A Book of Spirits and Thieves - Morgan Rhodes Page 0,44
the phone in disbelief.
A few moments later, Julia returned and stood at the doorway. “Did I just hear you talking on the phone? Who was it?”
“Jackie,” she said, her voice hushed. “But she’s gone now.”
Her mother snatched the phone out of her hand and stared at the home screen with dismay. “What did she say?”
“To not trust anyone but you and her.”
“Good advice for once,” Julia said, though the way she was looking at Crys told her that she was more than a little suspicious about what Jackie might have divulged. “Let’s go home. We can’t do anything more for Becca today.”
Her mother took hold of her arm, and Crys didn’t protest or try to squirm away.
They didn’t get along most of the time, but Crys had always thought she at least knew her mother. Jackie said her sister was hiding the truth because she loved Crys. But Crys had to wonder: Was that love? Was that trust?
Frankly, she wasn’t sure who this woman directing her out of Becca’s room and into her silver Mazda hatchback in the parking lot really was. Julia Hatcher had more secrets than Crys ever would have guessed.
Two could play at that game.
Chapter 11
FARRELL
Farrell tried to read while he waited for the call from Lucas. He’d bought the entire Walking Dead graphic novel series but still found that flipping through images of zombies and a plethora of blood and guts and angst did nothing to distract him.
“Farrell . . . you busy?”
He glanced at the doorway of his room to see Adam silhouetted in the frame.
He set the books aside on his bed and put his arms behind his head in a lounging position. “Come on in.”
Adam took a seat on the side of the bed, eyeing the graphic novels. “Walking Dead?”
“You can borrow them.”
“Are you finished with them?”
“With these two.” He nudged the first volumes toward his brother, who took them, staring at the covers with interest.
“Awesome,” Adam said. After a pause, he looked up from the books to his brother. “Look, I know I overreacted and bitched you out this morning. I’m sorry.”
Farrell frowned. “Wait. Are you really apologizing right now?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened Saturday night, and . . . it was just a shock. That’s all.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t expecting that, especially not with me on the stage, so up close and personal. But—that guy, he was dangerous. If we had let him go, he’d have gone out and caused the deaths of tons of other people. If he went to jail, it probably wouldn’t have been for nearly long enough. There was no other answer.” Still, his face looked bleak and haunted about this harsh realization.
“I get it, kid. I do.” Farrell leaned forward and gripped his brother’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to apologize to me for anything. Ever. Okay? I should have been more understanding.”
Adam blinked. “Wow, is this, like, a sentimental brotherly moment? Should we hug tenderly?”
Farrell laughed. “I don’t give hugs out liberally, especially not to family.”
Adam grinned in the lopsided way that made Farrell know that his happiness was genuine.
Farrell’s phone buzzed, interrupting this rare peaceful moment. It was Lucas.
“Gotta take this, kid,” he said, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“It’s time,” Lucas said.
He covered the receiver with his hand. “Adam, why don’t you take the whole set? I won’t be reading them anytime soon.”
“Really? Okay.” Adam gathered the books and headed for the door. He hesitated there, as if he still had something more to say. But after a moment, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
“It’s time, is it?” Farrell said. “Cryptic, much? Is there a secret handshake I should memorize before I leave the house?”
Lucas snorted softly. “Always with the jokes. I’d probably curb that tendency a bit tonight if I were you. Markus’s sense of humor is . . . singular.”
Whatever that meant. “I’ll be on my bestest behavior—cross my heart,” Farrell said.
“You don’t have to be nervous.”
“Do I sound nervous to you?”
“I would be, if I were you.” Lucas told him where to meet in half an hour.
Farrell left the mansion and directed his driver to the address, which was a large cathedral on the west side of the city that looked more like a castle, with tall spires and towers and stained glass windows that sparkled despite the overcast day.
“Shall I wait here for you?” Sam, his driver, asked.
Farrell had tried very hard not to start to like him, or even get to know