The Sleepless Stars

by C. J. Lyons

  “Like I’m going to get a priest killed? Do you not get it? They cannot take me alive. Period.”

  What the hell? He didn’t move anything except his eyes, sliding his gaze away from his sights for a precious second. “No one’s going to take you anywhere.”

  She blew out her breath in a huff and shook her head. He knew he’d missed something, something she’d been trying to tell him back up on the catwalk before she’d fled with her idiotic idea of a diversion—at least she hadn’t used the damn grenade. Speaking of... “Go. But give me the grenade first.”

  “No way.” She backed away from him. “I’m going up to the bell tower.” She grabbed a clutch of hymnals from a stack on a table near the entrance to the church’s nave. Threw down one after another as if leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.

  “Rossi, what the hell?” He couldn’t find the words to say anything more, not with his attention divided between her and his mission.

  Flynn sighed. “She’s right. Go with her. Protect her—more fun for me down here.”

  Rossi vanished through the arch into the cavernous main space of the cathedral. Ryder glanced back at Flynn. “There’s five of them, I can’t leave you.”

  “Don’t you get it? They want Angie’s DNA to experiment on.”

  Again, Ryder had no words. “Experiment?” he echoed. “Like hell.”

  “That’s why they need her alive. If I can stop them, great. If not, then you take care of the rest, and she won’t need that grenade. Then maybe Louise can figure all this genetic bullshit out and save the kids. If not,” she shrugged, “been good knowing you.”

  More footsteps approached. These were slow and thoughtful. Determined men moving into tactical positions.

  “Go,” Flynn repeated. “I got this.”

  Echoes of Rossi’s steps pounding up the stairs to the choir loft thudded through the church. A blind man with a deaf guide dog could follow her trail. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

  Neither was Ryder. “Thanks, Flynn.”

  He turned and ran after Rossi. She’d just reached the door at the top of the bell tower when he caught up with her.

  “No.” She shook her head at him. “You need to help Flynn.”

  Before he could answer, the sound of gunfire reverberated through the ancient space, echoing from the cathedral’s stone walls like ricochets. Flynn taking fire.

  Ryder reached past Rossi to push the heavy wooden door open, glancing around the bell tower to assess its tactical properties. Cover: none. Lines of sight: three hundred and sixty degrees for the area outside, only the doorway for the interior. Only thing the place had going for it were the thick stone walls and the almost as thick wooden door. Enough to stop a bullet or shotgun slug.

  “Get out there.” He pushed Rossi through the door, then changed his mind and leaned into her for a quick kiss. As soon as they parted, her eyes wide and stunned, he closed the door between them, holding it shut with one hand, leaving her trapped on the outside.

  She tried to yank the door open, pounded her fists against the wood, but he barely heard it as he focused all his senses on the spiral stone steps leading down. Last line of defense, he had to hold strong.

  Unfortunately, as far as tactical advantages, the narrow landing at the top of the steps where he stood had even less going for it than the tower outside.

  The gunfire below stuttered to a stop. Ryder waited. At the sight of the first muzzle inching around the curve of the steps, he fired. Was rewarded with the heavy thud of a man falling. But then the bullets came flying toward him. The first few caught him in his vest.

  The next felt as if it exploded in his head. He almost dropped his weapon, slumped to the ground just as the door behind him opened. He wanted to shout at Rossi to stop, to close it, to stay safe. The words floated through his brain like intangible wisps, and even though his mouth was moving, no sound escaped.

  <<<>>>

  DEVON HEARD GUNFIRE coming from the tunnel leading to St. Tim’s. He drew his pistol and raced in that direction, but by the time he reached the exit to the cathedral, the sound had died. Cautiously, he climbed the steps to the church basement, then up to the main floor. There he found two dead men in firemen’s suits lying on the stairs. At the top of the steps, Flynn sat in blood, struggling to use a windbreaker as a tourniquet, blood gushing from a wound in her thigh.

  “There’s still three more,” she said through clenched teeth as Devon knelt to wrap his belt around her leg. A thin scream emerged from her when he wrenched it tight, but the blood slowed to a trickle. “One’s wounded, not sure about the other two. Would’ve had them but ran out of ammo.”

  “Angela?”

  “She and Ryder went up to the bell tower. She won’t let them take her alive. Has a grenade.” Her voice was going blurry, and her eyes fluttered as she fell back, limp.

  “What’s going on here?” Father Vance bellowed as he approached from the cathedral, carrying a heavy candlestick as a weapon.

  “Shhh, they’re still here.”

  “Where? I didn’t see anyone. Who?”

  “Can you call an ambulance? Take her out the back alley?” The bell tower faced the front entrance, and the last thing Devon wanted was to get any paramedics shot. But Flynn couldn’t wait for help much longer.

  “Yes, of course.” Vance knelt and gathered Flynn in his arms. He was a former bodybuilder, her thin frame no match for his strength.

  Knowing Flynn was in good hands, Devon kept moving through the cathedral, pistol at the ready. More gunfire came from the front of the church, above him. The choir loft. He sprinted toward it.

  A man’s body lay at the foot of the steps leading up. Carefully, he stepped over it and climbed, sighting his pistol. A second flight of steps kept going up to the bell tower above. Before he could make the turn and continue up, a man stepped out from behind the massive organ and aimed a semiautomatic at him.

  At first, he thought the man was going to shoot. He was a few inches shorter than Devon, with dark, Mediterranean looks. Devon took a chance. “Lazaretto? I’m Devon Price.”

  “Mr. Price. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now. Seeing as how you’ve reneged on our deal.”

  “You need me alive if you want Angela Rossi.”

  “I think not. My brother has her cornered in the bell tower above us.”

  “Then there’s no time to argue. She’s got a grenade, and she won’t be taken alive.”

  Chapter 40

  I’D BARELY HAULED Ryder through the doorway when another man—Grey, Ryder had called him—appeared, aiming a pistol at us. “Let him go, Angela.”

  Grey spoke as if he knew me. Given his dark hair and eyes, maybe he did. If he was a Lazaretto, then we were probably related.

  I ignored him and tugged against Ryder’s weight, trying to get his body clear of the door in time to slam it shut, protect us both. His scalp was bleeding. It looked like only a graze, but even a graze could result in a skull fracture and hemorrhage. Ryder muttered something and tried to focus on me, all good signs, but then he went limp once more.

  Grey began moving up the steps before I could get the door closed. Using the grenade was out of the question. Not with Ryder there with me. Instead, I bent and grabbed his pistol.

  “Stop!” I screamed, raising the gun with shaking hands. But Grey didn’t. He kept coming at us, his own pistol aimed not at me, but at Ryder. “Please,” I begged. “Stop.”

  “You’re not going to shoot anyone. Put the gun down, Angela,” he said, his tone absolutely calm and certain as he reached the doorway. “Now. Or I shoot Detective Ryder.” He knew I would do anything to protect Ryder. Including give myself up.

  He was right. I would do anything to protect Ryder.

  But Grey was wrong about me not shooting him. I was shaking so badly I might have missed if he hadn’t been walking toward us. The boom of the gun made my entire body jerk. I felt the vibration as my finger kept squeezing the trigger over and over—but the top part of
the gun had slid open, and I realized that one shot was my last and only chance.

  Grey took another step toward us. I tried to cover Ryder’s body, knowing that whether I surrendered or not, this man would leave no witnesses behind. Grey used both hands to steady his aim, but as he reached the doorway, he sank to one knee. His expression turned to one of shock.

  I stood between him and Ryder—there was no way Grey could shoot without hitting me. I waited, wondering what it would feel like when the bullet struck.

  He sank back, leaning against the wall to his left, still holding the gun with both hands, now aimed at the floor. He kept trying to raise it, but it was as if gravity simply refused to cooperate. His mouth formed words I couldn’t hear, and flecks of blood flew free with them.

  There was no wound that I could see, not until his body sagged to one side and his coat flapped open. A small ring of blood and charred fabric at his upper-right abdomen, just below the edge of his bulletproof vest. Little bleeding externally, which was a bad thing—for him.

  I couldn’t simply let him die. Not only because I was a doctor—and definitely not because I’m any kind of good person. But Grey knew things, had information that could help save the children. If I could first save him.

  Cautious of the pistol he still gripped, I crawled toward him. He didn’t seem to remember that he even held a weapon. His face filled with terror, and he cringed back against the wall, as far away from me as he could get.

  Suddenly, he was my father, all those years ago. “No.” His plea was choked with blood. “No.”

  “I’m a doctor. Let me help.”

  Words gone, he shook his head. His color had gone gray, and sweat coated him. Shock. He didn’t have much time left.

  “Please,” I coaxed him. “I can—”

  A spray of pink mist and the shockwave of another gun firing from the doorway seemed to come simultaneously. In slow motion, I watched Grey’s head snap backward, most of his brain emerging from the shattered remnants of the back of his skull.

  Adrenaline cut through my shock, and I whirled to face the new threat. Another man stood in the doorway, a satisfied smile on his face as he turned his aim on Ryder, now exposed. Tyrone, Grey’s accomplice. And brother, if what they’d told Ryder was true. Lazarettos, like me. The thought filled my mouth with bile.

  “What did you do?” I asked, not caring that this was not the time for either conversation or recrimination. I staggered to my feet, stepping in front of Ryder, putting myself between him and Tyrone. “I was trying to help him. Why—”

  “He would have rather died than let you touch him, dear Angela. I did my duty, as did he. Besides, only one can return triumphant, bringing the prize home.”

  “Prize? What prize?”

  “You, Angela. You are the prize.” Tyrone tried to step to where he’d have a clear shot at Ryder, but I moved to block him once more.

  This do-si-do was getting us nowhere. I lunged for the ledge, where I had a view of the entire city, including the more than lethal drop to the stone steps below. Maybe I didn’t need the grenade. “Stop. I’ll jump—and I’m guessing you want me alive.”

  His jaw tightened with dissatisfaction, but he nodded and holstered his weapon. “Come with me, and Detective Ryder lives.”

  “No. You leave now.” I swung a leg over the parapet. Stalemate.

  Tyrone sighed, gestured with his hand. Devon appeared from behind him.

  He approached me, both hands out, palms empty. “It’s over, Angela. Give me the grenade, and I’ll get an ambulance for Ryder.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “No...” But even the single syllable emerged uncertain. “No,” I tried again, but the second try wasn’t any better.

  Devon kept coming closer, finally stepping past Ryder to reach me. He took my arms and guided me down, then slid one hand into my pocket and took the grenade.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “They promised a cure for the children. Hold them to that. Will you do that? For Esme?”

  I nodded, my entire body numb as he escorted me down the steps, Tyrone holding his pistol on us, leaving Ryder behind. He was alive. That much I’d accomplished, at least.

  But how many more lives had my cowardice condemned?

  <<<>>>

  RYDER FELT PEOPLE moving around him. Above him. Then a frigid breeze. Sirens in the distance. He opened his eyes, surprised that they were closed and that he was lying on his back—hadn’t he been standing?

  “Rossi?” He looked around—not that there was much to look at. An open door, its wood splintered and pocked by bullets. An empty bell tower. Except for the corpse across from him. Grey. Dead. Had Ryder done that? Streaks of blood on the stone surrounding Ryder—his, he assumed from the blood streaming down his face.

  He clawed his way to a sitting position, then to his knees where he could look out over the parapet to the street below. Ambulance lights in the distance, but what grabbed his attention was the black Town Car sliding to a stop at the curb.

  Two men escorted a woman down the steps from the cathedral.

  “Rossi!” he cried out, but the wind swept his voice back into his face like a slap. She never looked up. “Rossi,” he tried again but could barely choke the word clear.

  Ryder called her name long after she vanished from his sight, the men bundling her into the Town Car just as the ambulance arrived. He slumped against the rough stone ledge, leaning his head on it, looking out over the city.

  The moon, that gorgeous plump, overripe moon that had filled the sky earlier when he’d first spotted Rossi up here had long since set. In its wake was a smudge of blood red, far away on the eastern horizon. Too dull to provide any helpful light yet bright enough to cloak the stars and erase them from sight.

  Ryder’s blood turned sticky as it clouded his vision and choked one eye closed. Yet, even as his mind dazed and grew dim, the world around him going deaf and dark, still he whispered her name.

  Chapter 41

  AFTER DEVON AND Tyrone escorted me to Tyrone’s car, we left Devon behind and drove out of the city. Tyrone radiated furious energy—I could see it in his white-knuckled fists, in the tight line of his lips. He’d said he needed me alive, but I knew he wanted to kill me.

  Something stopped him—presumably the person on the other end of a muttered phone conversation he had. Thanks to Daniel’s and Leo’s memories, I could understand Italian somewhat, but not when it galloped past so fast that the words ran together. Finally, he hung up and settled back, reduced to simply glaring at me.

  Me, I had so many questions, so many second thoughts, so many regrets... I curled up in the corner of the seat, my back to Tyrone, my face pressed against the cold glass of the window, my eyes closed, although sleep was not an option.

  We finally arrived at an airstrip hidden somewhere among the fields of a farm. No one was in sight except for a pilot and two more anonymous men who came and opened my door. Tyrone left me, walking to the rear ramp of what appeared to be a small cargo plane. I didn’t recognize the logo, some airfreight service. For the first time, I became frightened—they could be taking me anywhere.

  Then I saw the crate. Plastic, three feet square on each side, solid, except for four rows of air holes along the top wall. The kind of cage you’d transport an animal in. I planted my feet and shook my head, trying to escape back into the rear seat. The two men laughed, pulled me out of the car, and held me dangling in the air, shouting to Tyrone in Italian.

  “Because of her, Michael and Tommaso are dead,” he called back. “As long as she is alive when I bring her to Mother, she can travel like the animal she is.”

  I fought back, kicking and twisting, using my knees, elbows, anything I could, but they grabbed my shoes and stripped them off, along with my jacket. Then they handcuffed my wrists behind my back, carried me to the crate, and lowered me inside, pinioning my feet against the door when I tried to kick it out. They slammed it shut and locked it.

  “Where are you taking me?” I
screamed in frustration.

  No answer except their laughter.

  The space was too tiny to sit up. I folded my body and curled up on one side. Ryder would find me, I thought. Hell, Flynn was probably hanging on to the plane’s undercarriage right this second, a bowie knife clamped between her teeth.

  The image made me smile and brought fresh tears. Flynn wasn’t under the plane. I wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. Ryder... No, with that head injury, all I could do was hope he was okay. Besides, this was my family, and I’d seen their power, knew what they could do. Last thing I wanted was for Ryder to get himself killed. I prayed that he wasn’t looking, that he never found me. Because that would mean his death, I was certain.

  The plane took off, rumbling and jolting down the runway before wallowing its way into the air. The crate was held by cargo ties—orange straps that I could see beyond the air holes in the top. But they weren’t tight enough to keep it from sliding back and forth with any slight movement from the plane. They had me restrained; there was no reason to treat me like an animal. Why were they so frightened of me?

  I remembered the way Tommaso and Michael Grey had looked at me before they died. They had been scared. Of me. Maybe I could use that.

  At the very least, I could make their trip as hellish as mine. I banged and kicked against the solid walls of the crate, shrieking in frustration. The only response came when one of the men draped a quilted cargo blanket over the crate, blocking any view I had left through the air holes.

  The cargo hold stank of aviation fuel and machine oil and rotten fruit. Either we were flying into a storm, or the pilot was avoiding detection by not climbing high enough to avoid turbulence, I wasn’t sure, but the ride grew so rough that the crate bounced off the metal floor, straining against the cargo ties holding it in place.

  Finally, my motion sickness overwhelmed me, and I vomited. The rank fluid covered me, the stench making me even more miserable.