“Little worse for wear,” Carter said. “But alive. Thankful for that.”
“Do they have any idea who did this?” Susanne asked.
“Larry’s looking into it, but if you see anyone who looks like they might have done this”—Carter flashed a bandaged hand—“be sure to let him know.”
“Of course,” Susanne said. “Everyone will be on the lookout.”
For the attacker or for them? Every pair of eyes in the church seemed to be on them. They needed to move this along. “Like Carter said, we’re just glad to be alive.”
“And you’re okay too?” Jennifer asked.
He could tell by her smile that the ask was genuine, and he returned it, as warmly as he could muster, the heat at his back helping. “Yes, thank you.”
“No hand injuries?”
He lifted his hands as much as Carter’s arm around him would allow. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Excellent.” Jennifer’s smile grew wider, but then it dimmed, and she looked around them as if something was missing. “But he didn’t bring his guitar, Suz.”
Oh, so that was why she was so concerned about his hands. Genuine, my ass. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I think we’ve had enough excitement and attention. We just want to blend in.”
Carter squeezed him tighter. “Aww, come on, honey. Shouldn’t we sing His praises today? And you can play more than just the guitar.”
He’d swing back a heel, right into Carter’s balls, if all those eyes weren’t on them still.
“Can you play piano?” Lydia asked.
“He can,” Carter said.
“How—” He tried to wrestle free to no avail. Even with a sore shoulder, Carter had a good twenty pounds on him.
And then Carter mortifyingly began dragging him backward. “Give me just a second, ladies,” Carter said. “Let me see if I can talk him around.”
Lincoln let Carter lead him into the lobby vestibule. It was only right he spare the townsfolk from the blistering rebuke he was about to unload. Carter released him and Lincoln let loose. “Talk me around?” He put a hand to Carter’s chest and shoved him back against the wall. “Swear to God, if I had my gun on me, I’d show you talked around.”
Carter raised his hands. “Okay, apologies on that one.”
“And for setting me up.”
“I didn’t set you up.”
“Bullshit.” Lincoln stepped closer, making sure Carter could clearly see his glare, could hear the fury in his voice. “How do you know I play more than guitar?”
“Because I googled Lincoln Monroe and found articles about an amazing musical prodigy from Los Angeles. And then all those mentions dry up after you graduated from LA County High School for the Arts.”
Because after years of tossing his guts before every show, he and his body had decided enough was enough. Just the mention now of his Fame High days was enough to stoke the stomach upset he’d been ignoring in favor of his anger. Fuck, he was going to toss his coffee-for-breakfast right here in the church. Then he’d burn for sure. He shoved Carter aside and pressed both hands and his forehead against the cold stone wall, trying to force down the rising bile and beat back the suffocating heat of impending sickness.
“Fuck,” Carter cursed beside him. He laid a hand on the small of Lincoln’s back, then slid it up to rub over his shoulders. “I’m sorry, L, truly. I didn’t realize it was this bad. You don’t have to do this.”
“But I should.” Lincoln turned and fell back against the wall, eyes closed, head tilted back, as he struggled to rein in his insides. “Up front, from the chancel, I’ll have a view of the entire congregation, and you can scout while I play. There’s a whole FBI team set up at the hospital waiting for us to bring them a suspect.” Beverley had texted them that morning with the contact information for the Richmond team providing support out of a closed area of the county hospital. “And if Dr. Fear is also here, it draws his attention to us more. That’s what we wanted, right?”
“Not worth you puking onstage.”
“It will be if it saves Ruby.” He lowered his head and opened his eyes.
“Back when I played baseball?—”
The non sequitur didn’t throw Lincoln as much as the choice of sport. “You played baseball?” Carter seemed built more for football.
