Mark thought forward, to the possible consequences of unburdening himself to Rick. Tara was underage. He didn’t think Rick would go to her parents, but if he did … anything could happen. He could be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor.
Her parents would tear the two of them apart.
Mark hadn’t even met them yet. Tara had been almost rabid on the subject, growing hysterical the couple of times he had tried to push the issue. They were strict, she said. They wouldn’t want her to date an outsider, an older boy. Fearful word would get back to them, Tara had insisted they keep the seriousness of their relationship a secret from everybody, even her friends.
Mark swallowed the words and forced a smile. “Everything’s just great, boss man. Thanks for asking.”
The lush, walled garden at Paradise Christian Church had become Mark and Tara’s personal Garden of Eden. Although the garden entrance was locked at sundown, Tara, as one of the church’s volunteer tour guides, had a key.
The first time they’d made love had been in the garden, the thick grass soft beneath them, the fragrant scent of the night jasmine, sweet olive and ginger filling their heads. The experience had been so perfect, so incredibly sweet, Mark had almost been able to forget that it had been a sin.
They weren’t husband and wife. She was underage. For all intents and purposes, they were breaking into God’s backyard. Sinning under his nose.
But was it a sin when they loved each other? When they had vowed to stay together forever?
Suppressing a twinge of guilt, Mark approached the garden door. The night was still; nearly 3:00 a.m., the street deserted. He saw that the latch was open. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he sidled up to the door then ducked inside.
“Tara,” he called softly, securing the door behind him. Something scurried through the underbrush. A bird roosting in one of the trees screamed protest at the noise.
Mark jumped at the sound, then moved farther into the garden. “Tara,” he called again, annoyed, “I’m not in the mood to play this game tonight.”
One moment became several. A sudden unease rippled over him. He opened his mouth to call out again, when she stepped out from behind one of the banyan trees at the back of the garden, a petite figure dressed in white.
Joy at seeing her warred with irritation. He felt as if she was toying with him, with his emotions. “What was that all about?” he demanded when he reached her. “For a moment I thought … something had happened to you. That you weren’t here.”
He saw then that she had been crying. He brought a hand to her damp cheek. “What’s wrong?”
She covered her face with her hands and bent her head, her long dark hair spilling over her fingers.
“Talk to me, babe.” He caught her hands and drew them away from her face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Her big, dark eyes filled with tears. “I’m pregnant!” she cried. “I went to the doctor today and he … he—”
She burst into tears. The anger and jealousy he had battled all day evaporated. He struggled to find his voice. When he did, it came out strangled. “But I thought we … weren’t we … careful?”
The force of her sobs increased. He kicked himself for his lack of tact. Obviously, they hadn’t been careful enough.
“I’m sorry, Tara. Don’t cry. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”
“How? What are we going to do? An abortion costs—”
“Never,” he retorted fiercely. He caught her hands again, squeezing them tightly. “I love you. You love me. This is our baby, our child.” A feeling of certainty flowed over him, easing his fear. “We’ll get married. We’ll be a family.”
“But … how? We’re … I’m afraid, Mark,” she finished helplessly.
“I’ll take care of you, Tara. I promise you that.”
“And we’ll be happy,” she murmured, voice cracking. “Really happy, right?”
She sounded young and frightened. Too young to become a wife and mother.
They were both too young. They were not ready for the responsibility of raising a child. Neither emotionally nor financially.
Sudden and total panic washed over him. What was he doing? Tara had been involved in things that went against everything he believed in. What kind of pastor’s wife would she make? What kind of role model for their children?
It was too late to worry about that now. They were going to have a baby. He was going to be a father.
He needed to be strong for her, he realized. He needed to be strong for them both. Spiritually and emotionally. If he showed her the way, she would follow. Because she believed in him. She loved him.
And he loved her.
He drew her into his arms. “Babe, remember when I told you that I felt I was being called to Key West? Remember when I said I thought God had led me here, but I didn’t know why? That I thought He had a special plan for me?”
“Yes,” she replied weakly. “But what—”
“I think this is it, Tara. I think He led me to you. I think He meant for us to make this baby. For us to be a family.”
She tipped her head back and met his eyes. “You do? Really?” The hopefulness in her voice made him ache.
“I do,” he repeated, tone strong now, certain. “Let Him lead you, Tara. If you do, if we do, everything will be fine. This was meant to be. We were meant to be.”
CHAPTER 6
Monday, November 5 8:45 a.m.
Hand to her nose, stomach rolling, Detective Carla Chapman bent over the decomposing remains of Larry Bernhardt. It appeared that the man had jumped naked from the third-floor balcony above. He had landed facedown. She would guess broken bones, internal injuries and bleeding. The fall had busted him up—but hadn’t killed him. He had dragged himself a few feet before succumbing to either his injuries, pain or both.
Poor bastard. Damn uncomfortable way to go.
Carla spied an open pill bottle peeking out from under the man’s left shoulder. She bent closer, examining the empty vial. Quaaludes.
Or maybe not that uncomfortable, Carla amended.
She squinted up at the still-scorching November sun. Today’s forecast called for zero cloud cover and a high of ninety. The same as the last three days. Basically as unrelentingly hot as hell.
That meant Larry Bernhardt’s remains had been cooking for some time, the amount to be determined by the medical examiner. Placing the time of death would be tricky, Carla acknowledged. Exposure to heat sped up the decomposition process, playing havoc with the measures they used to determine TOD: rigor mortis, lividity and body temperature.
Let
