Page 119 of Deliver us from Evil

“We’ll have to check later,” I tell him. “Keep moving.”

We’re at the back of the property, headed for the patio doors. It’s the first set of doors we found, and one of the sliding glass panels is standing open.

It’s too quiet.

Surely there would be something. Voices, a radio playing, a television set. Unless, like Apollo said, we’re too late.

Or this is a dead end.

Who’s to say they even own this property anymore?

But the neatly dug grave out back gives me a shred of hope. We’re too far away to see if it’s empty or not, but there’ll be plenty of time for that once we’ve gone through the house.

I hear a faint noise. Cass holds up a hand. We stop to listen, but hear nothing.

Could have been Zach and Apollo, going through the front.

But then I hear it again.

It’s faint, but it’s undeniably a gunshot. Me and Cass frown at each other, but we don’t dare say anything.

“Shooting range,” Cass murmurs.

I nod.

We keep moving.

Through an entertainment area. Down a hall. I see a shape, and tap Cass on the shoulder, pointing.

It resolves into Zachary, stalking down the other side of the passage like a cop in an action movie. We glance at each other, and then he nods and looks up.

Downstairs cleared.

Cass and I are closest, so we go up the stairs first. As soon as we turn to head down the hall, I hear a sound again.

A panicked sob. A choked breath. Fabric and clothes rustling urgently.

My heart’s in my fucking throat, but Cass puts up his hand like he knows all I want to do is bolt forward.

I guess he also recognized the voice making those sounds.

Trinity.

Chapter Forty-Two

Trinity

The pain is so intense, I can’t even scream. It’s as if the bullet knocked every atom of air from my lungs. I drag in a horrible groaning gasp and slide to the floor.

I reach up, but I can’t bear to touch the hole in my chest. Instead, my fingers shake in the air a few inches away.

Somehow, through the violent buzzing in my ears, I hear Nick chuckle.

Then I’m flying up, the pain intensifying as Nick twists the grip he has on the front of my blood-stained dress. “Hurts, don’t it?” he says. “Should be thanking me on your hands and fucking knees, Missy, ’cos now you won’t feel anything else.”

He drags me to the bed. Tosses me on the mattress. I let out a low wail as I hit the firm surface, as that jolt sends a stabbing agony through me.

Liar.

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