Reckoning (Wolfes of Manhattan 5)

“Where am I?” I croaked.

“The location doesn’t matter.”

It matters to me! But the words didn’t come. They were too complex for my messed-up throat.

“You have everything you need in this room.”

Then why am I on the floor?

She helped me onto my feet. “Can you walk?”

I took a step forward and stumbled. At least I could feel my legs. That was something.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said. “You must have fallen off the bed.”

Bed?

Then a soft mattress cushioned me. My body felt… Not painful, exactly. Not battered, but bruised.

“We mean you no harm,” she said again.

“Who…?” The words caught in my throat.

“You can call me Diamond,” the woman said. “I’ll take care of you as much as I can. The main thing is you must be very quiet, okay? Do you understand?”

“Why?” The word emerged from my tight and dry throat.

“Because if someone else finds you, I might not be able to help you.”

Someone else? I swallowed against the lump. Those words would never make it out of me.

“Food is on the way. Quiet, okay? Remember that.” Her voice seemed to get softer.

She was leaving.

“No.” The word made it past my lips.

But she was already gone.

17

Reid

“Jesus Christ,” Rock said. “Is he dead?”

Father Jim lay on his bed, his wrists slit and bleeding. “He’s not gray yet. I don’t know.” I slid my hand over his neck.

Damn. Nothing. Until—

“It’s a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. Call 911.”

“Or we could let him die,” Rock said.

“We can’t. We need his testimony. We need to know what he knows.”

“You’re right.” Rock grabbed his phone.

“Wait!” I yelled.

“What is it now?”

“Use your burner phone. We can’t have any calls traced to us. I don’t want to go down for another murder.”

“Right.” Rock grabbed the burner. Then, “No, you make the call, Amos. It makes more sense that you’d be here.”

“I’m not the one who broke in,” Amos said.

“Say you were, then. Say you were worried about… Oh, fuck it all. I’ll use the burner. But then we all have to hightail it out of here as soon as they’re on their way. Amos, go get some of those Ziplocs I saw in the kitchen.”

I found some T-shirts in the dresser drawer and ripped them into bandages. Then I wrapped them tightly around Jim’s wrists to stop—or at least slow down—the blood flow. “Jim.” I smacked his cheek. “Can you hear me? Hold on. We’re getting help.”

Amos sat down on the bed next to a bleeding Father Jim and moved his hands in an upward motion.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m doing his last rites.”

“For this asshole?” Rock scoffed.

“Even assholes deserve the sacrament.” Amos placed his hand upon Jim’s head. “Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed…”

I stopped listening.

I understood Rock’s dilemma. Part of me wanted to let this asshole die. A big part of me. He’d tormented Zee. My only solace was that he and my father hadn’t raped her. Hadn’t killed her. But they’d no doubt done those horrid things to many others.

A bloody razor blade sat next to Jim on the night table. I reached for it—

“Don’t touch that!” Rock yelled. “Amos, get on with it, and then get the Ziplocs.”

Right. Rock was right. I didn’t want to be implicated in another murder. Had Jim tried to off himself? Or had someone else done it and wanted to make it look like a suicide?

We wouldn’t know unless Jim lived.

Amos finished praying, stood, and headed out of the room.

I touched Jim’s neck again. He was cold. But the pulse was still there. “Hang on,” I said. “You’re not leaving this planet without paying for what you’ve done, you fucking bastard.”

Blood was quickly seeping through my makeshift bandages.

“How long has he been here like this?” Rock asked.

“Hell if I know. Much longer and he’ll be dead, though. We’ve got to get out of here before the cops get here.”

Amos returned with a box of quart Ziplocs. “Here you go. But without gloves, how do we—”

“Use a bag as a glove,” Rock said. “Turn it inside out, and then put the stuff in a separate bag. We’ll destroy the bags we use for gloves.”

I eyed my older brother. Interesting that he knew exactly what to do. I’d ask later. Or maybe I wouldn’t. I didn’t particularly want to know. I quickly bagged the blade according to Rock’s instructions. “Should we take anything else?”

Rock scanned the room. “I don’t know. Anything look out of place?”

“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave evidence, would he?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Who fucking knows? He might, if this is a real suicide. Maybe he’s atoning.”

My brother raised a good point. I looked around the room quickly. A tattered leather-covered bible sat on top of his dresser. It wouldn’t fit inside a quart Ziploc. “I’m tempted to look inside.” I placed a Ziploc over both hands and picked up the bible, nearly dropping it because of the slick plastic. Navigating the pages was nearly impossible with plastic bags covering my hands.