by CJ Lyons
“He’s not our only problem.” Andre tapped her shoulder. Behind them more kids emerged from the building. Accompanied by thick billowing smoke.
“Damn it. She started a real fire. What the hell was she thinking?” Jenna muttered. Andre called the fire department. Greene finally sputtered to a stop, and she saw her chance. “Mr. Greene,” she called. He swung his head to face her but didn’t point the gun at her. A good start. “I need you to put the gun down and back the car up.”
“Jenna!” Greene seemed relieved to see her. “He did it. This sonofabitch came to my home and killed my little girl.”
Benjamin saw his chance, twisting his torso as much as possible to face Jenna. He raised his hands as if surrendering. “No. I’m innocent. I never hurt his daughter. I never hurt anyone. I love them all. Can’t you see? I’m trying to save them.”
“Liar,” Greene spat the word. “You used my own daughter against me. Tried to blackmail me. And when I wouldn’t pay, you killed her!”
Andre edged away from Jenna, skirting the rear of the Tahoe, aiming for a position closer to the Lexus where he could take a head shot without risking the children.
Benjamin clasped his hands in prayer. “I swear to God, I did no such thing. I’ve never met you or your daughter before today. I only did what she asked me to. I was only trying to save her soul.”
Greene was livid. “That wasn’t my daughter. My daughter is BreeAnna Greene. And you killed her.”
He revved the engine, but thankfully the SUV didn’t move. He must have it in “Park.” Which might buy them time and the ability to use lethal force if need be. She glanced at Andre, still not in position.
“Mr. Greene,” she called out again. “Obviously there’s been some confusion. Why don’t you let me take it from here? The police are on their way. We’ll make sure BreeAnna’s killer pays for what he did.”
Hostage negotiation wasn’t exactly Jenna’s forte, but Greene seemed to consider her words.
“No.” Or not. “I want to hear him say it. I want to hear his confession. About how he used my daughter’s own words, e-mailed me blackmail threats with messages from BreeAnna, and then he . . . he—” Greene’s voice sputtered away, choked with tears.
Benjamin appeared confused. “BreeAnna Greene? I never even—you don’t understand—it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be. I never use a computer, my assistant does. I never e-mailed you, and I certainly didn’t kill anyone.”
The Reverend managed to pull himself together, standing tall despite the automotive steel pinning his body. “I’m a man of God, sir. If someone used my good name to do you harm, then we need to work together to find him.”
Greene considered the Reverend’s words. Then he shook his head and aimed the gun at him once more. “No. I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
Shit. They were losing him. Jenna glanced at Andre. He was in position for a kill shot. No sign of the cops. Damn, damn, damn. She did not want to make this call. Getting her very first client killed had not been the plan. Damn Morgan, this was all her fault. Stirring things up, creating this chaos.
She held a hand up to Andre, telling him to stand by. No one could fault them for that, for trying to defuse the situation, waiting for the authorities to arrive.
Engage the subject. Connect with them. The heart of any negotiation.
“Mr. Greene,” she tried again. “Robert. Would BreeAnna want you to do this?” Stupid question. Never give them a chance to say no, she reminded herself. She quickly regrouped. “What would BreeAnna want? For you? For your family?”
He hesitated, the pistol drifting down. She thought she had him when a man stumbled out from around the building, into the glare of the Lexus’s headlights. And the line of fire.
Not a man, she saw. A teenage boy. Carrying another. He carefully laid the second boy onto the asphalt. “Help me,” he called. “I can’t stop the bleeding.”
“Get up, Deidre,” Sean ordered, his gaze locked on Morgan’s. At this close range, any shot would be lethal. “You two are coming with me.”
Behind Morgan, Deidre obeyed and climbed to her feet.
“Sean.” Deidre’s voice filled with surprise and dismay. “Put that gun down. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you really screwed up, that’s what I’m thinking. I’m thinking I need to cut my losses.” He gestured for them to move toward the tree line and the side of the building farthest away from the road and any help. “I’m thinking a hostage wouldn’t hurt.”
They walked around the far corner of the school. There was a service drive here and a Cadillac ATS parked, its engine running. Sean realigned himself so that the girls were trapped between him, the building, and the car.
Morgan braced herself to rush him, but he was still too close. If the gun went off at this distance, he’d surely hit her. Because it was her he was aiming at, not his sister.
He gestured for them to move to the car. Clicked a remote and the trunk popped open. “Inside, Ms. Renshaw—or whatever your name is.”
“No.” Sean appeared as surprised by Deidre’s defiance as she herself did. “Let Morgan go. She doesn’t belong here, mixed up with you . . . you,” her face twisted as she searched for the right words, “you heathen. I see now. The truth. Using these children, twisting God’s word, making a mockery of everything you profess to believe in. For what? Money?”
She was practically spitting the words at her brother by the end. Sean’s attention shifted to his sister, but unfortunately his aim remained on Morgan. He understood who the real threat was here.
“What would you know of it?” he snapped back. “All your life you’ve been coddled, taken care of. After Mom left, who went out and stole food for you while going hungry himself? Who sat in the rain in the gutter and begged so you could have a coat to keep you warm? And these past years, safe inside here—”
“Inside here where you imprisoned me. Was that the deal from the beginning? Was I the price you paid the Reverend so you could have a roof over your head?” Deidre paced in a small, tight circle, her fists circling through the air, not unlike the movements she’d inspired in her flock during Morgan’s Purge. “You used me, Sean. Just like he did.”
Sean studied his sister as if seeing her for the first time. “You didn’t figure that out by yourself. The Reverend had you totally under control—he had everything under control until that fat cow, BreeAnna Greene, came along.”
“Don’t you blame her! Don’t you even say her name!”
If only Sean would take a step back or to the side. If only his aim would waver for an instant—it was all Morgan needed to escape. Because there was nothing here she could use to fight—nothing except Deidre’s wrath. And her baby.
“Did you know she’s pregnant?” Morgan threw the words into the silence between brother and sister, gasoline on a fire. “Did you know your sister is having a baby?”
She braced herself, ready to make a run for it. But Sean didn’t take the bait. Instead he let loose with a small, exhausted exhalation. “Of course, I knew. That’s why I had to kill BreeAnna.”
CHAPTER 47
You killed Bree?” Deidre’s voice was strangled. She rushed Sean. He whirled, the gun now pointing at her belly.
Morgan could have run. She should have run. All she’d been thinking about was when to run.
Her body faced the tree line where she might escape into the forest. It was far, maybe too far to outrun a bullet. But it was her only hope. Somehow her feet took her in the other direction. She charged between brother and sister, pushing Deidre aside before Sean could use the gun and inserting her own body between them.
They were now so close, Deidre pressed against her back, her sobs shaking both her and Morgan. In front of Morgan, Sean’s chest heaved as he fought to regain control. Which left Morgan trapped in the kill zone, a pistol mere inches from her heart.
�
��Why?” Deidre cried out. “Why did you kill her?”
“It’s your own damn fault. You told her. Everything. What were you thinking?” Sean’s voice rose in pitch, sounding more like a scorned lover than a con man cutting his losses.
“Bree was going to help me. She’d stay here so I could marry Reverend Benjamin. She was going to save us both.”
“You’re an idiot. Benjamin doesn’t love you—he loves to hate you, to hurt you. And BreeAnna, she was going to tell. About the baby, about everything. She was going to ruin everything. I’d be in prison for the rest of my life. Is that what you wanted?”
“No. Of course not. But it has to end, Sean. Can’t you see that? We can start over. You and me, just like it’s always been. You and me and the baby.”
Sean shook his head in regret. His mind had been made up as soon as he aimed the gun at his sister, Morgan knew.
“I’m sorry, Deidre. I thought by silencing BreeAnna, I could save you, but she’s ruined that.” He glared at Morgan as if this was all her fault.
Stall, she had to stall. Someone would be here soon—if not Jenna and Andre, then Greene. Or a helpful fireman. Surely someone cared about fifty kids alone in the middle of nowhere.
No. Of course not. That was the point, wasn’t it?
Finally she understood what Bree had found so compelling about ReNew. More than a chance to fit in with other outcasts, misfits. Bree believed she could help those kids. That they needed her.
Unlike her own family.
Robert and Caren Greene had used their daughter like a dog’s chew toy, a plaything for their egos and marital power struggle. They’d taught Bree that she was worthless, that she didn’t matter.
But here, at ReNew, where her gift of music had made such a difference, where her gift of friendship helped Deidre find a path to salvation for her and her unborn child, where her willingness to pay the price to protect the others from the Rev’s twisted needs . . . here, Bree had mattered. She’d had the chance to change everything.
Here at ReNew she’d never be alone again.
Morgan’s mind whirled, sifting through a myriad of possibilities. Bree might have found hope and fellowship here at ReNew, but Morgan was on her own. She couldn’t count on anyone arriving in time to save her.
Just like all those hours waiting in the dark for her father to finish his business, trying to block out any tiny remnant of fear or emotion that would betray her to him, she was all alone.
“You don’t need to do this, Sean,” Morgan tried again. “I’m here to expose the Reverend. He made you use those kids to blackmail their families. You had no choice.”
His face twisted into a sneer. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. The Reverend didn’t use us—we used him. At least we did until she”—he waved the pistol at Deidre—“went and got religion, fell in love with what Benjamin was feeding her. All that bullshit about purging sins and being purified. You two deserve each other; you’re both twisted freaks.”
Deidre lunged forward. Morgan grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Don’t you say that, don’t you dare say that about him! He’s a good man, a great man. He can lead us all to salvation.”
Clearly still conflicted about the good Reverend Doctor. Which wasn’t helping, not at all.
“A good man? How can you still believe that? The old man gets his kicks out of torturing kids and breaking them down until they’re mindless pools of self-pitying jelly. Oh and his idea of sex is seeing how much pain you take before you pass out.”
“He’s trying to save my everlasting soul,” Deidre protested.
“You’ve been locked up here since you were twelve. What the hell could you have done that takes seven years of his sadistic torture to cleanse your soul?”
Deidre drew in her breath so sharp and fast that Morgan felt the hairs on her neck bristle. “You know what I’ve done, you know my sins can never be forgiven,” she said in a tight whisper. “I’m wicked, as wicked as Eve when she seduced that serpent into giving her the apple and then turned her evil wiles on Adam. I deserve to be punished.”
“Fine by me. You want to be saved, to meet your Almighty Maker? Glad to oblige. Get in the trunk, and it will all be over with real soon. They’ll blame the fire, say it spread to the car. Then I can get the hell out of here while Benjamin takes the fall.”
Morgan had no idea what they were talking about, but there was no mistaking the threat in Sean’s voice as he detoured from hostage taking to outright murder. She’d lost her chance to reason with him, thanks to Deidre making it personal. Why did people have to let their emotions run wild like that?
He jabbed her with the pistol. “Move. Both of you.”
What emotion drove Sean? Self-preservation, obviously. And greed.
“We can create a diversion, Sean. So you can get away with all that money. You were the one behind the blackmail scheme, right? Smart guy like you, I bet you have all that money socked away in some offshore account. You need us to buy you time to get to the airport. Let us go and we can do that.”
“No,” Deidre screamed, darting around Morgan to get at Sean. “He killed Bree; we can’t let him get away with that.”
Sean aimed at his sister, but instead of shooting her, he hit her with the gun butt so hard that she staggered back, knocking Morgan over before Morgan could take advantage of the opportunity.
“Get up and get in the car,” Sean repeated, his voice now devoid of emotion. “I won’t ask again.”
There was no ignoring the gun he pressed against Morgan’s temple. Maybe there was a weapon in the car trunk that she could reach, one better than the padlock she still held—and it would get Deidre out of the line of fire.
Morgan led Deidre, who was now weeping silently, to the trunk. Sean remained behind her, the muzzle of the pistol digging into Morgan’s bare neck right at the top of her spinal cord. She was freezing, out here in the night air dressed in nothing but a sports bra and torn scrub pants, no shoes, but she embraced the cold. It numbed the pain from the lacerations crisscrossing her back and kept her focused.
She helped Deidre climb into the trunk. Deidre knelt in the opening, unwilling to let go of Morgan’s hands. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. It’s all my fault.”
All Deidre’s fault? For what? Letting herself be used by the Rev? Or . . . something else?
“Deidre, who’s the father of your baby?”
The other girl said nothing. But her gaze left Morgan’s to search out Sean.
“I’m so sorry. I’m evil, I know I am,” Deidre wailed. She released Morgan’s hands and covered her face.
Morgan wanted to lash out at the girl for her self-pity and weakness. But she held back. For one thing, it wouldn’t do any good. And for another, she hated to admit how alike she and Deidre were. Both molded to be the perfect fish for their respective father figures. Both trained to obey without question.
And in the end, both victims.
CHAPTER 48
Micah knew he was taking a terrible risk. But Nelson had passed out, and he could barely carry the larger boy’s weight another step, and if that really was Bree’s father holding the Rev prisoner, then maybe Micah could reason with him, unlike the lady—she must be some kind of a cop—behind the Tahoe across the parking lot.
Nelson didn’t have time to wait, he realized as he laid him down in the headlights and saw how much blood covered Nelson’s pants and Micah’s own body. “Mr. Greene,” he called to the man in the Lexus, ignoring the others. “I was a friend of BreeAnna’s. She was so proud of you. Said you were the kind of guy others could count on in an emergency—said you even once got caught in a cave-in while working a mine.”
Greene blinked, startled by his words. Good. Anything to end this fast so Nelson could get the help he needed.
“I was your age,” Greene said. His voice sounded as distant as the memory.
“Just turned eighteen. Roughnecking it, trying to find veins of coal in an old mine, long stripped bare. It put food on our table, barely. Me, my dad, uncles, and cousins, we were all there when the roof crashed down on us.”
“Bree said you saved them all. Said you were the one who got them out. Can I count on you to help me save my friend?” Micah swallowed, his spit tasting of soot and blood. “Please, sir. Help us.”
He locked his gaze with Greene’s, ignoring the tall black guy who crept up on Greene’s blind side, a gun aimed at the older man. Greene nodded, slowly, then blinked fast as if holding back tears. “They killed my baby.”
“I know, sir,” Micah said. “I miss her, too. Help me and I’ll tell you all about her time here. Your daughter—she’s just like you. She saved us all.”
Tears streaming down his face, Greene’s gun slipped from his hand and clattered against the blacktop. Sirens sounded in the distance, but the black guy didn’t wait. He lunged forward, popped the SUV’s door open, and grabbed Greene, spinning him to the ground.
The lady with the gun came running around. She pulled a pair of plastic handcuffs onto Greene’s wrists and tugged them tight. “Help the boy,” she told the black guy. “First-aid kit’s in the back.”
Micah pressed down with his entire weight, trying to slow the blood seeping from Nelson’s leg. The black guy ran to the Tahoe, then back to Micah just as the bright lights of a fire truck and cop car appeared at the far corner of the fence line. The guy crouched beside Micah, ripping open a bandage from its plastic packaging.
“My name’s Andre,” he told him. “Don’t worry, your friend will be fine. I’ve seen this QuikClot work wonders with worse wounds.”
Micah released his makeshift bandage and sat back to give Andre room to work. For the first time since escaping the fire, he shivered, feeling the cruel March wind against his bare chest. The ReNew building was now totally engulfed, flames crowding through windows and the roof, reaching to the sky.
His ears rang with the noise—not helped by the shouts of the firemen and the police officers. He shook his head to clear it and looked around.
