The Cop

“You be careful, too,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Where are you calling from?”

“My car. I figure it’s going to take me another hour just to get across the bridge.”

“I’m hanging up. Do you happen to know how many accidents are caused every year by people talking on their cell phones? In some states, you could get a ticket for driving while talking on your cell. And if you got into an accident, you might mess up that pretty face of yours, and there would go one of my job perks.”

“Nag, nag, nag.” He glanced in his side-view mirror, then floored the gas pedal and cut off a taxi. The cab driver blasted his horn.

“Considering the way you drive, it’s a wonder your thumbs haven’t fallen off,” Dinah commented.

Nik laughed. “Watch your back, Dinah.”

“Same to you, partner.”

He shouldn’t have called her, Nik thought as he hooked the phone back on his belt. She’d worry about him now, but he’d wanted her forewarned. Dinah was the only person outside his family he’d ever told about his “gift,” and she’d been with him once when one of his little premonitions had saved both of their lives.

The problem was the premonition could very well be about his family. The last time his thumbs had pricked this insistently was the weekend his cousin Dino had announced that he was going to join the naval academy and see the world. It wasn’t a decision that Nik had particularly liked because he’d seen the sorrow that had come into his aunt Cass’s eyes. However, he’d supported Dino because he’d seen the same look in his father’s eyes when he’d announced he was going to enter the police academy.

His father had always nurtured the dream that one of his sons would follow in his footsteps in the restaurant business and take over The Poseidon one day, but it didn’t look like it would pan out that way. Kit had a thriving P.I. business and a promising new career as a crime fiction writer. Theo, the middle brother, was a rising star in the San Francisco legal community. And Nik had a hunch his kid sister Philly would be following in his aunt Cass’s footsteps since she seemed to have a special knack for communicating with animals.

The light changed to green and Nik inched his way through the intersection and down half a block before he had to stop. His patience, never his strong suit, wore even thinner. He was never going to get out of the city at this speed. Nik was sorely tempted to slap the light on the hood of his car and start the siren.

He was eyeing the string of cars to his left, waiting for an opportunity to cut in, when there was a blast of static from his radio.

“Attention all units. Two callers reporting shots fired at St. Peter’s Church on Skylar near Bellevue. At least one man seriously injured. Ambulances have been dispatched.”

The sensation in Nik’s thumbs sharpened and he felt adrenaline shoot through his system. This was it. He was sure of it. Bellevue and Skylar was only about ten blocks away. He grabbed the light and slapped it on the hood of his car. Then he picked up the handset. “Detective Nik Angelis. I’ll take it. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Roger. I’ll send backup.”

Nik turned on the siren, executed a U-turn, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

2

ST. PETER’S CHURCH looked quiet enough when he pulled up to the corner of the intersection. No cars parked in front. No pedestrian traffic on the street. Since there was no sign of backup yet, Nik turned the corner and pulled into the parking area behind the church. Three vehicles were parked there. One was a black Mercedes sedan, another a white van with Have an Affair with J.C. scrawled across the side. It was the third one that had Nik frowning. He recognized both the car and the plate; it had been parked in the driveway of his aunt Cass’s house often enough. It belonged to his brother’s best friend, Roman Oliver.

He got out of his car, pulled out his gun and moved quickly toward a covered walkway connecting the rectory to the church. He should wait for backup to arrive, but the door to the church was open…and it was too damn quiet.

Nik spotted the body from the walkway. The tightening in his stomach eased the moment that he registered the man lying on the floor of the sacristy was too big to be Roman. Crouching, he stepped into the room and fanned his gun.

No one. The space was small and lined with cupboards. Shots had been fired all right. A mirror had been splintered and so had a doorjamb. The body at his feet was lying in a pool of blood. Keeping his gun aimed at the open door leading to the altar, he squatted down and checked for a pulse. None. The dead man was large, with the kind of build that required regular maintenance and custom-made suits. His tie was silk, his shoes expensive-looking. He was also holding a Glock in his right hand. Bodyguard or hired gun?

This wasn’t going to be the only body. Nik was certain of that. Sirens sounded in the distance as he rose and moved into the doorway that opened onto the altar. Once more he fanned his gun, taking in the choir loft that ran along both the sides and the back of the church.

Nothing. Then he moved toward the body of the priest that lay behind the altar. This time he found a pulse—weak but steady. From what he could see, the blood was coming from a shoulder wound. Pulling off his shirt, he ripped it in half, then fashioned a pressure bandage. He’d just satisfied himself that he’d slowed the bleeding when the priest’s hand closed over his wrist.

“Pro…tect.”

Nik leaned closer. “Don’t try to talk, Father. An ambulance is on the way.”

“Protect…them.”

The words carried only a thread of sound. “Protect who?”

“Bride,” the priest breathed, tightening his grip on Nik’s wrist. “Ju…liana Ol…iver.”

The pricking sensation in Nik’s thumbs grew very sharp. “And the groom?”

“Paulo…” the priest gasped. “Carlucci. Grave danger.”

Dread formed a cold hard ball in Nik’s gut. He recognized the names—and if there was ever a pair of star-crossed lovers, Juliana Oliver and Paulo Carlucci had to be it. If his memory served him correctly, Juliana was young, still in her teens, and Paulo couldn’t be much more than that. Nik couldn’t imagine how they’d even met. The Oliver and Carlucci families had a bitter rivalry that went back over fifty years, to a time when both families had ties to organized crime. Since then, both the Olivers and the Carluccis had become rich and influential by running legitimate businesses, but the rivalry was just as bitter as it had been three generations back. They refused to even appear in public together.

Of course, San Francisco was reaping great benefits. If the Carluccis donated a pediatric wing to a hospital, the Olivers, not to be outdone, would build a new aquarium. Recently, the feud had been freshly stoked by a lucrative land deal—a still pristine stretch of beach along the California coastline that both families had bid on. For the past week, the papers had been hinting that the Olivers had clinched the deal.

“Help…them.” The priest’s eyes drifted shut. “Choir…loft.”

“Hang on, Father,” Nik murmured.

A sudden noise from the sacristy behind him had him raising his gun and whirling. The uniform in the doorway had his gun raised, too. He was young, a rookie, Nik surmised. They’d each lowered their weapons by the time the young man’s partner appeared in the doorway.

Nik spoke to the young officer. “I want you to stand in the walkway and keep everyone but EMTs out.”

“There’s another squad car—they’re coming in through the front of the church,” the older officer said.

Nik gave him a nod. “Come here. I need you to put pressure on the wound until the EMTs arrive.” Once he had the officer in position, Nik rose and started off the altar. He paused when he spotted a cell phone lying on the marble floor a few feet away. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “When the crime-scene guys arrive, tell them to bag this cell phone.” Then he hurried down the aisle. Two more uniforms waited for him in the vestibule. One was kneeling over a man’s body. Nik tried to ignore the sensation in his thumbs as he noted the gun in the man’s hand and the twisted position of the body. Moving quickly, he squatted down and confirmed what he already knew. The man lying to the side of the circular staircase was Roman Oliver.

“Alive or dead?” Even as he asked the question, he rested his fingers lightly against Roman’s throat. Relief shot through him when he detected the pulse.

“He’s breathing, but unconscious,” one uniform replied. “No bullet wound. But his gun’s been fired. Looks like he took a bad tumble down the stairs.”

“Either that or he fell over the railing,” the other cop said.

Even as his mind raced, Nik managed a nod. Roman Oliver was the bride’s older brother and even though he usually kept his temper under control, Nik had seen it flare on occasion. The dread in his gut grew colder. Not only had Roman been Kit’s best friend since college, but he’d helped Theo out when he’d first opened his own law office. And six years ago, Roman had saved his sister Philly’s life. She’d wanted to take Nik’s sailboat out by herself. Roman, who’d been with them at the cabin that weekend, had been the only one to object, and he’d insisted on going with her. When the sudden squall had come up and the boat had capsized, Roman had gotten her to shore.

All the Angelises figured they owed him for that.

Pushing that thought aside, Nik forced himself to think like a cop. As the next in line to take over the Oliver business interests, he figured that Roman wouldn’t have been happy about his sister’s wedding. In fact, he might have done anything to prevent it.

Still crouched down, he glanced around the area. The space beneath and behind the circular staircase was shrouded in shadows, and it wasn’t until his gaze swept the area a second time that he spotted the purse lying beneath the first step. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out plastic gloves and slipped them on. Then he lifted the purse and dumped the contents out. Neat was his first thought. In his experience most women carried an enormous amount of junk around in their purses. This one contained only a cell phone, a wallet, a day planner, a lipstick and a pen. When he flipped open the wallet, he found the driver’s license in a clear plastic frame. His stomach clenched. Sadie Oliver, Roman’s other sister.

Searching his memory, Nik pulled up details. If he remembered correctly, Sadie was about four years Roman’s junior. He’d never met her, but there’d been a shot of all three of the Oliver siblings in the paper recently. Like her brother and sister, Sadie was tall, and she had long dark hair. She’d graduated from Harvard Law School recently and come home to work at Oliver Enterprises. So Sadie, Roman and Juliana had all been here in the church when the shooting had started. That wasn’t good.

After slipping the items back into the purse, Nik rose, and drew out his gun again. He had a very bad feeling about what he was going to find in the choir loft. Signaling to one cop to follow him, he spoke to the other officer. “Don’t let anyone else in except the EMTs. There’s a dead man in the sacristy and the priest’s been shot. Call the crime lab and tell them to get a team here ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” the uniform said as he pulled out his cell.

At the top of the stairs, Nik stopped. The choir loft was empty but there was a closed door ten feet from where he was standing. He motioned the uniformed officer to one side and he took the other. As soon as they were both in position, he threw open the door and went in low, while his companion went in high.

The room was small, ten by ten, and it was empty. Except for the wedding bouquet—and the bloodstains on two walls.