one more quick prayer of thanks.
CHAPTER 41
Quiet as a church mouse, Nicholas emerged from the bathroom of the sanctuary at Ascension Catholic Church just as Father Lance Middleton completed his disrobing following Mass, revealing pressed black clothing complete with a stiff white Roman collar around his wrinkled neck.
To pass the time while he’d waited, Nicholas had spent the majority of the service working the bottom portion of a handheld crucifix back and forth against the concrete floor in the bathroom, honing the metal until the bottom edge had sharpened into a gleaming point.
To the priest’s credit, Middleton didn’t surprised to see Nicholas standing there with the crucifix balanced in his right hand. The old goat probably thought Nicholas was just another lost parishioner seeking some sort of guidance from above.
Boy, was he ever mistaken.
Middleton smiled at Nicholas, showing off crooked yellow teeth. ‘Well, hello there,’ he said. ‘Can I help you with something? The public restrooms are located in the back of the church, if that’s what you’re looking for, but I certainly don’t mind you using mine. Share and share alike, that’s what I always say.’
Nicholas smiled back at the man. ‘Thanks for the offer, Father. That’s awfully generous of you. But, no, there isn’t anything you can help me out with. I, on the other hand, can definitely help you out with something.’
The priest lifted his bushy eyebrows. ‘What’s that? What can you help me out with?’
Springing forward, Nicholas jammed the sharp point of the crucifix deep into the right side of Middleton’s neck. Blood erupted from the priest’s throbbing jugular vein in a powerful explosion of red. A fine crimson mist of it sprayed across Nicholas’s face and clothing.
‘Help you out with understanding that Dana Whitestone belongs to me, Father,’ he said calmly. ‘As a matter of fact, she’s always belonged to me.’
CHAPTER 42
Father Lance Middleton’s high-pitched scream of agony echoed throughout the marble-tiled confines of Ascension Catholic Church.
From her position in the rear of the building, Dana’s heart leapt up into her throat. Instinctively, she sprang to her feet and bolted down the main aisle toward the source of the noise. Most people ran away from trouble. Thanks to her years of training with the FBI, though – training on which Dana had turned her back until just this very morning – she ran toward it.
Coming to a panting stop outside the doors of the sanctuary, Dana’s hand automatically went for her Glock before she suddenly realised she’d left it back home at her vacation rental. After all, loaded guns didn’t exactly make for acceptable accessories in places of worship. As a result, her Glock was still locked away in a fireproof metal box a mile away on Indian Bayou Avenue.
Dana took in a deep breath through her nostrils and willed herself to calm down. Unarmed or not, she was going in. Her job demanded it. She was an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for Christ’s sake – no matter how confused about that she’d been before.
Dana pushed open the door and stepped inside. Ten feet away, the priest lay on the floor surrounded by a rapidly expanding pool of blood. Middleton looked up at Dana with pleading eyes filled with terror. Only the top portion of a metal crucifix remained visible in the right side of his neck.
The kindly old man tried to speak, but no words came out. Reaching up with a trembling hand, he pulled out the crucifix from his neck before Dana had a chance stop him. Blood coated his fingers as he let the crucifix fall to the floor beside him in an eerie cacophony of jangling metal.
Dana winced, knowing that the crucifix had been the only thing keeping Middleton alive. But what could she do about it now? Stick it back in his neck? Still, without the crucifix to staunch the flow of blood, the red pulsed out even faster from Middleton’s throat with every beat of his badly labouring heart. Finally, the priest’s face went ghostly white. A moment later, his eyeballs rolled up into the back of his head and he stopped breathing altogether.
The sudden voice that sounded directly behind Dana nearly caused her to jump right out of her skin. Her heart triple-pumped in her chest, slamming hard against her ribcage.
‘Should I call 9-1-1?’
Dana whirled around to see the altar boy from ten minutes earlier. Tears filled his glistening blue eyes.
Closing her own eyes, Dana shook her head sadly.
No, she thought. You should call a