The Priest's Graveyard (20 page)

It all struck me as being about
me,
somehow.

But I ignored the hot rage flushing through my face, stepped over the dirty boots, walked to the middle of the living room,
and faced Darby Gordon, who still stared at me from the door.

“Hey!” he yelled toward the kitchen. “Get in the bedroom!”

A slight woman with her dirty-blond hair haphazardly pulled into a ponytail hurried into the room, drying her hands on a dirty
shirt. No makeup, white as a ghost. She was wearing pink sweats and a pale blue sweatshirt.

She offered me a sheepish smile, then her eyes darted away and she slipped into the bedroom and carefully closed the door.

“What do you want?” Gordon said, approaching, face flat.

“I need to know when you last spoke to Simon Redding.” These were my lines.

“And who are you?”

“I think you know who I am.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t. Tell me.”

He had a harder edge than I’d anticipated, though I don’t know why I expected anything different. “Jonathan Bourque sent me,”
I said.

“And that’s supposed to mean something to me?”

I knew then that the direct approach meant to take him off guard wasn’t going to work as smoothly as we’d hoped.

“Please, man, don’t pretend with me.”
Man?
I was sounding stupid, so I cleared my throat and bore down with more authority. “We both know that you’ve done work for
Simon Redding. Don’t tell me you don’t know who he worked for. Redding’s missing, and if we don’t get to the bottom of this,
the whole house of cards is going to come down.”

He glared at me for a few seconds, and I was praying that he would break that stare and smile or laugh—anything that would
suggest he was just testing me.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” he said.

I lost track of what to do next. Were we wrong about this guy? No, Danny was sure about Gordon’s involvement. It was me…I
wasn’t breaking him down the way Danny probably could. He’d have this punk in tears in a matter of seconds, begging for his
life. I might not be able to use the same approach, but I wasn’t about to leave without proving that I was more than worthy
to work side by side with Danny.

I forced myself to relax. “You have any beer?”

Still no smile. “Sure.” He walked toward the kitchen. “This way.”

I didn’t know why I had to follow him. Couldn’t he just bring me a beer? I followed him anyway, thinking maybe I could regroup
in the kitchen.

But the moment I stepped into that nasty room wallpapered with dirty-yellow flowers, the sight of piled dishes and half-eaten
food accosted me and I lost track of myself completely. If the living room was the toilet, here was the sewer. I could practically
feel the grit and grime crawling up my legs, the microscopic bugs flowing into my lungs as I breathed.

I clamped my mouth shut, and that was when Darby Gordon moved, before I could shift my attention from the ungodly mess back
to him.

He snatched my wrist, spun me around, and slammed me up against the wall. I managed to turn my head, but my cheekbone and
chest hit the greasy wall in a dish-rattling impact.

“Now you’re going to tell me who you really are, you little skank.”

I panicked and spoke without thinking. “Ouch! You have no idea who you’re messing with. He’s going to kill you, man. You have
no idea!”

“Then give me an idea!” He jerked my arm up behind my back to make his point. Pain flashed through my shoulder.

“You’re dead,” I said. “When he finds out you messed with me, you’re dead.”

“Who?”

“Are you deaf? Bourque! The man Simon Redding works for.”

He breathed into my ear, pressing in close from behind. “That’s not good enough.” His breath smelled like beer and pepperoni.
“Redding would never send a scrawny kid to check on me.”

“Redding’s dead, you idiot!”

That got him. But only for a second.

I was completely lost, but I didn’t let up. “I’m here to find out if we can trust you.”

“Is that so?” He grabbed the skin on my belly and squeezed hard enough so that I thought I might pass out from the pain. “No
one comes into my house and threatens me.”

“You don’t know Jonathan Bourque,” I managed.

Darby jerked me around and pinned my wrists against the wall. A wicked grin on his face defied any fear. “Well now that’s
the problem, sweetie. I do. And I got the call from him two days ago, asking if I’d seen Redding. I know Bourque. The question
is, who are you?”

I was frozen. My cover was shot! Several thoughts crashed through my head: I should knee him in the groin and run, but he
was pressed too close for that. I should smash my head into his face and break his nose, but I knew he wasn’t the kind who
would let go.

I had to get to the pager in my pocket!

My eyes must have darted downward, because Darby followed my glance. He saw the small lump in my jeans, held one forearm against
my neck in a choke hold, and fished out the pager, which he tossed into a pot of water.

“You a cop?”

“No! You’re making a mistake…” I sounded like a bad movie.

“You wired, too?” He fished his hand up my shirt, found the tape recorder, and yanked it out. It went into the pot as well.

“Okay, okay,” I squealed, mortified by the fear in my voice. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. “I’m FBI. Let go, I’ll
explain. Just let go!”

“Is that so? FBI? Do I look that dumb to you?”

I wanted to say yes, but the forearm against my throat argued for a more thoughtful response. My mind was blank.

“This isn’t FBI equipment,” he growled. “And you’re not from Bourque. Which means I caught me something. Here’s what we’re
gonna do, honey. You’re going to tell me everything you know about Jonathan Bourque and Simon Redding. You’re going to tell
me, because if you don’t I’m going to hurt you real good in ways that only women can be hurt, you hear me?”

At that point I could have gone one of two ways. I could have lost it completely, started flailing and screaming the way most
would at the prospect of suffering underneath that dirty weasel. Or I could dig deep, push aside all thoughts of scratching
his eyes out, and play ball until I found a way to flip the tables.

I chose the latter. Base instincts will get you killed, Danny liked to say. After months of thinking scenes like this through,
I was smart enough not to do what I wanted to do.

“Fine,” I croaked. “But what I said stands. If you hurt me, you’ll be dead by morning. If you think Jonathan Bourque is—”

His palm crashed against my cheek and I cried out.

Darby shouted over his shoulder. “Emily! Get out here!”

“Please…” I wasn’t able to stop the trembling that had come to my arms and legs.

“Shut up. Emily!”

His wife appeared in the doorway. I could hear the faint sounds of one of the kids crying above us.

“Come here, honey,” he said.

When she didn’t move, he shouted, red-faced. “I said, come here!”

She came, hurrying like a mouse. But she didn’t make it, because he backhanded her with enough force to send her reeling.

“Get upstairs. And keep those brats quiet.”

She whimpered and fled up the stairs.

Then Darby Gordon grabbed my hair and propelled me back into the living room. Past the living room, pulling my head back with
my hair.

We were headed toward the bedroom. Darby Gordon was going to hurt me and hurt me bad. The room began to spin.

The bedroom was
a pigsty. Under different circumstances I would’ve had to exercise significant self-control to avoid launching into cleanup
mode, but at the moment my focus was on the unmade bed.

Darby gave me a shove and I sprawled on the dirty sheets. He was chuckling.

Those base instincts that I’d wisely refused to obey earlier now raged to the surface, and I lost myself to them completely.
The mission was shot. All I wanted to do now was survive.

I scrambled to the far side of the bed and rolled off, spinning back to where Darby stood, blocking the exit. I thrust both
arms toward him, palms out.

“Stay back! Just stay back!”

“Yeah? Or what?”

“Or I swear I’ll claw your eyes out, you freak!” I screamed.

He seemed amused by that. “You got spunk, I like that.” He walked to the dresser, pulled a gun from the top drawer, and faced
me, smile now gone. “There’s a couple ways we can do this. I can shoot your leg now so you won’t be tempted to claw my eyes
out. Maybe have a little fun before I kill you and dump your body. Or I can let you talk a little while I decide what to do.”

“Then let me talk. Just take it easy and let me talk!”

He looked me up and down then gave the gun a little wave. “Talk.”

“Put the gun down.”

“Talk!” he roared.

I flinched. “Okay, okay.” I had to get hold of myself. My mind was blank and I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ll talk, just don’t
shoot me.”

He grinned like a serpent. Danny’s voice echoed in my mind:
It’s all an illusion, Renee. Sleight of hand, sleight of mind. Get them thinking about anything but your objective
.

My objective was to live. And to get out. Through that door behind him and out into the street. Everything had happened so
quickly. Danny wouldn’t know to come to my rescue, not yet, not before it was too late.

I lowered my hands. “Okay. The truth.” There was a closet with a sliding door to my left, like the one I’d had at the Staybridge
Suites. “Okay, so I’m not with Bourque. You’re right, he didn’t send me. That was just a cover, and okay, so it didn’t work.”

He just grinned at me. My mind started to settle.

“But I know about Simon Redding, right? You have to ask yourself how I know he’s dead.”

I waited for him to respond, because I realized I had just made a very good point. Could I just tell him the truth? What would
Danny think about that? What did it matter? My life was at stake here, I had no doubt about that.

“Nobody said he was dead,” Darby said.

“I did. He’s missing and Bourque’s probably freaking out, thinking his number one man’s gone to the feds. Right?”

“Just talk.”

He wasn’t going to let me take control of the conversation. I let my shoulders relax and took a step forward to ease the tension,
but my heart was pounding and my palms were wet with sweat.

“We were lovers,” I said. “Jonathan and me. No one knew. We met in New York and I followed him out here.”

Darby didn’t object. The idea was probably totally unsurprising to him. Why not? Jonathan likely had a dozen lovers stashed
in a dozen different cities.

“But he crossed me,” I said. “He treated me like dirt. So I stole some money from him, and that set him off.”

I stopped, refusing to continue until Darby engaged me.
Get them talking,
Danny said.
The more they talk, the more they hear themselves. The more they hear themselves, the less they focus on you
.

“You stole from Bourque,” Darby said doubtfully.

“I did. Why else would he send Simon Redding after me?”

The man shrugged as if to say,
A hundred reasons.
He gave only one. “To get rid of the evidence. No one steals from Bourque.”

“Exactly. But I did. And I still have the cash to prove it.”
Talk to me, you freaking dog
.

“That so, huh? How much?”

“Enough.”

“How much?” he snapped.

“Put the gun down,” I said. “Quit acting like I’m some kind of thug who’s going to shoot you in the gut. I’m just a little
skank without a gun.”

He hesitated, then his lips twitched and he lowered the gun. “You got balls, I’ll give you that. How much?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars,” I said. “In cash. Hundred-dollar bills.”

“You stole three hundred thousand dollars from Jonathan Bourque,” he said, still doubtful.

“When he found out, he sent Simon Redding to kill me. I know that because Redding tried. Instead, I killed him.”

“Is that so? You killed Simon Redding.” He said it, but the words came out more like a question.

“And I cut up his body and threw it in the ocean,” I said. What did it matter? They would never find the parts anyway.

He eyed me, trying to decide if he should pay any attention to my claim. This was good. In less than five minutes I’d gone
from lying on the bed to making him think twice, and I took courage from my victory.

I took two steps closer and continued. “I have the money, all of it. But I don’t care about the money. I want the freak who
ruined my life, and I’m willing to pay for it.”

Darby scoffed. “You’re nuts.”

“Maybe. But you have to think about your options. I came here to check you out. I had to know whether you could get close
to Bourque, and whether you would rather make some serious money or end up dead like Redding.”

“Even if you did kill Redding like you say, you’re in my house now.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never see the money. Worse, Jonathan Bourque will have you killed when he learns that Redding’s dead.
He won’t leave you around to tell what you know. You have enough information to bury him.”

There were probably holes in my hobbled logic, but I was thinking on my feet and making him think long and hard. Even in that
state of fear I imagined that I was pretty good at this.

“You don’t have a clue what I know,” he said. “This is all crazy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why would a pretty little thing like me come waltzing up to your door at night? I’ll tell you: because
I need your help and I know that you’re in trouble. Tell me you don’t know that Bourque’s behind the hits you’ve made for
Redding.”

A slight tic bothered his right eye. He said nothing. I stepped closer, now only four paces away from him.

I spoke in a soft, sincere voice. “Please, Darby, you have to help me. You can have all of it. I just want Bourque dead. And
you know he’s going to shut you up eventually. He knows you know about him. He can’t let that go.”

“That’s not the way it works,” he said.

The anger I felt toward this man suddenly raged to the surface. “No? Then tell me, you stupid thug! How does it work?”

“His reach is longer than you realize, honey.” His use of that endearment made me cringe. “Even if I did kill him, which I
wouldn’t—not for any price—I would end up dead or worse. He’s got his end covered. You, on the other hand, are already dead.
Just a matter of time.”

“That’s what Redding said.”

“Simon Redding’s no Jonathan Bourque.”

A chill snaked down my spine.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. First I’m going to hurt you pretty bad.” His gun came up slowly and his grin was back. “You’re
going to tell me where the money is. We’re going to get it. And then maybe, if you’re real nice to me, I might let you go.”

My confidence was derailed. I began thinking about that closet again. It had two overlapping sliding doors.

“Get on the bed,” he said, motioning with the gun.

“Do you know anything about a hit on a man named Lamont?” I asked.

Darby Gordon blinked. He wasn’t a blinker, I’d noticed that. He stared for long seconds without a break. But when I said my
late husband’s name, he blinked, and I knew that this man had been involved in Lamont’s death.

I almost screamed and threw myself at him then. But that would have only gotten me killed. I managed to hang on to that realization.

“You’re sick,” I said. “You beat your kids, you molest your wife, you kill anyone for money without any thought about who
might be left behind.”

He seemed surprised by my sudden outburst.

My fingernails were biting into my palms. I shoved a trembling finger at his face. “You’re a demon!” I screamed.

Darby Gordon’s face flushed red and twisted into a knot of rage. He made a grunting sound and started toward me.

Run!

The word filled my mind. I feinted to my right half a step, just enough to get him leaning that way, then I threw myself to
my left. Toward the closet with its sliding doors.

I crashed into the door, grasped the frame and shoved it wide.

Plowed inside. Slammed it shut.

If he wanted me alive to mess me up, he would have to come in after me—I was counting on it. I would make my move then.

“You stupid, stupid…” Darby didn’t finish the insult, intent on opening the door.

But I was already at the other end, fumbling for a grip on the edge of the second sliding door.
Hurry, hurry…

My nails caught the molding.
God, help me.
It was a sincere prayer I think.

The moment I heard him slide the first door, I shoved the one at my end of the closet open and bolted out into the bedroom.
Darby was leaning into the closet with his gun arm leading, looking for me, just now realizing that I had exited the other
end.

Now I was pushed by survival instincts, not anything as calculated as determination. I sprinted toward the door.

“Hey! Get back here!”

I had no intention of complying. Darby hadn’t locked the bedroom door—his wife and children were no threat to their cruel
master. He was a pig.

And I was a mongoose, streaking for the front door as fast as I could run. I got my hand on the knob as he spun into the living
room.

“Hey!”

I threw the door wide, ducked out, and raced up his driveway. Was I going to make it?

But I was certain a bullet would slam into my back. I started to weave, like a drunken mongoose now.

Darby’s stocking feet padded on the concrete behind me.

I didn’t stop to look back, but ran to the corner and into the street, straight toward Danny’s car, fifty yards away. All
the way, pumping my arms.

The lights on his car suddenly blazed. He’d seen me!

I reached it in a dozen more long steps and dived into the backseat, not wanting to run around the car.

“Go, go, go!”

Danny didn’t go. Not right away.

I stuck my head up over the seat and saw that Darby Gordon had stopped at the edge of his driveway and was staring at our
lights.

“I take it things didn’t go as well as hoped,” Danny said.

Why wasn’t he driving? Then he was, in reverse, and I understood. As long as the glaring lights were in Darby’s eyes, he wouldn’t
be able to identify the car or its driver. Danny hooked one arm behind the passenger seat and backed all the way to the intersection,
swinging onto the crossing lane and then speeding away.

“Whooooeeee! Boy, that was close!”

My hands were still shaking, but I was elated. I’d made it. And I’d found out what we needed to find out, hadn’t I?

I threw my arms around Danny’s seat, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you! Ha!”

“What did you do?” he said.

I wanted to jump up and down and cry for joy, but it occurred to me that this wasn’t what skilled vigilantes did in their
getaway cars. So I took a deep breath, climbed into the front seat next to him, and told him.

“I got what we needed, Danny. I have proof.”