“Drugs. And sex.” He cleared his throat. “But it was more than that. It’s what they believed. And what they didn’t believe.”

She waited, sensing he needed time.

“They didn’t believe in God. Not in heaven or hell. Only the here and now. In earthly pleasures. They believed they owed allegiance to no one but themselves and their Horned Flower family.”

Liz thought of the things Tara had said during their sessions, the comments she’d made about the devil, heaven and hell. No wonder Tara had sounded so conflicted.

“I told her I couldn’t see her anymore, not if she was going to be a part of that group.”

“And she chose you.”

“Yes.”

He sighed, shifting his gaze to the horizon and the rapidly setting sun. She, too, turned her gaze to the gulf. In the exact moment the sun sank from sight, a flash of green light appeared. A cheer rose up from the crowd.

“Dear Lord.”

She looked at her young companion in question.

He met her eyes. “Did you see it? The green light?” She nodded and he continued. “It’s rare. Tara used to say…” His throat seemed to close over the words and he cleared it. “She used to say if you saw the flash of green you were destined for something big.”

“Did she ever see it?”

He nodded. “The last time…she saw it the day before…she found out she was pregnant.”

“I’m sorry.”

With the main event over, the crowd quickly dispersed. Quiet and darkness settled over them. Liz shivered.

“ Tara knew who you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“She knew who you really are.”

Liz called his bluff. “Really? And who am I?”

“You’re Pastor Rachel’s sister.” Liz caught her breath; he looked at her. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Liz clasped her hands together. “How did she know?”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Did she…say anything about that? Or about my sister?”

“She liked your sister a lot. She felt bad about what happened to her.”

Liz’s heart beat hard against the wall of her chest. “Did she…know what happened to her?”

He shook his head and she held back a cry of disappointment, though it tasted sour against her tongue. “Why are you telling me all this?” she managed to say after a moment.

“The way I figure it, maybe your sister’s disappearance and Tara ’s death are related.”

She could have wept with relief. This kid thought the same way she did. She wasn’t crazy.

And she wasn’t alone, not anymore. “How do you figure that?” she asked.

“ Tara was always so weird about your sister’s disappearance,” he murmured. “Besides, it just kind of makes sense to me.”

“Me too.” Silence fell between them. After several moments, she met his eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. I called you because I wanted someone…to know everything. In case something happens to me.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, alarmed.

“Right now I only suspect that her friends killed her. I’m going to find out for sure.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “How?”

“I’m going to become one of them.”

“Bad idea. Very bad idea.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Why not go to the police?”

He simply looked at her and she acknowledged the answer to her own question: as the father of Tara ’s baby, he would be a prime suspect. To make matters worse, by his own admission he had been there that night. And had run from the scene.

Most probably, if he went to the police, he would end up behind bars.

She let out a long breath. “You think these people are killers, for heaven’s sake. If what you suspect is true, getting close to them will put you in harm’s way, big time. This is not a good idea.”

“You’re not going to change my mind.” He glanced behind them at the nearly empty square, then stood. “I better go.”

“Wait!” She followed him to his feet. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Mark. Mark Morgan.”

“Don’t go yet.” She held out a hand. “Let’s talk about this before you-”

He cut her off. “There’s nothing to talk about. Besides, it’s too late. I already contacted a couple of Tara ’s friends.” A smile touched his mouth. “Thanks though, for…caring.”

She made a sound of frustration. “But how will I know if you need help?”

“You won’t hear from me,” he said simply. “If that happens, go to Rick Wells. He’s a friend. I trust him.”

“Rick Wells?” she repeated, surprised.

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, I…we met.”

He nodded and started off, then stopped and looked back at her. “Remember me in your prayers, okay? I think I’m going to need them.”

Friday, November 16

10:20 p.m.

Mark waited for Sarah, his Horned Flower connection. While he waited, he prayed. For guidance and protection. For strength.

Tonight he would be initiated into the Horned Flower.

He was afraid.

Mark lifted his gaze to the sky. Dense cloud cover obliterated the full moon. This time of night Southernmost Beach -so named because it was literally the southernmost beach in the country-was deserted. From behind came the sound of traffic from Whitehead and South Streets. A Jimmy Buffet tune poured from a car’s open window.

“Cheeseburger in Paradise.”

Paradise. He had thought of Key West that way. Had thought her a sparkling, perfect jewel of a place.

Now he saw that her beauty masked an ugliness without compare.

Mark glanced at his watch, then toward the beach entrance. They had agreed to meet at ten-fifteen. He frowned. She was late.

Sarah, where are you?

Sarah had been the friend Tara had talked about most, the one, he knew, who had campaigned for Tara to invite him into their group. The night he met Tara for the first time, she had been with Sarah.

Mark had lied to the girl. Tara had told him about the Horned Flower and foolishly he had believed he didn’t need their family. Tara had broken up with him because he wouldn’t join, now she was dead.

Life seemed pointless, he’d told Sarah. He was drifting, alone without an anchor. He had always believed in God, but now he saw he had been wrong. To deny earthly pleasures for a life in heaven was wrong. Life was short. It was meant to be enjoyed.

He wanted to be a part of their family.

When Sarah resisted, he had begged her. He needed the Horned Flower. Tara had been ready to invite him into the family; she had gotten the okay. He would do anything she asked, he promised. Anything the family required of him.

In the end she had agreed to vouch for him. She had set up tonight’s meeting. He was to come alone, she had instructed him. He was to wait on the bench nearest the burned-out utility light.

She had accepted him, his story, so easily.

Maybe too easily, he thought. Maybe she had no intention of meeting him here, of bringing him to the Horned Flower. Maybe she-and the others-had discovered his true purpose for contacting her.

If that was true, he was a sitting duck.

Another scenario occurred to him, one much worse. Perhaps, by convincing her to help him, he had put her in jeopardy?

An image of Sarah lying in a pool of blood, her throat slit as Tara ’s had been, filled his head, and his stomach rose to his throat.

He swallowed the sickness back and thought of Liz. He had called and left a message on her machine. Tonight was the night, he’d told her. He would call her tomorrow. If he didn’t, she was to call Rick.

A part of him had been glad Liz hadn’t been home-she would have tried to talk him out of this.

She very well might have succeeded. He could turn himself in to the police. Let them deal with this. It was their job.

It wasn’t too late.

Momentarily, the clouds cleared and he saw her. She started toward him. Twin emotions of relief and fear trembled through him.

Lord be with me now and at the hour of my death.