Dead Run (33 page)

Wednesday, November 21
10:50 p.m.

T
he rookie pulled the cruiser to a stop in front of the darkened church. Through the stained-glass windows Rick could see the faintest flicker of light. Candles, he realized.

The young officer came around and opened Rick's door. “Get out, Wells.”

Rick alighted the vehicle. “It's a trap, Walters. A setup. Why else have you bring me here?”

“Shut up, Wells.” He nudged Rick forward. “It's been a long day.”

“Just be careful, okay? Be ready. He's going to have to take you out.” Rick glanced over his shoulder. The kid looked scared. Flat-out terrified.

Better scared than dead, Rick thought as they entered the church.

Val called to them from the sanctuary. “Walters, in here.”

The rookie gave Rick a shove in that direction. Rick could feel the kid's nervous tension. Could sense his hand hovering near his gun.

Don't blow it, kid. One chance, that's all you'll have.

Val smiled as they approached. “Thanks for bringing him over, Walters. I owe you one.”

“No problem.” The rookie moved his gaze past Val, sweeping it over the altar area. “What's going on, Lieutenant?”

“This,” Val said. He lifted his revolver, aimed and fired. The bullet struck the kid in the chest and a look of surprise crossed his face. He took a step backward, hand going to his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers.

“You son of a bitch!” Rick shouted, jumping forward. “Why'd you have to do—”

Val fired again. The rookie went down. “Don't be stupid, Rick,” Val murmured, training the gun on him. “You know why.”

Of course he did. No witnesses. No loose ends.

“You're not going to get away with this. I swear to God, if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to bring you down.”

“Swearing to God?” Val sounded shocked. “In a church, no less.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “I guess I will see you in hell.”

“Where's Liz? What have you done with her?”

Val laughed. “Desperation suits you, Rick. I like it quite well.”

“If you've hurt her, I swear I'll—”

“She's in one piece, for now. Behold—”

Liz stepped out from the shadows behind the pulpit.
She supported another woman, one who appeared too weak to stand.

“Liz!” He started forward.

“Hold it, loverboy.”

This came from Heather, who stepped up behind Liz. She brought a gun to Liz's head.

“Not dead, I see,” he said coldly.

“Observant.”

“So who'd they find on Big Pine Key? The other teenager in Bernhardt's sleazy home video?”

“Poor Stephanie. And she had real talent, too. She and Tara both. Real wildcats in the sack. They were Bernhardt's favorites.” She paused as if recalling fond memories, then continued. “It's Tara's fault Stephanie's dead. Tara asked her friend to plead with me to let her go. Because of the
baby.
Like I was supposed to give a damn about that. And I couldn't allow Stephanie to live with that knowledge, now, could I?”

She shifted her gaze to Val. “Get the chair.” He hurried to do the woman's bidding and she returned her attention to Rick. “Carla did us a huge favor, finding those videos. I didn't have a clue what Larry was up to, though I should have suspected. Luckily, my disciple in the Sunset Key Realty office smelled a rat and followed Carla. You needn't worry about them, they've all been collected. I might even watch them once before I destroy them, for old times' sake.”

Val brought a chair out of the sacristy and set it near Liz and directly under the choir loft. He crossed to Liz, wrenched the other woman from Liz's grasp and half carried, half dragged her to the chair. She folded into it like a rag doll.

“Rachel!” Liz cried, reaching for her.

Liz's sister?
Stunned, Rick looked at Liz; she met his eyes, the expression in hers desperate.

“Secure Ms. Ames's wrists.”

“No please or thank-you?” Rick shifted his attention to Heather. “Just because you're an amoral, psychopathic bitch doesn't mean you have the right to be rude.”

“Amusing, Mr. Wells.” Heather crossed to the altar. She bent and retrieved a length of rope from a large black plastic bag at her feet. She tossed it to Val.

“You make a good lapdog, Val,” Rick said. “Valentine Lopez, Lieutenant Detective Lapdog. Nice. You must be very proud of the way you've bettered yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Val snapped, yanking Liz's arms behind her back. He jerked hard on the rope; Liz cried out. “Unless you want me to cut off her circulation?”

Rick backed down. Val finished knotting the rope. “What about her ankles?”

“Let's live dangerously.” Heather motioned him. “Bring her to me.”

Val pushed her toward Heather. Liz screamed in terror as she stumbled forward.

Rick lunged. Val turned the six-inch barrel on Liz. “Think again, Wells.”

He backed off, heart pounding. “Leave her be.”

Val laughed. “You're such a Boy Scout, Rick. You always have been. It's sickening. By the rules, the good little public servant.”

“Better than being
her
servant.”

“You think so?” He circled Rick, the light in his eyes too bright. “You haven't a clue the riches afforded a man in my position. Heather taught me. Play to people's needs, their innate weaknesses. To their fears. And
they will give you everything and anything you desire. Money. Power. Respect. They'll bow down, Rick. Anybody ever bow down to you? Here's a tip, asshole. It's damn nice.” He tipped his head back and shouted at the heavens. “I'm the man! King of Key West!”

“Here's the tip,
asshole,
” Rick retorted. “You're nothing. A common criminal who'll end up roommate and boyfriend to some guy named Bubba.”

Val's face went white with rage. His hand began to shake. “Easy to be sanctimonious when everything's been laid at your feet. Your rich daddy and mommy…anything you ever wanted, they gave to you. You only had to point and it was yours.”

Rick shook his head. “All of this, was it just about money, Val? About jealousy?”

“You shouldn't have come back, Rick. You should have stayed in Miami. Safe. Sam would have been safe.”

Rick went cold. The other man continued. “But nothing would do but you had to come back to my island. Here, where everything was going so well for me.”

“If you didn't want me here, why'd you offer me a job, Val? You acted so eager—”

“Because you talked to the chief! For Christ's sake, what was I supposed to say to him? A big-city hotshot like you wanting on the Key West force, the man practically wet himself at the thought.

“I knew you'd never go for my and Heather's version of law and order. You were too
moral.
Too self-righteous. And too goddamned smart. I needed to get rid of you quickly. So I arranged that break-in.”

The breath left his body. Rick took a step backward.
Val arranged the break-in?
“Those two coked-up pieces of human refuse, you sent them to my home? Where my child slept?”

“But it didn't go according to plan. Always the cowboy, you decided to take them out all by yourself.” Val lowered his voice. “I didn't mean for Sam to die. But it happened. So I used it to my advantage.”

He faced Rick, expression triumphant. “I switched the ballistics report so you believed you had killed your own son.”

A sound passed Rick's lips. Primal. A terrible howl of pain and fury.

“That's right, buddy, your bullet didn't kill him.”

Rick sank to his knees, doubling over, the pain too great to bear. Val, who he had trusted completely, had betrayed him. Val, who he had thought of as a brother, was responsible for the incident that had taken Sam. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head filling with the memory of that night. Of holding his precious boy as his life ran out of him.

“You can't imagine how I enjoyed watching you suffer. The way I suffered, Rick. Watching you get everything I wanted. Including Jill. She was supposed to be mine. Mine!”

He growled the last. “This island and everything on it should belong to me. My people, my ancestors settled her. We fed and developed her. Yet people like you come down here and take it all—enjoy all her riches while we catch your fish, scrub your toilets and serve your food.”

Val began to laugh, the sound high and wild. “Not anymore, my friend. Not anymore!”

Rick lifted his gaze to the crucifix mounted behind the altar, his vision blurred by tears. The sixteen-foot-tall cross was rough-hewn, as the real one must have been; the carved depiction of Christ beautifully rendered, showing his very human suffering.

Rick's vision shifted, moving past the crucified Christ to the stained-glass window behind it. Circular, at least twenty feet in diameter, it depicted the risen King, glorious and triumphant.

It wasn't over.
Adrenaline surged through him. His vision cleared. He wouldn't give up and let this piece of shit win. Not ever.

He shifted his gaze to Liz. She met his eyes. She understood his intention—if necessary, he would give his life trying to save them. Trying to bring Valentine down.

Rick straightened. “I loved you, Val. You were my brother. My friend.”

“Go to hell.”

He was already there.
With a roar, he charged Val. He caught him by surprise and sent them both sprawling. The gun flew from Val's hand. Rick used his height and weight advantage and pinned Val beneath him. He drew back and sent his handcuffed wrists crashing into Val's handsome face.

The man howled. Blood spurted from his nose. Rick rolled sideways, scrambling for the gun. He closed his fingers around the grip.

As he did he heard the unmistakable sound of a cylinder clicking into place. He looked over his shoulder. Heather had Liz from behind, gun to her temple.

“You have a choice,” she murmured. “What's it going to be?”

Rick curled his fingers around the gun's grip, the feel of it nestled in his palms both familiar and foreign. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of Sam. And Liz. Assessing their options. He could take one of them out, maybe both of them.

But Liz would die. That was a given.

He couldn't do it.

“Noble,” Heather murmured as he dropped the gun, amusement coloring her tone. “But stupid. Get to your feet, Wells. Now.”

Wednesday, November 21
11:25 p.m.

L
iz watched as Rick got slowly to his feet. Val snatched up the gun and crossed to Rick. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth. He brought the gun up and pressed the barrel between Rick's eyes. He cocked it. Liz saw that he trembled with fury.

“Go ahead,” Rick taunted. “Pull the trigger. I dare you.”

“Don't push me, Wells. I'll do it, I swear I'll—”

“Go for it, you prick! Make my day!”

“No!” Liz cried. “Don't!”

Heather tipped her head back and laughed, the sound almost childlike in its glee. It was as if she fed on the negativity, the fear and hatred, the bloodshed.

“Admirable, Liz,” she murmured. “Loyalty. Love. Commitment. I'm touched, really.”

Heather turned to the two men. “Make sure that doesn't happen again, Valentine.”

“Throw me some rope,” the man responded tightly. “I'll make sure this prick doesn't move a muscle.”

Heather did as he requested, then turned her attention back to Liz. “I wonder if your boyfriend here would do the same for you? Cry out, get down on his knees and beg for your life to be spared. I wonder if your
beloved
sister would?”

Heather looked over at Rachel, slumped in the chair. “Liz is in this situation because of you, Rachel. Because she loves you so much.” She all but hissed the last and a chill raced up Liz's spine. “She's here because of your ridiculous faith in
Him.
”

Liz shifted her gaze to the carved depiction of Christ. She thought of the little Rachel had managed to tell her, and the pieces began clicking into place.

“I don't think she would,” Heather continued. “I think she might just let you die.” Liz jerked her gaze back to the woman. “She let Tara die. And Naomi Pearson. Why not you?”

A sound slipped past her sister's lips. One of horror. Despair.

“Three little words, that's all I asked of her.” Heather bent. From the black sack, she removed a pair of rubber gloves and fitted them on. “Three words,” the woman continued. “Do you know what they were?”

Liz shook her head. Heather looked back at Rachel. “But Rachel does. Don't you, love. Say them with me.
I…deny…Him.
”

Her sister bowed her head, her shoulders shook with her tears. Fury took Liz's breath. She understood now. She thought of Father Paul, of the things he had said.
In the desecration of the holy, evil extends its putrid grasp.

“That's all I asked of her, all these weeks, day after day. As I brought her near death, then pulled her back, always giving her another chance. But she refused me. She insisted on holding on to her pathetic belief in her nonexistent savior.”

Heather shook her head. “I see that you despise me, Liz. But it was she who turned away from the food I offered. The water. The end to pain. Because of Him.” She pointed again to the crucified Christ, her features twisted with hate. “He is the source of her agony, not I!”

The evil that emanated from the woman made Liz's skin crawl. “You won't get away with this,” she spat, struggling against the ropes that held her wrists. “Gavin Taft didn't get away with it. You'll fry just like he's going to.”

“But we will,” she said softly, cutting her off. She bent and retrieved a black-velvet package from the sack. Reverently, she peeled the velvet back, revealing a knife. She held it up. The blade glittered in the candlelight and Liz went weak with fear.

“Unfortunately, Val doesn't arrive soon enough to save you and your sister from the knife. But even though you and your sister die, even though Wells wrests away Val's gun and Walters is killed, in the end Rick Wells is stopped. Thanks be to
God.
”

Liz shuddered at the sarcastic emphasis she put on the Lord's name. Heather Ferguson, she realized, was not just an evil being—she worshiped evil. She delighted in it.

“You see, the lieutenant's been amassing quite a collection of evidence against poor troubled Mr. Wells.
Evidence of his involvement with Larry Bernhardt and Naomi Pearson, physical evidence linking him to Tara and Carla's murders. Enough evidence that with the lieutenant's explanation of events, the case will be closed. Nice and tidy, all bodies accounted for.”

“What about Mark?” Liz asked, working to conceal the hopefulness in her tone. Since the woman hadn't mentioned his name, she prayed that he had somehow escaped her grasp.

The woman's mouth tightened and she shot a provoked look at her accomplice. “He won't prove to be much trouble. He's running scared. After all, he and Wells were in cahoots. We have physical evidence to back that assumption up.”

“But he knows about you and the Horned Flower. Don't you think he—”

“I think,” she interrupted, “that you should shut up.”

Liz ignored her. “So, you're just going to continue merrily on your way, nobody the wiser?”

“Give me some credit, I'm not stupid. I'm already missing. Presumed dead by the authorities. Just ask the fussy little man who owns the shop next to mine. It will be assumed that I'm another of Wells's victims.”

She planned to move on, Liz realized, sickened. Planned to start all over somewhere else. Liz turned to Valentine Lopez. “And you? You have a fabulous future all mapped out as well?”

He smiled. “I'm so traumatized from having to kill my best friend, I leave police work and Key West behind forever.”

Tears of frustration stung her eyes. How could they fight these monsters? They had nothing to fight them with, not even fear of being caught.

“Tell me,” Heather murmured, “did you have any
idea your sister was so stubborn? That she would rather die than denounce Him?”

“Yes,” Liz replied, lifting her chin, proud of her sister and her unshakable faith.

“However, the question of the hour is, will the good pastor rather see
you
die than to deny Him?”

“Why do you care?” Liz retorted, forcing bravado. “Her faith has nothing to do with you.”

Heather laughed, the sound deep, grotesque. “That's where you're wrong, my dear. It has everything to do with me.”

From the corner of her eye, Liz saw Rick struggling against his ropes. Beyond him she saw the body of the slain officer. She shifted her gaze to the officer's holster and gun.

Rick followed the direction of her gaze, then met hers again. He nodded, the movement of his head almost imperceptible.

He was going to do his best to get the gun.

“Smelling salts, Val. We can't have the good pastor passing out before the main event.”

Val crossed to Rachel and waved the vial under her nose. Her head snapped up.

“Who did it?” Liz demanded in an attempt to buy time and keep Heather's and Val's attention diverted from Rick. “Which one of you sick bastards killed Tara and the others? Or was it a team effort?”

“I had the honors,” Heather murmured, her face changing subtly, shifting from beautiful to horrific. “Unlike my darling Gavin, Valentine doesn't have the stomach for the knife. And it's something I enjoy.”

Liz swallowed against the bile that rose in her throat. “What are you?”

Heather grinned, the curving of her mouth serpentine
in the flickering candlelight. “A defiler of paradise… The snake in the apple tree. A soul collector.

“It's so easy these days. What do you think worshiping money, power and beauty is? What is the pursuit of earthly pleasures but a turning away from God? Pride. Envy. Lust. Avarice. Sloth. Anger. Gluttony. They're a girl's best friend.” She giggled suddenly, the girlish sound bizarre. “Who am I? I'm a devil for the new millennium.”

“You're insane.”

“Am I? Or do you just hope I am?”

A brilliant flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the church; thunder shook the building. Heather turned to Val. “It's show time.”

“No!” Rick shouted, struggling to free himself.

Heather grabbed Liz from behind and dragged her back against her chest, her grip surprisingly strong. She brought the knife to her throat. “Deny Him!” she screamed. “Deny Him and I'll spare your sister's life!”

“Don't do it, Rachel!” Liz shouted. “She'll kill us anyway!”

Outside, the storm kicked into high gear. The heavens opened up; rain lashed against the building.

Liz felt Heather tense, preparing to strike. The blade burned her throat as it penetrated the skin. Liz went light-headed with terror.

“If he is truly Lord and Savior, let Him help you now!”

Rick threw himself toward the fallen officer. Val shouted a warning to Heather; he took aim at Rick. Liz screamed. A figure leaped from the choir loft.

Mark!
Liz realized.

He landed on Val. They went down. The gun went off. She couldn't tell if either of the men had been hurt.
For one instant, the earth stood still, then Mother Nature unleashed her full power. Thunder shook the sanctuary. The window burst into Technicolor glory. A huge crack rent the air.

The window exploded inward as the ancient banyan tree outside it crashed through. Shards of colored glass spewed into the sanctuary.

“Cover your face!” Rick shouted.

A high scream of pain shattered the moment. Heather released Liz, and she stumbled sideways against the altar. Liz saw that a piece of glass had imbedded itself in the back of Heather's neck. The woman clawed at it, the knife slipping from her hands.

Liz dived for the knife. Heather got to it first, caught her and dragged her back. Liz fought and kicked. A second gunshot rent the air. The bullet whizzed past her head.

Mark, Liz saw. On his knees, Valentine Lopez's gun in his shaking hands. The lieutenant lay unmoving, half of his head blown away.

“Get away from her!” Mark shouted, pointing the weapon at Heather.

Heather reared up, her face contorted with hate. Blood streamed from her hand. She drew back the knife. Mark pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

The chamber was empty.

Rick cried out her name. Liz was aware of him dragging himself toward the fallen officer. He wouldn't make it, she knew. It was over already.

Heather laughed. Thunder shook the sanctuary. A deep groan trembled across the floor, followed by a loud
crack. Heather turned. The crucifix swayed slightly. Her face went white, then blank. She threw her arms up.

In the next instant, the crucifix toppled, crushing Heather beneath it.