"That's not Keller,” Dante said.
Rocco's expression had gone grim. "No." He chambered a round. "I think that's Rafael Santos." Dante wasn't sure whether seeing the man again would end with answers or with him finally putting a bullet through the monster who had stolen his sister and caged the woman he loved.
Rocco
The church felt wrong. Rocco had walked into war zones that carried less tension than the abandoned sanctuary sitting in front of him. Rain dripped steadily from the broken bell tower while wind pushed through shattered stained-glass windows, creating a low, mournful whistle that sounded almost human. The front doors stood open, and Rocco tried to decide if it was an invitation or a trap. He had a sick feeling that it was both.
Rocco crouched behind an old stone wall overlooking the entrance and raised his binoculars one last time. Nothing moved. There were no guards, no vehicles, and no heat signatures in the windows. It felt too clean, and that usually meant trouble.
"They've disappeared," Avery whispered beside him.
"No.” Rocco lowered the binoculars. "They've repositioned."
Dante looked toward the cemetery. "You think they're underground?"
"Maybe,” Rocco said. Lark stood between them, the hood of her borrowed jacket pulled over her dark hair. She hadn't complained once during the drive, even though exhaustion linedevery inch of her face. She was watching the church—not with fear, but with what looked like recognition.
"You've remembered something,” Rocco said.
She looked over at him. "My mother."
"What about her?" he asked.
"When I was little—" Her brow furrowed. "She used to sing to me."
Dante smiled faintly. "You remember that now?”
"Pieces of my past keep coming back to me.” She closed her eyes. "She always stopped singing whenever the church bells rang."
Rocco frowned. "Why?"
"I don't know,” she whispered as she slowly opened her eyes. "But I remember asking why once."
"And?" Rocco asked.
"She told me,” Lark's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "that bells tell the truth." Silence settled over the group. Rocco studied the weathered stone building again. Truth was an interesting choice of words. His gaze drifted upward toward the leaning bell tower, and something caught his eye—fresh mortar.
His pulse kicked. "There,” he breathed, pointing up.
Dante followed his line of sight. "What?"
"The tower,” Rocco said.
"What about it?" Dante asked.
"Somebody repaired part of it,” Rocco observed. Everyone looked up at the old bell tower. Most of the church had been left to decay, except for that one section. A narrow strip of newer stonework ran beneath the bell housing. Someone had intentionally preserved it.
"I think that it might be a hidden room," Rocco murmured.
Avery nodded slowly. "I was thinking the same thing."
Dante checked the safety on his rifle. "So how do we get up there?"
"We don't." Everyone looked at Rocco as though he had lost his mind. "We go underneath."
He started for the bottom of the church, and everyone else followed him. The crypt entrance sat behind a crumbling angel statue near the back of the cemetery. Two operators carefully rolled the heavy stone aside, and cold air rushed upward. It was damp and stale and smelled ancient.
Lark wrapped her arms around herself. "It smells like—” He knew that she wanted to say death but held back.
