Galilee Rising(83)

"So Brendan was the one who found me in the secret room? You didn't open the fireplace for him?"

"No."

And pop goes the weasel. I scoff and shake my head. Of course. "He bugged the house."

"I'm sorry?"

"Cain put cameras and listening devices all over the house. He saw Brendan walk right up to the secret switch, which he shouldn't have known about if he were only my secret lover. Cain put two and two together."

That's also how he knew the exact moment to call when I was comforting Jem. I was ruining the impact of the execution. He couldn't have that. Crap, I have to wade through five days of actions and speech to figure out how much I gave away. Oh God, did he or his cronies watch me undress?

"What do we do? Find and disconnect them?" Dobbs asks.

The gears in my mind turn and turn for a few seconds. "No, not yet. For right now, act normal, but do cancel the cleaners until I say so. I don't want one of them to stumble on a camera and say something. Just keep your eyes open, and assume there's surveillance in every room. Patio too. He probably also tapped all the phones so be careful there as well." I check my watch. "Shit, we have to go. Just…act normal. I'll figure out what to do."

I walk out of his room and even though he said Jordan never came into the kitchen, it's as if I can feel his eyes on me. As I make my way up the stairs to my bedroom, the wheels keep spinning. For the first time since this ordeal began, I think we have the upper hand. The question is how to effectively use it.

Time to play the player.



*



I'm not turned away at the cathedral door, probably not because my name is on the list but because the press behind the barriers instantly recognize me and go into frenzy.

"Were you and Brendan Darby having an affair?"

"Are you working with the Triumvirate?"

And my favorite. "Did you kill Brendan Darby like Justin Pendergast because he was about to end your love affair?"

I keep my eyes down and mouth shut before being waved into the church by security..

I estimate about three hundred mourners milling around the pews, aisles, and the picture of Brendan in his Independence Eagles uniform surrounded by flowers, some arranged to resemble footballs or helmets near the pulpit. Members of both the Eagles and Galilee Angels are chatting with each other, old rivalries forgotten for the day. You can always tell the players by how wide they are. There's a cluster up front forming a semi-circle around a person in the front pew. Though her back is to me, judging from the dark hair, it's Lexie. Another group is on the opposite pew talking to a large man with red hair and tiny woman in a black hat. The parents. I wonder if they knew about King Tempest. If they're proud of him. They should be.

As I scan the crowd I don't see any other familiar faces, but they all seem to know me. Everywhere I look people keep glancing at me then whispering to their companions. Almost a thousand miles from home and I'm still the talk of the town. I ignore them. All I care about is finding that one familiar face. He might not attend out of respect to Lexie and the near cracked secret between them. But if it was my best friend, I'd want to be surrounded by the others who loved him too. For closure too or the beginnings of it. Why else do we hold funerals? They aren't for the dead person, that's for sure.

I sweep the cathedral twice and don't find him. Damn it. Okay, might as well get this over with. Making sure the letter I wrote on the plane asking her to meet later is folded and concealed in the palm of my hand, I maneuver down the aisle toward the widow. I sense at least over a hundred pairs of eyes moving with me. Probably waiting for a catfight. Lexie's parents notice me first, both sets of brown eyes narrowing. She takes after her father with the same dark hair and mouth. Lexie sees me a second later, her expression matching that of her parents' the moment she does. I don't know whether to hug her or run.

"Lexie," I say.

"Joanna," she says with little affect. "Thank you for coming."

"I…" I don't know what to say. Nothing. I just extend the hand with the note to her. "I'm sorry. For your loss."

She glances at my hand with derision, but shakes it anyway, retrieving the note. Her nose twitches when paper hits skin, but there's no other reaction. "Thank you."

I nod and amble away. That went better than anticipated. Now hopefully she'll read the letter, realize she's angry at the wrong people, and rejoin us. I choose a pew at the very back to watch those who enter, but the one I want to arrive doesn't. Stupid respectful bastard. Ten minutes after I arrive, the priest takes his position behind the pulpit and people sit. As the priest begins his sermon, my nervous tension raises a notch. I thought for sure he'd be here. I need him to be here.