Quantico Rules by Gene Riehl

Author:Gene Riehl
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504018630
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller

A mile from the Baptist Church in Brookston, I called Sheriff Brodsky to let him know I was back at work in his town.

“They put you back on the case?” he wanted to know.

“Back on the case? I’m still on the case if that’s what you mean.”

“So it was you who sent the other man?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What man?”

“Bennett. Agent Bennett.”

The hair on my arms started to buzz.

“Big guy,” Brodsky continued. “Broken nose. He was just in here. Left about twenty minutes ago.”

“What did he want?”

“Same thing you and Agent Sands asked me about. Brenda Thompson. And the preacher, too. Reverend Johnson.”

My body stiffened. I mashed the accelerator to the floor. The car leapt toward Brookston.

“Where did he go, Sheriff? Where was he going when he left your place?”

“To the preacher, to the church out on Falls Road. I gave him directions.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel, the knuckles white. I felt my face turn to ice.

“The church, Brodsky … get to the church. Now! And bring a shoulder weapon!”

“Damn it, Monk, what the hell’s going on? What are you—?”

“Do it!” I hollered. “Just for Christ’s sake do it!”

I cut him off, punched numbers for Lisa. She’d still be at her desk, she didn’t do anything but work. But she wasn’t there. I let her phone ring a dozen times, then called the switchboard.

“Puller,” Gerry Ann Walsh said. “I was just talking about you.”

“I’m looking for Lisa Sands. She’s in the office, but I can’t reach her at her desk. Can you page her for me?”

“That’s what I’m telling you. She left three hours ago. Told me you might call.”

“Where did she go?”

“Hold on a second, let me check her three-card.” A pause, then, “Brookston, Puller. A church down there. She told me you’d know what it means.”

I hurled the phone aside, floored the gas, skidded around the next corner and up Falls Road. Seconds later I slid to a stop in front of the church. I saw Lisa’s Pontiac as I threw open the door and raced up the walk. The church door was ajar as I smashed through it and felt my heart stop.

Their bodies lay a dozen feet inside the church.

Squarely in the center of the aisle, Lisa and Reverend Johnson shared the same sticky pool of thick, dark blood.

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