Catherine Coulter – FBI 3 The Target

Emma was wearing a sweater, walking around her new backyard, examining the flowers that grew well in the protection of a sturdy redwood fence. Her piano was on a chair in the kitchen. An unmarked police car was parked across the street.

“I’ll get her a swing set,” Ramsey said, coming up behind Molly, closing his arms around her. He leaned down and kissed her ear. “Maybe I can hang a tire from that branch on the pine tree over there.”

She turned in his arms. “I want to have my way with you,” she said, and so she did, right there in his study, their clothes on, ever watchful because Emma was close by. They were standing together, still breathing hard, when they heard Emma call out from the kitchen, “Mama, Ramsey’s got a room that’s filled with all sorts of cans.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Cans? All different sizes, I’ll bet. You pervert.”

“Mama? I can hear you laughing. Did you make a joke?”

“Oh yes,” Molly said quietly. “Oh, yes.”

AFTER a spicy dinner of Ramsey’s favorite Chinese Szechwan Beef, and garlic noodles with eggplant, Molly said, as she watched Emma set down her fork, “It’s time the three of us talked about this, Em. We’ve put it off long enough. You’re ready to jump out of your skin.” Emma’s head came up. “Let me be real up-front with you. Ramsey’s worried about you. He’s worried because that awful man is still out there. We hoped he would have been caught by now, but he hasn’t. This means, Em, that you’re going to have to be super-careful. That means whenever we leave the house, you’ve got to stay really close to either me or Ramsey. If one

of us ever walks ahead of you, you grab Ramsey’s hand or mine. Do you understand? Does that make sense to you?”

Ramsey would never have brought it right out in the open like this. He felt as if they were standing over an active volcano. He barely managed to make his throat swallow the strong black coffee he’d just brewed.

Emma said, “Yes, I think it makes sense too, Mama. Dr. Loo told me that this man thought I could save him from going to Hell. She said that wasn’t true, but it was stuck in his brain like that, and so it was true to him.”

She was talking. He supposed he was astounded that everything out of that small mouth made such sense.

“She’s probably right,” Molly said.

“If he thought I could save him from going to Hell, then why did he hurt me so much?”

Molly said, “Mr. Savich told Ramsey that the doctors at the FBI think that just maybe he hurt you because he believed you should take his punishment for him, that by hurting you, his savior, he was cleansing himself of his sins, readying to give himself into God’s hands.”

“I don’t understand that, Mama.”

“No one does, not really,” Ramsey said. “He’s very sick and therefore he’s very dangerous because he’s out of control. That’s why we’ve really got to be careful.”

“I know he’s still out there,” Emma said. “He’s just waiting.”

“I know,” Molly said. “I wish I could get him right this minute, but I can’t. Until we do catch him, though, things are going to be tough for us. I’m sorry, but I can’t change that. You’re going to have to be on the lookout all the time and stick close. Now I want you to go to the front window and look at that light blue car parked across the street. Those are police officers and they’re going to keep all their eyes open for that man.”

“I see them, Mama.”

Ramsey cleared his throat. But the reasonable sorts of words that had just come out of Molly’s mouth were stuck in his throat. He tried to say something intelligent, something comforting, but what came out of his mouth was, “Emma, do you think you could come here a minute? I need to have you close to me. I’m not feeling so good.”

Emma came running back to the table. Ramsey barely had time to push back his chair and lift her onto his legs. He drew her close. Emma was patting his arms. “It’s going to be all right, Ramsey. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

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