The Chosen Read Online Free PDF Page A

you could do…the number of people you could reach with your message. What do you say?”
    â€œI say that’s your agenda, Miss DeLena, not mine. My agenda is already in place and moving forward.”
    January’s interest shifted. “Agenda? What agenda might that be?”
    â€œMy agenda is your story,” the man said.
    January’s fingers tightened on the receiver.
    â€œThen tell me what it is! What is your agenda? What are you talking about?”
    â€œHe told me…live as I lived. So I am.”
    â€œWho told you?”
    â€œJesus Christ, my lord and savior.”
    The line went dead in her ear. January slammed the phone down in disgust, then pulled her notebook from the back of the desk drawer. She wanted to get down every word he’d said before she forgot them. Her hands were shaking as she wrote. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she was determined to find out.
    She finished her story and turned it in just under deadline. As soon as she could, she headed out of the studio and back to the streets. There was a story in this, she could feel it.
    One week later
    In a city full of lawmakers, it stood to reason that there would also be a part of the city allotted to law breakers. In the old days, it had been called the red-light district; now, some just considered it a good place to get lost.
    It was there, on a street corner, that a tall, bearded man who called himself Brother John stood on a milk crate and held audience to a small crowd. Even though he was being heckled constantly, his message became no less fervent. His clothing was a mishmash of Hindi and African, but his Cajun accent, red hair and beard, and light-colored eyes marked him as a man with Louisiana roots.
    â€œIt’s not too late to know the Lord,” he promised. “Any day now, He’ll be coming back! Do you want to be left behind? Listen to me, now. Jesus is coming. Jesus is coming!”
    â€œBy land or by sea?” someone yelled.
    The heckler didn’t faze him. He just raised his voice a little louder.
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    Jay was transfixed by the preacher on the street corner. As a convert to the Lord, he’d been watching this man for several months now, knowing that when it became necessary, Brother John would play a vital part in helping Jay get to glory. It was all so perfect—as if God Himself was guiding Jay’s every move.
    When Brother John raised his voice, Jay moved closer, drawn by the passion in his voice and the look in his eyes. It was fervor. He knew it well. It burned within him, too.
    When Jay was so close that he could see blue veins bulging on the backs of the man’s hands, he lifted his head, his nostrils flaring.
    Brother John’s gaze settled on Jay, and as it did, the preacher stuttered, suddenly racked by the same kind of fear that had dogged his steps through four years in Vietnam. Then he shook off the thought as being foolish, and focused his attention on the man standing at his feet.
    â€œWelcome, brother,” John said.
    Jay started to smile.
    Brother John’s belly knotted. He knew as well as he knew his own name that he was in the presence of evil.
    â€œWho are you?” he whispered.
    Jay Carpenter held out his hand. “I’m the man you’ve been waiting for.”
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    Rick Meeks had already commented that it was a piss-poor night for working a homicide. Ben hadn’t argued, although he was of the opinion that it was the victim who should have had the right to complain. A dead man was a dead man, but the added indignity of being beheaded seemed, to Ben, a large case of overkill.
    He squatted down beside Fran Morrow, waiting for her to bag whatever it was she had picked off the forehead of the victim. She was pushing sixty, a tad on the skinny side and cranky as hell, but she was one of the best crime scene investigators in the city.
    â€œHey, Fran, how long you think he’s been dead?”
    â€œEver