“We need to tell someone...”
“Tell them what? That there have already been two deaths, maybe more? And then explain why you came here?”
“What are you saying?” But she knew. There would be questions, with no answers.
What was she doing there? What did she know?
He saw it in the expression on her face.
“We need to leave. Now.”
She nodded, fighting back the tears and the anger.
It was ingrained from childhood, an age-old prayer as they left the chapel.
May God keep and protect you.
There was no time to look for another way out. There was only one way down from the abbey church—the same way they'd come from the town below. They had to take their chances that the killer wasn't waiting for them just outside that entrance.
Instinct from a dozen missions in a dozen places with no names kicked in, blocking out everything else—empty streets, a face appearing at a window, a sudden movement at a doorway, adrenaline pumping through.
All he had was the military knife. It was already in his other hand as he slowly opened the church door, scanned the landing, then stepped out. It was empty. He made a sweep in all directions.
A thousand steps down to the town below, with a killer out there somewhere. He motioned for Kris to follow. The cold air outside the church hit both of them, slicing through the shock.The storm that had threatened had finally arrived, rain pelting down.
“Hold onto me,” he told her, over the wind that had come up and whipped around the stone walls of the abbey church.
She nodded, jaw tight, teeth clenched as she tried to block out the image of Brother Thomas lying in a pool of blood.
He took her hand and they began the long descent through the driving rain. A hundred steps, two hundred as lightening cracked overhead, then dozens more, the rain blinding them, slipping on wet stones as darkness closed around them.
Thunder cracked overhead, the sky lighting up. Then another sharp crack. The wind whipped at her hair. Her clothes were soaked. She rounded a corner, slipped, and almost went down. James grabbed her, pulled her back to her feet.
Something was wrong. She saw it at his face as lightening lit up the sky. He had bent over, a painful expression at his face. She started back toward him. He waved her off.
“Go!” he shouted over the storm, and hoped he wasn't sending her straight into the killer's path.
“Get to the others!”
Ahead of them, a group of late tourists made their way down those steps. She kept going. She glanced back, saw him briefly as lightening cracked overhead and thunder followed almost on top of them.
At the last turn toward the bottom of the hill, she caught up with the group of tourists, huddled together against the weather, others running down the street below, hoods pulled over the heads, a sea of umbrellas popping open.
James caught up with her, his hand clamped around her upper arm. He saw the question, and shook his head.
“Stay with them.” He pushed her ahead into the crowd of tourists—older couples, several families, parents holding hands of younger ones, teenagers running on ahead.
Kris saw the lights of the terminal and the tour office just ahead, then down more steps and they were on the Grand Rue that led back to the tourist center.
The terminal was crowded with tourists boarding the last tram that was departing the island. They followed the other tourists aboard. Both were soaking wet, the other passengers staring as they made their way to two empty seats near the back.
She was shaking from the wet and cold. Another passenger handed her a towel.
James took the aisle seat, his gaze sweeping the faces of the other passengers. Her hands shook as she handed him the towel. He said nothing and took it, shoving it inside the front of his jacket.
“What...?”
He shook his head again, teeth clamped together against the burning pain that set in as the as the cold wore off in the warmth of the tram.
