Deliver Us From Evil (A. Shaw 2)

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” said Frank grumpily.

“Half the time you act like you don’t give a crap if I live or die. The other half it feels like you’re trying to play matchmaker.”

“My mother was the same way with me. Must be genetic.”

“We’re not family, Frank.”

“Hell, in some ways we’re closer than family. And who else do you have?”

Shaw looked away, tapped his travel documents against his thigh. Who else did he have? Just Frank? God, that was a depressing thought. “So why do you think she came to see me?”

“Ask me a hard one. She wanted you to tell her, face-to-face, to stay.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“It doesn’t take a brilliant deduction. And no, she didn’t tell me that, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

“Nothing can happen between her and me, Frank.”

“Well, something already has, apparently.”

“Anna’s grave isn’t even cold and—”

“It doesn’t have to be about that. You think a smart lady like Katie doesn’t know what you’re feeling about Anna? She knows you’re not going to jump into bed with her. She knows you may never jump into bed with her. And I don’t think she even wants that. At least not now.”

“So now you’re a shrink?”

“I’m just a guy making a reasoned observation.”

“So what does she really want?”

“You two shared a lot. Went through hell together. Both came out of it emotional wrecks. I think she just wants to be your friend.”

“Well, here’s a news update for you, my line of work doesn’t allow for friends.”

Shaw slammed the door shut behind him and walked off to grab his wings to Avignon.

Frank stared after him until the tall man disappeared into the masses entering the airport. He told the driver to head on. He pulled out his cigar, started to light up, and then stuck it back in his jacket pocket.

“Sometimes you don’t know how lucky you are, Shaw,” he muttered to nobody.

CHAPTER

17

FEDIR KUCHIN was a very smart man, smarter than all of them had thought. Not only had he outwitted Professor Mallory, but he’d outmaneuvered Reggie and her team on the ground in Provence. The penalty for this failure was steep. Reggie stared over at the bodies of Whit and Dominic. Whit’s head was gone; Dominic no longer had a face.

Reggie had been forced to kneel in the center of the freezing room while Kuchin and his men encircled her. There really was no escape this time. She looked up into the long, cruel face as he stroked her chin with one of his hands. She would have attacked him, but her hands and legs were bound. She focused on the bodies of her dead colleagues so she wouldn’t feel the touch of the monster against her skin.

Kuchin laughed, a smug, deep laugh that seemed to go on for minutes. Did you think it would be that easy? he said to her. Did you really? After all those years of guarding myself against this very thing, you really thought someone like you could get to me? You’re an amateur sent in to do a professional’s job.

The stroking changed to a hard slap and Reggie fell backwards, hitting her head on the concrete floor. He immediately pulled her back up by the hair. His face nearly touching hers, he said, Tell me your name. Your real name.

Why? she mumbled.

Because I like to know these things.