Mary Nealy - Ten Plagues

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Join the breakneck chase through Chicago for a murderous maniac. As the victims begin piling up, detective Keren Collins’s spiritual discernment is on high alert. Will she capture the killer before another body floats to the surface? Ex-cop, now mission pastor Paul Morris has seen his share of tragedy, but nothing prepared him to be a murderer’s messenger boy. Will his old ruthless cop personality take over, leading him to the brink of self-destruction? Can Keren and Paul catch the killer before the corpse count reaches a perfect ten?

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She let go of his arm. After a few moments of obvious effort, she said, “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Paul said through a clenched jaw. “I know you’re trying to find a connection between me and this lunatic. But I’ve thought it over and we’re on the wrong track. Yes, I know both of them, but lots of people know both of them. They were from the neighborhood. This guy could have come from here and been victimized by someone in this area.”

“Pravus phoned you , Rev. He knew you and cared enough to track down your cell phone number and mail you that sign.”

“But don’t you see, he could have done all that without it being personal. I’m the logical one in that neighborhood. My cell phone number is no secret. I’ve got it posted on the bulletin board at the mission. He kept saying Juanita was evil. He said, ‘I’ll tell you where to find this harlot.’ He might see me as someone who would join his twisted fight against all the ills around the Lighthouse Mission.”

“Listen, Rev, you can speculate all—”

“Will you quit calling me Rev?” Paul lunged to his feet. His ribs punished his chest. His temper pounded in his wounded forehead. He spun away from the mouthy cop who wouldn’t quit.

He needed to spend some quiet time in prayer. He knew he was fraying badly around the edges. His temper was hot, his impatience was boiling over. All his old cop instincts were fighting to emerge, and they were the worst part of himself. But even if he could get away from this nagging woman, he’d still dash around looking for LaToya instead of kneeling before his Savior, seeking peace.

Hang on. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it .

Collins slammed a fist on the table. “We don’t have time to argue about your title.”

Paul lost it.

He whirled around to take her apart. She was fuming. Her hands were clenched until her knuckles turned white.

“Why can’t you cooperate?” she snapped. “Don’t you care if we get this guy?”

“Not care?” Paul reached for her and grabbed her wrist with his good hand. He dragged her up out of her chair until they were nose to nose, with only the table keeping them apart. “How dare you say I don’t care?”

She jerked against his hold. “Get your hands off—”

“All right.” O’Shea slapped his hands on the table between them so hard he shoved the table a few inches and broke Paul’s grip on the little shrew.

O’Shea’s thunderous outburst brought dead silence to the room. “We’re going to take a break,” he said through clenched teeth. “We’re not getting anywhere with you two snarling at each other.”

“Are you nuts?” Collins asked. “We don’t have time to—”

“Quiet!” O’Shea cut her off. His voice echoed against all four shabby walls.

“But—”

O’Shea jabbed a fat finger right at her nose. “I mean it, Keren. You’re out of here if you say one more word before I declare this break over. I’ll go to the captain and have you reassigned. You know I can do it. I’m going to the overpriced cafe next door and get some coffee. I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a break and sit in the park across the street.”

Anxiety pressed on Paul until he thought he might suffocate. “We’re not wasting one second sitting in a park.”

“You”—it was Paul’s turn to get jabbed at—”are going to shut up right now.”

Five years ago he wouldn’t have backed down. He’d have ripped this blowhard’s finger off and shoved it down his throat.

But he was a changed man. He didn’t feel real changed right at this moment, but he remembered what he was supposed to act like and let O’Shea keep his finger.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy us each a six-dollar cup of coffee and we can think about highway robbery instead of this case.”

Paul looked across at Collins. She shrugged and opened her mouth—Paul thought to agree with him for a change, that they should keep working. O’Shea turned his blazing temper on her with a single look.

With an exasperated growl, she threw her hands wide and led the way out of the police station.

картинка 9

Paul leaned back on the park bench and drank the most outrageous cup of coffee he’d ever had. Caramel, mocha, cappuccino, latte, espresso, whatever.

Maybe all those things. The cup was bigger than his head. His coffee usually ran to a brew so strong it could open the eyes of a man hungover for the thousandth morning in a row, and so hot it could warm the frostbitten toes of a woman who had cardboard in her shoes on a subzero Chicago morning. That coffee was made in a one-hundred-cup coffeepot that burned along all day.

This coffee had whipped cream and chopped nuts on top. He sat drinking it while a monster acted out a plague on his friends.

They chatted idly about the green grass and the blue sky. Every time they got on the subject of the horror they were dealing with, O’Shea would growl and they’d change the subject.

Finally, O’Shea glanced at his wristwatch. “We’ve been here ten minutes. I’m going in. Your new cell phone should have been delivered by now. I’ll round it up. You two are staying for another five. I want you to figure out why you’ve been snapping and snarling at each other from the minute we started working today. You both want this case solved. You both know you need to cooperate to get it done. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was something personal between you.”

“Personal? Me and Rev? We just—”

“Will you quit calling me Rev? Why don’t you—”

“I promise I’ll lock you both in the lineup room if you don’t work this out.” O’Shea heaved himself to his feet. “We’ve got a murder to solve, and if I have to do it myself”—he turned on them—”because you two kids never learned how to work and play well with others—”

His voice rose to a shout. “There’s gonna be payback for both of you.” Then a roar. “That you’ll still be stinging from, years from now.” He stormed off in a huff.

The two of them stared after O’Shea in shock. Then they looked at each other.

“Did he just threaten to spank us?” Paul asked.

Keren looked at her coffee. Paul noticed she was fighting a grin. “Maybe. And that bit about the lineup sounds a little like being sent to our rooms.”

“And this is definitely a time-out.” Paul swirled his mocha-shmocha-cappa whatever, trying to keep the concoction mixed up until he was done drinking it and to give himself something to do besides talk to Keren.

Finally, she moved. He glanced up and saw she had her hand extended toward him. “Hi, my name is Keren Collins. It’s nice to meet you. Call me Keren.”

Paul shook his head then took her hand. “My name is Paul.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I heard your name was Rev. Where did I get a silly idea like that?”

“Can’t imagine. So… truce?”

Keren nodded. Then she said in a hesitant voice, “I know you’re a good man, Rev… I mean Paul.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Rev really suits you.”

“Paul or nothing.” Paul realized he was still holding her hand and dropped it. He rubbed his hand on his pant leg to cool it off.

“I’m sorry I’ve been riding you so hard.” Keren glanced up at him. “I can’t even blame this case exactly. I mean, it is the case but…” She shrugged.

Paul saw her clench her teeth to keep from saying something. He wondered what it could be.

“O’Shea says I have good cop instincts, and all my instincts tell me we’re dealing with an evil that is beyond…” Keren fell silent again.

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