Page 141 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“I didn’t have tolegally, no. But.” She studied him a moment, gaze tracking back and forth over his face. He wondered what she was seeing. “I got into law enforcement because I wanted to do the right thing.” She shook her head. “There’s been too many people like Boyle in my time at the Bureau. Ordinarily, all I can do is complain to my superiors –which is not the done thing – or ignore it. This time, I had a chance to do something about it.” She sounded satisfied with that turn of events. “A little boy gets to go home safe. A bad cop is…?” Her brows went up again, questioning.

Alex would never forget the sight of those long, ivory teeth closing over Boyle’s neck; the pale flash of belly as the gator went into his death roll. “He won’t be kidnapping any more little boys. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s,” she agreed. Then she smirked. “Also, you’re pretty cute. Wouldn’t be the first time I did something reckless for a big pair of brown eyes.”

Alex’s face wenthot.

“Don’t worry. You’re not interested. I heard you loud and clear.” She reached to touch his arm, too briefly for him to react. “Take care of yourself, Agent Bonfils. Next time I need a profile – and the perp’s not your brother – maybe I’ll give you a call.” She tugged up her hood, turned, and stepped back out into the rain.

She was halfway across the parking lot, and Alex was frowning as he watched her go, contemplating another cigarette, when someone said, “You’re a dipshit,” behind him.

It was Colin, and he stepped up to his side with his own cigarette already lit. “She’s hot. She likes you. What’s your problem?” He shook his head and tsked. “She kinda looks a little like my old lady, actually.”

I’d like to meet her properly, Alex thought.She’s not as terrifying as Ava, is she?He didn’t think that was possible.

What he said was, “It wouldn’t be fair to start something up right now.”

Colin glanced over, curious.

Alex shrugged. “Not until I see where I’m gonna land.”

Colin studied him a moment, and then, slowly, grinned.

~*~

It rained and it rained. Aidan spent some time with Mercy, and with Tenny and Reese, and more with Tango, eating bad hospital cafeteria food. He personally thanked Dale Dandridge and Agents Duet and Patterson for their assistance. Stayed abreast of Mercy’s progress and knew that the docs wanted to keep him for at least forty-eight hours, but maybe more, depending on his white cell count.

He knew that Tango had taken Ghost outside to talk, but didn’t ask what was said.

He hugged Maggie back when she hugged him, and said that he loved her in return, because he did.

But he couldn’t stay cooped up in the hospital for their entire stay, and he didn’t feel like hanging at the NOLA clubhouse.

Which was how he found himself seated in an empty pew at St. Louis cathedral the next morning.

It was quiet in the way of all churches, steps careful, voices hushed. But inevitably loud because of the sheer scope of the place: the high, vaulted ceilings and all its secret nooks and angles trebled each tiny sound into a constant wall of not-unpleasant white noise. A pair of old, stooped women were lighting candles. Two pews ahead and to the left, a young man sat with his head bent and his hands clasped, lips moving soundlessly in what looked to be fervent prayer.

Aidan had thought about praying, when he first sat down, but only because he’d been bowled over by the beauty of the place. Its blue-and-white check marble floors; its gold-set frescoes; its gleaming organ pipes as tall and awe-inspiring as the tubular towers of Oz. There was something…reverent…about the air in here. It smelled of candlewax, and linseed oil, but something rarified, too, that spooked him a little. Like when he was a kid, and Maggie had taken him into a fancy store, and told him, sweetly but firmly, not to touch anything. His boots had leftmuddy scuffs on the tile, and he was half-tempted to get down on his knees and mop the streaks up with his sleeve.

But he didn’t know how to pray. Other than a few desperate mental declarations ofoh Godat moments of crisis, he’d never called upon the man upstairs. Had never been to bible study, nor learned any of the hymns. His people were not church people – “church” meant club meetings, in his world. Mercy was Catholic, and doubtless could have offered guidance, but Mercy was still at the hospital, battling an infection.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Sitting here, resting in this place, was clarifying in a secular way, too. He hadn’t known when he first entered that his heart was pounding, but knew it had been now, as he felt it slow and steady in his chest, his breaths even, and deep, and unencumbered.

He was calm, therefore, when he heard the slow, deliberate clip of expensive leather shoe soles moving down the aisle. A thin figure appeared in his periphery, and rested a long-fingered hand on the end of the pew.

Ian wore dove gray, the color Aidan had come most to associate with him. His shirt and pocket square were a deep burgundy the color of wine. Or blood. He’d tied his hair back in a neat knot at the back of his neck, but a few wisps had come loose, curling in the humidity.

He was typing something into his phone, and then slipped it inside his jacket and offered Aidan a small, tired smile. “Mind if I join you?”

Aidan patted the bench beside him. Ian’s shoes, he noted, didn’t smudge the floor.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Ian tipped his head back and gazed at the walls, the ceiling. “Not Notre Damne, or St. Peter’s Basilica–”

Aidan snorted. “You fucking snob.”

Ian’s smile widened into a smirk, and his gaze dropped and slid sideways to meet Aidan’s. “I find it both admirable and bold that you used that word in a cathedral.”

“I find it both admirable and bold that you didn’t tell me my dad wasn’t dead.”

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