Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

Serena nodded, then buried her face in Marvin's shoulder and Steven pushed back from the table. The little girl had been through quite enough tonight. He stood up and leaned over the table, brushing his palm over the little girl's dark curls.

Jenna's children would look like Serena Eggleston, he thought, then physically jolted from the unexpectedness of the idea. Where had that come from ? he thought, almost panicked.

He cleared his throat and met Anna Eggleston's eyes as he said to Serena, "You were wonderful. Serena. Your mommy and daddy are very proud of you."

Anna jerked a nod, then put her amis around Serena and together she and Marvin held on to the daughter they had left.

Steven looked at Anna's mother and the sheriff. Mrs. Braden was crying and Sheriff Braden looked like he was fighting not to. "She did great," Steven said quietly. "I'm going to send a team over to the McDonald's to see what we can find first thing in the morning."'

Mrs. Braden bristled. "Why not now?" she demanded in a hushed whisper. "What's wrong with right now?"

Sheriff Braden put his arms around his mother's shoulders. "It's not a good idea to investigate a crime scene at night. Mom," he told her. "They might miss something, or worse, destroy it because it's too dark to see."

"I will make sure the area is roped off, Mrs. Braden." Steven assured her. "And I'll make sure nobody goes near it until dawn."

Mrs. Braden jerked a nod, looking very much like her daughter as she did so. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse.

You're welcome seemed incredibly inadequaic. "We're doing everything we can, Mrs. Braden."

Her eyes filled. "I know." Then she stifled a sob ind turned to bury her face against the starched fabric of her son's uniform. Sheriff Braden looked at Steven, and once again he saw helpless misery.

Steven squeezed Braden's shoulder. "I'll see myself out."

"I'll walk with you," Mike said behind him, then added to Braden, "I'll be right back."

Mike paused in the darkened hallway just outside the kitchen. "You did great, Steven," he said, and Steven heard pride in his old friend's voice. "That little girl was terrified, but you made it as easy as you could." He forced a grin and threw his arm around Steven's shoulders in a clumsy hug. "Y'done good, boy."

"Thanks." Steven looked back at the kitchen with a frown, then back at Mike. "You know Sammie's probably dead by now," he murmured.

Mike swallowed and his forced grin disappeared. "I know. So do they."

Steven sighed. "I need to go." He stepped from the darkened hallway into the light of the living room where Jenna stood next to the sofa covered in dainty little flowers, quietly waiting. The tortured look on her face told him she'd heard every word.

Beside him Mike stopped and Steven found his friend's face lit with a genuine smile. "Well, hello!" Mike drawled and Steven's face heated. "Do you plan to introduce us?"

"There are some times I wish you weren't a priest," Steven muttered.

"Steven, Steven, Steven," Mike said, quiet humor in his voice. "Five Hail Marys for just thinking what you just didn't say." He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Father Mike Leone, an old friend of Steven's. You must be Jenna."

She shook Mike's hand. "That's right. But, um, Steven didn't mention you."

Mike laughed softly. "No, I don't suppose he would. It's very, very nice to meet you, Jenna Marshall." He held on to her hand, still smiling broadly.

Jenna frowned a little. "It's nice to meet you, too, Father Leone."

"Father Mike is fine. Yes, I've known Steven since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Oh, the stories I could tell. Where do you want me to begin? Pick a year, any year."

Steven gritted his teeth. You wouldn't , he wanted to say. Of course he would , came the reply from his more pragmatic self.

Jenna glanced over at Steven with a look that seemed to say don't worry , then back at Mike with a raised brow as she discreetly disengaged her hand. "Well, I'm not Catholic, but what I would like to know is why all priests seem to be named Father Mike."

Steven felt a rush of appreciation. She'd felt his discomfort, but instead of exploiting it, she turned the focus to Mike.

"Probably because our mothers knew we'd be as heavenly as the archangel Michael himself," Mike declared reverently, looking up at the ceiling.

Jenna snorted in a delicate, ladylike way. "Your mothers had their hands full with little boys bringing home frogs from the creek in back of the school down the street from the church."

Mike looked impressed. "Wow, good memory."

"She has a Ph.D.," Steven replied, as if that explained everything. "Well, we need to be going. I have a lot of work to do."

Jenna frowned again. "You have dinner to eat," she said firmly and Steven didn't miss the satisfied gleam in Mike's eye. Meddling old fart. He'd have to make it six Hail Marys.

Mike looked back at the Egglestons' kitchen door, sobering. "I have to be getting back to the Egglestons. It was nice to meet you, Jenna. Make sure he takes care of himself, okay?"

She nodded. "I'll try, Father."

And Steven got the feeling she really meant it.

Tuesday, October 4, 10:45 P.M.

She'd put a frozen pizza in the oven. The aroma met Steven's nose as he closed her front door behind him for the second time. He patted the head of whichever dog he'd just walked and looked longingly at the soft brown sofa. He'd bet a week's pay he'd fall asleep as soon as he sat down on it.

He was bone-tired. It had been one hell of a long day.

The area behind McDonald's near the railroad tracks was sealed off, a patrol car assigned to assure no one further contaminated the scene. Steven honestly didn't believe they'd find anything in an open area after five days, but stranger things had happened.

There was almost no chance they'd find Samantha Eggle-ston alive. He could only hope they found her dead, so at least they could find any clues the sick bastard might have left behind.

The killer had left nothing behind at the clearing where they'd found Lorraine Rush. No hairs, no footprints. Nothing but an eviscerated body. And a fresh tattoo, half of which had been scavenged as the body lay out in the open, unprotected. The picture of Lorraine's mutilated body flashed in his mind and he wanted to close his eyes, but knew it would only make the picture clearer. More ghastly. More real. He shivered, suddenly cold.

Jenna stuck her head out from the kitchen, her smile a beacon in the darkness of his thoughts. "Supper's in the oven. Do you want something to drink?"

He stood still, just enjoying the warmth of her smile, which faltered when she saw his face. Sobering, she came all the way out of the kitchen. "Are you all right, Steven? You look like you've seen-" She broke off abruptly.

"A ghost?" he asked, a sardonic edge to his voice, remembering the expression Melissa's face would take when he came home late, tired, his mind full of images. Vile, inescapable images of what one Homo sapiens could do to another. At first Melissa's smile of welcome would falter, just like Jenna's had. Then, after one too many late nights, Melissa stopped smiling. Then came the frowning, followed by the sneering. Melissa hadn't had what it took to be the wife of a cop. He looked at Jenna's pensive expression. Maybe no woman did.

"Something like that." Jenna tilted her head. "What's wrong?"

Jenna watched his face change from tortured to carefully blank, watched the light in his eyes shut off, just as if he'd flipped off a switch. "Just the day catching up to me," he answered, then added abruptly, "Do you have any scotch?"

Jenna nodded, studying his face. He looked so incredibly tired. Worried. Consumed. She wanted to walk straight up to him and put her arms around him and just hold him until whatever images haunted him went away, but something told her that he wouldn't accept her concern at this moment. There was a sharpness to him, an edginess that went way beyond simple weariness. An anger, deep and intense. He reminded her of a caged cat even though he hadn't moved a muscle.