“Rick!” she shouted. “Rick! It’s Liz, open up!” She waited, then pounded again. “Rick, please! It’s Liz!”
A cry rose in her throat, and she choked it back through sheer force of will. She wasn’t going to fall apart now. She had come this far. With or without Rick, she was going to get what she had learned to the police.
She fought her way back to her car and climbed in. She fitted the key in the ignition and twisted it. The engine sputtered but didn’t turn over. Heart thundering, she tried again with the same results.
Near tears, she tried a third time. The engine came to life.
Liz made it one block before the engine began to cough. A moment later it died and she drifted to a stop in front of Paradise Christian.
Many had taken refuge in the church; they were swept out to sea.
With a feeling of predestination, she looked toward the church. The structure stood solidly against the storm, its white exterior almost brilliant against the backdrop of the dark, turbulent sky. Light glowed from within, beckoning. Seeming to call her name.
She resisted the call. Pastor Tim would be there. She suspected him of being a part of the Horned Flower, of being an accessory to murder.
She could make her way the half block to her home, she acknowledged. Wait out the storm, pray for the best. Keep trying to reach Rick and the authorities.
But she had been led here. The same as she had been the night of Tara’s murder. She believed that.
Without giving herself time to reconsider, she threw the car door open and climbed out. A gust of wind caught her, propelling her forward. The driving rain stung her face and plastered her light clothes to her skin.
A loud crack rent the air. Sparks flew. She smelled smoke. A transformer had blown, she realized. One close by.
She stumbled up the church’s front steps. The doors were unlocked. She inched one open and slipped through.
Quiet engulfed her. A feeling of serenity. The eternal candle burned in the sanctuary, bathing its surrounding area in a warm, reassuring light. “Is anyone here?” she called. “Pastor Tim?”
Silence answered. Frowning, she started down the hall toward Pastor Tim’s office, inching her way in the dark. “Hello,” she called again. “Anybody here?”
She reached the pastor’s study. The door was partly open. She thought she heard a sound from within. A kind of snuffling sound. Soft. Sinister.
Someone hiding there in the dark. Waiting.
Fear caught her in a choke hold. She took a step back from the door. The sound came again, this time accompanied by a moan.
Liz eased the door open. The lights flickered, then came on. A scream rose in her throat. Pastor Tim lay on his back on the floor, his shirt red with his blood.
She ran to him and knelt by his side. She saw the wound then and realized he had been shot. She brought a shaking hand to her mouth and glanced frantically around.
Her gaze landed on the phone. Call 911, of course. She jumped to her feet, got to the phone. And found it dead.
She had left her cell phone in the car.
Pastor Tim moaned, and Liz returned to his side. His eyelids fluttered, then lifted.
She covered his hand with hers. “I’ll go for help. Just lie still, you’re going to be okay.”
He blinked, his gaze seeming to focus on her. His fingers moved, curling around hers. “Y…our…si-”
She quieted him. “Don’t talk. Save your strength. The phone’s dead, but I have a cell phone in my-”
“N…n…don…your…sis-”
She struggled to make out what he was saying. He coughed, the sound weak and wet. “Shh… Please, I have to call for help.
He tightened his fingers on hers. “Sis…ter-”
“Sister?” she repeated. “My sister?”
He squeezed her fingers. Her heart stopped. “What about Rachel? What are you trying to tell me, Pastor Tim?”
His mouth began to move. Liz bent her head closer; his breath stirred weakly against her ear.
“Your…she’s…alive…”
A cry passed her lips. Alive? Could it be true?
She began to tremble, twin emotions of joy and disbelief rocketing through her. She fought to find her breath. “How can that…Where, Pastor? You have to help me find her.”
“Po…po-” He moved their joined hands and she realized what he meant. She freed her hand from his and slipped it into his pocket. She closed her fingers over a folded paper and drew it out.
The lights flashed, then went off. A beam of light fell over them. She twisted around. Valentine Lopez stood in the doorway, his dark rain slicker dripping wet.
“Lieutenant Lopez!” she cried. “Thank God! Pastor Tim’s been shot!”
He stepped into the room. “I got here as soon as I could.”
“I don’t understand. How did you-”
He motioned with the flashlight. “Move away from the body, please.”
She stood and backed away. “You don’t understand, he’s alive.”
The detective didn’t reply. He squatted beside the pastor, checked his wound and pulse.
“He’s gone,” he murmured.
“That can’t be! Just a moment ago-”
“With a wound like this, it only takes a moment. He lost a lot of blood.”
“I don’t understand.” She began to tremble. “He can’t be gone.”
“What’s that in your hand?”
Numbly, she shifted her gaze from the pastor’s frozen face to the piece of paper clutched in her hand. Her sister’s image flooded her head. She held it out. “He said…my sister’s alive, Lieutenant. He gave me…this.”
He took the paper, opened and read it, his features tightening. “It’s a Key West address.”
“Do you think that’s where…do you think it’s true?” Her voice shook. “Could my sister really be alive?”
“Why don’t we take a ride and find out?”
“Now?” She hung back, frightened by the intensity of his gaze.
“Your sister may be alive, Ms. Ames. If she is, I imagine your face would be the first she’d want to see.”
“But Pastor Tim…shouldn’t we wait for an ambulance?”
“He can’t be helped now. But maybe your sister can.” He glanced at his watch, then back at her, expression grim. “Ms. Ames, your sister may be in danger from whoever shot Pastor Tim.”
CHAPTER 58
Wednesday, November 21
9:15 p.m.
Minutes later, Liz huddled against the front passenger seat of the lieutenant’s sedan. Cold air poured out of the air-conditioner vents, hitting the car’s warm, damp interior and fogging the windows. She shuddered and hugged herself. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To get your sister,” the detective replied, maneuvering through the debris-littered streets.
“I meant…where on Key West are we-”
“Not far. You’ll see.”
Her teeth began to chatter. He didn’t seem to notice, nor did he seem affected by the chill. “D…do you th…think she’s at that address?”
He glanced at her, his eyes strangely blank. “I’m sure she is.”
She stared at him, her breath quickening. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
“I bet you’re grateful I showed up when I did. Too bad it wasn’t soon enough to save Tim.”
His voice sounded wrong, she realized. Tinny. Expressionless.
She cleared her throat. “How did you…I mean, what made you come by the church?”
“Tim called me.” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “That’s what people do when they need help, call the police. Public servants. Can you believe that’s what they call us, Liz? Servants?”
Uneasy, she pressed herself closer to the door. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“Smart girl. You and your sister both.” He shook his head. “You’ve handed me the last piece of the puzzle, Liz. I thank you for that.”