Her Christmas Protector. Geri Krotow

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СКАЧАТЬ the cloth was some kind of sport took the bait. The killer was sloppy—he’d attempted to kill three women, and of the two he did manage to kill, one had only died because she had been on a blood thinner. She’d bled out from what otherwise would have been a survivable wound.

      The officers in front murmured their agreement. Bryce remained silent.

      Did he recognize her voice?

      Impossible. She’d never come back since she’d left for the naval academy, save for short holiday visits to see Mom and Dad. They were adoptive parents in name only—they’d loved her through her hardest years.

      From what her mom had told her, Zora knew Bryce’s parents had moved to a fifty-five-plus community a few years ago. The house with the top window she’d stared at for so many dark summer nights had been sold to a new family at least a decade ago.

      Even if he was available, she’d be the last person he’d ever want to befriend. Not after how she’d betrayed him, betrayed the deep friendship they’d shared.

       You betrayed yourself most of all.

      She tried to force back the unwanted memories of the way she’d closed herself off, even six years after moving to Silver Valley. She’d been placed in the home next to Bryce’s as part of the Witness Security Program when she was twelve years old.

      But she’d never told him about her life before Silver Valley, or where she was from.

       Snap out of it.

      Mission focus was essential. With any luck, there’d be a serial killer with a weapon aimed at her in the next fifteen minutes. SVPD would apprehend the psycho and Silver Valley would be safe again.

      Zora watched the stadium lights grow from a soft glow to the harsh glare of hundreds of incandescent lights. The rumble of the crowd’s cheers penetrated the unmarked car’s tinted windows.

      She pretended to stretch and allowed her fingers to lightly brush her weapon under the roomy Silver Valley High School jacket she wore over her bulletproof vest. She hoped she’d never need to use the pistol; her job was to attract the criminal’s attention, giving the local and federal agents that were part of this operation something to work with. A suspect.

      “Here you go, Chaplain.” Officer Samuel opened her door.

      “Thanks, officers.”

      Before she eased her way out of the car she allowed herself a quick look at Bryce.

      The stadium lights illuminated the car and his eyes glowed with intensity. How had she forgotten how bright his blue-gray eyes were?

       You haven’t forgotten one thing about him.

      “When you get back, let’s see if we can’t figure out how we know each other, Chaplain Hammermill.”

      She laughed. “I don’t think...”

      “Save it for some other chump. Is that a wig you’re wearing, or have you dyed your hair? And those black-rimmed glasses—pure Halloween. Next time, don’t be so obvious.” His voice was low, precluding Officers Samuel and Pasczenko from hearing his words.

      Zora ignored the sick drop of her stomach and got out of the car.

      * * *

      Combined aromas of hot popcorn, funnel cakes and hot chocolate triggered memories Zora would rather forget. The first couple of years after she’d been placed in witness protection and moved to central Pennsylvania, far away from her abusive “family”—aka the cult her mother had joined—had been rough. Growing up on a compound in upstate New York had made her people smart. She knew when a man looked at her if he was genuinely interested in her or only wanted to satisfy his lust. It had taught her to trust no one and make friends only if she needed something from the other person.

      What it hadn’t taught her was that truly good people existed in the world, that not all teenage girls were waiting for their sacrificial bonds of matrimony to honor the Family Father, that not all boys grew up to be misogynistic monsters.

      Misogynist. She’d first learned the word in eleventh grade, in Ms. Perkins’s English literature class.

      The entire True Believers cult she’d been forced into at age seven was disbanded now, two decades later. Because of her testimony. The little girl who’d wanted freedom from the madness more than she’d wanted to live.

      “Reverend Hammermill?” A slim woman in a sport jacket emblazoned with the high school logo smiled at her.

      “Principal Essis. Nice to meet you.” Zora held her hand out to the middle-aged woman, who grasped it firmly.

      “Thanks so much for coming out and saying the invocation for tonight’s game.” The principal’s gaze was frank and assessing.

      “It’s an honor.”

      “You’re probably safer here than anywhere at the moment. I want my students to be kept safe.” The principal’s voice conveyed her frustration. The school district had paid for metal detectors and extra security at the entrance to the stadium. Zora was grateful for the precaution.

      “As do I.” She wanted to add that she’d had Principal Essis as a math teacher in ninth grade, but that would have to wait for another time, when Zora wasn’t undercover.

      The low, steady rhythm of the marching band’s drums vibrated in the air.

      “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you out to the podium.”

      Zora walked behind Principal Essis. They were escorted around the metal detectors to the area below the stands. Zora barely felt the press of her weapon in the small of her back, under the school jacket, but her fingers were ready to reach for it at the first sign of the gig going bad.

      Once out on the field, Zora stood in front of the marching band and faced the home crowd. It had grown from the time she’d been a student, and for a moment she was struck by the enormity of her mission.

       Find the Female Preacher Killer. Draw him out.

      The band played “America the Beautiful.” Zora used the time to take stock of her surroundings.

      “Silver Valley High School, welcome to the opening game of the season! Welcome alumni, community members and students. We have Reverend Hammermill with us to start off our great night with the invocation. Please stand.”

      The band quieted and Zora took the microphone.

      “Let us give thanks...” Zora recited the ecumenical vanilla prayer she’d memorized last night. A part of her, deep inside, balked at portraying a woman of the cloth. She’d lived a life far from the world of church meetings and Bible studies. Yet she meant each word when she’d come up with the prayer.

      Her memorization allowed her to do her job as a Trail Hikers agent. She scanned the crowd for anyone appearing different from the ordinary winter festival-goer or football fan.

      A sea of the Silver Valley Hawks’ royal blue school color faced her, most of the faces pointed in her direction. She wasn’t interested in the crowd, СКАЧАТЬ