“Tell Carl to let them through the gate. No questions asked.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Samuel drew another difficult breath. “The weather report?”
“Rain by the weekend. No mention of storms.”
A ghost of a laugh escaped Samuel. “Murphy’s Law.”
In a measured tone, DeMarco said, “With all due respect, this is a waste of your energy.”
“I have no choice.”
“According to the Prophecy, we’re safe for now. You said it was summer. You said she was older.”
“I may have been wrong.”
“Prophecies,” DeMarco said, still in that deliberate voice, “are tricky beasts. By acting before it’s time, you may bring about the very thing you hope to avoid.”
“Perhaps I can’t avoid it. Perhaps I never could.” Samuel’s lips twisted into something more grimace than smile. “They don’t understand. They’ll never understand. They want me dead, Reese. Worse than dead. Broken. Destroyed. Especially him.”
“It doesn’t have to end that way.”
“It will—unless I destroy him before he can destroy me.”
“They have no proof. No evidence. If they had, they would have come after you a long time ago. You’re safe here.”
“Among my people.”
“Father—”
“They are my people, aren’t they? Bound to me body and soul?”
“Of course, Father.”
“Will they die for me, Reese? Will you?”
Steadily, without hesitation, DeMarco replied, “Of course, Father.”
Samuel’s mouth twisted into another of those not-quite-smiles. “Good. Now, let Carl know he’s to allow the chief and Mrs. Gray to leave. And—send Ruth to me.”
“Of course, Father.” DeMarco withdrew from the study, closing the door quietly. He passed back through the apartment, and it wasn’t until the main door was closed behind him that the tension in his shoulders eased.
Just a little.
He paused for an instant, almost leaning back against the door, then drew a deep breath, straightened, and went on to do Father’s bidding.
——
“I would have put you in the backseat,” Sawyer said, his voice more than a little grim. “But I thought there’d be fewer questions this way.”
Tessa blinked at him, feeling a little dizzy and very confused. She looked down, realizing that she was buckled into the passenger side of his Jeep—tightly buckled. She eased the shoulder strap a little and tried to ask a baffled question. “Where . . . ?”
“We just left the Compound. I’ll send somebody to get your car later. Nobody was around when I carried you to the Jeep, and for once Fisk just opened the gates without comment.”
“Carried me?” Well, that’s disconcerting. And I missed it. Dammit. She shoved the regret aside. Not now. I can’t think about this now. “From where?”
“The pet cemetery. Don’t you remember? What the hell happened to you back there? You were out. And I mean out. You didn’t faint—you were almost comatose.”
Tessa forced her sluggish mind off the subject of her apparently unconscious self being carried a goodly distance by a very attractive man she hardly knew, and tried to remember. It took a minute or two, but the fog in her brain seemed to be dissipating as they left the Compound behind. She felt bone-weary, but at least she could think again. And remember.
“The pet cemetery. Jesus. He killed them. All the pets, the livestock. It was . . . He was furious.”
Sawyer let out a rough sigh, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “That’s what I thought you said. You had a vision?”
“Of sorts. I don’t really have visions, usually, I just know things. And I know that. I felt it.”
“Shit. He killed them? All at once?”
“I think so. Last October. He was away for a while, for weeks at least, and when he came back there was . . . some kind of power struggle going on inside the congregation. Somebody else wanted to run the church. Samuel was—”
“He was what?” Sawyer shot her a sharp glance but then returned his attention to the road, intent on putting more distance between them and the church.
“Weakened.” Tessa’s voice was hardly more than a murmur, and she stared straight ahead, struggling to sort through the images and emotions she was remembering. “Hurt. He had tried to use his abilities in different ways, new ways, but there was somebody stronger fighting back. He lost that fight. Badly. And then came back home to . . . rebellion. It was more than he could stand. He called them all to that outside pulpit, even though there was a storm coming. Maybe because there was a storm coming. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to tap in to it, but . . .”
“But?”
She shook her head. “Somehow he did. Somehow he drew energy from the storm. I’m not sure exactly what happened; it’s all fuzzy and jumbled. All I know for sure is that the problem—the man who wanted to run the church his way—vanished. Samuel’s congregation was convinced all over again that they should follow him. And all the animals died.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when Tessa felt something move against her foot. Under normal circumstances, she probably would have jumped in alarm, but she was too tired to waste the energy. Instead, she merely leaned forward to see what it was.
A big shoulder bag, the type students sometimes carried their books or notebooks or laptops in. Heavy canvas, with a flap opening.
“Is this yours?” she asked, even though she knew as soon as she touched it that it didn’t belong to him.
He looked over as she lifted the bag from the floorboard and held it in her lap. “No, I’ve never seen it before. Tessa, be careful.”
“It’s all right.” She unfastened the big clasp and pushed the heavy flap back. Inside, shivering and staring up at her fearfully, was a tiny white poodle.
Sawyer frowned. “A dog? From inside the Compound?”
“Unless you brought her with you today.” Tessa was cautious until the little dog licked her fingers. Then she lifted what was hardly more than a handful of curling fur out of the bag and held the delicate creature in the crook of her arm. Instantly, the dog snuggled against her and stopped shivering. “Which I gather you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. And if all the animals were killed, how could that little thing survive?”
“I think she had help.” Tessa had used her free hand to rummage in the side pockets of the bag and discovered a folded piece of paper. What gave her pause was the fact that her own name was block-printed on the outside.
“What?” Sawyer asked.
“Did you see anybody around the Jeep? Somebody who could have realized I wouldn’t be going back to my own car?”
“No, I didn’t see a soul. And I was watching all the way down the hill. I figured I’d have to explain myself, or at least answer a question or two, especially with that camera trained on the so-called natural church. Kept expecting DeMarco to show up.”
“I wonder why he didn’t,” Tessa murmured as she opened the note. Then she read the brief message written in the same carefully printed handwriting that was on the outside of the note, and the question of why DeMarco had allowed them to leave without comment became the last thing on her mind.
Please, take care of Lexie.
I can’t protect her anymore.
Father’s started watching me.
Twelve
Paris
FBI DIRECTOR MICAH HUGHES would never be accused of being an extrovert, so the fact that he was expected to socialize with other law-enforcement officials from all over the world was a trial, not a pleasure.
Even in Paris.
He would have preferred to attend the seminars during the day and then retreat to his hotel room, where he could review on his laptop the day’s happenings back in D.C., but cocktail parties and dinners were an expected part of the trip, and he was nothing if not doggedly professional.
Still, he was more
relieved than especially curious or anxious when the post-dinner small talk on this Thursday night was interrupted as one of the waiters slipped him a note that said he had a phone call. Another waiter directed him to the hotel’s house phones, in an alcove outside the banquet room where this particular dinner was taking place.
It was blessedly quiet out in the hallway, and he took a moment to enjoy that before going in search of the house phones. The alcove was, as promised, nearby, but as soon as he turned into it, he stopped. Nobody was on one of the half dozen or so phones lining the desk-height counter that ran around all three walls, but the room had one occupant.
“What are you doing here?”
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and athletic, and could have been any age between fifty and sixty-five. He had the sort of regular features and good bone structure that made for a handsome face, and striking green eyes made it even more memorable.
“You should know by now that I can turn up just about anywhere.” He had a deep voice with a note in it that Hughes had heard many times in his life: the absolute assurance of a man who was very much accustomed to getting what he wanted.
“I just . . . thought you were back in the States.” Hughes heard the slightly nervous note in his own voice and bitterly resented it.
“I was. Yesterday.” He paused a moment, then went on calmly, “I take it you’ve made no progress?”
“Look, I warned you it would take time. Bishop may be ruthless, but he isn’t reckless, at least not openly. He knows he’s being watched, that his unit exists only as long as it’s successful—and he keeps it out of the news. He’s careful. Very careful. He knows just how far to bend the rules and the regs without breaking them. And until he does cross that line, I can’t touch him. Not officially.”
“I see. And were you aware that he’s currently in North Carolina investigating a church?”
“What?”
“Ah. Not aware, I see. Clearly my spies are keeping a closer eye on Bishop than your own are.”
Hughes did not like the idea of anyone outside the FBI employing spies within it, but he had spent enough time with this man over the last months to swallow any retort or objection he might have made. But that didn’t stop an increasingly familiar jolt of profound uneasiness.
It had seemed so clear at first. But now he wasn’t at all sure he was doing the right thing.
“You’ll be receiving a packet via courier by morning. Background information on the church and its leader, details your own people could have easily discovered and, in fact, probably have filed away somewhere. Plus some additional information less easy to acquire concerning recent activities of the SCU. And Bishop.”
Hughes was reasonably sure at least one of the “spies” this man had within the FBI was actually inside the SCU, but he had never asked and didn’t now. He had no need to know that. “Is there anything in the information that’s actionable?”
“Perhaps. It certainly does raise questions as to whether Bishop is working for the FBI—or is conducting a vendetta of his own.”
“A vendetta?” Like yours? “You believe this church or its leader has done something to personally injure Bishop?”
“What I believe is that he’s a dangerous man who’s pursuing an investigation based on absolutely no evidence whatsoever. And he’s getting people killed.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“I do. He hasn’t reported the latest casualties, but I have good reason to believe that at least two have died within the last two weeks. One of his own agents, and an operative with that civilian organization he helped found.”
“I’ve told you I can’t do anything about Haven. Not as long as they keep their activities on the right side of legal. And so far, they have. John Garrett is also neither careless nor reckless.”
“As far as you know, they’ve broken no laws.”
Hughes nodded unwillingly. “As far as I know.”
“I’ll keep my people working on that. In the meantime, I would assume that the death of a federal agent, presumably in the line of duty, at the very least calls for an investigation.”
“It’s automatic.”
“Then you might, when you return to the States, check into the whereabouts of Agent Galen.”
“I’ll do that.” Hughes drew a breath. “The wild card in all this is still Senator LeMott. Bishop caught the murderer of the senator’s daughter three months ago. Not just the SCU; Bishop himself was personally involved in the capture. LeMott is not going to forget that, and he’s a powerful man.”
“So am I.”
“Yes. I know. But LeMott could cause me a lot of trouble. I have to be careful when and how I act.”
“I doubt you’d have your present appointment had I not exerted considerable influence on your behalf.”
“I know that too. Believe me, I’m . . . more than grateful.”
“I didn’t ask for much in return, did I, Micah? I didn’t ask you to violate your oath, to break the law. I didn’t ask you to betray your country or tarnish your office. All I asked was that you find a way to remove a dangerous man and his followers from an otherwise fine organization.”
“Yes. And I have no problem with that request.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“We do.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Paris, Micah. It’s a lovely city. Do yourself a favor and at least take the scenic route to the airport when you leave. Enjoy a few of the sights. Take your mind off business for a while.”
“Thank you. I will.” Hughes watched the other man stroll away, aware of his own tension only when he released a pent-up breath. He found himself actually looking around to make certain no one else had witnessed that telltale slump of relief.
And Micah Hughes resented that most of all.
Grace
“The only thing I can figure,” Hollis said, “is that Lexie’s owner has a pretty damn powerful personal shield—at the very least. That plus the obvious fact that this little dog has probably been carried around in that bag most if not all the time must have protected her from whatever killed the other pets.”
Tessa glanced at the chair beside her own at the diningroom table, at the open bag in which the poodle was curled, sleeping. “I read somewhere that the tiny ones are bred to be companion animals, so that makes sense. I mean that she’d be carried around most of the time. And that bag seems to be her security blanket. The question is, who’s her owner?”
“One of the questions,” Sawyer corrected. He had been introduced to Hollis upon their arrival at the Gray home and was still trying to cope with the notion of an FBI agent who was also a professed medium. A professed medium who not only knew about his own secret but was utterly matter-of-fact about his abilities. “I have more than I can count.”
“Join the club,” Hollis advised, then said, “My money’s on Ruby Campbell as being Lexie’s person.”
Tessa wondered if Ruby’s had been the voice in her mind there at the pet cemetery, the presence that had warned her with such insistence to close her mind that Tessa was pretty sure she had knocked herself out—literally—to obey.
“Because?” Sawyer’s tone was the very polite one of a man who had decided to be calm about things. No matter what.
“Because I don’t believe in coincidence. Because just about the time you guys were reading that note, I was being begged to help Ruby.”
“Begged by a ghost,” Sawyer said.
“You, of all people,” Tessa told him, “should be able to accept the existence of spirits. You saw your grandmother when she died, didn’t you?”
“Jesus, Tessa—”
Reaching up to rub her forehead fretfully, Tessa said, “Sorry. I wasn’t looking for that, it just came to me.”
Hollis looked at Sawyer. “She’s right? You saw your grandmother’s spirit?”
“Just that once,” Sawyer replied, hoping it mattered.
“I told you that your
abilities were evolving,” Hollis reminded Tessa. “Your visits to the Compound must have . . .activated a new pathway in your brain. Or amped up the voltage somehow. Even with your shield in place, you’re picking up stuff.”
Sawyer muttered, “That weird energy up there. God only knows what effects it’s having. On them and on us.”
“I don’t need any new pathways,” Tessa announced. “I was just—barely—learning how to follow the ones I had.”
“Doubt you’ve got a choice.” Hollis shrugged.
“Great.”
“It’s another good reason for you to stay away from that place,” Sawyer told her.
“No,” Tessa said. “It isn’t. We all take risks, Sawyer. You’re in law enforcement—you know that.”
“Not unnecessary risks.”
“And how do you define unnecessary when a hundred men, women, and children are in danger?”
Sawyer didn’t like the corner he’d been backed into. “Okay, then let’s talk about effectiveness. There’s no sense putting yourself at risk when you can’t be effective in a dangerous situation. And from what I saw at the Compound, I’m thinking whatever is going on up there is not something you can handle without unnecessary risk. To you and possibly to everyone else.”
“What’s he talking about?” Hollis asked.
Sawyer continued to look steadily at Tessa. “What the hell happened to you at the Compound? There at the end, you were so distracted it was visible. As if you were . . . listening to somebody else.”
“Maybe I was,” Tessa said.
Hollis was looking at her with a frown. “I just assumed that when you opened yourself up at the pet cemetery, all the pain and grief there overwhelmed you.”
“It started before we got to the cemetery,” Sawyer told her. “She was a little . . . scatty.”
“Scatty?”
“Distracted, like I said. I don’t know what it was, but something affected her when we left that outdoor pulpit. Maybe sooner.”
Tessa drew a breath and let it out. “Still here, guys.”
Hollis’s frown deepened. “Tessa, did you consciously drop your shields at that cemetery?”
She didn’t want to answer, but Tessa knew she had to. “No. I opened a door, just a little bit. But I didn’t drop my shields.”