Preview: Redemption Lost

Prologue

Wednesday, December 5, 1996, 3:34 pm

Butte, Montana

Cold wind slapped Wendy Stoffel’s cheeks as she opened the door of the truck, raising a rosy tint on her skin in mere seconds. The icy gusts had been constant throughout the week, and as she stepped down out of the truck, Wendy was longing for the milder winters of Texas.

She frowned at her brother Jamie while he floated out of the cab. Being an astrally projected soul, he lacked a body to feel cold, and he was capable of changing his appearance instantly. After hearing his sister complain about the frigid Montana weather, Jamie began to “dress” himself in a black T-shirt and grey shorts that hung just above his knees. The outfit made Wendy think of warmer weather, which in turn increased her feelings of annoyance at her brother.

Wendy shut the passenger door behind him and zipped her jacket to protect her neck from the wind howling across the library parking lot. Her curly black hair whipped across her face, and she made a vain effort to tuck the stray locks behind her ears again. “We haven’t got many articles left to search through,” she said as she walked around the front of the truck. “I think we might finish tomorrow if we keep up this pace.”

Jobe McKenzie slung his bag over his shoulder before he locked the truck. “I know, but if that was a hint, I’ve got nothing for you. Maybe the murders of the control subject were taken as individual cases. If there isn’t a story to link the deaths together, we don’t have a way to sort out the control case from all the other murders.”

Annoyed, Jobe scrunched his red cheeks as he crossed the parking lot. “It doesn’t help that there’s been an increase in serial killings all over the country in the last few months. Every Internet search keeps pulling up recent stories instead of anything useful for us.”

Jamie moved to hover in front of Jobe and Wendy, flying backward while he made a fake expression of anger. “Why couldn’t the Army pick a small town like Devine for every experiment? At least then, any murder would be suspicious, and a bunch of brutal murders in the same week would be an obvious clue.”

Wendy groaned, feeling more and more irritated by her brother’s penchant for stating the idiotic. “Yes, I’d imagine that’s why they didn’t choose a small...wait, why would they put my dad in a small town? Wouldn’t a large town have made more sense if the Army wanted to hide their experiment?”

“Your dad still had his memories left.” Jobe reached out to open the door and hold it for Wendy and Jamie. “I think he was sent back to Devine because he was familiar with the area. Neal was probably returned here for the same reason.”

“Okay, I can see that.” Wandering to the back wall of the main library building, Wendy unzipped her jacket while she talked. “We aren’t having any luck finding a pattern in homicides, so what do we look for next?”

“Maybe we can go over missing persons reports, but without knowing who to look for, I think it will be a dead end too.” Jobe shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over a chair. “Anyway, what were you reviewing?”

“Huh? Oh, I was on the March spool of the Standard, I think,” Wendy said and draped her jacket on the back of the chair in front of a microfiche reader.

Jobe hooked a thumb over his shoulder as he backed away. “I’ll go pull the films.”

Dropping into her seat while she watched him leave, Wendy smiled at a stray memory. One of the librarians had complained about Wendy being back in the microfiche section, where “children aren’t allowed to wander.” Wendy pitched a fit, which led to Jobe doing a poor job of scolding her in front of the librarian. He was unconvincing, because Wendy wouldn’t stop laughing at Jamie, who had stood behind Jobe and made funny faces.

Though Jobe and Jamie had begun to call their trio a family while living with Daryl, Wendy still hadn’t committed to the idea of adopting Jobe. She could admit that day-to-day life in Daryl’s home almost felt normal, but Jobe wasn’t her father. He was just her guardian. Daryl wasn’t her grandfather, either. He was just an old guy who was determined to get Jobe and Wendy fat for their winter trip.

For Wendy, the efforts were wasted. She’d eaten twice her normal amounts while living with Daryl for just over three months, but her cheeks still had the same lean look.

On the other hand, Jobe benefited greatly from the months of heavier eating. His cheeks and eyes no longer appeared to be sunken, and the side jobs he’d taken around town had filled out his frame as well. He could still not be described as muscular by any stretch of the meaning, but he no longer looked ill. In fact, if Wendy could keep the thought to herself, she could admit he’d become quite handsome.

The thought drew a snigger from her brother, and she glared at him. “Jamie, not one word—”

“Ah, relax, Sis. I’m not about to tell him your private thoughts. But once you have that thought in range of his reflection, he’s going to be teasing you too.” Jamie floated closer to sit down on the table. “And would that be so bad? Teasing is a sure sign that he’s family, right?”

Wendy sighed, but it was more in amusement than irritation. “What is it with you two and talking about us being a family? Jobe takes care of us, and that’s good enough for me. I shouldn’t have to get in the habit of calling him Daddy Waybucks.”

“Warbucks,” Jobe corrected her as he stepped back inside her range. “Just so you know, I won’t tease you. I’ll just be sure to come out of the bathroom dressed in more clothing if I think you’re checking out my chest.”

***

Wednesday, 4:45 pm

Tucson, Arizona

Eric Richter glanced around the hotel lobby while he took a seat at the bar. He ordered water only, knowing he wouldn’t be waiting long. Sipping from the glass, he checked the mirror to watch people wander through the lobby.

He caught sight of himself in the reflection and winced. Two and a half months had passed since he’d undergone facial reconstructive surgery, but his skin was still tinted yellow from bruising. It would be weeks before the color drained from his cheeks and jaw, and the swelling would still be evident for many more months.

He dropped his gaze to the bar. Though he had no complaints about avoiding arrest, he didn’t care for his new face at all. It was too round for his liking, and the residual swelling that puffed his cheeks was only partly to blame. Parts of his chin and jaw were removed to make his face less angular. The final procedure had involved shaving away parts of his brow to match his new face, and the doctors told Eric his scalp would be numb until the nerve endings reconnected. The effect was bewildering; it felt like he was wearing a helmet on his head.

“Aaron West?”

Pulled from his thoughts when he heard his new name being called, Eric turned around and smiled at General Curtis Drake.

Eric thought to himself how Drake might benefit from a trip to a plastic surgeon, because time had ravaged the general’s face and made him seem much older. If Eric hadn’t known Drake’s age, he would have assumed that the man was nearing his seventies. The guess would have been based on Drake’s jowls wobbling on his jaw, the swaying wattle under his chin, and the deep wrinkles around his brown eyes.

Drake’s charcoal-grey suit hung off of his bony shoulders, and the fabric billowed when he moved. For a man of seventy, he would have looked okay. But as a fifty-seven-year-old, he looked like shit.

Keeping the thought to himself, Eric slid off of the barstool and reminded himself to offer a handshake instead of saluting. “Curtis.”

Drake waved toward the elevators. “We have a presentation set up for you in one of the suites. If you’ll come with me, please?”

Eric followed Drake across the lobby, remaining silent until they were alone inside the elevator. “I can appreciate our need to be careful, but that seemed over the top.”

“Do you really think it’s a time to be cautious?” Drake asked.

Eric’s smile faltered. “You don’t?”

“No. We’re on the cusp of victory, and most of our enemies are scattered.”

Eric stared at Drake, waiting for a punch line that never came. “After the disasters of the last two experiments, how can you feel so assured?”

“We were prepared for exposure of the virus from the first phase,” Drake said. “In any case, the success or failure of your assignments has nothing to do with our main goals, most of which have already been accomplished.”

“Okay, but what about Wendy?” Eric asked.

The elevator doors opened, and Eric fell into step beside Drake, frowning at his superior’s silence. In spite of the confidence Drake displayed, Eric was unable to hide his frustration when his thoughts returned to Wendy Stoffel. Time could not dull the ache of wounded pride over having his men bested by a girl, and he wasn’t sure his superiors took her quite as seriously as he did.

“Wendy has a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time,” he said.

“We’ll deal with her soon enough,” Drake said.

“How?”

“Have patience, Aaron. All will be revealed in your presentation.”

Though he didn’t feel better for the assurance, Eric held his tongue.

Drake opened a door on the left side of the hall and headed into the suite. Eric walked through the door, then hesitated when he felt a nervous energy filling his body. It started first with a quickening of his pulse, and spread to his lungs, squeezing them in a wide band that made breathing difficult. The sensation was alien to him. It was not fear he felt, but his senses were sharpened as if he were afraid.

Eric glanced at Drake, wondering if he felt anything similar. His superior smiled and turned to walk through the short corridor into the suite.

To Eric’s left, the open door to the bathroom offered a dim view of a white marble counter and a mirror. He glanced at his reflection, and the anxiety in his dark brown eyes was easy to spot. Yet Drake seemed oblivious to his sudden agitated state.

The nervous tension grew stronger when Eric moved out of the corridor and into the room. Though he recognized Damien, the man sitting in the chair beside him at the table was unfamiliar.

Eric stopped halfway across the room, gripped by a sudden certainty that his feelings of anxiety were being caused by the stranger. There was no reason to think it, but logical arguments against the idea still would not make his legs work.

The man’s appearance was as unsettling as the presence he exuded. His angular face was disfigured by three jagged, connecting scars. On the left side of his face, a vertical line ran from his hairline and under an eye-patch before continuing down to his jaw. Another line descended from the right side of his forehead over the bridge of his nose to connect with the vertical line. The third scar, a curved diagonal line that ended near his jaw, connected with the scar on the side of his nose. Taken in total, it looked like an uppercase K carved into his face.

The man regarded Eric impassively with one crystal-blue eye. His pale face was slack and gave no indication of his emotions.

Damien stood up and moved to offer Eric his hand. “Welcome, Aaron. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He laughed and pointed to a chair across the table. “Please, take a seat. Are you adjusting to your new name yet?”

Eric shrugged, his gaze still stuck on the scarred stranger. “I’m getting used to it. Having it sound similar helps.”

“That was the general idea behind the selection,” Damien said. “I should make introductions first. The man you’re staring at is Stephen Collins. You’ll be working with him on your next assignment. Stephen, this is Aaron West. He’s one of my most loyal and trusted men.”

Upon hearing Damien’s glowing compliment, Eric told himself to relax. “Hi.”

But shaking hands with Stephen resulted in an odd tingling sensation in Eric’s chest, and he felt an urge to flee the room.

“Hello. Good to be working with you.” Stephen had a clipped British accent, and he spoke in a soft, monotone voice that offered no insight into his emotional state.

Eric stepped back, relieved by the dissipation of the tingling in his chest. The nervous feeling still would not subside. “Are you an elite?”

“No, Stephen is a halfling.” Damien waved a hand at Eric’s expression of disbelief. “Please, hold your snide comments. I’m sure you’re skeptical, which is why Stephen will be handling most of your presentation.”

“I realize this may come as something of a shock to you, but the term you use to describe yourself is inaccurate,” Stephen said. “You are a mage, a person blessed by magic. This is why you feel anxious around me.”

“Would that be strong enough to make my chest tingle?” Eric saw Stephen’s eye widen in a look of surprise. “Is that unusual?”

“It may be an indicator of your power. You have a high level of sensitivity to people like me. Do you feel something similar around Damien?” Stephen asked

“No, not in the same way. I’m...” Eric glanced at Damien with an uncertain expression while he tried to find a way to describe his feelings. “I’m aware of his presence before I see him, but I’ve never felt anxious like this.”

“Your senses are telling you to be wary of me,” Stephen said. “As a mage, you have a form of defense from people like me. You can prevent me from being able to probe your mind or establish a mental link with you.”

Eric smirked while he settled himself into a seat beside Damien at the table. “That’s convenient. You can’t offer me proof of your powers.”

“I can, but I need you to focus your thoughts on trusting me,” Stephen said. “You’ll know it’s having an effect when the tension you’re feeling starts to subside.”

Eric leaned forward in his chair and rested his palms on the table. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly while he tried to follow Stephen’s instructions.

The tension in his limbs melted away, and seconds after he’d become aware of its absence, his chest locked. His heart skipped a beat, and a burst of pain in his chest forced a gasp from him before his lungs seized. The tight grip on his chest relaxed just as suddenly as it set in, but he was left no chance to recover before his mind was flooded with thoughts from Stephen.

***

Wednesday, 7:46 pm

Butte, Montana

Wendy closed the door of the motel room and followed Jobe around the side of the building to a patch of frost-covered grass. The wind picked up when they stepped away from the building, and she raised her hands to rub her arms. She was wearing only a single grey sweatshirt, and the wind cut through the fabric to freeze her arms. “Hey, how about we just go with two hours of exercise and skip the half hour out here?”

“You’ll warm up as soon as we’ve started.” Jobe handed her a marker and uncapped a second marker for himself. “Being able to do two hundred pushups won’t mean anything if you don’t know how to fight.”

Wendy nodded and huffed warm air over her hands before she uncapped her marker. “When will I graduate to live steel?”

“When I feel assured that you won’t stab me during a practice fight,” Jobe replied while he got into stance. “Are you ready?”

Instead of answering, Wendy leapt at him. To put them both on equal footing in being unable to predict each other’s attacks, Jobe took off his glasses before training; she hoped to catch him off balance. Instead, he sidestepped her first attack and chuckled.

Jobe still had the advantage of skill, though he tended not to make an attack unless Wendy left herself open. He stepped away from her next lunge and then batted aside a sloppy, slashing attack.

“Don’t swing your arm out. You’re still exposing your side.” To emphasize his point, he slapped down the next attempt and tapped the marker to the side of her chest. “Drained lung. Try again.”

Wendy reset her stance and leapt, feinting a jab at Jobe with her fist. He gripped her wrist, and she dropped the marker toward his leg.

“Ha!” She started to make a joke, but Jobe spun her and closed an arm around her neck.

He tapped the marker against her throat. “If this were a real knife, I—”

“Before you finish bragging, you might want to look down.” Wendy laughed. “I drew a line on your inner thigh first, so you were already bleeding out. I won.”

Jobe let go of Wendy and stepped back from her before he glanced down at the red mark on the inside seam of his jeans. “Very good. Now try it again.”

Wendy shook her head and settled back into a stance. “No, I’ll try something else. I know you’ll block me if I try the same attack a second time.”

“Then you are finally learning.” Jobe spun to avoid a slashing attack that seemed a little too genuine for his liking.

***

Wednesday, 7:51 pm

Tucson, Arizona

Eric stared at his hand and clenched it into a fist. His arm continued to tremble, and he was longing for a drink to settle his nerves. A shadow fell over his lap, and he glanced at a glass filled with amber liquid that was being offered to him.

His gaze drifted up to Stephen before he gave a grateful nod and took the glass. The first mouthful of scotch stung all the way down to his stomach, and he grimaced before taking another drink.

Stephen’s thoughts covered more than just his history, and the telepathic presentation contained memories borrowed from Damien and Drake as well. The three perspectives each told a different story, but events in all of the stories converged into a single timeline. Years of history became vivid memories in his mind over the course of a few minutes, and they felt familiar already, like he had lived through each lifetime himself.

The events Eric had seen left him feeling stunned long after the flood of memories ceased. He could almost understand why Drake seemed so confident.

The elites were formed to deal with the threat posed by an influential family, one that Eric had always thought of as mutants. In truth, the McCulloughs were halflings like Stephen, and the main family compound had been destroyed in an assault close to seven months before. The remaining family members were scattered, and neither Drake nor Damien considered them a threat.

Eric knew more than he wanted to about the halfling families, but as reprehensible as the halflings were, Eric could also see how vile his superiors had become in their quest for vengeance. Blinded by their hatred of the McCulloughs, Damien and Drake had lost more and more of their humanity until any foul deed was justifiable. They were willing to kill innocent people, commit blackmail, and even consort with a daemon.

The additional information about their pasts forced him to reassess his own recent decisions, and Eric didn’t like thinking about what kind of person he’d become. His superiors were motivated by a need for revenge, but Eric had no such excuse. He’d become a murderer for the sake of earning another promotion.

The alcohol did not help to numb his mind or still his bleak thoughts. Eric had no sooner come to the conclusion when Stephen held out his hand to take the empty glass. Looking up to thank Stephen, Eric noticed that the halfling’s iris was dark brown. You’re still inside my head?

Yes, I’ve linked with you. Stephen’s thoughts sounded as emotionless as his voice. Until one of us severs the connection, we will be able to share our thoughts. There is an upper limit to my range, but I can remain in contact with you almost anywhere you go in the city.

Eric furrowed his brow. I don’t know if I like that idea.

Stephen’s eye shifted back to blue before he walked to the wet bar to refill Eric’s glass. As it changed, Eric sensed the connection being severed. The image at the back of his mind projecting what Stephen saw faded, and Eric wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“Are you still upset over learning the truth?” Damien asked.

“I...if I’d known the truth from the beginning, I wouldn’t have threatened my men. If I’d known...” Eric’s frown grew while he stared at Damien. “I killed Captain Ramsey because I thought he’d failed to keep the experiment from being exposed. But you wanted exposure all along. I should have given him a medal for a job well done.”

Damien looked disappointed. “Have I ever threatened you or gave you any reason to believe you were in danger?”

“Not directly. But you never explained why Neal and Gene were chosen as subjects for the experiments. Selecting the test subjects from our own ranks gave me the impression that any of us could become a candidate for the next phase, and that’s what I told my men.”

“Does it make you feel better to shift some of the blame to me?” Damien asked.

“I wasn’t...Damien, knowing everything I do, I still don’t understand why Curtis can still be confident in our chances for success. We’re in the opening stages of a war.”

“Yes, and already we’ve eliminated one of the more dangerous factions,” Damien said. “The virus has been exposed, and the evidence will lead the authorities away from us. Both of the viruses will be linked to the same terrorist cell, drawing the ire of the halflings and the federal authorities onto an organization that they cannot hope to bring to justice. But before we can start everyone on the snipe hunt, there are some loose ends to tie up first.”

Eric sat up quickly. “Jobe and Wendy.”

Damien smiled at Eric’s sudden eager posture. “They’re Stephen’s responsibility. He’s already working on a ritual to draw them here.”

Eric frowned, glancing at Stephen while he accepted another drink. “Do you need to make so many sacrifices to keep control of this daemon?”

“No, we’re summoning another daemon this time,” Damien said. “I’ve been alerted by my spy that this daemon has been plotting against me, and I need to bring him under control.”

Eric took a long drink from his glass. “How do Jobe and Wendy figure into this?”

“The ritual has certain similarities to the type we used to summon the first daemon, and I’m sure Jobe and Wendy will pick up on the pattern. I expect them to call in their friends from the FBI, and we’ll capture everyone following the completion of the final ritual.”

Eric slumped in his seat. “It sounds like Stephen can handle everything on his own, so why am I here?”

“Initially, you will coordinate the men at our base of operations on the south side of the city,” Damien said. “However, once Jobe and Wendy have been captured, you and Stephen will work together to convince them to join us.”

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “It sounds like a tall order to me. Even with Stephen’s abilities, they could be hard to convince.”

“We can worry about how to convince them after they’ve been captured.” Damien gestured at Stephen. “You can ride with Stephen back to the base to get acquainted with your team.”

Eric got up and followed Stephen out of the room. Neither man spoke during the walk to the car, though Eric cast an occasional sideways glance at the halfling.

Like Damien, Stephen was willing to commit almost any crime if doing so helped his own agenda. Eric wanted to feel disgust over Stephen’s past, but his own past was no better than the halfling’s.

Again Eric reminded himself that all of them had some purpose that motivated them to commit atrocities. And in some ways, he could understand why each person had given in to his darker side. But Eric had no justification to fall back on. He served no higher purpose, and he followed only his own internal agenda to obtain power.

In the car, Stephen started the engine and turned to regard Eric with an unreadable expression. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Eric shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“It hurts to admit you aren’t a good person after all.”

“I never did think of myself as good.” Eric dropped his gaze to his lap and sighed. “I just wasn’t willing to admit I’d become evil.”

Stephen surprised Eric by uttering a short laugh. “You aren’t evil.”

“How can you be so sure?” Eric asked.

“Because evil people don’t feel guilt,” Stephen replied.

It was a small distinction, and Eric wanted to say so right away. Instead, he fell silent while he pondered whether he was just bad or if he had slipped all the way to being evil.

***

Wednesday, 9:54 pm

Butte, Montana

Jamie sat down in the chair beside Wendy and leaned over to look at the journal she was searching through. “How did training go? Are you a master of kung fu yet?”

“No, but I killed Jobe twice,” Wendy said.

Jamie’s blue eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

“Yep. I got a line on his inner thigh and a dot in the middle of his throat.” Wendy shrugged. “Compared to his seventeen kills on me, that’s not great. But it is better than when I started, when I couldn’t even touch him.”

Jamie dropped his voice lower and asked, “Are you happier about touching him?”

Wendy turned her head to make a disgusted face at him. “Eew.”

Jamie laughed. “It’s okay, Sis. Just tell me where you touched him.”

“You need help.” Wendy sighed and decided to change the subject. “Where did you run off to? We both missed you at dinner.”

“Yeah, but when you guys start sparring, you both get these intense expressions. I know you’re just using markers, but you and Jobe look like you’re really having a knife fight.”

“We are,” Wendy said. “Neither one of us can consider it play-time, because our training could save our lives.”

“Are you getting better?”

“Jobe says I am, but maybe I’m just getting used to the way he moves.”

Jamie snorted. “And you like the way he moves, don’cha?”

“Jamie, if there were a way to hit you, I’d do it. Now be quiet.” Wendy picked up the binder and set it in her lap again to make a show of ignoring him. “I’m working here.”

“You can’t call staring at the same pages every night working,” Jamie said.

“For your information, I have learned something. There’s a major difference between Neal’s journal and the one Dad left behind.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“For one thing, it’s longer, and the last few pages aren’t gibberish. There are some kind of letters and words in this mess. It’s just not English. There’s nothing like this code in Dad’s journal, and even if the design is sloppy on the letters, they’re all consistently sloppy.”

“They all suck the same?”

Wendy sighed. “Jamie, be serious and see for yourself. See this symbol here? It looks kind of like a little house, right?” She paused to move her finger down several lines. “Here’s the same symbol again. This letter looks like a pi symbol. It shows up a lot too, and so does this one here. It looks kind of like a capital D with a loop at the top...it’s almost a cursive S, but then the shape is still wrong. None of the other characters look like cursive lettering anyway.”

“Which means?” Jamie asked.

“Which means Neal developed the ability to write in this other language.” Wendy flipped back through the binder, keeping her finger on the page to save her place. “Here, if you check before the code starts, the man couldn’t even draw a straight line. If you go back a few pages, those lines look like badly scrawled letters.” She turned over a clump of pages. “Here the letters are much more legible. The man was mentally devolving, so how did he develop the ability to write again?”

Jamie frowned and looked up in thought. “Maybe...maybe he wrote those entries earlier?”

Wendy stared at him, not wanting to admit he could be right. “Maybe. But if he didn’t, something changed here.”

Jobe emerged from the bathroom with a towel draped over his head. “I feel human again,” he said.

Wendy got up from the chair and moved to her bag. “Great, now I can get a turn. It’s crazy how we can sweat more in the winter.”

“Could be those brutal workouts,” Jamie said. “You both spend one hour a night exercising and a half an hour sparring. That’s going to make anyone stinky. Except for me, of course. I never stink.”

“Yes Jamie, and aside from the fact that you never shut up, you’re almost perfect.” Wendy stuck out her tongue at her brother before she took her clean clothes to the bathroom. She slipped off her jeans while she listened to Jobe turning on the TV.

“Okay, so what did I miss?” Jobe’s voice came easily through the thin door. Jamie’s voice was softer as he explained Wendy’s musings about the journals.

They both fell silent, and she guessed they had moved to look over the journals for themselves. The TV played a steady stream of commercials, but she ignored them while she finished undressing and moved to the shower to turn it on.

Jobe made a habit of catching the news, to be sure the local media hadn’t received a report about the two celebrities in their midst. In Texas, the police and the FBI were still searching, but no one from the local police or the media had noticed them in Montana.

Yet, Wendy thought while she stepped into the tub. We haven’t been exposed yet, but it will end up happening again.

The hissing of the shower reduced the television to background noise. Wendy drew the curtain and stepped across the tub. A long sigh escaped her lips as the hot water began to knead her aching neck muscles. She slumped, letting the water run down the middle of her sore back while she kneaded a bruise on her hip.

She’d been spinning to prevent Jobe from catching her in the back with his marker, and her legs twisted together, dropping her on her side.

Wendy smirked and leaned back her head to soak her hair. Nope, not a kung fu master yet.

The workouts were Jobe’s idea. He’d suggested them two weeks after their return to Devine from Odessa. It made sense for both of them to be stronger and better trained. They were facing the Army, and even with the help of her brother and Jobe’s reflection, they were outclassed. Working out could level the playing field—and after all, they were not fighting the whole Army, just a rogue faction.

But her training was slow, and the matter of the size of the faction remained a mystery. Wendy began listing divisions in her head. A squad? No, there had to have been more men involved than the six who’d attacked the motel. A platoon? Wendy grimaced; the number still seemed too small for the scope of the operation. But the idea of facing anything over a battalion of men disquieted her. Even with training and help from Jobe and Jamie, she doubted that she was good enough to win against such overwhelming odds.

She was jolted from her thoughts by someone pounding on the door. “What!”

“Pull on a towel, and come quick,” Jobe said.

Wendy slid back the curtain and muttered angrily as she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Jamie and Jobe both looked ill when she opened the door. “What happened? Are we busted?”

“No, there was a murder in Tucson,” Jamie said. “The story became national news today because it’s the second murder in town with the same MO.”

“The Army is deploying another serial killer already?” Wendy asked.

Jobe shook his head. “This was the work of two different killers, but both were dressed as Santa Claus. According to the news, seven people working for the Salvation Army dressed as Santa were all abducted last week. Now two of them have been caught killing children. Wait.” He wagged a finger at Wendy when she opened her mouth. “We wanted you to rush because there were symbols carved into the bodies of both victims. They’d just finished showing a sample of the symbols.”

“They matched the symbols in Neal’s journal?” Wendy watched him nod and went to the phone.

“Calling Gavin?” Jamie asked.

“Hell yes,” Wendy agreed. “If we’re going to Arizona, that’s right in Richter’s backyard.” She turned around to pick up the phone and dialed zero.

“Operator assistance. What city, please?” a woman asked.

“I need you to look up a number in San Antonio and dial it for me,” Wendy requested.

“Name?”

“Gavin Lebowitz.”

There was a short delay while keys clattered in the background. “I have the number. Please hold for the connection.”

The line rang over and over before it finally clicked. “Hello?”

“Hi, Gavin,” Wendy said.

“Who is—” Gavin sighed. “Hello, Wendy.”

Wendy smirked. “You don’t sound happy to hear me.”

“That’s because I know why you’re calling,” Gavin said. “The letters on the bodies in Tucson match the last entries in Neal’s journal. Are you in Tucson?”

“No, and we’re going to need a few days to drive there. Listen, we’re willing to take your offer for protection and play nice. I’m hoping you can fly out early and talk to the local cops to get a feel for the case while we’re driving down.”

“Deborah will decide whether we drive or fly, but we’ll be headed out soon enough. Where are you now?” Gavin asked.

“It doesn’t matter, because we’ll be gone tomorrow morning,” Wendy said. “In case you’re wondering, you’ll need to check the bus depot each evening at seven pm. When we get into town, we’ll drive to the depot and wait an hour for you. If you don’t show up, we’ll try again the next night. Will that work for you?”

“Yeah, and I’m getting a bad vibe from it, to be honest,” Gavin said. “You aren’t normally so agreeable.”

“I’m not normally trying to hide from the Army, either,” Wendy said. “But I do plan to hide instead of pushing for a fight.”

“I’m glad you’ve learned to see reason. I should warn you, Steph is still mad.”

“I can imagine, but something felt wrong outside the mall.” Wendy looked up at the ceiling while she went over her memories. “I can’t explain why, but both Jobe and I got the impression you were about to lose control of the situation.”

“Then you were playing a good hunch,” Gavin said.

“I promise you we won’t try to play games with you when we get to Tucson. Maybe you can use that to calm Steph down, okay?” Wendy asked.

Gavin chuckled. “All right, I’ll try. We’ll see you soon. Tell your brother I said hi.”

Wendy hung up the phone. “All right, that takes care...” She turned around and noticed Jobe and her brother were staring at the floor with embarrassed expressions. “What?”

“Uh...your towel is a little short in the back,” Jamie muttered.

“My wha—?” Wendy’s face flashed crimson as she ran for the bathroom door.