The Bride Collector (20 page)

Cats and dogs cheered her up. If there was one thing she longed for, it was a dog, a golden retriever or maybe a Labrador.
But pets were forbidden, so Paradise had to settle for pictures or videos that never failed to bring a smile to her face.

Warmed by Top Ramen and cheered by a Web video of a cat trying to catch a butterfly on the other side of a window, Paradise
slipped under her covers at one in the morning and fell asleep. A black day was behind her, but she’d survived many black
days.

She woke in a gray mood, haunted once again by her failure. But she was determined not to let it keep her down, so she ventured
out. Her friends gave her about an hour of space during which they subjected her to overt glances, but the looks lengthened
into unbroken stares of accusation until Roudy finally decided they’d waited long enough and approached.

Paradise didn’t want to talk about it. She made her position clear: If they wanted to be with her, they could not say a single
word about the FBI, Mr. Raines, or the case involving the Bride Collector.

“Did he try any funny business?” Andrea immediately wanted to know.

“What did I just say? Nothing about Mr. Raines.”

“I didn’t say Mr. Raines. I said he.”

“But you meant Mr. Raines. Nothing about any of those things no matter what words you use to describe them.”

Casanova lifted a finger. “Did
anybody
try any funny business?”

“And nothing about my nonexistent love life. Period. No more questions, period.”

“What?” Roudy cried. “I haven’t even asked a single question. They both got one. I demand an opportunity to cross-examine
the witness!”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Paradise stuck to her decision the rest of the day. When Roudy
tap, tap, tapped
on her door at ten that night, she buried her head under her pillow until he left.

But today was a new day, and she was finally feeling distant enough from her failure to open up. There was, after all, some
benefit to being at the center of attention, and her refusal to give them even a snippet of information the prior day had
worked all three into quite a tizzy. She was practically a celebrity. They acted as if they’d won the lottery when she announced
that she would meet them in Roudy’s office at nine to break her silence.

Now here they sat: Casanova, who was having a bad morning and hardly able to concentrate on their discussion; Andrea, who
was sinking fast into a full-blown depressive cycle; Roudy, who sat against the desk like the lion king who had finally found
his place, leading the hunt; and Paradise, who had just told them what she could remember and was suddenly wishing she’d kept
her mouth shut about her suspicion, however remote, that Brad Raines found her interesting.

“What did I tell you?” Andrea said.

“How many times are you going to remind us what you told her?” Roudy demanded, glaring at Andrea. “We’re faced with the crime
of the century here, and all you can think about is whether some high-and-mighty FBI man likes Paradise more than he likes
you.”

Andrea poked her head out of her depression and glared back at him. “That’s not true. I’m just more interested in her than
I am in some dead girl that none of us knows. Not that I don’t care about the dead girl, but I care more about Paradise. Right,
Paradise? That makes sense, right?”

Paradise sighed. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you anything. The truth is, Roudy, this isn’t the crime of the century,
at least not as far as we are concerned. The FBI came, they got what they could, which was nothing, and they left. We’re still
here. Our lives still go on, here behind these walls. There is no FBI man, not anymore. It’s all past. Gone. Finished.”

In his delusion as a world-renowned investigator, this was impossible for Roudy to comprehend. In his mind, he was all that
stood between the killer and the next poor victim.

His face turned red and his jowls shook as he spoke. “How dare you give up on innocent victims who’ve been thrown to the wolves?”

Paradise put her hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Sherlock, you’ve been reassigned to a new case. A more important case
that involves dozens of victims.”

“Don’t try to tempt me.”

“I am temptation,” Cass mumbled, eyes tilted down, far off.

“I’m not. The choice is yours, but you’re needed elsewhere. If the FBI decides you’re not qualified to lead this other more
important investigation, they will let you know. But I think you’re up to it.”

He blinked. “Not qualified? This is a blatant attempt at misdirection.”

“Is it? If the FBI wants you back on the Bride Collector case, they’ll come begging, I can promise you that. But they won’t,
because he’s gone. You’re too important for Mr. Raines.” Then she added, as much for herself, “We all are.” She believed that
as much as she believed she really was a monkey.

Roudy looked stunned. He settled back, forced to at least consider the possibility.

“Then at least answer my question,” Andrea insisted.

“I will. If we can all promise to move on.”

No one objected, which was a kind of confirmation in itself.

“What question?” Paradise asked.

Andrea glanced at Enrique. She seemed hesitant, which wasn’t like her. “I just want to know, would you have gone with him?”

Gone with him?

“I mean, you know, not like I was saying. But if he…” A tear spilled down her left cheek; she was fighting the downturn. “If
he really showed interest in you, I mean real affection, that might be nice, right? Because that’s what she keeps saying.”
She motioned at the wall. “That’s what Betty keeps saying.”

Paradise blinked. It was the first time Andrea had said anything positive about this whole thing. “That’s not the point, Andrea.
It’s stupid to even think along those lines. That’s their world and this is ours.”

“But I know what it’s like, Paradise. When I was on the outside, before I came here a year ago, I was, you know, quite popular
with guys. It’s not just my brains.” Her eyes darted to the wall. “And no, it’s not just my body, either. You’re acting like
a baby!” This was obviously said to Betty.

Paradise felt perturbed by this new direction in their conversation. She picked up a
Webster’s
dictionary from the desk, snapped it open, and showed the spread to Andrea. “How many words are on these two pages?”

A glance told the girl. “Three hundred ninety-seven.”

Paradise closed the book. “You see, normally the kind of people that can tell you that are savants, maybe autistic. They don’t
often look like Texas beauty queens who can flirt like cheerleaders. So the boys see you, and they trip.”

“What are you saying? That I’m just a monkey? You always say that they think we’re all monkeys, monkeys, monkeys!” Andrea
paced, agitated. “Well maybe we are, Paradise, but I was trying to be nice. Maybe I was wrong, you know? Maybe the FBI man
is really a nice guy and he really does like you. Maybe you deserve that. But now you’ve ruined it!”

Paradise was about to snap at the girl, tell her that it was all a horrible fantasy. Her emotions boiled and she was reminded
just why she hated men so much. In the end, they dashed hope. They were a curse.

“He likes you,” Casanova said, staring up at Paradise from the couch. “All men want you.” They’d clearly given him more medication
than usual, and his eyes looked only half lit.

“Maybe Mr. Raines likes you,” Andrea said.

“You can have him, Andrea. I can’t afford this. My mind can’t take it. Neither, for that matter, can my heart.”

“So you like him, too,” Cass said. “I know what that’s like. Having my heart broken. It happens quite a lot.” He stared at
them for a moment, then went back to watching the floor.

“Nonsense. He’s all yours, Andrea. But it won’t matter, they’re gone.”

That seemed to settle the issue, at least for the moment. Roudy was still trying to comprehend the nature of her suggestion
that he was needed for a much more important case.

“So, you really think this case is beneath me? Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. The FBI has moved on.”

A voice spoke softly from behind her. “No, Paradise.” She turned to face Allison, who stood in the doorway.
No, Paradise
?

“I’m afraid the FBI hasn’t moved on.” Allison walked in, watching Paradise with her ever-smiling eyes, and Paradise couldn’t
help but think the director was up to something tricky.

“I just got off the phone with Special Agent Raines.”

Paradise found the air heavy to breathe.

“After your help the other day, Mr. Raines and his partner have decided that you offer the Federal Bureau of Investigation
their best chance of saving those young women. All four of you.” She looked at the others. “And I think you should help them.
It will be good for you, and it could be very good for those young women who will probably otherwise die.”

Roudy sprang forward, fist raised. “We can’t let them down! We must help them. Bring the body, bring the files, bring it all!
We’ll put the vermin back into the cage where he belongs!”

Brad Raines was coming back. Paradise stood immobilized.

“Do you all agree, then?” Allison asked.

“Of course!” Roudy shouted.

“Andrea?”

Her eyes were bright, and Paradise didn’t want to guess what was going on in her brain. “Yes,” Andrea said. “Absolutely.”

“You said the beautiful brunette would join us?” Casanova asked, rising unsteadily, dumb grin already plastered on his expression.

“Her name is Nikki. I’m sorry, Casanova, but I don’t think so. Not today.”

His smile flattened. “No?”

“No. But if she comes, you’ll be the first to know.”

Casanova stared for a moment, then headed for the door in a drug-induced shuffle.

Allison looked at Paradise. “Well?”

Her chest was still frozen and a chill shot through her, but Paradise recognized both as excitement as much as fear. The kind
of excitement that a person must feel looking over a cliff with a parachute strapped to her back. And the thought that she
might be excited terrified her even more. She wanted to run from the room.

A glance at Andrea chased away that desire. The girl had lit up like the stars. She was already smoothing her hair. Paradise
already regretted her earlier words; she couldn’t let Brad face this monster on his own.

She faced Allison and shrugged. “Sure.”

“Good. I assumed as much. They’re already on their way.”

“Now?” Paradise asked, terrified again.

“Now.”

THE METHOD AND
execution of a taking were equal parts God and equal parts Quinton Gauld, being the messenger from God empowered to carry
out his bidding on earth. What so few humans knew was just how thrilling being God’s proxy could be. Some knew, in the haze
of a trance brought on by some hallucinogenic tea in the Amazon, or swaying to heavy music at the altar in church, but even
these poor souls could not travel fluidly from human to divine as Quinton could.

Indeed, his hallucinogenic capacity was built in. What the medical community erroneously called illness was actually a fantastic
gifting. He could as easily drift into what they called delusion as they could breathe.

It wasn’t really delusion, as he’d once been led to believe. When the doctors had captured him and shot him full of drugs,
then yes, he’d believed their lies. But now, having lived so long without the drugs, he’d learned to embrace his connection
to God for the true gift it was.

And now there was a devil hunting the messenger, a witch doctor bent on stealing the bride of Christ before Quinton could
take her and deliver her to God. It was eerily similar to the movie
Men in Black,
in which monsters were out to stop highly gifted agents working for truth. Only in this case, the agent Rain Man was the
monster, and he, Quinton Gauld, dressed in gray, was the gifted agent of God protecting his own.

His bride.

For his mission today, Quinton had taken the black Chrysler 300M. His abduction would occur during the day, and the FBI likely
knew that he was driving a truck, based on the tire marks left in the soil at the scene of each killing. The 300M would glide
along the highway without being noticed.

Quinton followed the police cruiser south on I-25, headed toward Castle Rock, careful to keep at least one, usually two cars
between his own and the target. She wasn’t alone, which added a complication, but this didn’t mean he wasn’t up to the task.
God was testing him. Seeing just how good he was before he walked the true and most beautiful bride down the aisle. The rest
were a kind of prenuptial ceremony, preparing the way. A bride price offered to Father.

It was uncommon to find such a beautiful woman as this in law enforcement. He’d taken such a range of women, the last being
a flight attendant, showing that he could snatch them from the sky as well as the ground. And now from the authorities, from
right under their noses.

Quinton had long ago selected another woman who lived in Boulder, a college student in her twenties named Christine. But the
Rain Man had inserted himself into the equation, and God had changed his mind. It was important that people learn their place
in the pecking order. Rain Man was near the bottom of the pile, far below the favorites he was trying to save. Certainly far
below the sunshine, being the rain.

A drizzly little pretty man.

Quinton whistled the old “You Are My Sunshine” tune, but he only got seven or eight notes in when the police car’s turn signal
began to blink, indicating their intention to turn off the highway into the rest stop ahead. He held the tune and spun through
his options. All of them. So many he couldn’t count them, but only a couple interested him much.

Of those that did, one rose as a solid possibility. They were making an unscheduled stop, likely to relieve a bladder or two.
He needed only thirty seconds of quiet time with Theresa and her partner. Depending on how many other cars were in the rest
stop, this might be the perfect thirty.