Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (23 page)

“So is it … Could the victim be−?”

“Jesus? No. He’s just a guy. Jesus wasn’t even born yet when this was happening. About another decade later. But I guarantee you that’s not what Mr. President believes.”

“You think he believes it was one of the actual Jesus nails?”

“Without a doubt. And consider that for a second: what it would take to get your hands on one of the Holy Nails. That is, if it wasn’t stolen, but let’s assume
bought
—you bought it from some other pompous gazillionaire. Those things are supposedly pieces of history, coveted for centuries, and, if you’re someone who’s
that
interested in having one, you’d believe the object to be a connection to God, right? A spiritual capsule, like the Holy Grail or Ark of the Covenant.”

He looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, for sure,” she said. “I would think so.”

He was so intense, so familiar, comfortable. She liked it. A minute bit of guilt crept in, knowing the uncharacteristic engagement was likely due to his fresh trauma, though not enough guilt to kill her buzz.

“So you bought this spike,” he went on. “You’ve got it now—a new, most-prized possession—finally in your hands. And then, you have it
melted down
and turned into a ring for yourself.”

She shook her head. “That’s … That’s
insane
.” He was right. It didn’t sound like something a sane person would do.

“Right?” He looked back out toward the road. “It’d take a seriously detached mind to reconcile that act. Obviously, he’s thoroughly narcissistic. I already knew that much. It doesn’t take a
me
, really, to come to that conclusion, but-”

“What if it’s a big eff-you?” Joss interrupted as the thought struck her. “Like he doesn’t actually believe in Christianity at all, but so many people do, and so he’s all ‘Rrrr, I wear the thing that killed God on my finger. I’m more powerful than God.’”

Matt stared at her and tugged at his chin whiskers.

“… Rrrr … Or not.” She shrugged.

“No, sorry … I think you’re right. I think you’re exactly right.”

“Damn right I’m right! Psych one-oh-one, baby! One semester. C-plus. Boo-yeah. Gimme some, bro!” She held up her hand for a high-five. “C’mon. Up high!”

Matt cracked a little smile and gave her a feeble high-five. She was about to tease him, demand another, keep his spirits up, but his mind was already drifting off.

“You thinking about her? His wife?”

“Yeah.” He absentmindedly rubbed his wrist as he zoned out on a wall of ivy across the street.

She side-eyed him, watched his mouth twitch with little micro-movements, nibbling on the insides of his lips. “I can only guess how rough that is for you. Someone you love so much … out of reach like that.”

He snapped out of his daze and looked at her. “Hm? Oh … yeah. Hey, you grabbed the ring out of the taxi, right?”

“Yup.” She patted her purse on the bench beside her.

“May I see it, please? I’m pretty sure, now that I’ve gone as far as I have, that I can skip through all that.”

Joss nodded emphatically. “Oh, sure, absolutely. Right now? Right here on the bench?”

He
mm-hm’d
and held out his hand.

“Hell … flippin’ … no.” She swatted his hand away. “You aren’t touching this thing again. Not as long as I’m around, no sir. You almost launched yourself out the back window of that goddamn taxi! I had to drag your convulsing body out of there while cabby guy’s screaming Greek obscenities at us!”

“Albanian,” Matt said calmly. “He’s from Kosovo.”

“Oh, well that explains why I couldn’t understand him.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure the ring was actually in there. I thought it slipped out of the box in the commotion.”

Uh-oh.

She hadn’t checked before clapping the box closed in the backseat. Her focus had been on a seizing Matt.

He saw her face and tilted his head forward. “Don’t tell me.”

Her fingers swam around her purse. “No, I got it. It’s in there.”

Please, God, let it be in there.

She extracted the box from her purse, pried open the top, and sighed relief at the shiny ring inside. “See?”

“Phew,” Matt said, and she pinched it shut just as his hand zipped under hers, lightly smacking upward. The case popped up, and Matt plucked the box from the air with his other hand. “Thank you.” He leapt from the bench and sprinted down the sidewalk, calling behind him, “I’ll be back in five, ten minutes, tops! Don’t go anywhere!”

Joss scrambled to her feet, grabbed her purse and his backpack, and went after him. Looking up, her eyes caught him at the last second, cutting left down a side street at the end of the row of shops. He was too damned fast.

At the block’s end, she slowed to a stop and peered up the side street. It inclined sharply upward and narrowed into a tree-covered, hillside, residential neighborhood. No sign of him on either side of the street. The first few houses in view had short walls and hedges and plenty of bushes he could be hiding in, but she wasn’t going to chase him down. If she happened to find him hiding:
Gotcha!
and then what? He runs off again, farther. And she was an employee, lest she forget. It’d probably been a tad improper for her to withhold the thing in the first place.

She scanned her surroundings. The corner shop, called Fiat Shop & Shop, appeared to sell women’s clothes, coffee and pastries, and Fiat automobiles. A pair of 30s twin sisters flicked through shirts on the outdoor clothing racks, both women holding their cell phones out to the side as if they were carrying a pizza pan.

Joss stared until she realized she was staring, interrupted by the revelation that she might very well have cellular coverage here. She pulled out her phone and powered it on, glancing up Matt’s escape route while waiting for the spinny boot-up thing to finish.

The phone beeped and toned and dinged as endless texts, voicemails, and other notifications fought for priority.

Texts first.

They displayed in oldest-first order: Cameron, of course, Mom, random number, Cam, Cam, Iris, random, Iris, Iris, Iris …

Iris first.

Iris Turner: Everything cool? Tell Matt to answer my texts, please.

Iris Turner: You there? Testing … testing …

Iris Turner: You still on that island? Check emails, please. Call me.

Iris Turner: Used to bro ignoring texts. Hoping you would not. Assuming you’re not getting these. Call me ASAP.

Iris Turner: If you get this, please tell Matt that Isis Meier is trying to reach him. And not for “the usual BS” … He should know what that means. Emailing this, too.

Iris Turner: Argh. Silence. Trying not to panic, you guys.

She hasn’t gotten anything from us since leaving Ukraine. Gotta be losing it at this point.

Joss tried to remember the time difference in New Jersey. She guessed it was 10:00 or 11:00am, and Iris would definitely be awake … if she’d even been able to sleep.

She tapped out a quick message to start.

JLL: Hey Iris, we’re all good! So sorry! Haven’t had signal.

The send status bar crept rightward, paused … almost … sent!

Relieved that at least the one went through, Joss began composing a more detailed message. They were in Athens, on way to Egypt … come to think of it, they probably needed plane tickets … Should she mention Matt and the ring? Would it worry Iris even more? Was that a betrayal of Matt’s trust? And then her phone buzzed and rang.

Iris.

Oh yeah, she did say
call
, didn’t she…

“Hi!” Joss answered. “You got my text, I hope?”

“Hi!” Iris echoed, cheerily pissed, and then switched to just-pissed. “Put him on the phone.”

Joss peered up the residential street: skinny old guy walking poodle, poodle, bushes, no Matt. She hesitated a second and sucked in a quick breath.

“I swear to God, Joss Lynn, if you say he’s not there, I will reach through this phone, strangle him, and fire you.”

“But … what if he’s actually not here?”

“I get it,” Iris said, “he’s your boss. He’s Matt Turner. And I’m only the sister, and very far away. Just do me this favor. If he’s standing there with you, say ‘I’m not sure when he’ll be back.’”

“Seriously, he’s not here. I’d tell you. He … stepped away, just a few minutes ago. I’m not sure when—that is, I don’t know … how
long
… before he
returns
.”

“All right. I believe you. Well … so help me clean out all the paranoid theories my brain’s been producing to fill the void. You guys are totally safe, normal, all that?”

“Totally.”

“Are you still with Ostrovsky or his people?”

“No, it’s only us. We’re going to Egypt.”

“Oh, really? So Matt spoke to Pete Sharma, I’m guessing?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so. I don’t know who that is. He hasn’t spoken to anyone as far as I know. We just got cell signal. Or, I did anyway. I’m sure his phone is still off, and in his backpack … which I’m holding right now.”

“Okay. I know you’ll send me a nice, long, detailed email with everything that’s happened and going to happen. I do still need my brother to call me though—unrelated to what you’re doing out there. Tell him it’s about Isis Meier. On second thought, tell him it’s about Isis and the
test
.”

“That’s his ex-girlfriend, right?”

She find out she’s dying? Pregnant?

“Yup,” Iris said.

“Got it. So should he call her first, or you?”

“Me! Definitely me! I swear to God if he calls anybody in the
world
before he calls me, I’m disembrothering him. And I pay the fricken bills! I’ll know. On that note, do you guys already have your flights?”

“Nope.”

Joss ambled into the Shop & Shop while waiting for Iris to go to her computer and check flights. Shiny little cars were parked on one side, café in the back middle, and then there were the aisles with clothes, car seats and mirror balls, and wooden bird nests. She
had
to get a picture of this place.

“All right, you ready?” Iris asked, and they proceeded to finalize the flights while Joss ambled down the aisles, marveling at the random inventory.

As they awaited confirmation, Joss caught a figure out of the corner of her eye, outside, walking from the side street. It was Matt, and he appeared to have come from a quick, fully-clothed dive in a swimming pool.

Without informing Iris, Joss hurried back to the entrance to intercept Matt at the front door.

“Okay, you’re all confirmed,” Iris said. “You’ve got about three hours. I’ll send the itinerary to both of your e-mail addresses. Did he get you setup with company email on your phone yet?”

Joss popped out in front of Matt, noticing that his hair, face, and neck were drenched, as well as the top half of his T-shirt. He stopped before her, blinked for an instant as if he didn’t know who she was, and then recognition seemed to click in. His mouth opened a little, eager to tell her something. He regarded the phone against Joss’s ear, and mouthed
“Who’s that?”

“Hello?” Iris sang.

Joss mouthed back,
“Iris.”

Matt frowned, nodded, and looked at Joss’s breasts. No, he was just thinking—his eyes continued drifting down toward her elbow, and then back up to the phone.

Iris again, “I lose you? Joss? Can you hear me?”

Finally, he came to some conclusion, motioned for the phone, and set it against his ear.

“Hi sis,” he said, and then quickly rattled off without a break, “All’s well. In Athens. Going to Alexandria. Back in two weeks. Both phones going away. Let you know new info soon. Love you, miss you, sorry, bye!”

He pulled the phone away with Iris already unleashing a tinny, crackling tirade, while Matt fumbled and searched for a hang-up button. Joss reached out to end the call for him, but he suddenly stepped back and hurled the phone to the ground. Glass and plastic exploded out across the sidewalk. Matt sighed relief and brushed residual Iris anxiety from his hands like dust.

Joss glared at him. “Well that’s splendid.”

“We’re getting new ones,” he said, and gestured for his backpack. “I need to kill mine, too.”

“I liked that phone. It was brand new. Anyway, what’s the deal here? You okay?” She looked up at his dripping hair and wet shirt. “Someone hose you down to get you out of their back yard?”

He touched his head, hair, and shirt, apparently unaware he was wet. “Oh, no, this is sweat. I made it past the crucifixion. I’ll tell you what I learned …” He peered up the street. “… on the way to that phone shop up the street.”

* * *

President Absko knew that Matt was no longer holed up at home, though he wasn’t certain of Matt’s status ability-wise. Absko had fantasies about hurting Tuni, torturing her with both mental and physical weapons. Last month, he considered sending their son, Alexander, to a week-long archery camp for affluent children—without telling Tuni—and he’d ignore her desperate questions, refusing to acknowledge the boy’s absence. He dreamt of splitting her heel bone so that each step she took would stab at her the way her words speared him, of hammering her cheekbones and nose so she’d be grotesque.
Because he loved her
. It tormented him more than anything, this sole weakness. Everyone else in the world remained entirely disposable, but the one person he’d allowed in, a woman he’d so methodically groomed—the queen with whom he’d share his kingdom—now feared and despised him.

With his new cell phone sitting on a picnic table in a darkening city park, Matt shared with Iris and Joss all he’d learned from Absko’s ring. How, five years ago, Absko had orchestrated the mental breakdown of Fernando Solorzano—the mercenary who killed Matt’s father—beginning a month before Matt and Tuni had even arrived in Tahiti. The draining of Matt’s bank accounts while they were in Cuba. Matt’s secret leaked to the media. Ensnaring Tuni in a cunning seduction plot, followed by periodic lies about Matt and other friends, intercepted letters and emails, forged replies, and later, the finishing touch: replacing Tuni’s birth control pills with placebos.

Now aware of both Ostrovsky and Absko’s unexpectedly adept hacking capabilities, Matt had Iris set up brand new email accounts, and told her to go buy a new phone for herself. In a taxi on the way to the Athens airport, Matt feverishly typed names, dates, and places for her, as well as a lengthy list of other key information.