Blood Sins (31 page)

It was a very relaxed scene, as intended. And the few church members who had noticed something going on and come to see what it was appeared merely curious and rather wary but not upset.

Good. Good. Everything low-key and casual. And leisurely. Because they had to have time for everyone to get in position. That was the tricky part. The timing.

Almost ready.

Thunder rumbled.

Stall.
Tessa's voice, faint but clear.
I need just a few more minutes.

Sawyer felt a jab of cold panic.

"We'd like to take a look around," he said to Reverend Samuel, hoping to hell he sounded calmer than he felt. "Talk to your people. We need to know who last saw Sarah. We need to find out if anyone has any information they may not realize is important." Deliberately, he added, "You know the drill. We've been through this before, Reverend."

"We have nothing to hide, Chief, I do assure you." Samuel glanced up at the lowering sky, adding mildly, "Though we might, perhaps, be well advised to take this discussion indoors." Either he was another superb liar or else he really didn't sense a threat. Which meant that DeMarco's dampening field--and possibly Sawyer's--was having the desired effect. But Sawyer's feeling of triumph was cut short when they all heard another vehicle coming up the neat graveled drive. He turned without even thinking about it, staring at the gleaming black sedan as it pulled up near the police Jeeps.

Jesus, not now. Who the hell . . . ?

A chauffeur who looked like a cross between a navy SEAL and a retired heavyweight boxer slid from the driver's seat and, expressionless, opened the car's back door.

Senator Abe LeMott stepped out.

O
H, SHIT.
Definitely not part of the plan.

Sawyer had certainly never met the senator, but he recognized him instantly; LeMott's face had been all over the news the previous summer. His face, and his wife's--until she had committed suicide not long after the savage murder of their daughter, Annie.

A murder investigated by a task force led by Bishop. A murder that had been, tragically, only one of many during that hot Boston summer. Her murderer had escaped the city but had not, in the end, escaped the determined efforts of Bishop, the SCU, and Haven operatives.

Not that all that had made it into media reports, but certainly the capture of a vicious serial killer had been reported. And there was plenty of evidence that he was, indeed, the Boston serial. Some of that evidence had been leaked to the media, and few had any doubt at all of his guilt.

So what was Senator Abe LeMott doing here--now?

Before Sawyer could ask that baffling question, Galen said roughly, "LeMott, you should not be here."

The senator looked at him with mild curiosity, glanced at a silent Bishop, then fixed his gaze on Samuel.

"I wanted to meet you," he said, his voice both courteous and cold. "To look into your eyes. Before you're destroyed, I want to know what kind of man could so easily kill."

Samuel smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Senator. I'm a man of God."

"You're a monster. Worse than that creature you kept on a leash while he killed for you. Man of God?" LeMott drew a breath and released it in a sound of unutterable disgust. "God won't have you, Samuel. Hell won't have you."

"Senator, you have my deepest sympathy. The loss of your daughter and your wife must be almost beyond bearing."

LeMott's face hardened.

Oh, Christ. He's going to do something.
Sawyer didn't know what, but he was very much afraid that what was left of their careful plan was about to be scattered to hell and gone.

"Samuel, I don't believe you have an ounce of sympathy in what passes for your soul. In fact, I don't believe you have a soul. I'd feel more reluctance to put a mad dog out of its misery than I feel in ridding the world of you."

"Senator." His smile widened as Samuel shook his head. "Did you really believe it would be so easy?"

He lifted one hand in a quick, practiced gesture.

With shocking suddenness, the chauffeur who had stood so still and silent near LeMott was lifted off his feet as though an invisible rope were attached to his body. He literally flew backward for yards, until he slammed into a parked car with so much force the hood of the vehicle was nearly bisected. The chauffeur stiffened for only an instant and then slumped, his hand slipping out of the lapel of his jacket, the gun he held falling to the ground.

Beneath the crumpled hood of the car, blood trickled onto pristine gravel.

"God's punishment for the wicked," Samuel said.

Of all the people in the Square, LeMott appeared least surprised. The senator turned his head to look toward the dead man, then his gaze returned to Samuel's face.

"Freeze!"

Sawyer nearly jumped out of his skin, and even as he absorbed the ridiculous command, he knew he had made a horrible mistake in bringing Robin along on this "operation."

"Robin," he said, "don't--"

She didn't fly backward as the chauffeur did. But her weapon clattered against the hood of the Jeep, she let out a strangled cry that chilled Sawyer to the bone, and then she went down.

By the time he got to her, she was already gone, her face contorted in agony and wide eyes going white.

He rose slowly to his feet, numbly aware of the frozen tableau around him. So fast. It had all happened so damn fast.

Sawyer. It isn't over. And he'll go on killing unless we stop him now. Here.

"Poor thing," Samuel said, his voice as smooth and pleasant as always. "Poor little thing. I wonder what she did to earn God's wrath. Can you tell me, Chief?"

His eyes were beginning to glow.

"No." Sawyer took a step toward the church. Then another. Thunder rumbled, louder now. The storm was closer. He stared at Samuel. "I can't tell you that. She was a good officer. She was a good person." The choked sound of his own voice was hardly professional, and he didn't give a shit.

"Such a shame. You have my sympathy."

Sawyer glanced at LeMott, understanding in that moment the other man's icy rage. The senator was motionless, expressionless.

Thunder rumbled again, and a chilly breeze sprang up. A flash of lightning crackled across the dark, heavy clouds.

Almost time, Sawyer. We're almost ready.

Samuel tilted his head to one side suddenly, an alertness stealing over his benign features. "Someone's talking," he remarked softly.

It wasn't time for Samuel to become aware of what was happening. Sawyer knew it, knew they weren't yet ready, knew Tessa wasn't ready.

Their plan was in tatters, and all he could think to do was draw his weapon and--

Sawyer began to feel a prickling sensation crawling over him, from his scalp down his neck, spreading outward from his spine. And to his shock he realized that he couldn't move. It was as if his body no longer recognized the direction of his brain.

"I don't think so, Sawyer." Samuel was smiling at him, a little sadly. "I really did hope you'd know who your friends were when the time came. I told you so, remember? I'm sorry you made a different choice, truly I am."

His hand began to lift, and Sawyer watched it with the cold realization that he was going to die. The tingling sensation disappeared, replaced by a slow constriction that sent fiery pain all along his nerve endings.

"Don't," a woman's voice said.

Samuel paused, his expression at first a sort of amused indifference. But then he turned his head and saw Hollis.

"I really wouldn't," she said.

Sawyer realized he could breathe again, that the pain had diminished--though not disappeared--as Samuel's attention shifted to the woman who had taken a couple of steps away from the Jeep to face him.

Samuel's hand began to swing toward her, something flickering in his glowing eyes.

"I've opened a door," Hollis said.

Samuel froze, his eyes still flickering.

Not part of the plan, this isn't part of the plan. . . .
Sawyer realized he could turn his head just far enough to see Hollis, and even with everything that had happened, he was astonished to see an odd sort of radiance around her.

Her aura. Somehow, she had made it visible.

"A door," she said to Samuel, her expression intent, eyes narrowed. "Between our world--and the next."

Thunder rumbled and lightning laced the darkening sky.

"Hollis," Galen breathed, "be careful."

She never took her eyes off Samuel. "I'm in the doorway," she told him. "Holding them back. Holding back the one thing you know damn well won't be denied to you in that world. Punishment."

Samuel studied her for a moment, his expression first wary and then certain. "I don't believe you," he said, and moved his hand.

Hollis jerked as though from a powerful blow, her aura beginning to shift from a metallic blue to a darker blue shot through with red threads. A thin line of blood trickled from her nose. "I'll let them through," she warned him, the words emerging almost in a cough. It was obvious she was in pain. A lot of pain.

"No." Samuel shook his head. "You won't."

His hand lifted, clenching into a fist.

She didn't fly backward as the chauffeur had done, but Hollis jerked again. Her aura vanished with a loud crackle that rivaled the lightning, and she was slammed backward to the ground.

And lay motionless.

Oh, Christ . . . this wasn't supposed to happen . . .

"Someone's talking," Samuel repeated, turning his attention from the fallen medium as though he had brushed away a bothersome insect. "Bishop, is that you? Have I finally lured you to me?"

Bishop faced him, wearing a tight, grim smile--and on his very dangerous face it wasn't a pleasant expression. "I thought it was time we finally met. We came so close last time, but you didn't stick around for the grand finale."

Move.

Sawyer realized suddenly that he could move, that he could take a step away. He wasn't sure in that moment whether Samuel had released him or someone stronger had pulled him loose, but either way he was able to move to the side and allow the two combatants room.

Doing the only thing he could do for Robin now, for Hollis, for all those Samuel had murdered, he focused his cold rage on his part of what was left of their plan, concentrating on directing all the energy he could muster to help contain Samuel's building energies.

It was like trying to catch lightning in a box.

The real thing crackled across the sky again, and the prickling, uncomfortable sensation of electricity filled the chilly, heavy air.

"I had to be somewhere else," Samuel said to Bishop, apparently unaffected and unworried. "I knew you'd understand."

"What I understood is that we managed to hurt you. Dani managed to hurt you."

"Yes, well. Dani isn't here."

Again, Bishop smiled. "Wrong. She is here."

Samuel's smile faltered for the first time, and his eyes began to dart around as he searched the faces of the dozens of people who had gathered nearby in the Square. Puzzled, curious faces, the only oddity about them the fact that they seemed unaffected by the brutal murders committed before their very eyes. And all familiar faces. Faces Samuel knew well.

"You're lying, Bishop. Not that I give a damn." His hand raised abruptly, palm out, and Bishop was lifted off his feet and slammed back against the Jeep with an incredible force that shattered glass and crunched metal. He hung there, suspended, the vehicle almost wrapped around him as if it had run full speed into an immovable object.

Just like the chauffeur.

For a moment, Bishop's body seemed stiff, but then, abruptly, it went limp. Blood trickled down to stain the gravel. "I'm almost disappointed," Samuel said, sounding it. "I expected more of a fight."

"Then you'll get one," Tessa said.

Samuel's head turned quickly, and he frowned as he saw her standing only a few feet away to his right. Standing in front of her, pressing against her, was Ruby.

His hand lifted again, but this time a literal shower of sparks cascaded out from Tessa and Ruby, the residue of the deflected energy.

"Try again," she invited.

He did, his frown deepening, his face twisting with effort as this time he lifted a hand straight up--and caught the lightning.

He became a living conduit. A crackling bolt speared his upraised hand and shot out from the hand extended toward Tessa and Ruby. It lasted only seconds.

And again, astonishingly, the force he directed at them was deflected, sparks and threads of energy hissing off in all directions.

"It's amazing what you can hide, especially in a place like this," Tessa said conversationally. No strain at all showed in her face or in her voice. "Like Ruby, under the baptistery. Left there to die, slowly, among the trophies you kept. I guess at the end of the day, a serial killer is just . . . a serial killer. For all your fine talk of doing God's work, in the end you're no more than a butcher."

He let out a sound so primitive it could only have come from an animal and, with both hands, sent a white-hot stream of pure energy to strike them.

This time, it was deflected--and returned to the source, slamming him back against the stone column at the foot of the steps. He hung on, panting a little, his face pale, furious eyes narrowed.

"It's amazing what you can hide," Tessa said again.

Samuel's head snapped around, because her voice came from his left now. And there she was, with Ruby as before. With Ruby and a dark, solemn-eyed boy. Cody.

"If you only know how," Ruby said gravely. "We know how, Tessa and me. And Cody knows how to help us. Cody has a lot of power, but he hid it from you. Until now."

Samuel, for the first time genuinely baffled and shaken, looked to his right again. Where Tessa and Ruby had stood seconds before, Dani Justice stood now.

"Hi," she said. "Remember me? You took away somebody I loved a lot. And you can't get away with that. You don't get to hole up here, growing stronger and stronger by feeding off people. By killing people. You don't get to be God. Not today."