Free The Killing Edge by Heather Graham Page A

were worried about her.
    She looked from one to the other of them. “Honestly, I’m fine. It’s just the way I feel.”
    “It’s okay. We still love you. So, how about I get the waffles, you get the eggs Benedict, and we share?” Jared suggested.
     

    Luke was surprised by how quickly and easily he had learned so much about Chloe Marin. She had started college late, after going on an extended tour abroad after high school, earning a double major in psychology and art at NYU. She had worked with patients doing art therapy at the Dade County Hospital for three years after graduation, and had been working freelance, with an office on Brickell, for the last two.
    She had survived what they called the Teen Massacre during her senior year of high school. Eight of her friends had been slaughtered. Chloe had survived by being one step ahead of a pair of killers, Michael Donlevy and Abram Garcia, members of the Church of the Real People, a cult with socialist leanings and strict versions of the code of God—their God. To their way of thinking, the teenagers had been sinners, and the killers had saved them from eternal damnation, or so claimed the suicide note found carefully sealed in a Baggie next to the bodies in a wildlife park just off the Tamiami Trail in the Everglades.
    Information regarding the massacre had been easy to dig up—the newspapers had carried the story until there was nothing new to carry.
    The details were horrifying.
    Death to defilers! written in blood, on the living-room wall. Eight dead, six wounded, two who had been passed out on the beach, unaware of the tragic events unfolding inside, and four who had miraculously escaped.
    Victoria Preston, Brad Angsley, Jared Walker—and Chloe Marin. Victoria claimed that Chloe had saved her life, butChloe hadn’t wanted to talk about any of it. She had given one interview, and that was that. He’d found a picture of her standing at a news podium, with a tall man at her side. There was a definite family resemblance. He had to be her uncle, the A.D.A., Leo Marin. Chloe had long hair then, falling nearly to her waist. Bangs, and huge eyes. Innocent eyes showing the pain of what she’d been through. She’d been so young, seventeen, and she’d been forced to grow old overnight.
    The survivors had spent hours in the police station, giving their individual statements. They hadn’t been able to shed much light. The killers had worn black dive suits with hoods, working swiftly and efficiently in the dark.
    Only Chloe had been able to give a description that had been any help at all. She had even drawn a picture of the man whose face she’d briefly seen. A picture that had matched one of the bodies that had been discovered later.
    Death to defilers! And something else. An odd drawing…like a hand.
    Everything done in blood. Obviously the work of a cult.
    There were also pictures of the two “brothers” who had been found dead in the Everglades. Apparently, Brother Abram Garcia had killed Brother Michael Donlevy, then turned the gun on himself. They had done God’s work, saving the teenagers from the greed and gluttony of their parents, the cruelty born of excess, and sent them to God before they could sin beyond redemption.
    Brother Abram was tall and looked strong enough to kill. Brother Michael was a smaller, slimmer man. Somehow,he didn’t look like the kind of guy who could overpower a bunch of high-school jocks—even drunk jocks, and even in the dead of night.
    Luke typed in the name of the sect church and was surprised to find that it still existed, that it even had a welcoming Web page. Those who were lost and seeking the real truth of God were invited to a potluck supper on Thursday night.
    Luke sat back. He’d always found it fascinating to explore the mind-sets, religions and philosophies of people the world over. A potluck dinner would be a perfect opportunity to see what made the Church of the Real People tick.
    He drummed his fingers on his