Shadow of Death, page 26
“I’m dressed!” she whispered in tears.
They both turned to look at her.
“Too bad, she is beautiful. Like an angel.”
“She’s the devil!” the other snapped. “We’re going to save her soul.”
“Now, my lady?” he asked her politely, offering her his arm. She stared at it, confused.
“Let’s go! Don’t make me hurt you first!” he snarled, his tone flipping on a dime.
She took his arm and he headed outside. They walked around the shack, and she discovered there was something that resembled a path leading in a northeasterly direction.
Curious. It was deeper and deeper into nothing.
These days, with a highway that cut across the peninsula just north of where they were, civilization never felt too far away. And if someone knew something was out there...
She didn’t look back. She had to believe Hunter was close. And that others weren’t too far behind.
They walked at least twenty minutes at a brisk pace before coming to a clearing where the saw grass had been flattened hard against the earth. There was a waterway beyond it, and hardwood hammocks to the right and the left.
Dead center of the flattened area was a makeshift altar—a poor altar, constructed without skill from some of the cypress in the area.
But there was a flat board atop it, and she was led to the board. As they brought her there, she saw people were coming from the direction of the water. They were being brought from across it by airboat. Amy thought she could hear traffic from beyond the shoreline.
The highway ran near.
And Hunter...
Someone in a cape and cowl walked toward the altar. That person was followed by another, one who was taller but bowed in reverence.
“The Archangel!” the other cried.
“Down, now!” Amy was told, and the larger of her captors lifted her off her feet, setting her down. They made no effort to restrain her, and it was clear they thought their numbers were enough to cow her. Amy lay there silently, waiting. And it began.
“You, my chosen ones!” the caped figure cried out. “Come, that we may say the words, and save this child. We prepare ourselves for the great battle to come! For Armageddon is upon us, the Apocalypse is coming and you have listened, you have heeded the words of truth!”
Listening for a moment, Amy was stunned.
This time, the archangel was a woman! And Amy knew that it was Hayden Harper!
Amy’s captors, still near the altar, knelt, as did the others who had come around.
Ordinary people, as before. Men, women, couples, even a few children. Perhaps thirty or so people in all.
The Archangel paused by the altar, speaking softly to Amy’s captors.
“Where is the other? The boy?”
“We had to kill him,” one of them said. “We were sorry—he won’t be saved. But we had no choice.”
It was a chance to change things. To shake them up.
Amy sat up on the altar/board. “They’re lying! He escaped. And you’re a murderer!”
“Stop!” the Archangel cried. She stared hard at the two men who might well be lying as far as she knew, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. She didn’t bother with any more words. Her cowled assistant stood nearby holding a pillow with a large sharp dagger upon it. Hayden Harper, the Archangel, reached for it, and raised it over Amy’s head.
“I, having sworn to the great and true Power of the Apocalypse to come take the role of the Archangel himself, have sworn to fulfill the destiny of the rider of the black horse. Thus, we take the heart of the sinner, take her sins upon us, strengthen ourselves for the ultimate battle to come, and strive for this child’s immortal soul!”
The knife was about to fall. Before the blade came plunging down, Amy threw herself off the board. She reached under the sacrificial robe for her own knife, ready to defend herself. But she never had to use it.
A shot rang out. A perfectly aimed shot. The bullet went straight through Hayden Harper’s hand, and the “Archangel” fell to the ground, screaming.
The man beside her dropped his velvet pillow and scrambled in his coat for a weapon, but Amy jumped him and sent him crashing down to the ground.
And that was it. As others rose, screaming, confused, yet ready to fight, the clearing was suddenly filled with men and women, agents and officers. Ryan was at her side, reaching down to cuff the Archangel’s assistant.
It was none other than Malcolm Barrington.
Then Hunter was there at her side. He wrenched Hayden Harper to her feet as she screamed and looked at the bloody pulp that had been her hand. He pushed her toward another agent.
Mickey. Mickey was there himself, smiling and nodding at her. But as he arrived, another shot rang out, coming from deep within the cypress.
Hayden Harper went down, shot through the back.
“Sniper! Down, everyone!” Hunter shouted.
Law enforcement and the horseman’s followers dropped to the ground, but no further gunfire followed. Agents were soon tearing into the cypress, searching for the shooter.
Then confusion reigned again as people were arrested, taken away bit by bit. They were run across the water by canoes and airboats to walk the distance to cars that waited by the highway. Ryan Anders returned to the area of the sacrificial “altar.” He appeared perplexed.
“I had him,” he said to Mickey, Hunter, and Amy. “I had the shooter, the sniper. I yelled who I was and told him to drop his gun, and he...he didn’t kill me. He put his gun in his mouth and...his head exploded. I can’t begin to understand how...”
“The human mind is the most frightening weapon in the world,” Hunter said quietly.
“And that puts us at a dead end,” Mickey murmured. “Well, no, we have several dozen people to question—including Barrington, who must have been close to what was really going on. We can follow up on the place where Hayden had been staying. We can follow more leads, but...well, for today, the reign of the third horseman—woman—is at an end.” He looked at Hunter and Amy. “Take five. After this, well, somewhere, sometime, we know one thing for sure. The fourth horseman of the Apocalypse will appear. Until then...take some time. Shake it off. I know how deeply you two are into this, but find a way to—”
“Live,” Amy said, smiling.
“Exactly,” Mickey said.
“Don’t worry. We will,” Hunter assured him.
Amy nodded. She had done her part. There were still hours to go during which they sorted through the people arrested and those killed. Forensic teams arrived, along with Dr. Richard Carver. She watched as others made the arrests and Dr. Carver began his initial investigations on the dead.
Finally, the day began to draw to an end. Barrington, his cape and cowl having fallen off as he was being led away, started screaming. “You! You people, you horrible people—”
Then he was gone, and she looked first at Hunter and then at the place where Dr. Carver knelt by Hayden’s body.
“We were so close! She knew, she knew who was orchestrating everything—”
“Maybe she didn’t,” Hunter said. He smoothed her hair back.
“That’s why she was killed—”
“Or she was killed because she failed,” he said softly. He looked around. “Maybe, as Mickey pointed out, we’ll learn something from someone. There were a lot of arrests made. But we’re going to let others sort it out. I don’t like the way it ended, but the reign of this stygian horsewoman is over. And you were brilliant, and you’re alive and...” He smiled. “We’re both alive, ready to fight again. We have a great team behind us. But now...”
Aidan was standing near them. “I’m going to suggest showers,” he said.
Amy managed to laugh.
“We have done well, damned well,” Aidan said. “But it’s also that very special time between chaos. And guess what? Hunter has a great surprise for you. I happen to know because I’m in on it.”
She didn’t get to learn about the surprise that night.
They did shower. For a good thirty minutes.
Some serious scrubbing.
Some serious playing.
And then some more amazing time together. Because days like today, when so many innocents might live because they had stopped a charismatic murderer, were good.
And they knew to value them.
EPILOGUE
The world could be an ugly place.
And it could be almost excruciatingly beautiful.
As in now.
Amy lay by the pool on the lounge that stretched just outside the rear doors of her ground-floor room. The cascade of waterfalls could be heard, as well as the laughter of children.
She reached next to her on the white lounge for a piece of fruit from a side dish. For her main course, she had fallen in love with the tuna bowl.
There was sun, there was shade, a light breeze, and yet it was one of those days with the perfect amount of warmth to enjoy the sun and especially the water.
“How you doing there?” Hunter asked, stretched out on the second lounge in their private area, up on an elbow as he grinned at her.
“I can’t believe we’re here!”
“I wish I could say it was thanks to me. But Aidan is a remarkable guy. If his cousin didn’t work for the casino, we’d never be here, you know. I mean, we could have sprung for a room, and I do love the lights and the fountains and the music. I love hearing rock play with our heads under the water while we’re swimming. But it is thanks to Aidan and his cousin that we are exactly where we are.”
“Aidan is the best.”
“He’s meeting us for dinner later.”
“I am so glad. And still...”
She closed her eyes. It was so beautiful.
So incredible to get to relax. Swim, play, watch the light display by night and the fountain shows and even tease Hunter into trying out a few slots.
Of course, Mickey had still called to report to them. So far, they had questioned everyone they had brought in—and learned little. Except that the Apocalypse was coming, and they were idiots, they didn’t understand what was happening. Occasionally, they found someone ready to change—someone who “saw the light” more or less. But no one seemed to know anything beyond the fact that Hayden hadn’t just taken on the role of the Archangel, she had been the third horseman, and she had been there to weigh the good from the bad, to sort them out, to take care that many were given a chance to redeem themselves before judgment.
In short, those in most need had been murdered.
How Barrington had run a company, Amy would never understand. According to Mickey, he was the most brainwashed in the group. He had come to “salvation” through Hayden.
“Race you to the foot of the pool!” Hunter said.
“Hey, wait! We have to get around to the head of the pool!” Amy said.
Hunter was already in the water. She followed. He was a strong swimmer, but so was she. And she had grown up in Florida, where she had truly honed her skill.
But chasing after him, she remembered what he’d said about the music beneath the water and she gave up the race to dive down and listen to Bon Jovi and “It’s My Life.”
Laughing, she met him on the surface, assuring him she had only let him win because she was preoccupied.
They spent a little more time in the water, a little more on the lounges, and then time just being together.
They were getting dressed to meet Aidan at the Hard Rock Cafe for dinner when Amy’s phone rang.
It was Mickey.
“Hunter with you?” Mickey asked. “Put me on speakerphone.”
“I’m here,” Hunter said.
“So...”
“Anything new?” Amy asked anxiously. “Did Barrington know more? Or what about Banyan Bend, the community where Hayden had been staying?”
“No, we found the house she’d been renting and pulled it apart. Nothing. Oh, except for her several different passports and driver’s licenses under different names. No, this is... Well, hell, no way out of saying it flatly. I don’t know what is about to begin, but it’s about to begin.”
“Mickey, what, please!” Amy said.
“A box came to the main office addressed to the FDLE and then to you, specifically. I ordered that it be opened. And it contained one of those horses, Amy. One of those little plastic kid’s horses. Stay where you are for now, please. I didn’t want to call you—there’s nothing to do.”
“Mickey—”
“Right. I’m afraid the pale horse and his rider are on the way.”
* * *
New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham brings the Krewe of Hunters to Europe in the first book of her thrilling Blackbird Trilogy!
Read on for a sneak peek of Whispers at Dusk
Whispers at Dusk
by Heather Graham
PROLOGUE
For Della Hamilton, it began with the old cemetery.
And Jose Garcia, her friend all through grade school, middle school and high school.
They lived on the same block. It was never romantic, just a true friendship that had been strengthened by years of shared local experiences and talks about everything: family, heartthrobs, and more. They shared everything that went into growing up.
And Jose was just a good guy. She didn’t know anyone who didn’t like Jose.
What killed him was a bizarre accident. Truly bizarre and tragic for all concerned. Another kid in high school would have the guilt of Jose’s death on him for all the years of his life to come.
Della found out about it when she was at cheerleading practice during her senior year of high school. The blood bank called.
She gave blood with her parents’ blessing several times a year. Gave. They weren’t rich, but she wasn’t selling her blood. Her health and the coagulating wonder of her blood was a gift from a higher power, however one chose to see God. It was an amazing thing to give the gift of her blood to others. So she did.
Della was joking with the girls when the call came, and they were all laughing and calling her a vampire. She reminded them vampires drank blood; they didn’t give it to others.
It wasn’t until she arrived at the hospital and saw her parents and Jose’s parents that she heard what had happened. She wished she could open a vein and pour her blood straight into her friend’s heart.
It had been...ridiculous. A couple of the high schools in the area had friendly rivalries going. Usually friendly. Occasionally something might get a little physical, but it was broken up most of the time by an authority figure, or it simply petered out with the rivals laughing.
But this time...
Jose and some friends had been at a popular South Miami restaurant. “Rivals” had been at another table. They’d been playing around, throwing napkins, then someone had picked up something heavier, a mug. It had struck Jose in the head and cracked open his skull and...
Now, they were praying for his life. If not for the mug, the day probably would have ended with laughter and with the groups picking up all the napkins together. The rivalries weren’t between the junkies and the thieves and the crew of kids headed for criminal behavior. These teens were on the sports teams, the debate team, into music, movies, and theater.
But the mug had flown.
They took Della’s blood.
But neither her blood nor blood from any other donor nor any help from the medical community could save Jose.
He died that night.
Her parents had taken her home. Jose’s mom and dad had stayed with him to the last minute.
She heard later his mother wouldn’t let the funeral home take his body.
And at the funeral, the poor woman had tried to drag him from his coffin. If she could not do so, she wanted to be buried in it with him. Her husband kept her from doing either one.
Della wished there was something she could do to help. But there wasn’t. The woman had lost her only son.
It was about ten days later, and Della had just left the pool where she worked part time as a lifeguard after school until dusk. She was heading toward the cemetery where Jose was buried. She knew the area well. Her friend’s father was the caretaker, and their home was on the cemetery property. They’d often had sleepovers and spent the nights trying to scare each other and outdo each other with ghost stories. The cemetery had never scared Della. She had felt something strange; oddly, it had been a sense of warmth and comfort. It was considered historic for their area, being over a hundred years old. There were only a few little family mausoleums in the cemetery, but there were stunning memorial statues, standing stones, and flat memorials surrounded by beautiful and lush trees. She loved the cemetery. But then, she loved old churches and cemeteries—truly old ones Winchester Cathedral in London, Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame, and so many in Rome and London. They’d visited so many. Her dad had said leaving donations was much cheaper than many things they might do on a European vacation.
Della had her radio playing as she drove home from work. Yet that day as she reached the southern end of the cemetery, she suddenly had nothing but dead air.
In the silence, she frowned and changed the station, but nothing happened.
She pulled off the road by the little coral wall that surrounded the place and looked in the cemetery. Jose wasn’t buried far from the wall. She found herself tempted to jump over the two and a half feet of coral that comprised the barrier. But she didn’t. She should bring flowers to Jose’s grave, and do it by daylight when people were supposed to visit. Della had discovered the music stopped playing on her radio every time she passed by the little coral wall, a reminder that led to her stopping sometimes at night. The city lights from the street afforded her all the illumination she needed to reach Jose’s grave.
