THREE TIMES A LADY (34 page)

Do it for me, Dana.  Do it for Crawford.  Do it for that little boy you want to adopt.

Hell, do it for
yourself.

Dana sat up in the darkness and wiped tears from her eyes.  The only problem with Krugman’s request was that she didn’t know if she
could
do it for herself any more.  She’d focused so intently on helping other people her entire life, on putting her own selfish concerns to the side, that she’d lost sight of herself somewhere along the way.  Now it felt like she didn’t even know who she
was
any more.  Hell, wasn’t sure if she’d
ever
known. 

At quarter to eight on Sunday morning, Dana dressed in a knee-length white skirt and a conservative, light-pink blouse before walking over to Ascension Catholic Church.  She knew that she needed help making the decision in front of her, and thankfully, she knew
exactly
where to look for it.

Settling into a pew in the back of the church ten minutes later, she started to pray as the church began to fill up with people: 

God, please help me.  Tell me what I should do.  I’m so lost right now.

Dana hadn’t been to Mass in years, but there were some things in life you never forgot, no matter how much time had passed.

At its heart, Catholic Mass was an assembly.  Greeters met you at the door with warm smiles.  Everybody had literally dressed in his or her Sunday best.  Near the entrances, bowls of holy water glistened, beckoning for worshippers to dip in their fingers and make the Sign of the Cross, starting at your forehead and ending at your right shoulder.  The act of genuflection before the altar had been imported from medieval Europe, where it had been customary to drop to one knee in front of a king or nobleman.

A few minutes after she’d taken her seat in back, the first strains of the opening processional filled Dana’s ears, bringing a smile to her face.

The upbeat song lifted her spirits immediately.  Before she knew it, she was singing
On Eagle’s Wings
right along with the rest of the congregation.  Several moments later, three altar boys – the lead one carrying a large crucifix affixed to the top of a long metal pole – processed down the main aisle in front of the priest. 

Dana’s jaw dropped when she got her first look at the holy man bringing up the rear.

It was the old landscaper from the previous day, the same one who’d urged Dana to look for the answers she was seeking within the walls of the building he’d been working so hard to beautify out in the hot Florida sun.

Dana shook her head in bemusement.  No wonder the man had been so intent upon selling her on the concept of attending church as a means to finding the answers she was looking for.  He was the shepherd, and he’d led Dana right into his flock without her ever even realising it. 

She had to admit, she was impressed.

When the last strains of the opening song drifted away, the landscaper/priest ascended the steps that led up to the altar and turned around to face the worshippers.  Stretching out his arms in his flowing purple robes, he greeted the faithful.

‘Good morning, everyone.  My name is Father Lance Middleton.  Thank you so much for joining me this fine morning to give thanks and glory to the Lord our God.  Each one of us are truly His children, and He loves each one of us dearly.  Please don’t ever forget that.’

The rest of the Mass was easily recognizable to Dana despite her long absence from the Church.  She’d minored in theology at Cleveland State, after all, so she’d spent plenty of time inside places of worship just like this one.  And much like chapters in the FBI guidebook, the details of the rites had stuck to her brain like glue.

After the greeting came the penitential rite, followed by the opening prayer and the Liturgy of the Word.  Then there were three readings and a psalm before the congregation stood for the reading of the gospel.  As it turned out, today’s selection came from the Book of Job.  Appropriate, to say the least. 

Clearing his throat dramatically, Father Middleton began to read, his deep voice booming over the church’s sound system.

‘In the land of Uz there lived a man whose name was Job.  This man was blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil…’

The story went on from there to recount Job’s trials following Satan’s challenge to God that Job worshipped Him only because he’d been blessed in life.  Job endured countless horrors during the tests foisted upon him, including the loss of his family, wealth and sanity, yet he still praised God’s name.

When he’d ended the reading, Father Middleton immediately launched into his homily.  The main crux of the priest’s sermon hit Dana in a very personal way.

‘Whatever burdens we bear in this life, we must always remember that there is a reason for the trials the Lord give us,’ the priest said.  ‘We may lose our way from time to time, but God always knows
exactly
where we’re going.  Follow His light and your path will always shine bright before you.  That much I assure you.’

The rest of the Mass passed quickly for Dana after that as she reflected on Father Middleton’s words, just as she’d reflected on Bill Krugman’s words the previous night.  Before she knew it, the final blessing and dismissal were being delivered.  Never before had an hour of her life passed so quickly.  To top things off, the closing song was
Amazing Grace
– one of Dana’s all-time favourites.

Tears filled her eyes as she sang out the words with the rest of the worshippers from the very bottom of her soul.

Ten minutes later, the church gradually emptied out, but Dana remained on her knees for a while, still praying. 

This time it was a prayer of thanks.

She couldn’t explain it, but she somehow felt filled with the Holy Spirit right now.  No matter how hard things had been for her in her life, she knew that there were others out there who had it far worse than she did.  A renewed sense of strength flowed through her body.  She was finally ready to get back to work.  Finally ready to fight the good fight once more for those who weren’t strong enough to fight it for themselves. 

A tiny hand on Dana’s left shoulder jerked her mind back into the present.  Looking up, she saw the lead altar boy standing over her, dressed in his snow-white cassock.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ the boy said in a shy voice.  Not much more than nine or ten years old, he had sandy brown hair and an angelic face sprinkled with freckles.  ‘Father Lance asked me to invite you back to the sanctuary.  He said to tell you he was very happy to see you at Mass today and that he’d like to thank you personally for coming.’

Dana smiled at the boy and resisted the urge to reach out a hand and tousle his hair.  ‘Please tell Father Lance I’ll be back there in just a minute,’ she said.

When the boy nodded and had turned away, Dana closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, feeling the entire weight of the world slip from her shoulders.

Time for just one more quick prayer of thanks
.

Quiet as a church mouse, Nicholas emerged from the bathroom of the sanctuary at Ascension Catholic Church just as Father Lance Middleton completed his disrobing following Mass, revealing pressed black clothing complete with a stiff white Roman collar around his wrinkled neck. 

To pass the time while he’d waited, Nicholas had spent the majority of the service working the bottom portion of a handheld crucifix back and forth against the concrete floor in the bathroom, honing the metal until the bottom edge had sharpened into a gleaming point. 

To the priest’s credit, Middleton didn’t surprised to see Nicholas standing there with the crucifix balanced in his right hand.  The old goat probably thought Nicholas was just another lost parishioner seeking some sort of guidance from above. 

Boy, was
he
ever mistaken.

Middleton smiled at Nicholas, showing off crooked yellow teeth.  ‘Well, hello there,’ he said.  ‘Can I help you with something?  The public restrooms are located in the back of the church, if that’s what you’re looking for, but I certainly don’t mind you using mine.  Share and share alike, that’s what I always say.’

Nicholas smiled back at the man.  ‘Thanks for the offer, Father.  That’s awfully generous of you.  But, no, there isn’t anything you can help me out with. 
I
, on the other hand, can definitely help
you
out with something.’

The priest lifted his bushy eyebrows.  ‘What’s that?  What can you help me out with?’

Springing forward, Nicholas jammed the sharp point of the crucifix deep into the right side of Middleton’s neck.  Blood erupted from the priest’s throbbing jugular vein in a powerful explosion of red.  A fine crimson mist of it sprayed across Nicholas’s face and clothing.

‘Help you out with understanding that Dana Whitestone belongs to
me
, Father,’ he said calmly.  ‘As a matter of fact, she’s
always
belonged to me.’

Father Lance Middleton’s high-pitched scream of agony echoed throughout the marble-tiled confines of Ascension Catholic Church.

From her position in the rear of the building, Dana’s heart leapt up into her throat.  Instinctively, she sprang to her feet and bolted down the main aisle toward the source of the noise.  Most people ran
away
from trouble.  Thanks to her years of training with the FBI, though – training on which Dana had turned her back until just this very morning – she ran
toward
it.

Coming to a panting stop outside the doors of the sanctuary, Dana’s hand automatically went for her Glock before she suddenly realised she’d left it back home at her vacation rental.  After all, loaded guns didn’t exactly make for acceptable accessories in places of worship.  As a result, her Glock was still locked away in a fireproof metal box a mile away on Indian Bayou Avenue.

Dana took in a deep breath through her nostrils and willed herself to calm down.  Unarmed or not, she was going in.  Her job
demanded
it.  She was an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for Christ’s sake – no matter how confused about that she’d been before.

Dana pushed open the door and stepped inside.  Ten feet away, the priest lay on the floor surrounded by a rapidly expanding pool of blood.  Middleton looked up at Dana with pleading eyes filled with terror.  Only the top portion of a metal crucifix remained visible in the right side of his neck.

The kindly old man tried to speak, but no words came out.  Reaching up with a trembling hand, he pulled out the crucifix from his neck before Dana had a chance stop him.  Blood coated his fingers as he let the crucifix fall to the floor beside him in an eerie cacophony of jangling metal.

Dana winced, knowing that the crucifix had been the only thing keeping Middleton alive.  But what could she do about it now?  Stick it back in his neck?  Still, without the crucifix to staunch the flow of blood, the red pulsed out even faster from Middleton’s throat with every beat of his badly labouring heart.  Finally, the priest’s face went ghostly white.  A moment later, his eyeballs rolled up into the back of his head and he stopped breathing altogether.

The sudden voice that sounded directly behind Dana nearly caused her to jump right out of her skin.  Her heart triple-pumped in her chest, slamming hard against her ribcage. 

‘Should I call 9-1-1?’

Dana whirled around to see the altar boy from ten minutes earlier.  Tears filled his glistening blue eyes.

Closing her own eyes, Dana shook her head sadly.

No
, she thought. 
You should call a priest.

Two days later, Dana went on national television to do an interview with Brent Price – the reporter from Cleveland who’d ambushed her outside the front doors of her apartment complex a year earlier.

After a lengthy discussion with Bill Krugman about how they wanted to proceed, Dana and the Director had finally decided that the best way to go about things would be to lure Nicole Preston out from beneath whatever rock she was hiding under at the moment by staging an elaborate, televised presentation – ostensibly to discuss the recent, horrific murders of celebrities. 

With the information they’d compiled about Preston’s psychology and the woman’s overwhelming
need
for the spotlight, Dana felt confident that the murdering little bitch wouldn’t be able to stay away.   And that’s why the taping of the show would be accessible to the general public, as well.  It was a dangerous gamble and one that probably bordered on the ethically questionable, but Dana and Krugman felt like they needed to take a chance at this point.  To protect attendees, seventy-five plain-clothed FBI agents would be stationed around Hammond Stadium, posing as snack vendors and concessions workers.  

The home of the minor-league affiliate of the Minnesota Twins was located on Six Mile Cypress Parkway and seemed like the perfect place for the highly scripted ruse to unfold.  The underlying hope was that the outdoor setting and throngs of people expected to attend would lure Nicole Preston into a false sense of security.