Silent Killer

Chapter Thirty

Jack lay beside Cathy, his arm draped across her naked belly, his nose nuzzling her shoulder. She had never been happier in her life. She was in love again, gloriously, passionately in love. And although they had not exchanged the words, she knew in her heart that Jack loved her, too.

How many people actually got the second chance that fate had given them?

Yesterday had been wonderful, a true celebration of not only the country’s independence but Cathy’s freedom. She was living her life by her rules and making her own decisions, as she should have been doing all her adult life.

Even today had been good. Church with Seth this morning had been followed by lunch out with Jack and a walkthrough of his house. She had been eager to show Seth the renovations in progress and brag just a little about the plans she had drawn for Jack’s contractor. And despite the continued tension between her and her mother, her in-laws seemed to be making a genuine effort to accept Seth’s decision to live full-time with her when school started next month.

Things couldn’t be better with Seth. He liked Jack, and the two were getting along great. Seth wanted to come home, to live with her, and he’d even accepted the possibility that she might one day marry Jack.

All she had to do to keep her hard-won happiness was continue lying to the two most important people in her life. But if she told Jack the truth tonight, as she had promised herself she would, what would happen? How would he react? Would he ever forgive her for keeping his son from him all these years?

And what about Seth?

Would he hate her?

She eased Jack’s arm up and off her, and then she slid out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Jack asked in a relaxed, sexy voice.

She grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed and put it on before facing him. “We need to talk.”

He sat up in bed, allowing the sheet to slip down and around his hips. “Sounds serious.” He studied her closely. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Get up and put on some clothes,” she told him. “I’ll fix us something to drink. Which do you prefer iced tea or iced coffee?”

He tossed back the covers and stood, boldly naked. “I’d prefer your staying in bed with me.” He reached down and picked up his discarded jeans from the floor. “I thought everything was fine, that life was good for us. For you and me and even for Seth.” He put on his jeans and then snatched his shirt off the nearby chair, where it had landed when he’d flung it aside in his haste to strip off hurriedly an hour earlier.

“We have to talk,” Cathy said. “I’ve put this off too long as it is.”

Leaving his shirt unbuttoned, he closed the gap between them, grabbed her gently by the upper arms and looked down into her face. “Tell me you aren’t having second thoughts about us.”

“No second thoughts,” she assured him. “As a matter of fact, I want you to know that I love you now more than I did seventeen years ago.”

He sucked in a deep breath and tightened his grip on her arms. “Is that what this is all about-you need to hear me say the words?”

“No, Jack, really, that’s not-”

“I love you, Cathy.”

Oh God. Oh God. Why now? This simply made telling him the truth about Seth even more difficult.

“Damn, woman, you’re scaring me,” Jack told her. “Take that frightened look off your face.”

“Finish getting dressed and meet me in the kitchen.”

She pulled away from him, and he let her go without protest.

“Cathy,” he called to her as she reached the door.

Without turning around, she replied, “Yes?”

“If this is going to be bad news, maybe you’d better fix me something stronger than coffee or tea.”

“Okay.” She hurried out of the bedroom, practically running away from him.

She’d barely had time to uncork the bottle of wine-the strongest liquor she had in her house-before Jack entered the kitchen. Fully dressed, but with his hair slightly mussed, he paused on the other side of the room and rubbed the back of his neck.

He eyed the two half-full wine glasses sitting on the table. He blew out a damn-it’s-bad-news breath.

When he came toward her, she held up both hands, signaling him to halt. He stopped and stared at her.

“Is it that bad?” he asked.

“Oh, Jack, I don’t know how to tell you. I-”

“Good God, whatever it is, just say it.”

She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “You haven’t pressed me to explain why I married Mark so soon after you left.”

“Is that what’s wrong, why you’re so worried? Whatever the reason, it’s all water under the bridge. We have to let go of the past and be grateful for what we have now.”

“This is part of our past that affects our present and our future.”

He nodded. “Okay. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

She wrung her hands together and then threaded her fingers in a prayerlike gesture. “A couple of months after you left, Mark came to Dunmore to conduct a gospel meeting. He was staying with his parents. I remembered him from church, of course, but he was years older, and our paths hadn’t really crossed outside of church. I knew he’d been a widower for a couple of years.

“I needed guidance, so I went to him because I thought, as a young minister who had lost the love of his life, he might understand the situation I was in better than our regular preacher, Brother Fulmer, who was stern and judgmental.” She swallowed. “Not only did Mark understand, but he was sympathetic, and during the next two weeks, while he visited his parents after the gospel meeting ended, we talked often and he came up with a solution to my problem.”

“You’ve lost me,” Jack said. “What was your situation? What problem did Mark Cantrell solve for you?”

“He offered to marry me and take me with him when he left town so that no one would ever know the truth.”

Jack stared at her, clearly puzzled.

“I was seventeen, had just graduated from high school, and suddenly I was pregnant and unmarried and I’d just been told that my baby’s father was missing in action in the Middle East and presumed dead.”

She waited for the information to sink in and for Jack to realize that he was her child’s father.

“You were pregnant?” His voice lowered to a deep huskiness. “With my baby?”

She nodded. Please, God, let him understand. Let him forgive me.

“You married Mark Cantrell because you were pregnant with my child and thought I was dead.”

“Yes. After you left, I received only one letter from you, and then I didn’t hear from you again. When I found out I was pregnant, I went to see your mother. She told me what had happened to you.”

“Did you tell her that you were pregnant?”

“No. No, I didn’t tell her.”

“So Mark Cantrell offered to marry you and take on the responsibility of another man’s child. He must have loved you a great deal to-”

“Mark was still in love with his wife, and I was in love with you. In his profession, he needed a wife, a helpmate, and…He knew he could never father a child of his own. When he and his wife had tried to have a baby and she didn’t get pregnant, they underwent numerous tests and discovered that Mark was sterile.”

“If Mark was sterile, then what about Seth?”

Hadn’t he understood what she’d said? Hadn’t she told him that he was Seth’s biological father, not Mark? Oh God, no. She hadn’t mentioned Seth. Did he think she had lost that baby-his baby-and gotten pregnant again by Mark?

Apparently the shocked expression on her face revealed the truth as surely as a verbal confession. “You didn’t lose my child, did you? Seth was that baby. Seth is my son.”

“Yes, Seth is yours.”

Jack stood there and stared at her, but didn’t say another word, not for several minutes. Cathy wanted to beg him to say something, but she waited patiently, allowing him time to absorb the information.

“I understand,” he said. “Under the circumstances, it makes sense that you’d agree to marry Mark. What I don’t understand is why, after you found out that I was alive, you never contacted me to tell me I had a son.”

“I didn’t know for quite some time. My mother chose not to inform me when she learned, through local Dunmore gossip, that you were alive. Mark and I lived out of state, and it wasn’t until Seth was nearly two years old and we were visiting that I ran into Mike and he mentioned you.”

“That was fourteen years ago. For the love of God, Cathy, why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I wanted to tell you, but…My mother and Mark convinced me that it wouldn’t be fair to any of us if I did. Mark and I had just begun to have a real marriage, and he’d been so good to me. He thought of Seth as his, and Seth, even at two, adored his father.” When she saw the hurt look in Jack’s eyes, she corrected herself. “He adored Mark.”

“If you ever loved me, how could you have kept the truth from me? I had a right to know that I had a son.” He paused for a gasping breath. “I have a son.” He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

She moved toward him, but when she reached out to touch him, he flinched.

“Please, Jack, try to understand how it was. Try to see my side of things. I was young and stupid and let Mark and my mother make all my decisions. I was wrong, so very wrong for keeping Seth from you. If I had it to do all over again, I’d-”

“You’d do what?” He opened his eyes and glared at her. “You wouldn’t do a damn thing differently, because you wouldn’t have the backbone to stand up to your mother or anyone else for that matter. Weak, spineless, helpless Cathy. Damn you!”

“I am not that same easily manipulated girl I was. I’ve changed. I’ve grown a backbone. If not, do you think I’d be standing here telling you the truth?”

“Lady, you’re a day late and a dollar short!”

He marched past her, ignoring her outstretched hands, flung open the back door and stomped outside. Cathy ran after him, catching up with him in the driveway. She grabbed for him. He shoved her aside and got in his car.

“Jack, don’t leave like this. Stay, please. Let’s talk this out. Don’t go.” Tears sprung to her eyes.

Jack started the car and backed out of the drive. Cathy followed him for half a block until his car disappeared as he turned at the end of the street several blocks away. Then, barefoot and wearing only her robe, she stood on the sidewalk and cried.

Tasha and Dewan hosted an informal get-together the first Sunday night of each month, with the deacons and their wives and children coming to their house for coffee and dessert. During their years in Dunmore, they had made many friends, but none as dear to them as Dionne and Perry Fuqua, a couple only a few years older than they were. Dionne was an elementary school teacher and Perry the high school football coach. They had married young, had children in their early twenties and were now parents to a twelve-year-old and a fourteen-year-old, both boys.

While the boys watched TV in the den, the adults sat in the living room talking, discussing everything from local politics to global warming.

“It’s getting late,” Dionne said, interrupting her husband midsentence in his tirade against irresponsible fathers missing from their children’s lives, a pet-peeve with the devoted father of two. “It’s nearly ten-thirty.”

“Stay for a while longer. I want to discuss plans for adding on a Sunday school wing to the church and expanding the sanctuary,” Dewan said. “Tasha just put on a fresh pot of decaf coffee.”

“Yes, do stay. The boys will want to see the end of their program before y’all leave.” Tasha stood and gathered up the empty dessert plates. “Honey, would you get the cups for me?”

Perry glanced at his wife. “Mind if we stay until eleven?”

She smiled. “Okay, but only until eleven. Remember, I’m teaching summer school, and I can’t sleep late tomorrow.”

Dewan gathered up the cups and saucers from the coffee and end tables and placed them on the tray where Tasha had set the plates. As he lifted the tray, he asked, “Anybody want more pie?”

“Not me,” Dionne answered.

“Maybe just a small slice,” Perry said. “Tasha makes the best blueberry pie I’ve ever tasted.”

Dionne shook her finger at him. “What happened to that diet you were planning to go on?”

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” he told her.

Both couples laughed.

“I’ll check on the boys and let them know we’re leaving in thirty minutes,” Dionne said as Dewan carried the tray into the kitchen.

“I’ll cut you a small piece of pie and bring it with the fresh coffee,” Tasha said. “When we come back, you and Dewan can discuss building plans while I show Dionne what I’ve done to the nursery.”

Even though the baby wasn’t due until early September, she had been unable to wait to redecorate their third bedroom. Dewan had painted the walls a pale yellow, and they had bought white furniture, including one of those new round baby beds. They had waited such a long time for this child, a child conceived in love and wanted so desperately.

“We should discuss baby-shower plans,” Dionne said. “Several of the ladies have already mentioned it to me. Your child is going to be surrounded by a congregation of honorary aunts and uncles.”

She had been watching the house for nearly an hour, waiting for the lights to go out so that when she rang the doorbell the odds were that Reverend Phillips would be the one to open the door. There was a chance he would recognize her, but what did that matter? If something went wrong, and she was unable to follow through with the Lord’s plans to punish the reverend, then she could come up with some excuse for being in his neighborhood and ringing his doorbell. But if things went well, Dewan Phillips wouldn’t be able to identify her, because he would be dead.

The lighted face of her digital watch allowed her to check the time in the dark. The watch had been a birthday gift, one she treasured.

Ten-forty. She should have waited until later, but she was so eager to do God’s bidding that she had sneaked away early.

Wait. Be patient.

But she didn’t want to wait. She was pumped with adrenaline and filled with the Spirit. The Holy Ghost had entered her and guided her every move. The Almighty’s desire to punish Dewan Phillips raged inside her, begging for release.

Nothing could go wrong.

No one could hurt her.

She couldn’t be stopped. Not when she was guided and protected by a higher power.

Slowly, carefully, she slipped out of the car, opened the trunk and removed the gas can. After checking her pocket for the lighter, she crossed the street. Glancing around, she saw no one, just a couple of stray dogs half a block away. She noted an SUV in the driveway and wondered why either the reverend or his wife had parked outside of their double garage. People often used their garages for storage, making it impossible to park their vehicles inside. That was probably the reason.

She made her way quietly across the yard, her gaze fixed on the front door. A smile warmed her from within. Courage roared inside her like a mighty lion. While doing the Lord’s work, she was invincible.

Be careful. Don’t do anything foolish.

She didn’t need to worry. God would take care of her. The Holy Ghost possessed a power unknown to mortals, a power that now surged through her veins.

Cloaked in the Spirit, held in the very palm of the Lord Almighty’s hand, she knew no fear. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

The door opened. A tall black man’s outline was silhouetted in the doorway, his muscular body backlit from the light inside the house.

“Yes, may I help you?” he asked.

His voice sounded odd, but he was probably surprised to see a stranger on his doorstep at this time of night.

She smiled. God has sent me to you.

“Are you sure you’re at the right house? This is Reverend Phillips’s home.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she uncapped the gas can she held behind her back, then hoisted it high and threw the contents straight at her target. Before he had a chance to react, she dropped the can, flipped open the lighter and using both hands locked the flame. She tossed the open lighter toward his chest. The lighter hit the edge of his gasoline-soaked silk tie.

Burn in hell for your sins.

The Holy Ghost surged through her, the feeling stronger than ever before.

She backed away from the man on fire and watched him burn. Then she quickly bent down, picked up the metal torch lighter and put it in her pocket.

A woman’s voice screeching for help warned her that she must leave quickly. She had accomplished her goal and done God’s bidding. It was time for her to return home, to rest, to recoup, to prepare herself for the next time.

She yanked the gold chain from her neck and tossed it down on the sidewalk. Then, without a backward glance, she walked away, crossed the street and got in her car.

Jack sat on the back porch, his gaze unfocused as he went over in his mind, again and again, what Cathy had told him. He wasn’t sure how he felt, other than being pissed as hell. But what lay beneath the anger?

He had a son.

He was Seth Cantrell’s biological father.

The logical part of his mind understood why Cathy had married Mark Cantrell and even understood her reasoning about why she’d never told him the truth. But his gut told him he had every right to be angry and hurt, to never forgive Cathy for what she’d done.

I was young and stupid and let Mark and my mother make all my decisions.

Damn Elaine Nelson!

And damn Mark Cantrell. He couldn’t have a son of his own, so he stole my son from me.

Why had he thought, even for one minute, that this time around, he’d get it right? He should have known better than to believe he could finally live a somewhat normal life. He had actually thought he and Cathy had a chance. God, what an idiot he was.

A real home and a happy family weren’t in the cards for him. Never had been. Never would be.

Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself. You’re not the first man who’s been in this situation, and you won’t be the last.

He had no idea what to do. Would Cathy tell Seth? And if she didn’t, did he have the guts to do it? He sure as hell had the right.

Jack wished he could cry. But the last time he’d shed a tear, he’d been a bruised and battered boy, scared to death of his stepfather. He held the tears inside, a pain without any form of release.

When his cell phone rang, he hesitated checking the caller ID, halfway certain it would be Cathy. But when he saw that it was Mike, he answered.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“The Fire and Brimstone Killer has struck again,” Mike told him.

“Who?” Jack asked.

“We’re pretty sure the intended victim was Reverend Dewan Phillips.”

“What do you mean the intended victim?”

“The reverend and his wife had company, Perry and Dionne Fuqua. Perry and Dewan are about the same size, close to the same age…”

“Fuqua got turned into a human torch instead of the reverend?”

“He’s still alive. It doesn’t look good,” Mike said. “But we caught a break. Seems Fuqua’s wife saw a glimpse of the killer as she ran off.”

“She?”

“Yes, she. Our Fire and Brimstone Killer is definitely female.”