The Faithful (27 page)

“There are two armed men at the front of the house, and a third in the backyard.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“Get back up the stairs!” Josh hissed at her, and by some miracle she turned and did exactly that. “Get in the master closet, and stay down!”

He eased down the stairs. Two in the front, one in the back. There was no reason to doubt her. They must have been alerted when he disarmed the security system.

The front door was locked and dead-bolted. It would take them some time to get in. The back door was unlocked, left slightly ajar for ease of escape. He made his way toward the back, unholstering the FN Five-SeveN.

It was a risky choice, given that he had yet to fire the gun. But it had a sound suppressor, which his Glock 22 didn’t have, and it would give him twenty rounds instead of the Glock’s fifteen. Worst-case scenario, he could have his trusty Glock unholstered and ready in less than a second. It was worth the risk to keep the element of surprise. The FN felt at home in his hand.

Josh was waiting behind the door when it eased open. The guy wasn’t a complete moron; he came in low, gun up. That was just what Josh was hoping for.

The intruder never saw the blow coming. Josh swung sideways, hitting the guy’s temple with the butt of the gun. It had the desired effect, dropping him to the floor like a sack of grapefruit.

It took less than a minute to disarm and truss him, and Josh left him propped against the fridge. He could hear the other two working the locks on the front door.

“Congratulations,” he whispered. “You’re the one who gets to live. At least for a little while.”

He exited through the back door, adjusting the thermal-vision goggles over his eyes. In his opinion, they were far superior to night-vision goggles, which produced an eerie green glow and required ambient light to display the area properly. But too much ambient light, or some other barrier like smoke or fog, and it was almost impossible to see properly. A person could easily hide in plain sight. Thermal goggles lit up anything that produced heat. A human turned into a light bulb, perfectly visible against the surrounding darkness.

There were two light bulbs standing on his small front porch, and both were focused on jimmying open the door. He shook his head in disbelief. Whoever they were, they weren’t FBI trained. One of them should have been working the door while the other stood guard.

Josh was under no illusions as to their intent. It was kill or be killed. But he almost wished they had presented more of a challenge.

Pfft! Pfft!

The gun was quiet and effective. He climbed the steps and nudged both of them with his foot, even though he was certain neither would be jumping up to challenge him. Josh unlocked the door and pulled the bodies across the threshold one at a time, laying them out on the carpet beside the hall closet. He was just closing the door when Ryanne screamed.

“Josh!”

He turned, but he was too slow. The FN was halfway out of its holster when the guy behind him fired. With the goggles he actually saw the bullet coming, a white-hot streak like a shooting star. It seared a path across his left deltoid, knocking him sideways into the doorframe.

Ryanne flew down the stairs and threw herself at the intruder, screaming like a banshee. She landed on his back, knocking him to the floor just as he fired a second time. The bullet meant for Josh’s head went wild, lodging into the ceiling above him instead.

They clambered around on the floor, Ryanne hitting and kicking at the intruder. However, he quickly recovered from his surprise, and Ryanne was no match for him in terms of strength. The man flipped her off his back and jumped on top of her, pinning her so he could raise the gun. With a satisfied grunt he pressed the business end to her forehead, and she went still.

But two could play at that game. Josh placed his gun against the back of the intruder’s skull. The man froze much the same way Ryanne had.

“Shoot her and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

The man didn’t budge, so he tried again.

“Drop your weapon,
now
.”

The man pulled his weapon back as though obeying the order, but his finger tightened against the trigger. Josh saw the fake for what it was, and he fired.

“Should have listened.”

Ryanne was, understandably, screaming. The man had collapsed on top of her and his blood was all over her face. Josh hauled the body off her and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, sobbing.

“Shh. Shh. Are you all right?” he asked, stroking the tangle of hair that had come free from her black cap.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she sobbed.

“What? Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t know there was a fourth. I almost got you killed! I’m so sorry!”

“Ryanne.” He shook her gently. “You saved both of our lives by warning me about them in the first place. And then you saved my life again by jumping on this guy’s back. You have nothing to be sorry about!”

He grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom, dampened it, and carefully mopped the blood off her face. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to calm down, okay? There’s still work to be done.”

She nodded, but couldn’t seem to move. He wrapped his good arm around her and tucked her face into his chest, leading her away from the massacre in the front hall and into the kitchen.

The first intruder lay just where Josh had left him, propped up against the fridge. Josh flicked on the undercabinet lights and pushed the goggles up to the top of his head.

“Ah, shit!”

“What?” Ryanne asked, pulling away from his chest.

“It’s a woman.”

She turned to look at the crumpled figure on the floor. “So what?”

“So, nothing. I just . . . do better with men.” The woman was still unconscious. She would have a killer headache when she came around, judging by the goose egg on her temple.

“Josh!”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Oh.” He looked down, assessing the damage. “It’s okay. The bullet just grazed me.” He saw her eyes get bigger and cut her off at the pass. “I’m fine, really. I can hardly feel it.” The last part wasn’t quite true, but it sounded good.

Ryanne seemed unconvinced. She pulled up his blood-soaked sleeve and examined the wound.

“This should be cleaned right away. Do you have anything I can use to stop the bleeding?”

“Rowan?”

Ryanne froze. It was the woman who had spoken, her voice slurred and wobbly. “Rowan?” she asked again. “Is that you?”

Slowly, they both turned.

“What did you say?” Ryanne asked.

The woman was struggling to sit up, her eyes pinched in obvious pain. She managed to wrestle herself to a sitting position against the fridge, her arms tied behind her back and her feet, which were also tied, tucked to the side.

Instead of looking frightened or worried, as Josh would have expected, she looked relieved. Maybe even excited. Although she didn’t know the fate of her three companions, he still found it strange. Josh cocked his head to the side, watching her curiously.

“What are you doing here, girl?” she asked. “And what are you doing with
him
? Don’t you know who he is?” She nodded in Josh’s direction.

Ryanne opened and closed her mouth several times before she managed to find her voice. “Do I know you?”

“What do you me—” And then realization seemed to wash over her. “Oh, I get it! You haven’t been awakened yet.” The woman was studying her with new intensity, judging Ryanne’s every facial expression. Or so Josh thought, but perhaps she was doing more than that.

“So you received the note but you haven’t remembered much yet.”

Ryanne shied away from the woman’s scrutiny and grabbed Josh’s good arm. “How do you know that?”

“How do you think?”

“Who are you?” Josh chimed in.

“Shut up, cockroach. I’m not talking to
you
,” the woman spat at him.

“Talk to him like that again and I’ll rip your tongue right out of your mouth!” Ryanne shot right back at her, and Josh blinked at Ryanne in surprise.

The woman looked at her knowingly. “Oh, like that, is it?” She eyed her for a moment, and then smiled. “I always did admire your spunk, Rowan. And that redheaded temper, too. But this time, you’re on the wrong side. It’s not your fault. This . . .
man
. . . manipulated you when you were weak and confused. But trust me, you’re making the wrong choices. And if you keep it up, you’re going to die for them.”

“And why, exactly, should I trust you?”

The woman leaned forward. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were cold. “Because I know who you really are, and what you were trained to do.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Josh asked, but the woman ignored him.

“I can see you don’t believe me. Well, you’ll learn the hard way soon enough. In the meantime, it’s been great catching up with you, old friend.” And with that she sprang to her feet. The ropes that had secured her wrists and ankles tumbled to the floor in a harmless coil.

Josh aimed his gun at her, thankful his instincts had kicked in despite the shock. “How the hell did you do that?”

But she wasn’t done. The gun he had taken off her earlier was lying on the kitchen table. Casually, she reached out a hand. The gun sprang to life, flying across the kitchen toward her as if attached to an invisible wire. The next moment she had it trained on Ryanne.

“It’s called telekinesis,” she answered smugly. “Look it up, cockroach. Last chance to save your life, Rowan.”

“If I see that finger tighten on the trigger, I’m going to blow your brains out,” Josh warned.

“Don’t worry, I don’t need to waste a bullet on her. If she stays with you she’ll be dead soon anyway. Along with the rest of the world.” She tipped her head to the side, studying Ryanne. “Not coming with me? Oh well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that, she ran toward the front of the house. Toward her three dead companions.

A moment later they heard the screaming.

“Guess you weren’t expecting
that
, were you, bitch?” Ryanne yelled as Josh lifted her over his right shoulder and hauled her out the back door. As he ran across the backyard, Ryanne’s knees jabbing him in the chest, she called back to the screaming woman inside the townhouse.

“Maybe you don’t know everything after all!”

CHAPTER FIFTY

It had become a game to Sumner. Hunt them down, sneak up on them, and take them out. He didn’t kill all of them, of course. If they were redeemable, or even if there was just the slightest possibility they were, he let them live. The trusty 9mm (aka “chick’s gun”) was Sumner’s new BFF. His aim was usually off, sometimes by a country mile, but he was getting better at it all the time.

He was a bumbling assassin, at best. But in this hunt, it was the monumentally stupid leading the merely foolish.

Doing his John Wayne impression, Sumner said, “And life is pretty tough when you’re stupid.” Take the first two bozos buying a red Camaro for a covert mission. Clearly no one at
I Fidele
had thought to invest in special-ops training.

Sumner now drove it. His satire on wheels.

“Howdy, my psychic friends! Didn’t see me coming? Aw shucks, sorry about that. I rolled right in here in the most obvious car I could think of! Now let me introduce you to my BFF. I call her ‘Chicky.’”

He told himself he was serving a higher purpose, and to an extent, he was. But it was also revenge. Revenge for the life that was stolen from him when he was six years old. Revenge for the boy they had shaped into a kidnapper.

It was surprisingly easy to pick up their thoughts and track them. They were chasing the redhead and their orders were to terminate her. So he killed them when he found them, and each kill led him closer to his target, and his own redemption.

Sumner was eighteen hours behind the redhead, and closing in.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

“Who the hell was
that
?” Josh asked as we careened away from his townhouse. He sounded as jumpy as I felt.

“I have no idea!” For some reason, we both found that hysterically funny, and we cackled away. It was a much-needed release of tension.

“How did she get free like that? And did you see what she did with the gun? It freaked me right out!” Josh said.

“Obviously you’ve never seen
Star Wars
.”

“Are you kidding? I only watched it a million times when I was a teenager!”

“From the dark side of the Force was she.” I did my best Yoda impersonation, which wasn’t very good, but we howled some more anyway. Our laughter took us across the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge and into the capital. The sun was rising, setting the city aglow with pink and gold.

“So, what now?” I finally asked.

“Now? Now we sleep.”

Rather than the seedy motel I was expecting, Josh pulled into the Georgetown Four Seasons.

“I don’t think we’re dressed for this,” I muttered as the valet approached with a welcoming smile. Josh lifted an imperious finger at the valet, signaling him to give us a minute, and the valet retreated with a tip of his cap.

“It’s all about attitude, Ryanne. Celebrities are usually the worst-dressed people in these establishments. So walk in there like you own the place and no one will question you. Got it?”

I nodded.

“Now, I need to get into your shirt.”

“What?”

“The leather envelope.” He was grinning. “Can I have it?”

“Oh! I forgot all about that.” I pulled it out of my shirt and handed it over. He opened it and pulled out a slender wallet.

“My rainy day stash. Ten grand, and a set of IDs even the FBI couldn’t tell was a fake. Including credit cards. This kind of hotel doesn’t do cash transactions.”

“Why are we here?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Because they won’t look for us here. And because a hotel like this provides a certain level of anonymity. And because you deserve to sleep in a really comfortable bed.”

“Fair enough. One more question. What in the world is an FBI agent doing with fake IDs?”

“Let’s just say I know a guy,” he said in his best
Godfather
voice, and then shrugged. “One of my informants made it. Here, put on your jacket. It will hide the bloodstains.”

“Isn’t owning a fake ID illegal?”

“Using it is. I’ll have to add that to the list.”

We emerged from the Suburban like a couple of moles who weren’t used to being out in the daylight. Maybe we would be mistaken for musicians. Josh slipped the valet a hundred dollars, asking him to keep a close eye on the Suburban, and we made our way into the hotel.

I hung back while Josh flirted breezily with the young desk clerk. His charm was clearly working on her, despite the fact that he looked one step up from a vagrant.

“I got us the Presidential Suite. Don’t ask me what it cost,” he said as he led me to the elevator.

“Oh,” I said as we entered the suite. The place was probably as big as my house and beautifully appointed, with gorgeous views of the canal. “Can I move in here?”

Josh was smiling, clearly happy that I was pleased. “I bet they have an amazing soaker tub. How about you take a bath and I’ll order up room service?”

“How’d you sleep?” Josh asked as I came out of the bedroom some nine hours later. He had made his bed on the couch, insisting he would sleep just fine there, and when I continued to argue, he explained he wanted to sleep where he had a clear shot at the door.

I had given up after that, and slipped between the silky sheets feeling slightly guilty, but clean and satisfyingly full. My head hit the pillow and I knew no more.

Now he was freshly showered and dressed in clean jeans and a black T-shirt, but he hadn’t shaved. The look was rugged and manly, and I tried not to show my admiration. Across his left shoulder, he was sporting a large bandage from the first-aid kit he’d brought up from the Suburban the night before. He insisted it was a minor wound and would heal cleanly.

I sat across from him, tucking my legs underneath me, and pulling down my nightie so it covered my knees. “I had a really strange dream,” I said slowly. “And I’m not sure whether it was a dream or a memory.”

He closed his laptop. “Tell me about it?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks.

“Why? Was it a sex dream?” The side of his mouth twitched.

“Kind of. But not a pleasant one.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked more gently.

“I guess. It’s just kind of jumbled. It’s like a bunch of snapshots all mixed up together. I can’t get them into a logical order.”

“How about you don’t worry about the order, and just describe them to me one by one?”

“All right. The first one is of a priest. He’s standing above me, wearing a black robe, and I feel very small and vulnerable. Trapped somehow.”

“What does he look like?”

“Dark-blond hair, a beard. Brown eyes. He’s slender and rugged looking, sunburned like he spends a lot of time outdoors.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, maybe in his thirties?”

“What else? Any idea where you are?”

I pondered for a moment, and then shook my head. “All is can see is him.”

“Okay.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Next snapshot?”

“Well, weird. I’m in a classroom. I think I’m about eight years old. On the blackboard it says
‘Tutte le verità sono facili da capire una volta che vengono scoperti; il punto è scoprire loro.’
”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s Galileo. He was an Italian physicist and astronomer.”

“I know who he was.”

“Right. It means ‘All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.’ Below the quote there are bullet points about the Tunguska event.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a meteorite that exploded over a forested area of Russia in 1908. It did significant damage, but to a remote area. No lives were lost, so you don’t hear much about it. If it had struck a city or something it would have been a much different story.”

“And you were learning about that at eight? Is that what you’re saying?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the next snapshot?”

“I’m older now, maybe in my late teens. I’m naked. Bruised. I’m weeping. There’s blood running down my legs. I’m in a bedroom. The sheets are tangled, covered in blood. There’s a red silk robe hanging from the bedpost, and I know I’m supposed to put it on.”

I closed my mouth, unable to go on. He was silent for so long I finally looked up, wondering if he was judging me, finding me as unclean as the dream made me feel. But his eyes were immeasurably sad. Somehow that was even worse, and I looked back down at my lap.

“And the next snapshot?” he asked quietly.

“The last one is a jumble of different images. I’m riding a horse, feeling free and joyous and young. And then I’m being forced down onto a bed . . .
that
bed . . . and it’s the priest again, the same one. But he’s not wearing his robes anymore. And there’s pain. Great waves of pain. And I’m in a different bed and I’m screaming. And then there are horses. Horses running, their tails flying out behind them. Running free . . . and I’m chasing after them.”

“You were raped,” he said, and his voice was a perfect blend of fury and pity.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I fought. I didn’t want it, but it was what was expected of me. Part of a tradition.”

“That’s still called ‘rape.’” I could handle his fury, but his pity sliced me to the core. And I wasn’t done.

“The priest? I think his name was Gabriel. And I think he got me pregnant.”