“The name’s Sullivan. I’m a friend of Hannah’s.”
“Liar! Do you think you can fool me, boy? I know exactly who you are.”
“I’m not lying, Father.” Sully figured he had just entered
The Twilight Zone
. The old guy was nuttier than a peanut sundae, double-dipped. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“The truth? Boy, you don’t know the meaning of the word.”
The priest’s rheumy eyes narrowed. Then he inhaled on an apoplectic wheeze and shook a gnarled finger in Sully’s direction. “You can’t fool me. Don’t you dare lie to your own father. Did saying the rosary teach you nothing?”
His own father?
Was the old coot referring to his title as a priest? Or had he done the unthinkable? Was it possible the man of God had fathered a son? The sins of the fathers…Sully was going to play this to the hilt. “Hey, I never believed in the rosary, old man. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Blasphemer! The devil is still inside you!”
Father Mike clutched his pajama top and tried to rise up on an elbow. Spittle flew from his mouth. Hatred burned deep in his eyes. “Hannah should have punished you more often, lad. Did you not learn anything in the root cellar? I told her she was too easy on you.”
The picture forming inside Sully’s brain was so grisly it defied description. What kind of man allowed his child to be abused and then complained it wasn’t enough?
“Hey! What did you just say to me? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Get down on your knees and pray to the Almighty. He’s the only one who can save you now.” The priest was turning blue, gasping for breath, and Sully didn’t much care. He was not going to call for help unless he got the answers he needed to save Breeana.
“Dear Lord, the fruit of my loins is the devil’s own! Satan…get…thee…out!”
The housekeeper rushed in just as the old priest collapsed, his eyes staring heavenward, as if he expected help from on high. A death rattle escaped his throat and his lips froze in a permanent grimace.
Sully was sure the Lord was turning the priest away from the pearly gates at that very moment. He wasn’t a man of God, nor a Catholic. This was a vile freak, someone who had used the sanctity of the Church for his own devious purposes.
Even so, he couldn’t be The Shepherd. He didn’t fit the age profile. He was too old and frail to have killed those women, even thirteen years ago. Sully pressed his fingers to the side of the priest’s neck to be sure he was actually dead. He was.
Good riddance
.
“Oh, the poor dear,” the housekeeper clucked. “I think he’s finally passed over into the Lord’s hands.”
“It would seem so. I’m sorry if I upset him, ma’am.” Sully realized she had heard the priest’s ranting all the way down to the basement. “He seemed to become very agitated for no apparent reason.”
“Yes, I heard him, young man. He often pontificated about the devil and his unholy works. It was nothing unusual.”
She gazed up at Sully with something akin to embarrassment in her expression. “He wasn’t allowed to provide solace for his parishioners, you know. Not for the last few months.”
“Was it because of his failing health, ma’am?”
“No, it wasn’t because of his health. His sermons had become rather upsetting. The congregation complained about him to the Archdiocese. It was shortly afterward Father Mike’s health began to fail. It devastated him, you know, not being able to tend his flock. Now the poor soul is gone. May he rest in peace.”
The housekeeper busied herself, pulling a blanket up over the priest’s head while Sully prayed the prick would burn in hell for all eternity. He was certain the priest’s son was The Shepherd.
Who was he?
“Ma’am? Can you give me Father Mike’s full name for my report?”
“His name is Father Michelangelo Clemente. It has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”
Clemente?
Fuck!
Sal Clemente was The Shepherd. He must have legally changed his name to his father’s.
****
Along with consciousness came excruciating pain, a body-slam of agony unlike anything Breeana had ever experienced before. It was terrifying, debilitating, and ripe with the promise of certain death. She couldn’t let The Shepherd win. Her heart cried out for Sully, needing his strength to survive. To do what had to be done.
She gritted her teeth against the pain, swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in her throat and choking off her windpipe. She forced her hand open, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Her shattered bones ground together. She came close to fainting several times. She would not give in.
Control the pain. You can do it.
It was a waste of time. Her right hand was useless. She fumbled with her left instead to untie the knots binding her wrists to the chair back. After several tries, the ropes loosened and dropped to the floor. Lucky for her, Clemente had never been a Boy Scout, or he would have tied secure knots. Easing her broken hand gently onto her lap, Breeana worked with a dexterity born of terror to untie the bonds at her ankles. Finally, she was free. She had won.
She wanted to weep with joy.
Baby steps
, she reminded herself. She would get away from the animal by taking baby steps. Not by sitting there and blubbering like a child. It took another full minute, one she could ill afford, to remove her blouse and fashion it into a sling to support her broken hand. Another minute and she was off the chair and wobbling for freedom.
The Shepherd laughed from somewhere to her right. “Congratulations, my darling. I didn’t think you’d be able to get free. I could almost admire your persistence if I wasn’t so angry with you.”
“You sick bastard.” Breeana bunched her muscles in a fight-or-flight response. It was long past time to get moving. She staggered, cutting away from his shrill voice as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. She didn’t get far.
“Enough fooling around.” He wrenched her by the shoulders and pitched her back on the chair. “I’m running out of patience with you. It’s time to say the rosary and beg forgiveness for your sins.”
“I don’t know the rosary,” Breeana cried out. “I’m not Catholic.”
“What?” He gripped her neck. “You are nothing but a filthy liar. I saw you at mass with your friends. I watched the three of you giggling like schoolgirls as you tromped out of St. Pat’s. You
dared
to laugh at Father Mike’s sermon.”
Breeana focused the nausea and terror away, and then pushed her mind back to the day in the cathedral, the day she had gone to mass with Miranda and Rainey who were members of the parish. She remembered the service and the despicable priest. He had sounded like a raving lunatic, tainting the scriptures to send his sexist message to everyone in the congregation. He had preached about whores and their day of atonement.
The pieces of the puzzle came together with gemstone clarity. It was why Miranda and Rainey were dead, because they had walked out of church before the priest had finished spewing his venom. And, this was why she would be the next to die. One member of the congregation had taken the priest’s ramblings to heart.
“You will learn the rosary, Breeana. Or die trying.”
Chapter Nineteen
Tracking the police-issue SUV to Hannah Grime’s property was a piece of cake, thanks to GPS technology. Clemente had no idea he was being followed. There were some things a military man could do better than the guys on the force. Tracking was one of them. Blending into his surroundings was another.
Sully didn’t just search the terrain around Hannah Grime’s house. He
became
the terrain, and was impossible to spot. It wasn’t long before he picked up footprints matting the grass along the border of lawn and then followed them to the entrance of an old root cellar hidden by twisted foliage. No wonder the investigators hadn’t found it. He knelt to touch traces of blood dotting the graveled entrance. Breeana was injured, how badly he couldn’t tell. And The Shepherd was with her now.
Theo’s voice whispered into his earpiece. “Clemente’s SUV is parked in the garage. No one’s inside.”
“They’re in a root cellar edging the property. I’m going down.”
“Roger. I’ll call it in and catch up.”
Sully’s tread was light on the stairs. He moved silently, trying hard not to think about Breeana and what he would find in the cellar.
Don’t go there. You can hear her. She’s still alive.
“No, you stupid, stupid girl!” The Shepherd’s voice shrilled with frustration. “You made another mistake. Start again from the beginning. It’s in the book. One more mistake and I’ll have to punish you again.”
The son of a bitch is as good as dead
.
Sully crept across the floor from the main part of the root cellar and plastered himself against the outer wall of the makeshift chapel. He inched forward. In his haste to reach Breeana, he failed to notice the metal bucket lying on the cement. It connected with his foot and rattled across the doorway.
Fuck!
“Breeana? I believe we have company.” The sound of The Shepherd’s voice chilled Sully’s blood to ice.
“Come out where I can see you, Lieutenant. Otherwise, I’ll finish her off.”
Sully pushed through the doorway and into the room. He inched as close to them as he could get without spooking Clemente. Breeana moaned. Sully’s chest constricted as his gaze locked on her. She was pressed against The Shepherd’s body, pinned there by an arm strapped across her chest. The blade of a KA-BAR at her throat, blood from the knife prick trickled down her neck. He couldn’t get a shot off without hitting her.
You rat shit bastard!
That woman is my life! You will not hack her to goddamn pieces!
“You don’t want to do it, Sal.”
“Salvatore Clemente is gone forever! I’m The Shepherd and you will deal with me, Lieutenant. Drop your weapon!”
Sully barely recognized the madman standing in front of him. There was no resemblance to the mild-mannered detective he worked with on the force. This psychopath was The Shepherd, plain and simple. He derived pleasure from murdering women and inflicting pain. He was absolutely insane.
“Do it now, or I swear I’ll cut her again!”
My God, Bree, what has he done to you?
Sully could see abrasions on her skin, the odd angle of her hand and wrist. He locked on her gaze and sent her a silent message.
Don’t worry; we’ll get out of this.
He was sure she understood when she gave him an imperceptible nod. Then he dropped his police-issue firearm and put his hands in the air.
Where is Theo?
“Now, take out your backup piece. Ease it out of your ankle holster and slide it over.”
Sully bent low at the waist and whispered under his breath into his mic. “It’s up to you, bro. Take the shot. Take the goddamn shot!”
Theo appeared at the entrance to the room like a specter, his Glock extended from locked forearms as he took precise aim. The Shepherd moved in an instant. He twisted himself and Breeana in Theo’s direction. His knife moved a fraction of an inch away from her exposed throat. Finally, the break Sully needed. He raised his snub-nosed .38 caliber, leveled it at Clemente’s head, and squeezed the trigger.
The Shepherd dropped like a rock as the bullet shattered his temple. Sully closed the distance, scooping up Breeana before she fell to the floor. He gathered her against him, shielding her from the worst of the carnage.
His brother holstered his firearm and heaved a sigh of relief. “Your homicide squad and the EMTs are on the way. They should be here soon.”
“Theo…thanks.” Sully’s hand trembled as he squeezed his brother’s shoulder. It had been too close—way too close.
“Don’t mention it. I’ll stick around, explain things, and meet up with you later.”
Breeana clung to Sully and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “Please…I want to go home.”
“Soon, after a trip to the hospital.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs, away from the hellhole and the stench of death. He could hear sirens wailing in the distance. They couldn’t get there fast enough. Breeana trembled like a leaf, and he knew she was already in shock. Whipping off his shirt, he wrapped her in it. She wouldn’t be going home tonight, that was for sure.
“It’s over, cookie. It’s finally over.”
****
“So, that’s why Bruiser attacked you at Rainey’s?” Breeana managed to pull herself up higher in the hospital bed with Sully’s help. He fluffed the pillows behind her head. The doctor had insisted on keeping her for a few days, and Sully wholeheartedly agreed. She’d been outvoted. While she wasn’t happy about it, at least the intravenous pain meds dulled the worst of the throbbing in her hand.
“Right. The dog was really after Clemente. Bruiser knew Sal had killed his mistress and it was payback time.” Sully passed her a glass of juice from the tray and helped her take a sip through the straw. “It’s one of those times when I wish animals could talk.
“I think Bruiser may have also saved your life. After leaving the rosary in your bedroom, Clemente couldn’t go back inside your house once you brought the dog home. He was scared to death of the Rottweiler. I remember him making the sign of the cross and drawing his weapon when I first opened the door to Rainey’s laundry room. He knew Bruiser wanted to kill him.”
“What I don’t understand is how The Shepherd planned to get me out of the house, after the pizza was delivered with the tranquilizers. Wouldn’t Bruiser have attacked him then?”
Sully bent to brush a kiss at her temple. Then he scooted her over in the bed and slid in beside her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close. Laying her head against his chest, she was comforted by the steady beat of his heart.
“Bruiser wouldn’t have had the chance. Sal would have shot the dog while we were all out cold. But, he couldn’t take the chance on coming by the house beforehand. He knew what would happen if Bruiser went after him in front of me. He would have headed my suspects list, for sure.”
She sighed. “I’m so glad it’s over. I want to put this behind us and go on with our lives.”
He skimmed his fingers along her cheek and brought her mouth up to meet his, melting her with a heart-stopping kiss. Gathering her in his arms as if she was porcelain and would break, he smoothed a hand down her back. “I know, cookie, and if you behave yourself, the doctor will release you tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll just have to pretend we’re already home.”