Part 17 (1/2)

”I doubt it.”

”Someone brought it to him. Forced him to do it.”

”That would be my guess.”

”And Jeremiah? Where was he during his parents' murder?”

”Asleep. In his bed down the hall.”

”That would be enough to traumatize a child. Enough to be interested in demons.”

Silence.

”Father?”

”Maybe he was interested in demons before the murders,” Father Philip said quietly.

The realization hit Anthony hard and he swallowed. He heard a car on the highway.

”Pray, Father.”

Anthony hung up and walked the long way along the cliff to the back of the house. There was a twenty-five-meter open stretch. The moonlight decreased as filmy clouds moved rapidly overhead.

Thank you, Lord.

He ran low across the ground whispering the prayer he'd memorized off the tabernacle. The cliff moaned and the house swayed in front of him.

It was working.

He took out holy water and sprinkled it in front of him as he ran toward the back of the house. Steam rose from the ground where the blessed water fell. But it cleared his path and, aided by the Hebrew incantation, he reached the back of the house without pain. A swath of light cut across the house as he flattened against the back wall.

He used his tools to quietly break the rear window-a bedroom-and eased himself in, just as the side door opened down the hall.

Skye had a great hiding place, but she couldn't see anyone approach the Davies cottage until the car was practically in the drive.

It was a dark Ford minivan, similar to the one Corinne Davies drove. She couldn't make out the exact model or color, but it could easily have been the black Windstar registered to the elder Davies.

A plump female exited the driver's seat. There was no porch light and Skye only made out her shape in the moonlight. Corinne Davies's driver's license had her at five foot six and two hundred pounds. It could have been her.

A shorter, slimmer woman exited from the sliding rear door. Her lithe frame reminded Skye of Lisa, the daughter. The woman appeared half clothed and limped to the side door. Skye frowned. Had she been a.s.saulted?

”Okay, we'll go and just talk. Take my lead. Watch them. If they poisoned those priests, we need to be cautious. No food or drink, don't touch anything they hand you. Got it?”

”Yes.”

She was about to open her door when the sliding door of the minivan opened again and a man exited the car. She stared. She recognized the build, though she couldn't see his face or features. He walked like Juan Martinez.

Why was he with them? Why hadn't he called in? Didn't he know she-and his wife and the entire sheriff's department-were frantic? Maybe he'd found the younger Davies injured and brought them home. Why hadn't he called in the a.s.sault?

Maybe it wasn't Juan. Just someone who had the same short, lanky build.

She glanced at Reiner. He didn't seem to think anything of the man. ”Boyfriend?” he asked her. ”Looks like he had his way with her while Mommy drove.”

Sick. Definitely not Juan Martinez.

She radioed in where she was and who she was interviewing, then left the Bronco.

A cold fog had crept in from the ocean. It hadn't been there earlier in the evening, but seemed to roll in quickly as often happened on the Central Coast. Skye cut through the mist, the house fading behind the fog even as she approached.

The occupants still hadn't turned on any lights, the porch was dark, but candles flickered behind the blinds.

The door opened before Skye raised her hand to knock. Skye couldn't hide her surprise that Juan Martinez stood in front of her.

”Right on schedule,” he said.

Juan's voice was flat, with a hint of humor.

”What's going on?” she asked.

He turned to Reiner. ”You can go.”

Reiner glanced at Skye, looking as confused as she felt.

Skye put her hand on her gun. Reiner attempted to follow suit, but froze.

His body shook as it rose from the ground. His head moved back and forth quickly, too quickly, and suddenly the snap of breaking bone filled the air, along with the sudden stench of sulfur.

Reiner collapsed on the porch, dead, eyes wide and full of fear.

Skye had her gun in hand, but suddenly her gun was on fire and her hand burned. She screamed in pain and surprise as the gun pulled itself from her grip and flew across the lawn, landing beyond her eyesight.

She turned to run but could not move.

”Come in, Skye. Let's get this nasty business over with,” Juan said, arms open, palms up.

She stared at his hands. They were burned, but he didn't seem to notice what looked like painful blisters.

What was happening? Reiner-her gun-Juan?

For the first time she believed. Everything Anthony had told her was the truth. And she'd sent him away.

”You've been making friends with the enemy,” Juan said, ”and you'll be the one to kill him.”