A Reason to Believe (19 page)

his head lowered, handsome face contemplative.

Matt couldn’t help but wonder how all this seemed

to him, with his intimate knowledge of what came

next. What could a minister who spoke about

“God’s mansion having many rooms” have to say

to a man who could speak to the dead and knew the

pertinent details of what came next firsthand?

There was another song, another singer. Another

relative who spoke fondly of Abby, and her

mother’s weeping became audible. She wasn’t the

only one crying. The sanctuary was filled with the

muffled

sounds

of

grief.

Matt

fidgeted

uncomfortably, beginning to regret his decision to

attend. He wanted to support Karen Reynolds, but

this long sad goodbye was almost more than he

could stand.

Involuntarily he recalled the green grass he’d

stared at instead of Brad’s flag-draped coffin,

remembered the words that had rung hollow to him

even then. The minister hadn’t known Brad. He

hadn’t known he was funny, and pragmatic, and

surprisingly gentle for a career cop. He hadn’t

known he loved Bud Light and the Dallas

Cowboys and his burgers medium rare. He hadn’t

known Brad was a cuddler, and that his secret

passion was fussy little frosted cakes Matt would

pick up at their local bakery. Matt teased him,

saying eating them was the gayest thing he did. The

minister hadn’t known how much he loved, or was

loved, and the lack made his funeral an empty and

torturous exercise in futility. Matt’s throat began to

close and his eyes to sting, and he stiffened, trying

to fight his emotions back with a surge of panic.

His hand curled into a fist next to his thigh.

A warm palm settled over the top of it, and

surprisingly soft fingers rubbed his knuckles. Matt

glanced to the side into wide eyes studying him in

complete understanding.

“Relax,” Kiernan mouthed, his lips scarcely

moving, but Matt could read the words. “It’s

almost over.”

He continued to look into the warm gaze as he

forced his fingers to unfold, pressing his hand flat

against the wooden pew. Kiernan laid his palm on

top of it, squeezed, and then pulled both his hand

and his gaze away. Matt was both relieved and

surprised by how the gesture seemed to steady him

and he exhaled gratefully.

Moments later the same fingers clamped tight

around his wrist. Kiernan was staring straight

ahead, his mouth slightly open and his eyes

unnaturally wide. The warmth in his expression

had leached away, reminding Matt eerily of how

he’d looked in Abby Reynolds’ bedroom. He

leaned close.

“Kiernan,” Matt whispered. “What is it?”

“He’s here,” he said, his lips scarcely moving.

“Who?” Another eulogy went on in the

background, but neither of them noticed. “Who’s

here?”

“He is,” Kiernan repeated and turned to look at

Matt. Their faces were inches apart, and his pupils

had dilated to tiny dots in the centers of vivid blue.

“
He
is.”

Matt stiffened as the meaning sank in. “How do

you know?”

“Abby just told me.”

“She’s here?”

Kiernan nodded toward the center aisle. Slowly,

Matt turned to look.

There was no little girl with blond curls

standing at the end of their pew, at least not that

Matt could see. But an ice-cold breeze slithered

across his cheek like the brush of small, cold

fingers.

Chapter Eight

“He frightens her,” Kiernan said as Matt drove

through the snowy streets. “She’s been staying

close to her mother, but when she sensed him

there, she only remained long enough to warn us,

and then she was gone.”

Matt scowled, taking another corner, slowing as

his tires spun for a moment over the ice beneath the

new

layer

of

snow

that

was

currently

accumulating. He handled the minor skid with ease

and stepped on the gas again. “She didn’t see him

when he killed her,” he said, unable to hide his

natural skepticism. “How did she know who he

was?”

“She could smell him. Butterscotch.”

“Lots of people like butterscotch candies.”

“Name one.”

Matt opened his mouth to answer but he didn’t

actually know anyone who sucked on hard

butterscotch candies.

“See?” Kiernan said. “Not so common.”

“But there were at least three hundred people in

church. How are we supposed to know which one

she meant?”

“We know it was someone sitting fairly close to

Karen.”

“Which means any one of two dozen people.”

“At least we can narrow it down.” Kiernan

chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip.

Matt tried to remember who’d been seated in the

pew in front of them in the cavernous church.

“Yeah, to her father and members of their

immediate family,” he muttered. “Oh, and the

police commissioner, captain of detectives and

assistant district attorney. This seems pretty far-

fetched as a way of narrowing in on a murder

suspect.”

“I know it’s not much. Maybe she went back to

the house. I know she feels safest there. If I can get

up to her bedroom and talk to her, I might be able

to get more information. If she could stay around

long enough to give me even a bit more about

where he was sitting.” He exhaled roughly. “It’s

that she’s so afraid of him…”

Matt’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard

the plastic dug into his palms. In his peripheral

vision he saw Kiernan turn his head, and felt his

eyes on him.

“What?” Kiernan asked. Matt shook his head in

an abrupt motion. “Come on. What?”

Matt’s jaw hardened. “He’s done the worst he

can to her. Doesn’t she understand that?”

“Not

really.

Most

people

don’t

have

conversations about death with their six-year-old.

It’s not something they want to acknowledge is a

possibility. So children go into it pretty woefully

misinformed. They don’t understand what’s

happened to them.”

“You’re telling me Abby doesn’t know she’s

dead.” The thought made him feel ill.

“She knows something is wrong,” Kiernan

qualified. “But no. Not really.”

Matt stared bleakly through the falling snow.

“Christ. I thought there was supposed to be a light

or something. Someone to meet you, to guide you

over. Loved ones who’d gone before. Is it all

crap?”

A steady, calming hand rested on his thigh, pale

fingers spread. “It isn’t crap. There is something

more, something greater. It’s different for

everyone. Some people travel through a long

tunnel, others open their eyes and find themselves

in a meadow of flowers. Some are surrounded by

family, some aren’t. It’s as individual as the

person. But I told you, there’s still choice. Choice

to go forward, or to stay where at least things look

familiar. Now, imagine you’re six years old, you

have no idea what’s going on, and suddenly there’s

this long, dark tunnel and at the other end you hear

someone calling you. Would you go?”

Matt frowned but didn’t answer.

“On top of that, she was compromised when she

died. The drugs made everything fuzzy. It’s a lousy

situation all around.”

Matt’s mouth tightened as he bit the inside of his

lip.

“What?” Kiernan prodded again. “Come on,

Matt.” He squeezed the rigid muscle in Matt’s

thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I hate the idea she might actually still be

afraid,” he answered harshly. “She shouldn’t have

to be, it shouldn’t be like that.”

“I know. And I know all of this challenges

something fundamental in your belief system.”

Matt shot him a narrow-eyed look.

Kiernan’s mouth softened in response. “You’re

a cop, raised a Catholic. Both things are conducive

to a healthy skepticism. It’s okay, I understand. But

people are complicated, Matt, which means their

deaths are complicated, too. People who have

reached an advanced age and die peacefully have a

certain death experience. You have to grant that

murder victims, particularly children, might have

another. But I can talk to her. It’s what I do,

remember?”

Matt nodded grudgingly.

“If I didn’t think I could help, I wouldn’t be

here. If I can contact her, and can get her to listen

long enough, I can convince her he can’t hurt her

anymore. I’m going to try.”

Matt took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

Kiernan’s hand drifted away from his thigh, and

Matt missed the warmth of it almost instantly. He

turned another corner and slowed at the sight in

front of him.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled, eying the rows of

news vans blocking the street in front of the

Reynolds’ house. Traffic was backed up and

crawling. He glanced in the rearview mirror

before throwing the Bronco into a tight U-turn. It

took the wheels a moment to find purchase on the

packed snow, but the studs finally caught and

jerked the vehicle around. “There won’t be any

going in the back way here. But if we park far

enough away…” He turned down a side street,

pulling to the curb about a block from the corner.

“We’re going to have to hoof it,” he said, turning

off the ignition. “There’s a hat on the back seat and

a scarf in the trunk. We might be able to cover up

enough of your face to get by without them figuring

it out.”

“Wait, I get to wear a disguise?” Brightening,

Kiernan peered over the seat and scooped up the

ball cap. When he yanked it onto his head, it was

large enough that it covered the top of his ears and

his forehead almost to his eyebrows. “Cool!”

“What are you, twelve?”

Kiernan laughed. “I have been accused of acting

it more than once.”

Matt opened his door and snow blew into his

face. God, it was cold. He hoped it worked in their

favor. Many of the people arriving at the house

would be bundled up and unrecognizable. He

turned the collar of his overcoat up around his chin

and trudged through the thick snow to the back of

the Bronco, unlocking the hatch, lifting it to

rummage around. He found the plaid scarf under a

blanket and tossed it to Kiernan. “Wrap that

around the lower part of your face and tuck the

ends inside your coat.”

Kiernan caught it with a playful grin, unfolding

the long piece of fleece. It was nearly as long as he

was tall, and he eyed it with skepticism.

“You don’t wear scarves where you’re from?”

“In southern California? No, not ordinarily.”

Matt stepped up next to him on the snow-

shrouded curb. “Give me that,” he said gruffly,

holding out his hand. Kiernan handed it over and

Matt quickly doubled it, folding it back on itself.

“Okay, open your jacket for a second.”

Kiernan dutifully unbuttoned the leather coat and

held it open.

A gust of cold plastered the fabric of Kiernan’s

dress shirt to his chest, and his nipples hardened

abruptly into sharp points. The sight of them sent a

startling rush of tingling awareness over Matt’s

body, centering in his groin.

Matt hastily wrapped the scarf around Kiernan’s

throat and forced himself to take a step back. But

his hands actually ached with the desire to touch,

and he curled them into fists inside his gloves.

“Is this what you meant?”

Kiernan had effectively covered the distinctive

square jaw and expressive mouth and the hat did

the rest. Someone would have to look closely to

recognize him. Matt nodded brusquely and turned

to head toward the Reynolds’ house and Kiernan

fell into step beside him, thankfully silent. Matt

wasn’t sure he’d be able to carry on a

conversation. He felt like an idiot. An aroused

idiot, because the inconvenient ache still lingered

in his groin.

As they neared the house, they joined the crowd

gathering outside on the sidewalk. There were

dozens of people in front of them. Private security