A kaleidoscope of emotions washed over him. Joy at seeing her. Surprise she would be here at all. Hurt and anger that she’d left him in the first place. A longing to hold her. Relief. Confusion. Desire. And finally, and most strongly, a warm feeling of love. The last surprised and pleased him. He’d begun to accept that his emotions had become hollowed, had almost grown used to moving through life in a semi-anesthetized state, shielded from the slings of pain, loss and sadness, but paying the price for that protection by being inured against joy and love as well. He had missed the change stealing over him these last few weeks, too busy devoting his thoughts and energy to catching the killer to notice the gradual reawakening of his feelings. His focus had been turned outward, leaving him oblivious to the transformation unfolding within. He had suffered the anger, the hate, the frustration and sadness engendered by the killings, had enjoyed the pride and anticipation of uncovering the la
For Conner, the next two days passed slowly, filled with dogged frustration as the investigation ground forward. He pestered Sloane constantly for updated reports, but there was little to show for the thousands of man-hours the task force was spending chasing leads. Checks on the buyers of Superman costumes had produced no useful information so far, and visits to area car dealerships also came up empty. The detectives following those angles were more than halfway through their lists of targets, and by working through the weekend, expected to complete their work before Vice Squad aired Monday night. Everyone involved had been warned against linking the sketches and the questioning to the Video Killer, and so far, the existence of the drawings was still under wraps, though Friday afternoon Sloane received a call from a reporter asking about rumors the task force had pictures of a suspect. Sloane offered a strong denial, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the news wa
Malomond dropped a couple of dollars on top of the bar and carried his coffee to a table next to the old jukebox. Conner followed and sat across from him.“What’ve you got for me, Sean?”Malomond cradled his cup in both hands. “What I got is big. Real big.” He looked Conner straight in the eye. “But it ain’t gonna happen unless we do it my way.”Conner met Malomond’s gaze. “You know I can’t promise that. Not until I know what we’re talking about.”Malomond thought for a moment before speaking. “I guess I can give you a taste, then. But I’m tellin’ you before we start, you can lean on me all you want, but it ain’t gonna do no good. I already got it figured.”Conner nodded, making no promises. Until he knew what Malomond had for him, he could make no decisions.“Let’s pretend I knew where your guy lived,” Malomond said,
They rode in Malomond's car, a two-year old gold Cadillac that fit his personality perfectly and gave the burly ex-cop plenty of room behind the wheel. Malomond drove in a relaxed manner, steering the car through the city streets with the fingers of his left hand, his elbow resting on the open window frame like he was out for a simple pleasure cruise. A peppy Sinatra tune floated gaily from the CD player, adding to the illusion.Conner was anything but relaxed. Malomond had refused to share the killer’s address—insurance against Conner changing his mind, he said—so Conner had no idea how close they were to their destination. He could feel the adrenaline seeping into his system, quickening his pulse and shortening his breathing as he thought about taking the killer down in his own home, always a dangerous proposition, and more dangerous still with this guy. His recent brush with the killer was fresh in his mind—the man’s quick reactions and
Conner and Malomond studied the apartment, familiarizing themselves with the design. Taking turns, they each poked their head into the bedroom and the kitchen. The fewer surprises, the better. When they were done, Malomond faced the manager one more time.“You wouldn’t be thinking of letting Mr. Weber know we’re on the way up now, would you?” he asked threateningly.The man shook his head vehemently. “Gonna sit here and watch the game, mind my own business, same as I always do,” he said.“Good. See that you do.” Malomond turned to Conner. “Let’s go.”Conner moved through the doorway first. Malomond followed, pulling the door shut behind him and grabbing Conner lightly by the arm, halting him. Malomond’s face bore a bemused, puzzled look.“Did I miss something in there?”“No. Just something I remembered,” Conner replied, moving down t
The first sensation Conner felt as his brain began the arduous climb back to consciousness was a dull, throbbing ache under his left shoulder. The second was a soft warmth wrapped around his right hand. For some reason his fogged-out mind could not fathom, this sensation made him want to smile. But even the tiny amount of energy and control needed to smile was beyond his strength, so he just lay there in his black cocoon, focusing on the gentle comfort flowing into his hand, absorbing it, relishing it, using it to block out the pain in his shoulder. He had no sense of time, no recollection of what had brought him to this peculiar state, but very gradually his awareness of himself increased, until finally he knew he was lying on his back, head raised, on some soft surface he guessed must be a bed. His eyes were not yet ready to open, so instead he listened for some hint of where he was and what had happened. He became aware of a faint, rasping hiss he eventually identified as his own
Conner lifted his head gingerly and took a sip, swishing the water around inside his mouth, enjoying the feel of the cool liquid as the parched membranes soaked up the soothing moisture. It felt just as good in his throat when he finally swallowed. He took several more small sips before handing the cup back to Sloane, who set it on the table beside the pitcher.“Back to Weber,” Conner said. “What happened?”Sloane raised his eyebrow, and then glanced toward Cecilia. “You didn’t tell him?”Cecilia shook her head. Conner thought she seemed strangely subdued.“Tell me what?” he asked, shifting his gaze from Cecilia to Sloane and back to Cecilia.Cecilia let out a slow breath. “I shot him,” she said quietly.Conner thought he must have misheard. The damn drugs. “Huh?”“That phone call worried me,” Cecilia explained. “I could tell from your voic
Ever since the dawn of man, a war has waged between Good and Evil. Good has tried to claim supreme eternal victory, but like the ebb and flow of the tides, Evil rises up periodically trying to usurp Good’s reign over the mortal world. Evil has its minions, immortal and mortal alike. Good has the Brethren, angels who were hired by an enigmatic leader to manifest on Earth, to fight against Evil, and protect and heal the human race. Time and again, the two sides have clashed over the centuries, both suffering great losses, yet Good has always come away triumphant and maintained its sovereignty.It was during a time of economic and political turmoil that Satan had begun quietly amassing his minions once again. Letting the good and the righteous settle into a comfortable existence, unaware of how tenuous their lives really were.But not everyone was oblivious. Doomsayers flooded the streets in the larger cities; cults arose in smaller towns promising salvation. And in one of those small to