Turn or Burn (24 page)

“Me, too.”

She dressed, and we went out into the Seattle night. We’d moved on to the second bottle, and I carried it in my hand, wrapped in a paper bag. People were out and about, looking for trouble under the nearly full moon that was sneaking in and out of cloud cover. We worked our way past the grunge bars to the water. I could hear some pretty heavy tunes coming out of one door, but it didn’t stir my interest.

I led her to Gas Works Park, which was about a twenty-minute walk. Back in the early part of the twentieth century, it had been a working gasification plant until they lost a need for it. The city had turned it into a park but hadn’t torn down the plant, which had rusted and taken on a deep orange. A lush green lawn that went all the way to the edge of Lake Union surrounded it. The park was closed but that didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t hard to figure out a way in. Especially not for a Green Beret, the elite of the elite...

We took a seat in the grass down near the water. The city surrounding us was still bustling, cars speeding south on I-5 high up on the bridge to our left. The city lights flickered in and out like thousands of lighthouses lost in the fog. Along the shore on the east side, the houseboats gently rocked in the current.

“We came here one year on the Fourth of July to watch the fireworks,” I said, reminiscing, trying not to think too much of my mother.

Francesca took the bottle from me and took a swig. Wiping her mouth, she said, “You’re doing a pretty good job.”

“At what?”

“Getting through to me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Harper, you have quite a romantic side when you want to. You’re really something under the damaged goods exterior.”

“Hey, I didn’t take you out here to get romantic. Our friend’s funeral is tomorrow, and that’s what is on my mind. It better be on yours, too.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about Ted since the second I saw him on that floor. Don’t try to get all holier-than-thou on me.”

“Holier-than-thou is what got us into this in the first place.” I took the bottle back from her and drank. “Sorry.”

Then, to the surprise of both of us, we turned toward each other and kissed. She tasted like the grapes of Red Mountain. Bing cherry and fresh-picked mint. Bumps rose on my skin. Her hand brushed my cheek and the late spring’s night chill ran through me. Our lips grazed lightly, then we pulled away. She grabbed my head and pulled me in, closing the space between us. She traced my lips with her tongue and then playfully entered my mouth. I held my lips ajar, letting her tongue taunt mine, then closed them, sucking softly on her bottom lip.

I turned my body toward Francesca even more and slid my arm around her back, allowing her to relax backwards to the ground. I leaned over her, ever so tenderly kissing her cheeks and forehead. Then I held my cheek to hers. It felt like warm satin and evoked something deep down. Somehow, I felt trust, like we had become very dear to one another. The connection was so damn real.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. I was still holding my cheek to hers.

“Nothing at all,” I said, pulling back to look at her once again.

I put my knees on either side of her waist. She let her arms fall to her sides, and once again, I felt a trust between us. I slowly unbuttoned her shirt and the moonlight began to illuminate the delicate mist collecting on her skin. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I kissed her and tasted the rain, moving down as each of the buttons released. I opened her shirt when I reached the bottom. Her nipples were hard from the wind that was blowing over the water.

I rose for a moment and pulled my shirt over my head. I felt the cold. She touched the bandage covering my burn. I took her hand and pressed it there. Our eyes locked with conviction.

She reached for my belt and unbuckled it. Unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. I felt her cold hand reaching under the band of my boxers. Her touch made my eyes roll back; I released a deep, uncontrollable sigh. We kissed as she touched me with her magic fingers. I touched her in eager reciprocation. In no time, I was inside of her, each of us moving in time under the dark of the heavens.

“You’re doing something to me,” I said, opening myself up again.

I let those words float out over the water.

She pulled my hand off her breast. “I’m going to tell him,” she said.

“Why?”

“There was never any question. I knew from the second our lips met that I would have to tell him.”

I reached over and grabbed the bottle. A sip was left. “Then what?”

“I don’t know. His heart will break.”

I asked the question I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer to. “Will you leave him?”

“I don’t know. I might not have a choice. He may never speak to me again.”

“That’s probably better than marrying him for the wrong reasons.”

“I know.” She pressed up from the ground and began to collect her clothes. I could see the change happening before me. “I feel so dirty right now.”

Now, I know very little about women, but I do know that I don’t always say the right things, so I chose at that moment not to say anything more.

We both got dressed. Whatever moment there had been was long gone. Welcome back, awkwardness. We walked to the hotel in silence. After we returned, she grabbed her phone and told me she’d be right back. She was about to break a poor man’s heart.

I tried not to toss and turn until I thought she was asleep. I found myself thinking about Jameson marking me again. The anger—even hatred—I felt toward him had in no way subsided. And it bothered me even more that he’d done it to those helpless women. Forget about me. I’d been beaten and tortured before. But the others…no telling how many there had been. I began to revisit the day before, how they’d pulled me off the table once they were done, tied me up, and dragged me to the trunk.

That’s when their conversation—the one between those two men—hit me, and something started to make sense. I opened my eyes and turned on the light.

“Francesca,” I said. “You up?”

She opened her eyes. “Yeah.”

“We need to go.”

After a couple knocks on the red door, she peaked through the side window. I waved and said, “Wendy, I need to talk to you. Please let us in.”

“It’s late,” she said. “Please go away.” I could barely hear her through the glass.

“Open the door or I’m breaking it down. Don’t even think about calling the cops.”

She looked at me with angry eyes.

I pointed toward the door handle and whispered, “Open up.”

She turned the dead bolt and opened the door. “Why are you here?”

“Can we come in?”

“Are you giving me a choice?”

“Not at all.”

I felt bad about scaring her again, but I was quite sure she had lied to me. And if so, then I didn’t feel
that
bad.

“Is anyone else here?” I asked, pushing open the door.

“No.”

“No kids?”

“My daughter is out. Why the hell are you here?”

“Uh…isn’t that a curse word in your profession?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. But you have invaded my home.”

Wendy wore a cotton robe cinched tight. She was still very beautiful without makeup. Perhaps even more so, I thought. We stood, looking at each other in the foyer.

“Here’s the deal. I’ve met some of these people that are doing these bad things in our city.” I pulled up my shirt and ripped the bandage off. The blistering had gone down, and the triskelion was well-defined. She looked at it and then back at me. I wasn’t done talking. “As you can probably surmise, this was done without my consent, and I’m not happy about it. Now, during my time with them, your name came up. It became clear that you know much more than you are letting on. Were you sleeping with Jameson Taylor?”

“What are you talking about? I told you what I know.”

“You’re not hearing me. This group of people—the Soldiers of the Second Coming—or whatever you want to call these weirdos, is responsible for the death of my only dear friend in this world. A man I fought next to for twenty years. Not only that, but they’ve also killed at least two very innocent women, and it seems to me they have only just begun. I am trying to get answers and I’m tired of looking.” I raised my voice and pointed my finger at her. “I’m tired of having people waste my time! You know more than you’re letting on and you’re going to start talking. Right now.” I took a step toward her. “
Right now!
Do not make me get it out of you. I don’t care if you’re a preacher. I don’t believe in God. I don’t care if you’re a woman. I don’t believe in chivalry. All I believe in is true justice and I will get it. I will find every single one of these bastards and cut their throats. So open your mouth and start spitting out the truth. Waste no more of my time!”

Francesca took hold of my arm, trying to calm me. I shook her off.

Wendy remained silent, perhaps weighing her options, perhaps considering calling me on my bluff.

“I am warning you now,” I said. “Don’t make me get ugly.” And I knew she could see the steam rising.

The alpha female there before us lowered her head but I knew there were tears. More tears. It was the second time I’d made her cry in twenty-four hours. She dropped to her knees and then the real crying came. “They’re going to kill her,” she said. “Please leave me alone.”

“Kill who?” Francesca asked, kneeling next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, speaking in a gentler tone than what I’d laid down.

I’d just shown Francesca what kind of temper I really had. Not only that, I’d also shown her what kind of man I really was. It was simply uncalled for to speak to the woman that way and I knew that. But I’m not a boy scout. If there is good inside of me, it’s buried under a lot of bad.

All that being said, from the words that had just come out of her mouth, it appeared I was right. Wendy had lied to us.

“Who are they going to kill?” Francesca asked again.

“My daughter,” Wendy said in a fresh eruption of tears. “You must leave. If they know you were here, they will kill her.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” I said.

Francesca threw up her hand at me, telling me to shut up. And I obeyed.

She turned back to Wendy. “How old is your daughter?”

“Eight.”

“You have to tell us everything you know. We can help you. We can help her. This is what we do for a living. I’m assuming the cops know none of this?”

She shook her head no.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water. I want you to take a seat and tell us everything. You need our help. Trust me. I’ve been in this situation plenty of times and they’re lying to you. Your daughter may get hurt either way.” Francesca patted her shoulder and stood, going into the kitchen.

“Can I offer you a hand?” I said, reaching out to Wendy.

She looked up at me. “Stay away from me.”

We got her onto the couch and let her sip some water. “How did you know I was lying to you?” she asked, once she’d gotten herself together. Such a narcissistic question, I thought. Around everything that was going on, her first concern was why she hadn’t gotten away with lying.

“A very long shot,” I said. “I heard the men who burned me talking about you. They said something about the Madonna, asking if she would come around. The only other time that word has crossed my mind, in years, was this morning, when I saw those Madonna lilies that were delivered to your church. They sent them to you, didn’t they?”

She nodded.

“It doesn’t matter. Start talking.”

“You’ll bring Rebecca home? Promise me.”

“We’ll bring her home.”

She took a deep breath. “They said they were watching me. If they are and they know I’m talking to you, they’ll kill her.”

Francesca touched her leg and I thought I’d better take a backseat. “You tell us everything you know, and we’ll find your daughter. We’re your best hope.”

“His name is Daniel Abner.”

“Who is he?” Francesca asked.

“The leader of the Soldiers of the Second Coming.”

“It’s not Jameson?”

“No, of course not. Jameson is a pawn. Abner controls everything. He owns these people. He is their savior.”

“You need to back way up,” I said. “Who are these people? What is happening?”

“Are you familiar with David Koresh?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’re on the right track. But this man is much crazier. He’s going to hurt a lot of people. I don’t know what they’re planning, but he told me that many people would have to be sacrificed so that the world could understand the severity of where we are headed. He quoted Matthew 5 more than once when we were together.”

“What’s that all about?” I asked.

She closed her eyes. “
If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell
. This is how he feels about the people he’s going after.”