“What about my house?” Kahina offered.
“Not secure enough.” Josh shook his head. “They know where you live, too. They could show up there at any time. I think we’re going to have to find a hotel.”
Americas Best Value Inn was located on West Picacho Avenue on the western edge of Las Cruces. Josh eased me into a seat in the lobby and went to check in. The lobby was done in neutral grays and whites. A couple of statement walls were painted in pool blue and hot pink, and the whole space was airy and clean.
“I got us a suite,” he said, helping me up. “But it’s on the second floor. Are you up for some stairs?”
“No problem.”
Actually, the stairs were more of a challenge than I might have thought, and I was winded and weak by the time we reached the second floor. Josh guided me down the long hall, eventually stopping in front of a door and using the key card to gain access. I didn’t even pay attention to the room number. My mind was shutting down, drifting into sleep, while my body desperately tried to remain upright.
He helped me into the living room and was just about to close the door when one of the hotel staff appeared in the doorway with a smile and a plate piled high with nachos. I perked right up at the sight of them and my stomach let out a low rumble of anticipation.
“Compliments of the hotel,” she said as she handed them over to Josh, along with a couple bottles of water.
“Thanks,” he managed, and then closed the door and turned the dead bolt. “Well, that’s unusual.”
“Bring ’em here.” I was already sitting at the table.
“I thought you were going to rest.”
“There are nachos, Josh. Rest can come later.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
While Ryanne rested in the back bedroom, Josh remained in the living room and caught up on his work, grateful he’d had the foresight to bring his laptop when they left Ryanne’s house that morning. His phone had been on silent during the meeting with Kahina, and he’d missed several calls from his boss.
It wouldn’t take long for Executive Administrative Director Dean Forster to realize Josh had ignored his directive to back off the case. He chose not to retrieve his messages.
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to wake himself up. Although he wasn’t planning on submitting them, he’d been filling out reports, and his eyes were burning from staring at the computer screen for so long.
Though it was for his eyes only, he felt the need to document everything that had happened. Laying everything out in writing helped. It both clarified and solidified the events of the past couple of days, allowing him to take a step back and reflect on what he’d learned without as much emotion.
There were so many questions, and he suspected most of the answers lay buried within the mind of the woman snoring in the back bedroom.
Josh was a basket of nerves, giddy with the exhilaration of finding Ryanne (One of the missing children! Found!), and all the possibilities that came along with such a huge break in the case. But overshadowing his excitement was an overwhelming sense of danger and impending doom.
Ryanne had said there was something much bigger going on than the kidnappings. After witnessing the evil that had come through her during hypnosis, he was convinced. One word kept haunting him, tightening his chest and loosening his bowels. The word was extinction.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been attacked?”
Josh jumped at the sound of her voice. He’d been in a half doze in front of the computer, his mind wandering through the tangled web of his unanswered questions. Ryanne was standing in the doorway. Her hair was mussed and there were pillow creases on her right cheek.
“Attacked?” He shook his head, uncomprehending.
“The man that was trying to break into your home.” She limped into the room and settled into the armchair facing him. With everything that had happened since, he had completely put that incident out of his mind, and he told her so.
“It’s not a big deal,” he insisted, but she was already shaking her head.
“It wasn’t just some random guy trying to steal your baseball cards.”
“How do you know about my baseball cards?” he asked, but she waved off the question.
“That guy was sent to kill you, Josh.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“It’s true. Remember, you told me about your boss, what’s his name, Foster?”
“Forster. Dean Forster.”
“Right, that guy. The one with the nasty case of erectile dysfunction.”
“What?”
She waved dismissively again. “He and that other guy, the bigwig with the fancy suits.” He hadn’t told her about Warner’s clothing, either.
“Deputy Director Michael Warner.”
“Right, him. He’s a really bad guy, Josh. I mean really bad.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“He ordered a hit on you.”
He sputtered, “You can’t be serious!”
“That guy was breaking into your house to kill you. It was pure luck you were leaving to fly here, instead of lying asleep in your bed, when he broke in. Didn’t it ever occur to you to wonder why some guy was breaking into your home with an arsenal of weapons?”
“Damn it! Of course that’s been bothering me. But I’ve barely had time to think about it since I got here.”
“Well, I’m glad you made it here. And it looks like we have something in common.”
“We’re both on someone’s hit list?”
“We’re on the same someone’s hit list.” Her mouth was curling up at the corners.
“And that’s a good thing?”
Her smile grew. “Hell, yes. It means we’re rattling the right cages.”
He had to laugh. “You’re nuts.”
“No, just sick of being scared.” She picked up his cell phone and handed it across the coffee table to him. “Call Kahina. I’m ready to do some more cage rattling.”
She answered her cell on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath and nervous.
“Kahina? Are you all right?” Josh asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, but his heart had already kicked into high gear. Something was off.
“What’s going on? Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m at home. I’m fine. Just tired.” She sounded anything but tired.
“Is the media there?”
“No, I’m alone.” But he heard someone in the background. Was that a man’s voice?
She was lying. And her voice was shaking.
“Kahina, listen very carefully. I’m going to bring over some food. What would you like? Say ‘pizza’ if you’re in danger. Say ‘Chinese food’ if you’re safe.”
There was a long pause.
“Pizza sounds good. Thanks.” And she hung up.
He was amazed Ryanne was able to keep up with him, but she did. She was wheezing as she flung herself into the passenger seat of the FJ Cruiser, and still trying to put on her seat belt when he squealed out of the parking lot.
It took less than ten minutes to get to Kahina’s home on Hoagland Road. They drove in tense silence; there was nothing to say.
It was dark by the time they reached her neighborhood, and Josh parked on the opposite side of the street and several houses down, cursing himself for choosing Ryanne’s bright-yellow FJ Cruiser that morning rather than the rental car. How much more conspicuous could he get?
“Wait here,” he said, but she was already out of the car and hobbling across the street. “Shit!” He jumped out and followed her, pulling his gun free of its holster. He caught up to her on the far sidewalk and grabbed her good arm.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he hissed.
“Hurry, Josh!”
He considered his chances of convincin
g her to go back to the car, and gave it up as a losing battle. Why hadn’t he left her back at the hotel?
But he knew why. He couldn’t stand to have her out of his sight. He was terrified she’d disappear. Again.
“Stay behind me and don’t do anything stupid!”
She followed him up the path to the front door. From the outside, all appeared normal. Kahina’s car sat silently in the driveway. The lights were on inside the house, the curtains drawn against the evening chill. There wasn’t any media around. He debated knocking on the front door, but his nerves were at “code red” levels, so he tried the handle instead.
The door was unlocked.
He motioned for Ryanne to get down and stay put, and then walked across the threshold, gun first. The TV was on in the living room. It was tuned to the evening news, which was covering Leora Wylie’s disappearance. The camera panned over the front of Ryanne’s house. His rental car sat sedately in the driveway.
“Dr. Wilson was first hailed as a hero for her attempt to stop the kidnapping. But I had a chance to speak with Leora’s grandmother this morning, and she paints a much different picture.” Kahina’s face filled the screen. She was standing outside the house on Monte Vista Avenue, her cheeks wet with tears.
Josh turned away, easing through the living room. It was tidy and undisturbed. The kitchen on the right was spotless save for a pot of tomato sauce cooling on top of the stove.
“Hey!” he hissed as Ryanne passed by him, moving toward the back of the house.
“They’re gone,” she called back over her shoulder.
He caught up with her and pushed her aside, moving into the point position.
“Stay the hell behind me.” He cleared the bathroom and the guest bedroom, and then moved toward the back bedroom with Ryanne close at his heels.
The first thing he saw was the blood. Wet and fresh. He tried to push Ryanne back, both to protect her from the sight and to protect the chain of evidence. She was having none of it, though. She slipped under his arm and through the doorway.
Ryanne gasped when she saw the blood spatter, reeling back against his chest. And then she was moving forward again, like a woman caught in a nightmare that, no matter how horrific, still had to be seen through to its conclusion.
Kahina was on the floor on the far side of the bed. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear, leaving an angry purple gash. Her skin was gray, her eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
“Don’t touch her!” Josh called, to no avail. It was obvious she was gone. But Ryanne knelt down in the blood and placed a trembling hand over Kahina’s eyes.
“Ryanne, she’s dead. You have to move away from her; you’re disturbing the evidence.”
“She was trying to protect us.” Her voice was hoarse, shaky. “They were looking for us. She wouldn’t tell them where we were.”
“Who? Who was looking for us?”
“She thought they were federal agents. They showed her badges, so she let them in. But then she realized something was wrong. She refused to answer more questions, tell them anything more about us.” She gulped back a huge sob and continued.
“She ran. But they caught up with her here. She fought them, but they were too strong.” The tears came. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she keened over Kahina’s lifeless body.
He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her upright. She was covered in tears and blood.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her back down the hall to the front door. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He was going against his training, against every instinct he had.
Secure the scene. Gather the evidence.
All the old rules, the ones around which he had fashioned his very existence, no longer applied.
“Where are we going?” she managed as he lifted her into the FJ Cruiser.
“We’re about to become ghosts.”
CHAPTER FORTY
“Sumner, you’re going to have to trust us,” Ora said, touching his arm gently.
He wanted to keep arguing, but there was no point. She was right. Lexy, Ora, and Phoenix had been called home. He could either go with them to his certain death, or he could go rogue.
“Sumner, find the redhead,” Lexy said, coming up beside Ora and looking up at him earnestly. “If we can’t get Jack away from The Ranch, then we might still have a chance if you can find her. That redhead, whoever she is, is the key. We all sense that.”
“Jack is key, too,” Sumner argued.
“Yeah. He is. And we’ll do our best to get him. I promise,” Ora said.
“Sumner, if you come with us, it will put all our lives in jeopardy,” Phoenix added. “They can’t know we’ve joined forces.”
“Your lives might already be in danger,” Sumner said. “There’s a very real chance he’s calling you back early because he’s been tipped off.”
“I know.” Lexy gave her brother a look. “Mannix probably told Father Narda that Phoenix was poking his nose where it didn’t belong.”
Phoenix’s cheeks reddened. “Once again, I’m sorry.”
Ora shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. If he’s been tipped off, we’ll have to deal with it. My dad isn’t going to kill me over it. The punishment might be harsh, but it won’t be deadly.”
“Not for you, but what about us? Our dad isn’t the High Priest,” Lexy said.
Ora met her gaze. “Honey, I would never let my dad hurt you.”
Sumner felt a stab of jealousy. That was the difference between the Disciples and the Chosen, in a nutshell. The Chosen were the true children of I Fidele. The Disciples were expendable. They didn’t have fathers who would protect them, and that created a chasm between the two groups that could never be bridged.
Could he trust this group of spoiled kids? Their hearts might have been in the right place, but they were so young. He’d already witnessed enough in the short time he had spent with them to know they were guided more by raging hormones and teenage angst than by logic. They were narcissistic and overindulged. Was it wise to lay such a huge responsibility at their feet?
Ora squeezed his hand. “We’ll give you a head start, and shield you as long as we can.”
“It won’t be for long. Once we separate, it will be difficult to protect you,” Phoenix added. “You need to stay well hidden.”
“I know,” Sumner said.
“They’re going to hunt you,” Lexy warned.
“I know,” Sumner said again.
“And they won’t ask questions. They’ll kill you on sight,” Lexy added.
Sumner nodded, swallowing hard. “Any idea where I should go?”
Lexy closed her eyes briefly, as though assessing an internal map. “North and west,” she said with certainty.
“Okay.” That was as good a direction as any, he supposed—except The Ranch was also to the northwest. Phoenix left the room and returned with a wad of cash. He pushed it into Sumner’s hands.
“Here’s thirty grand. Use it to stay alive.”
“I can’t take your money,” Sumner protested.
“It’s not my money. It’s I Fidele’s money. And as you well know, it’s just a drop in the bucket.”
Sumner did know that. Without further comment, he shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Be careful,” he told them, surprised to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Would he see any of them again? Ora hugged him.
“You too,” she whispered. “Call me if you need help.” He knew she didn’t mean on the phone.
Lexy hugged him, and then Phoenix gave him a manly clap on the shoulder. Sumner turned and left, refusing to look back as he closed the apartment door behind him. He had been alone for a long time, and had gotten just a taste of what companionship felt like. It was hard to leave, hard to walk away from the relative comfort h
e had found in their presence.
Sumner took a Greyhound bus to Austin and spent his first night in a hostel off East 6th Street, in the high-crime Entertainment District. He purchased new clothes: underwear and warm socks, blue jeans, and black T-shirts. He also picked up a puffy green coat that would keep him warm and distort his shape, personal hygiene products, and a duffel bag for storage. He also bought a bottle of brown hair dye and electric clippers, which he made use of back at the hostel.
With his newly shorn dark hair, Sumner wandered along East 6th Street. Psychic abilities sometimes came in handy. It wasn’t long before he found exactly what he was looking for: an operation that made decent fake IDs. It was a thousand dollars to get a full set, which included a California driver’s license that would pass all but the closest of inspections, a new birth certificate, and a prepaid MasterCard.
New papers in hand, he purchased an iPhone and set up an unlimited data plan, paying for a year in advance. He spent the rest of the evening searching Craigslist for a suitable vehicle. He slept as well as could be expected of someone being hunted, and was in a taxi by six the next morning.
Seventy-five hundred dollars bought him a white 1984 Westfalia camper van. It was loaded with a kitchenette, a two-person table, and enough room to sleep four if he ever decided to open the pop-up roof. It had been well loved and ran smoothly, although it took him a good hour to get used to the manual transmission, something he hadn’t operated since his early twenties.
The old man he bought it from was kindly, and he’d stocked it with blankets and towels. His plump wife took pity on Sumner’s slender form and piled the fridge with goodies, despite his protests.
Why did kindness make him feel so guilty? Sumner blinked back tears, thanking them for the tenth time. If they only knew the things he’d done, the pain he’d caused.
But as he found his way out of Austin’s maze, he had a thought, and it eased the heaviness in his chest: Maybe it wasn’t too late to save his blighted soul. And maybe the road to redemption was north and west in a VW van, in search of the redhead.
The Faithful Page 22
