Red Dawn Rising (Red Returning Trilogy) (40 page)

“Well, when you’re through rushing, would you please direct me and my boy here to a suitable men’s store? I don’t see him getting married in jeans and a red flannel shirt. And I could use a nice tie to go with my overalls.”

A toothy smile crinkled the reverend’s face. “I’ll be glad to do that, Ian,” he said, then turned to Liesl. “Are you sure of your guest list, dear?”

“Ian, Ava, Agent Delaney, Cass, and Jordan. Ben is off the critical list,
but
he’s in no condition to be moved right now.” Her eyes lingered on the kindly man. “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I know many people in New York. Too many of them know me, I’m afraid. But this is about my love for one man.” She looked at Cade and fought the urge to kiss him right there. “To be married to him in this place, and by you, is celebration enough.”

Rev. Scovall beamed at her, then looked thoughtful. “But what about your father?”

Liesl smiled. “This was his idea. Since I have to stay in New York until all the investigations are over, he didn’t want us to wait that much longer. My father is a very selfless man. I wish you could know him and see how he tends to my grandmother. And me.” Liesl brightened. “In fact, why don’t you come to Charleston for a visit soon? We owe you a great deal of hospitality. And no more sleeping on the sofa.”

“And I’ll show you a thing or two about fishing … for fish, not souls,” Ian chimed in. “You’re probably due some time off from that, right?” Ian chuckled and sauntered off with the reverend at his side, regaling the New Yorker with fish tales from the South.

“I’d better rescue the reverend and take Pop shopping. Some unsuspecting salesperson is about to have a life-changing experience.” Cade kissed her and held her tightly. “While I’m gone, please don’t start any international incidents.”

Liesl noticed Ava on the sidewalk in front of the church, talking with her security detail. Looking back toward the sanctuary, Liesl, the pianist too long from her music, moved swiftly through the doorway. Inside the peaceful chamber, she inhaled the scent of aged wood and candles, though none were lit at the moment. At four o’clock, though, they would blaze with a new beginning. That was her prayer. For now, she refused to think about who else was out there searching for her, about the need for protection. She’d learned to banish such things from her mind, at least momentarily.

She climbed to the stage and the baby grand piano, pulled back the lid over the keys, and called forth the very sonata that had plunged her into turmoil all those years ago, Tchaikovsky’s
Grand Sonata in G Major
.
Why
had it come to her now? Could she ever again strike the notes once embedded with a hateful code, a traitor’s code that killed and kept on killing?

Yes, she could. Especially on this day.

And so it began. Liesl lashed into the piece with a vengeance, striking again and again with fury until the fury was gone. Until she was at peace with the music the composer intended. Free of its demons. Moments later, there was nothing but the music and her celestial flight through it. She had finally transcended the sonata’s terrors to once again claim its innocent beauty for herself.

After the final note, she lifted her slender, steely fingers from the keyboard and looked toward the cross. “Thank you,” she whispered. She closed her eyes to absorb the resounding silence.

When she opened them, she caught the slightest movement in the back of the sanctuary. Ava sat there alone. “That was a purging, wasn’t it?” Ava the music professor knew the sonata well, and the pain it had caused.

Liesl choked back a sudden welling in her chest. “Only you would know that.”

Ava got up and motioned for Liesl to join her. “Come with me,” she said, opening the sanctuary door and leading Liesl to the church’s front entrance, then onto the sidewalk beyond. Two officers guarded the door.

Liesl’s curiosity was stemmed by a sudden, briny wind escaping the Atlantic and sweeping over her. It carried the smell of Tidewater Lane, and she longed for the house near the harbor to cradle her again.

Ava steered her away from the church and closer to the curb. “Look there.” Ava nodded slightly toward an old brownstone house across the street. “Second floor, left side of the bay window. But I warn you, show no reaction.”

Liesl squinted against a dazzling wash of sunlight as she focused on the bay window—and suddenly sucked in her breath.

“He’s been there all morning,” Ava informed.

The man was partially concealed by a swag of drapes. Even in the dark of the room behind him, though, Liesl could see the outline of his bony face, the slick black hair combed flat to his head.

“Now turn away and don’t look again,” Ava instructed, focusing on the officers who watched them closely. “He wants to talk to you. You’ll have to go to him. He’s broken entirely too many laws to walk about freely.” She sniffed. “Like that’s ever held him back.”

“When?” Liesl asked.

“Now. I’ve told the officers we’re paying a visit to the house’s owner, a member of this church whom Rev. Scovall assures me is in Florida. You see, it is the good reverend who’s harboring this criminal, for now anyway.”

“And you?” Liesl asked.

Ava smiled tightly. “He found Ivan Volynski when we couldn’t. He removed a vicious threat to our country in a violent but very effective way. Somebody owed him something for that. My silence is small payment.” Ava put a hand on Liesl’s back. “Let’s go.”

They climbed the steps to the main level of the house, whose front door was unlocked. Before they entered the house, Ava looked back at the two officers and nodded that all was well.

The house was musty and still. But somewhere, a grandfather clock ticked. With the owner gone, who had wound it? Liesl wondered at the trivial thought. But perhaps no small detail would ever be trivial again.

As Ava closed the door behind them, Liesl heard footsteps. Evgeny entered the front hall and stood before them. As usual, he wasted no words and no time. “Agent Mullins, there is a very small, private garden in the back. I would appreciate a few moments alone there with Liesl. Feel free to watch from the window if you like.”

“I will,” Ava said with certainty. She turned and started for the living room when Evgeny stopped her.

“And, Ava, thank you.”

Ava nodded curtly. “If you know the Cinderella story, you know that you only have so long before the clock strikes and your cover is blown.”

“Speaking of clocks,” Liesl said, “who wound the one in this house?”

Evgeny cocked his head. “It kept me company.” He ushered Liesl to the back door of the house and into a walled courtyard garden, ringed with winter’s bare stalks yet the promise of spring buds. Evgeny motioned
to
a wrought-iron table with four matching chairs. “Please,” he said, and pulled out a chair for Liesl.

Such civilities surprised her. Even his appearance had noticeably advanced from working-class spy. He almost looked like a banker in his white oxford shirt, black vest, gray wool suit, and black loafers. Over that, he wore a black topcoat and held a smart-looking brimmed hat in his hand. All of it fresh from a store that, no doubt, had already discovered the missing inventory. Liesl dared not show her amusement.

But he noticed her attention to his attire. “It is a special day, is it not? Though I will not be present at the ceremony, I wanted to dress accordingly.”

“How did you know I was getting married today?”

“You must still ask such questions?”

Undeterred, Liesl persisted. “Was it Ava or Rev. Scovall?”

“The good Christian man takes his calling seriously. But I have warned him that befriending killers—other than myself—could be a short-lived endeavor for him. Do you think?”

Liesl looked deep into the man’s unreadable eyes. “Where will you go?”

He smiled dimly. “My warren, my home.”

“But you can’t—”

“Never mind that.” He looked toward the house. “The clock ticks, remember?” Now focused only on her, he said, “I have come to give you a wedding present.”

She eyed him carefully.

“News from Russia. Vadim Fedorovsky and Pavel Andreyev are dead. Executed this morning for crimes against our country and especially against the health of our president, whom they plotted to kill, as you well know.”

Something quaked inside her—unabashed relief that all who’d plotted to kill
her
were gone.

“Now,” he said, “go home to Charleston and grow old with Cade. Have babies and grandbabies. Perform for kings and presidents. But Liesl, when you play the music of the Russian masters, remember our people who inspired it. The oppressed ones. Those of our soil and our factories, who
wear
handmade clothes and can no longer fight for themselves. Play for them.”

Just then, the bells in the tower across the street chimed the noon hour. They both looked up at the window. Liesl was sure that Ava would be watching hawk-like over her chick. But she wasn’t there.

Liesl turned to Evgeny, and they both laughed like old friends sharing something only they could know, something unutterable yet good.

“I must go,” he said.

He stood, and Liesl rose and walked around the table to him. She hugged him tightly, then let him go. “God go with you, Evgeny.”

He lingered a moment, his gaze steady on her. He reached and lightly stroked the side of her face, then promptly removed his hand. Without a word, he put on the hat and left the courtyard through a small gate. But before he closed it behind him, he looked back at Liesl.

“And with you,” he called, then tucked his head and hurried away.

Praise for Red Dawn Rising

“Sue Duffy writes with the authority and keen eye for detail of a journalist and with the flair for drama of a true storyteller.”

—J
ERRY
B
ELLUNE
, chairman and former editor,
Lexington County Chronicle

“The delicious quandary any Sue Duffy fan faces is whether to linger over every well-placed word or rush on to see what happens next. In
Red Dawn Rising
, Duffy creates a threatening world in which her all-too-human characters must survive. That they wrestle with God and their own painful histories makes it even more satisfying.”

—A
ÏDA
R
OGERS
, writer, editor of
State of the Heart:

South Carolina Writers on the Places They Love

“Sue Duffy just gets better and better. Like the proverbial potato chip, a curious nibble at one of her books is the precursor to an all-out binge. Each tantalizing chapter invites her readers to neglect responsibilities and forgo sleep until they consume every last one in a satisfying, self-indulgent gorge of adventure and intrigue—lightly salted with romance.”

—L
ORI
H
ATCHER
, author, blogger, and editor of

Reach Out, Columbia
magazine

“The second book in the Red Returning trilogy continues the political intrigue and suspense that is so impelling in the first book. Sue Duffy has given us another fast-paced, suspenseful, and thought-provoking story of espionage, courage, and redemption.”

—S
UE
H
ARDIN
, South Carolina state leader for the Church Library Ministry

Praise for The Sound of Red Returning

“The pop-pop-pop of surprise resolutions at the end makes a fine coda.”

—P
UBLISHERS
W
EEKLY

“Political intrigue, suspense, and just enough romance to keep readers guessing and interested. Well-defined secondary characters add that extra zing to the plot.”

—RT B
OOK
R
EVIEWS

“Intrigue and suspense come together in an incredible story of love and betrayal, commitment and courage, power and danger … and a God who controls it all. Sue Duffy is a wonderfully gifted writer.”

—S
TEVE
B
ROWN
, founder and president of

Key Life and host of Steve Brown Etc.

“Sue Duffy has mixed the mayhem of political intrigue with the melody of romance.”

—D
ICK
B
OHRER
, author, editor, and former journalism professor