her Jack shifted, the fine fabric of his suit making whispery noises.
“I’d been preaching on the sanctity of the body at the same time one of the newspapers reported that Mr. Elliott had purchased the nude painting for more than one million dollars. All this while just blocks from the exhibit on Skid Row men and women and children were living on the streets and starving. I felt this was a real-world exercise in living out our faith and getting this important message out to others.”
“But you didn’t get much media attention, did you?” According to the reports from Jack’s people, not a single reporter covered the protest.
“The devil’s got hold of the media.” A vein popped out on North’s forehead. “Bunch of liberals who talk about truth but are well off the path.”
“This lack of media coverage upset you.” Because guys like North craved attention. They longed to have their messages heard.
“Agent Jimenez, you and I both know that the more witnesses the better,” North went on. “However, our efforts were not in vain. We shared our message with hundreds of people walking by. Some stopped long enough to hear about True North, and others took our literature.”
“So you’d label your protest a success?”
“Anytime a single follower turns to True North, we have success.” He pressed his palms together in front of his chest, his fingertips pointing to the heavens. “Simply put, just like you, Agent Jimenez, I want to save lives.”
“Yet you stockpile guns and explosives.”
“Strictly to protect the flock. I have a clear set of rules to guide me, including that one.” He pointed to the section of words behind his desk: Thou shall not kill .
Clearly this guy was giving off mixed messages. “What were you doing around lunchtime on Tuesday, October sixth?”
North ran a hand along his scraggly beard. “We have healing services for the aged on the first Mondays of the month, so I spent all day on Tuesday following up with prayer calls.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“My assistant can give you my phone records.”
Yes, the almighty assistant and right hand of God. “Please have her send them to me.” This guy may have an alibi, but he also had plenty of minions to do his will. She tossed her business card on the coffee table. “I’ll be in touch.”
When she reached the office door Jack still sat near the fireplace, his checkbook on his knee. He tore off a check and gave it to North, who flinched when he saw the name on the check but pocketed the money.
The guard escorted them past the gate, and once they reached Jack’s car, she asked, “You actually gave a donation to a man who all but called you and your art collection an enemy of the family?”
“Makes good business sense, especially in this deal, because after that exchange I’m sure you’re not done with North.” He reached for the door handle but didn’t open the door. “How’d you know about the munitions?”
“I didn’t.”
Jack laughed, the sound so unexpected and bold, it sent gooseflesh racing across her skin. “You were bluffing?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” She popped him on the upper arm, the flesh rock solid. “I’m sure you bluff all the time.”
“Of course, but I’m dealing with money, not life and death.”
She lifted her shoulders. “All the more reason to bluff.”
Jack remained motionless, only his eyes moving as he studied her with slow precision. Thirty seconds. One minute. Again she marveled at his steely control. At last he stepped from the car door. A half smile curved his lips as he tipped an imaginary cap.
Chapter Eight
Thursday, October 29
7:29 p.m.
B y the time they fought traffic back to downtown L.A., darkness had set in. Evie had spent most of the drive researching the victims who’d been strapped to the first three bombs. One was a student, another an exotic dancer, and the last a waitress. While she tried to find links between the victims, Jack had
“I’d been preaching on the sanctity of the body at the same time one of the newspapers reported that Mr. Elliott had purchased the nude painting for more than one million dollars. All this while just blocks from the exhibit on Skid Row men and women and children were living on the streets and starving. I felt this was a real-world exercise in living out our faith and getting this important message out to others.”
“But you didn’t get much media attention, did you?” According to the reports from Jack’s people, not a single reporter covered the protest.
“The devil’s got hold of the media.” A vein popped out on North’s forehead. “Bunch of liberals who talk about truth but are well off the path.”
“This lack of media coverage upset you.” Because guys like North craved attention. They longed to have their messages heard.
“Agent Jimenez, you and I both know that the more witnesses the better,” North went on. “However, our efforts were not in vain. We shared our message with hundreds of people walking by. Some stopped long enough to hear about True North, and others took our literature.”
“So you’d label your protest a success?”
“Anytime a single follower turns to True North, we have success.” He pressed his palms together in front of his chest, his fingertips pointing to the heavens. “Simply put, just like you, Agent Jimenez, I want to save lives.”
“Yet you stockpile guns and explosives.”
“Strictly to protect the flock. I have a clear set of rules to guide me, including that one.” He pointed to the section of words behind his desk: Thou shall not kill .
Clearly this guy was giving off mixed messages. “What were you doing around lunchtime on Tuesday, October sixth?”
North ran a hand along his scraggly beard. “We have healing services for the aged on the first Mondays of the month, so I spent all day on Tuesday following up with prayer calls.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“My assistant can give you my phone records.”
Yes, the almighty assistant and right hand of God. “Please have her send them to me.” This guy may have an alibi, but he also had plenty of minions to do his will. She tossed her business card on the coffee table. “I’ll be in touch.”
When she reached the office door Jack still sat near the fireplace, his checkbook on his knee. He tore off a check and gave it to North, who flinched when he saw the name on the check but pocketed the money.
The guard escorted them past the gate, and once they reached Jack’s car, she asked, “You actually gave a donation to a man who all but called you and your art collection an enemy of the family?”
“Makes good business sense, especially in this deal, because after that exchange I’m sure you’re not done with North.” He reached for the door handle but didn’t open the door. “How’d you know about the munitions?”
“I didn’t.”
Jack laughed, the sound so unexpected and bold, it sent gooseflesh racing across her skin. “You were bluffing?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” She popped him on the upper arm, the flesh rock solid. “I’m sure you bluff all the time.”
“Of course, but I’m dealing with money, not life and death.”
She lifted her shoulders. “All the more reason to bluff.”
Jack remained motionless, only his eyes moving as he studied her with slow precision. Thirty seconds. One minute. Again she marveled at his steely control. At last he stepped from the car door. A half smile curved his lips as he tipped an imaginary cap.
Chapter Eight
Thursday, October 29
7:29 p.m.
B y the time they fought traffic back to downtown L.A., darkness had set in. Evie had spent most of the drive researching the victims who’d been strapped to the first three bombs. One was a student, another an exotic dancer, and the last a waitress. While she tried to find links between the victims, Jack had
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