4:34 p.m. Passion Ministry

“Hullo, Rachel!” Harry said.

He sat on the bench beside her. Noted her glazed eyes. Hmm, the fly might’ve escaped the web. “Beautiful out here, isn’t it. This West Coast air’s amazing. You can practically bite it!”

Waited for a response. Finally, he motioned to the garden. “Your mom’s, huh? Green thumb, that’s for sure.” He stroked Rachel’s thumb. “How about you?”

She ignored him.

He dropped her hand. Stood and approached a small tree. “Dogwood. Got a neat history about Easter. Know it?”

She turned away.

“Supposedly, at the time of Christ’s death, it used to grow as big as an oak. Because of its strength, it was chosen for the cross. Legend has it that this greatly distressed the tree. Jesus, hanging from the cross, noticed. Told the dogwood that because of its pity and sorrow, it would never again grow large enough to be used as a cross. He said it would grow twisted and bent and its blossoms would be in the form of a cross.”

He peered at a bud. “Wish I could show you...each petal has rusty nail prints and is stained red in the center, like a crown of thorns.” He smiled. “For remembrance. Kinda like those war poppies, huh?”

“Since when’re you a theological expert?”

“Like I told you before, Rach. Know your competitors.” He strode back. “Wanna tell me about your little chat with your mom?”

She shook her head.

He squeezed her thigh.

“Hey!”

Pinching harder, the Watcher leaned over, hot breath blanketing her face. “So this’s how it’s gotta be. Okay.” With his free hand, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger. Twisted.

Rachel howled. Struggled to block his invasive prodding. Finally, chest heaving, she gave in.

In his mind he heard her shouting, “I hate you! I hate you!” But nothing stopped his mental assault. The Watcher grinned, staring into her irises, absorbing her recent memories. Amazing! Big D’s gonna love this.

Eventually he released his grip and caressed her cheek. Rachel tried to slap him. He caught her arm. Pushed it away.

“So, the boy wonder’s a....” Harry laughed.

“What’re you going to do?”

He grabbed both her wrists.

She flinched. Heat throbbed through his hands, into hers. Spiraling up her shoulders and neck in a rosy flush.

“My fine Rachel,” he said. “You disappoint me.” His voice hardened along with his grip. “I don’t like that. We’re a good team and so close, but now…” He twisted her wrists.

She yelped.

He twisted harder. “Now, I’ve got to find other help.”

“Help with what, you creep?”

“It’s outta my hands.” He flashed a wolf’s grin. “Outta my hands.” For an instant, his body glowed blue.

“Who are you?” asked Rachel. She jerked free. “What are you?”