Absolution (30 page)

“You’ll slow me down.” Mirren started toward the door.

“He needs to go.” Hannah’s voice cut through the room like an icebreaker in the Arctic. “There will be trouble finding Glory. I think you will find her, but it won’t be the way you think. Will needs to go.”

Shit.
Left to his own counsel, Mirren would ditch Will in a heartbeat, but Hannah usually steered them right even though her visions were more often than not incomplete.

Will strapped on his shoulder holster and stepped between Mirren and the door. “I’ll follow your lead, go where you tell me to go, won’t get in your way. This is your operation. Let me help you bring her home.”

Mirren studied the man in front of him. He and Will had never been close—he’d counseled Aidan against bringing him into the scathe at all because of Matthias. But if Mirren had learned anything the last couple of months, it was to take help and not sell people short. He hadn’t looked very far past Will’s pretty face, fondness for women, and rich-boy upbringing. But whenever it had been time to step up, Will had been there.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

Will grinned and opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. Mirren pushed past him. “Good move, Junior. Otherwise, I was gonna shut it for you.”

CHAPTER 28

G
lory raced past Thomas, who lay on the floor with a piece of metal from the tripod sticking out of his arm just above where it had obviously been broken. She didn’t look back as she few down the staircase and grasped the handle to the front door, but then she paused a fraction of a second. Would there be guards outside? Should she find a back exit?

She didn’t dare wait. The doorknob turned easily, and she flung it open, ran onto a broad wooden porch, and tripped on her way down a short fight of brick stairs. Landing hard on her knees, she scrambled back to her feet, not stopping to assess the damage. She’d worry about a scraped knee later.

Soft lights illuminated well-manicured grounds, but the shadows were dark and fathomless. The house loomed white and majestic behind her, and ahead of her, she saw a high redbrick security wall. At the end of a circular drive stretched a wrought-iron gate.

She stayed in shadows as much as possible, limping across the lawn to the gate. It was electric, sitting on runners. OK, time for a magic show. Glory closed her eyes and exerted her will on the gate, concentrating hard as the machinery started up with a grinding whir. The gate cracked open before she heard a crash and shouts from inside the house and lost her concentration. But it was enough to squeeze through.

Outside the gate, a narrow brick-covered street stretched to the left and right. Where was she? What place still had brick streets, or were they cobblestones? The brightest glow seemed to come from the right, so Glory ran toward lights and, she hoped, people. She wasn’t naive enough to think she’d killed Renz. He was probably already up and calling his minions together to hunt her down. She needed to find a place to hide until daylight, and even then, she’d have to be careful. Thomas probably wasn’t the only human on Renz’s payroll.

The block ended at a broad street, split down the middle by a wide median. Huge trees like the one outside her window met overhead, creating a dark, leafy canopy. The corner sign read foucher Street and the cross street St. charles avenue, which sounded kind of familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

A rumble from her left materialized into a forest-green streetcar, and for the first time, she noticed the tracks and electrical lines running in both directions on opposite sides of the median. Finally, between the streetcars and the trees, it clicked: New Orleans. She had to be in New Orleans. She’d never been there, but she’d seen lots of photos.

Which didn’t help her a lot, but it might give her a way to put some distance between her and Renz. She dug in her jeans pocket, praying for change, and almost whooped with joy to find a five and a couple of quarters. Surely a streetcar ride wouldn’t be more than that.

Running across the street to the other side of the streetcar tracks, she took shelter behind the wide trunk of one of the big trees and waited until she saw another streetcar approaching from the other direction. When it stopped at the intersection, she climbed aboard, relieved to see the fare was $1.25. Except, the sign read exact change only.

“Please, can you make change? Please—it’s urgent.” She turned desperate eyes to the older man in the driver’s seat. He squinted ancient, rheumy eyes at her as he dug in a satchel next to his seat, grumbling.

“’Member dis next time you ride.” He gave her five ones accompanied by a scowl, and she gave him a teary smile in return.

“I will. Promise.” She took an empty bench seat on the outside of the streetcar as it rumbled onward. She had no idea where it would take her, but when she saw someplace with lots of people around, she’d get off and blend in. Then she’d figure out what to do.

The streetcar rumbled and swayed along its electrical path through narrow canyons of tall buildings that seemed to twist in a maze. Finally, it took a sharp turn onto one of the widest streets Glory had ever seen—a street filled with people, shopping, talking, walking in groups, hanging out on street corners. It was well lit, and it was crowded. This was her stop.

Most of the remaining streetcar riders were also alighting here, next to the sign that read canal Street, and Glory followed the largest group as it crossed the lanes of traffic into the city’s French Quarter. Adrenaline drained from her limbs, and for the first time, she realized how exhausted and hungry she was. What would four dollars buy her?

Most of the restaurants had menus posted outside, but they weren’t cheap. She spotted a long-haired young man tuning a guitar as he sat on a stool in the middle of a pedestrian-only street, his guitar case open for people to throw in money.

He wasn’t playing yet, so Glory dug out a quarter and tossed it in his case, hoping he wouldn’t be offended.

“Thanks.” His voice was soft, with the same accent she’d heard from Thomas. “What’cha want to hear, darlin’?”

She shook her head. “I’m kind of stranded and wondered if there’s a cheap place to get some food? And maybe a pay phone?” She didn’t know if Penton was so far off the grid that its people wouldn’t have directory assistance, but it was worth a try. Mirren had mentioned getting her a cell phone, but who knew she’d need one this soon?

The musician studied her a moment, then smiled. “Sure thing. Walk to the river”—he jerked his head to their left—“turn left, and go to Café du Monde. Beignets are only a couple of bucks, and the water is free. Pay phone’s right around the corner.”

Glory was in serious danger of crying again. People were capable of such monumental cruelties and such random kindnesses. “Thanks.”

“Wait.”

Glory had turned toward the river, but stopped at the musician’s voice. He held out a five-dollar bill. “You look like you could use this tonight. Stay safe.”

Pride fought with practicality for a moment, but practicality won. She didn’t know how she was getting back to Penton, back to Mirren, but she needed any help that came her way. She took the money and didn’t try to blink back the tears this time.

At the café, she found an empty table surrounded by crowds of laughing families, lovers, friends. Music drifted through the streets from a dozen different places. Ships passed on the river. The air was heavy with humidity.

It was a place filled with such life that it was hard to imagine Renz and his jaded, elegant place of death was only a few miles away.

Still, she felt safe among the crowds, so she lingered over the fried doughnuts and water, thinking about how to get home. She propped her elbows on the table and rested her head on her fists. Home? Well, yeah. Penton had become home. She wasn’t sure when or how, but it had.

Hitching a ride might have been an option at one time, but for all she knew, Renz would have the roads watched. He certainly seemed rich enough. She brushed the powdered sugar off her sweater, exchanged a couple of her dollars for quarters, and made her way around the side of the café. Sure enough, there was a pay phone and public restrooms.

Muttering a quick prayer, Glory plugged in the quarters and followed the instructions for directory assistance, then asked for Penton, Alabama. She almost fainted when the operator asked for a name. Who was most likely to have a listed phone number? Maybe Aidan’s business manager.

“Do you have a number for Mark Calvert?”
Please, please, please.
She waited while the connection clicked, and a computer-generated voice gave a number.

Chanting the ten digits to herself over and over, she asked to make a collect call, figuring she’d save her quarters if she could.
God, please help this work
. What if Mark and Melissa were out? What if the number was wrong? What if—

“Calvert.”

It was Mark. Glory held her breath while the operator asked if he’d accept charges from Glory Cummings. He paused for what seemed like forever, then, “Yes. Oh my God, yes. Glory?”

Glory did cry then, all the while she answered Mark’s questions. Yes, she was OK. Yes, she was in New Orleans—she’d been surprised they’d figured that out already. No, Renz hadn’t let her go; she’d escaped.

“You haven’t seen Mirren or Will yet, have you?”

Glory’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Mirren and Will left about four or five hours ago.” Mark said something to Melissa, muffed, as if he had his hand over the phone. “Listen, Mel’s calling Aidan. Will and Mirren should be at Renz’s house soon, if they’re not already. Stay where you are, and I’ll try to reach them. Tell me the number of the pay phone and stay nearby.”

Ending the call, Glory waited by the phone, sitting on a bench and watching the people walking up and down Decatur Street, all of them happy, busy, caught up in their lives. It was a few minutes past midnight, and the number of people didn’t seem to be thinning out yet. Good thing for her.

Fifteen minutes passed. A half hour. An hour. A black cloud was growing in Glory’s gut. Mark would have called her if he’d managed to reach Mirren and Will. And if he hadn’t reached them…something had gone wrong.

Another ride on the streetcar in the opposite direction and she could be back at Lorenzo’s compound in less than half an hour. Her bond to Mirren was intact, but it felt wrong, different somehow. Less like a strong steel cable and more like a frying electrical circuit.

With a last glare at the silent, stupid pay phone, Glory headed back toward Canal Street at a run.

CHAPTER 29