AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh damn,” Jem said, “if only I hadn’t had my head up my ass—oh wait, I didn’t. Boom.”
“Did you seriously just say boom?”
But Jem was too busy producing his phone and swiping through photos. When he presented the phone to North, the screen displayed a photo. North recognized the backdrop—he was looking at it through the window: Adam Ezell’s house, and the stretch of sidewalk in front of it. The photo showed a man as he passed under a streetlight. North recognized him: it was the guy who’d been wearing his Sunday best when he’d pulled a gun on them, the one who’d been playing security guard at the Mosses’ house. He was dressed in baggy mesh shorts and a white tee, but there was no mistaking that tattoo.
“He was here a few hours ago?”
Tean nodded. “We got here around nine, and it wasn’t long after that.”
“And then he took off in a hurry?”
More nodding. “We tried to follow—”
North grunted and showed the photo to Shaw.
Recognition filled Shaw’s face. “The Mosses must have called him as soon as Welch showed up at their house. God, there were a lot of people driving between Wahredua and Auburn tonight.”
“We think the tattoo might be significant—” Jem began.
“Huh,” North said. A little too loud. A little too aggressively. But he was simultaneously tired and keyed up and, increasingly, on edge because none of this made sense.
In the dark, it was difficult to make out Jem’s flush, but not impossible.
“No, go on,” North said. “A tattoo might be identifying. Say more about that.”
“North,” Shaw said quietly.
Jem sent a strangely pleading look at Tean.
“Why don’t we all calm down?” Tean said.
He said it kindly, and quietly, and with a kind of assurance that made North take a deep breath. He gave Jem a wary nod that was as close as he could come to an apology in that moment and said, “He’s tied up with this church family. The cross in the tattoo, right? And that might be a letter E. Epiphany of Light is the name of the church.”
Jem made a noise that could have meant anything.
“Good job with the photos,” North said as he tossed the phone back to Jem. Then he crooked a grin. “For an amateur.”
“Asshole,” Jem muttered, but after a moment, he rolled his eyes and quirked a tiny smile back.
“Oh, that was so sweet,” Shaw said. “Wasn’t that sweet, Tean?”
Tean was suddenly very busy looking out the window, and his voice had a strangely tight quality, as though he were suppressing something as he said, “So sweet.”
Before North could respond, movement outside the window drew his attention. The figure was dressed in black, and he looked shorter than average. He was wearing a mask, and he walked with a kind of easy confidence that was too genuine to be called swagger. The gun holstered on his hip might have had something to do with it. The matte-black sickle in his hand probably did too. A slight hitch to his movement suggested stiffness, maybe an injury. He cut down the side of Ezell’s house and vanished into the shadows.
North’s brain was still putting together the pieces—he had heard about the attack on Theo’s house, about the man with the matte-black sickle and the matching knife—when Jem said, “Son of a bitch, it’s him!” Before anyone could do anything, Jem threw the front door open and sprinted out of the house.
Tean was getting to his feet, panic emptying out his face.
“Stay here,” North said. “Call John-Henry. Shaw—”
“I’ll go around back,” Shaw said.
They tore out of the house. There was no sign of either Jem or the man in black, and the only sound came from the buzz of the streetlights. North sprinted for the front of Ezell’s house. He tried to tell if he could still see the flashlight moving on the other side of the blind, but the streetlights threw a glare on the windows. Shaw darted down the side of the house, disappearing into the shadows.
The first shot rang out. It came from inside the house, and even muffled by the walls, it was loud. Whoever the man in black was, he didn’t care about noise. A man screamed, and North thought he recognized Gid’s voice. North took the steps up to the front door and reached for the handle. If it was locked—
But the door flew inward, and the handle moved out of North’s reach. His body followed it for a fraction of a second, an automatic reaction as he tried to catch hold. The movement sent him off balance. A moment later, Gid crashed into North. The impact knocked North off the stoop and into the bed of lava rocks along the foundation. Gid’s footsteps clipped the sidewalk and faded down the street.
