“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.
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.”
“Hmmm.” Mrs. Mabel’s mood changed. She eased on over to the other side of the desk, grabbed her glasses, and put them on her face. “And are you on it too, Haven?”