Her Christmas Protector Page 8

  “I doubt it. I already emailed our Bureau contact after I called in to the precinct. They have the same access we do.”

  “As does the Trail Hikers. Should we call Claudia?”

  Again, he was ahead of her.

  “Already did. I thought you’d have done it since you’ve been at it longer than me.”

  “What, the Trail Hikers? Not by much. This is only my fifth or sixth op with them. The other missions involved more of an observational role.”

  “Which this was supposed to be, more or less.”

  “Except for playing cheese for the rat at the football game.”

  “You handled yourself well. You looked every bit the part. I actually wanted to bow my head during your invocation.”

  She laughed. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind if the counseling doesn’t work out.”

  Her smile brightened her face and brought out the deep amber flecks in her pale green eyes. His fingers itched to run themselves through her hair, all wavy and wild around her face, neck and shoulders.

  He sensed her mirth turning to something deeper. She looked away.

  “You asked me about why I came to Silver Valley. The first time.” She closed her eyes briefly before bringing her gaze back to his.

  “I was abused—you were correct. But it wasn’t a simple child abuse case, not that any are. I was an only child, with a single mother. I don’t know who my father was, or if my biological mother ever had other children after I left—there’s no way to know, not the way we were forced to live.”

  Her eyes went to the window and she looked as if she was watching an old film. A painful recollection of something she’d worked her entire life to forget.

  “You were poor?”

  She spoke as if in a trance. As if she hadn’t heard his question.

  “My earliest memories are of my mother working as a waitress in a restaurant. I hung out in the back of the kitchen, where all the cooks and waitresses took turns holding me and playing with me. I think I was five or six—six, I must have been six, because it was first grade—when the man who’d change everything walked into the restaurant.

  “I’d come home after school to the restaurant, where I could do my homework or just play at an empty table until my mother got off her shift. We’d go home and she’d warm up food from the restaurant. Once in a while we went to the grocery store and got fresh food for dinner, but not often.

  “The day he came to the restaurant I knew something was going to happen. Something big. Mom acted all excited and when she got off her shift she walked us to the drugstore where she got a new lipstick.” Zora paused and smiled as tears filled her eyes. “She’d never spent a dime on herself before. She said things were starting to look up for us. She bought me a coloring book and crayons.”

  “My next memory is of moving out of the apartment, putting everything I owned into a little duffel bag that one of her customers had given me.”

  “Didn’t you have other family or friends in the area?”

  “No. My mother didn’t socialize, and she relied heavily on her faith. But it was her faith—we didn’t go to church, not like I did with Anna and Adam.”

  “It must have been lonely.”

  “I didn’t know any better. I had the restaurant staff—they were wonderful to me. And I loved school, always did.” She looked at him. “You know that much about me, Bryce. I never missed a day of high school except for when I had strep throat our junior year.”

  He remembered. He’d brought a huge pile of books home to her and collected her assignments from all of the teachers. They’d shared most of the same instructors as they were both in the highest academic classes—honors and advanced placement.

  “Go on.”

  “My mother said we were moving to a bigger, nicer place. With a playground and a new school and television. She wasn’t lying—we did move to a huge place. A compound. It was the home of the True Believers.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “You’ve heard of them, then? Did you ever suspect I’d been part of them?”

  “I know of them now, because we studied their takedown ad nauseam in my criminal justice classes. Each course had its own way of looking at it, from profiling religious zealots to group think and mob mentality. Stockholm syndrome plays into it, too, which we studied in criminal psychology.”

  “Yes. Well, I was the one who got out and reported them. I was only eleven, almost twelve. You met me just a few months after I’d testified.”

  He fought like hell to keep his hands on the table, to appear comfortable, to not allow her to see how much this shook him.

  “I knew I’d be getting my first period soon. That’s when you became a ‘waiting maiden’ for the leader.”

  “Leonard Wise.”

  Again, she looked surprised that he knew. She had no idea what surprise was—he was rooted to the spot, realizing that his best childhood friend had been a survivor of that horrible place.

  “I couldn’t take it.”

  “How did you get away? Didn’t you have to go to homeschool there, too?”

  She nodded. “At first, it wasn’t set up for all of that. They allowed us to go to public school, so I kept going to my elementary school through second grade. My teacher, Mrs. Powers, pulled me aside one day and asked me how I was doing. She told me that if I ever needed anything all I had to do was ask her.”

  “Do you think she knew?”

  “She knew something. You probably read that a lot of local townspeople had been sucked into the cult. Wise preyed on single mothers especially, and men who were in bad straits. Most often he’d bail them out of jail, pay for attorney fees, to make them beholden to him. The women, he’d seduce.”

  “But you didn’t get help until years later.”

  “No. I was still so young. At first, it seemed okay. We lived in our own little flat on the second floor of the building where they had worship services. My mother was so nice to me then, and she was always there when I came home from school. But then they started homeschooling, and just like that, I never saw my friends from school again.”

  She stood up, reaching for his plate. He grasped her hands.

  “No, Zora. Sit and talk. I’m listening. I’ll clean this up later.” The forensics team would arrive in the next thirty minutes and he didn’t want her to leave anything out.

  He needed to know it all.

  She sat back down and put her arm on the table, leaning over it.

  “If you studied it, you know the rest. I managed to get away from my mother on one of our rare trips to the store, for fabric. I approached the police guard at the front of the store and told them I had to talk to the police. That my mother was hurting me. I was dressed in that god-awful plain long dress that they required, with my hair long and pinned up. We weren’t allowed to wash it for weeks on end, and my mother dyed my hair black as she said the red brought out the devil’s ways.” He saw a shudder rack her slender frame. Not thinking, he was up and around the table in a second. He pulled her out of her chair and hugged her to him.

  “You don’t have to talk anymore, Zora.”

  She stiffened but quickly softened and leaned into his arms.

  “I’m sorry to be so needy, Bryce. First I get shot and now we have to work together. You don’t have to listen to this. You know enough.”

  “I want to know it all, Zora. If you’ll tell me. But only on your terms.” He kept her snuggled next to him, massaging her stiff muscles under her sweater. They’d been so young when they’d become friends. There was no way he would have understood her ordeal then. He wondered if she’d ever even understood it herself. Probably not. Some things took adult wisdom to appreciate. Especially the more painful events. If he could make time go backward and steal her from the horror she’d lived through, he would.

  Holding her close would have to be enough.

  Chapter 7

  Zora didn’t know the last time a man’s touch had felt so good, so right. If she tried har
d enough she might remember one or two of the men she’d dated over the years with a special fondness, but none had had a clue about her past, her tortured childhood.

  Bryce hadn’t known all of it, either, but he’d known her.

  They’d only been children and he’d accepted her for who she was in the moment, not caring about where she came from. She’d never felt shame with Bryce.

  “You are too nice to me, Bryce. Remember how angry you were with me when I canceled our prom date?”

  “I’ll never forget it. I still went, you know.”

  “With Jennifer Eastman.” Jennifer had been the most popular cheerleader, a bright girl who’d gone on to become a local news station anchor. Zora had envied Jennifer’s easygoing way with boys and especially with Bryce.

  His chuckle vibrated through his chest and she relished the feeling as her cheek pressed against him.

  “I lucked out. No one had asked her because they all assumed she had a date. I didn’t know you cared.”

  “Of course I cared, as much as a seventeen-year-old can. That’s why I let you go, Bryce.”

  He leaned back, still holding her shoulders. It forced her eyes to his.

  “Explain, Zora.”

  She shrugged out of his reach, unable to maintain eye contact.

  “It was a teenage crush, Bryce. I figured out I cared for you more than as a friend, but it was the wrong time—I was hoping to get the appointment to the academy within a few weeks’ time. I had to focus.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you could have talked it out with me?”

  She shook her head. “No, not then. I was very driven, in case you don’t remember.”

  “Was?”

  “Okay, well, maybe I still am. A bit. But I’m not living out of fear any longer. I’m living the life I choose to live.”

  “Like becoming a willing target for a psychopath who doesn’t think women should be ministers?”

  “No different from what you do every day.”

  “True.” He considered her and she found she didn’t want to squirm anymore. Instead, she wanted to keep looking in his eyes, where she swore she saw the promise of something she’d never truly had in her life.

  Freedom from the past.

  “Besides, it’s a nice change from what can sometimes be a slow pace, don’t you think?”

  He shook his head.

  “Since I’ve been with the police department I don’t see Silver Valley as a sleepy town anymore. With two interstate highways cutting through town, plus the Pennsylvania Turnpike, we never know who’s going to take the Silver Valley exit and wreak havoc.”

  “It’s true. Drugs have torn up this place just as much as they have the big cities. Most of my counseling clients are fighting their own addictions or suffering from the effects of others’ addictions. Prescription painkillers and tranquilizers.”

  “It’s not the Silver Valley you and I knew fifteen years ago, that’s for sure. But we’re still damn lucky—save for the occasional case like this one.”

  She nodded.

  “Yes. I thought my time with the Trail Hikers would be minimal. I expected to travel to other cities as needed. It never occurred to me that we’d have a crazy killer in Silver Valley.”

  “You get that he’s aiming at you, don’t you, Zora?”

  “Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

  He stepped closer. One more step and she’d be back in his arms again.

  “We’re going for broke here. And I’m not going to let you get hurt if I can at all help it.”

  “Bryce, you’re not my protector. We’re partners in this.”

  “Partners have each other’s backs.”

  “I have yours, too, if that’s what you’re asking.” Did he think she was only out for herself? Then again, why wouldn’t he? She’d dropped their friendship too readily all those years ago.

  “I’m worried about the tension between us. As much as it will let us play a convincing engaged couple, it could cloud matters when bullets start to fly. And they will, Zora. This killer won’t go down without doing everything he can to take you out and to get his sick message across.”

  “I can handle something as basic as sexual tension, Bryce.”

  He stepped closer. Toe-to-toe, his eyes sparkled with emotion she didn’t want to trust. To believe.

  “Can we?” His gaze moved to her lips, giving her time and room to take a step back, lean away, hell, duck and run if she so chose.

  She met him halfway.

  His lips were firm and warm, as she’d expected. What she didn’t expect was his hesitation, the pause he allowed even as her lips moved over his.

  She pulled back. “Obviously, we can.”

  His expression gave her a split-second warning before his arms were around her and he drew her body close to his, initiating a kiss that let her know he’d exercised the utmost in self-control until now.

  He took charge of the kiss, demanding the most basic and immediate of responses from her. Zora stopped trying to conjure up the images of Bryce as a teen, the boy she’d thought she’d loved.

  The man kissing her bore no resemblance to that carefree friend. This was the kiss a man gave a woman he wanted to take to bed.

  She clutched his shoulders for balance as he grasped her buttocks and pulled her close.

  “I don’t want to hurt you—are your ribs okay?” How did he even find words, much less utter them as he continued to kiss her jawline, her throat, the sensitive skin behind her ear?

  “Yes.”

  He stopped.

  “Yes, you hurt?”

  “No, not at all.”

  He lowered his head for a lingering kiss that she would have gladly enjoyed for the rest of the night.

  Bryce pulled back and swore swiftly and potently.

  Zora laughed. “Wow—I haven’t heard that combination since I was in the navy.”

  “The forensics team is here.”

  Zora released a string of equally salty words as they parted and she smoothed her hair with shaky hands.

  Bryce was right. They needed to get a handle on all of this if they were going to do their job right.

  * * *

  Pastor Colleen should have the flowers by now. It’d be hard for her to figure out the message, but that police officer who’d been going to her house would know what it meant.

  It meant business. So much was wrong with the world. It used to be perfect here in Silver Valley. Back before all the immigrants started coming in, all the different cultures that weren’t happy with good old Pennsylvania Dutch food. No, they wanted to have their fancy rice dishes and exotic vegetables. And that raw fish wrapped in seaweed that they sold in grocery stores.

  Then the changes started coming to the churches. It was very unsettling to see that happen, especially in his own church, although things had been changing for a while now in churches that didn’t follow the Word as well as his did.

  He still wasn’t sure how that shot had missed her. It was possible the police made her wear a bulletproof vest because of the other murders but he doubted she’d have been that smart. No, the shot must have gone wide in the dark of night, and she’d fallen to the ground from surprise and pure female weakness. And now the damned Silver Valley police had a car parked out front of her house, so he hadn’t been able to drive by again to find out more about how badly she’d been hurt.

  He’d come too close to getting caught that night, which would have meant disaster. He had a job to do.

  Work to finish. For Mama.

  Advent marched on, as did his needs.

  He stared at Mama’s framed photo. He kept it on the end table where he had a Smith and Wesson pistol in the drawer. Loaded, of course. Why keep a weapon in your house if you weren’t prepared to use it?

  It wasn’t the weapon he’d used to get rid of the girl preachers, though. For that he used his prized hunting rifle.

  Mama had taught him well. Sometimes it hurt, the lessons. The whippings. She d
idn’t want him turning into a no-good son of a bitch like his daddy had been.

  A bag of furry bones landed in his lap. He slapped the filthy animal off his chair.

  “Git, you damn cat!” The old tomcat, Snowball, regained his balance and looked at him with his clouded eyes. The cat was so old, but Mama had loved Snowball so he had to, too.

  Just like he had to love the church and the real truth Mama taught him.

  He flicked on the television. There was only one station that still had a man for a regular anchor, the only station he could trust.

  “Silver Valley Police Department representative Diana Pinker reports that the SVPD is working around the clock to catch the suspect who has killed two female ministers in Silver Valley in the past two weeks. We went out to ask local churches what they think.”

  The screen flashed to a young male reporter standing in front of Silver Valley Community Church. He sat up and turned up the volume as the reporter shoved his microphone in the faces of startled churchgoers. None of them said much, until the last one. A woman, of course. Women didn’t know how to keep their damned mouths shut.

  “It’s upsetting, with Christmas and all. Our pastor has to go tend to her mother and we’re getting a replacement until she comes back. I’m kind of relieved she’ll be out of town until this blows over. It’s chilling knowing a crazy person with a gun is out there, let me tell you. And I feel for whoever the replacement is.”

  The shot panned to the reporter, who looked into the camera.

  “The replacement pastor is Reverend Colleen Hammermill, we’re told. She will be reporting to Silver Valley Community Church this week.” He signed off with the news station logo. Stupid reporters—hell, he knew who she was, where she lived, before any of them. He’d already welcomed her with a nice bouquet.

  He shut off the TV.

  Reverend Colleen Hammermill wouldn’t change a thing as far as he was concerned. He’d get his job done.

  * * *

  Zora was impressed with the thoroughness of the forensics team. Seven police officers in total from SVPD, in three shifts, combed her house from where the flowers came in the door to the mudroom. All told it took less than two hours, since they were able to take the flowers and handwritten note with them to determine where various samples needed to go.