Where man’s laws fail, God’s laws do not. No one is above the wrath of the Lord Almighty. Sinners must be punished. God’s law demands retribution.

What I have done, I have done in the name of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior. He has given me this holy duty to stop the evildoers from defiling His name. These wolves have hidden themselves in sheep’s clothing and have preyed on the weak.

“And I will punish the world for their evil, and the wicked for their iniquity.” Isaiah 13:11. I hear You, Lord. I know there are others who must be punished. I will find them and destroy them.

Sitting here alone in my room, I gaze out the window at the stars and wonder if heaven is out there, far away, beyond the moon and stars. Or is heaven another dimension, not a part of the universe as we humans know it?

I long to be in heaven, to walk the streets paved with gold, to hear the angels sing, to sit at God’s feet and know His goodness. Who I am here on earth will not matter in heaven. All my burdens will be eased, all my heartaches soothed, all my sins forgiven.

I must not cry. Tears serve no purpose. I must be a strong soldier for the Lord. I must fight the good fight if I want to receive my eternal reward.

I have sent three wicked men to the fires of hell. I know that Satan has marked their names in his book of eternal damnation.

Mark Cantrell-adulterer; Charles Randolph-thief; and Brian Myers-pedophile.

I will not stop until I have done all within my power to rid the world of such perverted evil. And God will be pleased with all that I do. He will transform me from a child conceived in sin, born in shame and degradation, the living proof of man’s evil, to a place of honor at His side. I will be purified by His power.

Show me the way, Lord. Take my hand and lead me to the others who must be punished.

Jack figured he was a fool, because only a fool would play with fire. And that’s just what Cathy Cantrell was-hot and dangerous. She had no more idea now than she’d had all those years ago just what kind of effect she had on him. Yeah, him and the male sex in general. She possessed a kind of womanly sweetness that made it damn near impossible for a man to resist her.

He’d had his share of women over the years, but there had been only one he’d never forgotten. Maybe it was because he had been her first. Or maybe it was because he’d honest to God been in love with her. When he’d first found out that she’d married someone else, he’d been as mad as hell. But he hadn’t held on to his anger and bitterness. He had learned that it didn’t pay to judge others unless you walked a mile in their shoes. He figured Cathy had had her reasons for marrying someone else, for giving up hope, for not waiting for him to come back. And he knew that that reason could have been as simple as her falling out of love with him and in love with Mark Cantrell.

He’d spent the past hour watching Cathy as she devoured their greasy meal. She’d eaten with gusto, as if she were starved to death. And she’d downed several glasses of beer, which probably was the reason she was smiling now. A couple of times, when she’d licked her fingertips, his racy thoughts had given him a hard-on.

“Want dessert?” he asked, forced to talk loud to be heard over the din of conversation, laughter and music pounding from the old jukebox.

Laughing, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her stomach. “I don’t know where I’d put it. I’m stuffed.”

He glanced at the nearly empty pitcher on the table. “I could order some more beer.”

She groaned. “I’ve had my limit. Actually, I drank more beer with dinner tonight than I’ve drunk in years.”

“What about some coffee?” He was trying to find a way to keep her here for a while longer. Food, drinks, conversation, whatever would persuade her not to go.

“Maybe some decaf later.” She scooted back her chair and stood. “What I want right now is to dance.” She held out her hand.

Dance with Cathy again? Cheek to cheek. Bodies pressed together.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Grinning, she shook her head and clicked her tongue. “You aren’t afraid to dance with me again, are you?”

He rounded the table, took her hand and led her onto the crowded dance floor. She slipped into his arms as naturally as if she’d done it a thousand times. He pulled her close. She was soft and warm. When she laid her head against his shoulder, he pressed his cheek against her silky hair.

If she were some other woman, a woman he’d just picked up here at the Catfish Shack, he would maneuver her out of the door and to the nearest bed as quickly as possible. But this was Cathy, and unless he missed his guess, she still wasn’t the type of woman who had casual sex. And if he were a different kind of man, he would take advantage of her vulnerability. She was working hard at trying to have a good time. He understood why. He’d been there. More than once. She was holding on for dear life, the control over her emotions hanging by a mere thread, that modicum of control not easily achieved or maintained.

“If you need to talk, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener,” he said, his lips brushing the tip of her ear.

When she shuddered involuntarily, he clenched his teeth. Her reaction probably wasn’t anything personal. He figured she hadn’t had sex since she lost her husband.

“Who told you that you were a good listener?” She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “One of your many women?”

Jack chuckled. “Well, actually, the only woman who told me I was a good listener was my sister, Maleah.”

Cathy smiled. “How is your sister? I heard she lives in Knoxville now. Is she married? Does she have children?”

“Maleah’s still single. I guess after witnessing the horror of our mother’s second marriage, we’re both gun-shy when it comes to wedded bliss.”

“All marriages aren’t like that. Your parents’ marriage wasn’t.”

“What about your marriage? Were you happy with Mark Cantrell?”

Cathy’s smile faded as she glanced away, her gaze focusing on something over his shoulder. “Mark was a good man, a good husband and a good father.”

Yeah, he’d figured as much. After all, the man had been a preacher. Cathy’s husband had been one of the good guys. But she hadn’t said they’d had a good marriage, that she’d been happy.

“If it bothers you to talk about him…”

“It doesn’t. Not anymore. But I’d just as soon not talk about the past, not tonight. I spent nearly a year talking to my therapist at Haven Home in Birmingham. I’m pretty much all talked out.”

One jukebox selection ended and another began, “Love in the First Degree” by Alabama. Even though the rhythm was upbeat, they continued dancing at a slow, clinging pace.

“Been there, done that and have a T-shirt that reads Graduate of the Psych Ward.” He splayed his hand across the small of her back and pulled her closer.

They stared at each other, and he figured she saw her own pain and guilt and loneliness reflected in his eyes. And a similar steely determination to maintain sanity at any cost. He suspected she sensed that they were kindred spirits. He knew he damn well felt it.

“I guess you heard about what happened to me last year when Reverend Randolph was murdered,” she said.

Jack nodded.

“This time, I didn’t fall apart. I won’t fall apart. Not ever again. I have to be strong for my son.” She broke eye contact.

Jack reached down, cupped her chin and tilted her face upward. “Why don’t you tell me about your son? What’s his name?”

“Seth. We named him in honor of Mark’s younger brother, who died when he was only a few days old.”

“That was a nice thing to do.”

“It pleased Mark and his parents. Mark was so good to me. I wanted to make him happy.”

Did he make you happy, Cathy? “Seth’s an only child?” Jack asked.