Page 133 of The Rut in the Road

The room filled with a scuffling sound as a dozen-plus agents settled into chairs around the table. Beside me, Raj was tense, and Hart was tapping his fingers on one thigh.

“This morning, sometime between four and five a.m., a message was delivered to this office,” he said, his voice serious. “The messenger wore a heavy hooded sweatshirt and gloves, as well as baggy black pants. The message was taped to the front doors.”

He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a plastic evidence bag, then pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it, then read: “Leave unto God that which is God’s, and we will leave unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. Judge not, lest ye be judged.” He set the paper down. “Cut-out magazine letters.”

“Jesus,” somebody muttered.

“Is… that a threat?” somebody else wanted to know.

“We believe so,” came the response as grey eyes studied the room. “Anybody want to hazard a guess who from?”

Raj and Hart exchanged a look.

“Shit,” Cass muttered.

There were rumbles around the room.

“All of you are here because you’re working cases with religious angles—anybody want to lay claim to it?”

I watched a muscle tick in Raj’s jaw.

I drew in a long breath, then put up my hand.

The whole room went dead silent, and the Deputy Assistant Director’s face settled into something that might have been approval. “May I touch it with a bare hand?” I asked.

“I was hoping you’d do that for us,” he said, walking the letter over and setting it on the table in front of me.

I nodded once.

“For those of you not in A-Branch, this is Rayn Alverno. He’s a contact psychic—let’s hope he can tell us something about the person or persons who pasted this together.”

I suddenly became very aware that everyone in the room was looking at me. I swallowed, then reached out, narrating as I read the thoughts on the page.

She didn’t knowwhy the Reverend didn’t just ask God to make the FBI leave them alone. They were doing God’s work. But he’d asked her to give paper and magazines to Carl, so she was going to do that.

He’d rather just drive straightinto the front of the damned federal building, not write them a note. He felt like he’d earned the right to be a soldier of God—an instrument of divine judgment. He wanted action, not words.

But Preacher Dale had said it was important to give sinners the opportunity to save themselves—to find their way to God, if they had goodness in their souls.

He wasn’t so sure about that. But if the Preacher wanted to give these sons of bitches the chance to make the worthy choice, he supposed it wasn’t his place to get in the way of that.

She knewshe needed to be careful, to wear gloves when she touched the glass doors. She was glad to have more work to do on behalf of God’s judgment, and she was especially glad that, this time, she wouldn’t have to kill anybody to do it.

I setthe paper back down on the table. “And that’s all,” I replied. “Presumably she put on gloves after that, and no one else has touched it except me.”

The whole room was staring.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

Raj’s leg nudged mine under the table, which provided a tiny bit of emotional support. I appreciated it, although I was still extremely aware of being the center of attention.

“Holy shit,” somebody finally said.

I had no idea what to say to that.

“And this, people, is why I let A-Branch bring in a contact psychic,” announced the Assistant Deputy Director.

“Can we have one, too?” somebody shouted.