Faith glanced over at the van. Missy turned to her and shook her head, indicating the van was empty. Turk took a menacing step closer to Carter and growled, but Carter only grinned down at the dog. Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Things will be much easier for you if you tell me where I can find her.”

  He met Faith’s eyes, and though he still grinned, his eyes and his words were deadly serious and completely devoid of humor. “There’s no help for me, Special Agent. My sister’s dead.”

  Faith looked at Michael, and the same frustration showed on his face.

  The same determination showed as well.

  She turned back to Carter but addressed Missy. “Detective St. George, do me a favor and pull up the file on Amanda Harrison. I need to know everyone involved in her medical care starting from the paramedics who picked her up.”

  Carter laughed. “Good luck getting through all of those names before she dies.”

  Faith smiled thinly. “Well, at least we know it’s a she.”

  Carter’s smile faded, and Faith felt a rush of satisfaction. “Have a seat for me, Mr. Carter,” she said. “This won’t take long.”

  ***

  An hour later, Faith didn’t feel the same. Night was approaching fast, and depending on where Carter had buried the body, they only had a few hours left to find it. Missy was calling different cemeteries asking them to check for freshly dug unauthorized graves while she and Michael worked through the list.

  Even with the males eliminated, it was a long list. There were over a dozen different nurses and several doctors besides Ames who cared for Mandy, not to mention the orderlies, specialists, and hospital security. They had a team of officers working through portions of the list with them, contacting the list members and in some cases their workplaces or family members to ensure they were safe and accounted for.

  One by one, they checked names off. The list dwindled, which meant they were getting closer, at least Faith hoped. Part of her worried that the final target could be someone not directly related to her care. She wondered if she should call Ariel, Hucksley’s assistant, just to make sure she was safe.

  Then Michael called for her attention. She walked over to see him on the phone. “Okay, Mr. Ford. We’ll find her. If she comes home, or you hear from her, call us immediately.”

  He hung up and looked at Faith. “Beulah Ford. She was the discharge nurse who released Amanda Harrison.”

  Faith privately marveled that Carter would choose the discharge nurse as his final victim when she was probably less involved with her care than anyone else in the hospital, but then again, murderers rarely made sense.

  She looked over at him and said loudly, “Beulah Ford?”

  Fear flashed across Carter’s face, briefly but long enough that Faith caught it. “Yeah, that’s her,” she said to Michael.

  “We need to figure out where her family was buried,” Michael said. “Fast. She’s been in the ground for at least an hour, maybe more than that.”

  Faith called Missy over. She said something into her cell phone, then hung up and jogged over to Faith. “What is it?”

  “We need to know where the relatives of a Mrs. Beulah Ford, maiden name Cartwright, are buried.”

  “That’s the victim?”

  “That’s her. She was the discharge nurse at the hospital where Mandy was treated.”

  “You’ll never find her!” Carter called. “I didn’t leave a bell this time!”

  “Get him out of here!” Faith called to the officers watching him.

  Carter laughed and said, “I’ll see you soon, Special Agent!”

  Oh yes, you will, she thought.

  Missy made a call. After a moment, she shouted, “Well, tell him to get his ass back now and he can finish his sandwich later, we have a dying victim in peril!” A few moments later, she said, “Yeah, I need to know where some people are buried. Can you look through the obits and tell me where they’re buried?”

  There was a brief pause, then she sighed with relief. “Okay, thank you.”

  She hung up and turned to Faith. “Greenhouse Memorial Lawn. It’s about five minutes from here. We have a fresh grave too. It’s got a headstone, but we know that he takes opportunities.”

  “Let’s go there,” Faith said.

  Missy spoke briefly with the officers in charge of transporting Carter Barkley back to the station, then headed to her own vehicle. Michael and Faith jogged back to their own vehicle, where Turk already waited, pacing impatiently.

  The vehicle containing Carter started toward the jail, accompanied by another cruiser. The two other vehicles flanked the three federal agents as they headed toward Greenhouse Memorial Lawn.

  Faith obviously couldn’t see Carter Barkley in the back of a cruiser that was now a quarter-mile away and counting. If she had, she would have seen him smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Faith kicked at the nearest headstone, hard enough that she felt her hips ring from the force of the blow. “Dammit!” she shouted.

  Turk licked Faith’s hand softly, trying to calm her down. It kept her from risking a broken foot again but didn’t drive away the frustration she felt.

  “Let’s keep looking,” Michael said. “Maybe he didn’t bury her in a plot this time.”

  Faith nodded, running her fingers back through her hair. Michael immediately started directing the officers and the diggers the cemetery had lent them. They fanned out and started looking through the grounds, looking for any sign of freshly dug earth. The fresh grave they had been alerted to was a bust.

  “We could be in the wrong cemetery,” Missy said. “He could be misdirecting us.”

  Faith recalled the flash of fear on Carter’s face and shook her head. “No, Beulah Ford is our victim.” She thought for a moment. “But we could be in the wrong cemetery.” She looked at Missy. “Whatever number you called, call them back. Tell them we need more names. Anyone related to Beulah Ford buried in the area. Tell them to go back decades, a century if they have to. We need to cast a wider net.”

  She looked at the sky, which had darkened to night, then back down at her phone. Her heart sank. It was nearing an hour since they left Carter’s house, two hours since they discovered Beulah was their victim.

  Who knew how long she had been buried before they caught Carter.

  Missy dialed the number and Faith paced around the nearest gravestone to ease her tension. Turk trotted next to her for support, and she reached down and absently stroked his fur. “Can you smell her, boy?” she asked.

  Turk looked up at her, and his plaintive stare told her he was as anxious as she was. She patted his cheek and forced a smile. “It’ll be okay, boy. We’ll get her out. We’ve made plenty of last-minute rescues.”

  This time, though, the ticking clock was ticking a lot faster, and they didn’t know where to go.

  “Shit!” Missy cried.

  Faith snapped her head to the detective, who said, “Okay, thank you,” into her phone, then looked up at Faith. For the first time since meeting her, Faith could see real fear in her eyes.

  “Beulah’s maternal grandparents are buried in the churchyard of the Church of Galilee.”

  “Wonderful,” Faith said. “Where’s the Church of Galilee?”

  “It doesn’t exist anymore,” Missy said, “but when it did exist, it was in Edna.”

  “Where’s Edna?”

  “About an hour and a half west of here.”

  Faith’s heart, which had lifted slightly when Missy told her of the new location, sank once more to her feet. She kept her cool, however. She had no choice.

  “All right,” she said, “let’s get going.”

  Missy nodded and called on the radio for everyone to get to their vehicles. Five minutes later, they were accelerating at breakneck speed toward Edna, sirens flashing, loudspeaker announcing to other cars to get out of their way.

  An hour and a half to Edna. At the pace they were driving, they could make that in an hour. That meant at least four and a half hours since Beulah was buried, but more likely over five.

  They were too late. There was a shot, but it was a very thin shot. Even if they found the grave right away, it would be at least an hour after they arrived before they got her out. Beulah would have to get very lucky, and so would her aspiring rescuers.

  Hold on, Beulah, she thought. Just hold on.

  ***

  The Church of Galilee had been closed for over thirty years according to Missy, but it looked as though it had been closed for over a century. The building itself was half collapsed and overgrown with ivy and weeds. The cemetery was completely covered in more weeds, and the headstones were faded and covered in lichen and mold. It looked exactly like a place where someone would be buried alive.

  The news only got worse when they jumped out of the car. There were no fewer than four freshly dug graves, spaced out across the cemetery. Missy started the officers digging but the thin chance they had was now no chance at all.

  Faith looked at Michael, and Michael said, “I called for someone to bring some diggers, but the nearest help is an hour away. They’re putting a rush on it, but…”

  He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

  Faith thought of Carter’s haughty grin and her blood began to boil. “That bastard,” she spat. “That fucking bastard.”

  “I know,” Michael said, “but don’t give up yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Faith thought for a moment and said, “Tell everyone to work on one grave at a time. If we dig all four at once, we have no chance. We won’t get to the bottom of any of them fast enough to save her. If we’re going to get lucky, then it will have to be luck.”

  Michael nodded. “Turk hasn’t smelled anything?”

  Faith looked at Turk, who was pacing through the cemetery, nose to the ground. “Not yet.”

  He nodded again. “Well, keep him looking. He found the suit jacket earlier, maybe he’ll find Beulah.”

  Or maybe he’ll find her scrubs and another gloating note, she thought but didn’t say aloud.

  She called to Turk to keep looking and joined the others in starting on the first grave. They worked for about ten minutes before Turk started barking excitedly. Faith turned to see him pawing at the ground a few dozen yards away.

  She walked closer and frowned. The area where Turk was digging didn’t appear fresh. The dirt over the top was gray and hard-packed and dotted with weeds. She shared a look with Michael, who lifted his hands. Your call.

  She looked back at Turk, who barked anxiously at her and looked down at the small hole he had created with his front paws. Faith hesitated a moment longer, then decided to trust her dog. She called for everyone to dig where Turk had called them. A few of the officers exchanged glances, but when Missy immediately jogged over to the new location and drove her spade into the earth, they headed over.

  After a few minutes, it was clear that underneath the top layer of carefully placed old earth was freshly dug dirt. Faith felt a leap of joy. They were on the right track.

  They dug for about twenty minutes before they hit something. “Keep going!” Faith cried. “Double time!”

  They increased their pace. Faith felt a stitch burning in her side, but she pushed through the pain, tossing spadeful after spadeful of dirt out of the way. They saw a hint of something brown and kept going.

  Then Faith saw the antlers. The killer had buried a deer. It was another decoy.

  “Goddammit!” she swore, tossing her shovel to the ground. She sat down and dropped her face into her hands.

  “Don’t give up,” Missy insisted. “We’ll go back to the other grave.”

  She immediately directed her officers to do just that, but Faith could see the despair in her eyes as well. Michael shared a look with Faith, and the exhaustion in his eyes and the slump in his shoulders told her he had given up as well.

  “That asshole,” she whispered. “That asshole.”

  Turk, still digging feverishly around the deer, looked up. When he saw that the others had left, he barked sharply three times. Everyone turned to look at him. He barked insistently, dug for a few more seconds around the deer, then looked up plaintively at them and barked again.

  When they hesitated, he growled irritably and began digging around the deer again.

  No, not around the deer. Under the deer.

  Faith’s eyes widened. “It’s under the deer!” she called. “Beulah’s under the deer!”

  The police officers looked at each other, clearly not sure whether to believe her or not.

  “Move your asses!” Missy barked. “Now!”

  They jumped as though they had been tased and rushed back toward the grave. One officer helped Michael lift the deer carcass out of the grave, then they began to dig again. Turk grew more excited as they continued to dig, barking encouragement and running in circles around them.

  They dug for another twenty minutes before Faith’s shovel once more hit something solid. “Got it!” she cried.

  The others quickly dug around the dirt, revealing a plain wooden coffin, the same design as the one in which they found William Hucksley.

  Faith leapt into the grave and pulled at the lid. It was nailed shut.

  “Shovel!” she called.

  Michael tossed one down to her, then jumped in after her with his own shovel. Missy radioed for an ambulance ASAP while Michael and Faith jammed their shovels under the lid and struggled to pry it open. Turk looked over the lip of the grave and whined plaintively.

  Finally, the lid gave. It opened with a soft hiss as the air pressure equalized. She threw the lid open to reveal the pale, still body of Beulah Ford.

  Her lips were blue and there were purple circles under her eyes. Her fingers were bloody from where she had struggled to open the grave.

  Her eyes were closed, and when Faith felt for a pulse, it was still.

  No! It was there! She still had a pulse! It was weak and irregular, but it was there.

  Faith immediately dropped to her knees. “She’s still alive!” she called. Then she stooped over and began CPR. She breathed in deeply, then covered Beulah’s nose, opened her mouth, and exhaled. She repeated the action three times, then began chest compressions.

  “Come on, Beulah,” Faith whispered. “Come on.”

  “How long until the ambulance gets here?” Michael called.

  “Two minutes!” Missy shouted down.

  “Come on, Beulah,” Faith said. “We’re right here. Don’t go away. Stay with us.”

  She continued CPR until the ambulance sirens sounded in the distance.

  “Come on, Beulah,” she said again. “You’ll be okay. Help is here.”

  Beulah’s eyes flew open. She gasped, then coughed hard. She gasped again and grabbed Faith’s arm, eyes staring wildly.

  “It’s okay,” Faith said. “You’re safe.”

  She coughed again, then gasped, then started breathing steadily. “Oh my God,” she said, her voice thin and hoarse.

  Faith laughed, overcome with relief. “You’re okay,” she said. “We got you.”

  Beulah grabbed Faith’s arm again and looked into her eyes. “Are you an angel?” she asked.

  Faith grinned. “Well, that’s not the word most people use, but I’ll take it.”

  Above her, Turk barked excitedly, leaping and licking random hands and faces in celebration. Faith looked up at the sky where the Big Dipper hung lazily from the invisible line that connected it to the North Star.

  It was a beautiful night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Michael, Faith, and Turk walked into the interrogation room where Carter Barkley sat. He was chained to the floor with thick iron shackles, his hands similarly shackled to a stainless steel table that, like the steel chair he sat on, was welded to the floor.

  He looked up and smiled at the two agents when they walked in. Turk growled low in his throat, and his grin widened. “Hi there, buddy,” he said. “I’d rub your belly for you, but they got me all tied up.”

  Turk bared his teeth in a snarl, a threat that Carter seemed to find funny. He chuckled, then looked up at the two agents. “Did you find her yet?”

  “We found her,” Michael said. “She’s being treated at Houston Regional as we speak.”

  Carter froze, staring blankly up at him. “She’s alive?” he asked tonelessly.

  Michael couldn’t resist a gloating smile. “Yep,” he said, “she’s going to be fine.”

  “No,” Carter said, equally tonelessly. Then his face screwed up into a look of rage. “No, no, no, no, no!” he cried, his voice gradually rising until it was a shout. He jerked against his bonds, powerful muscles bulging. One shirt sleeve actually tore, and Michael could see the thickly veined bicep underneath.

  Carter turned hateful eyes to Michael and Faith and shouted, “You assholes! You jerks! You…”

  He finished the sentence with a wordless roar and strained at his bonds again. Michael wasn’t particularly proud of the glee he felt watching the big killer reduced to a completely impotent prisoner due to his bonds, but he wasn’t particularly upset about it either.

  Carter struggled for a few more seconds, then gave up and stilled, shaking with fury. “You assholes,” he whispered. “You ruined everything.”

  “Gee,” Michael said sarcastically. “I’m awful sorry we didn’t let you get away with murdering someone else.”

  “She was a murderer, you dick-breath fuck!” Carter shouted. “She was…” He pressed his lips firmly together and took several deep breaths to calm himself.

  When he spoke again, his tone was calm. “You know, in many ancient cultures, such as the ancient Israelites, when someone was murdered, the people responsible were delivered to the victim’s next of kin. The next of kin could choose to release the murderers or have them killed. He could even kill them himself if he so chose.”

  “That so?” Michael said. “Hmm. Too bad that’s not how it works here. I won’t lie though. I would love to see William Hucksley’s son drive a knife through your heart.”

  Faith shot Michael a warning glance and turned back to Carter. “Why?” she asked. “Why did you kill them? Hucksley, I understand—not that I condone it, but I understand. The others, though. Marvin Prescott has a five-year-old daughter. She’ll never see her daddy again.”