The Faithful (28 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Josh sat beside her while she cried. He felt helpless, and in light of her revelations he was ashamed not only of being a man, but of all the less-than-pure thoughts he’d had about her. In short, he felt like a jackass.

Eventually, she got up and splashed some cold water on her face. She sat back down next to him, her face splotchy and her eyes puffy but calm. As she opened her mouth, he braced himself for her next startling revelation.

“I’m starving.”

He couldn’t help it, he laughed. He was grateful when she joined in with a small chuckle of her own.

“We’ll get you fed. But first I have a confession of my own to make.”

“What is it?”

“I have a mother.”

She blinked at him. “You need some practice with this ‘shameful declaration’ thing.”

“You say that because you haven’t met her yet,” he joked. “She’s a bit senile, and ornery as hell. The senility is a new thing and it comes and goes, but she’s always been ornery.” He was rewarded with her smile. “Anyway, she’s in a nursing home about half an hour from here. I need to make sure she’s safe.”

“Of course you do! They might try to get to you through her!”

“Exactly.”

“Josh, you need to go get her.
Right now.
Bring her here, where it’s safer.”

He nodded. “That’s just what I was thinking. I’m going to rent a car, so you’ll have the Suburban, if needed. I think you’ll be safer here than with me; I’m not sure what to expect at the home. If all goes well, we should be back in an hour and a half. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

“As long as I can order room service, I’ll be just fine.”

“Order anything you want.” He stood. “But before I go, I want to give you a quick lesson in firing your gun, just in case.”

Unable to help himself, he bent down and kissed the top of her head. Her hair was silky and smelled of lavender. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?”

He shrugged, unable to put it into words. “For everything,” he answered lamely.

Other than being subjected to several motherly comments about his beard and scruffy appearance, picking up his mother at the care home had been surprisingly uneventful. He’d done so under the guise of taking her out for dinner, and he drove directly back to the Four Seasons.

“Oh, Joshua! This is too much!” she crooned as he pulled into the driveway. She fluffed up her hair and smiled flirtatiously at the valet through the window. Josh helped his mother out of the car, tipped the valet, and guided her inside. He noted the look of confusion that crossed her face when they passed the entrance to the dining room.

“I have something more private planned,” he said as he led her to the elevator.

As they rode up and made their necessarily slow way to the Presidential Suite, he found he couldn’t catch his breath.

If anything had happened to her . . .

He couldn’t even finish the thought.

When he opened the door and was greeted with her smiling, obviously unharmed face, he felt faint with relief.

“Mom,” he said, guiding the older woman forward, “I’d like you to meet Ryanne.”

“Oh, my!” she said.

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Ryanne stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“Oh . . . well, likewise I’m sure,” his mother stammered.

She gave Ryanne the once-over, most likely assessing her age and judging the width of her hips, trying to decide whether Ryanne was a suitable candidate for bearing her grandchildren.

“I hope you don’t mind, I ordered up some dinner,” Ryanne said, seemingly unaware that she was being appraised like a brood mare. She led them to the elegantly appointed dining room, where she had laid out a feast on the table for six.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, Mrs. Metcalf, so I ordered several different dishes.”

Josh could see that his mother was suitably impressed. She chose the chilled corn soup to start and then the duck. Without asking, Ryanne set a spring salad and filet mignon in front of Josh, and took the tuna tartare and New York strip steak and fries for herself. She hadn’t put the sling back on, and Josh was pleased to see her moving her arm without any signs of discomfort. Even her limp had improved some.

“Well,” his mother said. “This is quite the treat! Tell me, how did you two meet?”

“Um,” Ryanne said.

“That’s a long story, Mom.”

“Well, then I look forward to hearing it, Joshua,” his mother said pointedly. “This is delicious! Everything they serve at Dogwood Manor tastes like cardboard. Apparently they think we lose our sense of taste along with our marbles. That’s a lovely dress, dear.”

Ryanne looked down, her mouth twitching. She was wearing a floral dress in shades of pink and lavender—Josh had picked it out on his shopping trip back in Amarillo. It was feminine and delicate, and Josh thought she looked very pretty with her hair piled into a bun on top of her head.

“Thank you. Your son bought it.”

His mother raised her eyebrows at him, but Josh avoided her gaze. Ryanne seemed oblivious to their interplay, her attention on her steak.

“So Mom, I was thinking it might be a good idea if you stayed here tonight.”

“And why would I do that, Joshua?”

“Well, this case I’m working on? There’s a chance my cover has been blown. That’s why Ryanne and I are here.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“If they know who I am, then there’s a chance they could find you.”

“I’m sorry, Joshua, but there’s no possible way I can stay here. I don’t have my medications, or any of my clothes, and there’s a bingo tournament tomorrow I don’t want to miss. The grand prize is a lovely knitting kit.”

“You don’t knit.”

“No, but that horrible Mabel Fenske does, and it would chafe her hide something fierce if I won it. She’s been prattling on about it for weeks!”

Across the table, Ryanne covered up a smile with her napkin.

Josh took a deep breath. “Mom, I brought your medications, and I’m happy to buy you whatever else you might need. Including a knitting kit.”

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Joshua. Why would you buy me that? I don’t knit.”

“I have a clean nightgown you can borrow,” Ryanne offered.

Josh jumped in before she could mention he’d also bought the nightgown. “Mom, I want to make sure you’re safe. Please? Humor me?”

“Well, perhaps. Did you order any dessert, dear?”

Ryanne smiled. “Are you a chocolate-torte or an apple-pie kind of woman? Or perhaps crème brûlée?”

“Chocolate!”

“A woman after my own heart.” Ryanne served them both torte, and Josh took the pie for himself. He watched in amusement as the two women dug in with matching enthusiasm.

“So, where will everybody be sleeping tonight?” his mother asked with false innocence.

“Ryanne and I won’t be sleeping much, so—”

“Joshua!”

Ryanne went beet-red, and he felt the heat creeping up his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant! Mom, you can take the bedroom. Ryanne and I have some
work
to do. So we’ll be going out.”

“Whatever you say, dear. Oh my! Look at all this leftover food.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll stick it in the fridge. I’m sure Ryanne will take care of it later.”

His mother looked up at her, but Ryanne just grinned. “It will make a nice snack.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave me behind to watch your mother,” Ryanne said.

“Are you kidding? You’re proving to be a valuable asset in keeping me alive. Besides, you wouldn’t have stood for it.”

“Well, that’s true. But I thought I was supposed to follow your orders?” she teased.

“You are. But I’m smart enough to know when I’ll lose the battle.”

She was dressed all in black, as he had instructed, and he made sure her Kevlar vest was secured under her T-shirt. Her hair was tied back from her face, and her gun was harnessed at her side.

He’d given her as much training with the gun as possible, considering the time constraints and the fact that she could only practice firing it without any bullets. It was now loaded and she seemed surprisingly comfortable with it at her side. She was pretty good at pulling it out of the holster and pretending to fire off a couple of rounds, and she was able to load it quickly, but whether she’d actually be able to pull the trigger under pressure remained to be seen.

“So where are we going?”

“Deputy Director Warner’s house.” His jaw tightened. “That pompous ass broke into my office. It’s time to return the favor.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Deputy Director Warner lived in an upscale neighborhood of Chevy Chase, Maryland. His home, from what I could see from the road, was a three-story brick structure covered with ivy. It was set back behind gates and ten-foot-tall shrubbery. The left side of the gate prominently displayed a sign for an alarm company.

“Well, that looks easy enough,” I commented dryly as we made our first pass. Josh clenched the steering wheel, but he made no comment.

We parked on a dark side street. Josh rummaged through his pile of equipment, untangling wires and sorting through all the strange devices. He strapped on a utility vest and filled its many pockets and loops. Both guns went into their holsters and a black cap went over his head, followed by the thermal-vision goggles.

“Now you.” He checked my Kevlar vest again, and made sure my gun was comfortably strapped to my side and my extra ammo was easy to access. As before, he handed over a bottle of pepper spray, which I tucked into my pocket.

“We’ll put this one in your bra, and this one in your sock,” he said, handing me two sharp knives. I followed his instructions, and then blushed as he adjusted them and taped each one against my skin.

“The tape will hold them in place so they don’t slip, but one quick yank and they’ll come free. Can you reach them easily? Practice for me.”

I did, and he made a minor adjustment to the one in my sock before he seemed satisfied. He fitted the black cap over my head, tucking my ponytail up into it, and then insisted on a round of calisthenics and stretching before he allowed us to get out of the Suburban.

“Like last time, your job is to stay near me, stay quiet unless it’s to alert me to danger, and try not to get yourself killed. Got it?”

I nodded silently.

“And keep breathing.” He smiled at me, and I let out my breath.

We made our way up the sidewalk. I kept expecting to run into a neighbor out for a nighttime stroll with his dog, but the street was quiet.

There was a small walk-through gate hidden in the shrubbery, with a keypad set above the bronze handle. Josh tried the handle first, but the gate was locked. He shrugged and smiled at me as if to say
It was worth a try.

Josh pulled out a small drill. Within thirty seconds, the outer casing of the keypad had come off in his hands, exposing the wires underneath. With a tiny pair of scissors, he cut a couple of wires and spliced the ends together. The lock clicked open.

“The gate isn’t attached to the main security system,” he whispered. “Piece of cake.” He took a moment to screw the outer panel back on, then led me through the gate.

Decorative pot lights highlighted different portions of the garden, leaving the spaces between in deeper darkness. We stuck to the shadows as we crossed the manicured lawn. I followed him around the house until he found a metal box attached to the back corner. It was half hidden behind a gloriously fragrant rosebush that was still in bloom, despite the season. I stood there forcing myself to take deep breaths while Josh worked the door of the box open.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What is it?”

“This kind of alarm has ‘crash and smash’ technology. It sends a warning signal to the alarm company during the entry delay process. If the alarm isn’t disarmed at the keypad, the alarm company assumes that the panel has been smashed, and the police are called. It’s the latest in alarm technology.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We can climb up to the second floor and hope he was too cheap to wire those windows into the alarm system. Or I can try to disarm it from here.”

Climbing up the side of a house was not on my list of fun activities. “Yeah. Try that.”

“Right. No guarantee this will work, though, and if it doesn’t cut the alarm, it will likely set it off instead.”

“Should we climb, then?”

He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. “I’m betting he spared no expense, and the upper floors are armed.” He pulled a device the size and shape of a cell phone out of his vest and began punching numbers on the touch screen.

“I’ve established a link,” he eventually whispered. “Now let’s see if I can get this thing to disarm.” A few more minutes and a number of cuss words later, he took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes nothing. This is where we might have to run. Get ready.”

The device emitted a quiet beep. Josh looked up, waiting, but all remained quiet.

“Is it disarmed?”

“I think so,” he replied. “Let’s go find out.”

Choosing an ornamental door off the patio, Josh pulled out a bag of lock picks and set to work. I bounced on the balls of my feet. My bladder was screaming, but I didn’t think he would appreciate stopping so I could relieve myself in the shrubbery.

An eternity later he made a satisfied grunt, and the door swung open. He paused, waiting for the telltale shriek of the alarm, but all remained quiet. We slipped inside and Josh pulled the door almost shut behind us, stopping it just before it latched.

His goggles were in place, and I followed close behind as he made his way through the enormous kitchen and dining area, gun first. The entire ground floor was shrouded in darkness. He opened the front door an inch, and did the same with the sliding glass door that led out to the yard, and then we mounted the stairs.

When we reached the second floor, we could hear CNN coming from behind a closed door at the end of the hallway. I followed him down the hall, practically floating from all the adrenaline-laced anxiety thundering through my veins.

At the doorway, he shoved the goggles up to the top of his head and pulled me close. He bent to whisper in my ear. “Remember the exits. If you have to choose between fighting and running, I want you to run. Even if it means leaving me behind.” He tucked the Suburban’s keys into my pocket and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. It felt very much like a kiss good-bye, and I didn’t like that one bit.

Without waiting for me to answer, he turned and opened the door. Light spilled out into the hallway, and the TV noise grew louder. Josh stepped across the threshold and leveled the gun in front of him.

“Metcalf. What took you so long?” Just the sound of the man’s voice was enough to cause my blood to freeze. “Come on in. Can I offer you a drink?”

Josh took a couple of steps into the room, and I nervously followed. It was a small study, lined with bookshelves that were stacked with leather-bound tomes I would have bet were just for show.

Deputy Director Warner was sitting in a leather recliner behind a giant mahogany desk. His silver hair was impeccably styled and he was wearing gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes were brown, cold, and dead. I could smell his cologne from across the room, spicy and cloying. He was holding an enormous revolver casually in his lap. A tap of the remote and the TV went black.

“Rowan! So nice to see you again, dear.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” I was really getting sick of people I didn’t recognize knowing who I was. It was quite disconcerting.

“I take it you were expecting us?” Josh aimed his gun at Warner’s head.

The older man shrugged. “You were more of a challenge to kill than I expected. When I heard you found Rowan, I figured you’d show up. Well done disarming the security system, by the way. I’ll have to give my alarm company hell for that tomorrow.”

Warner’s gaze turned to me. “I must say, Rowan. You’ve grown into a lovely young woman. A shame you didn’t continue to follow the straight path, dear. Always a risk once a Disciple is awakened, of course. But you had such promise.” He pouted for a moment, and then brightened.

“Never mind that now, you did your job admirably. It’s made all the difference, and I suppose at the end of the day that’s all that matters.” He stopped, surprised, and then chuckled. “At the end of the day. Yes, that’s just right, isn’t it? For the ‘end of days’ is most certainly upon us!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Josh asked.

He smiled beatifically. “Your boyfriend here thinks he’s going to get answers just by waving a gun in my face. What he doesn’t realize is there’s simply no point to any of this anymore. Even if I give him all the answers he’s seeking, it’s too late to do anything about it.”

“Then why don’t you tell me, anyway?”

Warner laughed. “Oh, Metcalf. I’m almost sad your life is near its end. I like your perseverance! I watched you flounder around
forever
with that silly investigation of yours. Most people would have given up years ago. But not Agent Metcalf. It was personal for you! I’m glad you had some career satisfaction before the end. You worked so hard, didn’t you? I’d recommend you for a promotion, if there were any point.”

“Why are all of you people arrogant shits?” I asked.

“Oh, Rowan.” He shook his head. “How disappointing.”

“So, what’s it going to take for you to start talking about stuff that matters?” Josh asked. “Should I start shooting one limb at a time, or are you going to be reasonable?”

Warner leaned back in his chair. “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. If I die now, it will be an honorable death.”

“‘I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country’?” I mocked.

He smiled at me. “Something like that.”

“Start with his kneecaps, Josh.”

“Well, your timing is excellent!” Warner said, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking to someone behind me.

And then there was cold steel against my head. Again. “Oh, hell.”

“Time to drop your weapon.” The voice behind me was raspy, like fingernails on sandpaper.

“I’m sorry you won’t be around to witness the end, Agent Metcalf. It’s going to be quite the show!” Warner stood and aimed his gun at Josh.

“You want me to take the girl into custody?” said the voice behind me.

“I’m afraid she’s become too much of a liability. She’ll have to be terminated, too.”

At Warner’s direction, the man pushed me farther into the room. My legs had turned to wood. Aided by a helpful shove, I flopped awkwardly onto a love seat. He was a giant man, African American, with a shaved head and chiseled features. The gun was big and mean-looking, and the sight of it made my mouth dry up.

“You want me to shoot her, Father?”

“Father? Dude, I think you’re adopted.” As soon as I said it, I winced. Apparently political correctness went out the window when you were facing your own death.

“Metcalf first. Let her watch,” Warner replied.

That would teach me for opening my smart mouth.

“I’ll take you down with me, Warner.” Josh nodded in the other guy’s direction. “And if you so much as look at her the wrong way you’ll be dead.”

Unfortunately, the giant didn’t seem impressed with Josh’s big talk.

“Howdy.” And just to stack the odds against us even more, a new guy stepped into the room. He was smiling. It seemed something about our situation amused him. He had a bad dye job and was holding a gun casually at his side.

“Who the hell are you?” For once Warner looked surprised.

So this guy wasn’t another one of the deputy director’s cronies after all. I saw Josh focus on him, probably trying to figure out the same thing I was. Friend or foe?

Apparently the answer was friend, because the guy raised his gun and shot the giant. It wasn’t a great shot; it hit him in the back of the leg, but the guy went down screaming anyway.

I was too busy watching the action in front of me to see exactly what happened next, but I heard the shots. By the time I looked up, Deputy Director Warner was slumped over his desk with a big bleeding hole gaping out of the back of his head. Josh moved in on the screaming guy on the floor, gun raised. He fired and the giant went quiet. I chose not to look.

“Holy shit!” the guy in the doorway said. “I actually got him on the first try!”

“Yeah . . . good job,” Josh said.

“Thanks!” He was still smiling, and I wondered if he was entirely sane. “Of course, you did both the kill shots, but still!” He turned to me. “Now, for the love of all that is good and holy, please tell me you have red hair?”

I didn’t know quite what to make of that question, but it seemed important to him. Since he’d just had a big hand in saving my life, I felt obligated to pull the cap off my head. My hair floated free, dim embers in the lamplight.

“Are you Rowan?”

“Ryanne,” I answered. “I don’t go by Rowan anymore.”

“Right, I get that,” he said, nodding emphatically. “If I knew my original name, I’d go by it, too.”

“So . . . what
do
you go by?” Josh asked.

“Oh, sorry. How rude of me! I’m Sumner. Sumner Macey.”