“A loose end to be dealt with. Eventually.”

“You helped Taft kill your own sister.”

“No, he helped me kill her,” she replied, expression serene. “He was my most devoted disciple.”

Liz swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. How could something so beautiful on the outside be so ugly inside? She shook her head in growing horror. “What kind of monster are you?”

“I’m the monster, Liz. I would have thought you’d have figured that out by now.” She glanced behind her. “Ah, here comes my darling Valentine. Different than Gavin but just as devoted.”

In the time since she last saw him, his mood seemed to have changed from furious to subdued. Liz wondered what had occurred between the two to cause the shift.

Again, as if she could read Liz’s mind, Heather murmured, “He follows me. All that he now has, I’ve given him. I can just as easily take it all away. Isn’t that right, my pet?”

“Fuck you, whore.”

Instead of being angry, it was as if his obscenity excited her. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, openmouthed, her tongue spearing in and out, quick and snakelike. She brought her hand to his crotch and squeezed. He responded by grabbing her hair in his fist and yanking her head violently backward.

She laughed and released him. “Let’s get this thing done.”

“Rick knows about you,” Liz said quickly, bringing Rachel closer to her side. “After I talked to your mother, I called him. By now he’s contacted the sheriff, the State Bureau of Investigation, the FBI. You won’t get away with-”

“She’s lying,” Val murmured. “Rick’s under police guard down at the department. Held under suspicion of murder. Most recently, that of Detective Carla Chapman.”

Rick? Under arrest?

Carla Chapman, dead?

“That’s right,” Heather said, responding to her unspoken questions. “Valentine has been amassing quite a lot of evidence against Rick Wells. Before this night is through, the man responsible for the Key West murders will be dead. Unfortunately, not before two more innocent women are slaughtered.”

“How?” Liz asked, fear gripping her like an icy hand. “How are you going to do it?”

Heather ignored her and glanced at Val. “What about Collins?”

“Dead by now. No doubt bled to death.”

Liz caught her breath. Pastor Tim hadn’t been dead when she’d left him.

“You’ll summon Wells?”

“As soon as we’re ready for him.”

“Are you certain he’ll come?”

“Absolutely.” The man smiled coldly at Liz. “We have his little girlfriend.” Val drew out his gun. “Time to go, ladies.”

Rachel moaned and shuddered. Liz fought her rising panic. She had to get her sister medical attention. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Paradise Christian.”

The church? But wh-

Then she knew. It made a twisted kind of sense. Paradise Christian Church stood on holy ground. The site of a true miracle. She closed her eyes, recalling Father Paul’s words:

“For in the desecration of the holy, evil extends its putrid grasp.”

CHAPTER 59

Wednesday, November 21

9:50 p.m.

Mark battled his way up Duval Street. A downed tree three blocks back had forced him to abandon his car and make his way to Liz’s on foot.

The rain blinded him. The wind made forward progress nearly impossible. He prayed. For the Lord’s help. His guidance and strength.

His friends were in great danger. He had to warn them.

Rachel was alive.

He had left Liz’s that day after Lieutenant Lopez’s visit and gone to the hospital. He had seen what the police had been up to. They needed a murderer. Who better than a monster? Who better to single out as a mad killer than a modern-day Quasimodo? The public would buy it without a murmur. They would whisper, “Yes, it makes sense. Just look at him.”

Stephen was a good, gentle creature. One incapable of cruelty. Mark had not been about to sit back and allow his friend to be framed.

He had posed as an orderly to get past the police guard. Pastor Tim had been there, praying over Stephen. He had been white as a sheet. The pastor had recognized Mark immediately and caught his hand. “We have to get him away from here,” he had whispered. “They mean him harm.”

And Mark’s suspicions of the man had melted away.

The pastor had told him what he had learned in the past hours: that Rachel was alive. The night she had disappeared, Stephen had seen a woman on the church grounds-the woman from the boutique across the street. He had seen Pastor Howard crash into a tree and had seen the woman and others pull her from her car after it crashed.

He had been frightened. Pastor Rachel had warned him of the evil ones. She had warned him to stay away from them. She had given him the package for her sister, but he had forgotten how she’d said to get it to her.

From photos, Stephen had recognized Liz, but when he had approached her at the church, he had been chased away by the evil woman. So he had left the envelope for Pastor Tim to find. Stephen had figured that he would know what to do with it.

Together, Mark and the pastor had prayed. And planned. Pastor Tim had friends in Miami. One, a doctor and fellow pastor, would care for Stephen. Mark would stay with Stephen while Tim did a little snooping.

Then, when the guard had gone for coffee, they had unplugged Stephen and stolen him away.

A gust of wind knocked Mark back. He dug in and clawed his way forward.

But he hadn’t stayed in Miami. When he’d seen that Stephen was safe, he had returned to Key West. He’d felt strongly that the Lord wanted him here, right this moment, in the midst of the storm. From the beginning, he’d believed the Lord had called him to Key West. He’d thought Tara had been the reason, but he had been wrong.

This was it. He was here to do battle for God. Against evil. Against those who would seduce and contaminate girls like Tara, those who would murder and expect to get away with it by framing the innocent. He didn’t think of himself as heroic, just obedient. He hadn’t a clue how he would help, what might be expected of him. But he wasn’t afraid. It came down to a matter of what was worth living for-and what was worth dying for.

Mark reached Liz’s storefront first. He peered in the darkened window-nothing looked out of order. Just to be certain, he tried the door. And found it locked.

Mark tipped his head back. The blinds on Liz’s apartment windows were drawn, closed tight. He made his way to her door. He tried the knob and twisted. The door blew open, slamming against the side wall.

Trembling, he ducked inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

He called for her, once. Then again.

She didn’t respond and he jogged up the stairs. Nothing appeared out of order in her living room. A quick search revealed the same in the rest of the rooms.

She wasn’t here. And judging by the presence of her toothbrush and other toiletries in the bathroom, she hadn’t left the island.

Please, Lord, let me not be too late.

Mark made his way back out into the storm. The rain had temporarily slowed to a drizzle. Taking advantage of that, he sprinted toward the Hideaway. Rick had boarded over the windows; both the front and service doors were locked.

Mark pounded and called for the man. After several moments had passed, growing desperate, he turned-and saw Liz’s car. A white Ford Taurus with a Missouri tag. It sat slightly left of the center of Duval Street, driver-side door open. Mark’s knees went weak with dread.

He closed his eyes and forced a deep breath into his lungs. When he expelled the breath, he expelled the fear with it. Darting into the street, he closed the distance to the car. The keys were in the ignition, her cell phone on the center console.

This was bad, very bad. Mark straightened and scanned the area. Boarded-up stores, all dark. A few automobiles, all empty. Paradise Christian, also dark.