“We will not fail.”
“Look to the day this nation is brought to its knees.”
“We will not fail.”
“From the spires of our noble temple, the second coming will go forth!” Cain’s fervor peaked.
The Elite answered with a final shout of, “We will not fail!”
Oh, bullshit. You’re all going to fail, and I’m just the one to make sure you do.
Cassidy couldn’t get out of the loft fast enough after Cain and his goons left. Sliding down the ladder fireman-style with her dress hiked up to her thighs, her boots hit the ground in record time. She just didn’t expect to run into a brick wall when she spun around. An angry brick wall named Alex.
Shit. “How’d you get here so f—” She looked into smoking blue eyes intended to wilt her. They did.
“You turn your earpiece off again, Dancer, and so help me, I’ll break you down so low you’ll need a ladder to tie your boots,” he hissed into her face.
“But they’re going to kill him.” Her fear squeaked out. “I just heard them. He has to drink the poison. He’ll be one of the—”
“He won’t, but I’ll personally kick your ass at the next hint of insubordination!”
Humiliated, a quick, small “Yes, sir,” was all she could muster. Cassidy bowed her head in rare submission to a man whose fierce anger had just stopped her cold. The fear she’d been fighting stormed over her confidence and mashed it into the ground at her feet. Alex had won.
Tears welled up. Blinking furiously didn’t do a thing to stop them from running down her face and dripping onto her boots, which just happened to be showing out from under the hem of her ugly, long dress. Ah! She wanted to scream defiance, but her heart was no longer in it. She needed Alex’s help.
Alex lifted her chin with one finger, raising her teary eyes to his level. “You’re one of my best,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not going to lose you just because you’re as hot-headed as me.”
She blinked big, wide alligator-tear-filled eyes. Shoot me now. I’m crying in front of my boss, and he’s looking right at me. I’m freaking mush!
“Where haven’t you looked yet?”
“Umm, the root cellar and granary,” she whispered, fidgeting with that darned egg basket that made her feel like some little red-necked hick instead of a very capable agent. “I was going to check when...” She couldn’t say it. When you caught me.
“Stick to your plan. Root cellar first. Granary second. What about the silo?”
“But I really thought he’d be here,” she offered.
Alex turned his back on her and strode to the side door of the barn. “You going to stand there all day?” He waved her to go ahead of him as they headed to the cellar. “Judith is already with Rourke and Melissa. Once we find Jude, we’ll retreat back to camp and come back for Agent Chase.”
“The Elite aren’t looking for her?”
“Cain is, but Melissa told him Judith had already gone to the place of the blessing.”
“He bought that?”
“She handled him like a pro.”
Knowing Judith was safe took a load off Cassidy’s heart. Jude would be happy, but she wanted him as safe as his daughter. Cassidy led the way behind the barn until they came to the opposite corner. Being careful to keep her egg basket out of sight, she peered around the silo to make sure the coast was clear.
“Don’t worry. Most people have already gone to the blessing,” Alex answered her unspoken question.
Cassidy was once again amazed at the nerve of her boss when he stepped out from cover and all but strolled through the garden to the cellar. Embarrassed that she’d dishonored his faith in her, she meekly followed. He eased the metal rod out of the hasp that secured the door.
She cringed. It was now or never. Jude had to be down there.
Alex dropped to the floor and crouched, his pistol drawn. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”
Cassidy hadn’t taken the first step yet when her boss secured his weapon and disappeared from view. She tossed the basket aside and pulled her pistol. Cautiously, she joined Alex behind the steps. There on the mattress of burlap bags lay a guy with a bloody bandage on his chest. The light of a big spotlight gleamed off his sweaty face. “You,” he said accusingly. “You must be Cassidy Dancer.”
Despite his disdainful tone, she nodded as she lowered her gun. “Do I know you?”
“Hell, no, But I know you, and you are one hard-headed woman, aren’t you?”
“If you only knew,” Alex grumbled, and with that disparaging remark, Cassidy relaxed.
“Special Agent Tucker Chase at your service, Mr. Stewart. Good to see you again.”
Alex shook Tucker’s hand cautiously. “Again?”
“Spencer, Wisconsin, ring a bell?”
Alex stiffened. “You were there?”
“Yes, sir. I was one of the agents at the safe house that didn’t get blown up.”
Cassidy felt the shift in Alex and decided she needed to find out more about that Wisconsin op. Whatever happened there, it must have something to do with Alex’s intense dislike for the Bureau.
“Can you walk?” Alex asked, his tone decidedly cooler.
Tucker blew out a big breath. “You bet, but you’ll want to see what Jude left for you in the crypt before you head out.”
Alex nodded to Cassidy while he checked Tucker’s wound. “Take the light. Go see what he’s talking about.”
Cassidy dropped to her knees and obeyed, crawling through the tunnel with the light in one hand and her pistol in the other. The second she pushed through the last burlap curtain at the other end of the tunnel, she heard whimpering and groaning. The reflection of two pairs of eyes glittered back at her briefly, just before she saw the gagged faces of Greg and Hank.
“Well, hello boys.” She scanned the room for more surprises other than the corpses. It was a whole different place with the spotlight, but it still gave her the creeps. She strutted over to where Greg lay, and blinded him in the eyeballs intentionally. “Remember me? Your future unwilling bride?”
He growled something, but the gag prevented serious conversation, not that she would have entertained it. She finally had him where she wanted him—at boot level. The memory of him preaching at her and holding her head underwater while she fought to breathe resurfaced.
“Wow. This is so much better than I imagined.” She waved her pistol with malicious joy and serious consideration of how much she wanted to return the pain they had inflicted. “Here you are tied up like pigs. All I need is two apples, a freaking long stick and a bed of red-hot coals. I could roast you alive and no one would know. Should we have prayers now, Greg?”
Flashing the light beyond the nervous looking goon, she noticed the lettering on the wall. If what Tucker had just said was true, Jude had done this. He’d intentionally left Greg gagged and tied beneath the words Crypt of the Gentiles. Her heart did a silly flip-flop. Oh, Jude. You got the guys who hurt me. You are so my hero.
Alex climbed through the tunnel. As he stood and dusted his hands on his pants, his eyes travelled over the abundance of corpses before they settled on the two bound and gagged trolls.
“Hey, Boss. I’d like you to meet Greg Gleason and, I’m sorry Hank. I don’t even know your last name.”
Hank muttered something unintelligible, but Alex went straightway to Greg. Cassidy had told him everything. With one knee on the ground, he grabbed Greg’s collar, pulling his face close. “You hurt my agent.”
Cassidy stared, not sure what her boss had in mind. Silver flashed in his free hand. Greg twisted to get free. For a split second, Cassidy thought Alex had knifed him, but then she saw it. Alex’s blade protruded from the ground between Greg’s legs, damned close to the guy’s crotch. Good thing you didn’t have your legs crossed, Greg ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. You’d be singing soprano.
“Let’s see how tough you really are,” Alex hissed, his fist clenched tight. “I’ll make you a one-time good deal. Reach tha
t knife first, and I won’t cut your throat.”
Cassidy had never seen anyone move faster. The second Greg rolled his eyes Alex had the blade at his throat. “Look at me. I said, look at me!”
Blinking through sweat and tears, Greg obeyed. Moaning through his gag like he was, he might’ve convinced some stupid person he was sorry. Not Alex. He leaned in, nose to nose with the quivering man. “Remember my face, you son-of-a-bitch. You ever touch one of my people again, and I’ll be the last thing you see.”
Alex shoved Greg away from him and stood. He didn’t waste a second on Hank, just turned to Cassidy with, “Let’s move.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tucker’s right. I am a moron.
Once again, Jude’s hopes of finding Judith were obliterated by his own idiocy. Instead of coming up with a brilliant reason why he couldn’t accompany Cain, he’d complied in hopes of a quick meeting followed by a quicker getaway. Damned wrong strategy. His good intentions went sideways when Brother Victor came out of nowhere and strong-armed him. Jude found himself hurried along toward the silo by a man twice his size. Into the circular dungeon he went, shoved through the heavy door when he balked at the smells and sights within.
He peered at the disgusting place where Jerusha had to have screamed her last breath. In falling, he’d landed on the trap door to the crypt below. A large plastic barrel stood against the far wall. Black drips striped the sides of it. Probably blood. A stainless steel autopsy table stood next to it.
He’d pushed quickly to his feet only to get knocked back down by the ham-sized fist of Brother Victor. The man looked the part of a medieval village blacksmith. Everything about him was thick, from his neck and arms to the bushy black unibrow over his squinty black eyes.
“You’ll stay down if you know what’s good for you,” he threatened Jude with a fat finger in his face. “You hear?”
Jude had no choice, not until he caught his second wind. For a man who didn’t know how to fight, he’d already gone too many rounds with Tucker, then Hank and Greg. He’d never survive a physical confrontation against a guy built like an ox.
Pushing his back against the stone silo wall, Jude wiped the blood off his lip, and faced the saddest truth. He was pitiful. He had failed. Judith was the only good thing he’d accomplished in his life, the only reason anything else mattered, but he’d failed her, too.
Brother Victor had taken up residence near the door, dwarfing the three-legged stool while he eyed Jude. The long black robe of the Elite added to his sinister countenance.
Anxiety crept up the back of Jude’s neck, whispering it was time to do something before it got any later. But logic stared through the cold, hard eyes stuck in an ugly man’s hairy face. Brother Victor ducked when he lumbered through the silo door. Not Jude. His arms hadn’t even brushed the sides of the doorframe. He’d just flown in like a ragdoll, kicked around to the bitter end. Damn. Why wasn’t he more like Tucker and less like—him?
Jude buried his face in his crossed arms on his knees. Even Judith was made of tougher stuff. He couldn’t understand how his lovely little girl would have gone to the place of the blessing as joyfully as that Melissa person said she did.
The puzzle of Cassidy’s Melissa plagued him. She’d sounded so kind to Cain. Too kind. Her very maternal manner of dealing with such an evil man offended Jude. At first. But now that he had time to think... what was it she’d said? That her teacup fell off the counter? Really?
Jude straightened his spine as he replayed what he’d heard. No glass breaking, and he’d been close enough he should have. The sound from inside Melissa’s tiny cabin was more like a bump, like an elbow hitting a wall, or a boot against a baseboard, or—Cassidy!
An inkling of hope reached out and slapped the poor-me-bullshit right out of Jude’s hard head. Cassidy was back. She’d made that noise. She was inside Melissa’s cabin the whole time the prophet had stood at the front door. No wonder Melissa had spoken right up. No coffee cup broke. If Cassidy was back, Judith had hope, and if Judith had hope...
“You’re here,” he whispered to the woman he cared about. “I know you are. I feel your smile. Please, Cassidy. Get to Judith before he does. Save Judith.”
“Who you talking to?” Brother Victor demanded.
“Just saying my prayers,” Jude muttered without looking up.
Like the coward he knew he was, he let his tears fall. He might no longer be a player in Cain’s evil scheme, but Cassidy was, and she was ten times the hero he would ever be. Yes, he’d felt the softness of her body when they’d hugged, and yes, he’d held her when she was weak, but he knew deep down that Cassidy was made of steel. Real, tempered steel, forged in the heat of battle. That was why she’d been inside the cult to begin with. Any woman crazy enough to attempt what she’d done was one tough gal.
His mild-mannered heart soared knowing the world had tilted a fraction to the side of good and—Cassidy. God, be with her, he thought, but then Jude winced. His prayer sounded exactly like the dribble spoken by Cain’s chanting congregation. He’d heard those insincere words spouted more times than he cared to count. But there is a God and He knows me. Jude lowered his forehead to his clenched fingers. He bared his heart to the real Lord and master.
Please be with Cassidy. Help her. Bless her with your amazing grace and power to save my baby girl. Don’t worry ‘bout me. Only Judith. Please, God. Please.
“You’re awful quiet,” Brother Victor prodded.
“That’s when prayers are best.” Jude raised his gaze to the ugly face of his executioner. Brother Victor looked away. Okay, that was odd. Jude had never intimidated anyone before. Or maybe Brother Victor felt something more inside that stuffy silo with no air circulation. Jude certainly did. “Do you always follow the prophet even when you know he’s wrong?”
“He’s never wrong,” Brother Victor shot back without a moment’s hesitation, still not meeting Jude’s gaze. “That’s why he’s the prophet.”
“How do you think you’ll feel come judgment day when you have to face the real God?”
Brother Victor glared. “Shut up ’fore I come over there and give you a good kick in your lying mouth.”
Jude didn’t need to speak anymore. He had what he wanted—the belief that Cassidy would not fail. That Judith would live. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Resting his open palms to the silo floor, he took a deep breath. This day wasn’t over yet.
Jude damned near smiled. His elbow had just bumped something solid. I have Tucker’s gun. In all his worrying and running around like a chicken with his head cut off, he’d forgotten he was armed. He looked up at Brother Victor through different eyes. “Do you have family in here? A wife? Children?”
Brother Victor shook his head deliberately from side to side. “You just don’t know how to shut it, do you?” Heaving up from the stool, he grabbed the wooden bat next to the door, already splashed with what was probably Jerusha’s blood. “Damn it. The prophet wanted you to watch what he does to your kid.” He took a menacing step toward Jude. “Looks like you won’t make it to the blessing after all.”
He stood less than five feet away, and Jude knew he’d better calculate his next move perfectly. He might have a gun, but he was no sharpshooter. It might take all six of those rounds to knock Brother Victor down, and honestly, Jude had no idea how to reload a magazine.
Of all things, the Pythagorean theorem flashed to his mind, the geometric theory put forth by a Greek mathematician, eons ago. It did nothing more than define the precise relationship between the hypotenuse of a right triangle to its two opposing sides. Most people could’ve cared less about it and probably never studied it, but Jude had. What he did next had to be accomplished with the same degree of perfection as that age-old mathematical proof.
There was beauty in mathematical logic. It powered Jude’s very analytically centric mind and made him a darned good accountant. Make that damned good. His spine stiffened as a sudden awareness of his place in the universe
enhanced his reality. He might not be an undercover agent or a sniper, but neither was he a moron.
All the stupid things he’d done over the last few days, and that included helping a strange woman get out of Cain’s clutches, had led him to this singular moment in time and space. All his weaknesses, missteps, and fears had brought him there. He was the human equivalent of that hypotenuse. He was equal to the challenge of the opposing sides, regardless of their size or might. By the grace of God, he was equal to the evil that stood before him now.
Brother Victor cocked his hairy arm over his head and grunted, ready to bash Jude’s head in.
Jude never blinked as he lifted his hand.
Brother Victor’s eye’s widened. His bushy brows peaked.
Surprise!
Jude squeezed the trigger and the gun in his palm spit one shiny round. So. Damned. Fast.
He didn’t hear the blast when the round erupted from the barrel of Tucker’s weapon. Neither did he feel the repercussion from that incredibly deadly discharge ripple up his forearm to lose itself in his bicep and shoulder muscles. It all happened in a slow-motion heartbeat, and when it was done, Brother Victor had gone to meet his maker, to finally answer for the crimes he’d knowingly committed in the name of a false prophet.
Jude scrambled to stand over the brute, shaken at what he’d just done. Brother Victor had fallen face first. His bulky body rested on the bat. His face looked just as ugly as it had before, only now his mouth was open and his jaw had gone slack. Two black eyes stared at nothing. His robe pooled around him, absorbing the deep crimson splash from what had to be a damned large exit wound at his back.
This was Jude’s first kill, and he wasn’t proud of it. His logical brain argued with his nauseous stomach. The reality of taking a life sucked away any bravado. This was the most repugnant thing he’d ever done. He shook his head, summoning the light of his daughter’s eyes to his weary mind. He felt bad. Heck, he felt awful—just not bad enough to trade Judith’s life for Brother Victor’s.
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