A Perfect Evil Part 39

"You're still looking for him," he said without surprise or irritation, coming up behind her, too close to allow her normal breathing to resume.

"From Caracas, Father Francis' body was shipped by truck to a small community about a hundred miles to the south. Keller's airline ticket has him returning today. I'm trying to find out if he boarded the flight back to Miami or if he headed somewhere else."

"It amazes me the information you can access."

She felt him lean forward to examine the screen.

"At the airport," he continued, "I remember thinking how nice it would be to have FBI credentials instead of my measly sheriff's badge. I was way out of my jurisdiction."

"I certainly hope you aren't still worried about looking incompetent?"

"No. Actually, no, I'm not," he said, sounding like he definitely meant it.

Finally, the pa.s.senger list for TWA flight 1692 materialized on the screen. Maggie easily found Reverend Michael Keller's name, and it was on the list even after departure.

"Just because he's on the list doesn't mean he was on the plane."

"I know that." She scooted out from between the computer and Nick before turning to face him.

"So what happens if he doesn't come back?"

"I'll find him," she said simply. "What is that saying? He can run, but he can't hide."

"Even if you find him, we don't have a shred of evidence to implicate him."

"Do you honestly believe Eddie Gillick or Ray Howard killed those boys?"

He hesitated, glanced back at the computer, then around the room, stopping at her suitcases before returning to her.

"I'm not sure what part, if any, Eddie may have played in the murders. But you know I suspected Howard from the beginning. Come on, Maggie. We found him at the airport with what could be the murder weapon."

She frowned at him and shook her head. "He doesn't fit the profile."

"Maybe not, but you know what? I don't want to spend my last hour with you talking about Eddie Gillick or Ray Howard or Father Keller or anything to do with this case."

He approached slowly, cautiously. She nervously pushed her hair away from her face. Tucked a stubborn strand behind her ear. The look in his eyes made the tremble invade her fingers again, and the flutter raced from her stomach to between her thighs.

He touched her face gently, holding her eyes with an intensity that made her feel as though she was the only woman in the world-at least, for the moment. She could easily have stopped the kiss, had meant to when he first leaned down. But when his lips brushed hers, all her energy focused on keeping her knees from buckling. When she didn't protest, his mouth caught hers in a wet, soft kiss filled with so much urgency and emotion that she felt certain the room was spinning. Even after his mouth left hers, she kept her eyes closed, trying to steady her breathing, trying to stop the spinning.

"I love you, Maggie O'Dell."

Her eyes flew open. His face was still close to hers, his eyes serious. She saw a bit of boyish apprehension and knew how hard those words had been to say. She pulled away, only now realizing that, other than his fingers on her face and his mouth on hers, he hadn't touched her anywhere else. Which made her retreat disappointingly easy.

"Nick, we barely know each other." It was still hard to breathe. How could one simple kiss take her breath so completely away?

"I've never felt this way before, Maggie. And it's not just because you're unavailable. It's something I can't even explain."

"Nick..."

"Please, just let me finish."

She waited, braced herself and leaned against the dresser. The same dresser she had clung to the night they had come so dangerously close to making love.

"I know it's only been a week, but I can a.s.sure you, I'm not impulsive when it comes to...well, s.e.x, yes, but not this...not love. I've never felt this way before. And I've certainly never told a woman I loved her before."

It sounded like a line, but she knew from his eyes that it was true. She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop her.

"I don't expect anything I say to compromise your marriage. But I didn't want you to leave without knowing, just in case it did make a difference. And I guess even if it doesn't, I still want you to know that I...that I am madly, deeply, hopelessly, head over heels in love with you, Maggie O'Dell."

It was his turn to wait. She couldn't speak. Her fingers clawed at the dresser top, keeping her from going to him and wrapping her arms around him.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." His eyes told her he meant it.

"I obviously have feelings for you." She struggled with the words. She hated the thought of never seeing him again. But what did she know about being in love? Hadn't she been in love with Greg, once upon a time? Hadn't she vowed to love him forever?

"Things are really complicated right now," she heard herself say and wanted to kick herself. He had opened his heart to her, taken such a risk, and here she was being practical and rational.

"I know," he said. "But maybe they won't always be complicated."

"It does make a difference, Nick," she said, making a feeble attempt at correcting her ambiguity.

He seemed relieved by that simple revelation, as though it was more than he had ever hoped for.

"You know," he said, sounding more comfortable while her heart screamed at her to tell him how she felt. "You've helped me see a lot of things about myself, about life. I've been following in these huge, deep footsteps my father keeps leaving behind and...and I don't want to do that anymore."

"You're a good sheriff, Nick." She ignored the tug at her heart. Maybe it was better this way.

"Thanks, but it's not what I want," he continued. "I admire how much your job means to you. Your dedication-your stubborn dedication, I might add. I never realized before how much I want something like that, something to believe in."

"So what does Nick Morrelli want to be when he grows up?" she asked, smiling at him when she really wanted to touch him.

"When I was in law school I worked at the Suffolk County district attorney's office in Boston. They always said I was welcome to come back. It's been a long time, but I think I might give them a call."

Boston. So close, she couldn't help thinking.

"That sounds great," she said, already calculating the miles between Quantico and Boston.

"I'm going to miss you," he said simply.

His words caught her off guard, just when she thought she was safe. He must have seen the panic in her eyes, because he quickly checked his watch.

"I should get you to the airport."

"Right." Their eyes met again. One last tug, one last chance to tell him. Or would there be plenty of chances?

She brushed past him and closed down the computer, unplugging cords, snapping the lid shut and shoving the computer into its case. He grabbed her suitcase. She grabbed her garment bag. They were at the door when the phone rang. At first, she thought about ignoring it and leaving. Suddenly, she hurried back and grabbed the receiver.

"Maggie O'Dell."

"O'Dell, I'm glad I caught you."

It was Director Cunningham. She hadn't talked to him in days. "I was just on my way out."

"Good. Get back here as quickly as possible. I'm having Delaney and Turner meet you at the airport."

"What's going on?" She glanced at Nick, who came back into the room, his face filled with concern. "You make it sound like I need bodyguards," she joked, then tensed when his silence lasted too long.

"I wanted you to know before you hear it on the news."

"Hear what?"

"Albert Stucky has escaped. They were transferring him from Miami to a maximum-security facility in North Florida. Stucky ended up biting the ear off one guard and stabbing the other with-get this-a wooden crucifix. Then he blew both their heads off with their own service revolvers. Seems the day before, a Catholic priest visited Stucky in his cell. He had to be the one who left the crucifix. I don't want you to worry, Maggie. We got the b.a.s.t.a.r.d before, we'll get him again."

But the only thing Maggie heard was, "Albert Stucky has escaped."

EPILOGUE.

One week later Chiuchin, Chile

He couldn't believe how glorious the sun felt. His bare feet maneuvered the rocky sh.o.r.e. The minor cuts and sc.r.a.pes were a small price to pay for the feel of the warm waves lapping at his feet. The Pacific Ocean stretched forever, its water rejuvenating, its power overwhelming.

Behind him, the mountains of Chile isolated this paradise, where poor, struggling farmers were as starved for attention as they were for salvation. The tiny parish included fewer than fifty families. It was perfect. Since he'd arrived, he hardly noticed the throbbing in his head. Perhaps it was gone for good this time.

A group of brown-skinned boys, clad only in shorts, chased a ball while they raced toward him. Two of them recognized him from the morning's ma.s.s. They waved and called out to him. He laughed at their misp.r.o.nunciation of his name. When they gathered around him, he petted their black hair and smiled down at them. The one with the torn, blue shorts had such sad eyes, reminding him of himself.

"My name," he instructed, "is Father Keller. Not Father Killer."

About the Author.

Alex Kava is an international bestselling suspense writer. Her work has been widely praised by critics and fans alike, and her first three novels in the Maggie O'Dell series, A Perfect Evil, Split Second and The Soul Catcher, have spent several weeks on the New York Times New York Times and and USA TODAY USA TODAY bestseller lists. bestseller lists.

Growing up in the country outside Silver Creek, Nebraska, Alex Kava fantasized about becoming a writer. Her parents, although they understood the value of education, had a tremendous work ethic. Reading was seen as frivolous unless required as schoolwork. As a teenager, Kava wrote short stories on the backs of calendars, sharing them only with her younger brother and hiding them in a shoe box under her bed.

Kava earned an art scholarship to attend college. To pay living expenses, she worked in a nearby hospital's central supply department collecting and sterilizing all of the basins, instruments and equipment from surgery, pathology and the morgue. In 1982 she graduated magna c.u.m laude from College of Saint Mary in Omaha, Nebraska, with a B.A. in art and English.

After graduating, Kava held a variety of jobs, mostly in advertising and marketing. Starting her own graphic design firm, Square One, she designed food packages and logos for national corporations, wrote brochures and newsletters, created a line of greeting cards and directed TV and radio commercials. In 1992 she returned to her alma mater as its director of public relations.

Kava quit her public relations position in the summer of 1996, wanting to dedicate more time to writing fiction and getting published. To pay the bills, she resurrected Square One, refinanced her home, maxed out her credit cards and even took on a newspaper delivery route.

Alex Kava is a member of the Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. She lives in Omaha, Nebraska. Her Web site is located at www.alexkava.com

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction; however, I'd like to extend my heartfelt sympathy to any parent who has ever lost a child to a senseless act of violence.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

I owe my deepest grat.i.tude and appreciation to all those whose support and expertise made this fantastic journey possible.

Special thanks go to:

Philip Spitzer, my agent, who enthusiastically offered to represent this book, then made it his personal mission to see it published. Philip, you are my hero.

Patricia Sierra, fellow author, for generously sharing her wisdom, her wit and her friendship.

Amy Moore-Benson, my editor, for her tenacity, her keen insights and her ability to make the editing process painless and rewarding.