She slipped off the altar, stumbled, but stayed on her feet. Her father was on the floor. She hugged her ribs.
“Channing told me everything. I’m sorry, Liz. I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t either.”
“You’ll deal with it. Time, maybe. Maybe therapy.”
“My father tried to kill me, Charlie. How could I possibly deal with it?”
He had no response. How could he?
“Channing? Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.”
“And Gideon?”
“He’s bleeding. I don’t know. Your friend won’t let me call an ambulance.”
Elizabeth moved to the bottom step. Gideon lay on the floor by Channing. He opened his eyes, but looked bled out and rough. Elizabeth glanced the length of the church and understood, at last, that something was very wrong. It was too quiet after so much time. Channing was wide-eyed and frightened and shaking her head in a small way. Elizabeth knew the look; she felt it. “Where are the people, Charlie?”
He turned his palms. “I told you.…”
“You told me why there are no cops. Where are the paramedics? The boy is hurt. Channing is hurt. There should be paramedics. You could have made that happen, kept it quiet.”
She moved toward the kids, but Beckett stepped between them. He was still palms up and smiling, but the lie was in his eyes. “We need to talk, first.” She stopped after the bottom step. “Come on, Liz. Don’t look at me like that.” He forced a smile that failed. Elizabeth had never been good at hiding the way she felt, and it was all in her face now, the distrust and doubt and anger. “Goddamn, Liz. I’m here to help you. The girl called and I came. Who else would do that? No questions. No doubt.”
“What’s going on, Charlie?”
“This whole week, who has been by your side, your friend? I’ve been that friend. Just me. Now, I need you to be mine.”
She gauged the way he stood. Chin down, feet spread. His hands were out as if he’d grab her if she ran. Whatever was happening, he was serious about it. “Are you really standing between me and those children?”
“We just need to talk. Two minutes. We’ll talk and call the ambulance, and this will all be over.”
Her eyes fell to the gun in his belt. He was good with it. Plus he weighed 250. Whatever this was, she couldn’t take him.
“Why don’t you sit down.”
She stepped sideways. Her father groaned.
“Please, Liz. Sit.”
Elizabeth kept moving. She had no intention of sitting, and Beckett saw it. He nodded and sighed, and something artificial fell away. “Do you know where Adrian is?”
It was the last thing she expected.
“Adrian Wall. I need a location.”
“What does Adrian have to do with any of this?”
“It’s for everyone’s good. You. The kids. I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Not without an explanation.”
“Just tell me.”
“No.”
“Goddamn it, Liz! Just tell me where he is!”
“Yes, please tell him.”
The voice came from the back of the church, loud and familiar. Elizabeth registered the sudden desperation on Beckett’s face, then saw the warden with Olivet and Jacks and Woods. They stood in the open door, four in a line and the sky behind them burning.
“Gideon. Channing.”
She called the children to her, and they obeyed, Channing on her feet, the boy stumbling. They moved past Beckett, but he didn’t try to stop them. His head was down. His shoulders slumped. Elizabeth got the children behind her as the world slowed, and everything came into sharp focus: the scrape of air in her throat, Beckett’s sweat and fear and sudden despair. “You should have told me,” he said, and though she heard the words, she wasn’t listening. The warden led his men down the aisle, and Liz paid attention to the things that mattered. Two autoloaders. Two revolvers. Olivet looked scared.
“Please give him what he wants.”
“Shut up, Charlie.”
“Please, Liz. You don’t know this man.”
“Actually, I do.”
The warden was close, now, fifteen feet, then ten. Elizabeth spoke when he reached the final pew. “I guess you two know each other better than I thought.”
“Of course,” the warden said. “Detective Beckett and I go back many years. How many is it, Charlie? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“Don’t pretend we’re friends.”
Beckett spat the words, and the warden tilted the pistol in his hand. “Friends. Acquaintances.”
The arrogance was more obvious, now, the smile lazier and slow. It made Elizabeth’s stomach turn. The warden wore a summer suit. His men, behind him, were in plainclothes. She kept her eyes on the warden. “Does he know what you did to Adrian?” She pitched her voice to carry. “The torture and abuse? Does he know your men tried to kill him?” She backed closer to the altar, and the children moved with her, up two steps, then three.
The warden and his men moved forward, too. “I like Vegas,” the warden said. “It’s the motto, I think.” He waved a circle with the gun; held up both hands as if framing a marquee. “‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ My prison is like that.”