[Georgia 03] Fallen

Will saw Roger Ling’s eyes. They were flat black, soulless. But there was something else there. A flash of triumph mixed in with bloodlust.
    “When?” Will yelled. “When did it happen?”
    Ling’s voice was muffled behind the door. “Tell Mandy to wear something pretty to the funeral. I always did like her in black.”
    Will brushed himself off. As he walked up the corridor, he wondered which was worse: feeling Roger Ling’s hot breath on his neck or having to tell Amanda and Faith that Evelyn Mitchell was dead.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    F AITH GRABBED A GROCERY BUGGY FROM THE LINE OUTSIDE the store. She found an old list in her purse and clutched it in her hand as she walked into the building, pretending like this was just another day at the market. The Atlanta police had taken her Glock to process for ballistics, but they didn’t know about Zeke’s Walther P99 that he kept loaded in his glove compartment. The weight dragged on her purse strap as she hefted it over her shoulder. The Germanmade weapon was well suited for her brother, who’d never seen combat. It was bulky and expensive, the sort of thing you’d carry for show. It could also drop a man at one hundred yards, and, at the end of the day, that was all Faith needed it for.
    She started out in the produce section, taking more time than usual to test the freshness of the oranges piled on display. She dropped a few into a plastic bag, then moved toward the bakery.
    She should’ve left the house hours ago, but she wanted to wait until she got the call from Zeke that Jeremy and Emma were safely ensconced in the visiting officers’ quarters at Dobbins Air Reserve Base. Just getting them all loaded into Jeremy’s Impala had taken forever. Zeke had yelled at the car seat. Jeremy was still pouting about his confiscated iPhone. Emma hadn’t cried, because her big brother was there to soothe her, but Faith had bawled like a baby the minute their car had disappeared at the end of the street.
    Faith had assumed that the men who took her mother were as skilled as they were brazen. Tactically, they had always had the advantage, whether it was taking Evelyn or breaking into Faith’s house. But with two cops sitting in her kitchen and her six-foot-four brother stomping around like a bully spoiling for a fight, there was no way they would try the house again.
    They had gone for Jeremy, the weakest link save for Emma. Faith felt her breath catch as she thought about her children. She had been so worried about her mother that she’d let the rest of her family slip. That wasn’t going to happen again. She was going to keep all of them safe or die trying.
    Faith felt a presence over her shoulder. Someone was watching her. She’d felt eyes on her from the moment she left the house. Casually, Faith turned around. She saw a kid in a Frito-Lay uniform stacking bags onto the shelves. He smiled at her. Faith smiled back, then pushed her cart down the aisle.
    When Faith was a little girl, the Charles Chip man would come every Monday to fill their brown metal tins with potato chips. Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Mathis Dairy truck idled in front of their house while Petro, the driver, put fresh milk in the metal rack by the door in the carport. A half-gallon was ninety-two cents. Orange juice was fifty-two cents. Buttermilk, her father’s favorite, was forty-seven cents. If Faith was good, her mother would let her count out the change to pay Petro. Sometimes, Evelyn would get chocolate milk, fifty-six cents, for special occasions. Birthdays. Good report cards. Winning games. Dance recitals.
    Cosmetics. Vitamins. Shampoo. Greeting cards. Books. Soap. Faith kept piling things into her buggy, willing whoever was there to make contact. She slowed her pace. The cart was nearly full. She checked Jeremy’s iPhone. There were no new messages on his Facebook wall, no emails from GoodKnight92. Faith backtracked through the store, returning the shampoo and the vitamins, perusing the magazines again. She looked at her watch. She’d been here almost an hour and no one had approached her. Ginger would probably start wondering what was taking her so long. The young detective hadn’t seemed fazed when she’d told him that she was going to the grocery store by herself. He was still licking his wounds over Faith taking his gun. She wasn’t sure how much farther she could push him without getting a hard shove back.
    She angled her buggy around an old man who had stopped in the