by Kallie Lane
She heard a squeaking sound before she saw a mouse scuttle across the floor and head for a vegetable bin. Ugh! She’d seen enough rodents at the arena to last a lifetime. Enough. She was breaking out of there.
Her hands grabbed for the chain shackling her wrist. She tugged as hard as she could, and cement dust crumbled from around the ring anchored to the wall. The cement was old. She might be able to pull the ring out if she worked it back and forth. Steely determination seized her. She visualized the ring coming loose and releasing her from this hellhole. She would escape.
Cody needed her. He was only thirteen. He needed his mom, would be devastated if she didn’t make it home. And Sully? He would blame himself for letting The Shepherd hurt her…kill her. She wouldn’t give them up without a fight. She hadn’t told Sully she loved him, and she wanted the chance.
Chapter Seventeen
“Where are you?” Sully barked into his cell phone.
“I’m at the hospital,” Theo said. “After you dropped me at Breeana’s, I grabbed our bags and used her Pathfinder to get over here. It’s not looking good for Millette, by the way. He’s still in a coma.”
“What about Hawke? What’s his prognosis?” Sully didn’t want to think about his best friend and the shape he was in.
“The doctors anticipate a full recovery, but he has a concussion. He’s still out for the count, and I don’t know when he’ll be able to tell us anything.”
“He may not know anything.” Sully tensed his fingers on the steering wheel. “He might have been hit from behind. Stay with him, Theo, in case he wakes up.”
“Roger. Where are you?”
“I was at Millette’s house again. I tore the place apart, but didn’t find anything useful on The Shepherd. We may never know what evidence he had on him. And get this, the body of the pizza delivery guy who brought the pies to Breeana’s was found in a ravine out by the Long Sault campground. He’s another dead end, unless Marie Matisse can find trace evidence on his corpse.”
“Jeez, Sully. I’m sorry, bro. But you’ll find Breeana. I have a gut feeling about it.”
“I hope you’re right. I can’t lose her.” He wanted to cry, something he hadn’t done since he was six-years-old and his grandfather had died of complications after a stroke.
But nothing could describe the gut-wrenching sense of loss he felt now. If he didn’t find Bree in time, his life would be a black, gaping hole. He cared about her beyond reason, and prayed for a damn miracle. He needed her back by his side, safe and sound, where she belonged.
“Theo, I’m heading over to talk to the old priest at St. Pat’s. Father Mike is the only lead I’ve got left.”
“Just call when you need me. Reece and Hunt are on their way back from Cody’s location. They should arrive any time now. We can meet you anywhere you say.”
“Thanks, bro. Listen, it’s important. If anyone asks where I am, keep silent.”
“Does this include your homicide squad? What the hell’s going on, Sully?”
“Especially my taskforce. The Shepherd knows every move we make as soon as we make it. He also knows how to hide his tracks. There’s a mole in my department, there is no other explanation. Unless The Shepherd is a cop.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“No shit. I’ll be in touch. Just be ready to move and fill in Reece and Hunt. We’ll be taking down the bastard on our own. I can’t trust anyone else.”
****
One final tug and Breeana pulled the ring free from the wall. Yes! Then she was off the mattress and sprinting for the stairs. She reached the top landing and pounded her shoulder against the door, again and again. The hinges were old and creaked with each thrust of her body. Freedom was on the other side of the door, and she was damn well going to break through it.
Finally, the door sagged and she crawled through the opening. She landed on her hands and knees on a graveled drive. She needed to rest but there wasn’t time.
Get going. Run for your life!
She pulled herself up and saw shoes in front of her. The Shepherd’s wingtips. She leapt to her feet and veered around him. Clemente anticipated her move, wrenched her back by the hair, and threw her on the ground. Her elbows connected with gravel. She sat up and rubbed at the wounds, blood seeping through her fingers. Grimacing with pain, she closed her eyes.
The Shepherd moved behind her. She didn’t need to see his face to know he was insane with anger. He heaved her to her feet by the armpits, spun her back through the open doorway, and shoved her down the stairs. Shielding her head with her hands, Breeana bounced down every step. Landing hard at the bottom, she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. A sharp pain jabbed her side. Lord, she thought her ribs were cracked.
The lunatic was on her again in an instant, dragging her by the arm past the vegetable bins and canning equipment to a curtained recess in the wall. The skin rasped from her back with each tug on her arm as he hauled her across the cement floor. Her chance for escape from the madman was gone forever. But, she would stay alive, she vowed to herself, for Sully and Cody. She would see and love them again.
The Shepherd tossed the curtain aside and steered her into an alcove. He flicked a wall switch. A crude altar stood directly in front of her, the brass cross on its surface catching the light as a low-watt bulb flickered overhead. Clemente pushed her into a chair. Then he reached for a rope.
“Let me go. Please, I won’t tell anyone.” She clawed at him, leapt to her feet. Balling her fist, she pulled back her arm and swung at his face with every ounce of strength she possessed.
The Shepherd dodged her punch at the last second. Her hand hit the wall behind him with the force of a heat-seeking missile. Pain shot up her arm. Bones buckled in her hand, her wrist, and crunched together. She glanced down, noticed her thumb and fingers were at an odd angle. She glanced back up. The Shepherd was still standing.
Mercifully, she blacked out from the pain.
****
“Ah, better,” The Shepherd said to the unconscious Breeana. He slid her back onto the chair, securing her arms and legs to the spindles. Satisfied she couldn’t move, he grabbed his tool kit and hurried to repair the root cellar door. He did a rush patch job, but it would hold. After all, he never knew when someone would come snooping around.
It was doubtful the cops would be interested in the house anymore. They had already searched it from top to bottom, but missed the door to the root cellar in their haste to find clues to the church secretary’s disappearance. Yeah, someone screwed up, big time. I think it was Millette. He chuckled.
Too bad, he couldn’t take his time with Breeana now. It would have to wait until he clocked in with Homicide. Before the lieutenant realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Still, he had time for a last peek at the woman before he charged off to save the world.
He laid his tools aside and entered the makeshift chapel. She was still unconscious where he’d left her tied to the chair. He cupped his hands to the fullness of her breasts, bent low to inhale the lemon scent of her skin. Tipping her chin up, he feathered a kiss against her parted lips. She moaned, the sweetness of her breath tightening the muscles in his groin.
He felt the surge. Anger took hold. He slapped her hard.
The Lord’s right about you, Breeana. You’re a whore. You need to learn some respect.
Chapter Eighteen
“Prewitt has a solid alibi,” Clemente said. “He’s living with an ICU nurse from the hospital. She confirms his story.”
Sully careened into the parking lot of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, shoved the car in park, and switched off the ignition. “What story are you talking about?”
“Apparently, he stopped by to see her at work on the night Cody was attacked. They were eating in the cafeteria at exactly the same time The Shepherd tried to nab the kid. Prewitt has plenty of witnesses. A lot of them are hospital staff, Loot. There’s no way he pulled off the attempted kidnapping.”
Frustration and nausea rolled ov
er Sully in waves. Every lead in the case hit a brick wall. He was almost out of options and nothing brought him closer to finding Breeana. He desperately needed a break on the case, some tiny shred of evidence to point him in the right direction. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel.
“All right, Sal. Cut him loose, but I want him followed around the clock. I’m still not convinced.”
“I’ll get some men on it before I release him.” Clemente said. “Where will you be?”
“I’m heading to the hospital to check up on Millette and Jake Hawkins,” Sully lied.
“Have either of them regained consciousness yet?” Clemente asked.
“No and I don’t think they’re going to. Neither of them is expected to make it through the night,” Sully lied again. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
He hung up and dialed his brother. Theo answered on the first ring. “Listen, I want Reece and Hunt to guard Sergeant Millette and Hawke. The Shepherd hates loose ends. Those two are sitting ducks if he goes after them at the hospital. I can’t trust anyone on the force to protect them.”
“Consider it done,” Theo said. “We don’t need to remind our guys how dangerous he is. They still remember what he did to Micah and Law, and how he almost took Cody out of the hospital under everyone’s noses. And now, there’s Hawke. The doctor’s keeping him sedated, so we still can’t get anything out of him.”
Sully growled. “Just tell the guys to stay alert. No one gets in those hospital rooms without Reece or Hunt watching their every move. You make sure our guys are armed.”
“Got it, bro. I’ll be waiting for your call. We’ll find her.”
“Just pray it’s in time, Theo. I’ll be in touch.” Sully pocketed his phone and car keys, sprinted up the stairs, and rang the doorbell to the rectory. The building was a gray stone affair. Chipped mortar between the bricks and moss trailing up walls created a gloomy atmosphere. Cold and damp, it caused him to shudder.
A plump woman peeked out from behind a curtained window before opening the door. “You’re the one who called from the police department?”
“That’s right.” Sully flashed his badge. “Are you the housekeeper?”
“I am.” She chuckled. “And just about everything else around here, including the handyman. What is it you want, Lieutenant?”
“It’s vitally important I speak with Father Mike. It’s a police emergency, a matter of life and death.”
“Follow me then. He’s resting in his room.” She closed the door behind him and shuffled her way along a dim hallway leading to a staircase at the back of the house. Her arthritic knees popped with every step as they climbed to the second floor. “Don’t expect too much from him, mind. I know Father Mike still has his lucid moments, but most of the time he’s in La-La-Land. Try not to upset the poor dear.”
Great, just what I need, a senile priest who doesn’t know reality from fantasy. Still, he had to see him. It was the only lead he had left. Breeana…he couldn’t afford to dwell on what was happening to her. He needed to keep what little sanity he had left to question the priest. “I’ll be discreet.”
The housekeeper motioned to the first door on the right at the top of the stairs before she turned back to the stairwell. “Call out if you need me. I’ll be down in the basement doing the laundry. The old dear keeps soiling his bed linens.”
Sully poked his head through the doorway. He was shocked to see the emaciated form huddled beneath a mountain of blankets. The bedroom contained a narrow bed, a nightstand with a reading lamp, and a pine dresser against the far wall. The only illumination came from the lamp, a brass cross on the wall reflecting its pale glow. The windows were closed, heavy curtains drawn across to block the outside world. The room reminded Sully of a crypt in an old cemetery. Stifling hot, it reeked of decaying flesh and urine. The stench was overpowering, even to a seasoned cop like him.
A gaunt face turned toward the sound of his shoes clacking the floorboards as he moved closer to the bed. There was something about the priest that gave him the creeps. It had nothing to do with his advanced age or illness; but the cold, dead eyes staring up at him. A person’s eyes were the windows to their soul, weren’t they? Either the windows were shut tight in the priest’s case, or he didn’t have a soul.
“Where’s Hannah? Why hasn’t she come to see me?” Spidery fingers clutched the edge of the blankets as the priest struggled to sit up in bed.
“Hannah’s busy doing other things.” Father Mike obviously hadn’t been informed about the church secretary’s death, or else he’d already forgotten. Sully wasn’t about to break the news to him. “She sent me instead.”
“Come into the light where I can see you.” The old fellow studied him for a time, his gaze narrowing as if trying to distinguish Sully’s features more clearly in the lamplight. “What is your name?”
“The name’s Sullivan. I’m a friend of Hannah’s.”
“Liar! Do you think you can fool me, boy? I know exactly who you are.”
“I’m not lying, Father.” Sully figured he had just entered The Twilight Zone. The old guy was nuttier than a peanut sundae, double-dipped. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“The truth? Boy, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”
The priest’s rheumy eyes narrowed. Then he inhaled on an apoplectic wheeze and shook a gnarled finger in Sully’s direction. “You can’t fool me. Don’t you dare lie to your own father. Did saying the rosary teach you nothing?”
His own father? Was the old coot referring to his title as a priest? Or had he done the unthinkable? Was it possible the man of God had fathered a son? The sins of the fathers…Sully was going to play this to the hilt. “Hey, I never believed in the rosary, old man. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Blasphemer! The devil is still inside you!”
Father Mike clutched his pajama top and tried to rise up on an elbow. Spittle flew from his mouth. Hatred burned deep in his eyes. “Hannah should have punished you more often, lad. Did you not learn anything in the root cellar? I told her she was too easy on you.”
The picture forming inside Sully’s brain was so grisly it defied description. What kind of man allowed his child to be abused and then complained it wasn’t enough?
“Hey! What did you just say to me? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Get down on your knees and pray to the Almighty. He’s the only one who can save you now.” The priest was turning blue, gasping for breath, and Sully didn’t much care. He was not going to call for help unless he got the answers he needed to save Breeana.
“Dear Lord, the fruit of my loins is the devil’s own! Satan…get…thee…out!”
The housekeeper rushed in just as the old priest collapsed, his eyes staring heavenward, as if he expected help from on high. A death rattle escaped his throat and his lips froze in a permanent grimace.
Sully was sure the Lord was turning the priest away from the pearly gates at that very moment. He wasn’t a man of God, nor a Catholic. This was a vile freak, someone who had used the sanctity of the Church for his own devious purposes.
Even so, he couldn’t be The Shepherd. He didn’t fit the age profile. He was too old and frail to have killed those women, even thirteen years ago. Sully pressed his fingers to the side of the priest’s neck to be sure he was actually dead. He was. Good riddance.
“Oh, the poor dear,” the housekeeper clucked. “I think he’s finally passed over into the Lord’s hands.”
“It would seem so. I’m sorry if I upset him, ma’am.” Sully realized she had heard the priest’s ranting all the way down to the basement. “He seemed to become very agitated for no apparent reason.”
“Yes, I heard him, young man. He often pontificated about the devil and his unholy works. It was nothing unusual.”
She gazed up at Sully with something akin to embarrassment in her expression. “He wasn’t allowed to provide solace for his parishioners, you know. Not for the last few months.”
/> “Was it because of his failing health, ma’am?”
“No, it wasn’t because of his health. His sermons had become rather upsetting. The congregation complained about him to the Archdiocese. It was shortly afterward Father Mike’s health began to fail. It devastated him, you know, not being able to tend his flock. Now the poor soul is gone. May he rest in peace.”
The housekeeper busied herself, pulling a blanket up over the priest’s head while Sully prayed the prick would burn in hell for all eternity. He was certain the priest’s son was The Shepherd. Who was he?
“Ma’am? Can you give me Father Mike’s full name for my report?”
“His name is Father Michelangelo Clemente. It has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”
Clemente?
Fuck!
Sal Clemente was The Shepherd. He must have legally changed his name to his father’s.
****
Along with consciousness came excruciating pain, a body-slam of agony unlike anything Breeana had ever experienced before. It was terrifying, debilitating, and ripe with the promise of certain death. She couldn’t let The Shepherd win. Her heart cried out for Sully, needing his strength to survive. To do what had to be done.
She gritted her teeth against the pain, swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat and choking off her windpipe. She forced her hand open, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Her shattered bones ground together. She came close to fainting several times. She would not give in.
Control the pain. You can do it.
It was a waste of time. Her right hand was useless. She fumbled with her left instead to untie the knots binding her wrists to the chair back. After several tries, the ropes loosened and dropped to the floor. Lucky for her, Clemente had never been a Boy Scout, or he would have tied secure knots. Easing her broken hand gently onto her lap, Breeana worked with a dexterity born of terror to untie the bonds at her ankles. Finally, she was free. She had won.
She wanted to weep with joy. Baby steps, she reminded herself. She would get away from the animal by taking baby steps. Not by sitting there and blubbering like a child. It took another full minute, one she could ill afford, to remove her blouse and fashion it into a sling to support her broken hand. Another minute and she was off the chair and wobbling for freedom.
