Kit sighed. “I’m proud of you, Wayne. Being elected state’s attorney is a dream come true. You deserve it, and you’ll be great. The best.”
“But?”
She interlaced her fingers, squeezed them pink. “We hardly ever see you anymore. Me and the kids. All this Earl Monroe stuff. Even your parents have noticed - you’re gone the whole day, and most evenings. Weekends included. You won’t be here at all if you get this job.”
“Yes, I will,” Wayne assured. “I know it’s been tough, my being away so much on this case.”
She nodded. “I know your brother needs you, honey,” she said. “But we do, too. We miss you, and we want you home with us.”
Covington kissed her hand, put it against his cheek. “I’m done the minute Earl’s dead and buried,” he said. “Andy will rest in peace, and I’ll have all the time in the world for you and the kids. I’ll make it up to you then. I promise.”
“I hope so,” Kit said. “They need you, Wayne. So do I.”
“I know,” Wayne said. “Because I need you, too.”
She nestled her head against his chest.
“Kids won’t be home from school for an hour,” he said, eyeing the freshly laundered sheets. “Want to begin making up right now?”
She nodded, eyes shining.
Wednesday
5:45 a.m.
Emily passed the Dandelion Fountain. The mist cooled her. Today’s easier pace allowed her to hear the cicadas in the Riverwalk treetops, smell the moss-laden fog spooling up from the river. She loved both, but usually missed them rushing by too fast, ears pounding and lungs bursting.
Her tetchy calf did provide that one tiny benefit, she conceded - forcing her to slow and smell the roses. Which made her think about Sage Farri.
And the killer.
“Why on earth are you hunting them?” she wondered aloud. “And why did you come to Naperville? For Zabrina? Me? Somebody else? Why are you so angry?”
She knew the killer had a good reason. They always did, even if was understandable only to them and their buddies on Planet Psycho. Her job was to look at the situation through his eyes, see the world as he did. Then, maybe she’d get it. Understand his reasoning. See why he’d kept the remarkable secret so long, then sprung it on her so abruptly-
Forget it. The rest of the day was for death and destruction. The morning run was for her.
The Executioner heard the distant slap of shoes on pavers.
Right on time.
He poked his monocular between the two dense shrubs in which he’d cloaked himself, compared target to memorized reconnaissance. Five-six, chestnut hair that skirted the neck, oval face, large emerald eyes, sturdy body with small waist and well-defined legs and arms. Snug shorts, loose metal-band T-shirt, high-knees running style, sweating like she’d done six miles, returning home on the north side of the river, 5:45 on the dot.
He pulled his dagger from the sheath, crouched for the kill.
“Everybody ready?” the minister asked.
“Ready!” his congregation answered.
“Then let’s go save a life!”
They raised the rafters with huzzahs, then boarded their long white bus for the pilgrimage to Naperville. The minister tested headlights, wipers, and brakes. The editor of the weekly paper snapped digitals. The lady who’d won the Betty Crocker regional a few years back shoveled cake at congregants who couldn’t go. “With Thee in Spirit!” was written on each piece in red gel frosting. A photo of Jesus, the one with the upturned eyes and Fabio hair, was taped to a plant stake and plunked between “With” and “Thee.” Well-wishers buzzed like honeybees.
“Grandpa, how far is it again?” his granddaughter asked as they pulled from the gravel lot.
“Seventeen hundred miles,” he said, aiming forty-eight shiny faces at the rising sun. “And a whole bunch of prayers.”
“Behind you.”
Emily moved to the right. She’d noticed this woman the past few weeks, but this was the first time they’d been in the same spot at the same time.
“Hey! You’re an Iron Maiden fan?” Emily said, hoping the T-shirt meant she was a fellow heavy-metal enthusiast.
“Oh, no, this is my husband’s,” the woman said, slowing to match Emily’s cadence. “I listen to Lite FM.”
Yuck, Emily thought. But started chatting anyway. The company made a nice distraction from her cold war with Marty. At work, they talked only to exchange information. At home . . . well, he was staying at his own house, not calling, not even e-mailing. She was angry, hurt, and very lonely. But she was too proud to beg him back. A miserable combination.