“He’s lying,” Wentworth said.
“Jesus, Buck.” Fear mingled with the panic in the other man’s voice. “Baider’ll kill us.”
“He’s bluffing, you damn fool.”
“I didn’t want no part of murder, Father.” Delaney moved forward, holding out the flashlight in a kind of offering.
“Shut up, you fool.” Wentworth swung the pistol toward the other man.
“Baider’s using you,” Father John said. “How many more people are you going to kill for him?”
The flashlight jumped in Delaney’s hand, tossing light over Wentworth and the still bodies of Ali Burris and Eddie Ortiz. Father John realized something was different about Eddie: the hands curled into fists. The Indian was conscious.
“You got it all wrong, Father,” Delaney said. “The boss says we take care of this last job—”
“Baider’s lying.” Father John tried to straighten his shoulders. He coughed, and for a half second his muscles froze with pain. The bitter taste of blood was in his mouth. An image of Vicky flashed in his mind. Alone in Denver, determined to find out what Baider Industries didn’t want her to know. She would follow every lead, probe and probe, until, finally, she came face-to-face with a man who had people killed.
He took in a short breath, then another. “Wake up, Delaney,” he managed. “Baider’ll keep using you and Wentworth here to do his dirty work. Wentworth’s too dumb to understand. You’ve got to save yourself, your own soul.”
“Shut up, you damned priest.” Wentworth lunged forward. The pistol crashed against Father John’s ribs.
He doubled over. His rib cage had sprung apart; his lungs filled with acid.
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Wentworth was coming at him again, swinging the pistol overhead like a sledgehammer.
Father John dodged to the side as the metal slammed into the cliff. Clenching his fists, he went for the man, jabbing at the stomach beneath the slicker. The man pedaled backward, then caught himself.
“I’ll kill you!” he shouted, coming forward again, head down, like a bull. The lightning snapped overhead, outlining the rage in his eyes. He gripped the pistol in both hands.
Father John pulled his arms in close to his sides, fists still clenched. He had no breath; he was on fire with pain. The barrel of the pistol looked as large as a black tunnel coming toward him.
Suddenly Wentworth was scrabbling sideways, howling like a trapped animal. Delaney was riding his back, slamming a fist into the man’s head, jerking his arm up, grabbing at the pistol. Shouting: “No more, Buck. No more.” A flashlight skittered across the ledge, throwing crazy patterns of light around.
The crack of gunfire mingled with the sound of thunder as the two men moved toward the cliff, bulls locked in combat, stumbling over Ali’s crumpled legs, nearly falling onto Eddie. Then they were grappling backward, propelled by the momentum and the force of their grunts and shouts.
Thunder came again; the sky was white with lightning. The men stopped struggling. Suspended on the edge: two figures outlined against the sky. Father John realized they were falling.
He dove toward them, grabbing at fistfuls of the plastic slicker, the red baseball jacket, his fingers digging for skin and bone—something to hold on to. Everything was blurred. The rain beat on his head and shoulders. Pain exploded inside him. He felt the slicker slide through one hand. Wentworth was falling over the edge, clawing at Delaney as he fell, grabbing on to the other man’s legs.
Father John held on to Delaney’s arm as hard as he could. He dug his boots into the sandstone trying to counter the force pulling the man down.
He could feel Delaney start to go.
A shadow moved at his side, and Eddie reached out and grabbed Delaney’s other arm as the man dropped over the edge.
Suddenly Father John felt the pressure release, and Delaney was free. Wentworth had let go. A high-pitched scream rent the air for a terrible moment, then was lost in the sounds of the rain.
“Hold on!” he shouted. Eddie was still gripping the man’s other arm, but Delaney was like deadweight dangling in space. Father John could feel the red jacket start to slip through his hands. Like a jolt, it came to him that Eddie had let go and that he and Delaney were going to fall together into the darkness.
And then: a tightness around his waist, arms squeezing his rib cage. The pain made him retch, but he was steady now. He had a good hold on Delaney.
“Grab onto the edge!” he shouted.
Slowly Delaney’s free hand came up and grasped for a purchase. Finally the fingers wrapped around a jagged piece of sandstone.
“Get ready!” Father John shouted again. “We’re going to pull you up!”