Atonement (19 page)

“Father Evans will do. ”

Perhaps priest was what Sheila wanted to think of Father Evans as in her conversations with Moore.

“Were Dusty and Sheila Walker members of your congregation?”

“Dusty was a member of the faithful; his wife, Sheila, wasn't so much. She'd come from time to time, mostly holidays.”

“What about the kids?”

“Only here when their mother was.”

“Any reason why?”

Father Evans shook his head. “Not sure. Dusty wasn't one to talk much about his family situation.”

Which might explain why his cousin would fly off the handle. Doug couldn't be expected to believe what his cousin never mentioned.

“Did they ever come to you for marital counseling?”

The father frowned. Nic was aware she was treading on the taboo. One simply did not ask a shepherd of the flock for his parishioners' confessions; they were protected exactly like a conversation between a client and lawyer. Seeing as the couple was dead, however, there wasn't much to hold confidential, except to protect them from the rabid gossips in Eider.

“I'm not sure if I'm comfortable answering that question, Deputy Rivers.”

“Comfortable or not, Father, it's come down to a need to ask. If I could be frank, something isn't right with how the situation went at the Walkers' home, and we're looking into it further. We need to be thorough.”

“At the expense of what? People's privacy?”

Here is where Con would have been a liability. He knew the people in this town and was comfortable with the mentality of turning a blind eye to what went on behind closed doors. Nic just didn't give a rat's ass. Their sins weren't worth covering up if they were going around killing others and themselves.

“The Walkers gave up the right the moment Dusty walked into the house with the full intention of killing his wife, kids, and himself in front of the whole town and on live television.” She moved closer to Father Evans and in a whisper fired the next volley. “Were they seeking help from you for their marriage?”

Stricken, Father Evans listed away from Nic. His gaze left hers and settled on the stained-glass window of Mary. Seconds clicked past, and Nic waited until he lowered his head and sighed.

“Sheila did not come, but Dusty spoke with me once months ago.”

“Could you be more specific about why he came?”

“He said his wife had become distant with him. She was gone a lot, and he suspected something wasn't right. We discussed steps on what he could do to bridge the gap and open communications between him and Sheila, among other things. When he left, he vowed to do everything he could to save his marriage. That was it. Weeks later, I cornered him after Mass to check in with him. Dusty thanked me for my assistance and said he was making headway. I never heard anything after that, until the events of this week.”

While the father relayed his information, Nic jotted it down in shorthand on a small notepad.

“I'm sure the town gossip has gotten back to you on the deaths of two more people.”

He closed his eyes. “Yes, Seth Moore and Giselle Tomberlin.”

“Were they members?”

“Seth visited a few times and then moved along to something else.”

“Do you recall when he did that?” Nic asked.

“Well, it wasn't long after he finished restoring that old house. It was recently. Maybe within the last month or so. He might have signed the guest registry. I could check.”

“That would be helpful. What about Giselle?”

“Giselle grew up in this church. She was such a sweet child. I can't imagine what demons plagued her to make her think death was a solution.”

The catch in Father Evans's voice as he spoke of Giselle tripped up Nic's writing progress. No, she wouldn't be taken in by the sincerity and emotion.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Oh my, it's been a few years.”

“You do realize she wasn't a child?”

He stared at her, unblinking, seemingly trying to read her mind. “Deputy Rivers, every person who walks through those doors and enters this sanctuary is a child of God, no matter the age or size. I see them as God wants me to see them, as one of His own coming for the assurance of forgiveness.”

What a load of crap. She wanted to blurt that but knew she had to resist that urge or he would clam up.

“You don't accept my statement, do you?”

She snorted in derision. “Father, I'm not here to talk about what I accept and don't accept.” She moved along, hoping to deter him. “Did the Walkers know Ms. Tomberlin or Seth Moore? And vice versa?”

“Not that I'm aware of. This is a large congregation and many of the parishioners are related to one another. But those four, I never saw in the same circles.” He rested his arm along the back of the pew and bent forward. “You have a jaded tone to your voice. Were you once one of the faithful, Deputy Rivers?”

Somewhere a door opened and clapped shut. There was her cue to get the heck outta here before he pushed the truth right out of her. Closing the notepad, she stashed it inside her jacket and stood.

“Thank you for your time, Father. You've been helpful.”

She scooted into the aisle and moved to leave.

“Deputy Rivers.”

Stopping midstride, she turned to the father. He had stood as well but remained between the pews.

“I sense a darkness coming. Something bad is happening in this town, and it seems to be dragging you into its fold.”

“I'm a cop. Bad happens around me all the time, Father.”

“This is different. You have a choice to make: fight it, or let it consume you. I fear you will make the wrong decision and those closest to you will suffer the consequences.”

Fear rippled through Nic. She banished it as quickly as it came. He was trying to scare her if nothing more than to get her inside these walls and into his clutches.

“Then let Satan have a field day. I did my time—what's a few more days of living in hell?”

Nic stopped at the Killdeer Pub for lunch after putting in a call to Cassy and Agent Asshole to meet her there. Nic wasn't sure she'd ever think of the fed as anything other than what she called him. He was a General worshiper and that seriously grated. Maybe she should set him straight on the great Brigadier General William Rivers, retired.

Then again, why the hell bother? Hunt was sold on the facade The General wanted the world to see. Their father even sold it to Cassy. But not Emma. No, Emma saw right through his crap, and yet she still remained with the man. Nic couldn't tell if that was true love or pure stupidity, and considering how well she thought of Emma, it better not be the latter.

Patrick served her ginger ale, told her he'd be back as soon as the rest of her party showed up, then hurried off to take care of his other tables.

Sipping the carbonated drink, Nic mulled over what little she'd learned from Father Evans and Doc Drummond. Moore's more natural approach to his ailments and the strong belief in never taking synthetic drugs clashed with his technology and video-game junkie persona she and Con discovered in the house.

But this revelation of his non-drug use would go a long way to proving Nic's theory on assisted suicides. Agent Hunt better come through on the tox screens.

As it had so many times in the field and on missions, the atmosphere shifted, and malice oozed around Nic. Setting the glass on the table, she peered at the crowded pub, studying each person there. No one seemed overly interested in her. They hadn't exactly greeted her with handshakes and nods of approval when she arrived. But this sensation was different. She had felt it before when things went to hell for her, and it usually resulted in someone physically attacking her.

The last time this happened she'd been with Aiden in a village that was hiding a Taliban fighter, who came from a group that had terrorized the people, raping some of their women to gain power over them. The fighter had chosen a time when Aiden separated from Nic to attack her. This hyper-awareness saved her skin so often, she never discounted it.

By the time she thought to get up and move around the pub's dining area, the sensation fled. Nic blinked, flopping back against the booth seat. The shock of it was unnerving. She hadn't found the source, and this would lead to her being on alert at all times. Which would aggravate the PTSD.

A shadow passed over her table, jerking her to attention. Patrick's frown wrinkled his forehead and made the twenty-something look older. He glanced back at the door leading to the kitchen and then slid into the seat across from her.

“It's kind of busy for you to just be taking a break,” she said.

“Farran won't mind when I explain why. Is something wrong? You acted like I scared you when I was walking past.”

Nic's brows furrowed as she stared at Patrick. The kid was too well-tuned to her moods. “I was caught up in what I was thinking about. You just startled me.”

“Anything you can tell me about?”

“Not officially, no.”

The put-out look on his face horse-kicked Nic in the gut. Why was he upset that she wasn't talking to him? It wasn't like he was her sole confidant. She opened her mouth to assure him it wasn't anything personal when his face shifted into a beaming smile.

“That's fine. Thought maybe you needed to vent some frustrations.” He gave her a wink and left the booth.

Nic gaped at his retreating back. What the hell just happened? Laughter penetrated her confused mind. Her gaze darted to the front of the pub, where the laughter originated. A familiar face in a sea of locals brought her to her feet. Abandoning her drink, Nic slid around the tables and bodies, cutting as direct a path as she could toward that man. When he noticed her coming, anger replaced the humor on his face.

“Where the hell have you been, Deputy Walker?” Walker was out of uniform, appeared to have been enjoying too much alcohol in the last twenty-four hours since she'd seen him, and from the smell, he hadn't bothered to shower, either.

“Last time I checked you weren't my boss.”

Her knuckles cracking, she inched forward. “We're in the middle of the busiest tourist time for Eider. You're not at your post, and we're shorthanded while you're off having a pity party because you can't get your way.”

The folks near them went silent. Nic could feel their gazes boring holes into her.

Walker swept his shirttails aside and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Come to think of it, I ain't had my proper time to grieve for my dearly departed cousin and his wife. Seeing as that can affect my performance, until I've taken proper steps to get my mind back on the job, I'm not fit for duty.”

“I went to war with better men who lost friends and still managed to fulfill their duties. So don't feed me that line of BS.”

White, mottled spots appeared on his reddened face. “You murdered Dusty.”

“You're a moron.”

His hands twitched then slid out of the loops to his sides, curling into fists. Nic went on alert, shifting her weight, readying herself to draw her weapon. Would he be dumb enough to start a fight here in the pub? What the hell had he been drinking? Nic glanced at the patrons she could spot, noting their interested expressions. They were morons, too, for sitting here enjoying this.

“You think you're big stuff with that rifle. Killing people from far off,” Walker sneered. “Bet you never had to shoot someone up-close and personal.”

The white noise of the room died in her head, and an eerie calm settled over her. He knew only what she'd allowed the public to know about her past. Sheriff Hamilton and the few town council members privy to the truth were under strict federal orders never to reveal what Nic actually did before moving to their town. The lone thing she kept from her discharge was that damn mandate.

Protocol be damned. Time to go on defense and take this to a more private area. Invading Walker's personal space—which he didn't like, and he moved—she managed to steer him to the door while she got a hand on her weapon. Walker backed himself right up against the wood and pushed the door outward, stumbling outside. Nic followed, forcing him farther from the door and any prying ears and eyes.

“What about you?” she said hoarsely. “Have you killed someone this up-close? Watched their life leave their eyes? Felt their blood coat your hands?”

Walker's face lost coloring, and he swallowed hard.

“Ever felt your own life threatened so that you had no choice but to shoot everyone coming after you? I have. That tends to happen a lot when you're walking around hostile areas where the locals would love nothing more than to murder you for simply being a marine with a gun.”

Nic chanced a glance down to see that his hands had unfurled and he was trembling.

“Not so tough now, huh?” She grabbed a handful of his shirt and jerked him closer. “Get your shit together, or I'll make sure everyone knows what kind of a coward you are.” She released him with a shove.

He lingered, staring at her hand that still gripped the gun butt. A smart man would realize she wasn't about to drop her guard, but in the last few days Walker hadn't shown a lick of intelligence. She'd given him an out; the next step would be arrest him or stop the threat, depending on his reaction.

Finally, he turned, adjusted his shirt, and sauntered over to his truck, as if nothing bad had happened between the two of them. Nic's eyes narrowed as she watched him get in and drive away. It wasn't until his vehicle had disappeared around a corner that her hand left the gun. If only the hyper-awareness would leave so easily.

The Killdeer's silence—even the jukebox was void of music—made her hesitate in the entryway. All eyes were on her. An overwhelming urge to flip them the bird fell over her, but she wouldn't do that to Maura or Con. Instead, she pulled a ten from her pocket, dropped it on the bar counter, and left.