by Jonas Saul
“I still disagree with that cell phone move, but it’s your call, so to speak.”
Comments like that rankled her. She could argue how she didn’t like that he pulled Willow out of Bruno’s protection a day too early several weeks back, which ultimately led to Bruno’s death, but she didn’t. In fact, no one called him out on that mistake. Or that he led Bruno’s killer to their meeting place. Horrid mistakes cost lives and they were all guilty of a few, but sending her cell phone with Parkman was a strategic move sanctioned by her sister. It allowed her this short stop which was supposed to save lives.
She could use some validation from time to time. Maybe even a little trust on these sorts of issues.
“Aaron,” she whispered. “How long have we been doing this?”
“Too long.”
“I’ll agree on that point.” She took a breath to compose herself. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with him today. “Then trust the process. Please. I’ve got enough to deal with right now that I don’t want a Doubting Thomas at my side.”
“Ouch.” The tone of his voice gave away the pain he felt at that comment.
She angled toward him, wondering why she was now consoling him.
“Aaron, there’s a lot going on. For fuck sakes”—her façade crumbled and anger rose—“let me do this my way so we can get through this shit and go back to our normal lives, please.”
Aaron stared out the windshield at nothing. “Normal lives? When is it ever normal?”
“You want that conversation?” Her voice rose, unbidden. “Today of all days?”
He faced her. “No, not today.”
“Then when? Huh? We going back over our relationship, too? You want out? You want in? Tell me, where’s this all coming from now?”
He stared at her, his eyes glazing over, and she understood.
Bruno.
Deep down inside, Aaron knew he’d got their dear friend killed. No one held him accountable for it, and he suffered the burden in silence. So, his answer to that pain was to reject what they did, blame it on their process, and lash out.
That understanding softened her resolve to some degree.
“When this is over, we will deal with what you’re going through.” She slapped his shoulder, then peered at his wounded hands where they rested on the steering wheel—the same hands that beat Bruno’s killer to a bloody pulp, killing him. “We will heal from our losses.” Sarah spun away and opened the car door, then stopped with one foot outside the car. “Now is not the time,” she said, staring down at the grass lining the road. “But I will say this, I love you and I forgive you for what happened to Bruno. You made an honest mistake, a stupid one, but it was a mistake nonetheless. And you risked your life to fix that mistake and save your child. For that I’m thankful. But that’s the man I need now. Don’t fight me, fight with me, do what is needed, and we’ll get through this shit together and in one piece.”
Then she was out of the car and striding across the parking lot without another word, wiping at her eyes. She glanced skyward a moment, whispered Bruno’s name, and kept walking as the doors to the church opened and dispelled dozens of well-dressed churchgoers.
She only hoped she wasn’t too late.
Swimming upstream through the crowd exiting the religious building, she managed to access the church and even get several feet into the front area, but no pastor stood on the pulpit.
Am I too late?
Had he already left through the back? How would she recognize him? He had to be dressed in the usual religious garb of some sort.
She jogged down the center of the nave, eying everyone, dodging people still filing out of the rows of pews.
Near the front, making his way behind the pulpit toward a door wedged into the back wall, was a man dressed all in black.
Sarah picked up her pace, slowed near the front and raised an arm.
“Excuse me,” she shouted.
The man she was told would be Pastor Blair glanced over his shoulder, then stopped to take her in. She thought she saw something in his eyes, like he recognized her, which was entirely possible. The local papers often picked up stories and pasted her visage on their cover, their news feeds. She moved forward, approaching from the center of the nave, her hand still elevated.
“I need a word,” she said, staring at him.
His face clouded over as if he was about to say he didn’t have time, but something made him change his mind. Body language was everything.
She caught him. She was able to stop him in time. But didn’t Vivian say his sermon ended in another half an hour or something?
“Finished early today?” She moved to within a few feet of him, then stopped, blocking his view of the main church area, where the din lowered by the second as parishioners continued to exit the large front doors.
“What can I do for you?” The pastor’s tone was all business.
“You have somewhere else you need to be.” It was more of a statement than a question. “I get that, I really do. But I came with a message.”
“A message?” He leaned back until his shoulder blades rested on the door he had been about to pass through. He crossed his arms. “From whom?”
“Where it comes from isn’t so important.”
“I’m intrigued. Carry on. Deliver your message.”
In this church, standing in front of a man of God, her message from Vivian would sound weak and pathetic, but she was bound to send it. Not only that, it was her job to deliver the essence of the message. In other words, Pastor Blair had to believe her.
“Your life is in danger.”
She expected him to burp out a laugh, raise an eyebrow, discount her as a heretic, or even accuse her of threatening him. But that unchanged stoic look on his face was not what she anticipated at all.
“You’re that girl the media talks about sometimes.”
She nodded once.
“You see things.”
She nodded again.
“You’re aware what the Bible says about seers and prophets?”
One more nod.
“And so I’m to listen to you regarding this message?”
“If you know who I am, then you know what I’m telling you to be true. Go home. Stay safe. The threat won’t last long.”
“Why’s that?”
“Whatever the threat is, I understand it’ll dissipate for you within a day or two, providing you stay hidden.”
“You mean go underground?”
Something caught his eye and he turned to the side, waved a hand and nodded.
Sarah followed his gaze and saw a middle-aged woman with a teenaged girl.
“Your wife and daughter?”
Pastor Blair nodded. “Are they safe?”
“For the next forty-eight hours, no one is.”
“Well, then, I’ll do as you say. The next two days are more administrative days for me anyway. I can work from home.”
“Good. Pull the curtains.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pull the curtains. Stay away from windows. Have someone stay with you. Hire private security. I don’t care what you do, but I’ve been told someone’s coming today or tomorrow, and I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve it or if you’re a random choice, but the information I have is solid. Stay out of sight.”
He relaxed his arms and let them fall to the side. “I will do as you say, Miss Roberts.”
“You know my name.” She smiled.
“I was trying to recollect your name from the recent attempt on your child’s life in the news. Then it just popped into my head.”
Sarah glanced down for a brief moment. “That was a sad time for us.” She looked back up and met his gaze. “But that’s over. The man who shot at my daughter is no longer with us.”
“With us?”
“On this side of the ground.”
“Ahh, of course. Well”—he adjusted his vestments—“I shall be off. I have an officer waiting to speak with me.”
“Why, yes. Is he part of this attack on me?”
“Attack on you?” the woman to Sarah’s right echoed the pastor’s words.
Sarah turned to her as Pastor Blair spoke up.
“It’s okay, Madison.” He raised a hand for calm. “I’ll speak with the officer and return out here to take us home. At that point, I’ll go into further details as to what Miss Roberts has told me.”
The pastor’s wife eased back a few steps, the grief on her face undiminished.
Sarah leaned in closer. “Why are the authorities here?”
Pastor Blair shrugged. “I have no idea. Perhaps he came with a message as well. Would you like to join us?” He made to open the door.
Sarah thought about the uniforms stopping at her apartment, no doubt hassling her babysitter, and the units pinging her phone. She was supposed to be en route to the police station and Aaron was waiting. The last thing she needed was to be taken by the cop at the back of the church.
“No, I’ve delivered my message and I believe you when you said you’d take precautions.”
“Then you are right in your assumptions. I will do as you’ve asked as it would appear to be of no hardship to save myself.”
Sarah didn’t take his comments as sarcasm. The man spoke from the pulpit, he was well read, and presumably communicated in such official tones often.
“Check ID.”
He had opened the door to the back of the church when he stopped.
“Say again?”
“Check ID. Make sure it’s a real cop.”
Something clouded over in his eyes. Was it fear or doubt she observed?
“You think the danger comes in the form of a uniformed police officer from the Toronto Police Services?”
She shook her head briefly. “I didn’t say that. But under the auspices of the current threat you’re facing, everyone’s a suspect.”
“Everyone?”
Sarah nodded.
“Even you?”
She offered him a wry smile. “Even me. Although, I’m leaving and you won’t see me again—at least not over the next few days.”
Pastor Blair nodded. “Farewell, Miss Roberts. God be with you.”
“You as well, Pastor.”
She pivoted on her heels, nodded at the pastor’s wife—Madison—and the teenager who seemed to be staring at her wide-eyed.
On her way back through the nave, Sarah figured that the young girl must have recognized her as well. At least that was the expression on her face, one of recognition.
Perhaps Sarah was getting too well known in the Toronto area. Maybe it was time they moved somewhere more discreet.
She’d talk to Aaron about it when this mess was over.
As she stepped back out into the sunshine, something was bothering her but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Why were cops here? What did they already know? Had they neutralized the threat? And if the cops were here, why would Vivian send Sarah to warn the pastor?
When she got to the car, she dropped into the passenger seat and Aaron started it up.
“Can you drive around back for a moment?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“Vivian said this pastor’s life was in danger and all I had to do was warn him.”
“And did you?”
“I did. But the cops are here. Something just doesn’t feel right about it.”
Aaron put the car in gear and started forward. “And you want to see a cop car to confirm for yourself they’re legit?”
Sarah nodded. “Something like that.”
“You know how rare it is for bad guys to dress up as cops? Or real cops that have gone rogue?”
“The numbers are so low as to be almost unrecognizable.”
“Exactly.” He was steering through the parking lot now toward the back.
“But we only need one.”
She detected his eyes on her.
“Well, that’s true,” he affirmed.
At the back of the building, a dozen cars were parked in various spots, none of them police cruisers.
“Could be a detective, driving a personal vehicle,” Aaron offered as he slowed their car.
Sarah scanned the vehicles and saw none that resembled an unmarked cruiser. A white carpet van was parked near the back door. People were milling around, some chatting, some strolling lazily to their vehicles.
The pastor’s wife was inside the church. If something was to go wrong with the pastor, someone would see it. The danger probably wasn’t here. It would be at his home, later in the evening. Maybe she should’ve told him to go to a hotel for a couple of nights.
“This worries me.”
“Did he take your warning seriously?” Aaron rested a forearm on the top of the steering wheel, leaning forward in his seat.
“From what I could gather, yes he did.”
“Then let’s go see DeOcampo before she puts out a BOLO on you.”
Aaron was right. She’d delivered the message. Now it was up to the pastor to save himself.
Besides, who would kill, or even hurt a man who worked for God?
Chapter 4
Pastor Alden Blair, rattled by Sarah Roberts’s warning, stepped into the back office where the police officer was still waiting.
“I apologize for making you wait.”
The man pushed up out of the chair he’d been resting in and adjusted his suit jacket. “It’s fine.”
“Can you tell me what this is regarding?” Pastor Blair hadn’t moved into the office more than a few feet before stopping.
“My partner is out back. We’d like to discuss this with you together.”
“Can I see some ID?” He moved closer. “I mean, I trust you, but you’re supposed to carry a badge, correct?”
The man withdrew a brown wallet from inside his jacket pocket, then flipped it open and held it out for the pastor to read.
“Officer Joseph Barnes,” Pastor Blair read out loud. He moved back again, keeping his distance without any specific reason. “Looks real enough to me.”
Barnes smirked, then frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be real?”
Pastor Blair thought about telling him what Sarah had said, but chose otherwise.
“Nothing really. I just rarely have the authorities visit me unless they’re in the nave.”
Barnes nodded as if he understood. “Well, as I said, my partner is in the parking lot in the back if you’ll join us for a quick chat. It won’t take long, I assure you.”
Barnes started toward the door. Blair followed.
“Has something happened to one of my parishioners?”
Barnes glanced over his shoulder. “This has to do with you and your wife.”
Blair’s step faltered. “My wife? Now I’m confused.”
“We’re here due to a credible threat.”
They made it to the rear hallway and were steps from the back door.
“Credible threat?” Blair’s thoughts raced back to the conversation he’d just had with Sarah. “What sort of threat?”
He couldn’t imagine someone had targeted him for violence in any way. What had he ever done to cross someone? His youth was littered with small mistakes, but nothing he could imagine would come back to haunt him years later with the threat of violence.
Well, there was one thing … but no one could ever link him to that. In fact, that one thing inspired him to become a pastor in the first place.
The detective opened the back door and light streamed in. Pastor Blair squinted in the brightness and followed the man outside. The rear of a carpeting van was wide open several feet from the church’s back door.
“My partner, Beverly Wilder,” Barnes said by way of introduction.
Blair nodded at her as she jumped out of the back of the van. “You’re traveling in a carpet van?” He couldn’t hide the surprise in his tone.
Wilder addressed
Barnes. “Isn’t his wife and daughter here, too?”
Barnes nodded. “You want them out here?”
“This man’s life is in danger. I think it’s important they hear it, too. They’re family.”
“I’ll get them.” Barnes disappeared back inside the church.
“My life is in danger?” Pastor Blair repeated, a note of humor in his voice. “This must be some sort of prank.”
Wilder leaned in the van, blocking his view. “No prank, Father.”
“Actually, I’m a pastor. You can call—”
Wilder spun around abruptly, cutting off Pastor Blair. He had no time to respond.
She held a baseball bat in her hands and was swinging for his head. Blair took evasive action by rearing back, his arms coming up, but the long chunk of wood connected with his skull before he could get out of its reach.
Knees buckling, he fell but didn’t hit the concrete. The woman dropped the bat and wrapped her arms around him, dragging him toward the open maw of the back of the van. With one hard push, she shoved his upper body inside, then grabbed his legs and angled them in far enough so the doors would close.
Somewhere in the darkness of his consciousness, his head reeling, he felt all this and knew what was happening, but was unable to respond.
Blair tried to open his eyes but they weren’t responding. He lost consciousness—like snatches of time gone—and the van was moving now.
His eyes fluttered open, but he had trouble moving his body.
Someone was crying.
A shoulder nudged him. With great effort, he was able to glance to his left.
His wife stretched out beside him, blood streaming from a wound to her forehead.
His eyebrows drooped, which was followed by a great pain shooting through his head. He blinked, tried to see who was crying, and blinked again.
On the other side of Madison, the cop was unconscious, blood on his forehead, too. He couldn’t recall the cop’s name, but wondered why he was knocked out. Would he do it to himself?
Thoughts disarranged, feeling dazed and sick, he searched the back of the van for the person crying but couldn’t find them.