Blood Sins

by Kay Hooper

  “I’m not worried about you doing something stupid,” he said patiently. “I’m worried about you getting hurt. So stick close to the Jeep, and if anything . . . weird happens, you hit the deck and keep your head down until it’s all over.”

  “Until what’s all over? Chief, if you don’t believe they have weapons stockpiled up there—”

  “They don’t.”

  “Then what am I hitting the deck to avoid?” Her voice was getting stiff again.

  Sawyer didn’t have a clue how to warn her, at least in part because he didn’t know what to expect himself. Not that he could confess that, of course. “Just stick close to the Jeep,” he repeated finally. “Let’s go. We have to meet up with our temporary officers.”

  By the time Tessa circled the church, she was convinced that the faint whisper she’d heard twice more was coming from somewhere inside. She had met no one on her stroll, which didn’t strike her as particularly odd—here—but she was wary of going inside.

  Help me . . .

  Not wary enough to ignore the plea, however.

  Crossing her fingers that, between them, DeMarco and Galen had muddled up the security system enough so that she didn’t have to worry about being watched, Tessa simply walked up the steps to the open front doors of the church and went inside.

  She passed through the vestibule, stepping with more caution into the church proper. As far as she could tell, it was deserted. She walked slowly down the center aisle, looking around, trying to both reach out with her senses and keep herself protected.

  Because, at the extreme edge of her awareness, she could feel something . . . probing. Seeking a way in. And the sensation was the creepiest thing she had ever felt in her life.

  It was Samuel, she was certain of it. It was him because that probing touch was cold and dark and lifeless. Soulless.

  But hungry.

  She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, fighting not to slam that door shut and curl up in a ball deep inside her own mind so he would never be able to find her—

  Reese, interrupt his meditation now.

  Tessa nearly jumped, that inner voice was so clear and strong. But it wasn’t Ruby’s voice; it was Bishop’s. And it was virtual proof that the energy field here in the Compound was affecting all their abilities.

  But it also left wide open the question of just how—and how much—they would be affected.

  And how well they would be able to control those changes. Bishop, at least, appeared to be handling the change well, but as for the rest of them . . .

  Tessa stood where she was, near the altar, and waited several moments until that probing touch at the edge of her awareness abruptly vanished.

  Okay, Ruby—where are you, sweetie?

  She heard no inner voice in response and felt a chill anxiety. Had she waited too long?

  Look for her in the water, Tessa.

  Bishop again, reminding her of the instruction that had come from a spirit.

  Tessa realized she was staring at the baptistery behind the pulpit. Like many she had seen, the room had a clear glass window overlooking the church so that baptisms could be witnessed by the congregation.

  It struck her even before she reached the glass that the tank should have been drained, and yet it was filled. She dreaded looking inside—and was immeasurably relieved to find it filled only with water.

  She slumped a little, but anxiety swiftly replaced relief. Look for her in the water? If not here, then where?

  Tessa . . .

  Faint—but close. Very, very close.

  Tessa stared at the baptistery for an instant and then began looking for the way back there.

  Hurry, Tessa.

  Not daring to think it, Tessa whispered, “I’m hurrying.”

  You don’t understand. None of you really understands what he can do.

  “Ruby—”

  Hurry. We need Cody. Cody can help us.

  Tessa didn’t have a clue who Cody was, but she hurried—and found, at last, the door she’d been seeking.

  “It’s a legal warrant,” Sawyer told Fisk at the gate. “Signed by a judge last night. After we obtained positive identification that the woman’s body found in the river Wednesday morning is that of Sarah Warren. One of your members, and last seen here at the Compound.”

  Fisk grimaced slightly as he returned the document to Sawyer, but the only thing he said was “Mr. DeMarco will be waiting for you at the Square, Chief.”

  Sawyer drove through the open gates, keeping an eye to the rearview mirror until the Jeep driven by Robin had also cleared the gates. Good; Fisk hadn’t recognized Galen. They’d been fairly sure he wouldn’t—but only fairly sure. Sawyer didn’t relax even then and heard the tension in his own voice when he said, “The gates aren’t closing. I take that to mean the security system is down?”

  “Should be, by now. Knowing Galen.”

  “Admittedly I don’t know much about this stuff—but aren’t you taking a hell of a risk?”

  From her position in the backseat on the passenger side, Hollis said, “Yes. He is.”

  “So are you,” Bishop pointed out, beside her.

  “He doesn’t want my ability,” she retorted.

  “No. He just wants to kill you.”

  “Then let’s hope Quentin is right and I still have a life or two left to risk.”

  Sawyer muttered, “You two are really boosting my confidence here.”

  “Sorry,” Bishop said, not sounding it.

  Hollis said, “Don’t worry, our makeshift shield is holding. More or less.”

  “It’s the less that’s making me nervous,” Sawyer told her.

  “We’ll hope we can shore it up a bit as time passes.”

  “There isn’t all that much time left.”

  Bishop said, “We’re working on it, Chief. It’s . . . a bit difficult for us.” There was a rare strain in his voice. “We’ve never before been able to build on or share one another’s abilities.”

  “Now you’re telling me this?”

  “It was a chance we had to take.”

  “That we could share,” Hollis explained. “And damn if it isn’t working. So far, anyway. The communication thing is amazingly clear; even I can hear it. Faintly. But I’ve gotta tell you—everybody’s aura is beginning to look a bit metallic. There’s a hell of a lot of energy here.”

  Sawyer checked the clock on the dash and said, “And more coming. I just want to make damn sure we get to the Square before Samuel decides to have one of his outdoor sermons as the storm approaches. I don’t want him anywhere near that so-called natural church, not considering Quentin’s vision.” Even at second hand, “remembering” that vision was enough to make Sawyer’s entire being flinch. Smoldering bodies, Tessa and Hollis crucified and worse. Himself crucified. No. No, they were not going to allow that to happen.

  He was sure they weren’t.

  They made it, the Jeeps pulling into the Square just as Samuel came out of the church, with DeMarco at his side.

  “Hang back,” Sawyer advised Bishop quickly. “I don’t think either one of us wants to put your makeshift shield to the test until we absolutely have to.”

  “Amen,” Hollis murmured.

  Sawyer got out of the Jeep and walked quickly to meet Samuel and DeMarco, reminding himself over and over again as he looked at the reverend that he couldn’t even begin thinking about the things this benign-looking man had done. He had to stick to the plan, no matter how much he wanted to pull out his gun and—

  “Reverend Samuel. DeMarco.”

  Pleasantly, Samuel replied, “I understand you have a federal warrant, Chief. Needless to say, we’ll cooperate fully. I was most saddened and deeply disturbed to hear of Sarah’s death. She was a wonderful young woman.”

  Sawyer had to get a grip on himself before he could respond as calmly as he needed to. “I appreciate your cooperation, Reverend.” He handed over the warrant, which Samuel no more than glanced at before passing it
on to DeMarco.

  DeMarco, Sawyer saw, was more stony-faced than usual but otherwise seemed the same, the habitual faint smile meaningless.

  “Just tell us what you need,” Samuel said smoothly.

  Sawyer looked back over his shoulder, relieved to see that Robin was standing by the driver’s door of her Jeep, as instructed, the bulk of the vehicle between her and . . . whatever might happen here near the steps of the church. Her face was, finally, inscrutable.

  And about damn time too.

  Quentin was leaning negligently against the passenger door, looking quite unlike himself in the uniform, hat—and mirrored sunglasses that Sawyer had always disliked seeing on his officers. And, beyond him, Galen had taken a couple of steps away from the Jeep and was looking around with apparent idleness.

  Bishop had his back to the group near the church steps; he and Hollis, both hatless and without sunglasses but otherwise dressed as Grace police officers, appeared to be talking casually, with Hollis turned just enough so that no one on the steps could see her face.

  It was a very relaxed scene, as intended. And the few church members who had noticed something going on and come to see what it was appeared merely curious and rather wary but not upset.

  Good. Good. Everything low-key and casual. And leisurely. Because they had to have time for everyone to get in position. That was the tricky part. The timing.

  Almost ready.

  Thunder rumbled.

  Stall. Tessa’s voice, faint but clear. I need just a few more minutes.

  Sawyer felt a jab of cold panic.

  “We’d like to take a look around,” he said to Reverend Samuel, hoping to hell he sounded calmer than he felt. “Talk to your people. We need to know who last saw Sarah. We need to find out if anyone has any information they may not realize is important.” Deliberately, he added, “You know the drill. We’ve been through this before, Reverend.”

  “We have nothing to hide, Chief, I do assure you.” Samuel glanced up at the lowering sky, adding mildly, “Though we might, perhaps, be well advised to take this discussion indoors.” Either he was another superb liar or else he really didn’t sense a threat. Which meant that DeMarco’s dampening field—and possibly Sawyer’s—was having the desired effect. But Sawyer’s feeling of triumph was cut short when they all heard another vehicle coming up the neat graveled drive. He turned without even thinking about it, staring at the gleaming black sedan as it pulled up near the police Jeeps.

  Jesus, not now. Who the hell . . . ?

  A chauffeur who looked like a cross between a navy SEAL and a retired heavyweight boxer slid from the driver’s seat and, expressionless, opened the car’s back door.

  Senator Abe LeMott stepped out.

  Nineteen

  OH, SHIT. Definitely not part of the plan. Sawyer had certainly never met the senator, but he recognized him instantly; LeMott’s face had been all over the news the previous summer. His face, and his wife’s—until she had committed suicide not long after the savage murder of their daughter, Annie.

  A murder investigated by a task force led by Bishop. A murder that had been, tragically, only one of many during that hot Boston summer. Her murderer had escaped the city but had not, in the end, escaped the determined efforts of Bishop, the SCU, and Haven operatives.

  Not that all that had made it into media reports, but certainly the capture of a vicious serial killer had been reported. And there was plenty of evidence that he was, indeed, the Boston serial. Some of that evidence had been leaked to the media, and few had any doubt at all of his guilt.

  So what was Senator Abe LeMott doing here—now?

  Before Sawyer could ask that baffling question, Galen said roughly, “LeMott, you should not be here.”

  The senator looked at him with mild curiosity, glanced at a silent Bishop, then fixed his gaze on Samuel.

  “I wanted to meet you,” he said, his voice both courteous and cold. “To look into your eyes. Before you’re destroyed, I want to know what kind of man could so easily kill.”

  Samuel smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Senator. I’m a man of God.”

  “You’re a monster. Worse than that creature you kept on a leash while he killed for you. Man of God?” LeMott drew a breath and released it in a sound of unutterable disgust. “God won’t have you, Samuel. Hell won’t have you.”

  “Senator, you have my deepest sympathy. The loss of your daughter and your wife must be almost beyond bearing.”

  LeMott’s face hardened.

  Oh, Christ. He’s going to do something. Sawyer didn’t know what, but he was very much afraid that what was left of their careful plan was about to be scattered to hell and gone.

  “Samuel, I don’t believe you have an ounce of sympathy in what passes for your soul. In fact, I don’t believe you have a soul. I’d feel more reluctance to put a mad dog out of its misery than I feel in ridding the world of you.”

  “Senator.” His smile widened as Samuel shook his head. “Did you really believe it would be so easy?”

  He lifted one hand in a quick, practiced gesture.

  With shocking suddenness, the chauffeur who had stood so still and silent near LeMott was lifted off his feet as though an invisible rope were attached to his body. He literally flew backward for yards, until he slammed into a parked car with so much force the hood of the vehicle was nearly bisected. The chauffeur stiffened for only an instant and then slumped, his hand slipping out of the lapel of his jacket, the gun he held falling to the ground.

  Beneath the crumpled hood of the car, blood trickled onto pristine gravel.

  “God’s punishment for the wicked,” Samuel said.

  Of all the people in the Square, LeMott appeared least surprised. The senator turned his head to look toward the dead man, then his gaze returned to Samuel’s face.

  “Freeze!”

  Sawyer nearly jumped out of his skin, and even as he absorbed the ridiculous command, he knew he had made a horrible mistake in bringing Robin along on this “operation.”

  “Robin,” he said, “don’t—”

  She didn’t fly backward as the chauffeur did. But her weapon clattered against the hood of the Jeep, she let out a strangled cry that chilled Sawyer to the bone, and then she went down.

  By the time he got to her, she was already gone, her face contorted in agony and wide eyes going white.

  He rose slowly to his feet, numbly aware of the frozen tableau around him. So fast. It had all happened so damn fast.

  Sawyer. It isn’t over. And he’ll go on killing unless we stop him now. Here.

  “Poor thing,” Samuel said, his voice as smooth and pleasant as always. “Poor little thing. I wonder what she did to earn God’s wrath. Can you tell me, Chief?”

  His eyes were beginning to glow.

  “No.” Sawyer took a step toward the church. Then another. Thunder rumbled, louder now. The storm was closer. He stared at Samuel. “I can’t tell you that. She was a good officer. She was a good person.” The choked sound of his own voice was hardly professional, and he didn’t give a shit.

  “Such a shame. You have my sympathy.”

  Sawyer glanced at LeMott, understanding in that moment the other man’s icy rage. The senator was motionless, expressionless.

  Thunder rumbled again, and a chilly breeze sprang up. A flash of lightning crackled across the dark, heavy clouds.

  Almost time, Sawyer. We’re almost ready.

  Samuel tilted his head to one side suddenly, an alertness stealing over his benign features. “Someone’s talking,” he remarked softly.

  It wasn’t time for Samuel to become aware of what was happening. Sawyer knew it, knew they weren’t yet ready, knew Tessa wasn’t ready.

  Their plan was in tatters, and all he could think to do was draw his weapon and—

  Sawyer began to feel a prickling sensation crawling over him, from his scalp down his neck, spreading outward from his spine. And to his shock he realized that he couldn’t move
. It was as if his body no longer recognized the direction of his brain.

  “I don’t think so, Sawyer.” Samuel was smiling at him, a little sadly. “I really did hope you’d know who your friends were when the time came. I told you so, remember? I’m sorry you made a different choice, truly I am.”

  His hand began to lift, and Sawyer watched it with the cold realization that he was going to die. The tingling sensation disappeared, replaced by a slow constriction that sent fiery pain all along his nerve endings.

  “Don’t,” a woman’s voice said.

  Samuel paused, his expression at first a sort of amused indifference. But then he turned his head and saw Hollis.

  “I really wouldn’t,” she said.

  Sawyer realized he could breathe again, that the pain had diminished—though not disappeared—as Samuel’s attention shifted to the woman who had taken a couple of steps away from the Jeep to face him.

  Samuel’s hand began to swing toward her, something flickering in his glowing eyes.

  “I’ve opened a door,” Hollis said.

  Samuel froze, his eyes still flickering.

  Not part of the plan, this isn’t part of the plan. . . . Sawyer realized he could turn his head just far enough to see Hollis, and even with everything that had happened, he was astonished to see an odd sort of radiance around her.

  Her aura. Somehow, she had made it visible.

  “A door,” she said to Samuel, her expression intent, eyes narrowed. “Between our world—and the next.”

  Thunder rumbled and lightning laced the darkening sky.

  “Hollis,” Galen breathed, “be careful.”

  She never took her eyes off Samuel. “I’m in the doorway,” she told him. “Holding them back. Holding back the one thing you know damn well won’t be denied to you in that world. Punishment.”

  Samuel studied her for a moment, his expression first wary and then certain. “I don’t believe you,” he said, and moved his hand.

  Hollis jerked as though from a powerful blow, her aura beginning to shift from a metallic blue to a darker blue shot through with red threads. A thin line of blood trickled from her nose. “I’ll let them through,” she warned him, the words emerging almost in a cough. It was obvious she was in pain. A lot of pain.