Chapter 6 - SAINT AGNES
Matthew wanted to send twenty armed men.
I wanted to go alone.
Brennan told us both we were idiots.
He was probably right.
At five forty-eight that evening, rain began falling over Chicago.
Saint Agnes Church had been abandoned for seven years, condemned after a roof collapse and surrounded by chain-link fencing.
Perfect place for a kidnapping.
Perfect place for a murder.
Matthew parked three blocks away.
I wore black jeans, boots, and a borrowed jacket.
A pistol rested against my lower back.
I still hated guns.
Today had not improved my opinion.
Matthew checked his magazine.
“You stay behind me.”
“No.”
“You’re the target.”
“So are you.”
“I’ve been a target since puberty.”
“Congratulations.”
He glanced at me.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“My niece.”
I looked away before the word could hurt.
Brennan approached from the alley.
“Perimeter’s wrong.”
Matthew frowned.
“How?”
“No lookouts.”
“Maybe hidden.”
“We checked thermal.”
“And?”
“Church is almost empty.”
Almost.
“How many?” I asked.
“Four heat signatures. One seated. Three moving.”
Carla.
Three kidnappers.
Maybe.
Matthew looked at me.
“This is bait.”
“Obviously.”
“We don’t know the trap.”
“We walk in and find out.”
“That is not strategy.”
“It worked at the diner.”
“You threw Brennan into a table.”
Brennan touched his neck.
“I continue to vote against mentioning that.”
We entered through a broken side door.
Rain drummed against stained glass.
The church smelled like dust and wet wood.
Rows of pews disappeared into darkness.
Candles burned near the altar.
Real candles.
Someone had arranged them.
Carla sat in the center aisle.
Tied to a chair.
Tape over her mouth.
I moved toward her.
Matthew caught my shoulder.
I almost flipped him.
He released me quickly.
“Floor.”
A thin wire stretched across the aisle.
Tripwire.
I followed it to a small device beneath a pew.
Explosive.
Carla saw us.
Her eyes widened.
I put one finger to my lips.
Matthew motioned to Brennan.
Brennan disappeared into the shadows with Colin.
We stepped over the wire.
Then a voice came from the balcony.
“Family reunions are beautiful.”
I looked up.
Judge Samuel Pike stood above us.
No robe.
No courtroom.
Just a dark suit and a handgun.
Matthew’s expression hardened.
“Samuel.”
“Matthew.”
Pike smiled.
“You look like Richard.”
“People keep insulting me today.”
Pike’s gaze moved to me.
“Evelyn.”
“My name is Emily.”
“No.”
His smile widened.
“Emily was camouflage. Evelyn Mercer is leverage.”
“Where’s my mother?”
“Alive.”
“For now?”
“Everyone is alive for now.”
Matthew raised his gun.
Pike shook his head.
“Careful.”
He held up a small device.
Trigger.
“Dead man’s switch.”
Matthew lowered his weapon slightly.
Pike descended the balcony stairs.
Two armed men emerged behind the altar.
A third from the confessional.
Three moving heat signatures.
Pike made four.
Carla was seated.
Brennan’s scan had missed someone.
Maybe deliberately.
“Put the weapons down,” Pike said.
Matthew didn’t move.
Pike’s thumb tightened on the trigger.
I removed my pistol.
Placed it on the floor.
Matthew looked at me.
I nodded once.
He followed.
Pike approached.
“You have your mother’s eyes.”
“People keep telling me family trivia. It’s getting old.”
He chuckled.
“Richard said you were difficult.”
“Richard tried to burn me alive.”
“Richard tried to burn evidence. Children were collateral.”
Matthew stepped forward.
I stopped him.
Pike noticed.
“Interesting. He still feels responsible.”
“He should.”
“Guilt is such a useless emotion.”
“Spoken like a judge.”
That wiped away his smile.
Good.
He gestured toward my jacket.
“The box.”
I removed the black metal box.
“First Carla.”
“No.”
“Then no box.”
His eyes hardened.
“We can take it.”
“Try.”
One of the gunmen moved.
I looked directly at him.
Maybe he had heard what happened at the diner.
He stopped.
Pike laughed.
“So much of Isabelle in you.”
“Stop using my mother’s name.”
“Your mother caused all of this.”
“By trying to expose criminals?”
“By misunderstanding power.”
He stepped closer.
“Your grandfather built an empire. But empires require permission.”
“The people above him.”
Pike’s eyes changed.
A tiny reaction.
Confirmation.
“What are they called?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Organizations have names.”
“Only when they want history to remember them.”
Matthew said, “The symbol.”
Pike looked toward him.
“So Helen told you.”
“Helen told us enough.”
Pike’s expression softened almost fondly.
“Helen was a remarkable woman.”
My nails dug into my palms.
“You killed her.”
“No.”
I didn’t believe him.
He continued.
“Richard did.”
Matthew’s face tightened.
“Why?”
“Because she had something he needed.”
“The box?” I asked.
“No.”
Pike looked at me.
“You.”
Silence.
“He believed Helen knew your location,” Pike said. “She didn’t give it to him.”
My throat tightened.
Helen died protecting me.
Even after I was grown.
Even after she no longer had to.
“What happened to my mother?”
Pike glanced at his watch.
“Time.”
“For what?”
A distant bell rang.
Six o’clock.
Pike smiled.
Then the church doors exploded inward.
Smoke filled the nave.
Gunfire erupted.
Pike dropped.
Matthew tackled me behind a pew.
Carla screamed through the tape.
Men poured through the entrance.
Not police.
Black tactical uniforms.
The circle symbol on their shoulders.
Pike’s gunmen fired back.
Bullets shredded wood.
Brennan appeared from the side aisle and shot one attacker.
Matthew shouted, “Get Carla!”
I crawled between pews.
A bullet struck inches from my hand.
Carla’s chair was twenty feet away.
Fifteen.
Ten.
A masked man stepped into the aisle.
He pointed his rifle at me.
Before he fired, someone shot him from behind.
He collapsed.
Judge Pike stood there.
I stared.
He shouted, “Move!”
I reached Carla.
Cut the tape.
Her first words were, “Bomb under the chair.”
Of course.
I looked down.
Wires.
Pressure plate.
“Can you stand?”
“No! It triggers if my weight changes.”
Matthew reached us.
His face was bleeding.
“What?”
I showed him.
He cursed.
Pike ran toward the side exit.
One of the tactical men shot him in the leg.
He fell.
They grabbed him.
Not killed.
Grabbed.
Interesting.
These people wanted Pike alive.
Matthew saw it too.
“Why are they taking him?”
Pike screamed as they dragged him toward the door.
“Because I failed!”
The tactical leader looked toward us.
Through his mask, I saw pale eyes.
He raised a radio.
“Mercer girl confirmed.”
Every armed man turned toward me.
Matthew whispered, “That’s bad.”
“No kidding.”
Brennan fired from the balcony.
The lights shattered.
Darkness.
Matthew shoved a knife into my hand.
“Carla’s chair. Four bolts.”
“What?”
“Cut the carpet around it.”
I understood.
The chair might be pressure-sensitive, but the explosive could move with it if we kept weight constant.
We sliced the carpet beneath Carla.
Matthew lifted the entire chair while I held the bomb platform steady.
We moved toward the sacristy.
Gunfire followed.
Carla sobbed.
“I am never working nights again.”
“Fair.”
We reached the back hallway.
Brennan opened a door.
“Go!”
Outside, rain poured.
A van waited.
We loaded Carla in.
Matthew jumped behind the wheel.
Brennan got in last.
“Colin?”
Matthew asked.
Brennan looked back at the church.
No Colin.
Matthew understood.
His face hardened.
We drove.
Three blocks later, Carla screamed.
“There’s a phone under my seat!”
I grabbed it.
It was ringing.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man spoke.
Older.
Weak.
But familiar.
“Hello, Princess.”
My blood stopped.
Richard.
The man I had believed was my father.
The man who was actually my grandfather.
The man who burned our house.
“Richard.”
He laughed softly.
“You sound like your mother.”
“Where is she?”
“With me.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“If you hurt her—”
“My dear, I have spent eighteen years trying to save this family from her mistakes.”
“You burned me alive.”
“No. I burned a house.”
“While I was inside.”
“You were supposed to be in the tunnel.”
I looked at Matthew.
He heard.
His face changed.
Richard continued.
“Helen moved you too early.”
“Helen saved me.”
“Helen stole you.”
“You don’t get to rewrite this.”
“No.”
His voice weakened.
“That is why I need you to see it yourself.”
“See what?”
“The vault.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The real game.
“Tomorrow night,” Richard said. “The old house.”
“You think I’m walking into that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother will be there.”
I looked at Matthew.
“Proof.”
A video call activated.
The screen showed a room.
My mother sat in a chair.
Not tied.
Not visibly injured.
Older than the photograph.
Alive.
She looked at the camera.
“Evie, don’t come.”
A man’s hand rested on her shoulder.
Old.
Thin.
Wearing a gold signet ring.
Richard’s ring.
He stepped into frame.
Eighteen years had aged him.
But I knew his face.
My childhood father.
My real grandfather.
He smiled.
“Come home, Princess.”
Then my mother said something strange.
“Remember the red balloon.”
The call ended.
Matthew stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
I thought about the old family photograph.
Me.
Seven years old.
Holding a red balloon.
Then I remembered what had been written on the back of Helen’s photograph.
THE FIRST LIE IS YOUR NAME.
And suddenly I understood.
“The vault code.”
Matthew frowned.
“What?”
“My mother said the key isn’t metal. It’s what she taught me to remember.”
I looked at him.
“The red balloon wasn’t a toy.”
“What was it?”
“A memory test.”
And hidden beneath eighteen years of trauma, another image surfaced.
My mother kneeling in front of me.
Whispering numbers.
Red balloon.
Seven windows.
Three white roses.
Four black birds.
Then one final phrase.
Never forget the order.
I whispered the sequence.
“Seven. Three. Four.”
Brennan looked confused.
Matthew did not.
His face went pale.
“734.”
“What?”
“That’s not just a code.”
May you like
He looked at me.
“734 is the case number Daniel Mercer was building against Richard Valentine.”
