Katie realized, as she looked around at all those well-dressed people, that she didn’t know very many of them. She wondered from how far away they came. It took her a while to recognize Thomas Boone, the postman, because he looked different in a suit. There was Bea Hipple, an expert quilter, sitting only shoulder high to her husband, Benny, a local mechanic. For the life of her, Katie couldn’t imagine Bea being all that submissive.
She knew maybe twenty-five of the adults in the congregation, no more than that. The organist finished “Amazing Grace.” Throats cleared, papers rustled, and then the church fell quiet. Hearing “Amazing Grace” played in church always made Katie, hard-assed sheriff or not, get tears in her eyes.
Reverend Sooner McCamy rose from his high-backed chair to walk up the winding stairs to the pulpit that was set on a six-foot-high dais. He stood there for a few seconds, looking out. He was wearing a lovely white robe over a black suit and white shirt.
Reverend McCamy wrapped his large hands around the corners of the beautifully worked pulpit. They were strong hands, nicely formed, with short buffed nails, black hair visible on the backs even from a distance. When he spoke, his voice reached to every corner of the room, forceful and deep. Katie was aware that people were sitting at attention now, leaning forward a bit so as to not miss a word.
“I welcome all of you back again for our evening service. It has been a full, rewarding day, and a very unusual one as well. My wife and I spoke with Sheriff Benedict and an FBI agent at our home at noon. It seems that Elsbeth’s brother, Clancy, is wanted for questioning in the kidnapping of the little boy who managed to escape. Yes, Clancy Edens is indeed my wife’s brother. I would ask that if any of you know of this very man’s whereabouts to call the sheriff. I’ve been told there are posters of him all over Jessborough.”
He never broke eye contact with Katie while he spoke. She found herself nodding as one by one, the congregation turned to look at her.
Reverend McCamy paused a moment, looking, it seemed, at each of his congregation. He said finally, “Our spirits need constant nourishment, just as our bodies do. We recognize this need even if we don’t understand how to bring deep into ourselves the nourishment our souls require. We must pray that Clancy Edens finds the nourishment tonight.”
“Amen. Amen.”
“We must all first realize there is a common bond among right-thinking men, men who recognize there is something more to living than being a part of the human herd, something beyond us. It is something more precious than life itself, something that can bring us all infinite understanding and peace. And these men know that this something is our beloved God, and that it is He who is our spiritual nourishment, He who brings value to our lives, He who makes us know the path we must tread. Let us pray for him tonight, brothers, pray that he seeks this path with us.”
“Amen . . . amen . . . amen.”
“It is we men who must lead, who must show these sinners, as we show our precious helpmates, the way to grace and salvation, ensuring God’s forgiveness for their eternal sin. All of you seated before God and His messenger here this evening know that we each have a role in this life, some of leadership and some of submission. Both will free us. I exhort all of you: Seek always to understand what it is you must be and what you must do. Let nothing stop you from attaining what it is God wants you to have, what God wants of you.”
Only men can understand God? Sherlock felt Dillon lightly touching his fingertips to her arm. When she turned, he was smiling. Then he winked at her.
“There are special graces that God grants a few men on this earth that allow them to be special victims of God’s grace, to actually experience his own sacrifice for all of our sins.”
Victims of God’s grace? What did that mean? Sherlock tuned him out until some five minutes later, when Reverend McCamy said suddenly, “Now it’s time for us to divide into our Sunday evening study groups. Our topic for discussion this evening will be ‘Submitting to the Path of God’s Grace.’ ”
Katie looked at Miles, her head cocked to one side. His dark eyes were glittering, narrowed on Reverend McCamy’s face. His hands were fisted, one on his thigh. She smoothed his fisted hand with her own, feeling the tension slowly ease. She would ask him what he was thinking later. It had been smart of the reverend to be up front about Elsbeth McCamy’s brother, very smart indeed. She wondered if the good reverend would have said a word about Sam’s kidnapping if the four of them hadn’t trooped into his service.
After the congregation split into groups, Sherlock made a request to join them. Reverend McCamy looked infinitely patient. “I’m sorry, Agent Sherlock, but you must be a believer and member of this church before you can attend our study groups. Why did you come?” He looked at all of them in turn, one very black eyebrow arched up, a bit of a satyr’s look, if he but knew.
Katie introduced Savich and Miles Kettering.
Reverend McCamy said nothing, merely nodded at them. He gave Miles a long look, then he looked down at the ring on his third finger—an odd ring, thick, heavy-looking, silver with some sort of carving on top. The carving was deep black. Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was. Surely this monstrosity couldn’t be his wedding ring.
Reverend McCamy said, “Special Agent Savich. You appear to be hurt.”
How had he known that? No, that was easy, Savich thought, likely everyone in town was talking about how the federal agent got his back sliced open by a flying piece of van. Savich removed his hand from the reverend’s. “Just a bit.”
Reverend McCamy said, “I will direct all our congregation to include you in their prayers. Sheriff, you’ve known some of these folk all your life. You know they’ll help if they can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my children.”
Katie looked over toward Thomas Boone and remembered a scene in the post office between him and a Mr. Phelan. They’d been arguing about the church and Reverend McCamy. She wanted to speak to Mr. Phelan.
After Katie dropped Savich and Sherlock off at Mother’s Very Best, Savich looking like he was nearly ready to drop in his tracks, she and Miles went for a cup of coffee at the Main Street Cafe. Beverly, with her lovely, big smile, served them. Bless her heart, she didn’t say a word about the kidnapping.
“It’s an amazing thing,” Miles said as he sipped his black coffee. “In the space of a day and a half, I went from absolute despair to euphoria to something like dread. Do you think Clancy is still here?”
Katie nodded as she stirred some cream into her coffee. “He’s hiding somewhere.”
“You think the reverend and his wife know where he is?”
“I wish I could say yes, but actually I haven’t the slightest idea if they do. You’re a former FBI agent. What do you think?”
“As I said, I’ve only been here for a day.”
“What field office were you assigned to?”
“Actually, I stayed in Washington along with Savich after we met at the academy. I was in the Information and Evidence Management Unit.”
“You dealt with forensics.”
He nodded as he looked through the big front windows out onto Main Street. “My father wasn’t pleased with my choice of career, but to his credit, he encouraged me endlessly. When he died, I realized that it was time to make a change. Fact is, I was getting burned out. I remember reading John Douglas’s book and being struck to my gut when he wrote about his wife cutting her finger. He wrote that what he paid attention to was the way the blood splattered, not his wife’s injury. It could have been me. So, when my father died, I resigned and took over my father’s business. I’ve been doing it now for five years.” He paused a moment, sipped his coffee, closed his eyes, and said, “Fact is, I like it, and I’m good at it.”
“What is it?”
“We design and build parts for helicopters, like guidance systems, primarily for the army, but we’ve built components for all the other branches of the military as well. I’ll tell you though, after some of our negotiations with the m
ilitary agencies, I’ve thought life was easier at the Bureau.”
She laughed, and realized she liked this man. It had been so very long since she’d even looked at a man and actually saw that he was male, a male to admire and make her laugh. It felt rather good, actually. Carlo had burned her to the ground, the bastard.
18
The house was quiet. All was well. Katie had made coffee for the deputies, double-checked all the locks, and looked in on Keely before sinking down beneath three blankets on a bed so soft she was convinced her mother had ordered it for her from heaven. Miles was with Sam, who had on his new, spiffy red Mickey Mouse pajamas. Miles hadn’t bought anything so she guessed he was sleeping in his shorts. Now, that was a strange thought. She hadn’t thought about a man’s shorts in a very long time. Boxers? Katie grinned and nodded. Yeah, she’d bet he wore boxers.
Miles lay on his back, feeling Sam’s heartbeat against his side, and his soft hair smooth against his neck. He still wasn’t over the debilitating fear he’d felt for those endless hours before Katie had called. He wondered if he’d ever be over it. They’d been lucky, so damned lucky. He pulled Sam tighter and felt him wheeze a bit in his sleep. No nightmares, so far. He’d have to keep a real close eye on that.
Miles was so tired he felt like his skin was inside out and his brain was in a fog bank. Yet he couldn’t seem to shut down and sleep. So he lay there, listening to his boy breathe.
He closed his eyes and thanked Alicia yet again for encouraging Sam to get himself out of that cabin window. He’d wondered many times if she really was keeping a close eye on her son from the other side, if there was an other side, but if there wasn’t, how had Sam heard her voice? Miles knew it was Sam’s subconscious that had prodded him, but it was still somehow reassuring to believe, if even for a moment, that her love for her son overcame the silence and separation of death.
The air was soft, warm. He would swear he felt a brief touch of fingertips on his cheek. He smiled as he closed his eyes.
He had no idea how much time had passed. But one moment he was thinking about the problems with the new rotor blade design on the army’s new Proto A587 helicopter, and the next he was alert, ready to move. He lay there, listening.
There was a scraping sound.
It stopped. Then nothing.
Surely Clancy wouldn’t come back to try yet again to get Sam. There were two cops sitting just around at the front of the house.
It was probably just a branch whispering against the side of the house in the night wind.
No different sounds now, nothing at all.
Miles drew a deep breath, and settled in again. He imagined he’d be hearing things for many years to come.
“Hold yourself real still, Mr. Kettering.”
Miles’s heart nearly seized. His eyes flew open. He looked up into Clancy’s shadowed face, and pulled Sam closer.
“Yeah, I saw you wake up. Then I decided to wait just another minute, and sure enough, you were out again.”
Miles didn’t want to wake Sam. He whispered to that round white face above him, “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get past the cops outside?”
Clancy grinned, and Miles saw he hadn’t escaped scot free from the van. He had a split lip with some dried blood on it, his cheek was swollen and covered with three Band-Aids. There was another cut over his left eyebrow, a Band-Aid patched vertically over it. His right arm wasn’t in a sling, but he was holding it stiffly against his side.
Miles felt the muzzle of the gun, sharp and cold against his neck. Clancy leaned his face real close to Miles’s, and he smelled Clancy’s breath—salami and beer. He said, real low, “It was easy as kicking dirt. They were nearly unconscious last time I checked. By now, they might be dead, the morons. I’ve worked enough on cars to know about what not to do with a car exhaust. Pretty dangerous things, if you don’t know what you’re doing. Yep, nothing so easy as the car exhaust. Easy as cooking a hot dog. You see, the bozos kept the car turned on because they were too wussy to take the cold. That was when I knew exactly what to do.”
“You murdered two people just to get to Sam?”
“That’s right, Mr. Kettering. What’s your point?”
“Who’s paying you to do this? Who?”
“Well now, Mr. Kettering, that just isn’t any of your business, now, is it?”
“You have to know this is insane, Clancy. Half the state is looking for you. There’s no way you’ll get away with Sam, no way at all.”
“You know, Mr. Kettering, with all your yapping, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t just pop you now.” The muzzle dug in. Miles didn’t move, barely breathed, and he thought, I can’t die, I can’t. I have to protect Sam. He thought of Katie just down the hall, asleep. If Sam could hear his mother, then why the hell couldn’t he talk to Katie? He did, and then focused himself again. He was an idiot, a desperate idiot. Sam was too close for him to try to make a move. And it appeared that Clancy had nothing at all to lose. Who was paying him so much money that he just couldn’t give up? He felt the muzzle stroking his neck now.
“You don’t look too good, Clancy. I’m surprised you’re even walking around. I saw the van explode. It was a burning hell.”
“When the sheriff fired I slammed into that tree and knocked myself silly, but just for a minute. I saw the sheriff kill Beau and got the hell out of the van. Yeah, I wanted to pop all of you, destroying my van like that.”
But Clancy didn’t pull the trigger. So Clancy didn’t want to kill him just yet, thank God. Why not? No silencer, that was why, and this was not the time for gunfire.
Then Miles realized Clancy wanted him alive so he could carry Sam. He wanted two hostages. Then he’ll kill me once he’s gotten us away from here.
Miles didn’t even blink. He tried to unfreeze his muscles and his heart after the immense jolt of fear that had shut him down for a moment.
“Wake up the boy, Mr. Kettering. I won’t ask twice.”
He did, lightly stroking Sam’s cheek, speaking quietly to him, telling him not to be afraid, everything would be all right.
Sam’s eyes opened, focused on Clancy. “You’re a bad man,” Sam said, that little voice strong.
“Hello there, you little brat. Too bad you’re so valuable, I’d sure like to twist off your head. You got Beau killed, and I’m going to have to pay you back for that.”
“Why do you want him so badly, Clancy?”
“I just might tell you someday,” Clancy said. “Not that I necessarily believe it.” He took a couple of steps back to stand at the end of the bed, his gun aimed directly at Sam.
“Don’t even think of trying anything, Mr. Kettering, or I’ll shoot the boy. Believe me on this. I ain’t got nothin’ to lose here. Both of you get up now. You might as well put some clothes on, Mr. Kettering, it’s pretty cold out there. The kid’s just fine in his pajamas.” He fell silent, watching them. “Hey, I wonder if those deputies are croaked yet. Shouldn’t be long if they aren’t already. We just might take their car, what do you think?”
“Why would you do that? How did you get here?”
“Never you mind about that.”
Miles said, “Sam, I want you to get out of bed real slow. Stand over there, okay?”
“Papa—”
“Do as I say. Everything will be all right, I promise you that.”
Clancy laughed under his breath. He watched Sam slide away from his father, off the side of the bed. He stood there, in his red pajamas.
“Hey, Mickey Mouse, those are neat,” Clancy said. “Now you, Mr. Kettering. I want you to be real careful. You see where I’m aiming now? Right at the kid’s head. I’ll kill him if you force me to.”
But would he really? Miles didn’t think so. Whoever had hired Clancy wanted Sam too badly, but he wasn’t about to take the chance. Miles eased out of the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was wearing only his boxer shorts. The air was chilly. Slowly, he stood. Clancy threw him his jeans. He
pulled them on, fastened them. He held out his hand. “My sweater’s over there.”
Clancy tossed it to him. When he had it pulled over his head, Clancy said, “No shoes. I don’t want you trying to make a break for it. Now, put your hands behind your neck.”
Miles laced his fingers behind his head.
“Okay, now, you walk out of here first, Mr. Kettering. Sam, you follow your dad. Do it, now. Keep walking. Kid, you behave yourself.”
He doesn’t want Sam dead, Miles kept thinking. Everything hinges on his taking Sam alive. But why? All Miles needed was an opening, a small lapse on Clancy’s part, and he could take him. He held himself ready, listened to every breath Clancy drew, realized he didn’t breathe easily because he was so heavy, and he was hurt. Just how badly, Miles couldn’t guess. He watched Clancy’s gun, watched how it remained aimed at Sam’s head.
Miles walked slowly down the hall. He barely heard Sam’s steps behind him because he was wearing a nice thick pair of Katie’s socks. They were nearly to Katie’s bedroom door.
This is easy, Clancy, so easy. You can relax a bit, can’t you now? You’ve got us.
They reached the living room in utter silence. Moonlight showed through the front window that wasn’t boarded up. Not much, but enough so no one would trip over anything.
Slowly, Clancy motioned Miles to move aside. He grabbed Sam’s arm and dragged him toward the front door.
“Papa—”
“Shut up, you little varmint!”
He held Sam with one hand, realized that he couldn’t turn the dead bolt with a gun in his other hand, and stood there a minute, wondering what to do.
“Come here, Mr. Kettering. I want you to open that door or I’ll hurt your kid.”
He pulled Sam back against his stomach.
Miles walked to the front door and unfastened the locks.
“Open it.”
Miles opened the front door. The night wind rushed in, cool, sharp.
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 73