The first thing Etter saw was a partially buried shoe, a woman’s low-heeled casual shoe, and for a moment he thought he’d just dug up clothes until he saw that a foot was wearing the shoe. Then, half-submerged in the dirt, he saw something brightly colored, like a shirt, then an arm. Earth shifted, and the thing turned, just rolled, the way someone asleep would roll in bed.

That’s when he saw a woman’s face and hair, veiled in dirt like she was breaking the surface of a shallow grave.

“Dear God!”

Etter reached for his cell phone but didn’t have a good hold, and it fell on the woman’s foot. Part shock, part reflex, he apologized, then picked it up, forced his fingers to stop shaking and called 9-1-1.

68

The aroma of bacon, sausages and coffee filled the dining room of the Blessed Light Mission Center.

Loften sat alone, back to the wall, stabbing at his food as he scanned the hall, trusting nothing. Other than that close call on the street with those two cops—Man, I was so lucky there—he never faced trouble here, except for that big kid, the one who was always talking to Jesus or aliens. The kid was always staring at Loften and making him wonder if he knew that he had stolen his fallen cash that day.

Nah, the kid was too stupid.

At that moment, Melvin was in the outer office talking with a supervisor and detectives Reddick and Cruz.

They’d confirmed that Henry Call, the man suspected to be the fugitive Clete Loften, had been residing at the mission, then pinpointed his location in the dining room. The detectives had called for support from Miami PD, who’d dispatched plainclothes officers in unmarked units to seal all exits. The SWAT team was rolling to the center, but breakfast was coming to an end. The guests would soon disperse.

Action had to be taken now.

Cruz, Reddick and two other officers in plain clothes entered the dining room, moving casually among the guests toward the corner where Loften sat.

As he chewed, Loften thought of that money-dropping kid and how he saw him every morning at breakfast. Sometimes the kid stood right next to him, always looking him over and talking to himself. Funny, Loften didn’t see him this morning.

Where is he? Gone with the aliens?

And where was that nun, Sister Emily, who always came around with the coffee?

Something was different today.

Loften stopped chewing.

He saw a couple of people walking his way through the dining room. His eyes narrowed. Their faces didn’t bear the downcast, weather-beaten look of most of the sad cases here. And the way they held themselves as they walked…

Those guys didn’t belong here—those guys were cops.

They had come for him.