by Maria Lima
“I do. It’s your people, isn’t it?”
“My people?”
“More than me, more than a changeling.”
I eyed him carefully. “Yes. And you are someone we can care for.”
“I get that,” he said solemnly. “I promise, I will come.”
With that, I shook his hand and we left.
“I want to go back to the church.” I entered the car. “Now, please.”
“Done.” Tucker, who’d taken my keys, started the car. “Call Luka while we drive there, please? I want to make sure he’s okay and hasn’t gone gallivanting off to play Sherlock on his own.”
“Crap, you think he might have?”
“He’s fifteen. He’s a werewolf and full of hormones.”
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LUKA STILL WASN’T answering his cell, so I tried Jacob’s number. He answered on the first ring. “Luka’s gone to the library. Probably turned his phone off. He said he needed to look something up then was coming back here to the apartment. Why don’t you all stop by?”
“Jacob, we’re kind of in a hurry, but while I have you on the phone, could I ask a couple of questions?”
“Sure.” His voice seemed okay, positive, upbeat, but I couldn’t help feeling something else sliding underneath. Something not kosher. I closed my eyes as I spoke to him, trying to picture his energy, his shape, his movement. What was he hiding?
“Bea says you guys have been talking a lot about religion, about the church over in White Rock.”
Silence for a second, then a cheerful reply. “Yeah, sure enough,” he said. “Since I came here, I was so glad to find the church. Don’t know if you know my story, but I was a lone wolf, like a lot of the others. Only, I didn’t really know I was a wolf for a long time.”
“Really, how so?” I grabbed on to the handle above the car door as Tucker took a turn too fast. He mouthed a quick sorry at me and slowed down a bit. I focused on Jacob’s voice, trying to ignore my brother’s driving.
“Orphaned,” he said curtly. “Left on church steps. I guess some kids saw the church as a bad place, but they kind of saved me. I could always come talk to the pastor at my home church even when I was in foster care. First time I Changed, I knew that it was evil, so I ran away. Scared myself and didn’t know what to do. Ended up finding a pack that eventually led me to Mark. Church’s been good to me over the years.”
“Why this one?” I pressed, still feeling something not said. “There are several closer churches.” The feeling of unease grew, a staticky, sticky sense behind the crystal clarity of the actual phone speaker.
“I’ve always been a believer, Keira,” he said. “They helped me be part of a community again. I can belong.”
Why wasn’t I believing him? Was it just that the physical image of the drop-dead gorgeous bodyguard werewolf didn’t jibe with the devout born-again Christian he kept insisting he was? “Isn’t the pack your community, Jacob?”
“It is,” he answered. “Truth is, I need more.” He paused a moment. I reached out, focusing on the phone signal, hoping to get a better sense of the person on the other end. Nothing. Though my spidey-sense kept tingling, the words just below his spoken words slid from my awareness like water down a rock face. Swift, flowing, too fast to make out what lay beneath. The hum of tires on asphalt acted as background, white noise.
Jacob continued his thought. “Marcus leads us, but he’s too devoted to books, to his history. There’s no room in his life for God.” The static crackled and poked me, a wave of energy emanating from the phone.
What in all the hells was I supposed to say to that? Religion of any kind never really found a foothold in Kelly minds. We’ve been around too long, seen too many religions rise, evolve, die off to believe in any one true Word. Hells, I was half-Faery. Adam was full-blood Sidhe plus vampire. The two of us alone defied the so-called natural laws that most Western and a hell of a lot of Eastern religions held sacred. To me and mine, sacred was the family, our people … but I had no heart in busting Jacob’s chops. If he wished to believe, that was his choice. For now, I had to take him at face value.
“Marcus allows you this?” I asked.
“He does,” Jacob said. “As long as I am present when needed and I tithe to the pack, I’m free to pursue my religious beliefs.”
“Fair enough. Tell Luka we’ll follow up in a few, please.”
“I will do so.” He ended the call. I flipped my own phone shut and tucked it into my shorts pocket. “I don’t like him,” I said to Tucker. “Underneath his pretty, pretty words, I felt something unstable, uneasy.” I shifted in the car seat. “If I were in the same room with him, I could pin it down, I think.”
“Well, let’s get this errand over with and then you can interrogate Jacob face-to-face,” Tucker said. “We’ll talk to the church pastor and then go back to the their apartment.”
LESS THAN fifteen minutes later we were back inside the church, thanks to Tucker’s insane driving skills. If we’d not been who we were, I’d have worried. Hill Country roads weren’t designed for speed.
“Sorry, dears, Pastor Hagen had an appointment this afternoon. He’ll be back a little bit later. Y’all coming to our social tomorrow?” The helmet-haired church secretary fit every stereotype in the book. Her kindness, though, seemed utterly genuine.
“We’re planning to,” I said, pasting on my best cute gal expression. “We’re interested in joining the church. A friend of ours, Jacob Ashkarian, just raves about it.”
“Oh, he’s adorable, that boy, pretty as a picture. He’s so helpful with the younger ones … as if he’s not young himself.” She chuckled. “If you want to wander around and read some of the literature and whatnot, feel free. I need to do a couple of things in the office.” She motioned with a hand to an open door some twenty feet away. “I’ll just be in there if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mrs.…”
“Miller, Fran Miller.”
“Any relation to Coach Miller over at the high school?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant.
“Distant cousins, or something like that,” she answered with a smile. “You know Robert Earl?”
“We’ve met.” I tried to smile back as warmly as she.
“His wife, Janey, she’s sheriff, you know.”
I nodded.
“Guess most folks hereabouts do.” She scuttled away, her cotton dress a bright flash of color in this drab hallway. “Now just holler if you need me.”
“So, anything you see?”
“I want to check out those trophies again,” Tucker said. “Trophy case is over here.” The main hallway intersected where we were and led to a more luxuriously appointed reception lobby. Nice carpet, upbeat posters on the walls, an extremely full trophy case, surrounded by a series of eight-by-ten framed photos of groups or individuals, each with a metal plaque below, engraved with data.
“Check this out,” Tucker said, pointing to a trophy of a pair of praying hands. “For excellence in Bible study, 1976. Calvin Hagen. Guess Pastor Hagen comes by his calling legitimately.” I studied the rest of the trophies. Some for swimming, tennis, golf. Most for some sort of religious study or the like.
“Look at this picture, Tucker,” I said. “Pastor Hagen again.” The photo was marked as a camping group in the early 1970s led by Pastor J. R. Miller and his wife, Jonetta. Calvin Hagen lounged in the front of a group of teens, a rawboned, skinny, and studious boy, all angles and glasses in too-short black shorts and an oversized T-shirt.
“No, this one.” Tucker hauled me over to another picture, much more recently taken. Same composition, but instead of Pastor Hagen, it was Robert Earl Miller and Janey Miller at the side of the boys’ group. A few of the boys were wearing pins—just like the one we’d found mangled at the murder site. Tucker dug into his pocket and held it up. A match. Unlike the rest of the photos, this group didn’t have an explanatory plaque on it. I recognized a few faces from the football game, includ
ing Gregor’s rival, Kyle.
“You two getting on okay?” Mrs. Miller walked around the corner, her arms full of some flyers that she dropped onto a table at the end of the lobby.
“Mrs. Miller, what’s this photo of?” She walked closer and peered at the wall.
“Oh, that’s the Brotherhood group picture from earlier this year. Lord help me, I keep meaning to order that darned plaque.” She beamed at Tucker and me. “Aren’t they all just handsome as can be? See, there’s Robert Earl there and Janey.”
“So they sponsor the group?”
“Oh yes, they love working with the boys’ club. It’s been around, oh, for decades, I think. All tradition and whatnot.”
“How about that pin that some of them are wearing?” I ask in my best angelic tone. “They don’t all seem to have one.”
“It’s some sort of service pin,” she explained. “The boys have to earn it. Complete some task.”
“Hmm, sounds interesting,” Tucker mused. “Could we ask what that task is?”
“Oh, lordy,” she giggled. “I haven’t a clue. It’s a boys-only thing—all secret handshakes and exclusive meetings behind locked doors.” She giggled again. “Boys will be boys. It’s so cute. They think they’re being all mysterious and manly. Poor Janey gets all hot and bothered when they leave her out of stuff, but I keep telling her, that’s the way it’s always been, can’t fight tradition.” She trotted away.
“Like the KKK?” I said to Tucker in quiet disgust. “Or Freemasons maybe?” But no, these folks aren’t quite that mysterious, with all the degrees and such that I never understood. “Naw,” I continued, “this is a small-town church, it’s probably some stupid-ass Promise Keepers club or a similar kind of thing. Chastity club or whatever. You know, a year without—”
“Someone’s coming.”
“Oh, hello again.” Pastor Hagen rounded the corner, a look of puzzlement on his face as he caught sight of us. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Is there something I can do for y’all?”
I beamed at him, plastering “cute and clueless southern gal” back on my face. I tried to avoid looking coy—or gagging. “We happened to still be in town,” I said, “and wanted to stop by and get some information about the church before we come back tomorrow night. Mrs. Miller has been quite kind to show us around.”
“That’s marvelous,” he said. “Y’all have any questions?”
“Mrs. Miller answered most of them. But maybe you could help with one thing.” I flapped my hand at Tucker, who shrugged and handed over the crushed pin. “We found this on our friends’ property earlier and just saw the same pin in that picture there. I wouldn’t have said anything, except it wasn’t in the target shooting area. I just wanted to be able to return it if it belonged to one of your boys.”
Pastor Hagen’s face paled to a shade lighter than my own—a feat until now matched only by the vampires at the Wild Moon. Gotcha! I thought with glee. He knew who the pin belonged to. Pastor Hagen pasted on a sick smile and took the pin from my hand. “Thank you. I’ll return it. Now that I know the property’s sold, I can assure you they won’t trespass again, I promise.”
Forgive us our trespassers. The misquote winged through my mind as I watched him regain his composure. Yeah, fat chance. If any of his people were responsible for those three deaths, I’d be forgiving no one.
As he turned to leave, Tucker stopped him. “I know it’s a secret, but how do they achieve a pin?” Tucker turned his charisma on high, sending out the trademarked Tucker Kelly charm.
Even that didn’t register as the pastor started the same community service spiel as had the secretary.
“Oh, Pastor Hagen,” I drawled and leaned toward him in a flirty pose, stopping short of pushing my boobs in his face. “I’m just so intrigued by all this manly mystery. Surely, you can give me a hint?”
He paled even more, his complexion now the color of curdled milk. “Sorry, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” For an interminable second, time seemed to slow. The look in the man’s eyes didn’t reflect his sudden forced chuckle. Before he could say anything more, three boys burst into the hallway, chattering and laughing.
“Hey, Pastor H, we’re all done over there at the apartments—” The boys all stopped, and the boy who’d been talking immediately shut up as soon as they saw us. It was Kyle, from the football team. “Umm …” he mumbled, grabbed the arms of the other two, and pulled them down into another hallway.
Tucker’s brow lowered. In a flash, he excused himself. “My apologies, Pastor, we’ve taken far too much of your time. Before we go, may I use the facilities? It’s a long drive home.”
The pastor nodded, not quite focused on us.
I fumbled around for some comment to make as Tucker disappeared, saying something inane about the social, continuing to yammer on about what to wear, bringing a friend, and things that I could barely remember even the moment after I said them.
Pastor Hagen kept smiling and nodding at me, his gaze still focused on the hallway where the boys had disappeared. In just a couple of minutes, Tucker returned and we all mumbled our goodbyes, with a promise to see him the next night.
The moment we were out of earshot, I spoke. “What?”
“Those boys smelled of fertilizer.” He broke into a run. I followed, not knowing why, but realizing that something demanded quick action.
“So what?” I asked as we climbed into the car. “They were probably gardening at some apartments, part of that community service.”
“They said something about the apartments by the Rio Seco Lodge, Keira. I was around the corner, but they weren’t even talking softly. They were bragging. Teasing one of the kids that he was earning his service pin. Earning bones.”
“Oh holy fuck.” I dug my phone out and dialed Rhys to fill him in. “We’re at least twenty minutes or more away, even with Tucker driving,” I said. “Where are you?”
“At the ranch,” Rhys said. “I’m a good twenty minutes out, too.”
Tucker spoke up. “Hit Speaker, Keira.” I did. “Rhys, that’s not all of it. The boys also smelled of fuel. At first, I thought it was lawn mower fuel. That would go with gardening, earning community service points. Then I put two and two together.”
“And got?” I asked.
“Fertilizer bomb.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE ENTIRE WAY THERE I tried to get through to anyone who’d pick up. No answer from Mark, Lev, or Jacob. None from either of the two boys. I left frantic messages on each of their cell phones. I even called Bea, but Tia answered and said she was napping and hadn’t seen anyone since Dixxi had left. Damn them, where the hell were they all? Dixxi had said they’d be at the deli until seven. Clock was just ticking over to six fifty now.
“Park at the lodge lot,” I said to Tucker. “We’ll walk over.” There were only four small duplex-style apartments in the development and very little in the way of a parking lot. I was still holding my phone to my ear, redialing Luka’s number in hopes he’d answer. I got the damned voice mail again.
Tucker complied and found a space along the back side of the lodge—the part that was directly across from the main entrance to the complex. It wasn’t far, just across a narrow two-lane road, but it was on the downside of a hill, and cars tended to take it too quick, not necessarily seeing pedestrians.
As we alighted from the Rover, the smell of fertilizer assaulted us. “Gag. I expected a shit smell, but this is worse.”
“Chemicals,” Tucker said, his nose wrinkling. “Not here, though.” He indicated the dried-up verge on our side of the road. “It’s definitely coming from the apartments. Were you able to reach Luka?”
“No, just his voice mail again,” I said. “He’s probably not home.”
“Good,” Tucker said. “Makes this easier. Let’s go see if we can find the damned bomb.”
I pulled the neck of my T-shirt over my nose, which did nothing to stifle the stench. As we began to cross the street, a
hot wave of air hit us, like the pressure of a thousand plows, slamming into our bodies. We flew backward, only then hearing the crashing boom of the explosion, following by the tinkling shards of glass slamming into the road. Horns blared as nearby car alarms were set off by the concussion. I landed on my back, my elbows grinding into the rough surface of the pockmarked macadam of the lodge’s lot as the shock wave pushed me along. Tucker had somehow managed to roll into a ball, arms and legs tucked tight to his body. My own body flipped over, and I landed hard on my face and hands, skin scraping painfully off as gravel ate into it.
A scream from the lodge above us as a woman, dressed only in a T-shirt and panties peeked out of a now-shattered window, her face white and red, scratches from the broken glass shards zigzagging across her cheeks.
“Call 911,” Tucker managed to yell out. The woman froze a moment, staring at the apartments, where a gout of flame burst through what once was a doorway. “Now!” Tucker yelled. He fumbled in his own pocket and found his phone. “I’m calling the deli.”
I pulled my own phone out and dialed the Rio Seco sheriff’s private line.
“Rudy Garza.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet distant as if I were hearing him down a well. I was expecting Carlton Larson, the sheriff, to answer himself. Where the hell was Carlton? Didn’t matter.
“Explosion, apartments across from the lodge,” I yelled into the phone. “Tell Carlton.”
“On our way.”
I pushed myself to my feet with Tucker’s help. He wasn’t too badly cut up. I was mostly bruised and scraped, injuries that would heal themselves sooner rather than later.
I started across the street when my brother forcibly pulled me back.
“You can’t.”
“Someone could be—”
“Or maybe Luka is still at the library and Jacob left, too,” Tucker said. “How’s your firefighting ability, Keira?”
I sagged into him. “Nonexistent,” I mumbled. “That’s not one of our Talents.”