Frozen Memories. Cassie Miles

you to stand up real slow and careful.”

      Seriously? Had Bad Santa forgotten how well armed Spence was? Did this old guy think he could take down a federal agent in his prime?

      “Let me remind you,” Clarence said, “I’ve got the drop on you, and it’d be easier to swab up the blood from your dead body than to sand bullet holes out of the pews.”

      “Were you even a chaplain?”

      “I’m retired, but I served.”

      Something must have happened to turn the old man into a traitor. In other circumstances, Spence might have been willing to delve and probe and put together motivations and answers. But he wasn’t in a forgiving mood. This investigation needed to be over so he could return to Virginia with Angelica and repair her memory.

      Lowering his rifle and sliding his handgun onto the pew, Spence turned sideways in the choir loft so he’d present a narrow silhouette to the man hiding behind the altar. “Tell me, Clarence, if I hadn’t come along, what would you have done to Angelica?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “She’s a loose end. It doesn’t seem smart to leave her running free. Would you have shot her?”

      Clarence huffed as he adjusted the barrel on his rifle. “You’ve got this wrong. Just give me a minute and let me explain.”

      A disembodied voice rose from the altar. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

      How do you know what I think? Spence had never been known for his calm, patient attitude, and he sure as hell didn’t need advice from some dumber-than-dirt thug. It was time to take control of this situation.

      Disarming Clarence would be a piece of cake; the old guy wasn’t exactly in peak condition. The tricky part would be to avoid getting shot by the armed thug. Spence coiled his long legs beneath him. With one well-placed leap, he went into the aisle between the pews. With a pivot, he launched himself off the organ and smashed into the pastor’s broad chest.

      Clarence went down with a thud. Flat on his back, he didn’t bother struggling. As Spence fastened his wrists with a zip tie, Clarence said, “There should have been an easier way to do this.”

      “Explain.”

      “First, an introduction,” Clarence said. “The dark and scary character who escaped the SWAT team is my nephew, Trevor MacArthur. Help us out, Trev. Turn on the sanctuary lights.”

      The shadowy figure that had been lurking behind the altar went to the edge of the sanctuary and flipped a couple of switches. Lights blazed in the nave.

      A young man with curly brown hair and a beard strolled to the front of the sanctuary. “There’s one more thing you ought to know, Spence.”

      “What’s that?”

      “I’m FBI, working undercover.”