Another Kind of Eden (Holland Family Saga 3)

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were flat, her fingernails curled into her palms.

“You don’t seem fazed too much by all this, Broussard,” Henri said.

“What’s to say? You win, I lose,” I replied. Through a window, I could see Darrel among his newly acquired followers. He was still wearing his straw cowboy hat. “Here’s the rub, Henri. You’re stuck with who you are. And you’re stuck with Darrel. Have fun with that.”

“You don’t have any questions about any of this or how it happened?” he said.

“It’s the other way around, pal. I’ve always believed in the unseen world. It’s you who’s just waking up to it. The problem is you’re on the wrong side, and in this case that makes you the dumbest academic I’ve ever met.”

He was a vain man. I saw him fight with the insult, saw it seep into his face, his smile turn to a twitch, his gaze shift to Jo Anne, then back to me.

“Let’s walk outside, Broussard,” he said. “I’ve got something special planned for you.”

“My friends Spud and Cotton and Maisie get loose on you?” I said.

“What about them?”

“My friend Cotton is a former Army Ranger and a mean motor scooter. He wiped out a bunch of SS under Vatican Square. Spud went up the road in Kentucky. His patron saint is Devil Anse Hatfield.”

“I’m shaking.”

Darrel stepped up on the vestibule. “What are you doing in here?”

“Looking at Jo Anne’s canvases,” Henri said.

“Get out here. Bring that asshole with you. We need to wrap this up.”

In the blink while Darrel had distracted Henri, Jo Anne pressed her foot on mine, looked directly into my eyes, then glanced at the electric-blue backpack Henri had dropped on the floor. She had gotten the .38 into his pack in case someone searched her drawstring bag. She had outthought Henri and Darrel from the jump, and she had also outthought me. But at that moment, the confirmation she had not betrayed me was worth far more to me than life itself.

Chapter Thirty-One

WE LEFT THE bus. In the short time we were inside, the sky had turned black, smudging out the stars as though cannon smoke had drifted across them. Flashes of electricity were rolling through the clouds directly above the canyon, lighting the cliffs and the trees that grew between the rocks. The air was cold and sweet with the smell of rain. Marvin was still flinging logs on the bonfire, his face sweaty, the back of his coat split, his commitment to his task unflagging. He grinned at me and shrugged as if he had no choice in the matter.

“I’ve heard if you keep your eyes shut, your sensory system shuts down and the smoke does the rest,” Henri said. “That’s as good as I can offer.”

Somebody pulled my arms behind me and taped my wrists. Lightning struck the canyon’s rim, peeling back the darkness with a huge ball of yellow fire.

“Did you see that?” Darrel said.

“See what?” Henri said.

“A guy up on the cliff. Wearing black, with a hood.”

“It could have been a dead tree.”

“It was Bible-thumping-Bob,” Darrel said. “What’s he doing here?”

“Let’s get this over with, Darrel. I want to get my old life back. Start over with Jo Anne,” Henri said.

“Got news for you,” Darrel said. “We need to tie up some loose ends. Starting with Miz Lowry. Time for you to get wet.”

“That’s on you,” Henri said. “You took out her husband when you didn’t have to. Clean up your own mess.”

“I don’t like your tone,” Darrel said.

I felt raindrops strike my skin like drops of lead. I looked up at the sky and closed my eyes and let the rain slide down my face. I longed to have the M1 in my hands again. “Can I ask you guys something?”

“What, wisenheimer?” Darrel said.