Free At Risk by Judith E. French

water on a night like that. The waves would be building to ten feet, and the powerful gale would drop an atheist to his knees and make him pray for mercy.
    Waves of pleasure engulfed him as the memories of that night flooded back.
    He’d nearly missed seeing the hitchhiker on the narrow bridge. The girl had worn dark clothing, and every scrap had been plastered to her skin by the pounding rain. She’d thrown up a hand to shield her face from the glare of his lights, and then waved frantically to try to stop him.
    He’d braked a few hundred feet later, considering whether or not she was worth the risk. She was only his third premeditated victim, and he was still cautious, feeling his way in the game. But he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d pulled into an abandoned farm lane and turned the car around. She stepped farther onto the roadway as he drove back. Her thin face was chalk white against the black of her hair, her eyes wide with distress. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
    She was smiling with relief as he slowed the vehicle. He’d waited, savoring the moment, before stomping the accelerator. The thud of steel colliding with flesh and bone is unique, thrilling on a basic level. He remembered how her slight body soared like a seagull, up and over the railing, into the black water below.
    Quick but efficient, he thought. And far too easy.
    The Game Master swallowed. Ah, for the innocence of his early days of experimentation. There was satisfaction in primitive emotion, but he was long past such simple pleasures. There were rules to follow for one on his level, and paramount was the preliminary preparation of his new object, the lady-in-waiting, as it were. He covered his mouth with a hand to conceal his smile.
    It was time to begin
the daughter’s
harvest.
     
    Liz, Amelia, and Sydney attended Tracy’s funeral together. Most of the Somerville staff was present at the Methodist church, including Cameron Whitaker, Ernie Baker, and two other security guards from the school. The small frame house of worship was filled to overflowing, and a crowd of mourners gathered by the entrance. Tracy’s Aunt Charlene, garbed all in black, hung weeping on the arm of a red-faced and ponytailed man with a bad complexion and a protruding beer belly.
    After the service, Liz, Amelia, and Sydney waited until Charlotte’s escort led her out of the church before rising to continue on to the interment. They were nearing the door when Liz noticed Michael’s wheelchair in the back of the church. He waved, and she whispered to Amelia that she’d meet them at the cemetery.
    “It’s a big turnout,” Liz said when she reached Michael’s side.
    He nodded. “Some come out of respect. Others out of ghoulish curiosity.”
    Liz had never seen Michael in a suit and tie before, and he looked positively handsome. He’d polished his black shoes to a glass finish, and the creases in his steel-gray trousers were impeccable.
    “I’m surprised that the funeral wasn’t delayed,” he said. “What with the murder investigation, an autopsy usually takes longer.”
    “The dean is a personal friend of the governor,” Liz said. “At least that’s what Sydney heard. For the sake of the family and for the school, they wanted the funeral to take place as soon as possible. Bad publicity for Somerville.”
    “Figures. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” Michael glanced at a couple near the rear door. The man, who appeared to be in his thirties, held a fussy toddler in his arms. “Do you know them?” Michael asked.
    “No,” Liz replied.
    “The woman is Tracy’s cousin, the baby’s Tracy’s.”
    A wave of compassion washed through Liz. “Oh. I didn’t know she had a child,” she murmured with a catch in her voice. “Is the father—”
    “Wayne Boyd. At least she claimed he was the father. A buddy of mine on the force told me that she was suing Boyd for child support.”
    “And now the baby’s orphaned. How