A Whisper in the Dark (38 page)

He made another pass then parked curbside twenty yards away. As he silently jogged to the front of the building, it crossed his mind that he was going into a potentially dangerous situation unarmed. Stupid thing to do considering Bradley was probably packing a gun. But John was all too aware of his limitations when it came to his service revolver. He was just going to have to make do without it.

He was midway to the rear when a flicker of light from inside caught his eye. It was coming from a broken stained glass window six feet above the ground. If he stood on the sill ledge, he would be able to see inside.

Light rain began to fall as he walked to the window. Standing on a rusty five-gallon bucket, he heaved himself onto the narrow sill and put his eye to the hole. The light inside was dim. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he realized the light was coming from dozens of candles. His heart began to pound when he spotted Bradley standing near the altar. He was too far away to discern what the man was doing. He was wearing some type of robe. But where the hell was Julia?

His gut twisted when he spotted her lying on the table spread eagle. Duct tape covered her mouth. Shock and outrage and a terrible new fear stormed through him when he realized Bradley was cutting away her clothes.

John closed his eyes and struggled to get a grip. Shaking himself, he stepped down off the sill, his heart hammering hard against his ribs. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop that son of a bitch without a weapon.

Breathing hard, he stepped into the shadows of the trees, whipped out his cell phone and called Mitch. His brother answered on the first ring.

“Bradley has her at the old church on Bayou Road. Saint Agnes. I’m here now. He’s going to . . .” But John’s voice broke and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Take it easy, bro.”

“He’s going to hurt her, Mitch. For God’s sake, he’s got her tied up. I’m going in.”

“Stay put. I’m in my car. I can be there in five minutes.”

“She doesn’t have five minutes.” John disconnected and jammed the phone onto his belt. Not giving himself time to debate, he sprinted back to his car. Sweat slicked his back and face as he pulled the nylon zip case from beneath the passenger seat. His hands shook uncontrollably as he stared down at the gleaming barrel of the H&K .45. The same gun that killed Franklin Watts. The only tool he had that would save the life of the woman he loved.

He envisioned himself picking up the gun and chambering a bullet, the way he’d done a thousand times in the years he’d been a cop. But his mind’s eye flashed back to the night Franklin Watts died. He saw gray flesh and staring eyes and a pool of blood the size of an ocean. He saw two children and a woman too young to be a widow. Nausea seesawed in his gut. Cold horror raced through his blood like ice water being pumped into his veins.

Pick up the gun, you fucking coward, a little voice ordered.

But his hands refused. His knees hit the ground. He retched and lost the contents of his stomach. Cold sweat covered his body, but he was shivering with a chill that seemed to emanate from his bones.

“Pick it up, goddamn it,” he choked out.

He closed his eyes, tried to will away the horror of that night. In the dark recesses of his mind, he saw Julia. He felt the goodness of her soul. The kindness of her heart. The undeniable connection to his. He thought of all the terrible things that would happen to her if he didn’t do this.

Giving himself a hard mental shake, he got unsteadily to his feet and reached for the gun. The blue steel felt foreign and deadly in his hands. The fear rose like vomit in his throat. Sheer determination allowed him to maintain his grip. He pulled back the slide and chambered a bullet. His hands were wet on the grip as he shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

His legs felt rubbery as he sprinted toward the church, but he didn’t let himself think about the fear. He knew it would overwhelm him, render him useless. He wasn’t going to let Julia die because of him.

Midway to the church, the skies opened up. The rain came in a sudden and blinding torrent, soaking him instantly and washing the fear sweat from his face. The gun felt huge and heavy against him. But John didn’t let himself think about it. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t stop.

Come hell or high water he was going to keep a madman from killing the woman he loved.

THIRTY-ONE

John found Bradley’s Lexus parked behind the church.
He sloshed through ankle-high water to a door on the north side of the building. He tried the knob, but found it locked. Through the pouring rain he spotted another door, possibly leading to what had once been the rectory. He jogged to it, tried the knob, found it locked.

Frustration hammered at him as he looked around. He thought about shooting off the lock, but nixed the idea. He had to find a way in without alerting Bradley or he risked the other man killing Julia before he could reach her. The thought filled him with a horror so black that for a moment he was frozen.

Hang on, he silently told her. I’m coming for you.

Struggling to stay calm, he looked around and spotted a row of jalousie windows. Crossing to them, he cupped his hands and tried to peer inside, but saw only darkness. If this was the rectory, there was probably a door or two separating it from the main part of the church. The perfect place to make entry without being discovered.

Blinking back rain, John reached for the glass slat closest the crank inside. He tried to work it free, but the glass remained snug. Cursing, he abandoned the first louver and went to the next. Hope surged when he found it loose. Quickly, he forced it from the sash bar and tossed it to the ground. Thrusting his hand inside, he found the crank and opened the window. It seemed to take forever to remove the remaining slats, but in less than a minute he was through the window.

The interior was as dark as a crypt, but John’s eyes adjusted quickly. From the dim light slanting in from the street lamp he could see that he’d entered the chancel. The air was stagnant with the smell of rotting wood and mildew. Water dripped from his clothes as he crossed to the door that would take him to the nave. The door was open several inches. He peered through the crack. He saw the yellow glow of the candles. A fluted pillar stood between him and the high altar. But he could see Parker Bradley silhouetted against the light. Lying on the table before him was Julia. Rage coursed through John when he saw that Bradley had cut the clothes from her body. He fought a surge of desperation, reminding himself he wouldn’t do either of them any good if he charged in without some kind of plan.

He opened the door another inch and tried to get a better look, but the wide pillar partially blocked his view. He could hear Bradley chanting. Julia, he realized, had been gagged. John could hear her whimpering, screaming into the tape.

His hands shook as he reached for the H&K in his waistband. He didn’t acknowledge the old fear, but it was there, taunting the fringes of his consciousness. He could feel his heart pumping hard in his chest, the slick of sweat on his skin even though he was soaked to the bone and shivering with cold.

Slowly, he shoved open the door and stepped into the transept. He could see Julia struggling against the binds now. She was wearing nothing but her underpants. Her flesh looked as white as snow in the dim light coming off the candles. The sound of her cries shook him badly. But he reminded himself that she was still alive. As long as she was still alive, it wasn’t too late.

Hang on
.

He silently chanted the words like a mantra. He gripped the pistol with the desperation of a man hanging onto a lifeline. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his hand from shaking.

Never taking his eyes from Bradley, he slinked along the wall, the H&K ready in his hand. The hard ping of rain against the old roof was deafening, but the roar of blood through his veins was louder. John thought about taking the shot now. He so badly wanted to kill the other man he could taste it. But the pillar blocked his shot.

Every nerve in his body went taut when Bradley trailed the tip of the knife down Julia’s throat and between her breasts. She wrenched at the ropes binding her. Her cries grew more frantic. The knife glinted in the candlelight. And John knew that if he were discovered now, he wouldn’t be able to get to her in time to keep the other man from stabbing her in the heart.

Or cutting her throat . . .

He was in plain sight now. Thirty feet separated them. One wrong move and Julia would die. He was debating whether to take the shot or try to get closer when the sound of sirens carried over the pounding rain.

Bradley swung around, his eyes seeking, seeking . . .

Twelve years of training kicked in; John brought up the gun, took aim. “Stop or I swear to Christ I’ll put a hole between your eyes.”

Bradley didn’t look particularly worried. More like he’d been interrupted by some unruly child. But the tip of the knife was against Julia’s throat, less than an inch from her carotid artery . . .

“Put down the knife, you sick little prick.”

An eerily calm smile split Bradley’s face. “It you care about her, you will let me purify her before she stands in judgment before God.”

John decided on a body shot. Even with his hands shaking, he figured it gave him a fifty-fifty chance of hitting his mark. Two months ago, he would have already taken the shot and ended this. But his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. He could feel the sweat dripping down his temple and between his shoulder blades. He could hear his breaths echoing off the walls of the cavernous church. The old fear gripping him with sharp talons. Goddamn it, not now, he thought.
Not now!

“Your hands are shaking, Detective Merrick.”

“Drop the knife. Now.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? Look at you. Do you actually think you can hit anything when you can barely hold that gun?”

John flicked his gaze to Julia. Her glazed eyes told him she’d been drugged. Evidently the drug wasn’t strong enough to dull the terror. He saw it in her eyes, as sharp-edged as any razor. He hated seeing her like that, but he steeled himself against it. “You’re going to be all right,” he said to her. “Mitch is on his way along with SWAT.”

But even to him the words rang hollow . . .

“This would probably be a good time for me to mention I’m wearing body armor, as you cops like to refer to it.” Using his free hand Bradley untied the sash at his waist to reveal the Kevlar vest.

“In that case I’ll go for a head shot.”

Bradley looked amused. “From a man suffering with hoplophobia, that’s not a viable threat.”

John knew better than to engage him; he didn’t let himself react. But the fact that Parker knew his most private fear surprised him.

“Ah, yes,” Parker continued, “I know all about the cop you shot in Chicago. Fascinating reading. Benjamin was quite concerned and wanted to counsel you. After all, taking the life of an innocent man with a wife and children . . .” He tsked. “It can mess up a man’s head, can’t it?”

John said nothing, instead focused on moving ever so slightly to his left for a better angle.

“Ben thought your taking on the job to protect Julia would help you get back on your feet.” His gaze flicked to John’s shaking hands. “Had he known you were afraid of your own gun, I’m afraid he never would have hired you to protect his daughter.” The smile sharpened. “Lucky for me you failed to mention your little problem, wouldn’t you say?”

John should have already taken the shot, but the gun wobbled uselessly in his grip. He willed his hand to stop. Fear sweat dripped into his eyes.

But he didn’t trust his aim. Didn’t trust this son of a bitch not to do something crazy. If he missed . . .

“I’m sure the alcohol isn’t helping. I hear you’ve become quite the alcoholic. I hear the DTs can be quite . . . shall we say, uncomfortable.”

He focused on slowing his breathing, calming himself so he could take the shot. But when Julia cried out into the duct tape, his eyes flicked to where she lay bound. Within the depth of her gaze he saw terror and the will to live in its most primal form.

“She’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”

John looked at him. “Let her go and I’ll let you live.”

The other man only smiled. “She’s a whore, you know. A succubus. Once she seduces you . . . well, I’m sure you know the story.”

“You heard the sirens, Parker. It’s over. The cops have this place surrounded.” John sidled closer. “You have two seconds to drop that weapon or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Bradley ran the knife from her navel to the top of her underpants. “I could have this knife through her heart before the bullet reaches me. I could cut her breasts. Perforate her uterus and, if she doesn’t bleed to death first, render her barren.”

A drop of sweat trickled into John’s eye, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his left arm. In his right hand, the H&K wobbled uselessly.

Bradley saw it and his smile turned knowing. “Do you remember how it felt when you blew a hole through Franklin Watts’s belly? While you were sitting with him, trying to keep his intestines from spilling out all over the floor? Are you sure you want to risk
this
shot, Detective? Judging from the way your hands are shaking, you’ll miss. This knife is razor sharp. One slice and I’ll eviscerate her right before your eyes.”

“I won’t miss.”

“Ah, such utter certainty. But you lie.” Abruptly, Bradley reached out and ripped the tape from Julia’s mouth. “Would you like to hear her scream?”

“John!” Julia choked out his name. “Oh, God! He’s got a gun! He’s insane!”

The terror in her voice shook him badly. John knew that was what Bradley wanted. Why he’d removed the tape. He tried to steel himself against her screams, but he couldn’t stop the shaking.