"So, he told you about Martha being sick?"
"He told me she was sick and her dying wish is to see her eldest son—Connor Carmody—married. So, according to Daniel, Martha plans to pick one of the women from this high-class bar with women-only staff in Anchorage called Northern Lights. Allegedly, Connor returns from Ireland in two weeks. We want to get an agent in there to charm Mr. Carmody and to get close enough to the family so we can get the information we need to take them down for good."
"And you want me to be this agent?" I feel my face heat—from embarrassment of being chosen, from excitement, from the idea of being the main part of a task force, which will take down the biggest crime family in Anchorage.
"Yes. You're a good agent, you're beautiful, and relatively unattached compared to the other agents."
"Unattached? You mean, I don't have a family."
She sighs and glances down at her toes. "It's not an insult, Teresa. You're driven. You know what you want. It's not a weakness to be unattached. This is an opportunity of a lifetime and you're able to take it because you're not leaving a husband or any children behind."
"There's Aaron," I say. "Going undercover means I'll have to put my life on hold and I won't be able to contact anyone from my personal life for long durations of time. My relationship with Aaron is still rocky. I can't just…give up and run away to this fake life."
Rhoda looks up again and for the first time, I see sympathy on her face. "Teresa, I know you care about Aaron, but let's be realistic. Is that relationship going anywhere? The two of you have had a crazy road together and you're still figuring out who the other is. I've seen the two of you together. I've read the body language between the two of you…and you're both so uncertain about where you stand with the other. How long is a relationship like that going to last? Whereas, if you take this opportunity…it could make your career. This is what you'll be known for. You don't give that up. If I were a decade younger, I would snatch this up in a heartbeat. I love my husband, but I would end up resenting him if I hadn't taken this kind of opportunity. When you're in a relationship, there's three lives—your life, his life, and the life you have together. The life you have together is a lot more likely to end prematurely than the other two lives. Don't let an opportunity like this slip by because you're holding the life you have together up to a higher importance than your own life."
I shake my head, her words sinking in. She's right—I haven't worked this hard to keep working at a desk and taking small jobs like a missing judge's daughter. It was an amazing feeling to save Sarah Latham, but if I helped to take down the Carmody family, I would be affecting hundreds of people—it could cause Anchorage to change drastically.
"Can I think about it?"
"Connor returns in two weeks. You have thirteen days, at most, to decide."
I nod. Thirteen days. Why does everything always have to be on a deadline?
Chapter Six
Sarah (late Saturday afternoon)
As Elijah and I sit on the steps of the temple, I can smell the sweet scent of lilacs as a breeze comes through, lifting my hair away from my face and making me feel…celestial…more complete than I've ever felt. Maybe I've been deluded by all of these hyper-religious people or maybe I just feel like I'm among people who would understand me.
"So, you grew up here?" I ask.
"Mm-hmm." Elijah is sprawled on the stairs, propped up on his elbows. He watches as a few people walk by and look over the community, but always seems to be keeping me in his periphery. "I was five or six when my parents stopped holding meetings in our house and decided to build their own place of worship. They really wanted it to have a lot of windows to allow God's light to shine in. We built a house nearby, too, so we could always go into the temple to worship without much inconvenience. After that, some of the followers they accumulated wanted to have houses close to the temple, too. My parents gathered the funds from them to buy property and we all built the houses together. We wanted the houses to be humble, which is why they aren't in the best shape, but I like them. We tried to get a property tax exemption for the houses, but the government has resisted. Representative LaPonte promised to change that for us, but I suppose that was all a lie."
I lean against the stairs, mirroring him, as I position myself so I'm only an inch away from him. I see his chest rise and fall faster. I like that my presence makes him nervous, but not in the way I did before I killed Junior. Junior was afraid—his mind consumed with the idea his life was precious. Elijah seems to be consumed with me and I've never felt wanted in such a pure way. Maybe if I had tried to date religious men, they wouldn't have wanted me solely for sexual reasons…but I doubt it.
"Isn't it restrictive living in such a small community, though?"
"Mmm…maybe I've felt that way once in a while, but everyone here is my family and they all have the same goals—to serve God. It's so much easier to live in society when you all want the same thing."
"What happens if someone doesn't want the same thing?" I turn my head to look at him. "What if someone breaks one of the community's rules?"
He grimaces. "There's severe punishment for sins, but it's all done out of love. Everyone knows that."
"Severe punishment?"
He sits up. "Luke, chapter twelve, verse forty-seven," he mutters.
Before I can ask what that means, he gets onto his feet then walks over to a lilac bush in front of one of the huts. He picks a whorl of the purple flowers, walks back over, and gives them to me.
"Lilacs normally don't bloom this time of year, but Mrs. Raymond does something to them that keeps them going. She'll be pissed though if she knows I picked them, so if you see a lady that's under five feet tall with hair that's about half of her height, just shove it in your pocket."
"No…I can't ruin it," I say. "Thank you. They're beautiful."
"God's gift to man," he murmurs.
I catch his gaze and I'm still surprised to see his eyes are two different colors. I wonder if his father originally thought it was a gift or a curse from God.
"I thought Jesus was all about love and not judging people," I say as he sits beside me. "But it sounds like this group is a bit vengeful."
"It's not really vengeance…we have no personal vendetta against anybody, but we are children of God and we do what He asks us to do. He's made it clear some people need to be dealt with in order to save us from damnation."
"So…Jesus would be okay with killing LaPonte?"
"'Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.' Matthew, chapter 10, verse thirty-four. Luke, chapter twelve, section fifty-one echoes the same sentiment. People see Jesus as some peaceful hippie because that's how the media wants you to see Him in order to gain more followers, but that's not who He was. He was the son of an all-powerful God. He is meant to bring the Apocalypse. He is meant to throw the Beast and the false prophet into a lake of fire. He is loving and forgiving, but He is still a soldier and He will do what He has to do. Therefore, we must do what we have to do. Of course, it's understandable that you find the idea of killing LaPonte upsetting, but it's something—"
"It doesn't upset me." My bluntness surprises me. I hesitate before speaking again. "He killed his sister."
Elijah's eyes widen—the blue and brown irises making me think of two separate souls in one body. Since I have blue eyes, blue must be the evil soul and the brown must be the good soul. The one that makes me feel wanted and cared for.
"Zoë? The girl murdered on the side of the road? Are you sure?"
I nod. "You're just going to have to trust me on this one."
"Of course, I trust you." He cups the side of my face, the calluses on his finger faintly scratch against my skin. "I think God sent you here to be part of His grand plan. This is even more evidence LaPonte is the White Horseman, so compelled to win everything he would kill his own flesh and blood. He's a new Cain. An antichrist. There's my father. We have to tell him."
<
br /> He bounces back onto his feet and rushes to his father who looked like he was walking toward the gate doors. I slowly follow behind him.
"Father," Elijah says before stopping in front of him. "Sarah just told me LaPonte killed his sister."
"The lesbian?" His lip curls up in disdain. "I thought she was killed by a tourist in an accident."
"That's what LaPonte wanted people to believe," I mumble, shoving my hands into my pockets. I felt better after divulging to Elijah, but I feel like sharing with his father is a bit too much. "But I remember a conversation I overheard him having when I was a kid…I'm sure he killed her on purpose. It wasn't an accident."
He shakes his head in disgust. "We need to take care of him. For all we know, he has killed more people and I just heard that going to be starting his campaigning tomorrow. We have to take care of him before he talks to too many people. We can't allow him to spread his false prophecy."
"I have to go seek guidance from God." He rubs his forehead then walks back toward one of the huts.
Elijah's eyes seem to sparkle with excitement as he grabs my hand. "I have something you should see. I have a feeling you'll really like it."
He leads me through the huts until we're behind all of them and all I can see is a field of vegetables growing. He guides me past the carrots and potatoes until we reach a small cauliflower plot. He crouches down, grabs the cauliflower in the center, and pulls on it. The whole plot suddenly lifts up, revealing it's a door. I peer under it to see a metal stairway.
"What the hell—I mean, heck," I mutter. "Are you guys all secret spies, too, or is this a bomb shelter?"
"Neither," he says. "Go ahead, walk down."
"And how do I know you're not a serial killer who's leading me down to where you'll murder me?"
"I would never kill you," he says. There's such honesty in his eyes that I have to look away from him.
I take my first step down. "That's romantic. Do you tell all the girls you won't murder them?"
"What girls?"
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, my breath catches in my throat. Now this place is holy.
There are racks filled with all types and brands of weapons—AK-47s, M16s, Walther P99s, various Colts, compact semi-automatic handguns, fighting knives, two crossbows, pipe bombs, smoke bombs, and what appear to be Molotov cocktails.
"What do you think?" he asks.
I turn to him, and I know there's a big grin on my face. "This is…amazing. It's the most beautiful room I've ever seen. Can I check some of it out?"
"Sure," he says. "Just not the bombs. I trust you, but my father has a big rule about not touching them."
"Do you do everything your father tells you?"
He blinks. "Of course."
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I walk over to the crossbow and pick it up off its wall mount. It's painted black, seems to be made of alloy with a scope on top of it, and feels pretty heavy for its size.
"I've never used one of these before," I tell him, propping it up to look through the scope.
"Does that mean you've used guns, knives, and bombs?" He teases.
I bite my bottom lip, looking over my shoulder at him. "Maybe a couple of them." As I peer through the scope again, I feel his fingertips trail across my back. Anytime any other man has done something like that, it has felt predatory and simply a lead up in their desperate attempt to get into my pants. But with Elijah, it feels comforting—almost like a reminder that he's there.
"Do you know how to use it?"
"I don't," I say.
"Maybe I can show you sometime."
"I'd like that." As I put the crossbow back onto its wall mount, I hear voices above us. One of the voices—deep and overenunciating certain words—is unmistakably Walter LaPonte. The other sounds like Elijah's father. I walk over to the stairs, leaning against it, trying to hear what they're talking about.
"This is not religious persecution." LaPonte fumes. "I am simply trying to get into office and I can do that best if I don't associate myself with Alpha and Omega Temple."
"You'd rather put your personal goals before God?" Elijah's father snarls. "You think God will care if you win some election? You think He will care when He sends His son down to bring the Apocalypse?"
"The Apocalypse isn't coming, Jonah. Stop thinking it is. You are going to be very disappointed."
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to gaze at Elijah.
"We shouldn't be eavesdropping," he says. "It's disrespectful to both of them. Come look at the knives. We have all kinds of them."
"Are you really that loyal to your father?" I ask. "What are you—twenty-five or twenty-six years old?"
"I'm twenty-five," he says, "but that doesn't change my relationship with my father."
"It should." I shake my head, the disappointment setting in. I follow him over toward the knives, but I can't pay much attention as he talks about them. All I can think about is my own father, how hard I worked to get out from under his control, and now that he knows I killed Junior, he will be able to control me that much more. He will always be able to hold that over my head.
Unless he's dead.
Chapter Seven
Aaron (late Saturday afternoon)
I received the call that LaPonte was returning home after I went to Nick's grave and then to The Charcoal Grill to look over some notes about his murder. Now, I'm sitting in my car, watching LaPonte's house. It's truly a beautiful home—two floors, white, with several windows and a cobblestone driveway. Maybe beautiful isn't the right word—it appears expensive without being so extravagant that his voters would think he couldn't understand what it was like to be poor or middle class. Otherwise, it's relatively boring.
Another police car drives up and parks in front of me. I open my door, step out, and head over to the other car.
Greg Stalinksi rolls down his window. "How was it today?"
"Oh, you know…all-day action," I drawl. "Car chases and bomb squads…the whole thing."
He smirks. "I'd think after the last year, you'd want a boring job for a while."
"True…" I say, "but…with so many open murder cases, I wish we'd have some breakthrough."
"We can't win them all."
"That's not us winning or losing. It's their families that are just…lost." I tap my hand on the top of his car. "I'm going to go in and tell LaPonte we're switching spots."
"Sounds good. Tell him to keep the porch light on."
"Right."
I jog up to his front door and ring the doorbell. Half a minute passes by before the door swings open.
"Hey, Chief Grant," he says. "Or is it still acting chief of police?"
"I'm still acting chief of police, but Chief Grant is fine. I just wanted to tell you Detective Stalinski is going to be taking over for the next six hours."
"Good. Greg is a good guy. You are, too," he says. "Thanks for doing all of this. I still think it's unnecessary, but I appreciate it."
"We just want to make sure you're safe. You've lost a couple of people close to you now…and…I know what that's like."
He nods. "It's hard. I wanted Junior to be with me as I campaigned and my sister would have been a great advisor."
"I remember Zoë was always great in a courtroom." I muse. "Since she was a defense lawyer, she frustrated the hell out of me, but I had to respect how she could tug at the jury's heartstrings."
"She was talented."
"Do you ever wish you could have caught the tourist who shot her? I mean, if it was a tourist—"
"It was a tourist. And, of course, I wish I knew who did it, but it's in the past. There's no point in digging it up now. Nothing will bring her back. It was an accident. I'm not going to hold a grudge against someone because they accidentally shot her. It's over. That's all that matters…it's over."
My forehead furrows. Everything about him is off. His body language and face are too relaxed and he's listing off excuses for his sister's murderer. Instead o
f being somber, angry, or avoidant of the subject, he seems apathetic about it. He might as well be telling me a story about how he found a T-shirt that was ten percent off.
"Do you ever miss her?" I ask, cautiously choosing my words. There's still a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.
"Of course. We grew up together. She was my sister. How could I not miss her?"
I nod. "Of course. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's just nice to talk to someone who also lost people close."
"There are programs for that," he says, a note of finality in his voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I was planning to start making my dinner."
"Of course." I step away from his door, pivot on my heel, and walk back to my car. I wave at Greg as I pass by. I get into my car, closing the door, but I don't start it.
LaPonte's attitude toward his sister's murder was too bizarre. The official report said Walter and Junior found Zoë together. Could they have killed her together? Or would it have just been LaPonte? I know the other LaPontes were angry because Zoë was dating Wendy Norris, and she actually left LaPonte's law firm in order to create her own firm with Wendy.
Could the rivalry between the LaPontes and Norris have caused Walter to go crazy over his sister becoming a partner—both professionally and romantically? Or maybe he was just afraid with her being a lesbian, he would push away possible supporters for his political plight.
And now he wants to become the governor of Alaska. If he's a murderer, I can't let that happen. The last thing a murderer needs is more power.
I grab my phone and click on Teresa's number before I think too much about the fact that I'm calling her. This is more important than our relationship right now.
"Hey," she answers. "What's going on? Are you done with work?"
"Yeah, but that's not why I called."
"Oh?"
"Do you think LaPonte could have killed his sister?"
Blood Moon: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Detective Kidnapping Series Book 3) Page 3