Although Kate fought to keep control of her feelings, she instinctively realised it was important to acknowledge them, not just for her own sake, but to convince Nathaniel she was a suitable candidate for being admitted into one of the Heavenly Houses run by the Loving Hand church.
'I loved my father so much,' she sobbed as he led her to a low couch. 'I can't cope now that he's gone.'
Nathaniel sat on a chair opposite her and stroked her hand - comforting touches that couldn't be interpreted as anything else, but Kate sensed the desire in him, the aura of suppressed power.
She had read stories where people described the serial killer Ted Bundy as charismatic, and had thought the writers must have been easily deluded. But in the few weeks she'd been attending the gatherings at the Loving Hand she'd been astounded by the effect Nathaniel had on his followers. She could easily imagine Melanie being drawn into the Loving Hand like an impressionable child and succumbing to Nathaniel's compelling personality.
'What about your mother? Doesn't she need you?'
'No. She only ever wanted my father. My brother and I always came last.' It was only half a lie, but Kate knew that Nathaniel was searching for her weaknesses, her needs. 'We never belonged. And now he's dead, too. My family's gone.'
His eyes soft with compassion, Nathaniel took both her hands in his. 'I will be your family, Kate. I will take the hurt and fear from your soul. All I ask in return is your trust.'
If she hadn't been warned about him, Kate would have been convinced of Nathaniel's sincerity. His long, flowing robes and his resemblance to the more modern paintings of Jesus Christ gave an impression of biblical authority, and his voice and eyes had a seductive quality that was hard to resist. There was an indefinable 'something' about him that made her want to trust him in spite of what she knew. She'd also been warned by Glen's contact that it was wiser to tell Nathaniel her search for her sister-in-law and niece had led her to him. If he knew the truth about that, she would find it easier to convince him when she had to lie. With the network he appeared to have, he was probably aware of her search anyway.
'I trust you,' she whispered.
He smiled, his warmth and sympathy almost palpable, but she didn't miss the flash of triumph in his eyes or the almost imperceptible change in his posture that made her suspect the desire she had sensed before was in danger of being unleashed.
All the anxiety she had been suppressing since she'd learned of Melanie's and Cindy's disappearance threatened to erupt. She wanted to scream at this man who held the key to that disappearance. Her hands itched with the urge to claw at his face and scratch away the hypocrisy and reveal the monster within. Instead she relaxed her fingers and felt the warmth of his palms against her skin and tried to look at him with what she hoped was trust and desperation.
Toni Webster watched John Corey walk into the well-lit restaurant. Canberra was caught in winter's icy grip, but the room was pleasantly warm, and he shrugged out of his coat as he looked around. Toni took the opportunity to assess the visible changes in him. He'd been a lean youth whose natural muscularity had been honed by the heavy workload of a storeman-packer as he'd worked his way through university. She'd noticed his hands, once, as they'd lain protectively on her sister's waist; strong hands, capable hands, and the urge to push him away from Jessica's slender body had been almost uncontrollable.
Outwardly, little about him had changed. He'd filled out a bit, but that was only natural for a man in his mid-thirties, and the weight certainly wasn't from fat. His dark blond hair was now a light brown, but still as thick, though the shorter style emphasised his broad forehead and strong facial bones.
She wondered if he would recognise her, but his scanning of the restaurant stopped as soon as he saw her. He walked towards her table, and her tension increased. He hesitated when he reached her, as though waiting for permission to sit, or to speak.
'Hello, John.' She was grateful her voice sounded firm, and relieved that it could almost be construed as welcoming. She saw him visibly relax, but his eyes, a shade of blue that was almost grey, held a wariness she found disconcerting. She gestured for him to sit.
'How are you, Toni?' he asked.
The old urge to lash out, to punish him with her words, rose in her chest, but she quickly repressed it. He hadn't deserved it all those years ago, and he definitely didn't now. 'I'm good, John. Actually, I'm more than good. I'm very, very happy. I'm getting married next month.'
The pleasure that lit his eyes was genuine. 'And your parents?'
'For a while after Jessica died, they fell apart and it looked like they wouldn't cope. But they're okay now. Time doesn't heal all wounds but it helps to keep the memories at bay for longer periods.'
He nodded in understanding.
'What about you, John? Are you happy? Is there anyone important in your life?'
He looked at her as though the questions were irrelevant to him, as though they only applied to other people. 'My work keeps me busy,' he finally replied.
'I guess it would.'
He cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.
'You went off the radar some years back,' she told him. 'It took a lot of work to find out where you were, but the intelligence services in Canberra do have the odd leak, even about covert agencies. When I received your call yesterday I wondered if you had been keeping track of me.'
He shrugged. 'I just wanted to know that you were all right.'
Toni didn't want to say she'd kept tabs on him for the same reason. She had needed to know how he was coping after Jessica's death, but it had taken several years before she'd reluctantly accepted counselling and come to terms with the fact that the past couldn't be changed. Then she'd felt too ashamed to contact him.
The silence became awkward, and she almost sighed with relief when a waitress appeared to take their orders. She ordered coffee only and smiled apologetically at John. 'I'm meeting my fiancé for dinner.'
His eyes told her that he understood, that he knew why she needed not to spend too much time in his company. She started to explain about wedding plan decisions and family problems, then realised she was gabbling in order not to feel frustrated at herself for not having buried the past as completely as she'd thought. She stopped, recognising that he had mastered the art of silence that led others to reveal their thoughts. Taking a deep breath calmed her a little.
'What do you need to talk to me about, John? You said it was important.'
'I need to find out the identity of a girl.'
She saw his assurance slip a little, saw the emotions roiling inside him, then his image of calm reasserted itself.
'A dead girl. Approximately twelve years old. No record of her disappearing, no missing persons file, no friends or family looking for her. It's as though she doesn't exist. And…'
Toni waited for him to continue, waited for him to say what she knew he would.
'And she'd been sexually abused.'
'It's to do with a case you're working on?'
'Yes, but my boss doesn't believe it's related. I've been told to leave it to the local cops.'
'But it's become personal for you, hasn't it?'
'No-one deserves to die without someone caring, Toni. Right now she's just a comfit number, a body that's probably in some hole in the ground, not a child who should have someone holding her, caring for her.'
His sudden outburst of emotion nearly undid her. She gulped back the pain that swelled in her throat, saw his hands clench where they lay on the table as he fought to do the same. 'Tell me what you can.' Her voice was scratchy, and she struggled to find the professionalism that had become her veneer for many years.
Ten minutes later she pocketed the comfit picture he'd given her and said, 'I don't