“Waitress? Work in a hotel or clothing boutique? I don’t think so.” Her expression became wistful. “I’m a steel mill-town girl, Rick. I don’t belong in paradise.”

“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”

She met his eyes, hers bright with longing. “There’s one thing, Rick. Say that and I’ll stay.”

Tell her there was a chance for them. That he might love her.

“I can’t tell you that, Carla. I’m sorry, I wish I could.”

He meant it. And he regretted having hurt her.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? With Liz Ames?”

He thought of Liz and his chest tightened. His instincts had been right. About everything but Val.

“I don’t know. I was beginning to think there might be something-”

Dear God, he had sent her out there alone. Unprotected.

As if reading his thoughts, Carla touched his arm. “She’ll be okay.”

“If he hurts a hair on her head,” he said fiercely, “I’ll kill him, I swear I will.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked, dragging his thoughts back to the issue at hand.

Rick pursed his lips. “We need more information. We need something substantive we can take to the chief.”

“I’ll get it. As a member of his team, I have access to things you don’t. His files, desk, computer.”

“That’ll put you in harm’s way. I can’t allow that.”

“It’s not up to you though, is it?”

It wasn’t, he knew. He swore. “Carla-”

“I told you, I’m seeing this through. Consider it my swan song.” She smiled, the curving of her lips determined. “Someday I’ll be telling my kids about the big case I helped crack.”

He hesitated, then acquiesced-not because he approved of her solution but because he didn’t see another. “Let’s look at what we have. Two women dead, another missing. Rumors of a strange cult involved with drugs and teenage sex.”

“Let’s not forget one prominent banker’s suicide. A banker who was up to his ass in bogus bank loans.”

“As was one of the victims.”

Rick met Carla’s eyes. “Means and opportunity aren’t a problem. We need a motive. Why does one of Key West’s most respected citizens, a man next in line for the chief of police’s job, become a killer?”

“Is he a killer? Or is he just in bed with one?”

“Motive?”

She ticked them off on her fingers. “Love. Hate. Greed. The holy trinity of murder. Take your pick.”

“Dammit!” Rick jumped to his feet, angry, itching for a fight. “I can’t believe Val would do this! This is so fucked up.”

“True, but that doesn’t change the facts, now, does it?”

“Go to hell, Carla,” he said, turning his fury on her. “Just go straight to hell.”

She crossed to him and laid a hand gently on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know he’s like a brother to you.”

His fury evaporated, replaced by resignation-and determination. “How much we get done and how fast depends on what this storm decides to do. We need to move fast, if Becky hasn’t told Val about your finding the message from Pastor Howard yet, she will soon. You need to-”

Carla’s beeper sounded. She checked the display. “It’s headquarters.”

He nodded, understanding. She crossed to the wall phone and called in.

“Chapman here.” She looked at Rick, eyes widening. “Another woman?”

“Where?”

Rick crossed to stand beside her.

“Big Pine Key,” she repeated. “Do they have ID?” She nodded. “Keep me informed.”

Carla hung up. “There’s another victim. No ID yet, but she’s a pretty blonde.”

“Do you need to report in?”

She shook her head. “Sheriff’s department is at the scene.”

Rick shook his head, thoughts on his earlier conversation with Liz. “Do you know a woman named Heather Ferguson?”

Carla was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Gorgeous blonde, right? She’s been in to see Val. Recently, as a matter of fact.”

Rick curled his hands into fists. More proof. Son-of-a-bitch.

“She owns a shop on Duval,” he said, jaw tight. “I’d met her at one of the Old Town merchants’ meetings. Turns out she was a friend of Rachel Howard’s. Liz went to see her earlier today and learned from the guy next door that she’d been missing a couple days. Apparently he went to Val, who did nothing.”

“Same as he did when Rachel Howard and Naomi Pearson turned up missing.” Carla clasped her hands together. “The body count’s climbing too fast. Val, or whoever he’s covering for, is out of control. It’s like they’re on a rampage.”

The way Taft had been, Rick realized, there at the end, right before law enforcement had zeroed in on him. That was often the case with serial murderers. Their killing career began slowly, first through fantasizing about the crime, sometimes for years. Then came acting on the fantasy, the first kill. The thrill derived from it could last months or even years. Then they killed again. With each subsequent murder the thrill carried them a shorter period of time.

Rick met Carla’s gaze grimly. “This killer’s become like a drug addict who needs a bigger fix, more often, until the time he’s not high or getting high ceases to exist.”

“So you’re saying that our guy’s reached the stage where he’s either hunting or devouring his next victim?”

“Not a pleasant description,” he muttered, flipping open his cell phone. “But accurate.” Rick punched in Liz’s number, anxious to warn her. He got a busy signal, swore and closed the phone. “Hurricane or not, friend or not, we’ve got to nail him. And we’ve got to do it fast.”

CHAPTER 51

Wednesday, November 21

2:00 p.m.

Liz sat at her kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee in front of her. From the living room came the sound of the latest storm update. At this point it looked as if it would not reach hurricane force. However, forecasters warned the key to brace for intense wind and rain with the possibility of severe thunderstorms or tornadoes. A not uncommon occurrence with this type of storm.

The outer band of Rebekah-the storm’s name-had reached Key West, bringing with it the first of the rain. As the storm continued to churn its way toward Key West, the rain would become heavier, the wind more severe.

And here she sat. Brokenhearted. Crying over a man who didn’t believe in her. A man who had called her crazy.

She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. With everything going on, she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of examining her feelings for him. He had been there when she needed someone. Big, strong and rock solid. He had provided emotional support-and physical solace.

She realized now her feelings hadn’t needed examining. They had been growing all on their own, on a level deeper than the frantic moment.

How could she feel more for him than a kind of grateful attachment? They hadn’t even known each other two weeks. It was nuts-as crazy as he had accused her of being.

Not crazy, she thought. She saw the kind of man he was. Ethical and loyal. He possessed a keen intelligence. He felt deeply and would fight to the death for what he believed in.

He didn’t believe in her.

Period. End of story. Time to move on, Liz. Time to do something.

She jumped to her feet and crossed to the window. She stared out at the dark sky and madly swaying branches. Liz swallowed hard. She couldn’t shake the feeling that all this had been predestined, as Father Paul had suggested. That somehow this storm was part of something greater than that of man against nature-the ultimate battle, that of good against evil. And as with the hurricane of 1846, the sinners would be swept out to sea, the believers saved.

Stop it, Liz! She wheeled away from the window. No wonder Rick had called her crazy. No wonder he wanted her out of his life.

But she wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t obsessed with the Horned Flower or with proving what happened to her sister. She was caught up in it. She had rattled some cages, and now she was in trouble.