Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

And the press camping outside the door and the public in a near state of panic.

Alvarez plunked the tea bag into her cup.

“Hey, what have we got here?” Watershed asked, ducking his head inside the room. He eyed the platter where Joelle was meticulously slicing the cake and stepped eagerly into the kitchen.

“Fruitcake. But don’t get too excited. It’s from the store. I didn’t have time to make my aunt Nina’s like I did last year.”

“Looks good to me . . . no coffee?” he asked, reaching for the glass pot, the bottom of which was discolored but dry.

“I haven’t got to it yet! Give a girl a minute, would ya?”

Alvarez started to make a quick exit.

“I heard they found Pescoli’s Jeep up at Horsebrier Ridge,” Watershed said to her. “They’ve already sent up choppers to search the area, right?”

“Fingers crossed that the weather holds,” Selena said.

“What?” Joelle’s perpetual smile fell from her face.

“Horsebrier Ridge? What are you talking about?”

But she’d already put two and two together and come up with four. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“No . . .”

“That’s why the reporters are here,” she said.

“Sweet Jesus, I swear I didn’t know. Hadn’t heard. I was up half the night wrapping presents and signing the rest of my cards and just, you know, getting ready for Christmas and . . .” Her voice trailed off, her hand over her chest. “You think it’s him be-

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cause the woman they captured isn’t the StarCrossed Killer.” Frantically, she sketched the sign of the cross over her chest.

Alvarez nodded grimly and glanced out the window. There were clouds in the distance, but they were high. For the moment visibility was good enough for helicopters to search for signs of Pescoli. It was too early to think that the killer, if he held her, would release her, but still, the pilots might see something. Anything.

“I’ll put her in my prayers and call the church. They have a prayer chain,” Joelle said a little shakily. Alvarez hadn’t put a lot of stock in prayer for a long, long while. After years of kneeling in front of a looming crucifix, listening to sermons in English and Spanish, believing with all her heart that Jesus would save her soul, she’d had an abrupt loss of faith.

Now she figured prayers wouldn’t hurt, though she didn’t send one up herself. Too many times God had turned a deaf ear to her prayers, so she decided not to waste her time. Or His.

“Oh, and Ivor Hicks wants to talk to you. Well, not you, but since the sheriff is out of town . . .”

Selena stopped short in her bid to leave the room. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Joelle lifted her shoulders. Watershed snorted. “Who knows what that old nut-job wants? Probably got another call from the general of the Reptilians or something.” He chuckled a little meanly.

“I’ll call him later,” Alvarez said. Though Ivor had located Wendy Ito, the third victim, he was usually more of a pest than a help. More often than not he landed in the drunk tank and had to be released 112

Lisa Jackson

to his son Billy, who dutifully, if unhappily, took responsibility for dear old Dad. Watershed might have a bad attitude about the man, but for the moment, Alvarez didn’t have time for any of Ivor Hicks’s nonsense, either. She left Joelle and Watershed and made her way to her cubicle but before she sat down she received two phone calls, one confirming that Pescoli’s Jeep was going to be hauled into the garage and the other that Grayson had asked for, and gotten, a search warrant for Pescoli’s house. “Time to rock and roll,” she said, swallowing two gulps of the tea, leaving the bag to seep in the remaining cooling liquid, then heading outside again. The place looked empty.

Regan’s car was missing, but her kid’s pickup was parked out front. Santana didn’t have a key, but he knew where she hid one, had overheard her talking to her daughter once when the girl had locked herself out. So he let himself inside and was careful not to touch or disturb anything. It was obvious the place was empty. Even the damned dog wasn’t inside barking his little head off.

He felt a little odd walking through the rooms she called home. Pausing in the doorway to her bedroom, he imagined her lying back on the thick duvet, that wicked glint evident in her eyes as she slowly smiled and crooked a finger. “Since you’re here already, you may as well make yourself useful.”

Or something similar.