Lost. Helen R. Myers

bachelor had befriended Michaele with ease, and although Jared was fairly confident that it was only a platonic relationship, he was jealous nonetheless.

      The last street in the immediate part of downtown was Cedar, and there, at the elegant, contemporary-styled house on the corner, he saw the shadow of Garth Powers moving around in his home office. Jared couldn’t blame the guy for pacing, but hoped he was keeping his mouth shut and hadn’t upset his wife, Jessica.

      Once again he turned onto Dogwood. This was the road Faith would have taken to and from school. Soon after driving by his own home, commercial zoning replaced residential property, followed by mini-farms, tracts of five to twenty acres owned by the more successful retailers in town and some commuting professionals out of Tyler. By the time he reached the City Limits sign, the only lights around were from larger farms and ranches. He kept hoping to come across a disabled Firebird around each bend…but it didn’t happen.

      A mile beyond the sign, surrounded by solid woods, he had no choice but to cut a sharp U-turn and head back. There was still Big Blackberry Drive and the northeast side of town to check out beyond the Powers place, he told himself, although he knew finding anything there was a long shot. With deepening concern, he reached for his cellular and punched in Michaele’s number.

      She answered before the first ring ended. “Yes?”

      “I was hoping you’d be napping some.”

      “How can I sleep?” she replied. “That call keeps playing over and over in my mind. Have you found anything?”

      “I’m afraid not. We’re on our second pass through the area. The sheriff’s office reports things have been quiet for them, too, but in a way that’s good news. They’re able to spare the manpower to pick up wherever we’re leaving off.”

      “He has her.”

      “You don’t know that. All you know is that someone wants you to think that. They may only be out to play with your mind.”

      “They’re doing a good job of it.”

      Jared heard the fatigue and the strain in her voice and wished he could go to her, even though he knew she wouldn’t welcome the comfort he wanted to offer. “I checked on Buck. He’s fine.”

      “I don’t want to think what he’ll be like when he finds out.”

      Jared sympathized. For all the trouble the guy gave Michaele, he’d treated Faith more like an adored puppy.

      Past tense? Listen to yourself, Morgan.

      “Don’t assume the worst,” he forced himself to say. “For all we know, she met up with some friends and decided to spend the night there.”

      “I’ll kill her. I swear, if that’s what happened, I’ll shake her until she’s bald or—”

      “Chief! Come in, please.”

      Curtis’s usually calm drawl was edged with anxiety, which immediately made Jared cut short his conversation with Michaele. “I’ll get back to you,” he told her, and disconnected before she could ask what was going on. Something told him that she didn’t need to hear what his dispatcher had to say.

      He reached for the radio mike. “What’ve you got?”

      “A call’s come in from the Fite farm. Old Pete’s found something out there. Sounds like Faith Ramey’s car.”

      So a jaunt to Tyler wasn’t out of the picture. “Just the car? No sign of her?”

      “Pete didn’t say anything about seeing anyone. All he said was that his dogs went crazy and woke him. When they wouldn’t settle down, he went outside to check around, and as soon as he saw that a strange vehicle was on his property, he ran inside to call it in.”

      “Well, did he recognize it?” If it wasn’t too dark, he should have. Like most everyone else, Pete knew Faith.

      “I don’t get that impression from what he’s said so far, and I sensed he was too scared to get a closer look.”

      “All right, that’s good, too. It’ll keep him from contaminating anything. Have you notified Griggs and Eagan?”

      “Yeah, did that first since they’re closer. Eagan’s just arriving, and Griggs is about two minutes behind him.”

      “I’ll be there in ten.”

      8

      2:40 a.m.

      Reverend George Dollar shut off the lamp and sat in the darkness of his office wanting the absolution, temporary though it was. He had yet to stop shaking, but it was slightly better than when he’d first come in and had almost knocked over the umbrella stand at the back door. Just the thought of the attention that noise could have brought from upstairs triggered a more violent shudder. No, Miriam could not know that he was the biggest sinner in his congregation. Disgusting. Doomed.

      How could he have let it happen? He’d been making such progress. Had he grown complacent? Surely not.

      He was being tested, he decided with a flash of revelation. Satan had sent a demon, not unlike the two that had taunted Jesus upon entering Gadara. His demon had been informed of his progress, and, like a maggot, had infested his mind and contaminated it until he’d succumbed to a fever. He’d never noticed it coming on because it was natural to feel warm at this time of year. Especially this year.

      Tears welled anew behind his closed lids, and this time they weren’t only tears of remorse, but of self-pity. Why had the Lord taken so long to share this insight? For almost two hours he’d been praying and paging through his Bible, while asking for forgiveness. He’d read Psalms 130 and 139; then, when there’d been no sign from above, Psalm 143. He’d even fallen to his knees and raised his palms in supplication, and in the loudest whisper he dared—ever conscious that Miriam had the ears of a safecracker—had invited the Almighty to strike him dead if that was His will. Unfortunately, his knees gave out before getting a response, and now, sitting here in the darkness, it had come.

      A test…no doubt because I’ve proven myself a worthy soldier.

      The thought made him bite at his knuckles the way he had when, as a schoolboy, he’d sit outside the principal’s office awaiting a thrashing for a childish infraction. Oh, but for a return to those innocent days.

      “Give me a sign to know I have Your forgiveness,” he declared in a low vibrato. Impassioned, he raised his right fist to the ceiling and pointed at it with his left hand. “Say the word, and I’ll smite this wicked limb here and now that it might never again act in weakness!”

      With growing zeal, he reached for the carved-bone letter opener a member of his congregation had made for him several Christmases ago. The blade had as sharp an edge as anything in Miriam’s kitchen, and he’d already had a close encounter with it. The last time he’d invited the Lord to smite him, he’d slipped and cut himself so badly, the wound had required seven stitches—not to mention a lot of explaining to his wife.

      Now, as then, the room remained silent.

      The reverend smiled knowingly. “You don’t think I would do it, except by accident. And You’re right, of course. I’m as big a coward as I am a weakling.”

      He replaced the letter opener in its wooden tray and covered his face with his hands. Despite having scrubbed them in the kitchen sink, they still carried the smell of sex and the earth he’d dug in.

      As visions of his earlier behavior flashed again in his mind’s eye, he flung himself to the carpet and began sobbing. “Help me. Stop me. End this, damn it. End it!”

      9

      2:40 a.m.

      The scene before him was at once typical of investigations, and yet eerie; however, Jared wasted no time climbing out of his car.