Genesis (40 page)

"We can't—"

"Don't tell me can't, you fucking bitch." Mia's foot was chained,
but she managed to kick Pauline in the shin.

"Ouch! Jesus—"

"Start counting," Mia ordered, inching toward the hole in the
wall. "When you get to two hundred, it'll be your turn."

Pauline wasn't going to do it because she would be damned if she
let this bitch tell her what to do. She heard something then—teeth
on metal. Grinding, twisting. Two hundred seconds. Their skin
would rip open. Their gums would be in shreds. There was no telling
if it would even work.

Pauline rolled over, sat up on her knees.

She started counting.

F
AITH HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF HERSELF AS A MORNING PERSON
,
but she had gotten into the habit of going into work early when
Jeremy was a child. You couldn't
not
be a morning person when there
was a hungry boy to feed, dress, scrutinize and send off to the bus
stop by 7:13 at the latest. If not for Jeremy, she might have been one
of those late-night people, the sort who rolls into bed well after midnight,
but Faith's usual bedtime ran closer to ten, even after Jeremy
was a teenager and his waking hours were few and far between.

For his own reasons, Will was always at work early, too. Faith saw
his Porsche parked in its usual space as she pulled the Mini into the lot
under City Hall East. She put the car in park, then sat there trying to
get the driver's seat back where she could reach the pedals and the
steering wheel at the same time without being impaled by one while
having to stretch to reach the other. After several minutes, she finally
found the right combination and briefly thought about having the
seat bolted into place. If Will wanted to drive her car again, he'd have
to do it with his knees around his ears.

There was a tap at her window, and Faith looked up, startled. Sam
Lawson stood there, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Faith opened the car door and wedged herself out, feeling like
she'd put on twenty pounds overnight. Finding something to wear
this morning had been a near impossible task. She was carrying
enough water weight to fill a tank at SeaWorld. Thankfully, her giddiness
over Sam Lawson had been a twenty-four-hour virus. She did
not relish having a conversation with him now, especially since her
mind needed to be focused on the day ahead of her.

"Hey, babe," Sam said, looking her up and down in his usual
predatory way.

Faith got her purse out of the back seat. "Long time no see."

He gave a half-shrug that implied he was merely the victim of circumstance.
"Here," he said, offering her the coffee. "Decaf."

Faith had tried to drink some coffee this morning. The smell had
sent her rushing to the bathroom. "Sorry." She ignored the cup,
walking away from him, trying not to get sick again.

Sam tossed the cup into the trashcan as he caught up with her.
"Morning sickness?"

Faith glanced around, afraid they'd be heard. "I haven't told anyone
but my boss." She tried to remember when you were supposed
to tell people. There had to be a certain amount of weeks before you
were sure it took. Faith must be coming up on that mark. She should
start telling people soon. Should she get them all together, invite her
mother and Jeremy to dinner, get her brother on speaker phone, or
was there a way to send a bulk, anonymous email and perhaps jump
on a flight to the Caribbean for a few weeks to avoid the fallout?

Sam's fingers snapped in front of her face. "You in there?"

"Barely." Faith reached for the door to the building just as he did.
She let him open it for her. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"About last night—"

"It was two nights ago, actually."

He grinned. "Yeah, but I wasn't really thinking about it until last
night."

Faith sighed as she pressed the elevator button.

"Come here." He pulled her toward the alcove on the other side
of the elevator. There was a vending machine with three rows of
sticky buns, which Faith knew without having to look.

Sam stroked her hair behind her ear. Faith pulled back. She wasn't
ready for intimacy this early in the morning. She wasn't sure she was
ever ready for it. Without thinking, she glanced up to make sure
there wasn't a security camera watching them.

He said, "I was an ass the other night. I'm sorry."

She heard the elevator doors open, then close. "It's all right."

"No, it's not." He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back again.

"Sam, I'm at work." She didn't add the rest of what she was
thinking, which was that she was in the middle of a case where one
woman had died, another woman had been tortured and two more
were missing. "This isn't the time."

"It's never the time," he said, something he'd often told her years
ago when they were seeing each other. "I want to try this again with
you."

"What about Gretchen?"

He shrugged. "Hedging my bets."

Faith groaned, pushing him away. She went back to the elevator
and pressed the button. Sam didn't leave, so she told him, "I'm pregnant."

"I remember."

"I don't want to break your heart, but the baby's not yours."

"Doesn't matter."

She turned to face him. "Are you trying to work out some ghosts
because your wife had an abortion?"

"I'm trying to get back into your life, Faith. I know it has to be on
your terms."

Faith balked at the backhanded compliment. "I seem to recall one
of the problems between us, other than you being a drunk, me being
a cop, and my mother thinking you were the AntiChrist, was you
didn't like the fact that I had a son."

"I was jealous of the attention you gave him."

At the time, she had accused him of this very thing. To hear him
admit to it now left her nearly breathless.

"I've grown up," he said.

The elevator opened. Faith made sure the car was empty, then
held the door open with her hand. "I can't have this conversation
now. I've got work to do." She got into the elevator and let the
doors go.

"Jake Berman lives in Coweta County."

Faith nearly lost her hand stopping the doors. "What?"

He took his notebook out of his pocket and wrote as he talked. "I
tracked him down through his church. He's a deacon and a Sunday
School teacher. They've got a great website with his picture on it.
Lambs and rainbows. Evangelical."

Faith's brain couldn't process the information. "Why did you find
him?"

"I wanted to see if I could beat you to the punch."

Faith didn't like where this was going. She tried to neutralize the
situation. "Listen, Sam, we don't know that he's a bad guy."

"I guess you've never been in the men's room at the Mall of
Georgia."

"Sam—"

"I haven't talked to him," he interrupted. "I just wanted to see if I
could track him down when no one else could. I'm tired of Rockdale
squeezing my balls. I much prefer it when you do."

Faith let that comment go, too. "Give me the morning to talk to
him."

"I told you, I'm not looking for a story." He grinned, showing all
his teeth. "It was an exercise in
faith
."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I wanted to see if I could do your job." He tore off the piece of
paper, giving her a wink. "Pretty easy stuff."

Faith grabbed the address before he changed his mind. He held
her gaze as the doors closed, then Faith found herself staring at her
mirrored reflection on the back of the doors. She was sweating already,
though she supposed in a pinch that could pass for a pregnant
glow. Her hair was starting to frizz because, even though it was only
April, the temperature was inching up the thermometer.

She looked at the address Sam had given her. There was a heart
around the entire thing, which she found annoying and endearing in
equal parts. She didn't quite trust that he wasn't looking for a story in
Jake Berman. Maybe the
Atlanta Beacon
was doing a down-low exclusive,
outing married churchgoers who were trolling glory holes and
finding raped and tortured women in the middle of the road.

Could Berman be Pauline's brother? Now that she had an address,
Faith wasn't so sure. What were the odds that Jake Berman had
hooked up with Rick Sigler, and both men just happened to be on
the road at the same time the Coldfields' car hit Anna Lindsey?

The doors opened, and Faith walked out onto her floor. None of
the hall lights were on, and she flipped the switches as she walked
toward Will's office. No light seeped from under his door, but she
knocked anyway, knowing from his car that he was in the building.

"Yes?"

She opened the door. He was sitting at his desk with his hands
clasped in front of his stomach. The lights were off.

She asked, "Everything okay?"

He didn't answer her question. "What's up?"

Faith shut the door and opened the folding chair. She saw the
back of Will's hand, and that some new scratches had been added to
the cuts he'd received while beating Simkov's face. She didn't mention
this, instead going to the case. "I got Jake Berman's address. He's
in Coweta. That's about forty-five minutes from here, right?"

"If the traffic's good." He held out his hand for the address.

She read it off to him. "Nineteen-thirty-five Lester Street."

He still had his hand out. For some reason, all Faith could do was
stare at his fingers.

Will snapped, "I'm not a fucking idiot, Faith. I can read an address."

His tone was sharp enough to make the hair on the back of her
neck rise. Will seldom cursed, and she had never heard him say
"fuck" before. She asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just need the address. I can't do the interview
with Simkov. I'll go find Berman and we'll meet back here after your
appointment." He shook his hand. "Now give me the address."

She crossed her arms. She would die before she gave him the piece
of paper. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but you
need to get your head out of your ass and talk tome about this before
we've got a real problem."

"Faith, I've only got two testicles. If you want one, you're going
to have to talk to Amanda or Angie."

Angie.
With that one word, all the fight seemed to go out of him.
Faith sat back in the chair, her arms still crossed, studying him. Will
looked out the window, and she could see the faint line of the scar
going down the side of his face. She wanted to know how it had
happened, how his skin had been gouged from his jaw, but as with
everything else, the scar was just another thing they did not talk
about.

Faith put the paper on his desk and slid the address across to him.

Will gave it a cursory glance. "There's a heart around it."

"Sam drew it."

Will folded the paper and put it in his vest pocket. "Are you seeing
him?"

Faith was loathe to use the words "booty call," so she just
shrugged. "It's complicated."

He nodded—the same nod they always used when there was
something personal that wasn't going to be discussed.

She was sick of this. What was going to happen in a month when
she started showing more? What was going to happen in a year when
she collapsed on the job because she miscalculated her insulin? She
could easily see Will making excuses for her weight gain or simply
helping her up and telling her she should be careful where she
stepped. He was so damn good at pretending the house wasn't on fire
even as he ran around looking for water to put it out.

She threw up her hands in surrender. "I'm pregnant."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Victor's the father. I'm also diabetic. That's why I passed out in
the garage."

He seemed too shocked to speak.

"I should've told you before. That's what my secret appointment
is in Snellville. I'm going to the doctor so she can help me with this
diabetes thing."

"Sara can't be your doctor?"

"She referred me to a specialist."

"A specialist means it's serious."

"It's a challenge. The diabetes makes it more difficult. It's manageable,
though." She had to add, "At least that's what Sara said."

"Do you need me to go to your appointment with you?"

Faith had a glimpse of Will sitting in the waiting room of Delia
Wallace's office with her purse in his lap. "No. Thank you. I need to
do this on my own."

"Does Victor—"

"Victor doesn't know. No one knows except you and Amanda,
and I only told her because she caught me shooting up with insulin."

"You have to give yourself shots?"

"Yeah."

She could almost see his mind working, the questions he wanted
to ask her but didn't know how to frame.

Faith said, "If you want another partner—"

"Why would I want another partner?"

"Because it's a problem, Will. I don't know how much of a problem,
but my blood sugar drops or goes up, and I get emotional, and I
either bite your head off or feel like I'm going to burst into tears, and
I don't know how I'm going to do my job with this thing."

"You'll work it out," he said, always reasonable. "I worked it out.
My problem, I mean."

He was so adaptive. Anything bad that happened, no matter how
horrible, he just nodded and moved on. She supposed that was something
he'd learned at the orphanage. Or maybe Angie Polaski had
drilled it into him. As a survival skill, it was commendable. As the basis
of a relationship, it was irritating as hell.

And there was absolutely nothing Faith could do about it.

Will sat up in his chair. He did his usual trick, making a joke to
ease the tension. "If I get a vote, I would rather you bite my head off
than start crying."

"Back at you."

"I need to apologize." Suddenly, he was serious again. "For what
I did to Simkov. I've never laid hands on anyone like that before. Not
ever." He looked her directly in the eye. "I promise it won't happen
again."

All Faith could say was, "Thank you." Of course she didn't agree
with what Will had done, but it was hard to shout out recriminations
when he was so obviously already doing a good job of hating himself.

It was Faith's turn to lighten things up. "Let's stay away from
good cop/bad cop for a while."

"Yeah, stupid cop/bitchy cop works a lot better for us." He
reached into his vest pocket and handed her back Jake Berman's details.
"We should call Coweta and have them put eyes on Berman to
make sure he's the right guy."