The Priest's Graveyard Page 25

  That’s why any vigilante with half a brain would not have followed Bourque into a fenced warehouse complex without knowing the lay of the land.

  I watched a man dressed in a black suit walk out of a side door ahead of us.

  “He’s got a gun,” Raymond said.

  He held it down by his side, a big pistol with a silencer extending its barrel. I was too shocked to respond.

  The man in black stopped, lifted his weapon with both hands to steady his grip, and aimed the barrel at Raymond.

  “Go!” I screamed.

  “He’s got a gun!”

  “Go, go, go!”

  If he’d been in the movies, Raymond would have gone. He might have swerved to avoid the danger. He might have run the gunman over. He might have ducked as bullets slammed into his headrest.

  But Raymond didn’t go. He stopped.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just calm down, don’t do anything stupid,” Raymond said to me, nodding at the man who was now at his window. Then that window was down and I was locked up solid in the backseat.

  “Out,” the gunman ordered.

  Raymond held up a hand. “Whoa, man. I’m just delivering my fare. I just checked with dispatch—this is the right address. Bourque Foundation, right? What’s with this?” He glanced at the man’s gun.

  That was smart, because it forced man-in-black to assume that dispatch knew where we were. If we disappeared, someone would know where we were last seen. The cops would be all over this place like flies on rot.

  At least that’s what I thought the man was now thinking. Raymond was no pushover—that gave me some courage.

  The man leaned over and I got a good look at his face, eyes covered by dark glasses, square and unsmiling jaw. He had a large mole to the left of his nose. “Get out,” he repeated.

  I knew then that I was going to meet Jonathan Bourque, the man I had sworn to kill. Anticipation broke my fear, and in a moment of clarity I realized it was important that the driver stay in the cab, as planned. I had to go, and I had to go alone.

  I leaned forward and spoke out the window. “Is Jonathan Bourque here?”

  Man-in-black wasn’t ready for that.

  “I can’t tell you how important it is that I talk to him,” I snapped.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, I knew that for a moment I had the upper hand. I grabbed my bag, scooted over, opened the door, and got out. I could do this if I just let my newly honed instincts kick in.

  Just go easy, Renee. Just play your role. Sleight of hand.

  “Tell him it’s Renee Gilmore.”

  He eyed me for a few seconds, then waved his gun at me.

  “Give me your bag.”

  The interior of the house by the sea was made of glass, giving any who entered a view, however distorted, of the ocean through two walls and a large picture window.

  Danny stood in the living room, absorbing the chill. A thin film dusted otherwise untouched glass and white leather furniture. The polished marble floors were spotless, as was the kitchen to his left. The black dining table with high-backed chairs looked new.

  Black, white, and clear—these were elements of Lamont’s house by the sea. An architectural wonder to its creator, perhaps, but a sterile prison in Danny’s eyes.

  He checked the windows and found them all welded shut. Both doors had redundant locks, at least one on each of which was inoperable from the inside. They had been designed to keep someone in.

  The outer walls were concrete as far as he could tell, plastered and painted bright white. The glass walls were several inches thick, not solid but airtight, like those found in glass office buildings.

  On the main floor, only one room offered any privacy. Renee had talked excitedly about the room.

  Lamont loved animals. He had them on the walls, you know, mounted heads, watching us. My room was pink and white. Do you like pink, Danny?

  The memory of her voice made him want to cry. Did she know that the moose in that pink and white room had camera lenses for eyes? An untrained eye would miss the detail, but Danny had spotted it at first glance, perhaps because he assumed anyone who valued transparency so highly would find a way to look into the most private spaces of his house.

  It all made perfect sense, of course. What good was Lamont’s strict code of law unless he could monitor compliance?

  The tales that could be told by these walls might bring a strong man to his knees. But then so could the walls of any human heart, if they agreed to speak of hidden secrets.

  The fact that the house hadn’t been stripped of its contents wasn’t surprising—it would show as a cold grave without them. Even the elaborate entertainment system along the living room’s northern wall had been left to be sold with the house.

  Danny let his breathing work slowly, doing his best to keep his perspective clear. He hardly needed to find any secret room to know that the entire setup was all very wrong.

  But these glass walls did not speak directly of abuse. Lamont had suffered from a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. What Danny saw on this floor reflected that much, nothing more.

  The stairwell leading to the basement gaped ahead of him. If there were secrets to be told, they waited down that dark flight.

  He picked up his bag, took a deep breath, and walked to the stairs.

  28

  MAN-IN-BLACK USHERED ME into the warehouse, and my fear made a comeback the moment I stepped through the door. I’d had no choice but to hand my bag over as if giving it up was of no concern to me. But now I was naked, stripped of the only tool that might give me an advantage over Bourque. My gun. I felt like a sheep being led to the slaughter.

  But no, that wasn’t true. Your mind is your greatest weapon. Danny had drilled that into me every day. If ever there was a time for mind over matter, it was now. Mind over matter, mind over matter. Wait. That was Lamont, not Danny.

  I plowed ahead, fearful as a mouse and determined not to show it. I was so focused that I forgot to look around the warehouse as we crossed one corner, then walked through a side door that opened onto a short hallway with four doors.

  “That’s far enough.” The man stepped past me, knocked on a door, and stuck his head inside. I could have attacked him then, when his back was to me for that moment, which showed me that he didn’t feel threatened. But of course he was unconcerned. What was a small girl like me supposed to do with a thug like him? Knock him out with a punch to the back of his neck and run? I was defenseless. All I had was my mind.

  And that gun in my bag.

  The door swung open and the man in black set my bag down on the floor just inside the room. “Take a seat.”

  I walked into the office and stared across a gray metal desk at Jonathan Bourque. The door closed behind me.

  I can’t say how I felt coming face-to-face with that monster for the first time, because my emotions were all muddled up and overwhelmed at the same time.

  My first thought was, He’s just a man. He was watching me, eyes dark, mouth straight, one finger stroking his goatee. But he didn’t look like the epic beast I’d created in my mind.

  “So, the young woman with a chip on her shoulder emerges,” he said. “Sit.”

  I looked at the two cushioned chairs facing the desk, then walked to one and sat. The office held nothing unexpected: a bookcase, some tall steel file cabinets, four chairs in total, a poster of a red racing car on one wall, one large potted plant in the corner, and the desk.

  Just an office. And just a man.

  There was one more thing in the room, and it sat against the back wall. My kit was behind me. And in that kit was my gun.

  But I was at a loss about what to do now that I sat across from him. So I crossed my legs to show that I was completely at ease here, which I wasn’t, and returned his dark stare. His face slowly took on a look of amusement.

  “My, my, my. You do get around, don’t you?”

  You would know, I thought. He was just a man,
but the memory of just how vile a man edged back into my mind.

  “What is it exactly that you want?” he asked.

  “To talk to you,” I said. “That’s all.”

  “That’s all? The priest’s looking for you. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “Danny?” I said it too quickly.

  His brow arched. “Danny, is it? So you’re friends. Maybe more than friends. And yet he insists that he hasn’t seen or talked to you in two weeks.”

  “You spoke to Danny?”

  “He’s my priest,” Bourque said. “He’s been my priest for three years. It’s important to have close friends in high places, and that includes the church.”

  The man was lying, of course. I knew it immediately, but that didn’t stop my mind from racing back over the last few weeks, wondering if Danny had been completely honest with me. I was sure he had, and the fact that this monster thought he could trick me so easily infuriated me.

  “The reason I’m alive and not dead is because I’m smarter than you think I am,” I said. My voice wasn’t as strong as I intended, but I was starting to gain some steam. “And I know much more than you think I know.”

  His face didn’t change, so I continued. “As for the priest, I couldn’t give a rip. You’re the one I need, not him.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him. I’m guessing he’s at the house in Malibu as we speak.”

  That struck me as odd. Danny? At Lamont’s house? Another lie.

  “I don’t care where he is. You’re here and I’m finally here, that’s all that matters.”

  Bourque smiled, then stood and walked to a bottle of Jack Daniel’s that sat on one of the bookcase shelves. He set two shot glasses on the desk and splashed some whiskey into both.

  “Perhaps we should start over, Renee Gilmore. That is your name, isn’t it? Drink?”

  I almost said no, but he came around to the front side of the desk, leaned back on the edge, and offered me the shot. I took the glass and drank the whiskey in one gulp. The hard liquor burned my throat.

  “This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” he said softly, sipping from his own glass. “I’m not used to being stalked. I can’t stress how important it is that you tell me why you’re so interested in me.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Lamont told me some things before he disappeared,” I said.

  “Lamont told you some things,” he restated.

  “You know, your old partner. Lamont Myers.”

  “Yes, I know Lamont.”

  “He told me to find you and ask for your help if anything ever happened to him. I’m a little lost without him.” He was making me nervous, standing over me the way he was. “Would you mind sitting back down?”

  He chuckled, then rounded the desk and sat in his own chair, smiling large, tapping his shot glass with a long finger. He drained the Jack Daniel’s and set his glass down with a clunk.

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” he said.

  “Obviously. That’s why you had Redding question me at the Hilton. That’s why you sent him to kill me after the priest stumbled on us. And that’s why I had to kill him. But that’s not the way it should have happened.”

  His eyes showed no surprise. Then again, a man like this was a master at hiding his emotions. The fact that he didn’t show any only confirmed that I’d struck a chord.

  “That’s a bold statement,” he said.

  “Is it? But I have nothing to hide from you, so I can afford to be bold.”

  “You expect me to believe that a woman like you killed a man like Simon Redding? I don’t think so, darling.”

  “And Darby Gordon as well, if you insist on knowing. The real question is why you would go to such lengths to silence someone like me. You expect me to believe that a man like you feels threatened by a girl like me?”

  “There’s no need to believe I feel threatened by you. I don’t. Although if what you say is true, perhaps I should.”

  “Darby Gordon was a thug, you know that as well as I do. He came after me, so I killed him. What else was I supposed to do?”

  I knew this wasn’t the most effective way to divert a threat, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of Bourque thinking I was a pushover. The fact that Darby Gordon hadn’t come after me no longer mattered—Bourque would never know for sure.

  “Why did you send him after me?” I asked.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then Redding did. Same difference.”

  “Not quite,” he said. As good as a confession.

  “Why did you kill Lamont?” I asked.

  “I didn’t.” Not as good as a confession.

  I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “Let’s start over. Let’s start with the truth. Lamont told me that you’d help me. Well, here I am, Mr. Jonathan Bourque. So help me. Who knows? Maybe I can return the favor.”

  He looked me up and down. “As tempting as that might be, I’m not sure how I could help you.”

  “For starters, I’m without a home. Lamont was all I had, and I’m assuming he’s dead. But he taught me a few things, and I’m looking for a way to use my new skills.”

  It wasn’t until I’d stared at his wry, knowing grin for a moment that I realized he might have misinterpreted my meaning to be more closely linked with sexual favors than with assassination techniques. Fine. Any way to distract the man, however disturbing the thought.

  “Look, he told me to find you,” I said. “It’s taken me three months and way too much energy to get here. Now, if you’re gonna sit there and tell me to take a hike, I will. I’m sure I can find work somewhere else.”

  That grin was still plastered on his face, and it took all of my willpower to let him sit in such smugness. I wasn’t as practiced as Danny when it came to patience.

  “Just tell me what you know about Lamont’s death,” I said. “You owe me at least that much.”

  “Actually, I don’t owe you a thing. If you did happen to kill Simon Redding, it’s you who owes me. A great deal, I would say.”

  “Then let me work for you. If I can take care of one thug, I can take care of another. Right?”

  “I run the Bourque Foundation, not the Mafia. Simon Redding has vanished, true, but he was only the head of my security, not—”

  “Shut up!” I snapped. “You don’t think I made him talk before I shot him? Don’t be a fool. No disrespect, but you’re as dirty as I am.” Again there was room for confusion with that word dirty, but I let it slide. “The way I see it, you have three choices: One, you can take me out back and kill me, dump my body, and come up with a fancy explanation for the cabbie and dispatcher who know I’m here right now. Two, you can come after me later when you think the air has cleared, but I won’t make that easy for you. Or three, you can give my request some serious consideration and let me work with you.”

  I don’t think he’d expected the skinny, dumb blonde to come in and read him his options. I was beginning to think my ploy was working quite well. That smug grin flattened.

  “I have many more than three options,” he said. “And the one that’s most attractive to me right now is to kindly ask you to leave. Vanish from my life and never reappear. What Lamont may or may not have told you is none of my concern. He was a vicious liar who deserved what he got, whatever that might have been. He was scum.”

  I blinked, infuriated by his casual character assassination.

  “Then dismiss me,” I snapped, knowing I was being far too impulsive for my own good. “But don’t pretend you had nothing to do with Lamont’s death.”

  “I don’t need to pretend. But given the opportunity, I would have killed him, believe me.”

  His mug was looking more like the monster of my imagination now, and I wanted to smash it.

  “How stupid do you think I am? You really expect me to believe that Redding would come after me with a gun, but not go after Lamont?”

  He leaned forward a
nd slammed his fist on the desk. “That’s exactly what I expect you to believe!”

  “You’re lying!” I cried. He stared at me, disbelieving. I was slipping, I realized that, but I didn’t care. “If you think I buy your nonsense about Danny working for you, you’re as thick as a brick. I may be a skinny blonde half your height, but I’m beginning to think my brain is twice the size of yours.” I was going way too far.

  He sat back. “I’m sorry for your loss, but the fact is, I didn’t kill Lamont. And I can’t imagine why he would suggest you do anything but kill me if he went missing. He knew I was looking into his dirty laundry.”

  “Really? Maybe you have that backward.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you? What he did with you up there—that was nothing compared with what he did to others. You got off easy, my dear. He obviously had a real thing for you.”

  I felt like I might explode, but I pushed my feelings down.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Lamont was a good man.”

  “Which Lamont was that? Because he had more than one identity. The swindler? The lawyer? How about the murderer? Or the rapist? Which one did you know, hmm? The one who lived in Malibu? Or one of the others?”

  What happened next seemed beyond my control. I heard the lies spilling from that fiend’s mouth, I felt my face flushing hot. Something in my head popped. My hands were trembling in my lap.

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “Your precious Lamont was the liar. He kept you locked up in that glass house of his and—”

  I didn’t hear the rest because I was moving already. Around my chair. Two long steps to where my bag lay on the floor. The clasp flew open with a flip of my wrist; the nine-millimeter inside filled my clawing fingers.

  I came up and spun with the gun extended at him. His eyes widened, and I thought I pulled the trigger then, but I must not have, because it didn’t fire.

  For a moment I just stood there, every muscle in my body vibrating like taut wire, shaking from head to foot, facing the one who had taken my love, my life, and now was trying to take my mind.