Come hell or high water he was going to keep a madman from killing the woman he loved.
THIRTY-ONE
John found Bradley’s Lexus parked behind the church. He sloshed through ankle-high water to a door on the north side of the building. He tried the knob, but found it locked. Through the pouring rain he spotted another door, possibly leading to what had once been the rectory. He jogged to it, tried the knob, found it locked.
Frustration hammered at him as he looked around. He thought about shooting off the lock, but nixed the idea. He had to find a way in without alerting Bradley or he risked the other man killing Julia before he could reach her. The thought filled him with a horror so black that for a moment he was frozen.
Hang on, he silently told her. I’m coming for you.
Struggling to stay calm, he looked around and spotted a row of jalousie windows. Crossing to them, he cupped his hands and tried to peer inside, but saw only darkness. If this was the rectory, there was probably a door or two separating it from the main part of the church. The perfect place to make entry without being discovered.
Blinking back rain, John reached for the glass slat closest the crank inside. He tried to work it free, but the glass remained snug. Cursing, he abandoned the first louver and went to the next. Hope surged when he found it loose. Quickly, he forced it from the sash bar and tossed it to the ground. Thrusting his hand inside, he found the crank and opened the window. It seemed to take forever to remove the remaining slats, but in less than a minute he was through the window.
The interior was as dark as a crypt, but John’s eyes adjusted quickly. From the dim light slanting in from the street lamp he could see that he’d entered the chancel. The air was stagnant with the smell of rotting wood and mildew. Water dripped from his clothes as he crossed to the door that would take him to the nave. The door was open several inches. He peered through the crack. He saw the yellow glow of the candles. A fluted pillar stood between him and the high altar. But he could see Parker Bradley silhouetted against the light. Lying on the table before him was Julia. Rage coursed through John when he saw that Bradley had cut the clothes from her body. He fought a surge of desperation, reminding himself he wouldn’t do either of them any good if he charged in without some kind of plan.
He opened the door another inch and tried to get a better look, but the wide pillar partially blocked his view. He could hear Bradley chanting. Julia, he realized, had been gagged. John could hear her whimpering, screaming into the tape.
Hang on . . .
His hands shook as he reached for the H&K in his waistband. He didn’t acknowledge the old fear, but it was there, taunting the fringes of his consciousness. He could feel his heart pumping hard in his chest, the slick of sweat on his skin even though he was soaked to the bone and shivering with cold.
Slowly, he shoved open the door and stepped into the transept. He could see Julia struggling against the binds now. She was wearing nothing but her underpants. Her flesh looked as white as snow in the dim light coming off the candles. The sound of her cries shook him badly. But he reminded himself that she was still alive. As long as she was still alive, it wasn’t too late.
Hang on.
He silently chanted the words like a mantra. He gripped the pistol with the desperation of a man hanging onto a lifeline. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking.
Never taking his eyes from Bradley, he slinked along the wall, the H&K ready in his hand. The hard ping of rain against the old roof was deafening, but the roar of blood through his veins was louder. John thought about taking the shot now. He so badly wanted to kill the other man he could taste it. But the pillar blocked his shot.
Every nerve in his body went taut when Bradley trailed the tip of the knife down Julia’s throat and between her breasts. She wrenched at the ropes binding her. Her cries grew more frantic. The knife glinted in the candlelight. And John knew that if he were discovered now, he wouldn’t be able to get to her in time to keep the other man from stabbing her in the heart.
Or cutting her throat . . .
He was in plain sight now. Thirty feet separated them. One wrong move and Julia would die. He was debating whether to take the shot or try to get closer when the sound of sirens carried over the pounding rain.
Bradley swung around, his eyes seeking, seeking . . .
Twelve years of training kicked in; John brought up the gun, took aim. “Stop or I swear to Christ I’ll put a hole between your eyes.”
Bradley didn’t look particularly worried. More like he’d been interrupted by some unruly child. But the tip of the knife was against Julia’s throat, less than an inch from her carotid artery . . .
“Put down the knife, you sick little prick.”
An eerily calm smile split Bradley’s face. “It you care about her, you will let me purify her before she stands in judgment before God.”
John decided on a body shot. Even with his hands shaking, he figured it gave him a fifty-fifty chance of hitting his mark. Two months ago, he would have already taken the shot and ended this. But his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. He could feel the sweat dripping down his temple and between his shoulder blades. He could hear his breaths echoing off the walls of the cavernous church. The old fear gripping him with sharp talons. Goddamn it, not now, he thought. Not now!
“Your hands are shaking, Detective Merrick.”
“Drop the knife. Now.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Look at you. Do you actually think you can hit anything when you can barely hold that gun?”
John flicked his gaze to Julia. Her glazed eyes told him she’d been drugged. Evidently the drug wasn’t strong enough to dull the terror. He saw it in her eyes, as sharp-edged as any razor. He hated seeing her like that, but he steeled himself against it. “You’re going to be all right,” he said to her. “Mitch is on his way along with SWAT.”
But even to him the words rang hollow . . .
“This would probably be a good time for me to mention I’m wearing body armor, as you cops like to refer to it.” Using his free hand Bradley untied the sash at his waist to reveal the Kevlar vest.
“In that case I’ll go for a head shot.”
Bradley looked amused. “From a man suffering with hoplophobia, that’s not a viable threat.”
John knew better than to engage him; he didn’t let himself react. But the fact that Parker knew his most private fear surprised him.
“Ah, yes,” Parker continued, “I know all about the cop you shot in Chicago. Fascinating reading. Benjamin was quite concerned and wanted to counsel you. After all, taking the life of an innocent man with a wife and children . . .” He tsked. “It can mess up a man’s head, can’t it?”
John said nothing, instead focused on moving ever so slightly to his left for a better angle.
“Ben thought your taking on the job to protect Julia would help you get back on your feet.” His gaze flicked to John’s shaking hands. “Had he known you were afraid of your own gun, I’m afraid he never would have hired you to protect his daughter.” The smile sharpened. “Lucky for me you failed to mention your little problem, wouldn’t you say?”
John should have already taken the shot, but the gun wobbled uselessly in his grip. He willed his hand to stop. Fear sweat dripped into his eyes.
Stop it, goddamn it!
But he didn’t trust his aim. Didn’t trust this son of a bitch not to do something crazy. If he missed . . .
“I’m sure the alcohol isn’t helping. I hear you’ve become quite the alcoholic. I hear the DTs can be quite . . . shall we say, uncomfortable.”
He focused on slowing his breathing, calming himself so he could take the shot. But when Julia cried out into the duct tape, his eyes flicked to where she lay bound. Within the depth of her gaze he saw terror and the will to live in its most primal form.
Hang on . . .
“She’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”
John looked at him. “Let her go an
d I’ll let you live.”
The other man only smiled. “She’s a whore, you know. A succubus. Once she seduces you . . . well, I’m sure you know the story.”
“You heard the sirens, Parker. It’s over. The cops have this place surrounded.” John sidled closer. “You have two seconds to drop that weapon or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Bradley ran the knife from her navel to the top of her underpants. “I could have this knife through her heart before the bullet reaches me. I could cut her breasts. Perforate her uterus and, if she doesn’t bleed to death first, render her barren.”
A drop of sweat trickled into John’s eye, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his left arm. In his right hand, the H&K wobbled uselessly.
Bradley saw it and his smile turned knowing. “Do you remember how it felt when you blew a hole through Franklin Watts’s belly? While you were sitting with him, trying to keep his intestines from spilling out all over the floor? Are you sure you want to risk this shot, Detective? Judging from the way your hands are shaking, you’ll miss. This knife is razor sharp. One slice and I’ll eviscerate her right before your eyes.”
“I won’t miss.”
“Ah, such utter certainty. But you lie.” Abruptly, Bradley reached out and ripped the tape from Julia’s mouth. “Would you like to hear her scream?”
“John!” Julia choked out his name. “Oh, God! He’s got a gun! He’s insane!”
The terror in her voice shook him badly. John knew that was what Bradley wanted. Why he’d removed the tape. He tried to steel himself against her screams, but he couldn’t stop the shaking.
She was still screaming when Bradley slid a chrome semiauto from beneath his robe. A triumphant light entered his eyes as he aimed it at John. “Now we even the scale,” he said.
Take the shot.
The pistol wobbled in John’s hand. Bradley ran the tip of the knife along the hollow of Julia’s throat. She screamed and yanked against the ropes. A thin trail of crimson followed the point this time. The sick fuck was cutting her, hurting her. And John knew that no matter what he did now this was not going to end well. The best he could do was pull off a shot and hope his aim was true enough to stop Parker.
“Such a pretty throat, don’t you think?” the other man cooed. “You’ve run you tongue along it, haven’t you? You’ve been inside her body, felt the heat of her lust wrapped around you.”
John fired. The weapon exploded like a stick of dynamite going off in his hand. He’d gone for a head shot. The other man’s body jerked like a puppet on a string. At first John thought he’d hit his mark. Then the other man’s hand went up. John caught a glimpse of chrome and a second explosion rocked his brain. The bullet slammed into his bicep like a baseball bat slamming in a home run. He felt the bone snap. An electrical shock of pain zinged down his arm to his fingers.
The pain sent him to his knees. He looked down, saw bright red blood dripping from his fingertips to the floor.
“John! John!”
Julia’s voice pulled him back from shock. He looked up, saw her struggling against the binds, her eyes wild with terror, her face as pale as death.
“I’m okay,” he ground out.
But he wasn’t. The amount of blood on the floor told him he was seriously injured. He looked at Bradley, noticed the blood on the right side of the other man’s head. John had hit his mark after all. Only Bradley was still standing.
“You shot off my fucking ear!” Bradley screamed, his voice high-pitched with panic. “You shot it off!”
Blood leaked between the Bradley’s fingers and dripped onto his shoulder. He’d dropped the knife; it lay on the floor at his feet. He held the pistol at his side, but his finger was no longer on the trigger.
Take the shot.
John glanced down, spotted the H&K on the floor two feet away. In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped up the gun with his left hand, brought it up. His vision tunneled on the spot between Bradley’s eyes. The other man lunged at his gun, but he wasn’t fast enough.
John fired four times in quick succession. He didn’t hear the blasts. Vaguely he was aware of the dark spray of blood on the altar. Parker Bradley collapsed. His body heaved twice and then he lay still.
Julia.
The room dipped as John crossed to her. He could hear her crying openly. Saying his name. His vision was beginning to gray. He prayed he could hang onto consciousness long enough to untie her . . .
“John.” She raised her head as he approached the table. “You came. I knew you would. Oh, dear God, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m okay.”
“No . . . your arm.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He tore off his jacket as he crossed to her. Even though it was wet, he covered her with it. “How badly are you hurt?”
“He cut me. I don’t think it’s bad. He drugged me.”
Using his left hand, John tugged down the jacket and looked at the thin trail of blood that ran from her throat to her collarbone. Relief swept through him when he realized the injury was minor.
“You’re going to be all right.” Using his left hand he untied the ropes binding her wrists. He couldn’t stand seeing her like that. More than anything he wanted to feel her arms around him. He wanted to feel her warm and alive against him.
Once her hands were free, she sat up and threw her arms around him. He could feel her trembling. Her tears were warm and wet against the side of his face. Her breaths came in fast, shallow bursts in his ear. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered.
“Me, too.”
“I’m sorry I missed the shot,” he said.
“You stopped him. John, you saved my life.” Pulling away, she gazed into his eyes. “I knew you would.”
“You were smart for making that call.”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of dying without ever telling you how much I love you.”
He wanted to respond, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what to say. There were too many emotions jamming up the pipeline. Blood loss was making him dizzy.
In the distance, he heard the cops making entry. Shouting. The sound of boots against concrete. He wanted to turn around, tell them everything that had happened, but he couldn’t seem to let go of Julia.
“Never . . . going to . . . let you go.” But he could feel his grip on her waning, his strength leaving him with every drop of blood that hit the floor at his feet. Surprise rippled through him when his knees buckled. He blinked at Julia, trying desperately to keep her face in focus. The face he loved more than his own life.
“Easy does it, bro.”
Somehow he’d ended up on the floor. He looked around. Mitch was kneeling beside him. “Let’s see if we can get that bleeding stopped,” Mitch said.
“Fucker shot me,” John murmured.
“No shit.”
“Bradley?”
Mitch shook his head.
“Good.” John looked for Julia; he didn’t like having her out of his sight. “Julia . . .”
“She’s okay, bro. You saved her life. You just lay still. You’re bleeding like a damn stuck pig.”
“Nice . . .”
Fighting dizziness, John raised his head and looked around. Julia was being tended to by a female patrol officer who’d brought her a warming blanket. A few feet away, Parker Bradley stared into eternity.
“You’re going to be okay,” Mitch said. “Ambulance is on the way. Just hang tight, buddy.”
Vaguely, John was aware of his brother taking his hand. He wasn’t sure why he thought of Franklin Watts at that moment, but he found himself wondering if he’d been as much of a comfort to the man as his brother was at that moment.
God, he hoped so.
And then he slipped into darkness.
EPILOGUE
Julia stood behind the counter at the Book Merchant counting petty cash and humming along with Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon.” Six days had passed since the terrible night Parker Bradley had tried to kill h
er. It was her first day back at the shop, and she was trying hard not to think about it. Hard to do when a single, violent event had changed her life so dramatically.
But it was incredibly healing to be back and doing what she loved. Some people might think that was a small thing, but not Julia. This tiny, dusty shop with its creaky floors and drafty windows was the center of her life. It was her home and her family rolled into one. She would never again take any of it for granted.
The nightmares were bad, but the therapist her father had recommended told her they wouldn’t last. It was her mind’s way of dealing with an emotional and physical trauma and putting it into perspective. Eventually, her therapist had said, Julia would be able to put it behind her and move on with her life. She hoped so.
She wasn’t the only person who’d been hurt that night. She certainly wasn’t the only one suffering. So was her father. The instant John called and told him about Parker Bradley, Benjamin Wainwright had chartered a private chopper from Baton Rouge and flown directly to the hospital where Julia had been taken. He’d rushed to her bedside like a protective mama bear fearing for an injured cub. He blamed himself for what had happened. After all, he had been the one to bring Parker Bradley into her life. Julia had tried to reassure him that was not the case. He’d had no way of knowing that beneath the benign facade lay the twisted heart of a killer. It was the first time in her life she’d ever seen Benjamin Wainwright cry.
The police had linked Bradley to the cemetery murder. Evidence found in his apartment also linked him to several other unsolved crimes in Baton Rouge and Shreveport. Crimes including stalking, sexual assault and murder. Julia had learned just that morning from Mitch that Parker Bradley had journaled much of his twisted obsessions and fanaticism. The journal told a chilling tale of an abused boy, a troubled teenager and a man’s decline into insanity.
She hadn’t seen John since that night when the EMTs had carried him away, bleeding and unconscious. He’d been transported to Charity Hospital; she’d been taken to Tulane. Only later did she learn that John had spent the first twenty-four hours in critical condition.
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