Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (210 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

“YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON?” Lito said as he and Maria raced up the steps toward the nearest exit.

“No time to explain, come on!” As soon as they were out of the bleacher area and into a corridor, she spotted another pair of men way across at the opposite end—Joey Hernandez and some other guy. Joey shouted something and started running towards them.

Lito needed no urging. He ran with her until they reached a door that read Authorized Personnel Only. He pushed the door which, to his relief, wasn’t locked. Maria looked for a way to lock it behind them, gave up and followed him down the zigzagging stairs, her feet pounding on the concrete. She couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe she’d reached out to Joey in the first place.

“What’s going on?” Lito said when they reached the end of the stairwell. “Why are the Suarezes and Hernandezes—”

“It’s my fault,” she said, her voice desperate. “I led them to you because...” She fought back tears. “Because I wanted you dead! Especially after my grandfather talked to me. It was like I was under some kind of influence. All I could think about was revenge. ”

He grabbed her by the arms. “And now?”

“I don’t know what came over me. I was furious with you, yes. But you’re the only family I have now. You
are
my brother and I don’t want to lose you!”

“What about the Suarezes?”

“Guzman, Suarez? Are any of them good, are any of them my family? All I know is that you’ve always been there for me, even though I haven’t always appreciated it. I didn’t realize this until I really thought about what it would be like if they actually killed you.”

“Glad you had a change of heart.” Lito stared up to the stairwell. “They may have seen us come down this way.”

They would probably want to kill her too, now that she’d backed down on delivering her brother for an easy execution. Lito pointed to another stairwell and started walking down.

“Listen, Maria,” he whispered. “Something’s happened to me.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen the light, so to speak. I’m getting out of this business, even though it’s against Papi’s wishes.”

“You can’t just walk away, you know that.”

“God will protect me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s sent guardian angels, you know?”

She gave him a wry look.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to England. Why don’t you come with me? Let them all kill each other fighting over the territories. We can live a quiet life out there, start fresh.”

She stopped and let Lito walk a few more steps before he turned back.

“After what I’ve done? You still want me around?”

“Of course.” He extended his hand to her. “You’re my sister.”

For the first time in a long while, her head was clear of the clouds that obscured her thoughts and judgment. She took Lito’s hand, and he pulled her in for a hug.

“So, everything’s falling apart here, what do you say? Will you come with me?”

She looked up and smiled. “Assuming we get out of here alive, first.”

“That’s right.”

Above them the sound of a door kicked open resounded through the concrete stairwell, followed by pounding footfalls and the click of gun hammers cocking.

Maria tightened her grip on Lito’s hand.

“Here they come.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

THE DOOR WAS LOCKED.

Dim light pooled into the empty corridor, just enough falling on the door for Nick to read the placard.

VIP Lounge 6.

Whether from running like a madman or the thought of a sniper taking his shot at Hope soon after Hartwell finished his introduction, Nick’s chest was pounding so hard he thought it might explode.

No point in attempting to teleport. It drew blood and threatened to crush his head with pain—and would only waste time if it failed, which in all likelihood it would.

Perhaps he could pass through the door. He pressed his hand against it, but the door’s physical properties resisted. He strained, pressing with all his might.

“Come...on!” He felt with his fingertips for the loosening of the door’s molecules. But even the memory of how to do this seemed to be eluding him. He stopped straining, took a deep breath, and pressed against the door as if he were absolutely sure he could pass through it.

Then, it happened.

First the fingernails.

Then the tip of his forefinger.

And then his entire hand passed through the door.

He turned the handle. The door still wouldn’t open.

Deadbolt.

He reached up and unlocked it, then pulled his hand back through the door and opened it.

The lounge was pitch black save for a sliver of light piercing the blinds a little ways ahead—sufficient to illuminate the man in dark clothes propped up against a window sill with a rifle.

Hartwell’s voice rang out.
“Please welcome Hope Matheson.”
Waves of applause went up.

The sniper aimed. Took a breath...

And fired just as Nick rushed him headlong.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

TO THE APPLAUSE OF THOUSANDS, Hope had ascended the steps to the stage. Where was Nick? Was she really going to have to do this without the one most responsible for the healing she was about to share with the audience?

But share it she must. Overwhelmed with the welcome by these thousands she’d never met, she nonetheless felt a kinship with them. She walked to the podium and stood there until the applause subsided.

She was ready.

“Hi, everyone...Wow!” She smiled and wiped a tear before it could roll down her face. “You know, it was only weeks ago that I could barely pull myself out of my cot in a shelter each morning without thinking I had nothing to live for, my life was miserable, the universe hated me...And I’ll tell you, it really did feel that way.

“You see, I lost my father to cancer when I was a little girl. A bit later, I was abused over and over again by my stepfather. Brandon, my first husband—the love of my life—was killed in Iraq just after my daughter Chloe was born. My second husband turned out to be a gambler who got himself and Chloe killed. After that I just gave up on everything.

“I eventually tried to end my life by jumping from the Coronado Bridge, but I was rescued—just as I jumped.” She could almost feel the collective gasp. “The scriptures say we should ‘show kindness to strangers, for by so doing some have shown kindness to angels without knowing it.’ But in my case, God sent an angel who showed
me
kindness.

“Nevertheless, even after that rescue, I tried to take my life again. You see, I kept listening to the enemy’s accusing voices and lies. This time I nearly succeeded. But somehow, the pills I took didn’t stay down. And by God’s grace, I saw my past through an entirely different perspective.

“This time as I relived those painful events, I heard God saying, ‘I am there, Hope.’ I thought, ‘You mean, you
were
there, don’t you?’ But God corrected me. “I
am
there. In your past, your future, I am there.’

“Right there, I realized that He exists outside of time, that I was not alone during my darkest hours. And although I still remember the awful things that happened, the pain from them eased. I’m not saying it went away completely, but it stopped hurting me, its hold on my life was broken.

“I don’t know how else to explain it, but some of you know what I’m talking about, right? Some of you have been healed before like this, can I get a witness?”

Shouts of amen, and applause rose up.

“Tonight, I just want you all to know. We have a good God. He’s powerful, omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent. He holds time in his hand. That’s why he can be in our past, present and future simultaneously. He is the same yesterday and today and forever.

“So whatever you’re suffering from, no matter how dire the situation, how deep the pain, God wants you to know that He has come to bring good news to the afflicted, to bind up the brokenhearted...”

She’d never considered herself eloquent enough to speak in public, but the rapt audience didn’t intimidate her. And the words, the scriptures she never knew she’d memorized seemed to just flow out of her.

“He’s here to proclaim liberty to captives, freedom to prisoners...to console those who mourn, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning!

“Tonight, whoever you are, wherever you’ve been, it’s not too late. Even if you’re suffering the consequences of your own mistakes, your own failures, He’s got healing for you.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see the tears on Jonathan Hartwell’s face. His wife held his hand and dabbed the corners of her eye with a tissue.

“Whether it’s the pain of the past, the hurt you’re feeling now, the worries about tomorrow, He’s saying to you right now, “I AM THERE!” She turned and pointed to the crowds in each section of the stadium, saying each time, “with you, and with you, and you!”

As she turned back to the camera, a flash of light from the shadows of the private boxes caught her eye. A half-second later, something hot whisked through her hair just above her ear.

That was when the screaming began.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

THE FIRST THING NICK FELT AFTER HE CHARGED at the sniper was the butt of the rifle slamming into his gut. His stomach felt like it was imploding. Flat on his back and stunned, he could hardly breathe. But he was pretty sure he’d disrupted at least one of the sniper’s two shots.

He swung his rifle around at Nick’s head. Nick managed to block it with his arm, then tried to stand.

But the distinct
clack
of a round being chambered stopped him.

“Who are you?” The shooter’s voice was intense but quiet. He pinned Nick’s shoulder down with a heavy foot and pressed the rifle’s muzzle into his chest.

“Wait,” Nick said.

The hammer cocked.

Nick squeezed his eyes tight, grit his teeth against the pain, and focused on the cold barrel through which a bullet was about to end his mortal life, short as it had been.

Just as the shooter pulled the trigger.

The gun vanished.

“What—?”

A fraction of a second later, it reappeared—somewhere near the door, judging by the flash of light and loud shot. Nick swung his foot under the astonished sniper’s legs, collapsing them behind the knees so that he fell back with a thud.

His whole body throbbing with pain, his powers pulsing intermittently like a dying star, Nick thrust his hand down on the sniper’s forehead as he struggled to get up. Whether he was human or Nephilim, Nick couldn’t be certain.

He only hoped his next move would work.

The shooter became deathly still. Then he hugged his chest, shaking violently while emitting a wheezing sound meant to be a scream. Nick’s construct made him experience the terror of a coiling forty-foot python crushing the life out of him. Every breath he took would cause the huge serpent to squeeze harder.

But his pain, unlike Nick’s, wasn’t real. Battling the nausea and pain from the latest flare-up of his failing supernatural power, he focused on the podium where Hope had been speaking and prayed he wasn’t too late.