Ethan froze.
“Autumn, my little niece, my little sweetheart, it’s all right now—no, it’s not, I can’t lie to you. He shot Grace, that sheriff shot your uncle, Autumn. Look at him, it’s bad.”
Blessed dragged Autumn to where his brother lay curled up on his side, his palms flat against his belly, his blood now gushing through his fingers, whimpering with pain. Gut shot, the sheriff had gut-shot Grace. Blessed knew if he didn’t get him to the hospital fast, Grace would die. His guts would twist up, and they’d turn green and black, and Grace would rot. He would die screaming. Martin was dead, and now Grace. He’d always protected both of them, always paid back, with bloody interest, anyone who bullied them because they were different, because they were special. But the bullies beat his brothers up only once, because Blessed nearly killed them. And now Grace was shot, shot bad, in his belly. Blessed had failed him. He wanted to howl, to shriek, but not pray, never pray, because Mama had told him prayers from him could bring up the devil and then things would really get bad.
He stood there staring down at his brother, his brain squirreling about madly. He knew little Autumn was terrified, he couldn’t blame her for that, but Grace was lying on the cold ground, weeping and screaming. What was he to do?
Grace’s eyes fastened on his brother, tears running in dirty rivulets down his thin cheeks. “Blessed,” Grace whispered. “Listen to me, Blessed. Kill me, kill me. There’s no choice. Oh, Jesus, I can’t stand it.”
“Oh, no, no, you can’t ask me to do that, Grace. No!”
“Do it, Blessed. I can feel the bullet in me, feel it burrowed deep. I know there’s no way to get me out of here. I shouldn’t have tried to fool the sheriff like that. He was afraid it was you, so he shot me before he looked at me, my fault.
“I love you, Blessed. Tell Mama I’ll look down on her. Tell her I’ll prepare a welcome for her and a special place for her. I know I’m dying, Blessed. Do it now, please, just do it now.” Grace drew up his knees, still clutching himself, and turned his face away. His sobs were all they could hear in the silent forest night.
Blessed said to Ethan, “Give him a kill shot.”
Ethan turned to Grace, brought up his Remington, and fired. The bullet struck Grace between his eyes. His body lurched up, then collapsed again. He died with his eyes open, his face riddled with pain, his hands still clutching his belly.
“Stand back, Sheriff.”
Ethan took a single step back. Blessed pulled Autumn with him as he dropped to his knees beside his dead brother. He touched Grace’s face, closed his staring eyes. “I’m sorry, Grace. This is gonna kill Mama, and she’s gonna blame me even though it was what you wanted. I couldn’t take you to a doctor, and you knew it.” He leaned down and kissed his brother’s tear-streaked face. Blessed straightened, swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, then turned to Ethan. “You killed my brother.”
Autumn hit him with her fists, yelled in his face, “Don’t you dare hurt Ethan or Mama! You monster, don’t you dare!”
Blessed controlled his killing rage. He stared down in shock at the little girl, his own flesh and blood. “I’m not a monster. That’s not a nice thing to say to your uncle.”
“I hate you. I wish you weren’t my uncle. I wish you were in hell. That’s where you should be.”
“I am your uncle and I love you.” Autumn was hiccupping, tears streaming down her face. He thought for a moment and said slowly, “If you promise to come with me willingly, I won’t kill them even though the sheriff did murder my brother. If you promise to let me and Mama teach you how to use your gift, I won’t. Do you promise?”
Autumn looked at Grace and thought, You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead. But Blessed wasn’t dead. He wasn’t like her, that was a lie, he was a monster, and monsters could look like anybody they wanted to when they snuck into your dreams or crashed into your face. Autumn knew death was the end of things, like her father had gone away forever, and now Grace wasn’t here anymore either, and that meant sometimes death was good. But Blessed—what should she do?
She looked at Ethan, then at her mother, both of their faces blank, as if they weren’t there.
She heard his rough old voice saying again, “I promise I won’t kill them, Autumn, I won’t, if you do what I want.”
Blessed’s words fluttered over her. Autumn wanted to run to her mother, to shake her until she was back into herself again, and she jerked her arm to try to get away from him, but Blessed tightened his hold. She wanted her mother, she wanted her laughing and holding her, telling her everything would be all right. She nodded up at the old man whose eyes were hard and soft at the same time.
“Say it. Say, ‘I promise, Uncle Blessed.’”
It was hard to get the words out, but she did, finally. “I-I promise.” She tried to say his name, but she simply couldn’t. She hated his name, it scared her. Autumn lowered her head and cried. Through her hiccups, she whispered, “I want my mama back.”
“You will have her, but just not yet,” Blessed said. “Sheriff, you will dig a grave for my brother.”
Ethan said, “I don’t have a shovel.”
Autumn’s head snapped up. Ethan sounded like himself, it was his voice, but in a way it wasn’t. His voice sounded dead, uncaring, flat as the strawberry pancakes she’d tried to make for her mother on her birthday.
Blessed said, “Then you will dig with sticks and your bare hands. Woman, you will help him. Both of you.”
He loosened his hold on Autumn’s arm. She ran to her mother, but Joanna ignored her, dropped to her knees beside Ethan, and began to dig, pulling up clumps of dirt and grass, tossing them as far as she could.
“Mama.” Autumn pulled on her sleeve, but Joanna paid her no attention. Autumn grabbed Ethan’s jacket, but, like her mother, it was as if he wasn’t even there. “Come back, come back,” she whispered, and couldn’t even whisper anymore because her throat was clogged with tears. She drew back her fist and hit Ethan as hard as she could. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t react at all, he continued digging up dirt, big handfuls of it, throwing it over his shoulder. It was horrible what she was seeing, but Autumn couldn’t do anything to stop it. She listened to the thuds of earth strike the ground. She didn’t look at Grace; she couldn’t. She fell to her knees and began to dig up clots of earth.
“Stop that! Come here, Autumn,” Blessed said, and pulled her away.
“I’ll help them. Let me help them. Let me dig too.”
“No.”
Blessed pulled Autumn down to the ground beside him and held her there. She sat beside the monster for what seemed like hours, watching her mother and Ethan dig a grave for Grace, and finally, so exhausted her brain finally closed down, she fell asleep.
When the grave was deep enough, Blessed wrapped Grace in a sleeping bag and told the sheriff to lay him at the bottom of the four-foot hole. He did.
“Now come out.”
Ethan climbed out of the hole and stood silently beside Grace’s grave.
Autumn slept, her face against her cupped hands. Blessed had taken off his jacket, covered her with it.
He said, “Now, both of you, fill the grave.”
Throwing handfuls of dirt over Grace’s body didn’t take as long as digging his grave. When it was done to Blessed’s satisfaction, he told them to stand respectfully on each side of Grace’s grave. “Sheriff, you and the—” He took a quick look at Autumn, saw that she was sleeping soundly, and said, “You and the bitch will pray for my brother.”
Ethan said, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” After a moment, Joanna joined him.
Blessed thought of his mother, at the awful soul-tearing grief she’d feel, and felt his throat clog. He prayed she’d understand. She had to. He’d had no choice. He listened to the smooth, even cadence, a monotone really, no feeling to the words at all. At least they knew all the words. It was good.
Blessed slapped his hands against his arms. He was getting cold without his
jacket, but that was all right, Autumn needed warmth more than he did. She was only a little girl, after all, so small and fragile, and she was his niece. She was important. He wished she understood. But it was too soon and the child was too young, too dependent on her mother, the bitch who controlled her. She would come to understand, to know he’d done the right thing. Blessed tucked his jacket more closely around her. He didn’t want her to get sick. Autumn still slept—a blessing, Blessed thought, and smiled at the irony of it—a blessing, and that’s what he was, that’s what both his mother and his father had told him. His smile fell away. How was he to tell Mama the story hadn’t ended right, that another one of her sons was dead, dead because of the sheriff?
My fault, Grace had said. No, it wasn’t Grace’s fault, Blessed would never accept that. Grace had a gift, he was good, his soul was in heaven with Martin. Was Martin in heaven? He hoped so, but he’d been away from his family for so many years, nearly half his life, and Mama had finally said, Let him go, let him go, he’ll come back, on his own. But Martin had been corrupted, all her fault, and then the bitch had brought him home in an urn.
And now Grace was dead too, and he’d rot inside that sleeping bag covered with a mound of heavy black dirt because he’d been doing what he had to do. It hadn’t turned out right. It had all gone wrong and Grace was dead. He’d lie out here forever.
It wasn’t right.
Blessed felt his rage build until he shook from the inside out. It was so strong, his need to kill both of them, to wipe them away as if they’d never existed. It would be hard with Autumn, though, if he broke his word to her. He didn’t know what she’d do, and Mama said he had to get her back. She had to have Martin’s daughter. He looked at them. They were filthy, covered with Grace’s grave dirt. He supposed he couldn’t leave the wilderness with them looking like this.
“Take us to the nearest stream, Sheriff.”
Blessed picked Autumn up in his arms and followed Ethan and Joanna. Thankfully, she still slept because those two had exhausted the poor child, dragging her through the wilderness, probably not giving her enough to eat or drink in their rush to get her away from him and Grace. The sheriff seemed to know where he was going, even in the dark. Blessed was impressed.
51
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
Thursday morning
An orange glow lit up the gray dawn sky. Even this early there was lots of traffic on the road, mainly trucks and vans. They checked into a small Hilton because they were both exhausted, but sleep didn’t come. Sherlock finally sat up. Hazy morning light now filled the room. She saw Dillon was awake, staring up at the ceiling.
“We’ve got Shepherd out of circulation,” she said with satisfaction. “She’s behind bars, scaring her fellow inmates with her chants.”
Savich turned his head to look at her. He smiled. “When she screamed at one guard, I thought he was going to faint.”
“See? We did good. You told Ethan we were going to cut off the snake’s head and we did.” She kissed his ear, then looked toward the windows at the bright morning sky. “Well, I don’t think sleep is going to happen.” She called Ox’s cell and, glory be, got through to him. She turned on the speaker and Ox told them they were getting ready to go in since it was light enough now. But Ox sounded really worried.
“I’ll call you guys as soon as we find them, or I know more.”
She told him about Shepherd in jail in Atlanta, then, “Ox, we think Blessed and Grace are headed back home, to Bricker’s Bowl. Please keep in touch.”
When she punched off her cell, Savich said, “I’ve tried to call Autumn, but there’s no answer.” He sighed. He was scared for them, really didn’t see a good outcome here if Ox and all the rest of the deputies hadn’t heard from them. Then again, there wasn’t much reception in the wilderness.
Sherlock was right. They’d had one victory. He thought of everyone’s shock when they first saw the little old lady in cuffs, being hauled into booking. The chanting and screaming took care of the shock. Shepherd was tucked away tight. That left Grace and Blessed. He felt panic nibbling away and wanted to smack it out of his head. Well, he’d gotten what he’d wanted. He’d bet his gym membership Shepherd had somehow contacted Blessed and Grace.
He had four FBI agents at Bricker’s Bowl, staking out the house, waiting for them to come back. But what if they didn’t come back? Maybe Joanna and Ethan were both dead. No, Savich couldn’t accept that, he simply couldn’t. He had to stop this, he was driving himself crazy.
He said, “I wish Autumn would pick up my call.” He gathered Sherlock against him and they fell into an exhausted sleep.
It was near eleven o’clock in the morning when Savich’s cell phone sang out Rihanna’s “Umbrella.”
It was Ollie Hamish. Just as Sherlock had done with Ox, Savich turned on the speaker.
“Savich, everything’s okay, let me say that first off. Lissy Smiley and Victor Nesser somehow found your home address. As you know, we’ve been keeping your house under watch. Dane Carver and Jack Crowne spotted them trying to sneak around to the back just after dawn this morning. They spotted each other, actually. They’d managed to get back to their car and floor it out of there before Dane and Jack could bring them down. Lissy was hanging out the passenger-side window, shooting at them for all she was worth. Victor knocked down a couple of mailboxes and mangled a kid’s bike on the way. Thank God none of your neighbors were up and about yet.
“Jack told me it was a wild honker chase, with a half-dozen local cop cars joining in. They left an injured pedestrian and a small Volkswagen flipped over on its side near the Potomac, and got across the bridge before we could close it. Then they drove right into the gates of the Arlington National Cemetery.”
Savich was gripping his cell. It was hard to be silent and wait and listen. He wanted to shake the words faster out of Ollie’s throat. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. He said, his voice flat, “They didn’t get them. Lissy and Victor got away.”
“So far,” Ollie said. “They blew out a rear tire driving over the grass and bushes, knocked over some of the grave markers, and skidded into a tree. Dane said the car was totaled, both front and back windshields shattered from gunfire. But Lissy and Victor were out and away before they reached the car.”
Savich said, “That means they’ll have to get a car, and they’ll carjack one if they have to, doesn’t matter how many people are around.”
“Yeah, we’ve got local police patrolling the streets within a mile of Arlington National Cemetery, setting up a perimeter, checking all the houses. You know, Savich, Lissy can’t be back to one hundred percent yet, so she’s got to slow them up. We may get them yet.”
But Savich wasn’t at all sure about that. It was a whole lot easier being a killer than a cop—cops had to follow rules. Lissy and Victor could have grabbed a car and been on the road again in five minutes, if they were willing to create havoc—and they were indeed willing, Savich knew. They didn’t care what they left in their wake. Lissy would kill everyone in the car if it would give them a few minutes before the bodies were discovered.
Dane, Jack, and Ollie knew it too.
Savich said, “I’m an idiot. I should have had Sean and Gabriella moved out right away, but I didn’t think there was a chance Lissy and Victor would be back so quickly. Sherlock and I were going to Titus Hitch or maybe back to Bricker’s Bowl, we weren’t sure yet exactly where, but not now, not with those two running around in Washington. We’re coming home, Ollie, as soon as we can.”
Ollie knew he’d do the same thing; he’d run all the way back if he had to, to ensure his child was all right. He said, “I understand. Listen, our agents will continue the watch on your house in Georgetown. Go to the airport. I’ll call you as soon as I have a couple of reservations for the first flight to Washington. Listen, guys, Sean’s okay.”
When he flipped off his cell, Savich felt Sherlock’s warm breath on his neck. “That was too close, Dillon, way too close. They’re not
going to give up. Lissy won’t stop until she’s in handcuffs or she’s dead.”
“I agree. Revenge is what’s driving her, nothing but rage and revenge. If Lissy’s driving the horses, and I think she is, we can expect more crazy behavior and not much planning. What they did early this morning—trying to break into our house in Georgetown, the sheer craziness of it—scares me to death.”
“We’ve got to try to find them before they try another attack. And the fact is, we don’t know where Ethan and Joanna and Autumn are right now. But maybe we can get Victor and Lissy.”
“It could be,” Savich said slowly, “that Victor’s really scared, that he wants to find a rock and crawl under it. But not Lissy, never Lissy. Still, even though we know she’s the alpha dog, I’m betting they’re going to go back to Winnett.” He shook his head, shrugged. “But what do I know?”
“You know it in your gut, don’t you?”
He nodded, and she kissed him and tossed him his pants. “Let’s get dressed and get to the airport. We’ll have a better idea of what’s going on after we get home.”
Savich thought about Autumn. He tried contacting her once again before they boarded the plane, but she didn’t answer.
52
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Thursday
Savich held Sean close, smoothed his fingertip over his boy’s left eyebrow. He felt such blessed relief that he was all right. Sherlock was tickling his ribs. Sean was laughing and yelling at Astro to save him. Astro was jumping on them, yipping his head off, his tail whipping back and forth so fast it was a blur.
Savich smiled over at his mother, who stood close, watching and smiling too, a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in her hand. Behind her stood Congressman Felix Monroe from Missouri, a widower of ten years, and he too was smiling as he watched. Savich didn’t know the congressman well, since he’d just begun seeing his mom. Savich felt funny about it but knew he shouldn’t. He looked over at his mother, saw the worry in her eyes that she managed to hide from Sean.
The FBI Thrillers Collection: Vol 11-15 Page 90
