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He remembered her. As a reporter he actually liked. “This isn’t a good time,” he said, noticing the red light on the camera.
Shit.
Nikki shook her head. “Not now.”
Kimberly’s smile tightened. “Oh, come on. Just a few words.” And to Reed, “Maybe I can help with your investigation. Get the word out. Someone in our viewership might know something about what happened to those poor victims or even locate the missing Duval girl.”
“This isn’t a good time,” he said.
“It’s been reported that you,” the reporter said to Nikki, “found Bruno Cravens’s body at his home. Is that true? You were there? And his father, too? Were you two togeth—”
“Reed!” a deep voice yelled.
From the corner of his eye he spied Bart Yelkis barreling toward them. Bart was jerking at his tie, his face flushed, anger palpitating off of him. His kids started to follow, but he waved them aside, motioning Priscilla and Toby to stay in a group of mourners who had clustered near the foot of the church steps. While Toby glowered, his sister hid her face behind the veil of her own hair.
“What the fuck are you trying to pull?” Yelkis demanded, reaching into his inner jacket pocket.
Jesus Christ, the man was pulling a gun!
Reed reacted, pushing Nikki behind him, reaching for his sidearm only to remember his service weapon was locked in the Jeep.
“Don’t move!” Jade Delacroix stepped into the parking lot, her own pistol drawn and pointed directly at Yelkis.
A woman screamed.
“Gun! She’s got a gun!” another woman yelled, and she ran toward the church and the crowd reacted.
“Get down!” a man ordered sharply, while others shepherded people up the stairs and into the church. Others started cars and began wheeling out of the lot, tires screeching, a startled flock of pigeons taking flight.
“Dad! Don’t!” Priscilla was running forward, her ashen face twisted in horror. “Please don’t!”
Delacroix said, “Stop!” to the girl. But she kept her pistol tr
ained on Yelkis.
Both of Morrisette’s kids skidded to a stop.
Delacroix shouted at Yelkis, “Police! Drop your weapon.”
“What? No weapon!” Yelkis’s hands went straight up in the air. In his right fist he clenched a packet of white papers. “I don’t have a gun!” he said. “For fuck’s sake, I’m unarmed.” The papers started floating to the ground.
The preacher was approaching. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“Stand back, sir!” Delacroix warned, and slipped a pair of cuffs from her belt. Linley stopped dead in his tracks.
“This is a house of God,” he reminded Reed’s partner.
“Sir, stand back,” she said, eyes trained on Yelkis.
The reporter, who had been frozen to the spot, said to her cameraman, “I hope you’re getting all this.”
“On the ground,” Delacroix ordered.
Several other cops approached, weapons drawn.
Yelkis, some of his anger depleted, dropped to his knees. “What’s wrong with you? Are you all nuts?” he said to Delacroix. “It’s just legal stuff. Sylvie’s will!” He turned his gaze back to Reed, his eyes filled with a hate so intense Reed felt cold inside. “This son of a bitch is supposed to become the guardian of my kids! According to my exwife, I’m not a fit father, but fuckin’ Pierce Reed is.”
“What?” Nikki whispered. “What’s he talking about?”
