Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1)

Heartbreaker (Buchanan-Renard #1) Page 48

“So much to do, so little time,” he whispered. For, in those precious two or three seconds, maybe even as many as four, before the crowd swelled from their seats, he was going to try to kill Willie and Mark. They were seated next to the main aisle, six rows from the front. Stark knew he was being greedy, but he didn’t care. He had to get rid of them. He’d been fantasizing about it for as long as he’d had to endure living with them. His housemates were pigs. Vile, filthy pigs. He couldn’t abide the thought of letting such garbage continue to pollute the world. No, that wasn’t an option. They had to die, and if he couldn’t kill them today, then he would come back and get them later. He wouldn’t bother to film their deaths, however, for like the whore, Tiffany, Willie and Mark weren’t worthy enough to be remembered.

He stifled a girlish giggle as he thought about the garage door opener he’d made such clever adjustments to. It was clipped to the visor in his van. No one would notice it or give it a second thought. It wasn’t going to open any garage doors. No, sirree. One push of the button, and wham, bam. News at eleven.

Are we having fun yet? Oh, yes, yes indeed.

Because of Michelle’s metal leg brace, she wasn’t able to kneel, and for that reason Tommy married the couple at the beginning of the ceremony instead of waiting until the middle of the mass, as was the usual custom. He had great hopes for this couple. Christopher was a good, decent man and very levelheaded. He believed in marriage and commitment, as did his lovely bride. Both of them had endured hardships in the past and had survived with grace and dignity, and Tommy knew that they would fight to keep their vows to each other when they hit those inevitable rocky patches.

It was a joy to marry them. He smiled as Christopher put the wedding ring on Michelle’s finger. Her hand was trembling so, it took the groom two tries. Christopher was as steady as an old oak.

Tommy gave the blessing and then turned to go up the stairs. The choir began to sing “O Precious Love.” While the other members of the wedding party quietly filed into the front pews, the bride and groom, flanked by the best man and the maid of honor, followed Tommy up to the altar. Crossing behind him, they walked to the chairs against the wall and took their seats. Laurant straightened the long train on Michelle’s wedding dress and then sat down next to her. None of them would get up again until communion was served.

The two altar boys, cousins on Michelle’s side of the family, sat on the opposite side of the altar by the sacristy door. Noah stood beside them. As Tommy was coming around the altar, he noticed Noah slouching against the wall. He frowned at him and, cupping his hand at his side, motioned for him to stand tall. Noah immediately complied.

Tommy turned to the congregation then. He bowed his head, braced his hands on the cool marble top, and then slowly genuflected.

And that was when he noticed the flowers. There, tucked under the altar was a beautiful crystal vase filled with white lilies. Tommy assumed the flowers had been placed there by the florist to get them out of the way while the altar was being prepared for the wedding ceremony. Whoever had put the white linen cloth across the marble top had simply forgotten to put the flowers back. Tommy bent down and leaned in to pick up the vase, but as he was lifting it, he saw the tiny, pin-size, red light blinking at him.

Puzzled, he leaned in to get a closer look. Then he saw the oblong block attached underneath the altar top. It was about the size of a brick covered in a mass of gray duct tape. There were red and white and blue wires protruding from the tape, and in the center was a red light.

He knew exactly what he was looking at now. It was a bomb. And from the size of it, Tommy thought there was enough there to blow the church apart. The blinking red light indicated the bomb had already been activated.

“My God,” he whispered, so stunned he couldn’t move. His heart felt as though it had just stopped. His immediate reaction was to jump up and shout a warning, but he was able to stop himself in time. Stay calm. Yes, he had to stay calm. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. He let go of the vase, then grabbed it before it toppled over. His hands were shaking violently now, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

What in God’s name should he do? Still down on one knee, he half turned toward Noah and motioned for him to come to him.

Noah saw Tommy’s stricken expression and immediately hurried toward him. He thought Tommy was sick. His complexion was as gray as the marble.

Tommy had to grip the edge of the altar to get to his feet. All he could think about was getting the congregation outside. His mind raced. He hadn’t been down on his knee for more than four, five seconds at the most, but it was still long enough for the crowd to wonder what he was doing. He held on to the altar top with one hand, grabbed the vase with the other, and stood up just as Noah reached him. Tommy forced a smile on his face, put the flowers on the altar, next to the microphone, and then stepped back. He didn’t want the microphone to pick up his whisper when he told Noah what he had found.

Noah moved to stand in front of Tommy with his back to the congregation. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Tommy leaned close and whispered into his hear, “There’s a bomb under the altar.”

Noah’s expression didn’t change. He simply nodded as he whispered, “Let me have a look.”

Then he turned toward the crowd, made a hasty sign of the cross the way Tommy had taught him, and knelt down. He wanted the congregation to think he was participating in the ceremony. Bowing his head, he ducked lower and leaned in. “Lord,” he whispered. He’d wanted to see what he was dealing with, his hope that it was a simple, homemade device that could easily be dismantled. No such luck. One glance told him the explosive was damned complex, too complex for him to deal with. It would take an expert to figure out which wires to clip, and where in God’s name were they going to find an explosives expert in a town the size of Holy Oaks?

Noah pulled back and looked up at Tommy. “Can’t undo it.”

As he raised to his feet, Tommy whispered. “Okay, we’ve got to get them all out of here. I’ll get Christopher to help. You get the altar boys moving.”

Tommy hurried toward the groom. He was halfway there when he stopped and motioned for Christopher to get up and come to him. He didn’t want Michelle to hear what he was going to say. She was watching him closely, a puzzled look on her face, and then she leaned toward Laurant and whispered to her. Laurant shook her head slightly, indicating she didn’t know what Tommy was doing.

In a low, urgent whisper, Tommy said, “We’ve got a problem here, and I need your help getting everyone outside. There’s a bomb under the altar. We don’t want a panic,” he added when he heard Christopher’s drawn-in breath. “We can do this. They’ll follow you and Michelle. Now go,” he ordered.

“The grotto,” Christopher whispered. “Tell everyone to follow us to the grotto, like I’ve got a surprise for Michelle.”

“Yes, good,” Tommy whispered. He quickly turned around and headed back to the altar. Adjusting the microphone, he took a breath and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Christopher has a surprise for Michelle. Please follow the bride and groom to the grotto at the bottom of the hill.”

Christopher had already reached Michelle before Tommy began his announcement. She looked quite stunned when he pulled her to her feet, then swept her up into his arms.

“Christopher, what are you doing?” she whispered.

“Just smile, honey. We have to get out of here.”

Michelle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and smiled as he had instructed. She whispered, “Am I going to like this surprise?”

Christopher didn’t answer her. He strode across the altar, down the steps, and up the center aisle.

His enthusiasm made Laurant smile. Christopher was practically running. She and David, the best man, waited until Tommy had finished his announcement. Then they stood. Laurant slipped her arm through David’s and followed the bride and groom, but at a much more sedate pace.

A murmur rolled through the crowd, and it became quite noisy as the wedding guests gathered up their possessions, kicked the kneelers back, and stood up to file out of the church.

Stark couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They were leaving. No, his mind screamed. This was not acceptable. No one could leave. What surprise was the priest babbling about? Leaving early wasn’t part of the rehearsal. The grotto? Why were they going to the grotto? What had he missed? His mind was speeding now, his thoughts getting jumbled together in his mind. Not acceptable. Laurant. She was leaving too. No, No, No. She’s walking across the altar now. Tom first, then Laurant. Like he planned. But the mule, the mule had to see it happen.

The priest was speaking into the microphone again. “Those of you who are close to the side doors should go out that way. It will save time,” he added.

Stark, shaking with fury, could feel his control slipping away, disintegrating, but then, just as he was about to leap to his feet and start shooting, he saw the side door open, and there he was, the mule himself, trying to get inside as the crowd was pushing out. Nicholas had finally arrived. “There now, there now, it’s all right now,” he whispered. He felt like shouting with joy. He was so thrilled to see the mule, he wanted to wave to him. Good to see you, Nicholas. Yes, sirree.

There was still time . . . show time . . . if he acted quickly. Swinging his rifle up, he went for his first target. “Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh,” he whispered, but the thrill was so exquisite, he didn’t know if he could stop himself. He looked through the scope as he slipped his finger on the trigger. Gentle now. Gentle now. Wait for it.

Noah had just nudged the altar boys toward the side door and was turning to intercept Laurant before she reached the center aisle. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. She would leave with Tommy and him.

He was about twelve feet away from Tommy when he saw the beam of light bouncing across the wall. He instantly reacted. “Gun!” he shouted as he pulled his own weapon from his sleeve and raced toward Tommy. His attention was focused on the choir loft as he fired at the source of the light.

Nick had seen the laser beam skipping across the altar toward Tommy just as Noah shouted the warning. “Get down!” he yelled as he shoved his way through the startled crowd.

Tommy didn’t have time to react. He heard a spitting sound, and a chunk of the altar splintered into the air. One second Noah and Nick were shouting, and the next, Noah was firing his gun at the balcony as he made a diving leap at Tommy and knocked him to the floor. Noah’s head struck the edge of the marble top as they went down, and then he fell like a dead weight on top of him. Tommy pushed himself free and scrambled to get the unconscious Noah behind cover. As he struggled to pull him back, Tommy saw the blood pouring from Noah’s left shoulder.

The screams from the crowd, frantic to get out of the church, pierced the air. The aisles were crammed with hysterical men and women. Nick had his Sig Sauer in his right hand, and as he pushed forward, knocking people out of his way, he reached behind him under his jacket and pulled out the loaded Glock from his waistband. He leapt onto a pew and opened fire. Running along the tops of the benches, he fired the guns in succession, trying to keep the bastard pinned down.

Stark ducked behind the railing. What was happening? The blond-headed priest had pulled out a gun and started shooting at him, and he’d been able to get off only a few shots. He’d seen Father Tom go down, then the other priest, and he was sure he’d hit both of them.

Now he had to get Laurant. Stark inched the gun up and got her in his sights. She was down on her knees at the bottom of the altar steps. She was struggling to get up when he fired. She went down again, but he couldn’t tell where the bullet had struck her. Gunshots were blazing away at him. He dropped the rifle and scrambled on his belly to get to the trapdoor. The videotape. He had to get the tape. The air around him sizzled with bullets. One nearly got him in his hand as he reached for the video camera. Couldn’t get it, but he couldn’t leave without it. Stark crawled to the outlet next to the organ, then jerked the cord. Gunfire and screams ricocheted around him. The camera crashed to the floor, shattering, and he reeled it toward him. A second later, he had the tape. He shoved it into the pocket of his windbreaker, zipped it closed, and then scrambled behind the organ and lifted the trapdoor. Swinging his feet in first, he slid down onto the ledge he’d built in the ceiling below. Then he reached up, pulled the trapdoor closed, and slipped the bolt in place.

There was so much noise he didn’t worry about anyone hearing him kick through the ceiling. He landed in the closet, opened the door, and peeked out. No one was inside the vestibule, but he could see the swarm of people pushing and shoving to get out the front doors. Stark decided to blend in with the mob. He ran through the vestibule and then elbowed his way into the crowd. An old woman grabbed his arm to keep from being pitched forward, and gentleman that he was, he wrapped his arm around her and helped her outside.

He glanced back once and had to fight the laughter. Nicholas was probably still fighting the crowd, trying to get to the iron gate. Eventually, he’d make it up the stairs, but would he find the trapdoor? Stark didn’t think so. It had been so cleverly designed. He could just picture the mule standing there, scratching his head in puzzlement. Where oh where had Justin Brady gone? Yes, that’s who the mule would be looking for, but when Nicholas next saw him, Stark was sure the FBI agent wouldn’t recognize him. The beard would be gone, the farmer’s haircut would be longer, styled, and dyed a different color. He’d also change the color of his eyes, maybe green or blue. He had such a nice collection of contacts to choose from, every color of the rainbow at his disposal.

Stark believed he was the master of disguises. Subtle changes, that was the ticket. Nothing dramatic, just a little of this and a little of that to make a world of difference. Why, his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him today if he’d walked up to her and tapped her on her shoulder. Of course, Mother Millicent wasn’t seeing much of anything these days, rotting as she was in her backyard under the petunias she was so partial to. Still, if she could see him in his farmer’s getup, Stark was sure she’d get a kick out of it.

He didn’t let go of the old woman on his arm but dragged her along with him as he turned the corner. He kept close to the building so that when the mule got up to the loft, he wouldn’t see him if he looked out the window.

The hag was crying. He reached the side door where the crowd was spilling out of the church, and she started to resist. “Let me go. I have to find my husband. Help me find him.”