Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 73339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I couldn’t bear the thought.
Moira squeezed my forearm. “I have to get to some paperwork. Would you like a book or a magazine or something?”
I shook my head. “I’d just like to lie down on the couch, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is. I have a blanket around here somewhere.”
“I don’t need one. I’m not cold.”
She rose and walked toward her desk. She returned with a fleece throw. “I get cold sometimes when I’m working late.”
“Thank you.”
I lay down, and Moira covered me as if I were a child. A tall child, of course. My feet stuck out.
“Just relax,” she said. “I’m right here if you need me.”
40
Reid
Buck Moreno was another ex-Navy SEAL, which was how he and Leif knew each other. Now he made money fighting MMA. No one knew he worked for me on the side. I financed his MMA fights and paid him hourly as well.
“My man on the inside is watching Jim like a hawk,” Buck said.
“Right. The priest?”
“Yeah, Father Amos Baca. He and I served together. He was a chaplain.”
“How’d you get him into the church?” I asked.
“The less you know about that, the better,” Buck said. “Plausible deniability and all.”
I nodded. “Got it.” I already knew more than I wanted to. Buck’s methods were foolproof. And also very illegal.
“You were right,” he said. “There’s a system of tunnels under the church.”
My throat ached. I knew what was coming. “And…”
“They’re cave-like, built of stone. Legend has it they were part of the underground railroad back in the day.”
“New York was in the north. How can that be?”
“Churches were sanctuaries for runaway slaves. Manhattan was close to Maryland and Virginia, which were both slave-owning states.”
“Wow. This place has a history.”
“Yeah. A really awesome history. The tunnels were used to hide runaway slaves until papers could be forged for them. Except that now those tunnels are probably being used for something horrific.”
Nausea crawled up my throat.
“Was there”—I swallowed back bile—“anyone down there?”
He shook his head. “It’s all been cleared out, as far as I can tell. But there’s a stench.”
“What do you mean?”
He inhaled, wrinkling his nose. “You don’t serve as a Navy SEAL for ten years and not know the stench of dead human flesh. And that smell is down there.”
I swallowed audibly, literally gulping back puke. “What else?” I finally said.
“There’s an antechamber that all the tunnels lead to.” He paused a moment, closing his eyes.
“Just get on with it,” I said. “For God’s sake.”
He pulled his briefcase onto the table. “I found some things. Things that you aren’t going to like.”
“Fuck.”
“Nothing implicates you, so relax.”
“Relax? That means nothing to me. What about my brothers? My sister? Zee?”
“Zee?”
I shook my head. “A story for another time. What is it? Just spit it out.”
He pulled a folder out of his briefcase. “I took a lot of photos. It was dark down there, so the photos aren’t great, but I enlarged them and printed them out.” He pushed the file toward me.
I instinctively looked around. I was about to see something that would disturb me. That much was apparent, so I needed to make sure no one was looking over my shoulder.
A server glanced at me slyly out of the corner of his eye.
Red flag. Big red flag.
I pulled my own briefcase off the floor and shoved the folder into it. “We’re leaving.”
Buck nodded. “I saw him too. He’s looked suspicious for a few minutes. Let’s bolt.”
We walked slowly out of the café, each carrying our briefcases, until we found an unoccupied bench. We sat down.
I pulled open my briefcase and pulled out the folder. I drew in a deep breath. “Care to give me some idea of what I’m about to look at?”
“Pictures speak louder than words, Wolfe. Just prepare yourself.”
I closed my eyes and drew in another breath. He’d mentioned stench. I could be holding photos of dead bodies. Of severed limbs. Of…
God.
Of my father doing things to…
I swallowed hard.
I opened the folder.
And I gasped.
“You’re kidding. Fuck.”
No severed limbs greeted me. Thank God. But I’d have preferred nameless and faceless bodies to what the first photograph showed.
It was another of Lacey’s old business cards, and this one hadn’t been stomped and rained on.
“Circumstantial,” I said robotically.
“Keep going,” Buck prodded.
I fought back the puke threatening to erupt from my throat and slid the photo of Lacey’s business card over, revealing the next photo.
I swallowed hard. It was a blue scarf with the initials LW clearly embroidered on it. I swallowed again. “Still circumstantial.”
“Agreed. Keep going.”
More and more photos of Lacey’s belongings. Or what appeared to be Lacey’s belongings.
“Did you take these items?” I asked.
“Of course I did. I have them all in a safe place. But that’s not what concerns me.”
“What, then?”
“These things could be extras. Stuff implicating Lacey could have already been planted.”
“Why her? Why Lacey?”