Touch No Evil Page 8

  “What is this?” Hope looks at it and picks up her fork.

  “Shakshouka.” Sister Yael smiles and sets another portion in front of Sister Marie-Luce. “Eggs, tomato sauce, peppers, and onions.”

  Hope takes a tentative forkful to taste. She has never eaten food with so much flavor, but once the initial shock of it wears off, she decides she likes it. “This is amazing!”

  Hope eats hungrily. While she does so, Sisters Yael and Marie-Luce, plus two other nuns discuss boring things about the building, the land, and buying gardening supplies.

  Together, they wash the dishes after the meal, laughing and telling stories. Hope enjoys their easy banter and feels like a part of something bigger than herself, something important she can’t put her finger on. At least, she feels accepted by the sisterhood. Never does she feel as if she is a burden, and certainly, she doesn’t feel like a prisoner. This place and these sisters are the closest thing to a home she has ever had. She finds herself smiling and even whistling, which she secretly learned from Tammy, an empath at the compound, years ago. She catches Sister Marie-Luce smiling at her. Hope smiles back, happy and at peace.

  With the chores done, Hope wanders out to the garden. The warm day offers a chance to wear a new dress the nuns bought her, since she’s been here for days already. They don’t want her wearing the same outfit constantly. It’s her first time in a dress. At the compound, it was either a jumpsuit or jeans and a T-shirt. She ditches her shoes at the garden entrance, preferring the warm soil and dry grass beneath her toes.

  Sister Marie-Luce leans out from a window overlooking the garden. “Hope?”

  The girl stops, spinning toward her, the dress flaring. “Yes, Sister?”

  “I don’t want to worry about your safety. Please, stay inside the monastery walls.”

  “I will.” Hope grins and wiggles her toes. “If I was gonna go somewhere, I’d have shoes on.”

  Sister Marie-Luce laughs and her head disappears back inside.

  A strong breeze rustles the branches overhead and makes Hope’s hair fly to the side. She leans back and stares up at the clear, blue sky overhead, daydreaming about it being an enormous swimming pool to dive into. Having so much open space around her causes an upwelling of joy, and a tear or two. This place soothes her soul like a salve upon a rash, offering such freedom, no words exist to explain it to anyone. If only Ky was here, Hope would be content to remain here forever.

  At a swath of wildflowers, she sinks to her knees. Tiny white butterflies glide about, alighting on the colorful blooms. In the tree branches overhead, birds tweet back and forth, and her friends, the squirrels, chase each other from branch to branch.

  A palpable sense of spirituality overcomes her. She stills her breathing as she had been taught and lets her arms rest in her lap. She gazes around her, feeling watched.

  “Raphael?” Her voice calls out in just a hint above a whisper.

  The garden remains empty, save for her and the animals, but still, she feels as though someone has come to visit. No sense of fear invades the solace of the garden, so she stays put. Her friend John thinks an angel visited him here and cured him. Hope ponders this possibility. It seems equally likely to her that an angel might appear to him as he’s dreamed it. The charge in the air could’ve made him believe an agent of Heaven appeared to him, or maybe the strange energy exists because such a being has been here.

  Either way, she adores this place far more than being locked up in the compound.

  Hope flops on her back in the grass, gazing up at the cloudless blue overhead. Some worry remains that Gary—aka Geryon—is still out there and wants to harm her, but she believes he won’t be able to find her here.

  Thinking about the angel gives her an idea. Yes, she’s promised Sister Marie-Luce she wouldn’t go anywhere, but that doesn’t mean she can’t peek. Hope closes her eyes and concentrates on her tiger moth. The little creature appears in a few seconds, and she sends it off into the sky. Her vision trails after it, rising up from her. In seconds, she projects her consciousness so high into the air, her body down below looks like a doll dropped on the lawn.

  The moth makes a loop and shoots off, and Hope shoots off with it. Sandy hills and valleys race by. Mountains rush past. More grass and meadows follow, then a lake. Roads, and a train comes after. Finally, the moth dives straight down toward a city, pulling out if its dive at the last possible moment before almost hitting a car. They—the moth and Hope—keep pace with a small red sedan for a few blocks before darting to the right over a short wooden fence encircling a sidewalk café.

  There, John sits at a little metal table, sipping coffee and working on a large muffin.

  “You slept late?” asks Hope.

  He looks around for the source of the voice, but doesn’t notice the moth. After a few seconds of searching about, he pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, “Ugh. I’m losing it.”

  “What did you lose?”

  “My mind apparently,” he says, not moving. “I’m talking to myself.”

  “It’s me, silly. Hope. I’m talking to you from far away.”

  He lowers his arm back to the table. This time, when he looks around, he squints in the direction of the moth as though he can see something there. “What makes you think I slept late?”

  “You’re only eating breakfast now. We had ours like an hour ago.”

  “I’m in Rome. It’s an hour earlier here than Israel.”

  Hope nods, not that he sees. Any of the nuns observing her will have seen her talking to an imaginary friend. “Ky needs your help.”

  “I know, hon. That’s why I’m here.” He starts to take a bite of the muffin, but gives up before it reaches his mouth. With a sigh, he drops it back on the plate. “I’m going to do everything I can. It’s… complicated.”

  The moth glides closer and lands on his shoulder.

  “You should go to them,” says Hope.

  “I can’t just walk up to them. There are… issues.”

  “I know you love Ky. I think you are going to be together. It feels right.”

  He chuckles sadly, and frowns at the half-eaten muffin. “I wish it was that easy.”

  “It is,” says Hope. “You’re making it complicated.”

  John gazes out over the street, observing a handful of early-morning pedestrians walking by the café. One man, upon smelling food, appears to make the sudden decision to eat, and steps through the gate. He gives John a curt nod of acknowledgment and takes a table on the far end. “Simms has them convinced I betrayed them. He showed me the same video he showed to them. If I was in their position, I would probably shoot me on sight.”

  “They know he’s a liar now.” Hope shakes her head, and the grass tickles her ears. “You aren’t sick anymore, and you trust Ky. You love her. She will know the truth.”

  John stares at his muffin for a long moment before picking it up. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s wrong to tease your elders?”

  “Please talk to her.”

  He takes an angry bite, scowling at the plate while chewing. “It bears repeating: it’s not so easy.”

  “It’s as easy as you want it to be.” She bites her lip, tempted to send herself there in person to shake some sense into him, but she promised Sister Marie-Luce she won’t leave. “I have to go. My sister still loves you. I can feel it. She’ll know the truth.”

  John bows his head, takes in some air. “I’ll think about it, kiddo.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We race along the twisting catacombs under Vatican City toward where I heard Julia’s screams.

  Something feels off to me, but I don’t have the time to really tune into it. My handgun is concealed under my dress at my thigh. Our contact, Alfred, ensured us that we’d know where to find weapons once inside. We didn’t carry guns in because we never would have cleared security. We are already taking a chance with bogus IDs and invitations. So far, things have gone off without a hitch, all the way up until I hear Ju
lia screaming. Still, it’s been too easy. It simply should not be this easy.

  As we round a brick wall, the yelling from Julia a moment ago changes to giggling. I stop, hold up my hand, and look back at the guys, both of them wide-eyed. Their shadows dance and sway upon the walls in the flickering candlelight.

  “What is it?” Ayden whispers.

  Before I can respond, Julia Dennison, in a silk sequined gown, steps out of the shadows and whispers, “Surprise! It’s just me.”

  I gasp. Ayden is the first to recover.

  “Julia…” He clears his throat. “I mean, Miss Dennison?”

  “The one and only,” she says, grinning. “And no, there’s no one with me. I took care of that already.” She looks back over her shoulder a bit nervously.

  I peer around her. “Where’s your Secret Service agent?”

  “I gave him the slip. Told him I had too much to drink at my party and wanted to go to sleep. As he stood guard outside my hotel room, I just went out the back door of the suite and walked down the stairs instead of using the elevator.” She giggles.

  “How long before your bodyguard knows you’re gone?”

  “We better get moving,” says Julia. “I’ll be missed pretty soon, you know?”

  “Hold on.” I find my voice. “Let me get this straight, you set this up?”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s no birthday party?”

  She shrugs. “Well, yes and no. I mean, I just left a small gathering upstairs for me with my closest friends and my family, like fifty people.”

  “That’s small?” mutters Ayden.

  “We really should get a move on,” says Julia. “Because in about one minute, my father’s going to ask his Secret Service detail where I went, and if they actually check my room, you guys are gonna be up shit creek.”

  “And just how are we supposed to get you out of here?” I ask. I nearly ask how she knew we were coming until I remember she’s a futurist. This has all been a ruse, but for what?

  “I think you guys figured it out.” She looks pointedly at Ayden. The smile she levels toward him doesn’t mask her attraction to him one bit. “Don’t you?”

  If Ayden has a plan, Julia, the futurist, will know. Ugh, this is all making my head hurt.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He starts off down the hall. “Follow me.”

  Noah and I look at him, surprised by his new revelation.

  I may not trust Julia, but I do trust Ayden.

  Julia, the First Daughter, is full of surprises. And she’s reckless as hell.

  Ayden stops a short while later, studies the stone wall, then takes hold of one of the wall sconces. The secret lever lifts easily enough, and the air fills with the grating sound of stone on stone. To say that I am surprised to see a section of the wall swing open is an understatement.

  “No way,” says Noah.

  “I second that,” I say.

  “No time. Follow me,” says Julia, and leads the way through.

  One by one, we slip into a small room, more like a cavern, really. Ayden produces a small flashlight from his pocket, clicks it on, and shines it around what turns out to be dusty crates. After a back and forth pass, the light pauses on a vent cover near the ceiling in the corner.

  He looks at me first. “Okay, here’s what I know. You two are small enough to go through there, and if you follow this map, you’ll find yourselves in the sewers.” He reaches behind the crate nearest the vent and comes back with a map.

  Our contact has done his job tonight, and will be rewarded monetarily—if we survive.

  Meanwhile, Julia unzips her gown, dropping it to expose a black sports bra and yoga pants. She opens her clutch purse, removes a wad of black fabric, and unfurls it into a plain T-shirt before putting it on.

  “Nice,” I say, and I do the same, revealing my own running attire. I shove the evening dress behind the closest crate. I’m not crawling around in the sewers wearing a dress. And no good spy wears high heels. Mine are closer to flats and are comfortable enough to run in.

  “There’s an address on the map, Ky. It’s a safe house. You gotta get Julia there. We’ll handle things on this end.”

  I nod. “Noah, can you give me a boost?”

  He is definitely the stronger of the two men. He squats, I climb onto his back, and he lifts me up. I jimmy the vent, loosening it until I can finally pry it off.

  “Okay, push me up in there until I get a hold of something.” As soon as I get a solid grip on a crevice above, I pull myself in while he grabs my shoes and shoves me the rest of the way into the opening. Once I creep in out of the way, Julia clambers up behind me in a similar fashion.

  I twist around, making eye contact with Ayden and Noah over Julia’s head. “You guys be careful.”

  “You, too,” whispers Noah.

  “Nice guys. The tall, dark-haired one’s kinda cute,” Julia says.

  “Yeah, well, this isn’t any time for guy talk, my friend. You’ve got a lot of other things to tell me, but first, I have to get us safely to wherever it is we’re going.”

  She sighs heavily. “I know, and I have to tell you that it’s not going to be easy. And, you’ve got one enormous surprise coming.”

  Great. I nearly tell her that I already know about the Child of Anarchy thing, but any good spy also knows when to keep her mouth shut. Just as I begin crawling forward, gunfire erupts somewhere behind us. No going back now. And I can only trust that my PSI boys can handle themselves. I’m worried, though.

  “They will be fine, if that’s any comfort,” says Julia.

  “It is,” I say, and push onward.

  Chapter Seventeen

  John works his way through a maze of underground corridors, straining to listen, but Hope doesn’t make any sound loud enough for him to detect.

  Despite not hearing anything, the presence of Hope’s energy (via a gnat totem) enhances his dim psychic skills. Not words, but feelings—a subconscious pull—guides him toward the team. The irony in his connection to Hope giving him hope, makes him laugh inside. His confidence experiences an enormous boost even before he’s left the plane, merely from seeing her happy. More to the point, she trusts him and knows he loves Kylie. She will be a voice of acceptance if Kylie still believes Simms’ fake video. But he worries. A child being involved causes him to focus even more on the task ahead of him. With Hope in the mix, the stakes have doubled.

  He reaches out to some personal connections, resources no one else knows about, in order to slip into the corridors beneath the Vatican. Every place has kitchen staff, and the people tasked with getting rid of trash are often able to move about without attracting much attention. His friend in food prep “misplaced” a uniform, and John walked right in like he worked there. Amazing how far one can get simply by acting the part.

  Walther in hand, he creeps down the corridor, ready for whatever he has to do. Though he doesn’t relish the idea, he has a strong feeling that violence waits for him. Something deep inside him bristles at the notion. He’s a healer, a mender of the broken. Ever since his visit from Archangel Raphael—and being cured of his killing touch—he’s had a hard time trying to dismiss it as anything but an act of the divine. The patron of healers had manifested to him. Ever since, he questions his role as a covert operative. Moving to a remote, rural area and using his gift for whoever needs it appeals far more than hurling himself into situations where he takes life instead of mends it. But he doesn’t have that luxury yet. He has to protect Kylie.

  He hasn’t gotten too far along before a blast of gunfire echoes within the maze of corridors. Worried, he sprints toward the sound. Even a few seconds in a heated gun battle can mean the difference between life and death. Losing Kylie isn’t an option.

  As he nears the source of the exchange, he dreads what he might find. Is Kylie wounded, dying or dead? Will he reach her in time? He rounds a left turn, taking what he hopes will be a shortcut. The passage ends at an archway leading to a T-intersection
.

  Bullets strike the opening, sparking and chipping away the stone. Instinctively, he drops to a knee and eases himself forward a few inches to peer down the connecting hallway. A figure to the left notices him and levels his pistol in John’s direction.

  With no time to think, John fires twice, putting two rounds somewhere in the man’s face; the body flops to the ground. As a latecomer to the battle, he doesn’t have time to worry about picking sides. As far as he’s concerned, anyone other than Kylie, Ayden or Noah is a potential enemy.

  He peers cautiously around the arch. Seeing no one, he advances into the corridor and hurries along. Seconds later, he spots Noah ducking into a side hallway.

  Chasing, he takes note that Hope’s presence no longer seems to be in his ear. The gunfire scares her, no doubt. Her guiding him makes little difference. In fact, he thinks it best. She doesn’t need to see people being shot. The situation calls for training and instinct beyond psychic guidance. Survival, the oldest of human sensitivities, outweighs all others.

  The corridor has fallen quiet and John slows, too. Step by step, he makes his way along, following his inexplicable sense of where to go. Evidently, much of the gunfire has been from the man he’s left behind, now quite dead.

  More shots ring out in the hallway where Noah went, in such numbers that he can’t tell if one guy with an automatic weapon is going nuts or multiple shooters with handguns have gotten into a firefight. Either way, John moves up to a light run, mindful that rushing out into a crossfire won’t do him—or Kylie—any favors. He reaches the end of a hallway with another arch, conceals himself behind a column on the left side, and peeks around. He scans the situation and ducks back out of sight.

  Nearest him on the right, two groups of three men huddle in doorways, taking cover while firing toward a third group consisting of two men on the left side. Three to one aren’t good odds. He can even those odds significantly, especially from a flanking position. It puzzles him why Kylie and her team would stand and shoot it out with a group that obviously outnumbers them. And if the group on the left was his former team, why does he only see two? Are they pinned down? He decides to risk looking again, focusing on the left.