He exhaled, the burst of temper leaving him drained. "But I can't have her."

"Because you choose not to marry her."

Steven stiffened at the disapproval in Mike's voice. "That is correct, Father."

"You're a fool, Steven Thatcher."

"Why, because I believe in sex within the sanctity of marriage? I thought that would earn me some brownie points," Steven said bitterly.

"It earns you a hair shirt and a flogging strap," Mike snapped back. "If you want to be a martyr, do it in somebody else's church, because I don't want to hear it anymore."

Steven turned back in the pew to find Mike red-faced and visibly trembling. "What does that mean exactly, Father Leone?" he asked coldly.

Mike's chin came up, challenge in his dark eyes. "It means that you have set up a situation that's a no-win for everyone."

"So what do you recommend, Father?"

"If you ask me as Father Leone, I'm not going to recommend anything," Mike said sharply.

Mike was hurt, Steven realized with a shock. He'd always thought Mike impervious to insult, but that was obviously not the case. This man was his best friend. He'd been best man at his wedding, had christened both Matt and Nicky. Softening, he met Mike's flashing eyes and asked, "So what do you recommend, my friend?"

Mike stilled. "Don't swear you'll never marry again, Steven. It's not right for you to be alone. You need help with the boys, someone to support you when life doesn't work out the way you plan."

Steven thought about the support he'd felt just talking to Jenna Marshall. He could easily see her in that role-help-ing with the boys, supporting him. But still… "I don't want her around the boys," he insisted. "They'll get attached to her, and if it doesn't work out…"

Mike nodded thoughtfully. "I can see where that is a legitimate concern. So spend time with her away from the boys. Take her to dinner." He lifted a brow. "Take her to church."

Steven smiled. "Yes, Father."

"But also realize you are putting this woman under an enormous level of scrutiny. That's not fair to her. At some point you will know enough. You need to know in advance what that point is."

Steven was considering that advice when the clock in the old tower chimed. One in the morning. Where had the time gone? He stood up. "I have to get up in a few hours for a meeting at the office." He stuck out his hand. "Thanks, Mike."

Mike looked at his hand a moment, then stood and embraced him over the pew. "I've missed you, Steven. Please don't make me wait so long before I see you again."

"You can come see me. They don't lock you up in here, do they?" Steven asked, going for a jaunty grin that felt forced.

"Only on Thursdays." Mike patted his stomach under the biack robes. "And that's only because Sal's Pizza has an all-you-can-eat special that night." He walked with Steven toward the doors. "What case are you working now that has you meeting so early on a Saturday?"

Steven sighed. "You've heard about the two girls missing from their beds?"

Mike's face tightened. "I have. Their families are part of this parish."

Steven stopped. "You're kidding."

Mike shook his head and looked back toward the altar.

"That's why I was here so late tonight. Samantha Eggle-ston's parents were here most of last night praying for her return. I thought they might come back tonight."

"Can you think of anything the two girls had in common?"

Mike frowned. "I've thought of nothing else since the Egglestons called me yesterday morning. Only that they were both cheerleaders. Both were shy, which surprised me. I always thought cheerleaders were outgoing and confident, but neither of these two were. They went to different schools, really didn't hang out with each other while they were here. I can have their youth pastor call you tomorrow, if you like."

Steven's mind was racing again. "'Please. Thanks, Mike." He started off toward the door, but Mike caught his sleeve.

"I want to help those families any way I can, Steven, but it's hard to hold out hope. Do you think there's a chance we'll get Sammie back? Alive?"

Steven hesitated. "Between you and me, no. But please don't tell her parents that."

"You have my word."

Steven pushed the door open and felt the cold night air on his face again. "Thanks, Mike." He walked out of the church with more to think about than when he'd gone in. But there was a peace as well, one he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He'd focus on Samantha Eggleston and Brad for now, but the idea of exploring a relationship with Jenna Marshall little by little held incredible appeal. Soon, he promised himself. He'd call her up and ask her out to dinner sometime soon.

Saturday, October I, 1:45 A.M.

Steven stood at the coffeepot in the corner of the SBI conference room, his arms crossed, his fingers drumming his upper arm impatiently. The coffee dripped in slow motion, just to annoy him. If he pulled the carafe away now he'd have a mess and he still wouldn't have a full cup of coffee.

Which, when he got it, would be his fourth. Helen, bless her heart, had set up the machine in their kitchen to start brewing at six in the morning. She knew his habits well, knew he'd be calling an early-morning status meeting. So the pot at home had taken care of his first three cups.

Hopefully the fourth would actually wake him up. He dragged his palms down his cheeks, wincing when he touched the razor nick on his jaw. His hands had been unsteady this morning. It was a small wonder he hadn't cut his face to ribbons. He hadn't slept all night, worries about Brad in the front of his mind periodically interrupted by thoughts of Brad's teacher that lurked in the back. He wished he could say another night of worrying had miraculously solved the mystery of his son's problem but that was no more true than his hope that the morning light would dispel Jenna Marshall's soft voice that still echoed in his mind. Have courage, Steven. If only it were that easy.

"An IV would be faster."

Steven looked over his shoulder to find Lennie Farrell leaning against the wall behind him, his tie perfectly knotted, not a wrinkle in sight. Special Agent in Charge Lennie Farrell was a Joe Friday cop if there ever was one. His cardboard walk was mimicked by the department, although never with malice. Lennie was a good man. He even laughed when they called him "Joe." As much as Lennie laughed, anyway.

"And probably less painful," Steven responded, looking back at the coffeepot that hadn't speeded its drip one single iota. "'When I finally get my cup, it's going to scald on its way down."

"You could wait for it to cool," Lennie said, his tone wry. "But that wouid require patience."

Steven glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "I am patient."

Lennie pushed away from the wall and walked over to the bulletin board Steven had set up the night before. Photos of both young girls were hung with thumbtacks, smiling yearbook photos provided by their terrified parents. Lennie bent down to look at the photo of the mutilated body of Lorraine Rush, the first victim, then straightened as he drew a deep breath. "Steven, if you are patient, I'm a stand-up comic."

"Your point. This time." Steven grabbed a chair and swung it around so he could straddle it. "What are you doing here this morning? I'd planned to call you with an update at the ninth hole."

Lennie sat down at the table. Heavily. "I got a call from the governor last night."