go.”
Paul rose from his seat. “Can’t you call her Juanita?”
“No, we can’t,” Keren said, marching out of the room. Paul caught up to her and opened his mouth, probably to nag, as he dogged her.
For once O’Shea took her side, cutting him off. “We can’t, and you know why. It’s our job to identify with the criminal, get inside his head. If we start thinking about Juanita, then we’re inside the victim’s head. We’re not going to be able to solve this crime.”
“But it’s so—”
“Enough, Paul.” O’Shea unrolled his shirtsleeves and tugged on his suit coat as they jogged down the stairs toward the parking garage. “You know how it goes. Especially on a case like this, where the facts are so nasty. We can’t dwell on Juanita or get involved in sympathy. If we do, we can’t function.”
“I was a cop. I know how you rationalize your detachment. But from the outside looking in, you guys seem as cold blooded as the bad guys.”
“Well, we’re not,” Keren snapped as she jerked her car door open. “Don’t make this harder than it is. Detach as best you can, or you’ll be useless to us.”
Paul shoved his hands in his pockets and rode in silence in the backseat of Keren’s car to the coroner’s office.
As they pulled into the lot by the forensic lab, Keren caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “You don’t have to do this.”
He looked back with a sad kind of stubbornness. “Juanita died very likely because of an enemy of mine. I’m not going to protect myself by avoiding this.”
Keren tried one last time. “But why watch, Paul? Watching won’t make her any less dead. Any chance you have of remembering the vic… Juanita, when she was happy and whole, will be destroyed by witnessing her autopsy. You know how they are.”
“Yes, I know. Believe me I know.” He paused and looked at the Polaroid of Juanita that he must have lifted from the case file. It was the one Pravus had sent that Paul had left behind at the mission. He shouldn’t have it, but Keren didn’t say anything.
“This picture has burned itself into my memory. Seeing the autopsy won’t make it worse. Nothing can make it worse.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Keren warned.
It was so much worse, Paul didn’t even think of trying to sleep.
He went into the mission and found the usual crowd drinking coffee. There were several men sleeping in their chairs, dressed in clothes they’d found in the mission store. It was warm out so most of them wouldn’t stay here overnight. They were mostly alcoholics, but too many of them drank to quiet the tormenting voices in their heads. Bipolar, schizophrenic, crazy, whatever the currently popular word was for mental illness. They came in for supper, some would hang around for a while, then they’d go back on the streets. But a few stayed here, and a few had let Paul help them find an apartment. And a few, like LaToya and Juanita, had gotten their lives in order and were on their own.
Paul tried to reach all of them, get them help, get them off the street, but mostly he just cared for them, made sure they had food and warm clothes. A reasonably clean bed on winter nights. He saw himself as a servant.
Turning to the small group that sat at a table, talking quietly, Paul saw the kind of thing that kept him going. Made him believe he was doing what God called him to do.
Murray, Buddy, Louie, five others. These men and a group of women who sat at another table made it all worth it. Rosita was one of them. She waved and gave him a smile.
Paul said hello to everyone then grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down by the men.
“How are you, Pastor P?” Buddy was bipolar, near as Paul could tell. He had a beard, weathered face, and gray hair. He had moved into a low-rent apartment just recently, since his meds had started taking effect and he was thinking more clearly. But he still came in for meals and sometimes to help out. He complained about the way the medication made him feel, but he’d been a long way down in the gutter, and at least for now, he seemed to want to stay out of it.
“I feel like a building fell on me.” These men had all gone through plenty, and they liked hearing Paul had his own struggles. And gossip moved through this community like any other, so they knew what had happened to Juanita, how it connected to the explosion in Carlo’s building, and Paul’s part in it.
Murray nodded. “Find anything out?”
All eight men focused on Paul, and he weighed his words. He wasn’t going to talk about the autopsy. That might be enough to send all of them into a tailspin. Telling the truth didn’t mean telling everything he knew.
“The police want to keep working with me. I’m sorry I was gone the last couple of days. Looks like you got the meals served and everything cleaned up without me. I’m sorry to not be here to help.”
“We managed.” Murray had a full beard, black salted with gray, that he hadn’t trimmed in a decade. He was wire thin, full of barely controlled energy. He’d found a talent for playing the guitar and helped with church services and had good managerial skills. When Paul was gone, Murray took over, even preaching a sermon now and then. He had just found an apartment away from the mission, though he still came in daily to work.
“Murray can sing, but his idea of preaching a sermon is to yell at all of us that we’re going to burn if we don’t change our ways.” Louie had just gotten out of prison after a five-year stretch and worked at the mission as part of his community service. The other men laughed softly. Murray was fervent for the Lord, no doubt about it.
“I’d like a turn preachin’, Pastor,” Louie added. “I’d especially like a turn passing the collection plate.”
More laughter. There was no collection plate at the Lighthouse Mission. No one had a dime to spare. Louie ran a hand over his thinning dark hair and slouched in his chair. He was able bodied and did his share of the work and a little more, but he showed no interest in finding a job outside the mission. He’d be gone as soon as he’d put in his time here. Paul hoped he’d reached him for the Lord. Louie said all the right words, but Paul couldn’t tell if the young man had taken salvation to heart.
Paul knew Murray could talk fire and brimstone, but he suspected Louie was reacting more to his own sense of guilt than to what Murray said. Louie had routine drug tests, and if he flunked one, he’d be back in prison immediately. So far, as near as Paul could tell, the young man was staying sober.
“Price of sitting through a meal,” Murray said. His approach might well be the best one. Paul leaned toward love and mercy in his sermons.
The men spent a few minutes good-naturedly teasing each other. Paul let their talk draw him out of the horror of sitting in on that autopsy. He should never have done it. He’d survived it by switching into cop mode. Now he was having trouble pulling out of it, and he let these men, his friends, his brothers in Christ, bring him back to himself. This day had reminded Paul of all the selfishness of the life he’d left behind. He settled back into his faith and rediscovered his servant nature while these men updated him on the day. By the time he finished his coffee, he was Pastor P again, and he thought he was exhausted enough to be able to sleep.
“The day’s catching up to me. I’ve got to get to bed.” The thought of walking up four flights was almost more than he could stand, but the elevator wasn’t reliable, and he had no wish to spend an hour or two stuck between floors.
They told him good night. He walked away from the only friends he had—men who, if they succeeded in the mission, went away and if they failed, went away. As he climbed he thought of that moment when he’d touched Keren while handing over his coffee cup.
That touch made him realize that he was terribly lonely.
He showered and donned a clean pair of sweatpants and another Lighthouse T-shirt then sank into his bed, feeling sleep claim him as he lay his head on the pillow.
The nightmare bloomed instantly to life, jerking him awake. The day played through his head. He tossed and turned half the night, with the autopsy grinding its way into every cell in his brain. When he dozed off, he had nightmares about what LaToya might be going through right now.
It was almost merciful when he was awakened by pounding. He staggered out of his bedroom to answer his door, more exhausted than when he’d gone to bed.
He yanked the door open and saw Keren and O’Shea. Two other men stood in the hallway behind them. His stomach twisted. “You found LaToya.”
Keren shook her head and the lopsided bun she always wore bobbed dangerously on her head. She held up a sheet of paper from her notebook. It said, “Shut up.”
She jerked her head toward the door. He was obviously expected to follow.
Paul’s living quarters shared this floor with the mission offices. She didn’t speak, just waved her hand at him to follow. O’Shea stayed behind with the other policemen and Paul didn’t even ask why. It didn’t fit with the “Shut up” sign.
They jogged down the narrow flights of stairs, past the men’s shelter on the third floor, past his newest project, a teen center on the second floor. The eating area, which also doubled as the church, was on the ground floor. The jog felt like someone was beating on his chest with a baseball bat instead of stabbing him with a knife. Sad to say, it was a big improvement.
There was a women’s shelter in the basement for a few of their special residents. That area was carefully locked away from the men. Even Paul wasn’t allowed down there. The women residents had suffered so much at the hands of men that many of them were incapable of relating to them in any healthy way, even with their minister. In order to make them feel safe enough to trust the Lighthouse Mission, their separation from men had to be absolute. They even had a separate dining room and their own church services led by nuns from the nearby Catholic church. Paul knew he should really move the women’s facility to another building. Rosita had taken over a lot of that part of the mission, along with other women volunteers.
Paul was already breathing hard when he and Keren reached the ground floor. Keren went straight outside and he followed, hurrying to catch up. With every step, he was reminded of the beating he’d taken in the explosion. He caught her arm before she could lead him on a 10K power walk.
“Hey.” He dragged her to a stop. “Have mercy, Keren. I’m about all in. Unless we need to go farther for whatever it is you want.”
Keren’s black pantsuit was rumpled. Her white blouse was untucked. Her hair was making a break for it. “Sorry, even with the stitches, I forget you’re hurt. It’s been a mean few days for you, hasn’t it?”
“It’s okay, the walk was just getting to me after the stairs.” Paul resisted holding on to his aching ribs. “What made you come charging in on me this morning?”
“O’Shea and I decided the guy knew too much about you. How’d he pick Juanita and LaToya to hurt? He obviously knows you well enough to know them. It figures he’s been watching you. We wondered just how closely. O’Shea’s checking for listening devices.”
Paul’s breathing slowed until he decided he was going to live. “This is an age where mothers plant bugs and hide cameras so they can monitor their babysitters.”
“That’s right, so bugs and miniature cameras are easy to buy and install. The bugs can be tucked into couch cushions, slipped under a loose flap of wallpaper, hidden inside electrical appliances, air ducts—even sewn into the lining of clothing.”
Paul looked down at the sweatpants he’d slept in and his white T-shirt with the mission logo. “You think they could be in these clothes?”
“Do you just have one outfit you wear day and night?” Keren studied his clothes.
Paul knew it looked a lot like the one he’d worn yesterday. “No, I have several.”
“That are all the same?” A smile quirked Keren’s lips. “Although your sweatpants yesterday were black and these are dark gray. Sorry, I didn’t notice.”
Considering the situation, Paul was real glad she was amused. “I don’t know where anyone could hide a bug in my clothes.”
“A bug or a tracking device.” All the amusement faded from her expression. “We’re checking everything.”
“Tracking device?”
“Well, you said he told you he was watching then sent you running. And he obviously knew when you got to the house, because he blew it up.”
Paul looked up at the buildings that surrounded him. “He could be renting one of a thousand apartments right here. I just figured he meant he’d be able to see me part of the time. That I wouldn’t know when he was there and when not.”
“We’ll be thorough. “With a confident jerk of her chin, Keren said, “If there’s a listening or tracking device anywhere, including in your clothes, we’ll find it.”
“It never occurred to me he might be tracing me electronically. I guess I’ve succeeded in my goal to stop thinking like a cop.” Paul grimaced. “Which is good. I did a lot of damage when I was on the force.”
“I saw your arrest record, your caseload, your solve rate, and your commendations.” Keren dragged her hair tie out and twisted her escaping corkscrew curls tight then anchored it again, all with such automatic movements she didn’t seem aware of it. “You did a lot of good.”
“Yeah, I was a good cop. A great cop. I took every ounce of credit that was due me, and I grabbed a bunch I didn’t deserve.
And while I was so busy being a great cop, my wife kicked me out of the house. It was the second time we’d been separated because I spent all my time working, and when I was home, I took all my anger out on her.”
“Are you divorced? You mentioned a wife yesterday, but it’s pretty obvious she isn’t living in that apartment with you.”
“My wife and my only daughter were killed just before I quit the force.”
“Oh, Paul.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We’ve been going over your cases, but I haven’t done any checking into your personal background yet.”
Paul thought she sounded more than sorry. She sounded like she felt guilty about something. Just another mystery surrounding Keren’s attitude toward him. “My daughter, Hannah, was four. Trish and I were separated. She accused me of having an affair, but it wasn’t true. The cheating I did was with work. That was my first priority. I was supposed to be with them that night at a preschool program. I was hoping it would be the first step to a reconciliation.” Paul paused for a long time. “Anyway, a case blew up in my face. You know, life and death. Vitally important.”
“I know,” Keren said.
“They got to the program without me. Heaven knows Trish had learned to do everything without me. On their way home, her car broke down; her cell phone must have been dead. They were walking along a deserted stretch of highway when they were killed. The man who hit them, he called the ambulance. He did more for them than I did.” Paul didn’t see any reason to spare himself from the hard truth. “I was awful to him in the hospital. Months later, after I’d become a Christian, I went looking for him, to apologize. But he was dead. I couldn’t ask him to forgive me any more than I could ask Trish and my little Hannah.” Keren snagged his arm and led him on down the cracked sidewalk in one of the toughest neighborhoods in Chicago. She moved at a pace Paul could handle.
“I spent the night after the funeral sitting alone in my empty house, staring at my .38.”
Keren gasped and held his arm tighter.
“I thought about pulling the trigger,” Paul said. He fell silent. At last he said, “It was the most awful feeling of hopelessness. The guilt, the anger. I had so many regrets. I was a pathetic excuse for a human being at that time in my life. In the depths of the darkest night of my life, I asked God why a jerk like me deserved to live.”
Paul looked over at Keren and smiled. “And He answered me, Keren. Not out loud, but clearly, from inside myself. It was unmistakable. It was the purest, most beautiful moment of my life.” He ran his hands through his hair.
“It was so clear and strong that it always anchors me. God told me that if I didn’t want the life He’d given me, then give it away. Give it to someone who needed it. The call God gave me to the ministry was a miracle. Jesus Christ saved my soul that night along with my life. I went to Bible college and ended up being led by God to quit after a couple of years. The old man who’d run the Lighthouse Mission died and it was going to close. Pastor Bob. There were some shoes that were hard to fill.” Paul stopped and looked back at the old building.
“I really believe I’ve done some good here. I’ve found peace and, most of the time, I forgive myself for who I used to be.”
Paul saw some of Keren’s antagonism ebb away.
“I know how tough it is to be a cop and have a home life at the same time,” she said.
“But you’re a Christian, Keren. I wasn’t when I got married. If you married another Christian and the two of you made sincere vows before God, you’d keep those vows. You wouldn’t end up with a broken home.”
“I’ve seen it happen too many times. God needs good people battling evil the same as He needs good people doing mission work. I thought at first I could have it all. I was wrong.” She quirked a smile. “It’s been surprisingly easy to avoid. Not that many guys want a woman who can beat them up.”
Paul smiled. Then, as he thought about what she’d said, his smile faded. “But you’re so beautiful. I don’t believe you don’t have men chasing you.”
Keren looked at him, and, for just an instant, he could see her entirely. See the peace in her soul and the burning quest for justice in her heart. It was a glorious sight. He reached up and laid his hand on her cheek and marveled at her flawless skin. He let those light blue-gray eyes that flashed humor and temper in almost equal parts wash over him.
“You seem so familiar. I must have met you when we were both detectives.” He caressed a curl that had made a prison break. “You don’t remember—”
A door slammed behind him. “Pastor P, you gonna be around for services t’night?”
Paul guiltily dropped his hand.
Rosita bounced toward them, her long black hair dangling over her shoulder in a smooth shining braid, her black eyes flashing humor and youth. In her tight, faded blue jeans and Lighthouse Mission T-shirt, she made Paul feel old and awkward, touching Keren’s hair like some flirting, addle-headed teenager.
Rosita almost blinded them with her perky smile. “Murray’s doin’ okay, but it’s not as good as when you’re there. He’s got Buddy and Louie helping him, and I’ve got a few women picking up the slack in the kitchen, but we need you to come and order us around.”
He thought of LaToya. How could he have wasted a second on anything else? He wheeled away from Keren, grateful for the interruption. “Murray’s going to have to keep doing it for a while. If you run into trouble, call Father Estrada. He’ll take up the slack. Rosita, come here and meet Detective Collins. She’s helping us look for the man who kidnapped LaToya.”
Rosita’s eyes lost their sparkle as she looked at Keren. “It’s the same one that killed Juanita, isn’t it?”
“We’re afraid it is,” Keren said. “And, Rosita, we don’t think he’s done yet. You and all the other women in this neighborhood need to be extremely careful. You mustn’t ever be out alone, day or night. We’ve increased police patrols in the area, and if you ever need a ride, you call a cop. In fact”—Keren pulled a card out of her purse—”call me if you can’t get anyone else to help you.”
“I live in the mission,” Rosita said, taking the card.
“And you never, ever go out alone?” Keren asked.
“Well, almost never.” Rosita glanced at Keren and away. “Sometimes I got things to do, you know.”
“Rosita,” Keren said with stern caution, “we have reason to believe these killings maybe connected to Pastor P or this mission, since both women who died came from here.”
“But they were gone. It’s not the same as me livin’ inside.”
“Rosita, promise me you’ll be careful.”
Rosita shrugged. “Sure.”
“Paul, say something.” Keren glared at him.
For some reason that made him want to smile. “Rosita,” Paul said, “promise me.” He didn’t add anything else.
Rosita gave him a mutinous look, then, with a huff of displeasure, she said, “I have a date with Manny tonight. I need to walk a few blocks to catch a bus.”
“What time?” Paul asked.
“It’s a six-o’clock bus.”
“I’ll be here at five thirty to walk with you, and you make Manny meet you at the other end and ride back with you and walk you every step of the way back to the mission.”
Rosita bloomed with pleasure. “You’d do that for me, Pastor P? Just so I can keep my date?”
“Manny’s a good boy, Rosie. I don’t blame you for wanting to spend time with him.”
Rosita smiled and deep dimples appeared in her cheeks.
“I said he’s a good boy, but he’s still a boy. Remember what I said, Rosita, about getting too close too fast.”
“It’s not like I’m exactly a virgin, Pastor P. You of all people know that.”
Keren’s body jerked just a little. Paul looked at her, but he couldn’t read her expression.
Rosita apparently had no trouble. “That’s not what I meant.” She rested a hand on Keren’s arm. “There’s nothin’ like that between the pastor and me. Never has been.”
Paul looked closer. Keren had that detached cop expression on her face.
“I was hooking for crack when I met Pastor P. That’s how he knows. He pulled me off the street. He saved me.”
“I didn’t save you, Rosita. Only God can save you. Now don’t change the subject. You watch Manny,” Paul scolded.
“Manny cares about me.”
“If he doesn’t care enough about you to wait for marriage, then he doesn’t care enough about you.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Rosita said with a pout. Then her grin escaped, and Paul knew she was teasing him. “Manny behaves himself, I see to it.”
“Good girl. If you explain things to him, he’ll insist on bringing you home.” Paul reached into his pocket and pulled a ten-dollar bill out. He pressed it into her hand. “Now, no excuses. This will cover the bus ride for both of you.”
Rosita clutched the ten dollars to her chest. “Thank you, Pastor P.” With a bright smile, she whirled toward the mission.
The two of them watched her run. Keren said dryly, “Can you remember ever being that young?”
“I had a paper route from the time I was nine. I worked nights all through high school. I entered the police academy when I turned eighteen and went to night school to get a degree. I don’t think I was ever young.”
Keren took a deep breath. “We’ve got to get back to your apartment. The FBI is sending someone over to inspect the place better than we can, and if they find bugs, they’ll try to trace them. They’re bringing in a profiler from DC. We’ll break this case. We’ll get this lunatic.”
Paul shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do something stupid like touch Keren again. “In time to save LaToya?”
They headed back to the building. Keren said, “Hey, how come she can call you Pastor P and I can’t call you Rev?”
“It’s all in the inflection.”
Keren smiled and something passed between them. A moment of uncomplicated peace.
His phone rang.