Innocent Blood(6)
“I think we almost met back in Ettal Abbey,” the chaplain said. “But Rhun picked Nadia and Emmanuel to fill out the rest of his trio back in Germany.”
Jordan pictured Nadia’s dark features and Emmanuel’s darker attitude.
Christian shook his head. “Hardly a surprise, I suppose.”
“Why’s that?”
The other raised an eyebrow. “I believe I’m not sackcloth and ashes enough for Father Rhun Korza.”
Jordan fought down a grin. “I can see how that would bug him.”
Christian set the brandy in a tray near the door and leaned forward, his green eyes serious. “Actually Father Korza is the reason I’m here.”
“He sent you?”
Somehow Jordan couldn’t picture that. He doubted Rhun wanted anything more to do with Jordan. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.
“Not exactly.” Christian rested skinny elbows on his knees. “Cardinal Bernard is trying to keep it quiet, but Rhun has disappeared without a word.”
Figures . . . the guy was hardly the forthcoming sort.
“Has he contacted you since you left Rome in October?” Christian asked.
“Why would he contact me?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I hate him.” Jordan saw no point in lying. “He knows it.”
“Rhun is a difficult man to like,” Christian admitted, “but what did he do to make you hate him?”
“Besides almost killing Erin?”
Christian’s eyebrows drew down in concern. “I thought he saved her life . . . and yours.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened. He remembered Erin limp on the floor, her skin white, her hair soaked with blood.
“Rhun bit her,” Jordan explained harshly. “He drained her and left her to die in the tunnels under Rome. If Brother Leopold and I hadn’t come upon her when we did, she’d be dead.”
“Father Korza fed upon Erin?” Christian rocked back, surprise painted on his face. He scrutinized Jordan for several seconds without speaking, plainly floored by the revelation of this sin. “Are you certain? Perhaps—”
“They both admitted it. Erin and Rhun.” Jordan folded his arms. “I’m not the one lying here.”
Christian raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that this is . . . unusual.”
“Not for Rhun it’s not.” He put his hands on his knees. “Your golden boy has slipped before.”
“Only once. And Elizabeth Bathory was centuries ago.” Christian picked up the glass of brandy and studied it. “So you’re saying that Brother Leopold knew all about this?”
“He certainly did.”
Apparently Leopold must have covered for Rhun. Jordan felt disappointment, but not surprise. The Sanguinists stuck together.
“He fed on her . . .” Christian stared at the glass as if he might find the answer there. “That means Rhun is full of her blood.”
Jordan shuddered, disturbed by that thought.
“That changes everything. We must go to her. Now.” Christian leaned over and rapped on the partition to gain the driver’s attention. “Take us to the airport! At once!”
Instantly obeying, the driver accelerated the car, its bottom scraping when it crested a hill and headed out of the cemetery.
Christian glanced to Jordan. “We’ll part ways at the airport. You can get home from there on your own, correct?”
“I could,” he agreed. “But if Erin is involved in any of this, I’m going with you.”
Christian drew in a long breath and let it out. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in numbers. “I’m sure Cardinal Bernard gave you the whole speech last time about your life and soul being in danger if you involve yourself in our affairs?”
“He did.”
“Then let’s save time and pretend I gave it again.” Christian lifted the phone to his ear. “Right now I must charter a plane to California.”
“So you don’t object to me going with you?”
“You love Erin, and you want to protect her. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”
For a dead guy, Christian was turning out to be okay.
Still, as the limousine sped across the snow-swept city, Jordan’s anxiety grew sharper with every passing mile.
Erin was in danger.
Again.
And likely all because of the actions of Rhun Korza.
Maybe it would be better if that bastard stayed lost.
3
December 18, 6:06 P.M. CET
Vatican City
Cardinal Bernard rearranged the newspapers atop his polished desk, as if organizing them into neat lines might change the words they contained. Horrifying headlines screamed from the pages: