Page 97 of Obsession

“But if you can’t be civil, I’d rather you leave.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do.” He grabbed his computer bag and slid the laptop inside. She followed him to the front door. “I don’t get it,” he said. “After the way he beat Mom down emotionally, cheated on her ... the way he’s been all his life, how can you just act like nothing’s wrong?”

“He’s changed, Sam. You’d see that if you would talk to him.”

He jutted his jaw. “I can’t believe you’ve fallen for his con.”

“I can’t believe you won’t even hear him out.”

For an answer, Sam slammed the door behind him and hopped in his SUV. He spun out of the drive, headed to the Port Gibson District Headquarters. When he reached the Trace, he reminded himself to slow down to the fifty-mile-an-hour speed limit.

He didn’t understand how Jenny could betray him like this. And his mother. How could she take Martin Ryker back again? He tried to block images of being whipped with a leather belt, but they surfaced anyway, morphing into the times when his father’s words hurt worse than the belt.

No! He would not give his father power over him. Sam forced his grip on the steering wheel to loosen and focused on the narrow two-lane road. Thoughts of his dad crept in, and his hands tightened on the wheel again.

Whatever is true, whatever is ...Not now. He blocked the words from the verse in Philippians his mom had made him memorize as a kid. Sam wanted to think about the wrongs his dad had done. It kept the anger fresh.

He braked as his headlights caught a deer on the side of the road. The magnificent buck turned his antlered head toward him, then raised his white tail and jumped away from the road. He released the breath trapped in his chest.Whatever is pure, whatever is lovely ... think on those things ...

Was it possible his dad had changed? Even if he had, after what he’d done to Sam ... his father didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

More of his mom’s influence. And what about Emma? He wanted her to forgive him ... He brushed the thoughts away and focused on watching for deer.

Before long, he pulled into the Port Gibson office and parked under the outside light beside Clayton’s SUV. He grabbed his computer and hurried inside the low building, where his fieldranger sat at one of the two desks that were in the larger room. “No lingering effects from Friday night?” Sam asked.

Clayton shook his head. “No. After whatever was in the coffee wore off, I was good. Did you get the report back on what was in it?”

“Clonazepam. It’s used for seizures and sometimes anxiety.” Something Sam could use about now. “Too much and it’ll knock you out.”

“I’m assuming too much can kill you as well.”

“Right.” Sam sat at the empty desk and booted up his computer.

“Need anything before I hit the Trace? Brooke made coffee first thing this morning, so I’m pretty sure it’s strong.”

“I’ll pass,” Sam said with a laugh. After Clayton left, he connected to the internet and pulled up the RISS portal and logged in. He would try the regional program first, and if he didn’t get a hit there, he’d log into ViCAP, which was an FBI program that covered the whole United States. He had most of the information entered when the door opened and Brooke entered the office. She laid her flat hat on the desk Clayton had vacated.

“Many speeders out there today?” Sam asked. It was hard for drivers to adhere to the fifty-mile-an-hour speed.

“A few. Mostly doing fifty-five. Since I was feeling magnanimous today,” she said, looking at her engagement ring, “I handed out a couple of warnings. Did you find someone to shadow Emma?”

“I did.” Sam leaned closer to his laptop. “Looks like I got a hit,” he said.

“On what?”

As he opened the file, Sam told her about the shootings and about Mary Jo receiving daisies from an unknown person. “I uploaded all the information into RISS.”

“And the database returned more murders similar to Mary Jo’s?”

He scanned over the file. “Looks like it. Let me print this out.”

54

Emma had never eaten at the Guest House. They’d parked on the street and walked through a small French Quarter courtyard with a fountain that would be wonderful to dine in during the spring and autumn. A little chilly for tonight, though. A hostess showed them to a table inside, and Corey held her chair out for her.

“Thank you,” she said as he scooted her closer. “I love this place. It’s so cozy.”

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