Tangled Souls (43 page)

Guided by a firefighter, O’Fallon cautiously made his way into the remnants of the building, edging up near the pit. Taylor’s body was gone, buried under the rubble. O’Fallon’s eyes picked across the landscape, but he saw no sign of his lover. He suppressed a shiver and took his place next to Lieutenant Bradley.

“I know, you warned me,” he said.

She gave a quick nod, but didn’t chastise him. “We were told there are three victims. Is that right?” she asked.

“Yes. One was dead before the collapse. The other two—”

A firefighter called out and pointed. In the midst of the debris an arm moved feebly. O’Fallon leaned forward expectantly, then swore under his breath.

“Glass. The bastard’s alive.”

“Where do you think the third might be?” the lieutenant asked, remaining all business.

That was the problem: O’Fallon hadn’t seen Gavenia since the first shot was fired. He closed his eyes and let the impressions flood him, moving his arm as if guided by another source. “I think she’s somewhere over there,” he said, pointing opposite where Glass’s body lay.

“Thanks. Leave it to us. We’ll find her,” the lieutenant said. He took the hint and departed the building before she ordered him out.

The moment he was back in the sunshine, O’Fallon leaned against one of the concrete barriers, feeling exhausted and useless. A comforting hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up into the anxious eyes of his best friend; Avery had beaten the homicide detectives to the scene. O’Fallon wondered how many stoplights he’d ignored.

“How you doing?” Avery asked.

“I don’t know yet. How’s Adam?” O’Fallon asked.

“The bullet didn’t hit an artery, so he should be all right. He said you pulled him out of there. I owe you.”

Their eyes met. “No, you don’t. You saved my ass enough times.” A firefighter trudged by toting a power unit. Behind him, another carried a cutter. The rescue was moving into high gear.

Avery leaned closer. “Adam said Gavenia’s in there.”

For a moment, the world seemed to shift under O’Fallon’s feet. His friend grabbed his arm to stabilize him.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Avery suggested.

“No, I’m okay.”

“The hell you are,” the priest said in a lowered voice meant only for his ears.

O’Fallon clamped his jaw tight to fight the raging despair, the growing awareness of loss.
One night.
That’s all they’d had.

“What in the hell is goin’ on here?” a voice demanded. They turned in tandem. It was a plainclothes detective. O’Fallon caught the look of warning in Avery’s eyes.

“I’m . . .” He hesitated. He’d almost said
detective
out of habit. “I’m Doug O’Fallon.” He paused and then asked, “And you are?”

“Detective Carstairs.” The guy angled his head toward a tall black man. “My partner, Detective Price.”

Avery moved forward, offering his hand. “I’m Father Elliot.”

A frown. “Some relation to that Elliot?” Carstairs said, pointing toward the injured cop.

“I’m his dad,” Avery replied, shaking each cop’s hand in turn. That earned him a puzzled stare. “I wasn’t always a priest.”

“What’s this about Glass being in there?” Carstairs asked.

O’Fallon gave them the
Reader’s Digest
version, minus the information about the recording and the fact that Glass had killed Taylor.

“This Kingsgrave woman still in there?” Carstairs asked.

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“God, I hope so.”

Carstairs frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“She’s the psychic that’s been in the paper the last couple of days. Remember, that old murder case?” Price offered.

“Oh, yeah, that one. What the hell is she doing here?”

O’Fallon took them farther down the road as he described the botched kidnapping attempt and Gavenia’s encounter with Taylor.

Carstairs and Price exchanged looks and then huddled a short distance away to discuss the situation.

“Now it begins,” O’Fallon murmured. He tapped his jacket pocket to ensure the voice recorder was still in place. He hoped their “Get Out of Jail Free” card would do the trick.

The firefighter pointed upward.
I was trapped when the upper floors collapsed. My buddies came for me—they never leave anyone behind—but it was too late.

Gavenia searched around her while trying to blink more of the grit out of her eyes. Other than the glow enveloping her, there was no other light, no way to guide the soul to where he needed to go.

“What’s holding you here?”

I didn’t get to say good-bye to my wife and little daughter. I missed her second birthday party.

Oh, Goddess.
“You need to go across. You’ll be at peace there.”

He shook his head.
I can’t. Not yet.

A deep shiver overtook Gavenia and she bent over to try to mitigate the whirlpool of nausea in her stomach.

I’ll help you get out
, the firefighter offered.

“What?” she asked, looking up, not sure if she’d heard clearly.

I’ll help you get out. I won’t leave you behind
, he said.

She didn’t move, her lungs on fire and her head pounding. It would be so easy to just let go.

Come on, crawl forward a little ways.

The voice sounded so calm, so in charge. She wiggled onto her knees and cried out when a piece of metal cut into one leg.

Follow me
, he said, crawling ahead of her. She followed, each movement pulling on her dwindling energy reserve.

Watch this beam, it’s unstable. Stay to the right of it
, he cautioned. She did as ordered, feeling the beam shift. She held her breath and the board halted.

Keep moving; that’s it. You’re getting there.

She halted after what seemed an eternity. The cold was taking its toll.

No, you can’t stop. You won’t make it if you stop. Keep going.

“I’m too tired,” she whispered. “Too tired.”

It’s the lack of fresh air. Keep going. You’re almost there.

She curled up again, just wanting to shut her eyes and let it be over. Death wasn’t so bad; she’d seen what it was like.

If you die, you’ll never know if he loves you.

She blinked her eyes open. That had sounded like Bart, but she couldn’t see him, only the firefighter a few feet ahead, still gesturing her forward.

“Bart?” she called.

Move it, Gavenia. Time’s a-wasting. You’re stronger than this. By now your sister would have dug herself out and discovered a lost civilization in the process.

It was Bart. She couldn’t see him, but it was his chiding.

“She’s a damned mole. I’m a witch,” she groused.

Excuses, excuses. Now follow the nice firefighter and stop complaining.

His voice gave her hope. She rose to her knees and pulled herself through the tunnel, concentrating on one inch at a time.

* * *

Avery played peacemaker between O’Fallon and the detectives, but once he left to follow the ambulance to the hospital, the situation rapidly deteriorated.

“Not happening,” O’Fallon said firmly, shaking his head at Carstairs’s request that they go to the precinct so he could answer some questions.

“They’ll let you know when they find her,” Carstairs said. He angled his eyes toward the mangled building. Word was that they’d dug out Glass and were winching him from the pit at that very moment.

“I’m staying,” O’Fallon said, “until they pull Gavenia out.”

“Hell, that could be days.”

O’Fallon glared at the man and shook his head brusquely.

“We can cuff you and haul you downtown,” Carstairs warned.

“I’ll do whatever you want once she’s out of there. But until then, I’m staying here. You got that?”

The blow behind his knee caught him off guard and he pitched forward. Shouting his indignation, O’Fallon felt his hands pulled roughly behind his back and the cold sting of handcuffs encircle his wrists. When he struggled, he was slammed to the ground, the side of his face kissing the gravel. A heavy foot planted itself in the middle of his back.

Carstairs said, “Now you see, we could have done this nice—”

“Is there some reason you have your foot on my client’s back, Detective?” a sharp voice demanded.

O’Fallon smirked, though the gravel made it difficult. The voice belonged to a very pissed Llewellyn.

“He wasn’t cooperating,” Carstairs replied.

“Is he under arrest?” was the quick retort.

“We asked him to come to the station. He refused. I was expediting the matter.”

“So he’s not under arrest?” Llewellyn pushed.

“No. Not yet.”

“Then get those damned cuffs off him.”

Carstairs swore under his breath and pulled O’Fallon up by the handcuffs, wrenching the sore ribs in the process. Llewellyn stepped between the men, no doubt sensing how close O’Fallon was to assaulting a cop.

“Easy,” he said. “This bullshit is going to cease now that I’m here.”

O’Fallon gave a short grunt. He gestured toward the building with his head. “I don’t want to leave until she’s out.”

“I know,” Llewellyn said. “But we might not have a choice.”

O’Fallon felt a rough hand unlock the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, brushed off his coat, and verified that the recorder still sat in his pocket.

“She’s alive,” he said, eyeing Llewellyn. “I feel it.”

The lawyer put a hand on O’Fallon’s shoulder and nodded. “So do I.” He turned toward Carstairs. “Give us a little while longer. If they haven’t pulled her out in a half hour or so, we’ll go with you.”

The two detectives exchanged looks. “Works for us,” Carstairs said, scowling at O’Fallon.

“Come on,” Llewellyn said, guiding him away from the scene and the temptation to kick Carstairs in the ass. “I’ve got some coffee in the car. While you drink it, you can tell me what the hell happened.”