On impulse she pulled out her cell phone and sent him a text message. Are you the Gabriel who came to Mary? It was a weird question, but one that had been gnawing at her. She didn’t know what she believed exactly, or why it mattered, but she needed to know what he would say.

Her phone chimed two minutes later. He had replied already. No. I was a lesser angel.

Relief seemed a strange emotion, but it was there, intense and immediate. That would have been too much, too difficult to accept, too unnatural to think of what she felt for him in such an extreme context. Manners dictated she answer, so she just typed, Thanks, and left it at that. He wouldn’t question her or respond back. She knew that about him. He would let her have the time and space she needed, and she appreciated that.

The scene in front of her tantalized, beckoned her. The lure of hearth and home and children. If she went to Gabriel, she would never have a family, never have babies to raise.

But who was to say she would if she didn’t go to him? Who was to say that she would ever find a man she loved enough to share her life with, children with?

No answers.

Except she did know that she wasn’t afraid of being alone anymore.

She wasn’t afraid of anything.

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-three

Foreword to The Stain of Crime by Gabriel St. John

When a murder occurs and a suspect is in custody, media attention quickly shifts to the accused. What kind of person are they? Why did they do it? Most people are incapable of understanding what motivates a criminal, yet that is always our focus. We want details, explanations, answers. They don’t exist. They kill because they are murderers. It isn’t our responsibility to evaluate individuals or their motivations, but to ensure that they are punished for their crimes, and that the focus remains on the victims.

I have tried to do that in the cases of Anne Donovan and Jessie Michaels, but ultimately, their deaths are overshadowed by the investigations that failed to guarantee justice for these women.

The dead speak, but the living are louder.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jocelyn eyeballed her with a great deal of doubt as they stood on the curb at the airport.

“I’m sure.” Well, not necessarily that it was a good idea, but Sara was sure she had to do it.

Jocelyn gave her a hug, bending at the knees so she could be at eye level from her nearly foot advantage over Sara. “Call me if you need anything. And don’t hesitate to bail if things get weird. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”

“Thanks, you know that means a lot to me.” Sara hugged her back. “But it’s going to be fine. Good.”