“I’m not the one doing the avoiding.” The irritation level in her voice climbed, but she backed down. “I’ll prove it. What can priests do for fun?”
“What, Paul hasn’t given you the full run down?” He could just see the flabbergasted expression on her blushing face. He smiled and looked out the window. Almost there.
“Are you trying to change my mind about being nice?”
“Okay, okay, I won’t mention him again.” Zach tugged the chain to signal his stop.
The bus had slowed to a stop by the time his sister spoke. “How about dinner Wednesday?”
He needed to see Lonegan that night, but it was far easier to agree now and cancel later. He hung up a block before he reached the meeting point. Sellars slumped on the sidewalk outside the all-night diner. The guy sure knew how to pick ’em. The greasy spoon was the kind of dive Zach would probably never dare enter unarmed. From the looks of the place, he hoped Sellars was carrying underneath that homeless getup, too.
On the other hand, it was probably better than meeting out in the freezing rain with the raw hollow feeling at the back of his throat. Getting sick would be less than ideal, especially with Sellars’s prized pet poised to poach his assignment.
“Evening, Father,” Sellars greeted. Zach motioned for Sellars to join him in the restaurant and they slid into a booth.
“What’s troubling you, my son?” Zach didn’t bother hiding the irritation in his voice — if Sellars would let him do his job, Zach would tie this whole case up in due time.
Of course, the “in due time” part was exactly why Sellars was siccing Healey on him. The older agent stared at his menu. “Your girlfriend contacted us. Sent in the appointment book.”
What? Then again, he shouldn’t be that surprised. “Guess you didn’t need me after all. Two agents is overkill anyway.”
Sellars’s gaze barely flicked away from the laminated menu. “Hope you like pancakes.”
Zach scanned the street through the window and his reflection and the drizzle outside. Like one of his parishioners had followed him across town. Okay, that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility — but he didn’t have to worry. No one would know who Sellars was. And if they were going to suspect anyone’s cover, it’d be Healey’s, with his transparent cover. “You know,” Zach said, “a heads-up is the minimum respect you could give any professional.”
“Heads up, Saint: your time’s half up and I needed someone else on the ground. Consider him plan B.”
“If he’s not more subtle, you’ll need a plan C. And you should probably tell him Molly’s innocent.” And Zach’s territory.
Sellars sipped his coffee. “I’ll decide what I tell him, when I tell him. We have to be sure your girlfriend’s not guilty before we go broadcasting it. She has to walk me through the case.”
“The whole case?”
“As in blowing your cover?” Sellars smirked. “If she needs to know. We’ll see.” He unwrapped his silverware from its paper napkin. “Figured out where the deposits to his account came from. Patrick drained some old savings accounts out of state.”
“So the money wasn’t coming from the church or the school, or being laundered?”
“And I really doubt Patrick was giving them charity.” Sellars scoffed.
Then why was he paying them? Zach nearly asked it aloud, but Sellars would tell him finding out was his job. Or worse, Healey’s job.
“Good news is, this seems like a reasonably good circumstantial case,” Sellars said.
“What’s the bad news?”
Sellars laid down his fork and knife and leaned across the table. “We’ve had ‘reasonably good circumstantial cases’ against these guys before. They’ve gotten out of them.”
Zach pursed his lips. From what he’d seen, these guys weren’t remarkably brilliant, but maybe that was part of their cover.
Sellars pressed his fingers to his temple. “I’m not going to Justice this time without somebody to connect the dots on the stand, testify to something — Patrick’s murder, a pay off, blackmail, anything. We need someone to roll on Murphy, or you need to hurry up and get reeled in already.”
A waitress delivered their food — two huge pancakes, three strips of bacon and a pile of half-cooked hash browns for each of them. Zach started on his pancakes while they were still warm. “Some advice,” he began once the waitress was gone. “Next time you send someone deep undercover like this, review all the personnel files from the whole organization.”
Sellars looked up from his plate. “Now what?”
“My sister just got hired as a teacher at the school.”
Sellars glanced around like he was waiting for the punch line. “You suggested her.”
Wait — was he serious?
The headhunter that recruited Lucy. This had Sellars’s sloppy handwriting all over it. “I was joking. She doesn’t know what I do — I’m a class C,” he added under his breath, leaving off the “covert agent” part of his job title.
The ASAC’s jaw dropped in slow motion. Good thing Sellars was between bites. He recovered, muttering curses. “Could’ve sworn you were B. Does she know?”
“Now she does. Lucky for you, she’s keeping it quiet — she has to.” Zach pulled Lucy’s letter from his coat pocket and handed it over.
Sellars read it. “Are you trying to make this about you, or does it just come natural?”
“She was trying to get their kids to go to college. Apparently they’re not interested.”
Sellars pocketed the letter. “Hm. She might be useful to us.”
“Useful how?”
“Someone’s done a better job drawing out our friends than you have.” Sellars set aside his fork to tap the pocket where the letter now rested.
“First you send in another agent without telling me, now my baby sister is bait?
The ASAC aimed a cool glare at him. “I’m not saying you should put her in the line of fire. Sometimes we have to make a sacrifice for a case. Like you did with Gerald Flynn.”
Zach stared out the window, ignoring the bitter taste of guilt.
“That’s how much I want this, too,” Sellars concluded. “Don’t let this get personal.”
Zach sighed and finished off his food. How was using Lucy as a lure supposed to make it not personal?
Zach unlocked the parish house door. Once again, he was home just before midnight. Between late nights with the FBI and late nights nudging Lonegan in their direction — not to mention the long, rainy walks home — he was ready to fall into bed and stay there for a week.
Father Fitzgerald stood in the living room, his arms folded, his glower ready. Zach’s brain jumped to defensive mode. But something was awfully amusing about this scene. Zach had never — okay, well, very rarely — had his father catch him breaking curfew, and even then his dad didn’t look as much the “bad cop” as Fitzgerald.
“Did I do something?” Zach finally asked.
“Did you?”
He sighed. “As much fun as I can tell this guessing game will be, I’m tired.” Zach started toward his room.
“How do you know her?”
That stopped him. “Who?”
“Miss Saint. From the school.”
This paranoia of his was getting ridiculous. Zach definitely hadn’t crossed any lines with Lucy. Gross. “We grew up together. What’s the big deal?”
Fitzgerald stalked toward him, which would’ve been more threatening if Zach wasn’t half a foot taller than the other priest. “I saw you with her.”
“What, in the cafeteria?”
“At her apartment.”
Zach’s eyebrows shot up. That was a little different — and apparently he wasn’t the only priest/spy in the parish. “You followed me?”
“You took off your collar.”
He didn’t have time to memorize all 1752 canon laws, but Zach was pretty sure that was okay. Fitzgerald jabbed an accusing finger into Z
ach’s chest. “What have you done?” His voice was dangerously low. If he was this mad, maybe an affair with a parish secretary wasn’t his secret.
“Nothing, Bruce.” Zach pushed his hand aside. “Catching up with an old friend.”
“And you can’t do that wearing a symbol of the priesthood?”
He took a deep breath. Fitzgerald had no idea how ridiculous — and disgusting — this idea was. “She didn’t know I entered the priesthood. It’s strange for her to see me wearing a collar.” After a few seconds of the old man’s hard glare, Zach tried again. “Come on. What am I going to do, lie to you?”
Fitzgerald’s frown softened, but quickly rekindled to full fury. “And tonight?”
“Cally Lonegan’s,” he lied. “Working with him.”
“Oh.” His glower left completely. “Thank you. I was afraid I’d lost him.”
Zach shrugged. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Fitzgerald nodded. After a minute, Zach started to walk away.
“I’m sorry, Tim.”
“Thanks.” Zach shut his bedroom door behind him. This would be easier without Fitzgerald getting in the way. And Lucy. And Molly.
When this was all over, he’d definitely dis-recommend this kind of scheme to the Bureau.
Zach realized he was tapping his foot and forced himself to stop. Couldn’t let his nerves show his first time back at the mobsters’ hangout since Flynn died.
He slid his empty glass side to side on the table. Was this a good idea? Sure, Lonegan hadn’t returned his calls, but he could’ve camped out in the hallway. And make every other mobster in the building trip over him. Right.
Zach settled back against the fake leather booth. At least at Brennan’s he could hide in the shadows, even if Murphy and two of his lackeys were in the opposite corner of the bar. They hadn’t glanced Zach’s direction. Lonegan hadn’t shown in the last three hours, which fit with Murphy rebuking Lonegan for going soft. Made things tougher for Zach, though.
A waitress came by to trade his empty glass for a full one. He sipped the root beer and scanned the bar again. A man walked in, but as he reached the end of the dark entry hall, he turned back to the door. Even in the low light of the bar, his curly brown hair gleamed like bronze.
Zach shook his head. He did not want to see Healey tonight. Had Molly mentioned this place to him? Doubtful. He must’ve been talking to other people in the parish.
Or Sellars had shared Zach’s information with him.
Zach pushed away the rest of his drink. Healey finally walked in, nodding to the bartender. The bartender acknowledged him like he was a regular. Was this not his first time here? He took a seat at the bar, facing Zach, though Healey didn’t seem to notice him.
What was he hoping to accomplish here? Murphy wouldn’t believe a real estate developer would hang out in the local bar to get a feel for the neighborhood. Zach certainly didn’t buy it.
The side exit door latched just loudly enough to pull Zach from his thoughts. He checked Murphy’s booth. The lackeys were gone. Murphy moseyed over toward the bar — toward Healey. Zach gulped his soda to stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t work.
Murphy took the stool next to Healey. Though Zach couldn’t hear their conversation, it didn’t seem like the first time the two were meeting, either. Healey pasted on his too-perfect smile and shook Murphy’s hand, then held up two fingers to the bartender to order them both drinks. Murphy waved the bartender off before he could fill the order.
Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Murphy wasn’t smiling, but he also didn’t seem as upset as he had when he’d met Zach. Or maybe he was more upset about Flynn’s big mouth at the time.
Murphy said something, and Healey’s eyebrows lifted. He craned his neck to see the door, then turned back to Murphy and nodded.
Zach’s glass slipped from his fingers and skittered a couple inches away before he caught it. This wasn’t déjà vu.
He tried to think of some alternate explanation. Maybe Murphy owned the lot. No, Zach had checked the tax records; Stockman Developers already owned the lot. Either the Bureau had purchased it as part of Healey’s cover or they’d lifted the name of an actual development company from the records. The first option was safer — nobody could call the real company and blow Healey’s cover.
Healey and Murphy rose and headed for the door. Zach stayed put for a few tense seconds, then slowly lifted his foot. He pulled up his pant leg under the table and grabbed his gun. He slid his gun into his front pocket, left a few bucks on the table and finally followed Healey and Murphy. They weren’t in the entry. Zach borrowed a disguise from the coatrack — a long black jacket and a baseball cap.
This was already too similar to his last visit to Brennan’s. Zach stooped his shoulders and checked the parking lot through the glass door. A group of four men passed out of the streetlight on the far side of the lot. Zach hurried into the sharp cold to keep them in sight.
When the foursome stopped at a busy crosswalk, Zach ducked into an alley, hunching over to conceal his height, and keep warm. They weren’t taking the same route as last time, but Murphy kept a grip on Healey’s elbow just like he had Flynn’s.
The traffic light changed, and Murphy, Healey and the henchmen started across the street. Changing his disguise, Zach stuffed the baseball cap into a pocket of the jacket and started after them. When Zach reached the corner, Murphy glanced back. Zach bowed his head and kept his shoulders stooped — and turned to continue around the block instead of crossing the street after them. By the time he dared to look back at Murphy, the traffic signal had changed, and the building across the street blocked Murphy and company from sight.
Zach crept back to the crosswalk, keeping to the shadows. He could just peer around the building to see Murphy. He and his men turned and disappeared at the far end of the block.
Hand in his pocket to keep his gun from bouncing around, Zach jogged across the street, paralleling Murphy’s route. He reached the next corner just as Murphy appeared at the other end of the block. They continued straight across the street. One more block would bring them to the same street as the church.
Another murder at the church? Zach swallowed to get his heart out of his throat. This didn’t make sense. What message could they send by killing Healey at St. Adelaide?
Zach replaced the ball cap and hurried across the empty street, again parallel to the mobsters’ route. At least it’d be completely unsuspicious for Zach to show up at the church.
But at the end of the next block, they continued straight across the street instead of turning for the church. Zach waited to see which direction they went next — left. Toward him. Should he cross the street and run into them or wait to see if they did something incriminating?
From this distance, he couldn’t see Murphy’s or Healey’s faces, and he couldn’t hear any conversation. But Murphy’s grip on Healey’s arm still sent a menacing message.
Before Zach stepped out from the shadows, the four men across the street stopped in the middle of the block. Murphy let go of his quarry, and Healey walked into the vacant lot.
The vacant lot Healey was asking about. Had Murphy discovered Healey’s identity this easily — and what did that say for Zach’s cover?
Murphy and his lackeys watched Healey from the sidewalk. Murphy thrust his hands on his hips. Was he reaching for his gun? This was Flynn all over.
The two other mobsters followed Healey into the weeds. Healey was barely visible pacing through the dark lot. Killing him here would send one message loud and clear: stay away. Did he know what was coming? Was he armed?
Zach couldn’t let this happen again, especially not to a fellow agent. He started across the street, not waiting for the signal, focused on the men in the lot. The second he reached the sidewalk on their side of the street, he heard the men laughing. Was that good or bad? He gripped his gun in his pocket.
Murphy, angled away from
Zach, raised an arm and signaled for his men to come in. The shadowy figures in the field converged. He didn’t hear a struggle or any sign of alarm, but when they emerged from the weeds, the henchmen held Healey between them. Healey didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look too scared, either.
His eyes grew a little wider as Murphy moved closer, his chin jutting forward like he was delivering a threat. Zach remembered to take off the ball cap, in case they’d noticed the guy in the hat following them, and stuffed it back in the jacket pocket.
“And if anything goes wrong.” Murphy’s voice was almost too low to hear as Zach approached. He didn’t want to startle Murphy, but if Healey wasn’t directly in danger, then they’d both want to hear Murphy’s threat.
But Murphy didn’t finish aloud. He shuffled to the side one step, holding open one jacket lapel. Zach saw the glint of metal at his waistband before Murphy let the jacket fall closed. Hennessy and Gallaher released Healey, and Healey reached for his back pocket.
Was he reaching for his credentials? What, would he arrest Murphy for brandishing a weapon, maybe a class-C felony?
Before Healey could pull anything out, Zach began whistling as loudly and off-key as he could. All four men turned to him.
“Oh, hey, Doyle.” Zach nodded to each of the men. Would they ask why he was coming from the opposite direction of the church?
Murphy lifted his chin. “Just the man I needed to see.”
Zach’s palms grew clammy. He hadn’t interrupted this to trade places with Healey.
“Actually,” Healey said, “Father Tim and I were going to go over plans for the youth center curriculum.”
“Great idea,” Murphy said. He turned from one to the other. “Let’s talk it over at my place.”
“Okay,” Healey agreed a beat too quickly.
“Sure,” Zach said. But he had to get this coat back to the bar so its real owner wouldn’t notice — and get his gun back into his ankle holster so the mobsters wouldn’t see it.
Saints & Spies Page 18