Blood of Saints

by Maegan Beaumont

  Ellie can’t hold out much longer, darlin’. Time to put on your big girl panties and get the job done.

  “Who lives here?”

  Sabrina cast a sidelong glance at the passenger seat. Paul Vega sat beside her, studying the house across the street with a mixture of curiosity and dread. She followed his gaze, letting hers land on the large front window. The curtains that covered it twitched quickly at their center, so fast she’d almost been able to convince herself that it’d been the air conditioner kicking on inside the house that moved them and not something else.

  Almost.

  She forced herself to open the car door and get out. Vega didn’t move. “Do you need me to help you out of the car?” she said, leaning down to glare at him through the open door. “Because I’d be happy to.”

  “I’d like to see you try,” he muttered as he reached for the door handle.

  “I seriously doubt that,” she answered, watching him pop the door and reluctantly pull himself from the car. Vega rounded the front of the car, falling into step beside her as they crossed the street and walked up the driveway.

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” he said to her, eyes glued to the front of the house. “I don’t know what else I can do to help you.”

  “You can call Graciella and ask her to tell you what your brother’s real name is,” she said, raising her knuckles to knock on the front door.

  “I told you,” he said, irritated by her refusal to let it go, “there’s no phone service.”

  Sabrina wasn’t sure she believed him but she didn’t push it. He was standing here willingly instead of threatening to call his brother and have her arrested for kidnapping him. At this point, she had to take what she could get.

  “Just relax, Vega,” she told him. “We’re here to see an old friend of your mother’s.”

  Almost immediately, there was a shuffling inside the house, followed by the scrape of the dead bolt being turned inside the door. It opened and Amelia Hernandez’s face appeared in the crack between it and its frame. “Mija,” she said, beaming widely at her for a second before casting her gaze toward the stoop behind her, her smile fading. “Where are my babies? You didn’t bring them?”

  Jason and Riley. Amelia was talking about Sabrina’s siblings like they were still toddlers and not the young adults they’d become in her absence. Sabrina shook her head, forcing a smile onto her face. “They’re at home with Ellie,” she said, thinking fast on her feet. “She’s sitting for me today, remember?”

  The smile returned and she looked relieved. “That’s where she is,” she said, reaching out to take her hand. “I can never keep track of that girl’s schedule.” She tugged on her hand, pulling her inside. “Come in, come in …”

  Sabrina cast Vega a look over her shoulder—stay close—before she allowed herself to be led into the house. Beyond the door was a tidy living room and an open archway that led into what looked like an eat-in kitchen. The warm smells of tortillas and coffee wafted toward her, opening an aching hole inside her chest. “It smells like you’ve been busy,” she said and Amelia laughed.

  “Busy is good, mija,” Amelia said, pulling her through the open doorway. “Busy keeps us fed.” She left Sabrina standing at the kitchen table, staring at its occupants while trying to remember how to breathe.

  Well, hells bells, darlin’—we really walked into it this time, didn’t we?

  “Sit down, sit down …” Amelia said, before looking at Vega as if seeing him for the first time. “Valerie, you didn’t tell me Melissa had a boyfriend,” she said, her tone teasing while she retied her apron around her waist. She’d hoped that seeing Vega would trigger a memory for Amelia, but she was looking straight at Vega with no sign of recognition. But none of that mattered. Not anymore.

  Valerie sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a glass of water, staring at her as if she were seeing a ghost, her face washed white with shock.

  Across from her sat Mark Alvarez.

  “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know, Mamá,” Val finally said, her voice sounding faint and far away. “Melissa likes her secrets, you know that.”

  Amelia laughed. “You both do. Secrets are what teenage girls do best,” she said before turning her attention toward the stove. Humming softly, she placed a flatted round of tortilla dough on the griddle to cook. “Val, Melissa solved our mystery. Ellie is at her house, watching the twins.” She shot her a relieved smile. “We’ve been a little worried she’d gotten into some sort of trouble.”

  “She’s fine, Mrs. Hernandez,” Sabrina lied, her attention focused on Alvarez. He was focused on Vega. He looked angry, hands pressed flat against the table, glaring up at him. “Who’s your friend?”

  Amelia glanced up, aimed her gaze at Alvarez for a moment. “Oh, this is Ellie’s friend from school. He stopped by to visit. He’s a nice boy but he’s always been a bit shy,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. “It’s okay, Nulo. Say hello.”

  Seventy-three

  Despite Amelia’s encouragement, Alvarez didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on the last time she’d seen him—khakis and a navy blue polo with the Yuma PD insignia embroidered over his left breast, his service weapon, a Glock 22, secured in his holster. He looked like he’d simply gotten lost on his way to the station break room, not like he’d just stomped a priest’s face in and kidnapped someone.

  “Hey, Nulo,” she said, careful to keep her tone pleasant. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Her greeting went unanswered. Big surprise.

  “You need to take your mom into the living room,” Sabrina said to Val quietly. Instead of doing what she asked, Val seemed to dig in deeper.

  Uhh, darlin’. I got something to tell you and you aren’t gonna like it.

  “Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Vega finally said, his tone telling her he was seconds away from bolting. “Who’s Melissa?”

  “My mother has Alzheimer’s,” Val said quietly while shooting her mother a quick look. Amelia was too absorbed in her kitchen duties to pay attention to what she was saying. “She thinks Agent Vance is an old friend of mine.” Recovered, she shifted her gaze toward Sabrina, a carefully composed expression on her face, hand extended in front of her. “You are Agent Vance, aren’t you? My sister told me how taken our mother was with you.”

  Listen to me, darlin’ …

  She nodded, taking the offered hand and shaking it like the woman in front of her was a total stranger. Drawing her hand back, she settled it on the grip of the Kimber that rode her hip, flicking a glance in Alvarez’s direction. “Ms. Hernandez, I need you to, please, take your mother into the living room and wait for me there. Do you understand?”

  Val’s expression went from defiant to understanding in an instant, her gaze drifting across the table to land on the man in front of her. “Okay,” she said, standing slowly to reveal a large, swollen belly. Holding her hand out to her mother, she smiled. “Come on, Mamá, let’s go see if Wheel of Fortune is on.”

  Amelia cast her gaze around the kitchen, shaking her head. “I’m in the middle of—”

  “Now, Mamá,” Val said, softening the command with a smile. “Please.”

  Suddenly, Amelia looked confused, like she wasn’t sure what was happening. Moving the griddle off the stove, she switched it off. “Okay …” She took Val’s offered hand, allowing herself to be pulled along. “Have you seen Cuervo?” Amelia said to her daughter as she walked past her on her way out of the kitchen. “Ellie will be so upset if she doesn’t come home.”

  She watched Alvarez bristle at the question. Cuervo was Spanish for crow. It was also the name that’d been engraved on the ID tag belonging to the mutilated cat Father Francisco found in the prayer garden last night. That must’ve been what he read in the report that set him off. Knowing they were cl
ose to figuring out that Ellie was on his kill list.

  As soon as they were gone, Sabrina pulled her Kimber off her hip. “Take a seat, Vega,” she said, “The three of us are going to have a talk.”

  Vega came into view, sliding into the seat Val had just vacated. Alvarez flicked his gaze as the man sitting across from him. Something passed over his face. Distaste, bordering on disgust.

  In the next room, the television clicked on.

  “Where’s Ellie?”

  Alvarez didn’t answer. Didn’t look at her either. He just sat there, hands resting on the table in front of him, eyes straight ahead, hooked into Vega while his expression grew darker and darkened by the second. That’s when she noticed the safety strap on his holster was unsnapped. She hadn’t seen him do it.

  Darlin’, we gotta talk …

  “There’s something you need to understand about me, Alvarez,” she said quietly, her tone held just above the gameshow chatter drifting in from the next room. “I’m not a patient person and I frustrate easily. Neither of those things are working in your favor right now.” She thumbed the Kimber’s safety off. “Where is she?”

  “Why are you asking me?” Alvarez turned his head just a bit, lowering his gaze before aiming it at her face. His hands twitched on the table in front of him, inching closer to its edge.

  Darlin’ …

  Sabrina sighed, ticking the barrel of the Kimber upward just a bit, aiming it at his knee. The movement stopped him cold. “Also, I hate repeating myself.”

  “Think about it,” Alvarez said, tone tight with anger. “If I knew where Ellie was, do you really think I’d be here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, walking toward him. “You’ve kinda gone off the rails today, Nulo.” Aiming the barrel of the Kimber center mass, Sabrina stooped slightly to lift the Glock off his hip. “Not that you’re exactly a poster boy for stability under normal circumstances.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said, watching her as she tucked his service weapon into the small of her back. His eyes bounced up to her face. “What happened?”

  “You tell me, Nulo.”

  “Please,” he sighed, hands curling into fists. “I need you to stop calling me that.”

  “Why?” she said, leaning against the counter. “It’s your name isn’t it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” he said, tone low and insistent. “My name is Mark Alvarez.”

  “But that’s not who you really are, is it?” She looked at Vega. He was staring at Alvarez like he was barely grasping what was happening around him. “It’s just a made-up name you gave yourself to try to restore the identity they took from you.”

  Melissa, I need you to listen now …

  “Who’s they?” he said, voice raised, face pale. “I don’t know what or who you’re talking about. I just came by to see Ellie—”

  “You’re lying,” she said through clenched teeth. She thought of the pair of women in the living room. “You didn’t come here to see Ellie because you took her. Just like you were going to take her mother.”

  “What?” He cut a look at Vega before shaking his head. “Why would I take Ellie’s mother?”

  “Because she’s the only one left to know who you really are.”

  Alvarez narrowed his eyes at her. “And who is it that you think I really am, Agent Vance?”

  “I think you’re a kid they used to call Nulo,” she said in a conversational tone that was at total odds with the tense set of her jaw. “I think you’re the guy who raped Rachel Meeks.” From the corner of her eye, she could see Vega stiffen in his seat and she shook her head at him, a warning to stay put. “I think you’re the guy who’s killed a half dozen women between here and Tucson. I think you’re the guy who planted evidence on Stephanie Adams to lure me here.”

  “No.” Despite his denial, it was obvious the name and her accusations affected him. He was shaking, gaze pinned to the table in front of him. “I’m Mark. Detective Mark Alvarez with the Yuma Police Department. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t take anyone.”

  “Sure you did, Nulo.”

  He shook his head, short choppy twists of his neck like he was trying to shake her loose. “Stop calling me that.”

  “You did all those things,” she said, chipping away at the façade he clung to. “They needed to pay for what they’d done to you. They threw you away. Pretended you never existed. I understand why you’d want to punish them. Your brother. Your father. They all abandoned you. Left you to rot … but what did any of those women ever do to you?”

  Alvarez’s hand curled into fists, knuckles pressing into the hard surface of the table. “Shut up.”

  “You know what I think?” she said, pushing at him with her words. “I think you killed those women because they got the second chance your mother never did.”

  Melissa …

  Alvarez shot up from the table, the chair slamming into the wall with the force of it. “I don’t have a brother. Or a mother and father. I don’t have anyone. I never did.”

  “That’s not entirely true, is it, Nulo?” she said, levering herself off the counter to face him down. “You had Wade.”

  Melissa …

  “You were there. You saw him the night he left Melissa Walker in the garden at Saint Rose,” she said to him, piecing it together as she went. “You saw what he did to her and you liked it.”

  “No.” He shook his head, looking at Vega, trying to find someone who believed him. “No, I saw someone, but I—”

  “You reached out to him. Wrote him letters and he wrote you back. Told you things.” She tightened her grip on the butt of the Kimber, so tight she couldn’t feel her fingers. “He made you feel like you belonged. Taught you how to kill.”

  “That never happened. I never wrote those letters,” Alvarez said, unclenching his hands. “When I saw them, how they were signed, I knew—”

  “That it was only a matter of time before you were caught. You knew we were working on finding Graciella. She was your aunt. The one who rented you the PO box. When you saw those letters, you left the station. You went to Saint Rose to kill Father Francisco—your father.” She smiled at him, the lift of her mouth feeling predatory. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that you didn’t quite get the job done.”

  Melissa …

  “What?” Alvarez looked like he’d just been punched in the gut and he turned, wheeling his gaze toward Vega, who’d been sitting quietly, growing more and more pale with each word spoken. “What is she saying?”

  “He protected you,” she said. “When I asked him who you were, your father refused to tell me, even though he had to have known who you were. What you’d done. He protected you, and you stomped his face in.”

  Alvarez sank into the chair he’d just vacated, shaking his head, his gut-punched stare replaced by one that said he was seconds away from vomiting.

  Sabrina!

  The word—her own name, shouted within the confines of her head—stopped her cold, forcing her to listen.

  It ain’t him. This guy, whoever he is … he ain’t him.

  Seventy-four

  Ellie opened her eyes to the dark. The kind of dark that can convince you that you’ve gone blind. Panic edging in on her. She couldn’t see. Her hands were still bound and she raised them to her face. Felt her eyes. They were open. Staring blindly.

  Pushing herself against the wall, she forced herself into a sitting position, pressing her bound hands into the floor to steady herself. The movement made her dizzy and she pressed her cheek against its cool surface. Face pressed so close, she caught the scent of something she’d smelled before.

  Blood—both old and new. The stench of it seeped out of the walls.

  Even though she was blind, she closed her eyes, forced herself to keep breathing. To not scream. She used her other senses to ground herself. The wall beneath
her cheek was rough. Made of cinderblock. Possibly concrete. Both were used often in desert construction, so wherever she was, it had to be close to home. She noticed again how quiet it was. No air conditioner’s distant hum. No whirl of fan blades. It was August in Arizona. Too hot outside to be without either. Composed, she dragged her feet underneath her. Another wave of dizziness washed over her, threatening to knock her back down.

  Underground. It made sense. Yuma was home to multiple military bases and boasted one of the world’s largest proving grounds. Nearly fifteen hundred miles of terrain, riddled with underground bunkers built as far back as the 1950s.

  She could be almost anywhere.

  Using her shoulder, she pushed herself up until she was standing straight. The back of her head peeled off the wall, coming away wet and sticky. Her gut was suddenly seized by a violent nausea and she lurched over just as her stomach rebelled, pushing its contents into her throat.

  She took a shuffling step forward, bound hands stretched out in front of her.

  She took step after shuffling step across the room, until her outstretched hands touched against one of the walls that surrounded her. No, not the wall. This surface was smooth, not rough like the cement walls she’d been pushed against. The door. She’d found the way out. She wrapped her fingers around the door handle and jerked. Nothing happened, the handle was fixed. Unmoving.

  It was locked.

  Reaching down, she fumbled for a few seconds, her arms bound and jerked askew, barely able to hook her fingertips into the front pocket of her pants. Pushing her finger deeper into her pocket, she felt it. A paper clip.

  She was getting out of here.

  Seventy-five

  “Yes, I was there that night, at Saint Rose,” Alvarez said, shaking his head, bouncing his gaze between her and Vega. “And I saw what had been done to that girl—but I never saw the guy who did it.”