by Anna Philpot
“Cool. Well, if that’s it. I’ll be on my way.”
Cici moved to stand next to Sam again.
“Boston?” Cici asked.
The driver threw his head back and laughed. “He said you’d get it in one.”
Sam glared at the man, confusion and concern pounding through his veins.
“By the way, take the call when it comes in,” the driver said, a pointed look at Sam’s phone clipped to his side. “You’ll know which one. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your work.” He tipped his head, lips tilting up as he looked at Cici. “Or her happiness.”
“What?” Sam asked, his annoyance growing with the man’s cryptic comments. But the driver ignored his question and walked toward his truck. He climbed in and backed down the driveway. With a quick honk, he pulled out on the street and drifted down the road.
“What the hell was that?” Sam asked.
“About the call?” Cici asked. She shrugged. “No idea.”
“Any idea about this?” Sam asked, holding up the envelope.
Cici eyed it for a long moment before she nodded. “It’s from Anton.”
Epilogue
Cici
Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.― Confucius
“You got all that from a UPS driver with a Boston accent?” Sam asked, his voice shifting from bewildered to annoyed.
She nodded, eyeing the padded envelope now sitting before her. He’d taken three days to get in touch—and he’d written a Boston address on the envelope. She’d bet it was his old—as in he no longer lived there—home he’d shared with Rebecca. Yes, this package was definitely from Anton Vasiliev, sent via the cagey UPS-not-UPS driver.
Once settled at her kitchen table, Sam across from her, Cici slit open the tape with care, taking much longer than necessary thanks to her shaking hands. With tentative movements, Cici shook the contents onto the wooden tabletop, thankful she kept the package close to the surface, when something wrapped in many layers of tissue paper slid out of the padding with an almost delicate thunk. A piece of paper fluttered after it, landing atop, much like a feather on a rock.
Cici picked up the sheet of paper, holding it while studying the small wrapped parcel.
The last moment she saw him, he’d stood up in the Jeep, backlit by the rising sun. Cici always knew as soon as Sam arrived, Anton would disappear. He’d told her from the beginning he could—would—extract himself.
He’d stayed those two full days, frying his skin, risking his life, to protect her. That might not make him as ruthless a spy as he needed to be, but that decision of mercy—to save Cici—made him a more complex, compassionate human.
When he’d raised his hand in a small wave, almost a benediction, Cici’s stomach had wobbled. He’d anticipated a death sentence. He received Cici, a bunch of attitudinal ghosts, and a helicopter full of special ops.
The last week turned out much different than Cici or Anton expected.
Cici unfolded the paper.
You were right. History’s important. It reminds us where we come from, and perhaps, where we’re going.
In this, I’d tell you to look up the myth of the gambler’s stone, but I got the sense you already know it. And, more, suspected what I couldn’t tell you.
It was well-protected, but some people don’t mind blasting through rock or crypts any more than they mind shooting at lovely reverends.
Our time together was interesting. Thank you for giving me back Rebecca. I’ve been lost without her light to guide me.
In that, you remind me of her.
Yours,
Sterling Danvers
Cici’s smile widened to the point where her face ached. Sure, he’d given her the geopolitical overview that might set her world aflame during their long treks across the sparse mesa, but this—this was him. His reason. And…Cici gasped.
His name. His real one. The one no one outside a select few in the world would ever read.
Sterling Danvers.
Sterling.
Huh. Suited him. He shone like a bright nickel in the morass of darkness and espionage. Her lips curved down a little. She’d not see him again; Sterling would make sure of it. That’s why he offered his name.
But, in the craziness of life—in those life or death moments, in the quiet of the great black void dotted with shiny beacons of stars—Sterling and she had become friends.
Cici glanced down at the note in her hand. “I’ll pray for you every day, my friend,” she whispered. “For you and your Rebecca. For future peace and happiness.”
“What?” Sam asked. He craned his neck and Cici hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was something she should share—even with Sam.
Not that Sterling Danvers would want her to offer him or his wife up to God, no doubt impatient with the entire construct of faith, which made her daily prayers that much more delicious.
Tough guy getting help from the little rev in a town he’d never visit.
Smiling at her thoughts, she handed Sam the note. He read it, brow furrowing.
Cici ignored Sam’s darkening attitude as she picked up the small, heavy wrapping. She’d been right.
“The ancient Navajo believed a gambler walked the earth, winning from gods and animals alike. His most prized possession was a stone,” she murmured.
“What?” Sam asked. “Oh, the gambler god. From Chaco. Anna Carmen used to go on and on about him.”
“She wanted to see the big house the Chacoans built him in exchange for their people’s freedom.”
Sam settled into the chair next to her. “And you went to fulfill the promise to her.”
“Yes.”
Maybe now that Sam knew her reason, he wouldn’t be quite as angry with her.
With careful, controlled motions, Cici picked off the thin piece of clear tape and unrolled the first layer of tissue paper. With each flip of the package, she caught her breath. But none revealed the gem within. Until…she gasped at the flash of color.
A cool weight slid into her hand. Her fingers curled tight around it, and she puffed out another gasp. Sam’s eyes widened as he stared at the large stone on her kitchen table.
She opened her hand. Yes, the badass spy had sent it to her.
The weight of such a responsibility settled over her shoulders, pressing into her chest.
“Maybe I won’t pray for you, Sterling Danvers, you sly coyote.”
But she laughed as she held the smooth piece of turquoise in her hand, the same size as her palm.
Sam whistled. “That’s a gorgeous piece of turquoise.”
“Yes. And it very nearly started a war.”
“Read about the Bratva’s plan in my dossier,” Sam asked. “Pretty smart. Calculating bastards,” Sam grumbled.
The semiprecious stone glowed with warm aquamarine light. Cici loved the color—richer and creamier than lapis lazuli.
One of her favorites.
“Yes, they are. But this is Anton’s idea of a joke.” Cici sighed as she set the stone on her table. Sterling not Anton. She picked up the letter and refolded it, tucking it into her pants pocket. She’d burn it, as Sterling would want, as soon as she was alone. No one else needed to know who her spy buddy was, really. No one besides Sam.
“A lot of responsibility, too,” Cici continued.
Sam stared at it, awed. “What are you going to do with it?”
Cici pursed her lips, enjoying the rich sheen. She shrugged. “With his name? Destroy the evidence.”
Sam nodded, clearly understanding the need. He held her gaze. “I worried you developed feelings for him.”
Cici’s eyes flashed up to Sam’s and something passed behind his. She wasn’t sure what—maybe yearning or regret. Whatever Sam wanted to talk to her about, Cici needed to hear.
“I don’t. Not romantically,” she said, her voice soft.
Sam cupped her hand that still held the stone. “But the time there changed you. Didn’t it?” Sam asked.
&
nbsp; Cici stared down at the stone. She ran her finger over it, unsurprised to see her hand tremble. The stone was ancient, part of a history she could barely fathom.
She took a deep breath. “I think…yes. Yes, it did. And now I have to return this to the Navajo nation to ensure we avoid an unnecessary war.”
She eyed Sam for a long moment, her heart pattering in her chest. “You think your boss or Jeannette or whoever it is in charge would let you go on a road trip? One with international repercussions?”
Sam’s eyes flashed back up to hers. “Well, considering how Jeannette isn’t my boss—”
“What?”
Sam smiled. “She’s my recruiter. My boss is based in DC.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
Sam shrugged. “Me either. But considering they want to keep me out here in the west, traipsing up and down throughout New Mexico and Colorado, over into Arizona,” Sam muttered. His finger slid across the top of the stone next to Cici’s, his eyes gleaming with awe. “I don’t care where the guy works.”
“So, you think he’ll let you go with me, then?”
Sam raised his eyes to hers, his gunmetal gaze bright and filled with sincerity. “First, let me say that I like spending time with you. And I can’t leave you alone for any length of time because you manage to find trouble—”
“I do not!” Cici replied, her voice filled with indignation.
“I’d love to take you up on your invitation for a road trip.” Sam hesitated for a moment before meeting her gaze. His was dark with some secrets.
Cici bit her lip and stared down at the stone. “I need to visit my dad.”
Sam tucked her hair behind her ear. “You, Cecilia María Gurule, are a truly good person.” He leaned in closer, his face solemn, as he said, “I’m lucky to have you in my life.”
The moment weighed with a heaviness, as if Sam were trying to tell her something more—something she did not understand. To lighten the growing tension, Cici winked at him, even as her fingers grazed the edge of the large, smooth stone. She grasped it in her hand, enjoying the heavy weight there.
“And don’t you forget it,” she said with a sassy toss of her head.
He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her cheek.
“I never have.”
Thank You!
Dear Readers,
Thank you for choosing and reading this book. If you enjoyed it, I’d be grateful if you’d write a short review and post it on your favorite book site. By taking a few seconds to leave a review, you not only help out your favorite authors, you help new readers find them as well—a total win-win!
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Click Here To Read A Revelation of Death Now.
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you, Chris. Your unwavering support and love shine through in all you do for the kids and me. I couldn’t ask for a better man, and I’m thrilled to wake up with you each day. You’re also the best movie date a gal could ask for.
To Corrine Jones, who shared her police and criminal justice expertise.
To my family, thank you for your patience with my dream—and letting me hang out in my head way too often.
To Deborah Nemeth, thank you for pushing me to make this story better--for challenging me when and where I needed to be challenged.
To Nicole Pomeroy, thank you for seeing the big picture and how all the details fit within that framework. You are such a pleasure to work with.
To my Team, who have stuck with me and encourage me and read all my ARCs as well as whatever quirky thought I decide to share on Facebook. Thank you. I appreciate each of you.
To Emma Rider, this cover is gorgeous. Thank you for sharing so much of your beautiful self in it.
To Charity Chimni, your eagle-eye for grammar and typos is so deeply appreciated.
And to my readers and reviewers, I would not be where I am today without you. I cannot thank you enough for sharing your time with me.
About the Author
J. J. Cagney is the mystery/thriller pen name of USA Today bestselling author Alexa Padgett. Her debut mystery, A Pilgrimage of Death, was named to Kirkus Reviews' 100 Best Books of 2018 and Goodreads Best Mysteries of 2010s.
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Cagney holds a bachelor’s in international marketing and spent part of her twenties as the marketing director for an elite sports management firm. And, yes, she did her requisite stint with a dotcom back in the that early 2000s, first as a marketing coordinator and then as a content manager. She’s penned work for a variety of websites and magazines, and she worked as a literary agent for Irene Webb Literary.
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Cagney lives in northern New Mexico with her husband, children, about a million fish, and their Great Pyrenees, Ash. Kirkus Reviews called Cagney's latest mystery, An Artifact of Death, "An exhilarating entry in a thoroughly enjoyable series."
Also by J. J. Cagney
Identical Death
A Pilgrimage to Death
A Heritage of Death
An Artifact of Death
A Revelation of Death
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Standalone Thriller:
Facing the Past
In Book 5, A Revelation of Death, Cici must reconnect with her twin sister…
…a killer targets Cici's congregants and friends. But when the killer lures a teen girl from her family, Cici and Sam's desperation to identify him becomes critical.
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Chapter 1
Cici
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Mere days ago, the Reverend Cecilia Gurule never once raised a firearm at another person. Now, she bore direct responsibility for multiple men’s deaths.
As she closed her eyes to let the spray from her shower hit her face, she couldn’t stop thinking about the articles written about her since the dramatic helicopter rescue a few days before. The headline that stuck out at her most, the one that caused her the deepest pain, was from an Arizona newspaper: A Reverend with a Rap Sheet.
How quickly situations changed.
No, Cici wouldn’t go to jail—the men she’d killed or helped kill were international spies. Most papers considered her a hero.
She wasn’t.
She wasn’t a hero or maybe even a good reverend. Or person. Or…she sputtered as she inhaled water.
Before the Chaco Canyon incident, Cici liked water in all its forms, but especially bodies of it. She found lakes and even rivers soothing, restful, and beautiful.
Now, as the water spit against the white subway tile walls, she transported back to the harrowing fifty-plus-hour-trek across one of the most desolate areas of the country…to the moment when she stood in the pelting rain, those Russian operatives shooting at her. Worse than those mud-soaked moments of fear was what followed: the roaring rush of black water, muck, rock and tree branches that overwhelmed two of the Bratva, Russian spies and assassins, who’d stood in its wrathful path.
At that moment, transported back to the flood, she feared that she would be pulled under, thrashing, struggling to emerge…to gasp for air…and unable to do so because the sluicing torrent thrust her down against the unforgiving rock of the Chaco Canyon plateau.
The nightmarish vision worsened, becoming more real. She stumbled out of the shower, thankful for its clean transition from the rest of the pebbled-tile flooring covering her bathroom. She shivered as she wrapped herself in a towel. Droplets still fell from her face and water dripped from her hair, down her back. She leaned against the tile wall that had charmed her into choosing this house as her legs gave out.
She’d wanted a shower; she wanted to finally feel clean and maybe even relaxed. But the mere idea of water touching her again sent her pulse racing and her breath into sharp pants.
She cried out as she slid to the floor, her ankle throbbing as she jarred the mending bones.
A soft knock whispered on the door—more a brush of knuckles.
“Cee? Are you okay?” Sam asked.
Sam Chastain had been with her every moment since he’d carried her to the helicopter. He’d told Cici he gave up his position as a detective at the Santa Fe Police Department to transfer to the secretive federal task force his ex-lover Jeannette had been sent to Santa Fe to recruit him for. He’d explained he hadn’t been willing to listen to Jeannette until Cici’s text message.
“Are you okay with the change?” she’d asked.
“Yeah. I liked the task force work we did in Denver. It felt more relevant, like I was doing something that made a difference, kept people safe. This is like that but with a bigger pay-off. Those Bratva agents who survived have already spilled some good intel. We’ll be more prepared for the next cyber and voting attacks because of it.”
Sam’s boss—his job—no longer centered around Santa Fe, and she’d been the catalyst for the move. That had caused her hours of concern.
But, Cici couldn’t be mad at him for taking the position. Sam found her. And he saved her life. Again.
Just as he had in Taos and up on Aspen Vista Trail.
“Yeah?” she croaked, trying to calm her racing pulse. She failed.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked. “Do you need help?”
She leaned her head back against the wall and stared up at the thick timber beams in her ceiling. Her muscles continued to quiver as the remnants of fear faded from her body.
“N-no. I, um, I bumped my ankle. I’m okay.”
“I can…”
“No.” This time her response sharpened. She didn’t want Sam to see her like this. She must be wild-eyed and she wasn’t even sure she managed to get all the conditioner from her tangled, dripping hair before she panicked.
