Deliver Us from Evil Read Free

gone from me.” She let out a hiss, faint and eerie. “The cancer’s . . . won.”
    Jonathan laid his lips against her cheek, her skin cold and clammy, as if in preparation for the morgue. How could she continue to refuse the medicine? Even though she didn’t approve of his means of acquisition, the drugs had kept her alive for five years. Five years he cherished every minute of. He’d do anything to keep her alive and the pain at bay—the intense pain that had become her constant companion these last two weeks. It killed him to witness her agony.
    She licked her bottom lip, but no moisture soaked into the cracked flesh. “You’ve done . . . your best by me, Jonathan. I know . . . you meant . . . no harm to . . . anyone.” Her eyes lit as they once had. “Oh, how I’ve enjoyed loving you.”
    His insides turned to oatmeal. Stubborn woman—she’d allow herself to die, all because she discovered how he’d gotten the money.
    â€œPromise me . . . you’ll . . . tell the . . . truth. Admit what . . . you’ve done.” Her breath rattled. “What you’ve . . . all done.”
    Pulling himself from the wretched memory, Jonathan breathed through the heat tightening his chest. He’d secure himself the best deal possible—immunity—or he wouldn’t decipher the papers. And without him no one could make sense of the accounting system he’d created more than five years ago. Officials hadn’t a clue.
    With a deep breath he headed to the guardhouse in front of the fenced FBI building. His legs threatened to rebel, stiffening with every step. He forced himself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.
    At the guardhouse, a man behind bulletproof glass looked up. “May I help you?”
    â€œI need to . . . see someone.”
    â€œAbout what, sir?”
    â€œI have some information regarding a crime.” He waved the file he held.
    â€œOne moment, sir, and someone will be with you.”
    Jonathan stared at the cloudy sky. He could still turn back, get away scot-free. His heartbeat sped. The world blurred. No, he couldn’t lose consciousness now, nor could he go back on his promise. He owed it to Carmen. No matter what happened, he’d honor Carmen’s dying wish.
    â€œSir?” A young man in a suit stood beside the fenced entry, hand resting on the butt of his gun. “May I help you?”
    Jonathan lifted the file. “I have some evidence regarding an ongoing crime ring.”
    The agent motioned him toward a metal-detector arch. “Come through this way, sir.”
    Jonathan’s steps wavered. He dragged his feet toward the archway.
    A car door creaked. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder just as two men in full tactical gear stormed toward them. He had a split second to recognize one of the men’s eyes, just before gunfire erupted.
    A vise gripped Jonathan’s heart, and he slumped to the dirty tile floor, the squeezing of his heart demanding his paralysis.
    Too late. I’m sorry, Carmen.
    Two Weeks Later—Wednesday, 3:45 p.m.
    Golden Gloves Boxing of Knoxville
    OOOF!
    Brannon Callahan’s head jerked backward. She swiped her headgear with her glove.
    â€œYou aren’t concentrating on your form. You’re just trying to whale on me.” Steve Burroughs, her supervisor and sparring partner, bounced on the balls of his feet.
    â€œThen why am I the one getting hit?” She threw a right jab that missed his jaw.
    He brushed her off with his glove. “Don’t try to street fight me. Box.”
    She clamped down on her mouthpiece and threw an uppercut with her left fist. It made contact, sending vibrations up her arm.
    He wobbled backward, then got his balance. “Nice shot.”
    It felt good to hit something. Hard. Sparring with Steve was the best form of venting. The energy had to be spent somehow—why not get a workout at the same time? She ducked a