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He’d cursed her for eluding him and sent a prayer up for her damaged, traitorous soul.
At dawn, before a true search had been organized, on one of the rare occasions when he’d been a passenger in the seaplane, he’d stared out the window and caught a bit of the dark blue of her backpack. A small swatch of color on the snowy shores of the river. He’d said nothing, but later had ridden by horseback to the remote canyon and found her body caught in a snag of logs and brush at the riv
er’s edge. Ashen gray and bloated, she lay on the side of the river, washed upon the shore. He’d wanted to spit on her dead body but instead had kissed her blue, blue lips for the last time. It had been a struggle, but he’d loaded her corpse onto Omen’s back and returned to the little, forgotten church where he’d caught her looking through the frosted panes, spying on him.
Though the earth had been frozen and hard, he’d dug a quick, shallow grave with a pickax. He had dropped her body into it and buried her, replacing the sticks and twigs over the frozen chips of earth, thanking God for the snowfall that would hide the burial plot in a cemetery that no one visited.
The headstone read:
LILY CARVER, IN LOVING MEMORY.
How fitting. A perfect grave. Above the rotted casket and ancient bones of Lily Carver, he’d buried Lauren Conway, her initials the same so that he could always remember where he’d laid her to rest, visit her if he wanted.
She was a traitor, remember that. Her soul will burn in hell.
As much as he now hated her, he would never forget the trill of her laughter, the glint of merriment in her eyes, the graceful way she walked away from him, casually looking over her shoulder and winking at their great secret. He’d remember always the sensual lift of those provocative lips; the memory of that smile still caused a reaction in him.
Julia Farentino could do the same.
Imagine how the feel of her supple mouth upon your skin would twist you inside out. You could have her—she’s given herself to Cooper Trent after only a few days; you could take his place, strip away her clothes, make her kneel in front of you. You have the power.
His blood raced. He licked his lips and reminded himself that lust was a sin, that the hardness swelling between his legs was a distraction. Though he would like nothing more than to screw the living hell out of her, he would wait.
For now.
He couldn’t risk another mistake.
And she, like Lauren, would surely only betray him.
Footsteps alerted him that they were coming. His disciples. Tonight this underground shelter was more war room than church. He waited, not saying a word as they entered in twos and threes, following the orders of the academy to always travel with a partner.
They didn’t speak but took their places, eager and avid, the fervor of youth in their eyes. They were rabid, this cadre of bright, talented soldiers. Dedicated to God’s cause, ready to cross any line.
Crusaders.
A few followers cast glances at the open cabinet door, eager to get their hands on weapons, keyed up and ready to do his bidding. He wondered if one of them could be a rogue, more interested in his or her own agenda than the greater good.
He dismissed the idea quickly as they stared up at him, if not in adoration, then at the very least awe.
The Leader gave a nod, and the sergeant at arms swung the door shut. Once he’d returned to his seat on the pew, the Leader said, “You’ve been patient long enough. Some of you already know this, but tonight we strike. The plan we’ve discussed for so long has already been set into motion.
“A few of you have already begun your tasks, as have I, but now all of us need to unite and go with purpose. You know what your assignments are.” He moved his gaze over each of the faces staring up at him, caught a few of them nodding, anxious, ready. “We may suffer casualties, but not if we are precise.
“As you leave here, take the equipment you’ve been allotted and go forth with fervor and faith.” A few feet scuffled on the hard rock floor as they prepared to stand. “First,” he cautioned, “let us pray.”
In her dream, Jules walked through the den, past the flickering screen of the television to her father’s body. Rip lay in a pool of blood, the knife deep in his body.
“Dad … Dad!” She bent over and pulled out the knife, and Rip’s eyes opened wide, staring at her.
Somewhere nearby a woman screamed.
She turned, saw her mother in the archway, Edie’s face twisted in horror. “You killed him!” she accused, and ran into the room to drop onto the floor.
“No, I didn’t. Mom …”
Edie, kneeling in her husband’s blood, turned to look over her shoulder and stare at her firstborn. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would you kill your father?”
“I didn’t … Mom, you gotta believe me.”
