She wanted to laugh, and she realized she was getting hysterical. The old man rose to his feet, but she kept herself behind him, out of range. They couldn’t shoot her without risking killing the priest, and she knew they wouldn’t.
The old man grabbed for her, but she kicked him. Big mistake—he went down, and she was an open target for the men advancing on her. One of them raised a gun at her, and she ducked behind the altar, rolling onto the floor, still clutching the huge, ornate candlestick, when she heard the eruption of gunfire, the familiar snarl of a furious animal, and she flattened herself against the stone.
“Angel!” James’s voice was laced with desperation.
“Angels won’t help you now, Bishop!” she heard the priest cry out, and she felt the hysterical laughter rise again. There was the sudden howl of a man in pain and she edged along the floor on her stomach, around the side of the altar.
It looked like a war zone, the blood and gunsmoke and bodies and noise. One of the younger priests lay spread-eagled in
the middle of the floor, lying in a pool of blood, a gun near his outstretched hand, while another man was trying to fight off Merlin’s jaws clamped around his forearm. James was circling a priest, both of them armed with knives, the holy father looking even more dangerous than her murderous lover, and she almost screamed when the man lunged, slashing across James’s stomach, ripping through his shirt and drawing blood.
He’d made a mistake, though, overbalancing, and James caught his arm and pulled it straight up behind him, the sickening sound of cracking bone warring with the man’s scream of pain. He went down in a welter of black, and then James was on top of him, grappling with him. There was no sign of the old priest.
She could make out Ryder at the back of the church along with two of the men who’d taken turns guarding her. They were in the midst of a pitched battle, and she ducked her head in horror as one man fell back, his head seeming to explode from a hail of bullets. She couldn’t hide forever, and she scrambled to her feet, limp with relief when she saw Merlin astride the man he’d been chewing on, growling fiercely. She saw James slowly, methodically beating the shit out of the man who’d knifed him, though the priest wasn’t putting up much of a fight by this point; then she caught a glimpse of the black robes from the corner of her eye.
It was the old man, the priest who’d given her the last rites before he planned on killing her. He was so intent on James he didn’t notice her, and there was a gun in his hand. She wanted to call out, warn James, but there was no time. If she screamed the old man would probably shoot her and still manage to kill James.
She had no choice. All conscious thought left her mind then, as something outside of her seemed to take over her body. She lifted the heavy candlestick high over her head and brought it crashing down on the old priest’s skull.
He collapsed on top of James and the man he was beating; blood and brain matter splattered everywhere, and all feeling and strength drained from Evangeline. She sank down on her knees, just as Merlin leapt forward, whining with relief and love, licking her face, her hands, licking the gore off her while she stayed there, dazed. She hugged him, dry-eyed, in shock, ignoring the blood splatter on her bare arms. It was over.
Everything was over.
Ryder was the one who came to her. At first Merlin didn’t seem like he’d let anyone close to her, but a one-word command came from a few yards away, the only proof that James was alive and unharmed, and Merlin sat back, a warning growl still rumbling in the back of his throat.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Ryder said in his cool, emotionless voice. “You don’t need to be tied in with this, and it would be better all-around if you weren’t.” He had taken her arm, half supporting her, and she didn’t want to think what she was walking through as he led her away from the altar, toward the back of the church. She tried to turn, to find James, but Ryder was too strong.
“He’s fine,” Ryder snapped. “And he can’t afford to be distracted by you. You’ll see him as soon as he’s taken care of business.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck,” she said bitterly, but the words came out in no more than a whisper, and he ignored her. Merlin was pacing by their side, and Ryder stopped.
“Call the fucking dog off, Bishop! I can’t bring him with me to the hospital.”
“I don’t need . . .” Evangeline began.
“Shut up,” Ryder snapped. “Call the dog.”
“Merlin, come.” The only words she heard from him. The last words she would ever hear from him, the heartless bastard. She could walk away from a hospital, walk away from Ryder, who would no longer give a damn what she did.
Merlin protested noisily, sitting on his haunches and whining. But he obeyed James, and she knew she would never see Merlin again either.
Ryder’s manner was brusque but his hands were gentle as he pushed her into a dark sedan. “Put your seat belt on,” he said, climbing in the driver’s side. “I need to get away from here fast, before New Orleans’s finest show up.”
“What about James?” She wanted to kick herself the moment the question came out. She didn’t care about him. He didn’t care about her.
“He and the dog will be gone by the time they show up. He just has to take care of a few things, and it’s better if I look after you.”
“Why?” She told herself she didn’t care, but her questions kept coming.
“Because you distract him, and he’s already furious with himself for letting this happen. I want him to take care of business, not get distracted. Things need to be cleaned up as quickly and efficiently as possible, and he’s better off where he is.”
She wanted to ask why again. Why would she distract him, what the hell did it matter, but she finally had the sense to shut up, to shut down. She didn’t care. She wanted to go home. She wanted her dog. She wanted the man she loved. She wanted to run away.
She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to think, to feel, to remember. She just wanted to shut everything out, the sickening feel of the old man’s skull cracking beneath the candlestick, the mess, the smell, the unbearable hideousness of it. She was past crying, past fear, past everything.
But curiosity got the better of her. She at least needed some answers. “Will you tell me what was going on? Why were those men pretending to be priests? Why did they want to kill me?”
“They weren’t pretending,” Ryder said grimly. “The man you did such a fine job with was a man we call His Eminence, one of the bishops in New Orleans named Raphael Corsini. He was a monster—that’s all you need to know. You did the world a favor.”