A blond jumped in front of me. “Is Pastor Miller the Angel Maker, or is it his grandson?”
A red head got to my right. “Is it true that the Angel Maker has a federal agent?”
I moved past them.
A tall man stood in front. “What is the latest you can tell us about the Angel Maker?”
Sheriff Michaelson roared, “Get out of the way! No comment, goddamn it!”
A woman with glasses hurried after us. “Should we all be worried?”
Sheriff Michaelson growled, “You should be worried that I’m going to arrest all of you. Go on now!”
The reporters stepped back. I shoved through them. The sheriff kept my pace. There had to be about thirty more reporters there, all hungry for the facts and breaking news.
I jumped in the SUV and gunned the engine. I slammed my foot on the accelerator. The SUV shot out of the lot. Jerking the vehicle to the right, I almost crashed into a news van.
Speeding forward, I glanced behind me. Sirens blared. Blue and red lights flashed in the moonlit darkness. Fire trucks and an ambulance followed too.
We raced through the streets.
Haven’s face flickered in my head. I thought about the last moment I held her. The soft feel of her body as she fell asleep in my arms.
She’ll be safe. Don’t worry.
My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. My jaw locked as my whole body stacked with cold tension. I increased the speed, zooming by several of the cops until I was close to the front.
All my control had shattered.
Come on. Get us there soon.
I would be nothing without Haven. I realized that the moment I discovered she was gone. Even worse, if Haven died today, I wouldn’t survive it. The grief would rip me apart.
No. Don’t think about it. You’ll get her. You’ll save her. It will all work out.
My face felt cold. Icy pinpricks shot through my flesh.
The GPS tracker indicated I had five more minutes before reaching the church. Not much time. We were close, but not near enough. Every muscle in my body tightened.
I can’t be too late. No.
I rounded a dark dirt road and increased my speed some more. There were no streetlights, but the full moon glowed and illuminated my way.
Come on. Goddamn it! Let’s go!
My heart eased when I spotted the church up ahead.
Pastor Miller’s Cadillac was parked in front.
Yes. Please be alive! Please. She has to be.
I sped up to the front of the church and stomped my foot on the brake. Clouds of dirt rose around the SUV. Quick, I reached into the backseat, snagged my bulletproof vest, and took my gun.
She’ll be fine.
I was out of the SUV next, walking and putting on the vest at the same time.
Cops arrived seconds later, rushing out of their cars with me.
Where is she? Where the hell is she?
Sand flew from beneath my feet as I charged forward.
Please, be alive.
I gripped my gun, ready to shoot Pastor Miller’s head off. There would be no following any sort of procedure this evening. If I didn’t see Haven, I would torture him until he took me to her.
And if he did anything. . .
Don’t. There’s no need to think about it. She’ll be fine.
We ran, heading for the church. It was isolated. No one had built anything in the area in many years.
Gun leading the way, I shifted my fast walk into a jog. My heart thudded in my ribs.
Come on. Get there!
I raced up the steps. Somehow Sheriff Michaelson got to my side. For an old guy, he had nothing but energy.
Just as I was about to kick down the door, the sheriff jumped in front of me. “Hold on. The door is unlocked. We should go in quietly and not startle him. We don’t know what he could be doing.”
My chest rose and fell. “Fine but send your men around the back. I don’t want him to escape.”
“I already set the orders.”
I took a quick breath and quietly opened the door, barely an inch.
The Pastor’s voice came out into the night air. “The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom I shall fear.”
I widened my eyes and opened some more.
“No!” Haven screamed. “Wait!”
She’s alive. Thank God, but what is he doing to her?
I tried to run in.
Sheriff put up his hands. “Give my men time to block the back.”
I spoke through clenched my teeth, “She’s alive. They better hurry. I go in ten seconds.”
I gestured for more cops to come up the stairs. We had to act fast and precise, or this could mean Haven’s life.
A scratching noise sounded.
“Pastor Miller!” Haven yelled. “Please, don’t! Please!”
“The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
I slammed through the door, ran in, and aimed at Pastor Miller’s head. “FBI! Stop!”
Only the moonlight filled the small dusty space. Standing on a pulpit, Pastor Miller raised his hands. “No need to shoot, Agent King. Everything is okay. I was just helping Haven.”
I hurried forward, frantically scanning the area and not seeing her. “Where is she?”
“She’s gone to God now.”
“Where is she?!” I ran toward him.
“She’s gone, Agent Kin—”
I shot him in his chest and got to the pulpit. That was when I noticed the pool of water within the stage. I stared down. The dark water rippled.
“No!” I dove in. It was around five feet deep. Splashing in it, I reached for anything. My hands met with something—a body, a chair, wood. It didn’t matter. I was going to lift everything out of that murky water until I saw her.
I lifted the heavy object up. “Haven!”
Goddamn it.
Thankfully, she’s been in the object that I’d felt. Her body shook. Her eyes were wide open, but I could tell that she had possibly gone unconscious. Wet hair clung to her cheeks. She wasn’t breathing. Her body was heavy and cold.
“Hold on, Haven! I’m right here.” I dragged her out, heaving the chair up. Water streamed down her spasming body. “I need a knife to cut the ropes!”
Sherriff Michaelson yelled, “We found her. Get your asses in here. We need help!”
“Haven, I’m here!” I bent over her, checking for a pulse. I found a weak beat. It was there—blood pumping in a vein, right under my finger.
Water trickled from Haven’s mouth and nose.
“You’re not dying,” I turned her head to the side. “I’m right here.”
Sheriff Michaelson yelled, “Get the EMTs in here now!”
“Come on, Haven.” I forced her mouth open wider. More water poured from her lips. I began the Heimlich maneuver, applying a sudden upward thrust with my clenched fist to Haven’s abdomen just beneath the rib cage. Pumping and counting. Pumping and counting.
“Come on, baby. Please, don’t leave me.” My hands shook as I pumped.
More water spilled out of her mouth. Water spat up from Haven’s mouth. She coughed
Thank you, God.
“Excuse me, sir.” An EMT moved me out of the way.
Another EMT had scissors. He cut the rope and freed her from the chair. The third one shifted to mouth-to-mouth.
Haven coughed out more water. Then, she rolled over, coughing, shaking, and trying to suck in desperate gulps of air.