Blood of Saints

by Maegan Beaumont

  A field foreman name Tomas Olivero found her in a pump house four days later, chained to the waterwheel, naked and badly beaten. Severely dehydrated. She’d been raped and beaten repeatedly. Sodomized. Forced to perform sex acts on her assailants before being left to die. The pump house she’d been found in was one of twenty-two belonging to Vega Farms.

  The victim’s name had been Rachel Meeks.

  Thirty-eight

  Kootenai Canyon, Montana

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  Christina looked up and over at him from the driver’s seat of the Challenger. She looked terrified and exhilarated all at once and he tried not to laugh, he really did.

  “Are you laughing at me?” She narrowed her eyes before aiming them out the windshield, delicate fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

  “What?” Michael cleared his throat. “No, I would never—”

  “Because I’m only thirteen,” she sniffed at him. “I shouldn’t be driving.”

  He swallowed another burst of laughter, angling his head a bit lower so she couldn’t see it. “Christina, I’m asking you to pull the car into the grass, not jump it over a dozen flaming school buses. You’ve done it a hundred times.”

  “Yeah, with you in the car with me.” She glared at him for a moment before dropping one of her hands to the gearshift while she pressed the clutch into the floorboard. She gave him a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever. Move or I’m going to run you over.” She slipped it into first and eased off the clutch, exchanging it smoothly with the gas pedal. The Challenger inched forward, carried through the open barn door by the rumbling engine.

  Like he’d been told, Michael stood straight, backing away from the car so she could guide it from the barn onto the grass in front of the house. She did perfectly, moving slowly, like he’d taught her. As soon as the Challenger was where he’d told her to put it, Christina shifted into neutral and cut the engine. She even set the emergency brake. But she didn’t get out of the car. She just sat there, staring straight ahead.

  Michael closed the distance between the barn and the car. “You gonna pout all day or are you gonna pop the hood so we can—”

  “There’re bug guts on the windshield.” She finally looked at him, her tone careful and even. “Why are there bug guts on the windshield?”

  Shit.

  “You left,” she said, dark brown gaze narrowed on him accusingly. “You left me. You left us.”

  “Christina, I—”

  “You said you wouldn’t do that,” she said, lunging out of the car to push past him.

  “Just let me explain,” he said, voice raised louder than it should have been.

  “Explain?” She turned on him, jabbing an accusatory finger in his face. “You said you wouldn’t leave.” He reached out to catch her arm but she yanked back before he could make contact. “You promised.”

  “What was I supposed to do, Christina?” He finally caught her arm and she went still, turning on him, waiting for him to let her go. “She’s out there alone, and I—”

  “Is that why Miss Ettie is here?” Christina said, her arm tense and heavy in his grip. “Just in case you decided that sticking around was too much of an imposition?”

  “What?” He jerked back, his hand dropping away from her. “No.” He shook his head, sagging against the fender of the car. “You’re a kid, Christina. You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because the way I see it, Sabrina left us.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans while glaring at the toes of his boots. “All of this is my fault. All of it—the last four years of her life have been a waking nightmare and that’s because of me. I’m the one who brought her brother to her doorstep. I’m the one who brought it all to her doorstep. If I’d have left her alone, she’d still be in San Francisco. She’d still have her family. She’d be—”

  “Bullshit.”

  The curse jerked his head up and had him swinging his gaze toward her. She didn’t look like Christina anymore. Her jaw was set in silent challenge, her dark eyes wise and older than they had a right to be. She looked like Lydia. She looked like her mother. Seeing his lost friend in her daughter was suddenly too much.

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” she said, losing some of that hard-won nerve but still refusing to back down. “You act like she’s not capable of making her own choices. She knew what she was doing when she came here. And she understood what would happen if she left.”

  No matter what she thought, there was still a lot Christina didn’t understand. A lot they’d chosen not to tell her. “Like I said, you’re a kid.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and straightened himself off the hood of the car. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand that you’re going to have to choose, Michael,” she said, her arms tightening against her frame, like she was afraid of what came next. “Her or me. You can’t keep your promises to both of us.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo,” he told her with a sad smile. “Because when she left she made me promise not to go after her. She made me promise to stay here, no matter what. I broke my promise to both of you.”

  Her arms dropped away from her chest, her eyes filled with tears. “Then why—”

  “Because I love her. Because I can’t just leave her. She’s in danger, every moment of every day—” Michael swiped a hand over his mouth. “And that is my fault. At least when she’s here, I can protect her …” He sighed. “I just made a phone call. That’s it. That’s all I did.” It was all he could do. The uselessness he felt chewed at his gut, making him want to throw up.

  “A phone call?” She looked at him like he’d lost his mind, eyes wide with disbelief over his recklessness. “You used a phone?”

  “It’s an old analog—practically untraceable. I was almost three hundred miles away before I turned it on and the call lasted less than two minutes. After I was finished, I wiped it down, destroyed it and tossed the pieces into a lumber truck headed for Idaho.” He forced a reassured smile onto his face. “And the person I called is just as careful, I promise.”

  “Who?” she said quietly. “Who did you call?”

  He thought of Phillip Song, struggling to find a way to describe him that wouldn’t make him sound like what he was—an alleged gangster. Possible drug lord. Probable murderer.

  “Someone who can help her.”

  She didn’t push it; instead she nodded, chewing on her lower lip. “She said the same thing, you know,” she said, fixing him with a look that said she finally understood. “That day the senator came, she put Alex and me in the lift by ourselves and I freaked out. She told me she loved you and couldn’t leave you. I was relieved that you wouldn’t be alone but I was scared too.” Tears stood out in her eyes and she gave them an irritated brush with her fingertips. “I know you and Sabrina would die for each other …”

  “It’s not just me she’s willing to die for, Christina.” He reached out, pulling her into a hug. This time she let him. “Sabrina will do whatever it takes to keep you and Alex safe. She’s a fighter. Hiding isn’t in her nature.”

  “It not in yours, either.” She said it against his chest, her hands gripped tightly against the thin cotton of his T-shirt. “That’s what scares me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, running a gentle hand over her sun-warmed hair. “I’m not going anywhere—not again. I’m keeping my promise to the both of you.”

  She didn’t answer him. Didn’t say she believed him. Probably because she didn’t.

  Thirty-nine

  Yuma, Arizona

  Sixteen years ago, Rachel Meeks survived four days of rape and torture. No food. No water. Just ninety-six hours of relentless abuse. That was her miracle, and what had drawn
her killer to her.

  Sabrina didn’t wait for Detective Santos to show up. Closing the file, she hit PRINT ALL. If someone searched her computer history, it would look like she was interested in all unsolved cases, rather than focused on one in particular. She had no idea if Vega still had someone in the department mopping up after him, but until she could hang him, Sabrina planned on making herself as small as possible.

  Stopping at Santos’s desk, she wrote a quick note telling him she’d be out in the field, following it up with her cell number. Alvarez sat a few feet away, head still buried in a stack of files. Still ignoring her. She decided she didn’t care and left without saying good-bye.

  As soon as she hit the stairs, she pulled her cell from her pocket, stopping long enough to punch out the number Ellie had given her yesterday.

  Whaddya think you’re doin’, darlin’?

  She listened to the phone ring, ignoring the voice in her head, while she jogged down the stairs.

  Calling that girl ain’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done. The more time you spend with her, the more chance there is she’ll recognize you.

  “This is Hernandez,” Ellie said.

  “Hi, this is Agent Vance,” Sabrina said, walking across the lobby toward the parking lot. “Any chance I can get you to meet me?”

  Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you want Ellie to see you for who you really are. Maybe you want her to know. Maybe you want them all to know …

  A soft sigh accompanied the sound of shuffling papers. “Uh … sure,” she said, even though she didn’t sound sure at all. She actually sounded like she’d been sleeping. “I guess I can cut out for a bit. Where?”

  Using the key fob in her hand to unlock the car, Sabrina tossed the files she’d printed into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. “Saint Rose,” she said, stabbing the key into the ignition.

  The other end of the phone went so quiet that for a second, she thought Ellie had hung up on her. “Okay,” she said, finally answering her. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  –––––

  The lot was empty when Sabrina pulled in. Not surprising—Saint Rose’s congregants were in the fields that surrounded it, bending and tossing in sweat-soaked shirts and wide-brimmed hats.

  The chapel was comparatively dark and cool, empty save for an old woman who knelt in front of the altar, covered head bent over a lit candle. Feeling intrusive, Sabrina gave her little more than a glance before surveying the rest of the sanctuary. She spotted Father Francisco in the prayer garden, sitting on the bench, an open book in his lap.

  Not just any ol’ bench is it? That’s our bench, darlin’.

  Father Francisco wasn’t alone. The man who’d attended last night’s mass with Paul Vega was with him, standing over him, hands dug into the pants pockets of his expensive suit, an affable smile on his familiar face. Despite the man’s relaxed posture and smile, Sabrina got the impression that the two of them weren’t having a friendly chat. Father Francisco looked almost angry. He sat as still as stone, his gaze aimed at the other man’s tie, a grim expression on his face, listening to what was being said to him.

  As soon as the door leading to the sanctuary opened, the priest’s head popped up. The other man stopped talking, his gaze following the priest’s. He gave her a look that said her intrusion wasn’t a welcome one but it was fleeting, covered up with another pleasant smile. “See you on Sunday, Father,” he said, leaving out the garden gate without another word.

  Father Francisco smiled like he was glad to see her. “Agent Vance,” he said, closing his book before setting it aside. “What brings you back?”

  “I’m meeting someone.” Sabrina smiled back. She had a few minutes to kill before Ellie showed up. She might as well put them to use. “Who was that? He looks familiar.”

  The relieved look bled away. “Arturo Bautista.”

  “Paul Vega’s attorney?” she said, her tone sharp and hard against her ears. Why would Vega’s lawyer be here, giving what looked like a stern lecture to his client’s priest?

  He looked startled that she’d know who Bautista was. “Yes, he represents Vega Farms,” he said evasively before offering her another small smile when she didn’t retreat back into the sanctuary. “Was there something I can do for you, Agent Vance?”

  “I have a few questions that need answering.”

  His smile folded in at the corners, getting smaller as he looked at his watch. “I have confession in a few minutes,” he said, retrieving his book before standing. “Perhaps—”

  “I won’t take too much of your time.” The smile on her face remained firmly intact while she waited for his manners to force him to concede. “I promise.”

  As predicted, he caved after a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, giving in with a small nod. “What can I do for you?”

  “Who is Nulo?” she said, going for the jugular. She wasn’t disappointed. The welcoming look he’d given her was completely blown away, replaced by something that looked like fear.

  Father Francisco shook his head, nervously transferring the book from one hand to another “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” She cocked her head and gave a short, quick nod. “You are the same Father Francisco who ran this place in 1998.” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t phrase it like one. “The same Father Francisco who found Melissa Walker, half dead, on that bench you’re sitting on.”

  He visibly blanched, his face draining of blood so fast it was a miracle he didn’t pass out. “I am, but I don’t know who you’re asking me about.”

  He’s lying. He knows exactly who Nulo is. Probably even knows what he is …

  “I’ve never arrested a priest before,” she said quietly, nailing him with a look perfected over the course of nearly fifteen years and hundreds of interrogations. “Please don’t make me do it now.” When he did nothing but stare, she continued. “It was Nulo. He was the one who found Melissa Walker the night Wade Bauer left her here. Not you. He was here … with you. A young, handsome priest, alone in a church with an even younger, presumably impressionable boy. I understand why you lied.”

  The nerve it’d taken him to lie to her abandoned him, leaving him weak and he sunk slowly, as if the heat of her glare was melting him into the bench. “If you think I hurt that boy or that I took advantage of him in some way—”

  “What I think is irrelevant.” She could feel it welling up inside her, the shame and humiliation. “You told the paramedics you found Melissa Walker because the truth would put you in the very awkward position of having to explain why he was here.” They must’ve known, the moment they saw her, what’d happened to her. How long did Nulo stand over her, watching her, before Father Francisco found him? Had he touched her? Had he felt the same sick excitement that Wade had over what had been done to her? Is that why he wrote to him? Because he’d stood over her and felt a kinship to the monster who destroyed her?

  “Do you know what Nulo means, Agent Vance?” Father Francisco shook his head sadly. “It means nothing. Void. No one was looking for that boy. No one cared where he was. What happened to him.”

  “What did happen, Father?” She said it quietly, tempering the hard edge of her tone. “What was he doing here?”

  “He was just a boy, Agent Vance—” He looked up at her helplessly. “He was frightened. Unsure of what he’d witnessed.”

  “He knew exactly what he was witnessing.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between them until she was almost standing over him. “Why would you lie to me about him? Why are you protecting him?”

  Father Francisco shook his head. “I …” He glanced up at her for a moment before he looked away. “I was newly ordained when I came to Saint Rose. Barely twenty-five—too young and inexperienced to be given my own church, but the head priest here died not weeks after my appointment and there was no one else
.”

  “Regardless,” she said, even though impatience gnawed at her, “you must’ve made an impression if they were willing to give you your own church so quickly.”

  He scoffed at her. “The only impression made was by my last name. I was soft, eager to win over my flock.” His mouth flattened into a grimace. “I allowed things that I shouldn’t.”

  “Like?”

  “Nulo was young, just a boy … I didn’t know how to stop what was happening to him so, I allowed him to sleep here. Him and others like him who had nowhere to go. He’d sneak into the church at night and hide from his uncle.” His eyes found hers again, showing her a lifetime of regret and sadness. “He did things to Nulo that should never be done.”

  “Who is he?” She didn’t ask what kind of things—she didn’t have to. “What’s his real name?”

  “I don’t know. I never knew.” The priest shook his head sadly. “His parents died when he was little more than a baby. I don’t think he even knew what his given name was.”

  “What do you mean was?” she said, picking up on the word.

  “I mean was, Agent Vance,” he said, looking up at her. “A few years after he found that poor girl, Nulo disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” She said it quietly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge.

  “He showed up one night, late. I thought he wasn’t coming so I locked the doors and put out the candles …” Father Francisco sighed, his hands tightening around the book in his lap. “He woke me, broke that window,” he said, pointing at the pane of glass set into the heavy wooden door that led to the chapel. “He was covered in blood. At first I thought he’d cut himself trying to get in. When I dragged him into the bathroom to clean him up I realized that he wasn’t hurt. The blood wasn’t his. I didn’t ask what’d happened. I already knew.”