Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy)

by Duffy, Sue

  He took the handgun, then looked back at her with mournful eyes. “I’m sorry I ever teased you about carrying one of these. I’m sorry you ever needed one.”

  She looked down at the weapon in his hand, now pointed at the floor. “When I moved out of my parents’ home and started working at the theaters, I’d have to come home alone at all hours,” she explained. “My father got me into the gun-permit program, bought this handgun for me, took me to the range, and made me learn how to use it safely. Oddly enough, it was one of the most caring things he ever did for me.”

  “I think he cared more than you want to remember.”

  “We don’t have time to talk about that.”

  “So we won’t. But you hold on to this.” He handed the gun back to her and left.

  Cass stood like a stone pillar in the wake of him. In the midst of the ruin, there was Jordan. Something strangely warm took hold of her. It seeped through her with surprising speed, thawing the frozen places and thrusting up something foreign through the icy crust. Hope. Just a green tendril of it, but it was enough.

  In her bedroom, she shoved clothes, a warm hat and gloves, her old sneakers, and toiletries into a small duffle bag. Everything else she needed was already in her backpack—her phone and the one Evgeny had given them to use, an iPad, cash, credit cards, and IDs. She’d just slung both bags over her shoulders and started down the steps when she heard Jordan calling to her and banging loudly on her door.

  When she opened it, he nearly dragged her into the hallway and furiously worked her keys to lock the door again, perhaps in vain. “They’re coming!” he cried. He grabbed her hand, and they bolted toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

  Cass glanced back at the elevator doors and saw the up arrow flash red. “How do you know it’s them?”

  As he flung open the door to the stairway, Jordan replied just above a whisper. “I just watched two men cross the street and enter the building. They left two others hanging back in front of the bakery—a man and a woman. That woman!”

  They left through the rear of the building, using Cass’s service-door keys to relock it, and fled down an alley with their bags and backpacks, like refugees running for the last flight out. A few blocks away, they finally stopped to catch their breath. Leaning against the back wall of a restaurant, they could hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen and its crew bickering in a foreign tongue. Gulping the cold air, Cass looked regretfully at Jordan. “I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

  He shrugged. “It beats selling shoes.” He looked warily around them. “Now let’s get moving before we freeze to this wall.”

  “But where?” She thought a minute. “We can’t get to our cars. They’ll be watching the garage. How about Myrna and Reg’s place?” She thought better of it. “No, we can’t invite trouble on them. Maybe a hotel.”

  Jordan suggested, “Maybe somewhere between the Jimmy Choo boots and the satin pumps.”

  She knew what he meant. “No, Jordan. They’ve got to know everything about us by now, including where you work. We’ve got to—”

  The phone in her backpack rang, Evgeny’s phone. She answered quickly, then mouthed Liesl. Jordan leaned in close enough to hear.

  “Are you home yet?” Liesl asked.

  Cass could hear road sounds in the background. “We’re in New York,” she answered, “but not home.” Cass told her about the break-in and their escape from the building.

  “So you’re standing in an alley with no place to go?” Liesl asked with alarm. But then the voice grew calm and firm. “Cass, this is what I want you and Jordan to do. Go straight to West Park Christian Church near Central Park. I’ll text the address to you. Go to the small door on the right side of the church and knock. The man who’ll let you in is Rev. Francis Scovall.” She paused. “He was the one who saved me from … the man who saved me today. Ludicrous, isn’t it?”

  Cass reeled. Ludicrous? No word can describe this.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Liesl said, “I’ll tell you that story another time. But right now, you get to the church and stay there. Rev. Scovall is already expecting the two of us. He’ll gladly take in two more, I’m certain of it.”

  “What do you mean ‘take in’?”

  “Into the apartment where he lives. It’s in the back of the church.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean you get away from there right now. We’ll join you in a couple of hours.”

  Moments later, with the text bearing the church’s address in hand, Cass and Jordan hailed a cab and took off even deeper into the unknown.

  “So here we are,” Evgeny said, “the assassin and his former prey riding along together as if there were no hard feelings.” He eyed her slyly. “But we know better, don’t we?”

  In the twelve hours they’d been on the road together, Liesl had tried to draw this man from behind his defenses, much like the ones she’d drawn around her own damaged self. It was true, wasn’t it? The harder the shell, the weaker the core. The deaths of so many she’d loved and the wounds they’d borne inside her had made her seal herself off from a persistently threatening world. Until Cade had removed the need for those defenses.

  But what about this man beside her? He’d murdered Schell Devoe in her presence and then later come after her. He was a man shielded by weaponry and blind devotion to those whose orders he’d never questioned. Until now. What hid within his shell?

  Finally, she answered him. “Hard feelings? For the man who came to save me? No. For the man who once tried to kill me? I honestly don’t know.” She eyed him coolly. “I do know that hard feelings are like the cancer that devoured my mother. God showed me that.”

  Evgeny scowled at her. “No talk of God. That’s for children and old women, for those who haven’t seen what I have seen.” He shook his head. “There is no God.”

  Chapter 22

  It was almost midnight Saturday when Cass and Jordan got their first look at West Park Christian Church, a few blocks off Central Park. After the taxi pulled away, they remained on the sidewalk, bags at their feet, looking up at the old brick church and its bell tower. Their faces were so weary and forlorn that if there’d been any passersby, they might have thought the pair homeless and looking for help. Indeed, they were.

  “When’s the last time you were in church?” Jordan asked, gazing up at the tower with its arched openings on top.

  “My father’s funeral,” she said. “The service was long and tedious with lots of holy-sounding words that didn’t fit the cheating life of Nicholas Alexander Rodino.” She laughed derisively. “My father did use God’s name a lot, though. Every time he cursed me and Mom.” She looked up at Jordan. “What about you?”

  He looked passively toward the church. “Oh, a cousin’s wedding, I guess. Can’t remember which one. Weddings and funerals, maybe a baptism here and there. That’s all the churchgoing I’ve ever done. I didn’t grow up that way. Don’t know if I’ve missed anything or not.” He looked up and down the poorly lit street. “We’d better get inside.”

  They took the sidewalk down the right side of the building and stopped before a plain wooden door. As Jordan knocked, Cass wondered what cosmic order, or disorder, had led them here.

  The man must have been waiting just on the other side, for the door opened immediately. Before Jordan could introduce them, the man said, “Come, come,” and motioned for them to enter quickly, his face gentle but bearing concern. “You are Jordan and Cass, right?” he asked, locking the door soundly behind them.

  A little late to be asking, Cass thought.

  “Yes, sir,” Jordan answered. “I’m sure this must be a big inconvenience for you.”

  “Not at all,” the man assured them as he gestured for them to sit down in the small vestibule clad in dark paneling. Short benches sat along three walls, and a door stood open in the fourth, though from her angle, Cass couldn’t see what lay beyond. Her focus now was on this man dressed in jeans, a pullover sweater, and everyday work
boots—not the black robe she had expected. Strands of neatly combed silver barely concealed the pink of his scalp, the same pink that flushed his round cheeks with evidence of a hardy and good-natured soul, or so one might hope.

  “I’m Rev. Scovall, and I’m honored that you came.”

  You are? Cass thought. Why?

  “Liesl Bower is very special to me, and I’m happy to be of service to her friends.” He looked toward the door he’d just locked and smiled. “Perhaps she’ll tell you of the night she came bursting through that door in a terrible fright.” He turned back to them. “I was seconds from locking it shut, not knowing there was a young woman out there in great danger. But God knew.” He paused. “He always knows.”

  Cass and Jordan exchanged glances but said nothing.

  Rev. Scovall eyed their bags. “Now, you’ll need lodging and food. I have both. When Liesl and … and the man I’m most anxious to meet arrive, you’ll all move into my apartment just down the hall.” He tilted his head to one side. “You’ll find it very modest, indeed, but comfortable. There’s a room for the women and one for the men, but you must share a bathroom.”

  “And what about you, sir?” Jordan asked.

  “Oh, I’ve spent many a night on the sofa in my study on the other side of the church. There’s even a small bath nearby.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready for a midnight snack?”

  Jordan and Cass nodded in unison.

  “Good,” Rev. Scovall said. “I’d hate for all that food to go to waste.” He leaned over and picked up Cass’s duffle bag. “Come with me.”

  Cass looked wide-eyed at Jordan as she grabbed her backpack and fell in behind the reverend. He was of medium height with a few too many pounds packed around his middle, but that didn’t seem to slow him down. In fact, he fairly bristled with energy and something even more galvanizing, like a sense of purpose.

  When they passed through the door of the vestibule, Cass slowed to a stop and looked around, noticing Jordan do the same. They had just entered the sanctuary. There were no gilded icons or brilliant stained glass windows, but the woodwork was exceptional. The multitiered molding, coffered ceiling, fluted columns, and ornate carvings at the end of each pew spoke admirably of a masterful carpenter somewhere in the past.

  But there the visual pageantry ended. The walls were unadorned plaster of pale blue, the windows tall and clear at the top, frosted at the bottom. The mahogany pews were softened with cushions the color of the walls. There was no choir loft and no organ, but a black baby grand piano sat on one side of a raised platform at the front of the church. In the middle of the platform, where a pulpit might have been, stood a single bar stool. Behind it, on a soaring windowless wall, hung a simple wooden cross and nothing else. Cass marveled at the powerful simplicity of the room.

  “He was a carpenter, you know,” Rev. Scovall said, coming up beside her.

  “Who?” Then she realized. “Oh. Him.” She didn’t know why that embarrassed her.

  “I’m told the first congregation of this church wanted to honor that,” the reverend added, gazing toward the moldings, which to Cass appeared hand planed. “Now, let me show you to the kitchen.”

  Cass turned to see Jordan run a hand over the carving of a dove capping one of the pews. She caught his eye and motioned for him to follow. When Jordan caught up, he said, “It’s a different kind of place, isn’t it?”

  She nodded and reached for his arm, less to pull him along than to feel the comfort of him and to watch his face brighten at her touch. She was falling in love with him, though she wasn’t ready to. Not now. There was too much to sort out, too little to offer him. He deserves more than I am.

  They exited the sanctuary on the opposite side and followed Rev. Scovall down a short hallway, through some kind of activity room, and into an adjoining kitchen. “Here we are,” he said cheerfully, flipping a light switch. Spread over a long countertop was an assortment of deli meats and cheeses, fresh-baked breads, a couple of pies still in their pans, and an attractive display of fresh fruits. Beyond that were two large casserole dishes, their contents not immediately recognizable beneath a layer of melted cheese on one and sugared pecans on the other.

  Rev. Scovall swept his hand over the banquet. “Our secretary and her husband either cooked or gathered this at the last minute. I hope it suits you.” Cass and Jordan stared at the food with open mouths. “Mrs. Augustino was here that first night Liesl came to us,” the reverend explained.

  “Liesl comes here often?” Jordan asked.

  “Oh yes. Every time she’s in New York, she comes to play for our little congregation.” He chuckled. “I’ll never forget the first time she sat down at our old upright piano with the cracked keys and plinkity-plunk sound.” His shoulders slightly heaved to the beat of his laughter. “We all cringed with embarrassment. That’s why we have the baby grand you probably noticed.” He paused. “But you know what? She never once complained about the old piano. In fact, she did the most amazing thing the first time she struck those twangy keys.” He drew a long breath as if savoring the memory. “She stopped playing, then leaned over and kissed the piano. After that, she proceeded to coax the most beautiful sounds from it we’d ever heard.” He looked away a moment, then back at his guests. “That’s what happens, you know. Sometimes, it just takes the right touch to restore life.”

  He looked back at the food. “Well now, enough talk. Please fill your plates. Liesl tells me that this day has been an ordeal for you. I’m sorry for that. I’ve prayed for God to show you his path through this trouble. You must watch for it.” With that, he started for the door, then paused. “I’ll leave you now. Liesl and her … uh … friend should be here soon. I must listen for them.” And he left.

  It was just after one on Sunday morning when Evgeny parked at the side of the church. Liesl stared out the window at the small, unmarked door before them.

  “It will do neither one of us any good to dwell on what happened here,” Evgeny said. “That is over.”

  But trapped behind his scorn was a different sound, a painful plea. Liesl heard it, and she understood. Without a word, she got out and went to the door. As soon as she knocked, Rev. Scovall opened it. Just last week, she’d come to perform for his congregation. Tonight, she’d come to hide. Again.

  “Come in,” the reverend said, reaching for her and drawing her into a light but affectionate embrace. “Sweet child, you’re safe here.” He released her slowly and turned toward Evgeny, who’d planted himself a few feet away, his head cocked, his eyes like flint.

  Liesl was relieved to see Rev. Scovall make the first move. He walked up to Evgeny and touched the side of his arm. “It’s good to see you too, Mr. Kozlov. Please come inside where it’s warm … and secure.”

  After a long moment of awkward silence, Evgeny responded, “I should not be here.”

  Without hesitation, the reverend replied, “Then where should you be?”

  Apparently, Evgeny had no answer.

  “Please, sir, come with us,” Rev. Scovall urged.

  Liesl watched the subtle twitch of Evgeny’s resolute face. She couldn’t help but smile when he turned and followed the reverend inside.

  “Your young friends are having a bite to eat in the kitchen, Liesl.” Rev. Scovall pointed the way down the hall. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like a word with Mr. Kozlov.”

  Liesl watched Evgeny go rigid.

  “This way, please,” Rev. Scovall prompted, offering little chance for Evgeny to decline. When the two men disappeared into the sanctuary, Liesl headed toward the kitchen, wondering what in heaven’s name the good reverend had to say to the hired killer.

  Cass and Jordan had finished their meal and were cleaning up after themselves when they heard footsteps in the hall. A disheveled Liesl appeared in the doorway. Her hair was bunched into a knot on top of her head, and she wore a bulky jacket that hung below her fingertips. She offered a dispirited smile, then said apologetically, “I hardly know what to say to you.” />
  Jordan didn’t miss a beat. “How about ‘Pass the casserole, please’?” He picked up a long Pyrex dish and passed it under his nose. “Hmm … broccoli.”

  Cass knew what he was doing, and it worked. Liesl stared at him a moment, then broke into a wide grin.

  “Come on and get something to eat,” Cass urged. Then she looked past Liesl and saw no one behind her. “Where’s the Russian guy?”

  “In the sanctuary, talking to Rev. Scovall.”

  “Do they know each other?” Jordan asked.

  “Only by reputation,” Liesl answered, eyeing them closely. “I guess you should know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourselves into, and with whom.” She waved off Jordan’s attempts to bring her food and drink, then sat down in a folding metal chair and stretched her long legs before her. It was the first time Cass noticed the splotches of paint on Liesl’s faded jeans. When the jacket came off, revealing a stretched and slightly frayed sweater beneath, Cass remembered that Liesl had escaped with the clothes on her back and nothing more. Cass wondered where she got the jacket. Probably from the Russian.

  Liesl released her hair from the elastic band straining to contain it all and shook it free, “Evgeny Kozlov is a former Russian secret service—KGB—agent who, just a year ago, was ordered to capture me for the information I didn’t know I had. Then he was to kill me.” She paused to let that take root. “He failed miserably, as you can see.” She tapped her fingernails against the table and fixed her gaze on Cass.

  “It seems you and I share the same proclivity for accidentally knocking over hornets’ nests,” she told Cass, “then trying to outrun the stinging beasts. I thought I had, until this week.” She looked from Cass to Jordan. “There are things I can’t tell you about Evgeny, classified kinds of things that have to do with a music professor I once had, a lost code, and an assassination plot that failed because the code was found and translated in time. But I can tell you this. I just spent nearly fourteen hours on the road with Evgeny Kozlov, and I no longer fear him. In fact, I trust him to make sense of what’s happening to us right now.”