The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [87]
“Oh, it gets much better.” Racine practically ripped the pages, flipping to the inside, creasing the fold before turning it back around. This time both Maggie and Ganza came in for a closer look.
“Son of a bitch,” Ganza muttered.
“I should have known I couldn’t trust that bastard,” Racine said through gritted teeth.
Maggie couldn’t believe it. The page was filled with crime scene photos, photos of Ginny Brier’s dead body, black boxes strategically placed over her private parts, but nothing to hide the horrible, brutal rest. Nothing to cover those terrified eyes—frozen in time, eyes wide open.
CHAPTER 44
Eric Pratt could hear and feel the chipping and splintering of his fingernails as he dug them into the grooves of his handcuffs. It had become a new habit, useful only in that it prevented him from digging the jagged nails into his own flesh.
He should have been grateful that the guard had let him keep his hands together instead of locking them at his waist to each side. He knew his captors had misread his polite behavior, perhaps even thought he was harmless. Though not entirely harmless—he rattled the shackles on his ankles, reminding himself they were there, readjusted himself in the chair. He needed to stop squirming. Why couldn’t he sit still?
As soon as the woman entered the room, Eric had felt a wet chill sweep over his body. She had introduced herself as a doctor, but Eric knew better. The woman was small, well dressed, about his mother’s age, but very attractive. She carried herself with confidence and ease despite the high-heeled shoes she wore. He found himself watching her legs as she crossed them, making herself comfortable in the steel folding chair. She had smooth, firm calves, and from what he could see of her thighs, she was really nothing like his mother.
She was explaining why she was here. He glanced at her mouth, but he didn’t need to listen. He knew exactly why she was here. He had known the second she walked in the door.
She was the woman clothed with the sun. Her reddish-blond hair had been a dead giveaway. It circled her face like the rays of the sun. Of course, she would possess warm green eyes and a quiet, captivating manner, a polite and hypnotic voice and a body that could distract and tempt. Father Joseph had outdone himself this time. He had sent a vision straight out of John’s description of the Apocalypse. Had he honestly believed Eric wouldn’t recognize her?
Sweat trickled down his back. Her voice hummed in his ears, the words no longer separate but strung together as melody—Satan’s death song, lovely and mesmerizing. He wouldn’t let it hypnotize him. He wouldn’t let her draw him in and incapacitate him. But she was good. Oh, she was clever with that kind smile and those sexy legs. If Brandon’s visit hadn’t prepared him, he may very well have been taken into her web, ensnared before he realized what the true purpose of this visit really was.
Click, click—his fingernails picked at the metal. One of them was bleeding. He could feel it, but he kept his hands in his lap, pretending to be calm, pretending the fear wasn’t clawing inside him, ripping at the walls of his stomach and trying to race up his throat to strangle him.
He looked into her eyes, saw her smile and quickly looked away. Was that her secret weapon? If she couldn’t hypnotize him with her voice, would she use her eyes? He wondered how she might kill him, and his eyes scanned the length of her, looking for bulges in her clothing.
The guards would have allowed her in with anything she cared to conceal. They would want no part of the mess, even if they were able to stop her. After all, Father had told them the woman clothed with the sun had special powers, according to the gospel of John, St. John the Divine, Revelation 12:1–6. She was light. She was dark. She was good and evil. She was a messenger of