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“Okay, butchered, and now he’s out. Double jeopardy. He can’t be convicted again.”
“Not for any of those murders.”
She opened the SUV’s door and slid inside. “Wait.” She turned. “You think he’ll do more—kill again?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Then . . . ?” She drew out the word.
“We wait. See if he’s really found Jesus.”
Her phone buzzed again and she muttered something under her breath, pulled it from her pocket and let out a sigh that fogged the cold night air. Snowflakes collected on her black hair.
“Everything okay?” he asked, and her chin inched up a notch.
“Fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I said it’s fine. Now what about Jonas McIntyre? You’re obviously not buying into his newfound spirituality.”
He slid her a glance as snow collected around his collar and he heard the bus rumbling away. “The truth is, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that Jonas McIntyre is on the road to redemption. Not one single chance.”
