Second Honeymoon Page 0,73

I said as Harris skidded to a stop along the curb. We all knew what happened to the last building Cole had set her sights on.

The people outside were an easy fix: that was simple crowd control. It was the ones inside the church who were the real problem. The words of the dispatcher were still fresh in my head. Possible hostage situation.

I stepped out of Harris’s unmarked Explorer, nearly getting myself run over by another arriving patrol car. They were everywhere now, coming in droves.

Every cop converged on the sidewalk while Harris, Sarah, and I started up the steps of the church. I was about to shout to get the crowd’s attention when a young priest with close-cropped red hair and freckles stepped forward.

“Are you one of the FBI agents?” he asked me.

Strange first question. How did he know that?

“Yes. I’m Agent O’Hara.”

“Oh, good,” he said. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Were you inside?” I asked the priest.

“We all were, but she let us go,” he answered. He immediately corrected himself. “Almost all of us.”

“Who’s still inside?”

“Another priest,” he said. “Father Reese.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, that’s it. We were having choir practice when the woman in the wedding dress came storming in. I thought maybe it was some kind of joke at first. Then I saw the gun.”

“A handgun or something bigger?” asked Sarah.

“A handgun,” he said. “She was carrying something else, too. It looked like a big green soda bottle. But no label.”

Ten to one it wasn’t 7UP.

“What did she say?” Sarah asked.

“That everyone could leave, except for one person,” he turned to Sarah and said. “Father Reese insisted he be the one.”

“Was there anything else?”

He nodded. “Yes. A message.”

“For whom?” I asked.

“You,” he said. “And Agent Brubaker.” He turned to Sarah. “I assume that’s—”

“That’s me,” said Sarah.

“Oh, good,” he said. “You’re both here. She wants to talk to you—both of you.”

Chapter 102

“DON’T DO IT,” said Harris. “Don’t go inside. That’s a terrible idea.” He pointed to the two alleyways on either side of Saint Alexander’s, which separated it from the adjoining brownstones. “There’s got to be a couple of other ways to get in there without her knowing. We can have a SWAT team here in less than ten minutes.”

“What if we don’t have ten minutes?” said Sarah. “I don’t think we do.”

“She’s already murdered over a dozen people and is now wearing a wedding dress, waving a gun around,” I said.

That all but put an end to Harris trying to talk me out of it. “What about you?” I asked Sarah. “Are you in?”

She removed her Glock from her holster and wedged it into her slacks behind her back.

“At least let’s check the perimeter for other ways in,” said Harris, resigned. “Just in case.”

Two teams of four dispersed right and left around the church. In less than a minute we heard back from both.

“Side door, unlocked,” whispered one cop through Harris’s radio.

“Basement door, down a set of stairs,” whispered another. “Also unlocked.”

Harris looked at me again. “Change your mind?”

“Sorry.”

Harris radioed back to both teams. I couldn’t help noticing that his whisper was one part quiet and three parts pissed off.

“Stay put,” he told them. “Go in when you hear shots.”

He turned around, barking at the remaining cops to push the crowd of onlookers farther back. Down the block I could see the first news van arrive. Within minutes there’d be a lot more.

“You ready?” asked Sarah.

I nodded.

“For the record, the two of you are nuts,” said Harris.

“Hey, it could be worse,” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“She could’ve asked for all three of us.”

I gave him a slap on the arm and climbed the last remaining steps up to the church with Sarah. We stopped in front of the doors.

“Are you religious?” I asked.

“Lutheran,” she answered. “What about you?”

“Lapsed Catholic. I was an altar boy growing up, though,” I said. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

We both drew our guns.

“Let’s go find out,” she said.

Chapter 103

I TOOK ONE side; Sarah took the other. We had become a good team in a very short time, but this seemed like an impossible test.

With our backs pressed against the faded red brick facade of Saint Alexander’s, we each reached over and grabbed one of the double front doors, pulling them back slowly.

The initial fear I had came and went. Martha Cole wasn’t shooting on first movement.

After a few seconds, Sarah called out to the killer. “Martha, are you in there?”

The crowd noise down on the street made it hard to hear, but I