stadium lights illuminated the car and his eyes glowed with intensity. How had she forgotten how bright his blue-gray eyes were?
You haven’t forgotten one thing about him.
“When you get back, let’s see if we can’t figure out how we know each other, Chaplain Hammermill.”
She laughed. “I don’t think...”
“Save it for some other chump. Is that a wig you’re wearing, or have you dyed your hair? And those black-rimmed glasses—pure Halloween. Next time, don’t be so obvious.” His voice was low, precluding Officers Samuel and Pasczenko from hearing his words.
Zora ignored the sick drop of her stomach and got out of the car.
* * *
Combined aromas of hot popcorn, funnel cakes and hot chocolate triggered memories Zora would rather forget. The first couple of years after she’d been placed in witness protection and moved to central Pennsylvania, far away from her abusive “family”—aka the cult her mother had joined—had been rough. Growing up on a compound in upstate New York had made her people smart. She knew when a man looked at her if he was genuinely interested in her or only wanted to satisfy his lust. It had taught her to trust no one and make friends only if she needed something from the other person.
What it hadn’t taught her was that truly good people existed in the world, that not all teenage girls were waiting for their sacrificial bonds of matrimony to honor the Family Father, that not all boys grew up to be misogynistic monsters.
Misogynist. She’d first learned the word in eleventh grade, in Ms. Perkins’s English literature class.
The entire True Believers cult she’d been forced into at age seven was disbanded now, two decades later. Because of her testimony. The little girl who’d wanted freedom from the madness more than she’d wanted to live.
“Reverend Hammermill?” A slim woman in a sport jacket emblazoned with the high school logo smiled at her.
“Principal Essis. Nice to meet you.” Zora held her hand out to the middle-aged woman, who grasped it firmly.
“Thanks so much for coming out and saying the invocation for tonight’s game.” The principal’s gaze was frank and assessing.
“It’s an honor.”
“You’re probably safer here than anywhere at the moment. I want my students to be kept safe.” The principal’s voice conveyed her frustration. The school district had paid for metal detectors and extra security at the entrance to the stadium. Zora was grateful for the precaution.
“As do I.” She wanted to add that she’d had Principal Essis as a math teacher in ninth grade, but that would have to wait for another time, when Zora wasn’t undercover.
The low, steady rhythm of the marching band’s drums vibrated in the air.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you out to the podium.”
Zora walked behind Principal Essis. They were escorted around the metal detectors to the area below the stands. Zora barely felt the press of her weapon in the small of her back, under the school jacket, but her fingers were ready to reach for it at the first sign of the gig going bad.
Once out on the field, Zora stood in front of the marching band and faced the home crowd. It had grown from the time she’d been a student, and for a moment she was struck by the enormity of her mission.
Find the Female Preacher Killer. Draw him out.
The band played “America the Beautiful.” Zora used the time to take stock of her surroundings.
“Silver Valley High School, welcome to the opening game of the season! Welcome alumni, community members and students. We have Reverend Hammermill with us to start off our great night with the invocation. Please stand.”
The band quieted and Zora took the microphone.
“Let us give thanks...” Zora recited the ecumenical vanilla prayer she’d memorized last night. A part of her, deep inside, balked at portraying a woman of the cloth. She’d lived a life far from the world of church meetings and Bible studies. Yet she meant each word when she’d come up with the prayer.
Her memorization allowed her to do her job as a Trail Hikers agent. She scanned the crowd for anyone appearing different from the ordinary winter festival-goer or football fan.
A sea of the Silver Valley Hawks’ royal blue school color faced her, most of the faces pointed in her direction. She wasn’t interested in the crowd, but the fringes. A killer would need a quick escape, and the tall bleachers prevented that for most of the ticket holders.
A line of concession vendors, with boxes strapped around their necks and resting on their waists, stood near the entrance to the field. They were all dressed for the chilly weather and all had the same box—white with the school logo on it. All wore matching school-themed knit ski caps with huge pom-poms on top.
Except for one.
“May we play honestly and win graciously...”
Male, average height and build, baseball cap. To her far right at the edge of the bleachers. With sunglasses—totally disguised.
“Thank you for our school...”
He reached over his shoulders and behind his head. With both hands.
Zora reached behind and under her jacket, her SIG Sauer’s handle firmly in her grasp.
“Thank you also for our teachers...” She had to draw out the prayer, to keep the crowd in its place, so that the undercover and regular LEAs could protect everyone.
The Hawk County sheriff’s snipers would’ve had this guy in their sights by then. If they didn’t, she’d take him out.
The “vendor” pulled his hands up from behind his back, holding a long dark object. If it was a rifle, she had seconds to neutralize him.
“Amen.” Total silence surrounded her and Zora waited for the crowd’s response.
“Amen. Go Hawks!” At least the roar of the crowd would drown out the sound of gunfire.
The vendor held the long item in his arms, his face on Zora. He flashed a wide grin that Zora knew was meant for her.
The first strains of the national anthem began to a crowd that soon began to sing along to the school’s marching band.
He was waiting for her to tip off that she wasn’t a chaplain.
She could outwait with the best of them. But not when other lives were at stake.
If he planned to try to kill her here in front of all of these civilians, including many children, it was out of pattern for him. He had no decent escape route.
Her hand steadied as she pressed against her back, her weapon ready to fire. She watched as he pulled his weapon. The minute he revealed it, she or a county sheriff’s sniper were in the clear to take him out.
The vendor shot first.
He opened a golf umbrella.
Relief flooded through Zora, followed by red-hot anger. That was no vendor. She was sure he’d meant to make her believe he had a weapon.
“Thank you, Chaplain.” Principal Essis stood in front of her, blocking the vendor from her sight. She reached out her hand.
Zora blinked. She released her weapon and grasped the principal’s hand.
“You’re welcome.”
She walked off the field as the band started an upbeat number, revving the crowd for the kickoff. As she headed straight for the spot where the man with the golf umbrella had stood only seconds before she knew what she’d find.
He was gone.
She searched