“Tell me,” Dillon pushed.
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Is family so unimportant to you that you’re just going to turn your back on us again?”
“I never suspected that the reason you disappeared was because of Dad.”
“We all thought he was a saint,” Jack said, surprising himself. He took a deep breath and faced Dillon. He didn’t know what he was expecting-his father, a saint, or a shrink, but what he saw was his brother. The brother he once had. The brother he could have again if he wasn’t such a “stubborn mercenary.”
“He’s human. So are you.” Dillon caught his eye. “I think.”
Jack didn’t smile, but the tension dissipated. “Tell Ma-” He stopped. What should he say? That his father had disowned him? That her son may have been responsible for the deaths of an innocent family-or that her husband had been responsible? Could the family live with the fact that the Colonel had placed Jack’s
“I can’t go back, Dil. Not now.”
“What happened?” he asked quietly. “Jack, you and me. What happened?”
Jack shook his head. He had promised himself twenty years ago that he would never talk about his father’s betrayal with anyone, especially the family. Ma loved him, and Jack wouldn’t hurt her again for the world.
“Dad disowned me,” Jack said, staring straight ahead. “And that’s it.”
“Don’t leave it at that-”
“I realized tonight that twenty years isn’t long enough. I also realized that I shouldn’t have let him sever ties to my family. He thought that if he took away everyone I cared about, I would come back and tell him he was right and thank him for showing me the error of my ways and saving my career.” He grunted. “It’s clear now. I made a new family in the army and I didn’t need-I didn’t think I needed-you or Ma or anyone.”
Jack faced Dillon, jaw tight with restrained emotion. “You’re my brother. I-” He paused. “I want my family back. But I no longer have a father.”
“You don’t-”
“I do mean it, Dillon. He told me never to come home. No more. He no longer exists to me. He disowned me twenty years ago, but he still controlled me all this time. Now I’m free. And if you can’t accept it, that’s you.”
Dillon frowned. “You know this isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Dillon’s phone beeped. He read a text message. “Everyone is at Connor’s place. Come back with me. One night.”
The radio buzzed behind him.
“Kincaid, you’re cleared. The thunderstorms moved northeast.”
Jack stared at the radio. Dillon didn’t say another word. It was on Jack now. Did he want his family back? Could he turn his back again?
Could he live with himself if he did? Would they call him if they needed him, or would they disown him as well?
“5-A-Z-1-1-1-3-4, copy.”
Did he want to turn into Scout? He loved the man, but Scout had nothing outside of their team. No family. No wife. No kids. And while a wife and kids were out of the cards for Jack, he did have a family. Brothers and sisters, and maybe a few nieces and nephews down the road. Could he turn his back on the future?
Did he want to?
He picked up the microphone. “Thanks, but I have a change of plans. I won’t be leaving until oh seven hundred.”
“Roger, oh seven hundred. I’ll have the Cessna ready.”
CHAPTER SIX
Frank Cardenas was a priest.
Why hadn’t Karin known? She’d had his name and address, but they hadn’t scouted Hidalgo. It was a small Hispanic town, they were white and stood out. It had already been risky going to the bar to get the lay of the land, but she couldn’t send Ethan in there, with or without her. He’d become too unpredictable. It was better when she acted alone, when she was disguised.
She’d had his address, the small house next to the church. She hadn’t known it was a rectory. For all her plans, the way she arranged each murder, stalking the victims, she’d gotten arrogant in her success. Ethan was pushing to finish, though; she could have held him off a couple extra days to do further research. But after finding him naked in the dirt, she realized she didn’t have much time before Ethan’s mind permanently snapped.
She could tell Ethan that Frank Cardenas had moved. Or it was the wrong Frank Cardenas.
She couldn’t kill a priest.
Father Cardenas locked the church doors at midnight. The night was balmy, the air still. The silence and calmness made her antsy.
He walked toward the rectory and saw her. She couldn’t avoid him now.
“Father?” she said.
He approached, face impassive. But his eyes scanned the area discreetly. Paranoid? “May I help you?”
“I need to make a confession.”
“Reconciliation is an hour before every Mass,” he said. “Tomorrow I open the church at six a.m.”
“I have to leave early in the morning.”
The priest offered to arrive thirty minutes earlier.
“I have to leave at five.” Was that a lie? Not really. They did have to leave early. As soon as they killed two men….
“Dear Lord,” Cardenas mumbled.
Had she heard correctly? Was that a whisper of Heaven in the air? More likely the gloating of Hell.
“Let’s go into the church, child.”
Father Michael used to call her “child” in a warm, endearing voice. Before he’d been murdered.
But she had found him justice. She had punished the wicked. An eye for an eye. That was her calling.
“Thank you.”
He walked alongside her. She was leading him to the slaughter. Her limbs grew heavy. She put her hands in the pocket of her windbreaker, felt the syringe with the mild tranquilizer. Only if necessary. Ethan was waiting at the house, but he’d see them. He’d come here.
They approached the church. She had to buy time. Maybe within the church there would be answers.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said.
“I’m visiting a friend.”
“And you’re Catholic.”
“Yes, Father. Born and raised.”
“But-?”
She laughed bitterly, but it ended in a sob that she quickly swallowed. “I haven’t been to Mass in over twenty years.”
“Let’s save this for the confessional.”
“It may take awhile.”
“Sleep is overrated. What’s your name?” He walked toward the main doors.
She stared at the side of the church, eyes wide. “Is that the Passion?” Small lights shone behind the narrow stained-glass windows that lined the walls. “They’re beautiful.” She was awestruck, walking slowly along the side of the old church.
The glasswork’s eyes accused her. She imagined Pontius Pilate sentencing her to death. But unlike Jesus, she
