Faith Read Free

back of her head.
    Terror filled her soul. “Please let me go,” she moaned. “You can have my purse.”
    A sinister chuckle followed her pronouncement. Then a male voice growled, “Did I say I wanted your money? Now shut up!”
    Monet felt her body being dragged into a clump of tall bushes outside the parking lot area. Please, Lord, don’t forsake me , she prayed. She tried to grab hold of the gold cross that always hung around her neck, but her shaking fingers couldn’t grasp the chain.
    Her attacker flipped her over like they were gymnasts performing in a tournament, and pinned her arms behind her back. Monet groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no desire to see his face.
    Her lips moved as she began silently reciting the Twenty-Third Psalm. T he Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the path of righteous for His namesake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; they rod and staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
    She could feel the material from her scrub pants scrapping across her skin like sandpaper, as her attacker tore the garment from her body. After he had his way with her, his fist smashed into the side of Monet’s head, rendering her unconscious. Then the deranged man hit her in the face over and over again.

Chapter 2
    Marcus was sitting at his desk in the police station, going over his notes for tonight’s assignment. He paused and laid the pen on the desk. He hated doing what he considered a housekeeping chore . . . adding notes to a couple of his other case files. He worked in the Bureau of Investigative Services Division. He had about one hour or so before he and the squad would leave the station for a surveillance assignment.
    He glanced at the clock. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, and Marcus assumed Monet was home by now. He picked up the telephone to call her, and then put it back inside the cradle. He knew his wife had to be tired. She had been putting in a lot of overtime hours since last month, due to one of the nurses retiring. The Human Resources Department of the hospital wasn’t having much luck finding a replacement.
    Marcus ran his hand over his head, rubbed his eyes, and resumed writing. He would rather be on the streets protecting the citizens of Chicago.
    He weighed two hundred thirty pounds, and his body was all muscle, like cut marble. His tall height, along with an inch long scar on his left cheek, remnant of a burglary call gone awry, put fear in most lawbreakers when they came face-to-face with Detective Caldwell. Being a police officer for over twenty years, he’d seen the good, bad and ugly in people. His demeanor was one of seriousness, except when he was around Monet. Then he let his guard down. He loved God first, and then his wife more than life itself.
    Bruce, one of Marcus’s fellow officers strolled over to his desk and asked him, “Hey, man, did you hear there was some trouble at St. Bernard’s Hospital awhile ago? The call came in about half an hour ago. One of the nurses was hurt. Isn’t that where your wife works?”
    Marcus’s breathing became labored. He felt as though he was experiencing an anxiety attack. “Uh, yeah, that’s where Monet works. But she got off over an hour ago, so I’m sure she’s okay.” He tried to ignore the SOS signs that somersaulted across his mind.
    Bruce held up his hands. “I was just checking to see if you’d heard the news. We have a preparation meeting in fifteen minutes. I’ll see you there.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll see you