Gideon (53 page)

“Wh-who are you?” he stammered hoarsely.

“I,” the young priest replied gently, “am the answer to your prayers.”

* * *

The trail was impossible steep. And Amanda was quickly discovering that she was in no condition to make it all the way to the top. She was stressed out, worn down, and badly in need of sleep. Plus her body was not yet accustomed to this thin mountain air. She could not catch her breath. Her head felt light and her legs seemed as if they had lead weights strapped to them. Ahead of her on the narrow trail, Carl was breathing heavily, too. But they could not stop. They had to keep going. One foot in front of the other. They had to keep climbing.

Because someone else was looking for Father Patrick.

That’s what Father Thaddeus had told them. A young priest, who had just preceded them up this very trail by a few precious minutes.

What young priest? Who was he? What did he want? Were they too late? After so many days and nights, so many miles of running, could they possibly be too late?

No, they couldn’t be. They just
couldn’t
be. Or it would all be over and they would be destroyed.

“I’m not going to make it, Carl,” she panted.

“Yes, you are,” he panted back at her, his own chest heaving. “We both are. We have to.”

The last hundred yards to the top of the mountain were by far the most grueling: pure rock and very nearly vertical. She found herself climbing on all fours now, every muscle in her body quivering. She wondered if it was possible that her heart might hammer its way right out of her chest.

And then, at long last, the trail topped out at a flat, narrow outcropping of rock. There was bright sunlight here, a panoramic view, a tiny cabin perched like an eagle’s nest. She could her someone speaking. The blood was rushing so hard in her ears that she could barely make out the words.

But it sounded something like: “I am the answer to your prayers.”

And then they found themselves face-to-face with two priests. They were standing at the edge of the cliff. Beyond them there was only a sheer drop into oblivion.

One of the priests was Father Patrick. Amanda recognized him, although the poor man looked as if he had just been mauled by a tiger. He was covered with scratches. His vestments were badly shredded. And he seemed a bit glassy-eyed. But he was alive.

They were not too late.

The other priest, the young one, was tall and slender with dark, wavy hair and a high, smooth forehead. Eerily handsome. When he heard their heavy footsteps on the rocks, he turned and smiled at them. It was a reassuring smile. A kindly smile. Radiating calm and serenity.

He seemed to be expecting them.

“I wondered if you’d make it, Carl,” the youngest exclaimed pleasantly. His voice was soft and gentle. It seemed to caress the morning air. “Or may I still call you Granny?”

Amanda watched as virtually all the color drained from Carl’s face. What was going on? For some reason he seemed shocked. Jolted. His eyes narrowed and his breath was now coming in quick, desperate rasps. What was happening? Why did he look so stunned? So … wounded?

“I’ve wanted to see you,” the young priest said to Carl now, a playful, tantalizing smile crossed his lips. In his eyes there was a triumphant gleam. “I’ve wanted you to see me.”

Amanda’s confusion deepened when the young priest turned and said, “Father Pat, let me introduce you to Carl Granville. I believe you know all about him.”

How did he know the connection to Father Patrick? Who
was
the priest?

Father Patrick, eyes still glazed, turned to Carl and said hesitantly, “I’m so relieved that you’ve come. I can’t tell you how relieved. I didn’t know if you’d even get my message.”

But Carl didn’t respond to Father Patrick or so much as look at him. He could not take his eyes off this other priest. He was gaping at him with a look that was now beyond shock, beyond disbelief, beyond comprehension.

“Are
you
relieved, Carl?” the young priest was saying now.

But how was this possible? How did he know Carl? How did he know any of this? And what was it in his tone of voice? Familiarity? No, more than that. Friendship? More than that, too. Intimacy, Amanda realized. That was it. It was intimacy. But how? Why …?

Carl was shaking his head back and forth, like someone in the midst of a horrible nightmare. And now he spoke, his words coming in short, harsh bursts. “No, this can’t be happening … No, no … it can’t be …”

She could not believe the look on his face. It had turned to horror. Pure and absolute horror.

“You’re
dead
,” Carl moaned, his eyes never leaving the priest’s. “I
saw
you dead.”

“You saw someone you
thought
was me,” the young priest said. “Someone with no face.”

“Carl, what’s going on?” Amanda said pleadingly. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“Who
are
you?” Carl screamed at the priest.

“I am whoever I need to be,” the priest replied triumphantly. “I am
whatever
I need to be.”

The priest’s expression had already begun to change. The expression turned form one of peace and calm to one of fierce sensuality. Somehow the contours of the face softened; the posture hardened, the back arching backward in a catlike, graceful manner. Even the voice was no longer so deep or throaty. It was much more melodious and seductive.

And he was not handsome. Not the way Amanda had first thought.

He was beautiful.

“It can’t be,” Carl breathed.

“Oh, but it is, Carl,” the priest said. “Believe me, it is.”

The priest turned now to face Father Patrick, who was standing, frozen, at the edge of the narrow cliff. “Do you accept that God saves those who believe?” the young priest asked the father. And when Father Patrick nodded, the priest said, “Then prepare to be saved.”

The priest pulled out a semiautomatic handgun from under the folds of his clothing, but Carl was already in the air. And as he dove, his voice rose into a wild, guttural scream that stretched on and on, the noise of a savage beast, filled with hate and ferocity.

The word he screamed as he dove for the priest, for the gun, for their very lives, was:

“Tony.”

Toooonnnnniiiiiiiiiii
.

Amanda watched the shot go wide, missing Father Patrick, and at first she thought that Carl had gone mad. But then she saw it, and it all made sense. The realization took her breath away as Carl and the person in the priest’s vestment fell heavily to the hard ground, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms like the lovers they had once been.

It was vicious and it was brutal, and it was a dead-even match. Toni was very nearly Carl’s physical equal—six feet tall, wiry and strong. And she was a trained fighter. Every part of her body was in constant, slithering motion—leg whipping him, kneeing him in the groin, gouging at his eyes, biting down on his wrist like a rabid dog. Amanda could only stand helplessly next to Father Patrick as the two of them rolled around on the narrow cliff, grappling for the gun, snarling, cursing, spitting. All the while edging closer and closer to the sheer precipice. Right to its very edge.

Amanda cried out Carl’s name, terrified that he and this evil woman would go over the side wrapped in one last embrace. Terrified that she would lose him.

Briefly he had a hand around Toni’s throat. He was squeezing, choking the life out of her, but somehow she fought her way out of his grasp. Then she had both her legs wrapped around his neck like a deathly vise. He couldn’t breathe. His face was turning purple. In a last, desperate move he pulled his arm back, launched it forward, and punched her in the nose with all his strength. As bone broke and cartilage shattered, as blood spurted, she lost her hold on him. And she lost the gun as well. He jumped after it, both hands outstretched. So did Toni. It went skittering across the rocks.

It ended up right at Amanda’s feet.

Swiftly she bent over and picked it up. She had never held a loaded handgun before. It was surprisingly cold and heavy. She stood there hefting it, transfixed by its feel and the blue glint it gave off in the sunlight. And now everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Carl and Toni were realizing that she had possession of the gun … they were climbing to their feet, battered and bloodied, their chests heaving … and were standing there, watching her.

They weren’t the only ones. She felt as if she were watching herself. Because this wasn’t
her
standing on a mountain holding an instrument of death in her hand. None of this was happening. Not any of it.

Except it was.

“Shoot her, Amanda,” Carl commanded. His voice was level. Emotionless. “Don’t hesitate. Don’t think. Just shoot her.”

“The safety is off, Amanda,” Toni pointed out helpfully, her gaze steady and unafraid. “All you have to do is point and squeeze.”

“Shoot her now,” Carl repeated urgently. “Do it.”

Amanda raised the gun, pointing it at the woman, holding it in front of her as if fending off a wild animal. It wavered there in the air. Her hands were shaking. Her knees were shaking. She tried to speak. No sound came out.

Toni inched a step toward her now, blood streaming from her smashed nose. “Go on, Amanda.” She was daring her, mocking her. She was a fearless, predatory cat. And even now, her face broken, her clothes torn and filthy, she exuded a sexual power that was commanding, hard to resist. Overpowering. “Give me your best shot. Show me what you’ve got.”

At her elbow, Amanda heard a low murmur. It was Father Patrick saying a prayer. She had forgotten he was even there.

“Shoot her, Amanda!” Carl cried out desperately. “Shoot her or she’ll kill all three of us. Just like she killed the LaRues and Shanahoff and Harry and Maggie and whoever that poor innocent girl was I found in her apartment.”

“She was no innocent, Carl,” Toni growled, running her tongue slowly over her lower lip.

“She’s not a human being, Amanda.” He too was edging nearer to the raised gun. “She’s a professional killer. An assassin. An animal. Shoot her!”

Amanda’s finger twitched on the trigger. It was starting to tingle. Her whole hand was getting numb. The gun shook from side to side.

Toni loomed directly in front of her now. He sensuous lips curled up in a malevolent smirk. “Carl licked every pore of my body with his tongue,” she said in a throaty voice. “He couldn’t get enough of me. That’s what he said to me. He was
starved
for me.”

“For God’s sake, shoot her!” Carl screamed.

But Amanda was starting to have trouble seeing now. Because the tears were starting to come, filling up her eyes, spilling out onto her cheeks. She could taste them on her lips.

And still Toni kept moving toward her, her voice low and seductive.

“When I went down on him, he told me nobody ever, ever sucked his dick like that before. Did he ever say that to you when
you
were doing him? Tell me, Amanda. I’m just
dying
to know.”

Amanda choked back her tears, hating that she couldn’t control them. Hating herself. Hating this sociopathic monster. Hating that Carl had been seduced into her bed. Hating everyone and everything. For the first time in her life, hating, hating …

“Shoot, Amanda!” Carl screamed once more.

And then Toni Charged her.

* * *

She couldn’t do it.

Amanda didn’t have it in her to shoot Toni, and Carl knew it. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t think any less of her. He didn’t think, period. There was no time to think. Only to act. To stay shoulder to shoulder with Toni as she inched ever closer to the gun. To say ready. And alert. And focused

Even though he was still reeling from the shock of seeing Toni alive again. He would never get over the shock of that. And just the fact that she was risen from the dead. It was the extent of the web that had been spun around him. The levels of complexity, of deviousness and destruction, that had been put in motion …

But he had to shut it out of his mind for now. He had to shut everything out and focus on the plan in front of him. What was it his high-school coach used to preach?

A champion doesn’t think. A champion does.

“Shoot her, Amanda!” he screamed as he edged one precious step nearer to her and the gun.

And then Toni charged her. She was lithe and fierce and remarkably fast on her feet.

But Carl was faster. He got there first, wrenched the gun from Amanda’s grasp, and with one quick movement pumped a bullet directly into Toni’s body, stopping her in her tracks.

Tony let out a startled gasp. She stood motionless for a moment, her back to the cliff, her face contorted in pain. Then, ever so slowly, a remarkable transformation came over her. The expression on her face grew softer, her lips fuller. Her eyes began to gleam at Carl invitingly. She was gazing at him, seducing him the way she had when they had been joined in passion together. It was as if it were just the two of them alone up there, no one else. Not Amanda. Not Father Patrick. Not anyone.

“Oh, Jesus, I felt that one all the way down to my toes, Carl,” she purred softly at him. Then, as if reveling in the exquisite pain, she yanked the priest’s collar from her throat. Next came the vestment, which she pulled off over her head, hurling it out into space. She wore nothing underneath it. She stood there before him in the morning light, naked from the waist up, her bared breasts firm and beautiful, the nipples rosy and taut.

Carl stared at her, remembering how those nipples had felt under his tongue. Remembering how glorious she had tasted and felt, remembering the delicious smell of her.

The bullet had entered her flawless body just above the navel. It was a small wound, just beginning to ooze blood. She gazed down at it with frank curiosity, the slowly back up at him. “Do you love me, Carl?”

“Who do you work for?” he asked. His voice was quiet now, calm. “Who’s paying you?”

Toni shook her head. It was the motion of a lover, as if he’d just asked her a favor and she was coyly refusing unless he’d come to her, give her another kiss.

“Do it to me again, Carl,” she said, a wanton lover, hungry for him.