Sinner Page 7

  After a moment, he didn’t move at all.

  “Billy Rediger and Darcy Lange?”

  The man who’d killed Smith had appeared in similar fashion to Billy’s entrance. With one exception.

  He held a gun and he held it like he knew how to use it. And he, like Smith, wore dark glasses.

  “Yes,” Billy panted.

  “Are there any more of them?”

  “No.”

  “Thank goodness I made it in time.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  BILLY SAT next to Darcy, nursing his bandaged finger. The man who saved them had cut them both free and suggested that Darcy tend to Billy’s hand.When they emerged from the bathroom, the man had already hauled Smith’s body into the garage.

  He stood in front of them, sunglasses fixed in place, hands on hips like a platoon sergeant looking at two new recruits.

  “Okay . . .” Darcy glanced from one to the other. “Will someone please tell me what’s happening here?”

  “More than meets the eyes,” the man said. He removed one hand from his hip and tapped his chest. “My name is Brian Kinnard. A good guy, okay? The man I killed?” He jabbed at the garage doorway behind him. “Definitely a very bad guy.”

  “And what would that make us?” Billy asked.

  “You two are the prize. Everyone wants you. Some prefer dead, some alive, but then you’ve probably already figured that out.”

  “No,” Darcy said. “I haven’t figured anything out. I was sleeping and this maniac boarded up my house and he . . .” She swallowed and faced Billy, eyes wide.

  Thank you, Billy. You’re like an angel. I could kiss you right now!

  He felt heat in his face and looked back at Kinnard, whose mind he could not read, thanks to the glasses.

  “Obviously you know more than we do,” Billy said. “Tell us.”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Just tell us everything,”Billy said.“We need to know what you know.”

  Kinnard nodded and walked to his right. “Fair enough.You were both part of an experiment that went all wrong thirteen years ago. I’m sure you remember that much.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear this,” Darcy said, eyes misted with tears.

  Billy nodded. “Like I said, tell us what you know. All of it.”

  “What I know was told to me by David Abraham, the director of the monastery, but then you both know that. What you may not know is that he’s no longer with us.”

  “Dead?” Billy blinked.

  “Long story I won’t go into now.He told me about Project Showdown.” Kinnard paced, face toward them. “An incredible story about a project sanctioned by the Roman Catholic Church that left Paradise, Colorado, in shambles and thirty-six orphans homeless. Damaged for life. The project was designed to study the effects of isolation and indoctrination on children. An attempt to create ‘noble savages’ destined to live lives pure enough to change the world. Three of you—you two and a boy from Paradise named Johnny Drake—came away not only damaged but gifted. Of course, I believed none of it. Until I met Johnny Drake.”

  “So you know him?” Darcy said. “If he’s still alive, how could Billy and I be the last two?” She glanced at the carpet stain left by the assassin’s head wound.

  “Johnny wasn’t technically from the monastery,” Billy said. “We’re the last two orphans from the monastery.”

  “Correct,” Kinnard said. “And if Johnny is right, you’re the only other two who have . . .” He left it there.

  “This crazy power,” Billy finished.

  Kinnard’s jaw flexed. “So it’s real, then. The three of you received inhuman powers from the books you wrote in as children.” He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. “Your powers are the same as his?”

  “You’re wearing glasses,” Billy said.

  “I learned that from Johnny. The effectiveness of the power has something to do with eye contact. Johnny never subjected me to his . . . his gift, but I’ve seen it work.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Darcy demanded. “I don’t know anything about Johnny or gifts.How did you happen to find me—us—anyway?”

  “I made a vow to David Abraham. No contact until you came out, so to speak, but the minute I heard what happened to Billy in Atlantic City I left Washington.”

  “How did you know to come here?” Billy pushed.

  “I’ve had a team keeping close tabs on both of you ever since my last meeting with Johnny, nearly a year ago. Your car is tagged with an electronic signal.”

  Kinnard turned to Darcy. “You think that the executive board at your plant doubles employees’ salaries every day?”

  She stared at him, confused.

  “Just an educated guess at this point, but I think David was right. I think your powers have to do with your voices and ears and eyes. Johnny can make a man see; Billy can hear thoughts, can’t you, Billy?”

  So he did know. Billy’s mind flashed back to the courtroom. A person who knew what to look for might easily suspect what Kinnard had just suggested.

  “So it seems,” he said.

  Kinnard nodded. “And I doubt your voice is normal, Darcy. I suspect that you can be very persuasive.”

  “I can?”

  “You can. And Smith somehow suspected it, which is why he taped your mouth shut before you had the opportunity to persuade him to kill himself or something.” The intruder again, hammers and nails and duct tape and earplugs. Smith had been trying to contain Darcy?

  Darcy arched an eyebrow at Billy. “You can’t be serious. You can read thoughts?”

  “Think something and look at me.”

  She stared into Billy’s eyes.

  “You’re pleasantly surprised at how handsome I’ve turned out,” he said. “You don’t trust me because you don’t trust anyone. But you want to trust me. And you just thought I might have been able to guess all of that so you switched your thinking to a candied apple being eaten by . . .” Really? How odd.“. . . by a vampire.”Now it was his turn to cock an eyebrow.

  “There you have it,”Kinnard said.“A candied apple eaten by a vampire.”

  She looked at Billy, horrified.

  “You don’t remember?” he asked.“The ancient book we wrote in—you, me, Johnny Drake?”

  “No. I don’t remember much.”

  Billy faced Kinnard. “How did David Abraham know this?”

  “Like I said, he didn’t exactly know. The point is, he was right.”

  It was all incredible, but Billy found some comfort in any explanation.

  “Where’s Johnny?”

  “He’s been allowed to remain in hiding. He was very adamant about that.”

  “So you don’t know where he is.”

  “Like I said, he’s been allowed to remain in hiding.”

  Which probably meant Kinnard knew more than he would admit.

  “And what do you want from us?”

  Kinnard took a deep breath. “To let me fulfill my obligation to David Abraham. To let me keep you alive.” Kinnard looked at the bloodstained carpet. “There are others who will stop at nothing to see you both dead.”

  “Marsuvees Black?” Billy said.

  Kinnard slowly nodded. “I hope you will agree.”

  “Agree to what?”

  “To go with me to Washington, D.C. Under our full protection, naturally.”

  “Hold on . . .” Darcy stood. “Just slow down! You’re saying all of this dates back to that experiment in Paradise . . .” She clenched her jaw, and Billy knew with a single glance into her eyes that she was fighting a flood.

  It occurred to him again that he wouldn’t leave her. And now he thought he understood why. She’d spoken to him, begged him to never leave her. Her words had cut deep into his heart, jerking long lost emotions to the surface. And this was her gift?

  “I have a house here,” she snapped. “I can’t leave.”

  And she had
a point, Billy thought. A very good one.

  “You stay here and you die,” Kinnard said. “It’s as simple as that. Sure, you’ll be able to work some of your magic and hold them off for a while, but eventually one of them will get in, tape your mouth shut, and slit your throat—I’m sorry to be so straightforward.”

  And he, too, had an excellent point.

  “What about Muness?” Billy asked.

  “And Muness too,” Kinnard said. He glanced at the door. “For all we know,Muness is with them.”

  “He was wearing glasses,” Billy said.

  “Stop it!” Darcy looked at him.

  “Glasses,”Billy said, surprised that he was so unruffled about Kinnard’s revelations.“He’s right. I have to be able to see people in the eye to know what they’re thinking. Muness was wearing glasses the last time I saw him. At night. It was almost as if he knew. And when I removed his glasses, he was thinking about you, Darcy. As if he wanted me to come after you.”

  “Smith . . .” she said.

  Billy finished her thoughts. “Was expecting me. Exactly. A trap, set and baited.”

  “Which is why you need to make your decision,”Kinnard said. “If you know anything about the Agent Smiths of the world, you know that they aren’t the soft-and-sensitive type.”

  “So you’re saying that there are more. How many?”

  “Don’t know. Only that they are efficient and experienced killers.

  Which brings us back to the question.”

  “You want us to go to D.C. and do what?” Billy asked.

  “Help us.”

  “With what, your laundry?” Darcy snapped.

  “Us?” Billy said. “Who else knows about this?”

  “No one. Not really. Last year a small group of powerful leaders agreed to meet with me, should this day ever arrive. I will give you full protection, comfortable living quarters, transportation, and a healthy stipend.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “Your agreement to meet with this council I’m pulling together and help us figure out how to best deal with your . . . with this situation.We may end up being the only friends you now have. I strongly suggest you take the offer.”

  “Please tell me it’s not a religious group,” Darcy said.

  “No. If there are men or women of faith among us, they are fully tolerant and keep it to themselves.”

  “You?”

  “Does it matter?” Kinnard said. “The man I killed worked for the Catholic Church; that should be enough.”

  Billy was at a loss for argument. Having just fled Atlantic City, the offer seemed perfectly reasonable to him. A godsend, in fact. He looked at Darcy, absorbed her with his eyes.

  She had the same medium-length brunette hair, the same high cheek-bones, same flashing eyes and aggressive spirit, same pouting lips. A woman now, roughly twenty-six, but how much had she really changed from the thirteen-year-old he’d fallen for at the monastery?

  “Give us a moment,” he said to Kinnard.

  “We don’t have a moment.”

  “Then leave and tell us where to find you.”

  Kinnard hesitated, then turned for the kitchen. “Please hurry.”

  For a moment neither of them spoke. Circumstances beyond their control had thrown them together, but a history of their own making weighed as heavily in Billy’s mind as the predicament they now found themselves in.

  She turned away and crossed her arms.

  “Darcy . . .”

  “You have no right to pry around my mind,” she snapped.

  “You’re right. And I didn’t ask to.”

  “This whole business is crazy.”

  “You don’t think I know that? But we aren’t exactly full of alternatives.”

  She turned, eyeing him. “I don’t even know how you found me. Or what you do for a living. Or if you have a wife or children. I know nothing about you. And he wants me to leave my life here to run off with you?”

  “No wife, no children. Hello, I’m an attorney. Now you know more than I know about you.”

  “No, you know my every thought. That’s a disadvantage.”

  “I may know some of your thoughts, but by the sounds of it, you can create mine. Sounds to me like you’re the one with the advantage.”

  She stared at him, wondering how this power she supposedly had actually worked. Wondering if she could get him to do what she suggested he do.

  She was going to try it, he realized.

  “Darcy—”

  “Please be quiet, Billy. You’re saying too much.”

  The suggestion was perfectly logical. There were a hundred things he could say, but none of them was necessary at the moment. He really had no reason to speak. In fact, speaking now would only make him look like a fool.

  So he didn’t.

  She was wondering if she’d made him quiet. For several long seconds they faced each other in silence. And then the assailant named Agent Smith filled her thoughts and she blinked.

  She glanced at the kitchen door, then back, thinking now that she needed Billy, wanted him to stay with her. Afraid of what might happen if they became separated. She’d forgotten that he could read her mind.

  And in that moment she exposed her true feelings. Please, Billy.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  Please don’t leave me. Promise me.

  He felt his heart rise into his throat. She was a wounded child, caught up in a predicament that was far beyond the small world she’d constructed to protect herself here in Pennsylvania. But her world had collapsed around her today and she was afraid.

  Finally she said it. “I’m afraid, Billy.”

  It was an invitation to speak. “I know. So am I.”

  There was a tremor in her voice. “What should we do?”

  “I think we should go with him. I know it’s all so sudden, but he’s right. If you stay here . . .”

  “Don’t say it.”

  So he didn’t.

  Her fear was so great that Billy felt he would cry. But he refused. Someone had to be strong for Darcy.

  “Come with me,” he said and reached for her hand.

  She hesitated, looked at his hand, then up into his eyes, taking his hand. Please don’t betray me, Billy. Please don’t leave me.

  “I won’t,” he said.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  ACCORDING TO the latest census, 89,213 people lived in Boulder City, Nevada, a scant twenty-nine miles south of Las Vegas, City of Sin. What was particularly interesting to the older residents was that much of the growth in the last two decades was within the Islamic community, a group that had been so vocal about the decadence of the Western world.

  But the world had discovered a few things in the last twenty years, and chief among them was the realization that radical elements could tinge any group’s image and trigger conflict where conflict could be easily avoided.

  Most Muslims, like most Christians, like most Hindus, were moderate people who observed their faith as they might observe a high-school dance. The festivities could continue as long as there were no problems. And if a problem did surface, the adults would simply step in and either change it or cancel it.

  In the realm of culture, religion in particular, the West had long ago embraced an all-inclusive disposition and called it tolerance. If a person did have a conviction of faith, which accounted for roughly 50 percent of the American populace, they learned to keep it to themselves in the name of tolerance. Common sense.

  It was estimated that a full 30 percent of Boulder City residents were Muslims. Twenty-five percent Christian. Another 15 percent Hindu. Five percent miscellaneous, a blend of Buddhists and mystics. Only 25 percent were avowed atheists, which by national standards meant that this small city, nestled up against Las Vegas, was a hotbed of religious diversity.

  Katrina Kivi, or Kat, as her friends and family called her, was a witch. Not the black-suited, spell-casting type that rode a broom o
r, for that matter, the Satan-worshipping die-hard type who believed that Lucifer would give them power if they cut themselves enough times or drank blood at one of the séances down by the river.

  Kat was a witch because she wanted to be one, a choice that was as much a statement to herself as to the rest of the school. And the statement was unmistakable. I am me, not any of you. Your rules and regulations are meaningless to me. And if I want to express my religion, I will; you can go to hell for all I care.

  A significant statement for a sixteen-year-old to make in the sea of adolescents who attended Boulder City High School, she thought.

  Particularly an African American witch in a city that was mostly Anglo-Saxon Christian and Middle Eastern Muslim. Although she was not purely African American. Her grandfather had come from India and married an African American model from Los Angeles. They’d given birth to her father, who had married a Caucasian European, Helena, Kat’s mother, then divorced her five years later. So what did that make Kat?

  She wasn’t sure, but she preferred to think of herself as African American. It had a desirable feel to it.

  The negative consequences for such an admirable stand against the status quo came with the territory. Which was why she was on the city bus now, headed downtown to serve the first two of a hundred community service hours ordered by the judge for breaking Leila’s jaw.

  Leila, one of the Muslims who had overrun the school, had spit on the floor by Kat’s feet and muttered something about burning in hell, and Kat had responded with a fist to the cheek.

  Needless to say, Kat had never gotten along with the Muslims. Or the Christians. Or, for that matter, the Hindus. And she found those who walked around professing no faith to be the worst of the cattle, cowing to trends of the day to avoid disrupting the peace.

  The school board put her before a local judge within the week, her second such appearance in the last two years. Among other things, the judge had made it painstakingly clear that this was the court’s final expression of leniency. The next offense, and Kat would be subject to Nevada’s adult criminal code. Any act of aggression or violence, regardless of the circumstance, would constitute a third strike and land her in jail for up to a year. No questions, no consideration.