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Sloane sank down on the edge of the bed. She’d just bought herself a little time alone with Luke. She’d have to use that time, and his grief, to her advantage. Because once Lillian was gone, any trace of Luke would be gone. At which point Delphi would take over, and he’d do away with the goddesses, one by one, culminating with her and then himself. Shortly thereafter, the entire manor would burst into flames and be reduced to cinders, along with their bodily remains.
Pistol or no pistol, this would be her last chance to save them.
High Point State Park
Kittatinny Mountains
Sussex County, northwest tip of New Jersey
May 2, 7:05 A.M.
“There’s the monument,” one of the New Jersey state troopers pointed out. He, along with a dozen other New Jersey state troopers, and the local police, were part of the FBI-led search team. “It’s over eighteen hundred feet above sea level. It’s the tallest point in New Jersey. You can see everything for miles from up there.”
Derek was wearing his forty-pound SWAT vest and all his protective gear, carrying his assault rifle, with his pistol strapped to his thigh. So were the fifteen-plus other members of New York’s enhanced SWAT team who’d been available and were now assembled under the command of John McLeod, their team leader. Joining SWAT were two SABTs, who were on standby, ready to suit up in their heavy-duty EOD-9 bomb suits at a moment’s notice, and equipped with the disruption tools needed to deactivate any explosive devices.
“We’re going door-to-door, covering the grid, starting with the buildings due west of that monument,” McLeod announced to the group. “Derek, fill us in on the topography.”
Derek nodded, grateful as hell that Sloane had managed to leave on her cell phone, allowing Verizon to triangulate on the area where she and the victims were located.
“Most of what you’ll find are small farms, and all of them are spread out,” he specified. “Some are hidden by trees for privacy. Be especially interested in those. Our Unsub is intent on keeping his hideaway as close to invisible as he can. But we’re going to find it—and we’re going to find it fast.” A quick glance at his watch. “Time’s working against us. Let’s go.”
Sloane leaned past Luke and tucked a blanket beneath Lillian’s chin, talking softly to her as she did. Luke stood on Sloane’s right, directly beside his mother’s face, holding her hand in both of his, and murmuring to her about eternity and beauty and reverence.
Over the past hour and a half, Lillian’s breathing had gone from labored to erratic to almost nonexistent—so much so that, several times, Sloane had to stare at the rise and fall of her chest for what seemed like forever, just to see if she was still alive.
This was torture.
And Luke wasn’t taking it well.
He was experiencing major mood swings. One minute he was a compassionate, loving son, the next minute he was a delusional soon-to-be Greek god, and the next minute after that he was a violent, angry killer who wanted to seek vengeance on a world who was taking away the only person he’d every truly loved, and who’d ever been there for him.
It was the last of those moods that worried Sloane most.
When the rage took over, Luke was irrational and unreachable. He stalked around the room, waving his pistol and hi
s combat knife, and ranting about justice and decency and the annihilation of society. He kicked furniture out of his way, blotches of red staining his cheeks, and describing the horrific ways he’d killed people and the even more horrific ways he wanted to kill more. Sloane didn’t need convincing. She was already worried sick that the wrong provocation—like a defiant remark from one of the soon-to-be-retrieved goddesses—would result in his going off on a shooting and stabbing rampage, and then deferring his own ascension to Mount Olympus long enough to continue that rampage elsewhere.
During those moments when Luke went berserk, Sloane remained very still, just stroking Lillian’s hair and adjusting her pillows. Fortunately, the poor woman was totally out of it, so she didn’t have to witness her son’s depravity firsthand.
But unless Sloane could find the right moment to attack Luke and win, or, at the very least, defuse his murderous rage, this was going to be bad.
Then, as quickly as it had started, the rage ended, transforming Luke into Delphi, who went on ad nauseam about the nobility of Mount Olympus and what awaited them there.
And then, every once in a great while, it would be Luke standing beside Sloane, watching with tears in his eyes as his mother slipped away.
Oddly, it was during one of Luke’s tirades that Lillian opened her eyes and very clearly said, “Luke.”
He whipped around, staring at the bed, recognizing the fleeting moment of lucidness in his mother’s eyes.
Instantly, he lowered the knife and the pistol, walking around Sloane to resume his place at the top part of the bed. “I’m here, Mother.” He put the knife and pistol on the floor, and took her hand, clasping it tightly between his.
An expression of wonder crossed her face. “It’s beautiful. The other side is beautiful.” She drew another slow, shaky breath. “Don’t grieve. It’s my time.” Her lids were slowly drooping. “I’ll always be with you. Don’t forget that. And don’t forget…how much I love you.”
Her eyes closed, and she was gone.
Luke just stared for a moment, paralyzed with disbelief. Then he lost it, leaning forward until he was lying across his mother’s lifeless body. “I love you, too,” he wept, his whole body trembling. “Don’t leave me…I can’t be here alone.” He was openly sobbing now, sliding to his knees, his head, neck, and shoulders bowing over Lillian as he clutched the blanket Sloane had tucked under her chin.
Sloane knew this was her moment. Luke was consumed with shock and grief, distracted from everything but Lillian’s passing, and devoid of weapons.
