Taken (30 page)

She didn’t want him to leave, but she also didn’t want him to die. “I think you have to. I can’t get out.”

“I’m not leaving you, and you are getting out of that car. Don’t argue with me.” He leaned through the shattered glass and gave her a quick kiss. “We can do this.”

Nick threw all his weight against the branch, trying to use it to crank open the door. The car began to slide. The branch began to crack. And the smoke grew blacker, thicker, hotter.

Finally the door moved — just a few inches, but it was enough. Kayla grappled with the air bag as she pulled herself out through the open window — straight into Nick’s arms. He caught her in a tight hug. Then he grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait, my purse. The key is in there,” she said.

Nick reached back into the car and grabbed her bag; then they turned toward the hill. “Go up,” he said. “We need to get help.”

They scrambled up the steep terrain, slipping and sliding. Kayla saw blood dripping onto her hands. She didn’t
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know where it was coming from. She didn’t have time to look.

It was a hard climb, but a quick glance back at the car showed bright yellow and orange flames jumping out of the hood. A moment later the car exploded. The force knocked her to the ground. Nick was suddenly on top of her, pressing her into the dirt as rocks and tree branches fell down on their heads. When the fiery rush was over, they bolted farther up the mountain, until they finally got to the top, to the broken guardrail that had done nothing to prevent their crash

Kayla sank onto the pavement, gasping for air. Nick knelt down next to her, his gaze searching her body, probably noting every cut, every bruise.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Thanks to you.” Her eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. “I think I’m going to cry now,” she whispered.

He put his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I think I am, too.”

“You saved my life, Nick. Someone tried to kill us.”

The realization finally sank all the way in. Someone had tampered with the brakes on their car. Someone had wanted them to die. Evan. It had to be him.
God!
She hadn’t just married a con man. She’d married a murderer.

16

Kayla and Nick spent the night in a small hotel in Auburn, a city at the base of the Sierras near the hospital where the paramedics had taken them after the accident.

Aside from a mild sprained ankle and numerous cuts and bruises suffered by both, they’d escaped unharmed. A hot bath in the hotel tub, a good dinner, and ten hours of sleep had made Kayla feel a whole lot better. She was almost sorry when Nick said it was time to leave. But he was right. They’d eaten breakfast. They’d rented a car, since her Honda was completely totaled. It was time to go home.

They didn’t speak much during the trip. Kayla didn’t know about Nick, but she was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that they’d almost died, that they should have died. The paramedics had taken one look at the crash site and shaken their heads in amazement that they were alive to talk about it.

“You’re quiet,” she commented as the traffic began to thicken the closer they got to San Francisco.

“There’s a lot to think about.”

“Like what to do next?”

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“Like where to put you so you’ll be safe,” he replied.

She turned sideways in her seat, hearing the stubbornness in his voice. “We’re a team, Nick. Where you go, I go. Don’t you know that by now?”

“I didn’t think I was going to get you out of that car,”

he confessed. He glanced over at her, and she could see the pain and fear lingering in his eyes.

“But you did,” she reminded him. “You didn’t leave me when you probably should have.” She was still amazed by the selfless courage he’d shown under fire.

She wondered if she would have done the same. It was one thing to be trapped and another to stay in a situation where you could leave. “You didn’t quit on me, Nick, and I’m not going to quit on you.”

“It’s too dangerous, Kayla. I never should have involved you in any of this.”

“Involved me? I’m the one Evan started with, Nick.

I’m the one who had the watch.”

“But I’m the one who encouraged you to go after him.”

“It’s pointless to argue about it now. We’re in too far to stop. And I’m a little pissed off that someone tried to kill me yesterday, so if it’s all the same to you, I’m not going to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.” She saw Nick smile. “Did I say something amus-ing?”

“I like your spirit. You have a lot of guts, Kayla.”

“I think you’re inspiring me.”

“No, it’s all you.”

She blinked and turned her gaze out the window, not wanting him to see how his words had touched her. She was feeling emotional after their brush with death, and
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she was probably reading more into his statement than he’d intended. “So what should we do next?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. We need to connect even more with the past than we already have. It seems that your grandmother has probably told us most of what she knows.” He paused. “You’re going to have to tell her what happened to the car. I noticed you didn’t mention it last night when you spoke to her on the phone.”

“I didn’t want to worry her. I just wanted to warn her to keep the doors and windows locked and to keep an eye out for Evan or anyone else. She said she’d be careful, but I could tell she was worried, too. I hope there isn’t more that she hasn’t told me.” She took a breath. “So how else do you propose we connect with the past?”

“Well, we know the men grew up in North Beach and went to Catholic school at St. Basil’s. Maybe we should go to the church, see if anyone there remembers them. We still need to figure out what happened to Frankie’s watch.”

“True,” she said. “But I hope we don’t bring trouble to the good people of St. Basil’s. It seems to follow us wher-ever we go.”

“Let’s just hope that whoever tried to kill us yesterday thinks they succeeded.”

“That’s a lovely thought.”

“Do you know where St. Basil’s is?”

“Of course. I know where every church in the city is.

That’s my business. Not that I’ve spent much time on my business lately.”

“I can always drop you off at home. You can catch up on your work.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Nick. I work for my-266

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self, so I have a flexible schedule. Just drive and stop trying to get rid of me.”

St. Basil’s Church was located in a quiet, residential block in North Beach. It took up most of the block, with the church on the corner and the elementary school right next to it, a large playground running between the two.

There were children playing in the yard. It was probably recess or lunchtime, Kayla thought. They all looked so sweet and innocent, dressed in their blue-and-white-checkered uniforms.

“Hard to believe our band of criminals went to school here,” Nick said, surveying the scene.

“And they were altar boys,” she reminded him.

“Apparently, they didn’t learn the Ten Command-ments, especially the one about ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ ”

“Sometimes we hear only what we want to hear.”

They walked up the steps to the church. Kayla tried the door. It was open. At the far end of the large sanctuary, a group of children and a teacher were practicing a song ac-companied by the piano. Another woman was setting up flower arrangements by the altar. It was a beautiful, peaceful church, and Kayla felt a sense of serenity as she walked inside. Sunlight streamed through the gorgeous stained-glass windows.

“These are some of my favorites,” Kayla murmured.

Her low-pitched voice probably wasn’t necessary. No one was paying any attention to them. The children were singing, the pianist was playing, and the teacher was giving instructions in between the beats.

“Nice,” Nick said, studying the windows.

“Nice?” she echoed. “They’re more than nice; they’re
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spectacular, the way the light comes in through the glass, changing the colors.”

He smiled down at her. “Your passion is showing.”

“I want you to appreciate what you’re seeing. These windows came from Austria, probably in the early nineteen hundreds.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been here before. I’ve studied every window in every church in the city. They each tell a story.” She pointed to the nearest one. “That one is called the Nativ-ity window. See the row of anemones blooming along the bottom lower panel? In German folklore, where every drop of blood fell on the Lord’s walk to Calvary an anemone sprouted.”

“I never would have noticed that little detail,” Nick admitted.

“In the next window, the Annunciation, there are thornless roses blooming at the feet of Gabriel, whose wings shine with the iridescence of a peacock’s feather, another symbol of Christ. And some people believe that thornless roses are a lovely way to depict the Immaculate Conception.”

“Interesting.”

“The best part of stained glass is that different light changes the picture so these very same windows will look different in the morning sun than they will at dusk.” She stopped abruptly, seeing the amusement in his eyes. “I’m boring you.”

“You’re stunning me,” he corrected.

“There’s just so much to be seen in each window, in the details.”

He nodded, a sparkle of awareness coming into his
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eyes. “That’s what we have to do, Kayla: look at the small details and not so much the big picture.”

“How do we do that?”

“I don’t know yet. How did four altar boys wind up leading lives of crime?”

“They were certainly taught differently.”

“I think we should try to find a priest or one of those church secretaries who has been around for a hundred years.”

“I’m sure we’ll get that lucky,” she said dryly.

“You never know.”

“Let’s go next door to the rectory. That would be the best place to find your secretary.”

Unfortunately, the woman who opened the door couldn’t have been more than forty years old. She had a round, cheerful face and gave them a welcoming smile.

“How can I help you?” she asked.

“We’d like to speak to a priest,” Kayla said. “Someone who has been here for a long time, if possible. I just found out that my grandfather used to be an altar boy here,” she added. “He’s dead now, but I’m trying to get some information about him.”

The woman nodded. “Monsignor Serrano has served here for close to thirty-five years. I can see if he’s free.”

“I’d really appreciate it,” Kayla said.

The woman ushered them into a small waiting area.

“That was weird, calling Johnny my grandfather,” she said. “I think that’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. It feels disloyal. I haven’t had time to decide how I feel about it. I mean, I loved my real grandfather. And Johnny certainly was no prize of a guy. But we are tied by blood.

I can’t ignore that.”

“You don’t have to do anything about it, Kayla.

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They’re both dead. You don’t have to choose between them.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

As she finished speaking, the woman reentered the room. “Father will see you now. He’s in his office, down the hall, second door on the right.”

“Thank you so much,” Kayla murmured.

“Can I bring you coffee or tea?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, thanks,” Nick said.

They walked down the hall, and after a brief knock Nick opened the door.

A man who appeared to be in his mid-sixties sat behind a large mahogany desk. He wore the traditional black pants and shirt with a priest’s collar. A pair of bifo-cals sat on the end of his beaklike nose. His eyes were a dark brown, his hair completely gray. He had freckled age spots on his face. He extended his hand to each of them as they introduced themselves and sat down in chairs in front of the desk.

“How may I help you?” he asked. “Rosemary tells me you are here to ask about some former parishioners from a long time ago.”

“Yes, a very long time ago,” Kayla said with a smile.

“I understand that my grandfather went to school here and served as an altar boy. His name was Johnny Blandino. I wonder if you might possibly remember him.”

His gaze sharpened on her face. “I wasn’t aware that Johnny Blandino had any children.”

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “It’s a long story, but I have recently learned that I’m his granddaughter. He didn’t marry my grandmother.

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He was sent to prison when she was a few months pregnant.”

“I see.”

“So did you know him? Can you tell me about him?

How he went from being an altar boy to being a criminal?”

“He had a difficult life,” Father Serrano said heavily.

“His father killed himself when Johnny was eight years old. Johnny was the one who found the body.”

It was a similar story to what her grandmother had told her.

“Johnny’s mother drank a great deal after that,” he continued. “She couldn’t hold her life together for a long time. Her children ran wild. For years she struggled to turn things around. Finally she met a man, married him, and had two more children. She was a good mother to those two boys, but the older girls and Johnny didn’t ben-efit from that. They were out of the house by then.”

Kayla was surprised to get so much information. She pushed for more. “What about Nate and Frankie? And the other one, Dominic? What was the deal with their families?”

“Nate came from a big family. I think he often felt lost in the numbers, a nameless face at the table. He used to say that his father could never remember his name. I don’t know much about Frankie. Dominic was a good man. He was more stable than the others, married young, had children. Didn’t follow them down the wrong road like they wanted him to.”