CHAPTER 19.
CHAPTER 20.
CHAPTER 21.
CHAPTER 22.
CHAPTER 23.
CHAPTER 24.
CHAPTER 25.
CHAPTER 26.
CHAPTER 27.
CHAPTER 28.
CHAPTER 29.
CHAPTER 30.
CHAPTER 31.
CHAPTER 32.
CHAPTER 33.
CHAPTER 34.
CHAPTER 35.
CHAPTER 36.
EPILOGUE.
Acknowledgments.
There were many people involved in getting this book to print, all of whom were intregral. I want to thank my editor, John Scognamiglio, for his insight, vision, input, support, and ultimate patience. Man, did he work hard on this one. As did my sister, Nancy Bush, who was not only my cheerleader and personal editor, she picked up the other b.a.l.l.s of my life and juggled them effectively, never once losing her cool. Thanks, Nan.
Also, I have to thank my incredible agent, Robin Rue, and everyone at Kensington Books, especially Laurie Parkin, who also worked very hard on this one.
In addition, I would like to mention all the people here who helped me: Ken Bush, Kelley Foster, Matthew Crose, Michael Crose, Alexis Harrington, Danielle Katcher, Marilyn Katcher, Ken Melum, Roz Noonan, Kathy Okano, Samantha Santistevan, Mike Sidel, and Larry Sparks.
If I"ve forgotten anyone, my apologies. You"ve all been wonderful.
Author"s Note For the purposes of the story, I"ve bent some of the rules of police procedure and have also created my own fict.i.tious police department.
This book was written preHurricane Katrina, before the incredible city of New Orleans and the surrounding Gulf Coast were decimated by the storm. I hope I"ve captured the unique essence of New Orleans, what it once was and what it will be again.
PROLOGUE.
Near New Orleans, Louisiana Three months earlier The Voice of G.o.d pounded through his brain.
Kill.
Kill them both.
The man and the woman.
Sacrifice them.
Tonight.
This is your penance.
He lay on the sweat-stained sheets of his bed while neon light pulsed blood red through the slats of blinds that didn"t quite close over the windows. The Voice thundered in his ears. Reverberated through his head. Echoed so loudly, it drowned out the others-the little, screechy, irritating, fingernails-on-chalkboard voices that he thought of as belonging to bothersome insects. They too issued orders. They too disturbed his sleep, but they were small, annoying, and not as powerful as the Voice, the one he was certain was from G.o.d Himself.
A niggling doubt wormed through his mind, suggesting that the Voice was evil, that It might be speaking the words of Lucifer, the Lord of Darkness.