The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,111

jerking at his tie, his face flushed, anger palpitating off of him. His kids started to follow, but he waved them aside, motioning Priscilla and Toby to stay in a group of mourners who had clustered near the foot of the church steps. While Toby glowered, his sister hid her face behind the veil of her own hair.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull?” Yelkis demanded, reaching into his inner jacket pocket.

Jesus Christ, the man was pulling a gun!

Reed reacted, pushing Nikki behind him, reaching for his sidearm only to remember his service weapon was locked in the Jeep.

“Don’t move!” Jade Delacroix stepped into the parking lot, her own pistol drawn and pointed directly at Yelkis.

A woman screamed.

“Gun! She’s got a gun!” another woman yelled, and she ran toward the church and the crowd reacted.

“Get down!” a man ordered sharply, while others shepherded people up the stairs and into the church. Others started cars and began wheeling out of the lot, tires screeching, a startled flock of pigeons taking flight.

“Dad! Don’t!” Priscilla was running forward, her ashen face twisted in horror. “Please don’t!”

Delacroix said, “Stop!” to the girl. But she kept her pistol trained on Yelkis.

Both of Morrisette’s kids skidded to a stop.

Delacroix shouted at Yelkis, “Police! Drop your weapon.”

“What? No weapon!” Yelkis’s hands went straight up in the air. In his right fist he clenched a packet of white papers. “I don’t have a gun!” he said. “For fuck’s sake, I’m unarmed.” The papers started floating to the ground.

The preacher was approaching. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

“Stand back, sir!” Delacroix warned, and slipped a pair of cuffs from her belt. Linley stopped dead in his tracks.

“This is a house of God,” he reminded Reed’s partner.

“Sir, stand back,” she said, eyes trained on Yelkis.

The reporter, who had been frozen to the spot, said to her cameraman, “I hope you’re getting all this.”

“On the ground,” Delacroix ordered.

Several other cops approached, weapons drawn.

Yelkis, some of his anger depleted, dropped to his knees. “What’s wrong with you? Are you all nuts?” he said to Delacroix. “It’s just legal stuff. Sylvie’s will!” He turned his gaze back to Reed, his eyes filled with a hate so intense Reed felt cold inside. “This son of a bitch is supposed to become the guardian of my kids! According to my exwife, I’m not a fit father, but fuckin’ Pierce Reed is.”

“What?” Nikki whispered. “What’s he talking about?”

Reed shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Like hell, you don’t know. You were probably in on it. Maybe you and Sylvie had a little something going on the side. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“This is insane,” Reed said.

Yelkis’s hands were still held sky high, and he was on his knees on the asphalt as he glared up at Reed. “But it will never happen. Got it? Your little plan won’t work. The kids are mine and whatever my wife had in her retirement, her accounts, it all goes to me and my kids!”

“Jesus,” Reed whispered, then seeing that the camera for the news station was still rolling, turned on the reporter. “Enough, Ms. Mason. We’re done here.” He grabbed Nikki’s hand.

“What is he talking about? What about Sylvie’s kids?” she said, and he watched Priscilla marching to Yelkis’s truck, her brother limping slightly before running to catch up.

“I really have no idea. None.” His phone jangled. He checked the screen and answered. “This is Reed.”

“Yeah, Deputy Tina Rounds. I was called over to the scene of a possible suicide.” He listened to the officer, but his gaze was fastened on the scene unfolding. Obviously deciding that Yelkis posed no immediate danger, Delacroix slid her gun into the holster at her waist, then pocketed the cuffs while another officer tried to help Yelkis to his feet, just as the first drops of rain from another storm began to fall. Yelkis shook off the policeman’s hand, stood and straightened his jacket. Squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Reed. “I’m not done,” he warned, then followed his kids to his pickup. All the while Nikki was picking up the scattered papers, a legal document from the looks of the neatly typed pages.

His stomach dropped.

Was Yelkis actually telling the truth?

“You got that?” Rounds was saying, bringing him back to the phone call. “Possible suicide. Gunshot.”

“Where are you?”

She reeled off the address. “Male. In his thirties. Woman who called it in says the victim is Owen Duval.”

“What?” In the moment everything changed. Nikki, who had come up to stand