Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)(84)

I filled my lungs and helped him to a sitting position. “So, yeah, the tornado thing was kind of plan B. If the cops know there has been a crime committed, they don’t have to wait for paperwork and the likes, right? They can just come in? Because the gate is kind of nonexistent at this point, so nothing but Johnny Law stopping them.”

“Far as I know.”

Angel popped back in. “There’re here.”

I nodded and brushed my mouth across Reyes’s.

Then I stood and ran to the opening of the barn.

People were running from one building to another, carrying weapons and supplies. One guy fell out of a tree with a loud thud. My bad. And in the distance, lights flashed as cars sped toward us.

The Diviners scattered like cockroaches as official vehicles stormed in one after another. And someone invited the National Guard. Those guys were always trouble.

Most of the parishioners ran for the main building, which would lead to a similar situation. Despite the fact that I’d ripped off the doors, crazy people were still barricading themselves inside. Those things never ended well.

Cruisers and official SUVs skidded to a halt inside the compound, stirring up enough dust to give all the members time to run and hide. The officers opened their vehicle doors and took cover behind them, aiming their guns.

An ambulance waited in the wings.

“Well, crap,” I said to Angel. “I’m all better. I don’t have a scratch on me.”

“But your clothes look messed up. Bad.” Angel gave me a thumbs-up, then disappeared into the melee.

I ran back to my husband. “Reyes—”

“Behind you,” he said softly.

Only this time, instead of getting bludgeoned, I shifted as the butt of a rifle slammed toward me. The man, the beefy one, almost fell forward when it passed clean through.

I stood and faced him, ignoring the confused expression on his face. “That is enough.”

When he went to hit me again, Reyes was there. He hadn’t dematerialized. He’d broken the ropes, as he could have done hours ago, walked behind the man, grabbed his jaw and the back of his head, and twisted.

A crack proved that he’d broken the man’s neck. I’d tried to warn them. He crumpled to the floor. Then another crack, only from gunfire, echoed around us, and another, but not from any of the guns outside. These were coming from inside the main building. But they weren’t firing at the cops outside. They were firing inside.

“Oh, my God, Reyes. They’re killing them!”

I ran forward before Reyes could stop me and sprinted across the compound, yelling to Uncle Bob. “They’re killing them! Uncle Bob, hurry!”

To the surprise of the other officers, Uncle Bob scrambled from behind a cruiser and followed me, as did Garrett, who’d apparently tagged along. I slammed against a bookcase blocking the entrance, but Reyes was right behind me. He pushed me back into Uncle Bob’s arms and said, “Hold her.”

With one solid thrust, he broke down the barricade and dove into the darkness inside. Two more shots sounded as I struggled against Ubie. Then nothing.

I pushed out of Uncle Bob’s arms and rushed inside, but Garrett hurried past me to lead the way, flashlight on, pistol at the ready.

People were huddled in corners and underneath tables, while a woman, a teenaged boy, and two men lay dead. Rifles lay beside the two men. The woman and teen had been shot in what could have become one of the worst mass shootings on American soil. I could only assume they didn’t have time to mix the Kool-Aid, so they were taking out the members with bullets one by one.

The men had clearly had their necks snapped, compliments of my husband.

I ran to the woman and boy and knelt beside them. Feeling for any sign of life. There was none.

Reyes came back through a doorway and did some kind of military gang signs to Garrett, sending him into the room he’d just come from.

“Reyes.” I rushed to him but took great care when I walked into his arms, trying not to cling. Failing as my arms locked around him. As my fingers curled into his shirt.

He seemed completely unfazed by his injuries as he stared down at me.

“The Fosters?” I asked.

He shook his head. “They’re here somewhere. They have to be.”

Damn it. I’d lost track of them when I went all tornado. Which, who knew that was possible? Show of hands.

Uncle Bob raced in then with several uniforms. They checked the bodies and began assessing the other Diviners.

Ubie took Reyes’s hand in a firm shake. “You’ve looked better.”

“So have you,” he teased.

“Hey,” I said, interrupting, “where the hell are we?”

They both grinned. “We’re near a town called Datil,” Ubie said, “just west of Socorro.”

Socorro was south of Albuquerque. That part I knew. Had been to the pretty town many times. But Datil? “There’s a Datil, New Mexico?”

“There is. Your dad never told you about it? The area is gorgeous. Your dad wanted to put in a ski resort and call it Ski Datil. Get it?”

I laughed into Reyes’s shirt, and he pulled me closer, wrapping a large hand around my head and kissing the top of it.

Uncle Bob cleared his throat and placed an uncomfortable gaze on my husband. “I hate to be a downer, Farrow, but did you get shot?”