“Please don’t start sounding like you feel sorry for me.” Paul waved her politeness away. “I woke up just as you came in, and it was like I—I sort of time traveled back to the days I was a cop. I’m awake now. I deserve scorn, contempt, rage, compound fractures. But I don’t deserve sympathy, and if you start being nice instead of crushing my out-of-control ego, I promise I’ll maul you again just to get your angry juices flowing.”
She glanced over at that last bit, and his eyes weren’t really back to normal—there was still heat when he said he’d maul her. And plenty of cynicism. She did need to abuse him. It was the right thing to do.
“I don’t know where to start.”
Paul said, “Why don’t you start by telling me what I did to you that made you so mad at me in the first place. It wasn’t something like that was it?”
Keren slammed her palm on the steering wheel. “Was there a time when you did things like that? You were married when you were on the force. Please don’t tell me you were that big of a slime. I don’t know if I could forgive you, even if God is up to it.”
“No, I never cheated on my wife. But I sometimes… well, I didn’t always treat women with… well… respect. The thing is, there might be a few women who’d tell you I was kind of a… a…”
“Jerk?” Keren supplied.
“Well—”
“Pig?” Keren wheeled around a corner.
“Some of them might—”
“Letch?” The back end of the car fishtailed.
“I don’t think letch is—”
“Scumball?” She straightened out and floored it.
“Now, Keren, scumball seems a little—”
“All of the above? You want to supply your own words?”
“You’re doing fine. You don’t need my help.” Paul shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t unfaithful. Disrespect to women, yes, but I disrespected men, too. Nothing sexist about it. I was an equal opportunity, arrogant jerk. All my trouble with my wife was about how important my work was and how unimportant my family was.” Paul slid lower in the seat and she caught him taking a quick look at her.
She clamped her mouth shut, trying to figure out whether to commiserate or go after him with her nightstick.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me? Please don’t tell me you’re done, because I really can’t stand the guilt if you let me off the hook this easily.”
“Okay, no problem.”
Flinching, Paul said, “That was reverse psychology.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Tough luck. I guess the only reason I’d stop yelling at you would be because I decided you were hopeless. And I really don’t want to think that.”
“Don’t give up on me.”
“Now you’re being the kindhearted pastor again. Turn back into the cop so I can yell at him.”
“I’m not brave enough to do that.”
“This weird morphing thing you’ve been doing, into the cop you used to be, has to be an aberration.” Keren glanced at him, but mostly she watched the road. “Maybe tearing a strip off your hide will help you get a handle on it.”
Paul squared his shoulders as if he were prepared to wave farewell to his hide.
“How do you reconcile manhandling me, insulting me—’You’re pretty when you’re mad.’“ Her voice was pitched low,
whiny, pure mockery of a man’s voice. “How do you go from urging O’Shea and me to call Juanita by her name, to referring to Wilma as a vic? What’s happening to you?”
“I told you, anger is a sin I struggle with,” Paul said. “The last few days, I’ve been letting my anger rule me. And as my sin ruled my temper, it began to rule my life.”
“That stunt this morning wasn’t anger, you moron! It was pure ego. Pure disrespect for me. Blaming it on your temper is a cop-out, and I’m sick of hearing you make excuses!” Keren wheeled them around a corner and two wheels left the pavement. Paul didn’t suggest she slow down. She hoped it was because he was too scared.
“Take some responsibility for your actions! You may need to come to terms with your temper. But I don’t think the battle you’re waging is with anger. There can be Christian strength in anger if you control it and express it justly.”
“Not for me,” Paul insisted.
Keren looked sideways at him and wondered how she could penetrate that thick skull. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to. This morning brought back all the hostile feelings she had for him. Even now, when he was more his normal self, she distrusted him. “That just sounds like stubbornness to me. I’m telling you, your anger isn’t the problem. You’re making excuses.”
“It’s a doorway into sin.” Paul sat straighter in his seat.
Keren slammed her fist against the steering wheel. “Not if you control it!”
Paul turned on her and roared, “I can’t control it!”
Keren slammed her foot on the brake and pulled the car into a parking space.
“We don’t have time to stop the car and argue this out,” Paul growled. “We’ve got a murderer to catch.”
“We’re there.” Keren shoved her car into PARK. She very deliberately took the keys out of the ignition and put them in her pocket.
Paul looked at the building they were beside. “Oh. I thought you were stopping so you could concentrate on yelling at me.”
“I don’t need to concentrate very hard to find stuff to yell at you about. I can drive at the same time.”
Paul shrugged. “I’ve been making it easy for you.”
“Amen to that.” Keren reached for the door.
Paul grabbed her arm. The look Keren gave his hand left burn marks. He let her go. “I am sorry. I am. Really. I was so completely out of line that I can’t think of the words to express how much I regret what I did. And it wasn’t just disrespecting you. It was leaving you to watch LaToya. It was wanting Higgins to give me a sidearm last night. It was calling Wilma…” Paul dropped his face into his hands. “I actually said, ‘We can get this guy before he does somebody else.’ That makes me sick.”
“Me, too.” Keren was surprised how much she meant it. “C’mon, we’re not going to solve you now. Let’s go check out Bugs R Us.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
All the livestock of the Egyptians died.
Did they really think they could stop him?
Pravus went through his daily routine just as he always had, but his eyes were always open, always hunting. He saw several that would have done. He’d watch them go in and out of the mission, and it was like they called to him, Stop me, in voices that only he could hear. Stop me, please, before I do more harm to the world.
They cried out to him as always, but today the only ones who were alone were the bag ladies. The beast inside him growled and paced, demanding to be let out. Pravus knew the bag ladies wouldn’t be enough, not for long, but he felt as if the beast would start eating him, chewing his insides until he was consumed, if he didn’t feed this need to kill.
He washed dishes because it kept his hands in the water and no one could see them shaking. He couldn’t shave, because his hands trembled until he thought he might cut his throat. The result was his false, full beard didn’t stick as well to his face. He worried constantly that it might slip. His own beard wasn’t gray and it was so thin it didn’t disguise his appearance at all. Even with the plastic surgery and tinted contacts and lifts in his shoes, he was afraid the reverend might recognize him.
He was spending less and less time here. He didn’t want to look the reverend or the pretty detective in the eye—afraid he wouldn’t be able to conceal his triumph. So he ducked out when he could and was careful to make sure neither of them was around when he came back.
Normally he helped with the cooking, but he kept feeling the beast erupt. The thrill, the pleasure, the power of being out of control with a butcher knife in his hand was enough to make him avoid food preparation. He washed dishes and listened. He’d overheard several of the women working out a schedule to never go out alone, even discussing moving in together temporarily. The urge to kill grew in him like volcanic pressure.