Sacrifice of Innocence

by Allison Cosgrove

Sample Chapter:

Prologue

The man in the corner listened in the darkness, the wind whistling through the crack in the window frame, billowing his hair around him. The child in the room with him was invisible in the darkness. Even the power of the sun, let alone the light from the full moon, could not dampen the gloom hidden behind the boarded windows.

Hearing a sound, the man stiffened. It was the child, the sweet young child.

"Very soon, my precious, very soon," Joseph whispered, his breath coming in short gasps. Excitement filled his belly; time was drawing closer for the boy.

Footsteps in the hallway caused the boy to whimper in fear, lighting the man's loins on fire. Desperately wanting the forbidden, to touch and play with the boy, he tried to force the urge back down. He wasn't allowed that pleasure, yet. The priests would come soon and the boy would have to be pure. The man's needs would have to wait. The boy would have to wait.

Dreaming of the day he would finally be able to have his way with the boy, the man fixed the delicious whimpers in his memory. The boy would no longer be able to cry and plea.

It was coming soon, so close now.

On the other side of the room, he heard the ominous creak of the door opening. Blinding light silhouetted a figure dressed in long robes.

He hurried over and retrieved his boy-child, his breath coming in gasps so ragged that he thought his lungs would cease to function.

A whimper was all that escaped the gag when the boy tried to scream. He fought against the bonds and cringed at the man's touch, hardening the man's groin.

The man smiled, tightening his grip as the boy tried to wriggle free from his grasp. The door stood open, waiting for him and the boy.

Suddenly, the door swung closed behind him, plunging the room into darkness once again.

Chapter 1

Early morning light crept through the window, waking Stan from the sleep he needed more than anything. Willing himself to go back to sleep, he closed his eyes, fighting the urge to drown himself in a pot of coffee. It can't be any later than eight-thirty, he thought. Damn it.

He had planned to spend his first day off in months passed out in his bed, not even rising to answer the telephone, but his internal alarm clock had gone off at five-thirty. He spent the rest of the morning tossing and turning, trying to find a way to go back to sleep. Friday, he thought, letting his eyes drift back closed for a moment.

After rolling over, he propped himself on the edge of his bed and sat rubbing his face with his hands, his head pounding like he'd spent the last week drinking with his buddies. He stared at the bare dark hardwood dresser that dominated one wall. It had become a rack for both clean clothes from the cleaners and the dirty ones that need to be shipped out. The clean pile was dwindling while the dirty pile had partially toppled off onto the floor. Aside from the dresser, the room was almost bare; a bed, a night table, and the bleak off-white walls.

The last few months had been brutal and draining. The latest murder in a case that spanned at least five years had been tossed to Stan and his partner. After endless hours of studying the file, they began to see the makings of a serial murderer. Since then he and Jane have run on a twenty-four hour clock. Stopping to rest was not in the schedule. Stan caught naps when and where he could; the car, the diner down the street from the office.

It was a lifestyle he wasn't used to. Before his accident he was next in line to be the head of the organized crime unit. A few more months of waiting on that wack-job Morris to wuss out and the job would have been his. Stan was the youngest person ever considered for the position, and he would have had it, too, if not for the accident. Just being considered was a testament to the hard work and contributions he made in the department and the community. But, he never made it there. Neither had his old partner. Both were stopped just short of the top.

It all happened on a crisp, cool sunny afternoon. A routine bust on one of the local drug houses had gone bad. Everything was going as planned until a group of armed men with sub-machine guns came out of nowhere, firing off rounds like they were in the middle of a war. Stan watched in horror as his partner, Bill Matheson, was gunned down in a hail of bullets, almost claiming Stan's life as well.

Stan shuddered remembering the scene. Every time he let his mind wander in that direction, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Could he have saved Bill? If he had only paid more attention to his surroundings, maybe things would be different and Bill would still be alive. Maybe . . .

After recovering from his physical wounds, he tried to return to his job, but while he was recuperating they had given all his active cases away and left him with a desk job. His position on the force had even been filled. He understood. It was the way things were. The case had generated too much publicity, his partner had died, and his own life had hung in the balance. He was almost useless in the field. Everyone knew who he was. Any chance he had of undercover work was gone.

After a month of pushing pencils at his desk, his superiors decided to transfer him over to homicide. Although he knew at heart that it was done with the best of intentions, and to help him get back out in the field where he worked best, he couldn't help but feel that the unit considered him a liability.

It took months before he was able to see the transfer any differently. In those few short months, he lost everything that mattered to him. His wife left him one night, saying only that he had changed and was no longer the man she married. Drinking didn't solve anything, but he did it anyway. Two different partners left him in that first year, before he was placed with Jane Trinity. The little vixen had brought him out of the downward spiral and the bottle. Stan was grateful to her for all she did. In the two years since being partnered with Jane, he became the best detective in the unit and was always so busy that he never had time to dwell in the past. Ah, but here I am dwelling.

With the palm of his hand, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the memories he refused to relive. After relieving himself in his tiny bathroom, he headed for the kitchen.

The mess from his bedroom followed him into the kitchen, causing him to groan at its sight. Dishes were piled in the double sink, along with take-out boxes and coffee cups. Others trailed out of the sink and across the counter, creating what looked like the day after a meal for fifteen, complete with dessert and iced tea. He looked at the still heated coffee pot, trying to figure out when he'd percolated that batch. Was it last night or the night before? Without further thought he rinsed out a mug and poured himself a healthy dose, not bothering to search out sugar or milk. He stacked the papers strewn haphazardly across the table before sitting down. Most of the pile was his notes on his recent case, but he also found last month's shopping list, his check book registry (which had been lost for six months), and a compilation of phone numbers related to his case.

Last night, he mused, walking out to the front porch to retrieve the morning paper. The usually neat and tidy porch was littered with pages of weather-worn papers from the previous months. Not only grass, but knee-high weeds grew on his front lawn and the hedge looked more like a porcupine on a bad day. All he had time for was a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. This case was taking up more time than he had realized. Grabbing what seemed to be the latest edition of the local news, judging on how neat its pages were, he made a mental note to clean up his front lawn just as soon as he finished his coffee.

Back in the kitchen, he turned on the small television he kept on the counter. He had to move a few coffee mugs and an empty take-out box before he could switch channels. A short frumpy woman with a crooked smile and teeth too big for her face was talking about a hurricane somewhere over the Atlantic. It was heading straight for Florida.

Poor old saps, he thought to himself. So much for retiring in paradise. When I retire from the force, I'm not going anywhere near that damn state. I'm headed up to North Dakota or somewhere I can lose myself in a forest and no one will find me again.

As if that could happen, he chuckled to himself. They will never let me retire. I'll be stuck with this badge until the day I die.

The weather-lady rounded out the day's weather forecast, partly cloudy with a thirty percent chance of rain, and the traffic report was up next. Stan hit the mute button on the remote as he pulled the front section out of the bundled up paper and started skimming the headlines.

A picture of the police chief and Stan's partner, Jane, covered the front page. The picture had been taken at the press conference the previous evening. Details of the case were reiterated in the article that followed. He scanned it, noting the way the press tended to embellish what little information they were given, just to fill a page and grab the general publics' attention.

After a shake of his head, he took another sip of his coffee and glanced at the television. A clip of the press conference filled the screen. Stan hit the volume key and watched with interest.

". . . We believe that we have apprehended the individual responsible for the kidnapping, rape and torture of several area children," Jane was saying.

"Is the individual being held in connection with the case Joseph Watkins?" a tall slender reporter with bright red hair asked. Stan recoiled when a camera zoomed out to fit the reporter and the podium behind which Jane and the chief of police stood. Bright red hair and an orange power suit assaulted his eyes. He wasn't much for fashion but he knew those two colors didn't work together.

"Yes, that is the person we have detained, pending further investigation," the Chief, Tony Di Organza, answered stiffly. If Stan were to ask Tony the worst part of his job, he knew the answer would be the press conferences. He wasn't comfortable in front of all those cameras.

"Detective Trinity, is it true that the police found a number of pornographic items relating to the missing children in the suspect's home?" another reporter asked. Stan recognized this one. She wasn't very tall, perhaps five feet, and her brown hair was cut short. Debra Caren worked for The Mirror. She was a ruthless reporter with little feeling for anything but her career.

"I can confirm such evidence was found. However, we cannot confirm that it is directly related to the case at this point in our investigation. Our lab techs are still going over every scrap, trying to substantiate it thoroughly before we release our findings."

"Chief Di Organza, is it true…"

The latter half of the question was drowned out by Stan's cellular phone ringing. Before even looking at the phone, Stan knew it was Jane. Her husband, the tech geek, set a distinctive ringtone for Jane. He hit the mute button on his remote, grabbed his phone and pressed the talk button.

"Yeah, I'm awake. What do you want?" he said into the phone.

"Nice to know you are in a good mood," Jane answered sarcastically. Jane was as close to Stan as a sister. People who didn't know them well often looked at them like they were the worst enemies but Stan wouldn't trade her thick derision and sense of humor for anything. It brightened his life and made it worth living.

"Yeah, well, the one day I wanted to sleep in, I couldn't. So what did you expect, me be happy about it?"

"Oh, did I wake the sleeping giant?" she asked innocently.

"No, I've been awake since five thirty, but up since eight thirty, catching up on the local news. You looked good up there yesterday, by the way."

"Yeah, sure. I looked like hell."

"You looked a hell of a lot better than I would have standing there beside the Chief. After the first three questions, I would have probably told them to screw off and wait for the trial and you know it."

"True," she laughed. "However, I wish I'd been in your shoes. You got to go home and start to unwind. I had to be in the center of a three-ring circus."

"Yeah, but you looked good doing it."

"Whatever! Look, I got a call from the Chief about twenty minutes ago. He wants us in his office ASAP."

"Oh, come on!" Stand groaned, rubbing at the sleep that still crusted his eyes. "This was supposed to be my day off."

"It was my day off too, remember? But duty calls. At least you don't have to explain to your sons that you couldn't take them to the zoo today like you promised, because you have to work once again. You only have Sammy to worry about and believe me, as long as he gets fed, he doesn't care if you are there or not."

"Yeah, well . . ." he started.

"Don't yeah, well, me. If I have to, I will come down there and drag you out of your house to the station in your house coat and slippers," Jane threatened teasingly.

"I don't own a housecoat, or slippers for that matter," Stan informed her.

"Better still. I'll haul you in wearing nothing but your underwear, so get your ass moving before the Chief has both of our heads."

"All right! All right! I'm coming, just let me grab a shower and I'll be there in an hour."

"See you there and don't be late," she said, hanging up the phone without waiting for a goodbye from him.

Regretfully, he dumped what was left of his coffee down the sink. He really needed to get his house back in order. But, like Jane said, duty called so he headed for a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later he was somewhat presentable.

On his way to the door, he opened a can of cat food for Sammy and refilled the water dish. As he opened the door to leave, a fat, orange tabby scurried through the doorway and around his legs.

"How did you get out there?" Stan asked the cat. "I don't remember letting you out last night. Oh well, whatever, eh? Just don't claw up the furniture while I'm gone, alright?"

Sammy looked up at him as if to say, "Who me?" then went back to his food.

Stan didn't see the man come out of his living room after he had closed the front door and locked it. He didn't realize how close he had been to losing his life right then and there. The man looked down at the cat, who was staring at him with a baleful look on his face.

"I am sorry, but your owner might not be around for that much longer. I can't have him interfering in my plans anymore."

He left out the same door as Stan had only a few minutes earlier. He knew he had to get going. He knew also that if he didn't keep up his façade that they would surely be caught, and the High Priestess would not like that at all.

No he had to get where he was going. He walked down the street to where he had parked the car he had borrowed for the evening and drove off.

* * *

Stan was the last person to arrive, just after another of the detectives on the case, Jimmy Messina, in the conference room that the task force had renamed the War Room. The walls were covered with photos of the crime scenes, suspects, and evidence. There were three dry-erase boards on wheels that had been set up in a semi-circle at the head of the room depicting the time-line over the last few months, from the very first kidnapping to the arrest made the day before.

The entire joint task force was seated around a huge conference table in the center of the room, which itself was covered with stacks of file folders, evidence bags, and littered with coffee cups, some still full.

"Nice of you to join us, Stan," Chief Di Organza said as Stan took a seat between Jane and another detective.

"I told you to hurry!" Jane whispered teasingly. "You know how the boss-man is around cases like this."

"Yeah, well, I did hurry," answered Stan. "If I hadn't, I would still be sitting at my kitchen table finishing my coffee. I didn't even get a chance to clean up my porch, which I might add looks worse than a junkie's stairwell. The least he could have done was spring for donuts. I haven't even eaten breakfast yet."

"Excuse me, Detective Brookshire, Detective Trinity? Are you two finished? Because if you are done with your nonsense there are some of us who would like to get this meeting started so we can get on to the rest of our day."

"Does that mean I get to go home after this?" Stan whispered innocently to Jane.

"STAN!" Jane hissed, "Enough!"

"Sorry," Stan said, slouching a bit like a scolded child into his chair.

Stan knew he had pushed it a little too far when he caught the look the Chief shot him. Tony was usually tolerant of his jokes he shared with his partner, but maybe today wasn't a good day for it.

The Chief cleared his throat and began. "As you all know, yesterday morning we arrested a person we believe to be the main suspect in our ongoing investigation. A man named Joseph Watkins. He fits the pattern and the evidence fits. Although, we have yet to process all of the evidence we uncovered at the suspect’s place of residence, we have strong reason to believe that it may include pictures of the deceased. Everything seems to point us all in the same direction . . ."

"Okay, so why are we all here then?" asked Jimmy who was now seated across the table from Stan.

"Well, Detective Messina, if you would allow me to continue, I would be able to get to the point of calling you in here on your day off."

"Sorry, Sir."

"Thank you. Now, like I was saying, the reason I called you all in here on your day off is because there has been a report of another kidnapping that fits the victims' profiles as well as the circumstances. Now, either we have a copy-cat, we haven't got the right guy, or there are multiple suspects."

"Ok," a detective from the next county over started, "but back in the beginning, when we were questioning witnesses surrounding the first two or three kidnappings, the most they said about our suspect was that it was a single male who had approached the victims. There was no one else around, not driving the car, nothing. So, where would these other suspects fit in?"

"I never said that was the case at all, Detective Blake. I said it is a possibility, one that we may have dismissed too soon. Couple that with the idea that there might be a copy cat and we have our work cut out for us. All that being said, I want each and every one of you to go back over all of your notes, re-interview people you have already talked to, see if they change their story. Review all evidence. I want to be absolutely sure that Joseph Watkins is our man." The chief paused, giving everyone a moment to grasp what he was asking of them before he continued. "I have never doubted any of you before, don't give me a reason to start now. As soon as this latest kidnapping hits the news, everyone is going to be looking at us like we have egg on our faces. I want something to tell them and I want the proof to back it up."

"What about the pictures we found in the perp's home? When are we supposed to be getting the findings back on those?" Jane asked.

"As soon as we are finished here, I am going to be putting a call into our lab and will find out what the ETA is for them. Hopefully, I'll be able to put a little pressure on them to get the results to us by the afternoon."

"Alright, who is taking which angle and who gets the fun job of reviewing these lovely stacks of files and baggies of evidence?" Stan asked, waving his hand over the pile of folders.

"Well, Detective, if I had my way, it would be you. However, at the present moment I require your talents elsewhere. I'll need you and Jane to head over to the latest victim's house and interview the parents. I need you guys to ascertain if this is the real deal or what it is. I'll leave the files to Lieutenants Jones and Morales to handle."

Taking that as their cue, the two young lieutenants each grabbed a stack of files and went off to start reviewing them.

"Alright, the rest of you retrace your steps, re-interview anyone and everyone. Don't leave any stone unturned. I don't just want answers, people, I demand them."

The Chief turned and walked out of the room, leaving the rest to start speculating on their own.

"We already went over the evidence a thousand times. What makes him think we're going to find anything that we didn't find in the first place?" asked Kenny Blake, a detective from the next county.

"That's his job, Kenny," Jane said quickly to defend her boss. "He has to answer for any of our mistakes. So why shouldn't he push us for our best?"

"The lady has a point," added Morales as he came back in to retrieve another stack of files.

"Besides, do you want to be the one to blame if Joseph Watkins gets off on some technicality because you didn't double check your work? I know I sure wouldn't," said Stan. This guy is really starting to get on my nerves. He comes in from another county and starts second-guessing everything that Chief says. The Chief might not always be a nice guy but he gets the job done.

"Alright, I get the point, but at least you get an easy job. All you have to do is go talk to the latest victims parents."

"If you think that is easy, then we all know you have never done it," Jane fired back, her temper starting to get the best of her.

"Hey now, I didn't mean it like that . . ." Kenny started, "I only meant to say

that . . ."

"Come on Jane, let's go," Stan said, taking her arm and leading her out of the room before things got any more out of hand. "We have work to do."

"What the hell is the matter with that guy?" Jane asked, once they had left the room and the door closed behind them.

"I don't know," Stan replied, letting his partner vent.

"Who does he think he is, telling us that our job is easy?"

"Well, I don't think he meant it quite that way, Jane," Stan said, trying to calm her down.

"What, so now you agree with him?"

"No, Jane, I never said that, either. I think what he meant to say is that we only have one interview to do at the moment and he has to review every file he's done since the beginning," Stan tried to explain before his partner tore a strip out of him too.

"So that makes our job easier."

"No, it doesn't. Look, Jane, I don't like doing these interviews any more than you do, but just because someone who has never had to do one before shoots his mouth off the wrong way doesn't mean that he's right."

"I guess you are right. I'm sorry I blew up at you." Jane sighed. "It's just that I thought we were finally going to be able to put this one in the books. Score one for the good guys. The last thing I wanted was to have to go to another potential victim’s house and look into the parents' eyes, knowing the most comfort I can give them is the oldest cliché in the book -- we're doing everything we can."

"I know, Jane. Let's go get this over with."

* * *

Stan and Jane exited off the freeway and found themselves in the middle of an older neighborhood. The houses were in bad need of paint jobs and the driveways were cracking under the heat of the sun. Even the gardens looked old and tired.

Looking around, Stan commented, "This place is sure not the way it used to be. I can remember when these gardens used to win prizes from the city for being the best looking and stuff."

"Yeah, well, Stan, you are starting to show your age just a bit there. This area has been on the decline for the last two or three decades now. Its just too bad the city doesn't seem to want to do anything about it."

"I know, they always seem to find other uses for the tax payers money and rarely does it end up where it belongs."

"Hey, turn in there, this should be the street."

"Yup. There is the patrol car."

They pulled up in front of a yellow trimmed bungalow about halfway down the street. As they got out of the car one of the officers that had been standing by the patrol car came over to talk to them.

"Detectives," the officer said nodding to both of them as he approached. "The parents are inside now with their other children, waiting by the phone. We have set up the monitoring device on the phone in case there is a ransom call. If you will just follow me." He said motioning for them to follow him up the path leading to the front stairs.

"What about the search efforts?" asked Stan, turning as he reached the top of the steps leading up to the front door.

"We have several patrol cars out now combing the streets and general vicinity. We will need additional personnel to search the park," he said pointing his finger to a densely wooded area at the end of the street. "But we do have a few foot patrols that have started a search in the meantime."

"Great work, Officer," Jane said following Stan into the house.

As they entered the house they noticed the pictures hanging on the wall in the entryway. There were three in total and each picture was of a different daughter.

They quickly found their way to the living room where the rest of the family was sitting together on the couch. The man's arms were wrapped protectively around his wife and eldest daughter, while the mother had both arms wrapped tightly around the younger one. No one looked up as they entered the room.

"Mr. and Mrs. Robinson?" Jane asked quietly.

"Yes?" the man replied looking up at her.

"We need to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

"Yes of course, anything I can --"

"More questions? Haven't you people already asked enough questions? " Gina Robinson burst out, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. "You should be out trying to find my daughter. Not asking us the same damn questions over and over again!"

"Honey, Shhh. They are just trying to help. They need to make sure that they have all the information correct. Or else they won't be able to do their job."

"I understand your frustration ma'am, I'm a parent too. And I know that if it were my child who was missing I would feel the same. You want your little girl back. I don't blame you. But your husband is right about one thing, if we don't make sure we have the facts correct it could cost us valuable time in relocating your daughter. And that's something none of us want. We want you all back together again as soon as possible. So if you could please bear with us and remember that we are trying to help."

Mrs. Robinson nodded weakly but didn't look up again. As her husband stood up to speak with Stan and Jane, she reached over and pulled her oldest daughter closer.

The three of them moved quietly into the kitchen and took a seat around the large oak table that dominated the country style kitchen. Jane and Stan sat down at the table while Mr. Robinson went to the sink.

"Please excuse my wife's behavior, Detectives. She is usually not like this," he said as he fixed himself a glass of water from the tap before sitting down.

"It's understandable Mr. Robinson --"

"Please call me Ben."

"Ben, your wife is going through any parent's nightmare. There is no need to apologize. Like I told her, I would be no better off if it was one of my boys that were missing."

"I know, we should both be used to this by now. This isn't the first time Sara has decided to up and leave us."

"You mean she's done this before?" Stan asked raising an eyebrow at his partner that went unnoticed by Ben, who continued to stare into his glass of water.

"She has, twice before. It's always the same thing every time. She's run off to one of her friends' houses because her sisters have upset her. Because she is the youngest they tend to pick on her a lot."

"Well, that is well within the realm of childhood. My boys do it to each other all the time, drives me and my husband buggy sometimes. But that's kids for you."

"Yes, I know. We try to stop it when we see it happening, but we don't always see it. She won't complain about it either. She's never been what you would call a problem child, either. It is just recently that she has started this nonsense of running away. Usually, we find her, like I said, at one of her friends' houses. The first time we let her stay there for a few days, letting her cool off. The second time we brought her home right away. We have tried everything with her as far as that goes. We have tried to talk to her sisters, grounded them even, but it never seems to stop them."

"Just what are they teasing her about? What is getting her so riled?"

"That's just the thing we don't even know! She will not tell us."

Stan sat there taking notes as he listened to his partner going over the details of the last few days. This was not a case that was in any way related to the others. He could sense it. This was simply a kid with issues. He breathed a small sigh of relief for that knowledge alone. There was no evidence that supported a connection. There was one bit of information that they had held back from the press. Something that would automatically identify a connection if there was one. It simply was not there. It could not be the same.

They were just about wrapping up their questioning when they heard voices in the front hall.

"Sara! Oh my God! Sara, you're all right!" Gina cried. Her voice rose in volume as she leaped out of her seat and raced into the hallway to where Sara was standing next to a patrol officer.

Sara continued to look at her feet. She was covered from head to toe in a fine layer of dirt and grim, but that didn't deter her mother from smothering her in hugs.

"You aren't hurt are you? Who did this to you? Where did they take you?" The questions just kept coming.

"Mom! Cut it out. I'm all right. No one bothered me. I'm fine already!" she said as she tried to wriggle free from her mother's grasp.

Stan motioned for the officer to join him in the kitchen.

"So what can you tell me? Where did you find her?"

"She was in the local park all along, sir. She had been hiding out in a makeshift lean-to. It looks like some of the local teenagers built it. There was even a small fire pit there."

"Any signs of anyone else being involved in this? Did she say if anyone forced her to go there?"

"No, sir. From the look of it she had probably seen it one day and decided to run away again and used that as her home away from home."

"Did she mention why she ran away? Anything about her sisters?"

"Not a thing. Wasn't too happy about my bringing her back here. She put up a bit of a fight. Nothing major. She just didn't understand why I had to bring her back at all. Tried to tell me that she was 'old' enough to look after herself," he said with a half-hearted chuckle.

They joined the others in the living room in time to hear Jane wrapping up with the girl and her parents. Jane was giving Gina a business card of a local family counselor.

Jane stood up wished them well and headed out the front door on the heels of her partner. The unexpected late afternoon sunshine momentarily blinded them as they headed back down the street to their car.

"So did you find out anything from her?" Stan asked as they got in the car to head back to the station.

"Yup." She grinned triumphantly.

"You usually do, if anyone can, that is. So are you going to share it with me or is it another girlie secret of yours?"

The radio squawked for a moment. They were told to go back to the station, the Chief was anxious for their report. They looked at each other. It was going to be another one of those days.

"It's actually really simple," Jane said taking a sip out of her bottle of water. "Her sisters are much older than her, see, and they have been telling her that she is not wanted. They claim that it is the reason that there were so many years between her and the middle one. Gina admits that Sara was not a planned pregnancy, but that if they had not wanted her that there were other options that they could have taken. Given the circumstances, I think Gina handled it wonderfully. However, I still think that they all need a good dose of family counseling."

"Yeah, they all need help, especially the father."

"Why do you say that? I thought he was the calm one under all that pressure. He certainly handled things a lot better than everyone else."

"Well, think about when they all grow up. That's going to mean a house full of PMS."

"You're horrible!" she swatted his arm playfully.

"Hey! No hitting the driver!"

"Well, then, enough of your comments and drive us back to our end of the city already!"

As they hit the on-ramp to the highway that would take them home they were both laughing. Laughing more with relief than anything else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A cult has been killing children for its rituals and only one cop knows who they are.  But, Detective Stan Brookshire’s past keeps people from believing in him.  Can he rise above the stigma that shrouds his past and stop a cult from taking yet another innocent child from her mother’s arms before its too late?

Available on Amazon Kindle

 

Paperback Edition: Schedule Release July 2012