Blood of Christ: A Story of the Templar Knights

By Tracey Leigh

Blood of Christ: A Story of the Templar Knights uncovers the history of the Knights Templar as they flee persecution at the hands of the king of France. Setting sail from that countrys port in La Rochelle in 1307, these protectors of sacred mysteries and treasures vanish into history, despite the efforts of the king to extract the details of their plans by torturing captured knights.

Seven centuries later, an early morning telephone call draws D. Wyatt Coltrain, sheriff of Singristy County, Texas, into a deepening mystery, the outlines of which Holly Desmond, a British archeologist and world-renowned authority on the history of the Knights Templar, explains to him. Despite Sheriff Coltrains initial skepticism, he finds himself confronting the beginnings of an adventure the outcome of which promises to change the reputation of his quiet hometown, rewrite history, and alter the worlds balance of power.

Anyone who enjoys mysteries with historical roots, epics with locales that span the globe, stories of ordinary people swept up in world-shaking events, and challenges enfolded in riddles and puzzles will find in Blood of Christ: A Story of the Templar Knights an attractive story that begs the reader to turn to the next page and the next.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jul 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452529592

Book preview

Chapter One

"H ello?" The voice was deep and ann oyed.

D. Wyatt Coltrain..?

Yes?

Mr. Coltrain.. my name is Holly Desmond.

Do you know what the hell time it is, woman?

Three fifteen in the afternoon? The light, accented voice was hopeful.

Well. You got the three fifteen right.

Oh. Hell. I’m SO sorry, Mr. Coltrain. Wyatt grudgingly gave her credit for the sincerity and genuine regret he heard in her voice. Tell me what time to ring you back. I do need to talk to you, but I’d really rather you were in a good mood when I did.

Ms. Desmond, is it?

Yes..?

Wyatt’s lips twitched at the wince he heard so clearly. You’re lucky you have an accent that appeals to me. Now is as good a time as any.. I was getting up in two hours anyway.

Please accept my sincerest apologies, Mr. Coltrain. I’m calling from Melbourne, Australia and I messed up the time conversion.. She tsked in annoyance. Quite a bit, it seems.

So, you’re Australian?

I’m English, actually. But I live in Australia and have for almost five years.

How come? Wyatt folded one arm behind his head, staring up at the shadow dappled ceiling of his bedroom.

I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse. She told him with a husky laugh. Are you sure this is a good time, Mr. Coltrain? I’m feeling terribly guilty about waking you up.

What was the offer?

That’s hardly pertinent..

You woke me up before dawn. He reminded her easily. You owe me, Ms. Desmond.

A very eccentric, extremely old gentleman left his entire library to my grandfather when he died. She told him after only a moments hesitation. My grandfather, in turn, left it to me on the proviso that I personally catalog every item in the collection.

And that’s taken you five years? Wyatt’s brows shot up. How big was the damned library?

No.. the cataloging only took me six weeks. The last almost five years have been spent reading it all. And ‘vast’ is the word that most readily leaps to mind to describe the collection.

And you’re calling me because..?

Ah. Now this is where it becomes a little sticky in regards to believability, Mr. Coltrain. She took a deep breath in and released it on a flow of words. I have excellent, documented reason to believe that somewhere on your property is a lost archive of historically relevant artifacts, secreted away for safe keeping long before the Americas were actually settled.. in 1320, to be accurate. She listened to the silence for a long, long moment. Mr. Coltrain? Are you still there..?

Buried treasure.

Umm. Yes.

Did Pejo put you up to this?

Pee Joe..? She sounded a little bewildered. I’m not sure what that is, exactly.. Mr. Coltrain.. I realize this is a lot to take in.. but I assure you, I’m not a charlatan or a confidence trickster. I’m an archaeologist of the highest repute..

God dammit. Wyatt sighed gustily, disappointed despite himself. Tell him the accent was a bullseye, darlin’, and that I’m gonna kick his ass up around his ears for making you wake me up at this un-Godly hour.

Mr. Coltrain.. I assure you.. I don’t know anyone named Pee Joe.. I can’t even begin to guess how it’s spelled.

Yeah, okay. Tell him, next time, skip the buried treasure thing altogether and go straight for the phone sex. Wyatt chuckled at the gasp. What’re you wearin’, darlin’..?

Mr. Coltrain..

Call me ‘Wyatt’.. what color are your nipples, Holly..?

Mr. Coltrain.

Don’t be shy, darlin’.. Wyatt shifted against the sheets. We’re already half way there..

Oh, for the love of Polly.

Wyatt blinked at the dial tone, the annoyed snap the only warning he got. Uh oh.. He went over the conversation again then snorted and hung up the phone. Buried treasure.

Wyatt climbed from his pick up and settled his Stetson on his head. PEJO.

YO.

Wyatt strode around the house and saw his cousin sweating over a tipped-over ride-on mower. Okay, asshole. Bullseye. Now, who is she and what’s her number?

Patrick Joseph Coltrain stood up and looked at Wyatt over the rims of his sunglasses, the bandanna he’d tied around his head sweat soaked. What have I told you about starting conversations in your head and only voicing the last part out loud, bro?

Wyatt draped his hands over his hips, his palm riding the butt of his holstered weapon, the early morning sun glinting off the silver star that marked him as the local Sheriff. Kiss my ass. Who is she?

I thought you were supposed to stop smoking pot when you pinned on the badge.

I was. Wyatt’s smile flashed and was gone. Who is she?

You know more than I do, bro.. you, at least, know she’s a ‘she’. Pejo wiped his hands on a relatively clean rag. I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.

So, you’re gonna look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t talk a husky voiced Brit into callin’ me at three this mornin’..?

Pejo dipped his chin and looked Wyatt dead in the eye over the rims of his glasses. Yup.

Uh. Wyatt believed him. Oh.

What’d she want?

To tell me that she thinks there’s buried treasure on our land.

Pejo barked a laugh. Okay. I can see how you’d think it was me, but seriously.. buried treasure? I’d have skipped the history lesson and given her a whole other block of instruction.

See? That’s what I said. Wyatt rubbed a rueful palm along his clean shaven jaw. She hung up on me after I asked her what color her nipples were.

A valid question. Pejo’s chuckle was slowly deepening into laughter. Did you get an answer?

Nope.

Did you get a name?

Holly Desmond.

Pejo shook his head slowly. Never heard of her. Brit, you said?

Yup. Freakin’ accent from hell, bro. Said she was callin’ from Australia.

Australia? C’mon now..

That’s why I thought you’d put her up to it.

Nope. Wish to God I’d thought of it.. His grin flashed. But not guilty, Sheriff.

Well.. what the hell.

Afternoon, Wyatt..

Wyatt rose to his feet and nodded to the silver haired woman who had entered the Sheriff’s office. Afternoon, Ms. Dora. What have you got for me?

The Post Mistress handed over a bundle of mail and a Fed Ex package. The delivery guy stopped at the post office because you weren’t here, so I saved him the trip out to your place and signed for it.

Appreciated. Wyatt took the bundle of mail in one hand, tucked the box under his arm and turned back to his desk.

The place of origin is Australia. Dora told him as she walked towards the door, not seeing the sudden hitch in his stride. If you ever get any mail from there with the stamps on it, I’d like to have them, Wyatt. My grandson is a collector.

Sure thing, Ms. Dora. Wyatt sank down into his chair, the package set on his desk in front of him. Why do I get the feeling I owe a husky voiced Brit a sincere apology? he reached for his phone and dialed a number from heart. Pejo. Come to the ranch. Australia just Fed Ex’d me a box. he hung up after he left the message.

Hey, boss.

Hey, Clem. Wyatt rose to his feet as soon as his Deputy arrived, gathered up the box, his hat and keys and stepped out from behind his desk. The mail just arrived. Go through it at some point tonight.

Where’s the fire? Clem stepped aside as Wyatt reached for the door.

Pejo’s on his way to the ranch. Wyatt rolled his eyes and snugged his Stetson on his head. If I leave him alone too damned long, he’s likely to try and fix somethin’ that ain’t broke. He stepped out into the blazing hot afternoon on the sound of his Deputy’s snort of amusement.

Wyatt wasn’t surprised to see the pick-up already parked in front of the sprawling ranch house and pulled in behind it. PEJO. He called when he stepped into the blissfully cool house.

YO.

Wyatt hung his hat from the hook on the wall beside the door and toed off his square-toed cowboy boots, nudging them in beside Pejo’s, something he’d done a thousand times over a lifetime spent in that very house. Can you believe this shit?

Believe what shit? Pejo handed him a beer, glancing at the Fed Ex box as it was set down on the counter between them. What’s in the box?

Do you never listen to your voicemail? Wyatt twisted the cap off his beer and downed half the bottle in three long, grateful swallows.

Not today. Pejo shrugged and sipped his own beer. Can’t find my phone.

Wyatt wasn’t surprised. Then what the hell are you doin’ in my house, man?

I ran out of beer in mine.

The store is just a couple of miles further on.

But it don’t have a T.V. and they get annoyed when I eat directly out of the fridge.

True. Wyatt accepted that with a shrug and two more long swallows of icy beer.

So what’s in the box?

I don’t know yet.

Are you waitin’ on a drum roll?

Wyatt turned the box and tapped a long finger against the tracking sticker. Yup.

Australia? Holy Hannah. She wasn’t just wishful thinkin’ on your part?

Apparently not. Wyatt turned the box over to the return address. Dr. Holly Desmond. Doctor. Kinda throws the whole ‘skip to the phone sex’ thing into a whole new light, huh?

Pejo winced and swallowed beer. No wonder you’re still single.

So are you. Wyatt pointed out as he crossed to the bin and dropped the empty into it. You ready for another?

Yup. Pejo drained his beer then lobbed the bottle into the garbage from where he stood. Two points.

Wyatt winced at the crash of glass against glass and set Pejo’s beer down on the counter as he pulled up a stool to sit on. Did you get the mower fixed?

Yup. Purrin’ like an asthmatic kitten. Pejo twisted the cap off his bottle and gestured to the box. Open that already.

Wyatt took a long swallow from his beer and set it aside. She said that the ‘buried treasure’.. His fingers made quotation marks in the air then tore the box seal open. Has been here since 1320.

Seven hundred years? Pejo straight armed himself up onto the counter top so he could see into the box when it opened and two heads recoiled lightly in mirrored surprise when they saw the bubble-wrap lining and the two bubble-wrapped packages that were nestled inside it. What the hell is it? Pirate booty?

Even earlier. The thirteen hundreds was the freakin’ Dark Ages, Pejo. We’re talkin’ Kings and Queens and Knights in shining armor. It’s like ‘Braveheart’s’ time line, bro. William Wallace and Robert the Bruce of Scotland finally kicking the snot out of the English. he opened the box and set the lid to one side with one hand and plucked the single, folded, sheet of paper from the top of the contents. I’m suddenly having a really intense ‘Harry Potter’ moment.

Ron Weasely and the ‘howler’ he got from his mama? Pejo asked with a knowing grin.

Yup. Wyatt closed one eye and braced as he flipped the page open and began to read. Mr. Coltrain. I should’ve done this first, I suppose. It may have smoothed the way for my badly timed phone call for which, once more, I apologize profoundly. Wyatt looked up at Pejo. She even writes with an accent.. explain that to me.

Can’t. Pejo pointed to the box with arched brows and saw the nod before Wyatt began to read again.

Read the pages that I have marked and call me back at your earliest convenience at the number below. Yours in complete sincerity. Holly Desmond, PhD, B.A. Wyatt’s brows winged up. She’s a PhD as well as holding a Bachelor of Arts.. we’re strolling through ‘scary smart’ territory now.

How many sub categories are there under ‘Arts’..? Pejo lifted out two bubble-wrapped books, then set the empty padded box aside.

A lot. Wyatt re-read the brief note, finding her flowing handwriting to be very pleasing to the eye. But given the 1320 thing, I’d say she’s an egg-head historian. His eyes narrowed suddenly. She told me that she was an archaeologist, I think.

That tracks. Pejo nodded and shrugged and opened up the first hard cover book, the binding cracked, the pages yellowed, at the page marked by a crisply folded square of modern paper. Hey, check it out.. Pejo cradled the old book in one square palm and carefully folded out the map that was bound into the book like any other page. Well now.. don’t this piece of coastline look familiar..?

Wyatt leaned in to look at the beautifully rendered copy of an even older looking map. It sure the hell does.. His blunt finger traced the marked estuary in from the naturally formed harbor to the large body of water inland. That don’t though. He leaned in further and squinted at the writing at the bottom of the map. Holy Hannah.. does that say 1512..?

Yup. Pejo flipped the book closed, reopened the cover and read the date under the publisher’s name. 1793, London, England. This book is older than the house we’re standing in..

Wyatt snorted softly. It’s damned near older than the country we’re standing in.

Pejo grunted his agreement as he opened the book back up to the unfolded map and began to read from the page opposite it. While many believe the La Rochelle fleet scattered to friendly harbors throughout the known world, there are some who are convinced that the Fleet ventured into the unknown and were, in fact, the first to discover the New World. This claim has been substantiated in the form of the map.. Pejo flicked the still folded out map lightly with his finger. .. that has been verified as genuine by many scholars of the day. This appears to show the southern most coastline of the Americas. The map, referred to as the ‘Dupree Map’, predates even the earliest claims to the discovery of the Americas and has been deemed too accurate, in both detail and distances, to be a fake.

Gimme.

Pejo handed the book to Wyatt and took the other from its protective padding, opening it to the marked page. Such was the joy to be once again upon dry land, the poor soldiers of Christ gave thanks to God with seven days of prayer. And it was in this place, where ovens could be built and used to feed the masses, that the fleeing, persecuted Knights broke bread as brothers for the first time in many, many months. The area was referred to, in several accounts, as ‘the harbor of the Body of Christ’ because of the breaking of the bread during the week long mass before they sailed inland.. Pejo stopped reading abruptly and turned to the front of the book. 1809, London, England.. oh, man.

What?

We live twenty miles from the ‘Body of Christ’, Dove.

Corpus Christi.

Yup.

Oh. Man. Wyatt shoved a hand through his dark hair.

There’s more.. ‘the Knights, on many occasions, had need to disembark and tow their ships through the narrower passages until they found themselves sailing into a large, deep lake, surrounded on three sides by limestone cliffs, the third opening out onto a large, flat prairie that met the waters. It must have seemed like the Garden of Eden to the exhausted Knights of Christ..’.. Holy Hannah.. Pejo’s eyes lifted to Wyatt’s, both men knowing the place described intimately. That’s Singristy lake..

Okay.. the cliffs, yes. But the prairie is far from flat and doesn’t meet the water unless you’re dragging it over the edge with you. Wyatt took the book from him to study the bottom right corner of the folded-out map. If this is a hoax, it’s a damned intricate one.. he tilted the map up to the light and squinted to make out the two markings that had been inked onto the old copy of an even older document. Looks like a cross and a Fleur-de-Lys.. He handed it to Pejo with a gathering frown. That’s yankin’ on somethin’ important..

Okay.. am I the only one getting a really, and I mean REALLY, strong Dan Brown vibe?

What..? ‘The Di Vinci Code’..? Wyatt’s brow cleared on a soft ‘oh’ of clarity. You’re right.. the engrailed cross and the Fleur-de-Lys practically breathes Templar Knights, huh?

They were the ‘Poor Knights of Christ’, Dove.. Pejo rubbed his fingers against his stubbly cheek, his eyes moving from the all-too familiar coastline to the intimately known large, deep lake that lay a little over ten miles inland, meteorologically and geo-physically explained as a small impact crater. A small fragment from the asteroid-strike that caused the Ice Age. According to Hollywood, anyway. Couldn’t begin to tell you how true any of it is, though.

How much does it cost to call Australia do you think?

Do you really care?

Nuh uh. Wyatt reached for the handset, the short note already open in front of him, and dialed in the long sequence of numbers with great care.

It’s probably like.. three in the morning where she is, bro.

So? Wyatt shrugged as he switched it to speaker so Pejo could listen too. She dragged my ass out of sleep.. I’m just returning the favor.

OH. Son of a BISCUIT. Holly hopped, then hobbled her way to the stridently ringing phone, the early morning still very dark, the heavy furniture having seemingly rearranged itself during the night, her whole foot throbbing with the toe she’d just mashed. Hello.

Dr. Holly Desmond?

Yes? She snapped, her injured toe cradled in one hand.

This is Wyatt Coltrain.

Oh. We’re off to SUCH an auspicious start, Mr. Coltrain.

How do you figure?

I’m fairly sure that I just broke my bloody toe.

And that’s my fault how?

It’s not. She said shortly. I’m just not a morning person and I’m intolerable until I have hot tea in front of me. May I ring you back in twenty minutes, Mr. Coltrain?

Sure the hell can, darlin’. Just one question before you go?

Of course.

What’re you wearin’? There was a moment of silence, followed by an irritated tsk and a dial tone.

I’m likin’ her already. Pejo barked a laugh.

What’d I tell you about the accent?

Oh, it’s a keeper.

By the time Holly had the kettle boiled, her tea poured and her bruised toe treated, her sense of humor was once more firmly in place and she dialed the long sequence of numbers with a rueful smile.

Hello.

Hello, Mr. Coltrain. This is Holly Desmond.

Dr. Desmond. You should be aware that I have you on speaker phone and my cousin Pejo is listenin’ to every word.

Hello, Pee Joe. Holly still had no idea how it was spelled and said it with care.

Afternoon, ma’am.

I have you on speaker also, but it’s so my hands are free not because I have company. Holly sipped her tea, swallowing with a soft sigh. I am assuming that you received the package I sent to you, not that you tracked me down through stealthy Googling.

You assume correctly.

Excellent. I would appreciate it if you would handle the books with care, Mr. Coltrain. They are quite old.

Saw that. Wyatt sipped his beer. You have our attention, Dr. Desmond.

You recognize the lake, then?

Sure the hell do. We swam naked in there every hot day our entire lives.. although it’s a mite smaller than what was described in the book, the river no longer runs to the ocean..

And the prairie has hills and a big assed drop off into the water rather than kissing up against it. Pejo came in without skipping a beat.

At least two hundred and eighty feet square when it did, I’m willing to guess.

Roughly. How’d you know that?

Because it had to be deep enough to accommodate a dozen and a half sailing ships..

Umm.. Pejo’s eyes narrowed a little. Galleons? Isn’t that what they were called?

More than a dozen gallons in a good mouthful, bro.

Not ‘gallons’.. ‘galleons’.. Holly enunciated clearly, addressing both men. Ships, Mr. Coltrain. Not galleons, however.. those were sailed by Christopher Columbus some two centuries later. We’re speaking of Cogs.. smaller and slower but cutting edge technology for their day.

Okay.. Wyatt gave that some serious thought. Assuming that the account in the book is correct, Dr. Desmond, and both the prairie and the cliffs kissed up against the water.. then, yes. Singristy Lake would’ve been big enough and deep enough to harbor a dozen sailing ships.. with room left to maneuver.

Singristy Lake. Holly’s smile was in her voice. They named it ‘Blood of Christ’.. ‘Sang Christi’. It makes sense when taken with ‘Corpus Christi’ or ‘Body of Christ’.

Holy Hannah. Pejo’s deep voice was almost gleeful. I’m feelin’ like one of the freakin’ ‘Hardy Boys’ here.. oh, wait.. do you know what the ‘Hardy Boys’ is?

Are you joking? Sean Cassidy and Parker Stevenson? Holly’s laugh was a husky gurgle. I wanted to be Nancy Drew quite badly for many years.

Are you as pretty as your accent, Dr. Desmond? Pejo bit back the laugh as he watched Wyatt’s eyes roll heavenwards and his lips begin to move silently.

I.. I have absolutely no idea how to answer that. It’s extremely subjective as to whether one finds my accent attractive or not.

One does. Wyatt said dryly.

Two does, too.

Well. Holly’s laugh floated through the speaker. If all goes well on the remainder of this call, you shall see for yourselves.

You want to come here?

Yes, Mr. Coltrain. Very much. It’s my understanding that the weather is quite warm there now, is that correct?

One hundred and ten in the shade most days for the next few months or so.

Then I would like your permission to set up a camp on the prairie in order to investigate the area thoroughly. Holly tried and failed to keep the excitement from her voice. I can guarantee you that no excavation will take place without your express permission and full knowledge.

What is it that you’re looking for, Dr. Desmond?

Why.. the Ark of the Covenant, Mr. Coltrain. Holly’s voice was serious. The Templar Knights fled La Rochelle with the Ark on board one of their ships.

Chapter Two

H olly strode down the ramp of San Antonio Airport, her small backpack slung over one shoulder, exhaustion pulling at her hard. She looked up and followed the signs to the baggage claim area, snagging a luggage cart on the way and looked at the display boards until she found the one flashing her flight number from L.A.. She shrugged off her daypack and wedged it into the small basket between the cart’s handles, leaned against the sturdy trolley and waited for the conveyor belt to begin moving. She looked around the almost deserted terminal, the late hour ensuring a light traffic, and noted the tall man in the tan police uniform, her tired eyes skimming over his wide shoulders and chest and narrow hips appreciatively before movin g on.

Wyatt watched the tall woman for a few minutes, his eyes moving over the passengers drifting towards the conveyor belt, but always returning to her. Faded jeans followed compact curves, hugging her hips and flaring out over low-heeled, well-loved cowboy boots. Her upper body was both outlined and concealed under a white t-shirt and soft-looking denim jacket, her brown hair neatly braided, the tufted ends hanging between her shoulder blades. He watched her straighten as the conveyor belt began to move and press her hands to the small of her back and arch into the pressure, her jacket riding up to her waist. Oh. God loves me. Wyatt’s eyes locked onto the back pockets of her jeans, focusing beyond the heart-shaped ass to the patches sewn onto the denim, one a Union Jack, the other the Australian flag. His long legs ate up the distance between them, his big body weaving easily through the gathering crowd. Dr. Desmond?

Holly turned at the deep voice and blinked up at the cop she’d seen. Yes, officer?

Wyatt Coltrain. He held his hand out. Sheriff of Singristy County.

Oh. Holly said in surprise, her hand sliding over his palm. I didn’t realize you were a police officer, Sheriff Coltrain and I certainly wasn’t expecting to be picked up from the airport.

Wyatt will do just fine. He shook her hand, surprised at the firm grip. And it’s a mighty long walk, ma’am, one I was not expecting you to take.

Holly, and I was planning on renting a car.

Still can, but it will be cheaper away from the city.

I have quite a bit of baggage, I’m afraid.

I have a pick up with a big bed. Wyatt’s smile flashed. Checkmate.

Holly gave a husky laugh then pointed to the large, silver suitcase that was coming through the rubber ribbon strips. There’s one more of those and a black one about the same size.

Wyatt wasn’t expecting the weight and set the case down on the cart with a soft grunt. What did you bring? Aussie bricks?

Books, actually. Holly hooked her hand around the strap of her battered, well traveled back pack, the bag almost as tall as her, swinging it off the conveyor with the ease of long practice and up onto the cart. Many of the books I’m referencing don’t photocopy or scan well because of the paper and the printer’s ink that was used and the process itself can be quite damaging. She watched him swing the black case off the conveyor belt and onto the cart beside the silver, the second matching case coming through as he did so. Right then. That’s the lot.

Seriously? Wyatt’s brows winged up. Your stuff was the first off the plane?

I requested that it be the last loaded aboard. Holly shrugged and slung her smaller pack over her shoulder as Wyatt took control of the cart. Last on, first off.

You’ve done the travel thing a few times, I’m willin’ to bet.

I sat down and worked out the mileage one rainy weekend. She fell into step with him, the top of her head barely clearing his shoulder. Over the last twenty years, added all together, I have circumnavigated the globe eight times.. almost nine with this jaunt.

That’s a lot of time sittin’ on your ass eatin’ bad food, darlin’.

No truer words spoken. Holly followed him out into the night and struggled to draw a deep breath, the heat hitting her like a damp wall after almost twenty-four hours of non-stop air conditioning. Good. Lord. She shrugged out of her jacket and back pack as they stopped at the crosswalk just outside the terminal. Where are you parked?

Wyatt nodded to the large black dual cab pick up parked right beside them. Being a Sheriff has its perks. He told her as he dropped the tail gate. Why do you think I wore the uniform for an airport pick-up?

To give a tired Brit a quiet thrill? Holly swung the large backpack up onto the tail gate with an effortless ease that quirked Wyatt’s eyebrows and pushed it into the bed.

To park without a permit, but good to know. Wyatt laid down the last of the hard suitcases and secured the tail gate as Holly walked the cart over to the rack. He held the door open for her, offering her his hand to climb up into the high vehicle, then closing the door after her.

Holly set her day-pack between her feet, clipped her seat belt across her and dropped her head back with a sigh as Wyatt climbed in behind the wheel. Thank you very much for coming to pick me up, Wyatt.

You’re very welcome. He pulled out from the curb and merged into the light traffic. Are you hungry?

Starving.

Mind if we hit a drive through rather than find a restaurant to sit and eat at?

Not at all. Holly rolled her head to watch his profile. My treat. No argument.

Yes, ma’am. Wyatt’s voice was amused. Is this your first trip to the States?

Yes. I’ve been to South America a number of times, but this is the first time on U.S. soil.

Can I ask you somethin’?

Holly’s lips twitched. Jeans and a t-shirt.

Wyatt’s laugh rolled quietly. How old are you?

Almost forty. You?

Turned forty-one couple of months back. How almost? Wyatt turned his head to look at her face, in shadow and in light, in shadow and in light, then turned back to the road.

Two months, two days.

No shit? You and Pejo are practically twins. He turns forty on the sixteenth.

Twins then. I’m on the sixteenth too.

Come what may, darlin’.. I ain’t never gonna forget your birthday..

Holly blinked slowly. How strangely comforting I’m finding that, Wyatt. May I ask you a question?

Shoot.

What does the ‘D’ stand for in D. Wyatt Coltrain?

Dove.

Dove? As in the bird of peace?

Yes, ma’am.

Holly turned that around in her mind as she watched his profile, in light and in shadow, in light and in shadow. Oddly fitting, actually. Why don’t you use it?

Wyatt shrugged easily. It’s not a name I want everyone usin’. Pejo and half a dozen we grew up with are about the only ones who do now and that’s because they always have.

Spell his name for me. I’ve never heard it before.

P is for ‘Patrick’, Jo is for ‘Joseph’. Patrick Joseph Coltrain has been called Pejo for as long as I can remember and we spell it P.E.J.O.

Oh, for the love of Polly.. Holly’s laugh was a soft bubble of sound. P-Jo. Now it makes perfect sense to me, thank you.

Wyatt pulled under the blessedly familiar golden arches. You’re welcome. The man in question has forbidden any conversation about why you’re here unless he’s there for it, just so you know. Pejo is happier than a tornado in a trailer park over this whole danged thing.

Holly blinked at the imagery then burst into tired giggles. I’m going to take that as a positive thing until told otherwise.

It is. Wyatt chuckled and rolled to a halt in the narrow, serpentine driveway. But my orders are clear.

Okay. She shrugged easily and fished her wallet from her backpack. What are we going to talk about for the next almost two hours?

Oh, I dunno.. Wyatt rolled his window down as the car in front of them moved past the order board. We’ll think of something. What do you want to eat?

Why have you traveled so much, Holly? Wyatt crumpled up the burger wrapper, the last bite being eaten, and dropped it into the open sack between them.

Holly swallowed the mouthful of soda and replaced the cup in the dashboard holder. My entire family tree is populated with academics. Historians, professors, teachers, archaeologists.. going back to the dawn of the Golden Age. The attic in my Grandfather’s house is an archaeological dig all on its own and I found my own calling playing among the relics when I was a child. She wiped her mouth and fingers with a crumpled napkin, then dropped it into the empty sack. My parents were killed on expedition when I was very young and I was raised by my father’s father.. where he went, I went, all my life.

Why did he travel?

He was an excellent field archaeologist and university professor.. his digs fed his lectures, his students worked his digs. Des started taking me with him on expedition when I was twelve.. She flashed him a sudden smile. The real life Indiana Jones and his ‘Short Round’.. if Hollywood only knew.

You called your grandfather ‘Des’..?

Everyone called him ‘Des’. Holly shrugged. Even his students. He only ever bowed to formality when he was in audience with the Queen and even she was calling him ‘Des’ the last time they were together.

The QUEEN? Wyatt’s head snapped around to look at her. Of England?

Holly’s laugh was a quiet, husky bubble of sound. Among others. He was a very popular fellow and his digs took him all over the globe. He knew influential people who made important introductions. One shoulder lifted and fell in an easy shrug. All my life.

Did you ever meet her yourself?

Yes. Three times, now. Holly nodded with a shrug.

What’s she like? Wyatt asked curiously, oddly delighted with the complete lack of bragging.

Extremely intelligent, very quietly spoken and endlessly curious about the world outside her gilded cage. Holly’s voice was soft, almost sad, as she spoke of her Queen. I couldn’t live her life, Wyatt. To never have the freedom to just pack a bag and free fall into adventure on a moment’s notice. She’s serving a life term in the most luxurious prison on earth and the hell of it all is that she knows it. Has always known it and short of abdicating as her Uncle did, there’s not a bloody thing she can do to change it but die.

Why doesn’t she hand off to her eldest boy?

Because she took the job for life and she’s a woman of her word. Holly told him firmly. I, personally, can’t see Charles taking the throne and I certainly don’t see Camilla Parker-Bowles being Queen, even as King’s Consort.

Why?

She’s a divorcee who was, for many years, involved in an illicit, adulterous affair with the Prince of Wales. She’s the main reason Diana was so miserable for so long, I’m sure. Holly’s shoulder lifted and fell. It may well be 2013, Wyatt, but the throne of England still has its rules, traditions and expectations that must be adhered to. Edward, the current Queen’s late uncle, abdicated because he fell in love with an American divorcee and he was told he was not allowed to marry her if he expected to keep the crown. Great Britain is steeped in history repeating over and over, Wyatt, and the Queen is not a short sighted woman. She was named well as she is as great a ruler as her namesake, Elizabeth the first. Both weathered wars and bloody battles, both guilty of starting a few of them, both front and center in a shining example of ‘one in, all in’. Holly took a swallow of her soda. I have enormous respect for the woman.

Okay. Wyatt nodded as he drove. So who would step in, if not Charles, when the Queen finally escapes her gilded cage?

William. Holly said firmly. Charles and Diana’s eldest son.

Think he’ll do a good job?

I think he’ll excel at it.

So.. what happened when you were twelve that had Des taking you adventuring with him?

I hated boarding school and kept escaping. Holly told him with an almost impish smile. Des became fed up with having to drop everything and run back to England every time I went over the wall and just took me with him.

What about school?

I spent every waking moment with a professor who loved to teach. He used Templar stories and the intricate knot of international, political intrigue of the time to teach me how to read. When I was ten, he went an entire week speaking to me only in French, then another week with nothing but Latin.

And I’m willin’ to bet that you were talkin’ back before he called it quits.

You’d be right. Holly’s smile flashed on a rapid nod, his low chuckle wrapping around her in the dark cab of his pick-up. I was traveling the world, learning new languages and cultures, digging for history side-by-side with my biggest hero and my greatest fan. I wanted for nothing.

I’ve never left the United States. Wyatt told her with more than a hint of regret in his voice. The four of us took a road trip before Pejo left for college and we traveled the country for the entire summer.

Which four?

Me, Pejo, Johnny and Boodie. He turned a flashed smile on her. Friends forever. Brothers of choice.

Where did you go? Holly turned in her seat to face him, drawing her knees up onto the seat.

Everywhere. It was our mission to get fall down drunk in every state and, by God, we did it.

Good for you. Holly laughed softly. Where was your favorite place and why?

Massachusetts.. Salem in particular. Wyatt heard her soft ‘oh’ of delight. What..?

I’ve always wanted to go to Salem. Holly told him. What’s it like?

It’s.. quiet. Wyatt shrugged a little. Green, peaceful.. such a contrast to the evil that took place there.

Holly’s right hand lifted and she smacked herself lightly on the forehead. Promise.

Promise who what? Wyatt had caught the motion when he glanced at her.

Myself to visit Salem before I leave the United States.

And you smacked yourself why?

Oh.. that’s a Des thing. Bind a promise with a touch, whether it be a handshake, a kiss or a smack to the forehead, that way it’s more than words from the start.

I think I’d have liked your Des, darlin’.

Everybody did.

What happened to him? If you don’t mind my askin’..

He had a massive heart attack at the top of the stairs and was dead before he rolled off the bottom. Holly said it quickly, five years not enough time to have worked past the knee-jerk stab of loss. I was living in Australia within a month and have yet to go back to the house. She gave him a sad smile when he turned his head to look at her. I miss him terribly.

I can see that. Wyatt turned his eyes back to the road with a slow nod of understanding. It’s been twelve years but I still miss my mama somethin’ awful some days. The first snow fall can still make me puddle-up because she told me once that watching it made her feel peaceful on the inside. He turned his head to flash a smile at her. Don’t tell Pejo.

Holly reached out a hand and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. Promise.

Wyatt fought the urge to rub his hand over the hard tingle on his shoulder. No brothers or sisters?

I had a sister, but she died when we were babies. Holly told him with an easy shrug. She was born with a only half a heart and didn’t ever come home with us.

Twin?

Identical, apparently.. although how they could tell that with newborns, I don’t know.

Wyatt stilled for a moment as something occurred to him. Polly, by any chance?

Holly recoiled a little in surprise. How on earth would you know that, Wyatt?

Oh, for the love of Polly.. Wyatt was rather happy with his English accent and flashed her a grin when he heard her bubble a laugh. You’ve said it a few times and it’s on Pejo’s rather long list of questions to ask you in person.

What about you? Any siblings?

Just me and Pejo forever. Cousins, brothers, best friends.. we couldn’t be closer if we were twins. he winced a little and shot her an apologetic glance. Sorry.

For what? Holly was a little startled. The twin thing? It’s all hearsay to me, Wyatt. I don’t remember the nine months we roomed together and have never felt the loss that other twins have claimed of separation, either by death or circumstance. I barely remember my parents.. I know them both extremely well through Des and his endless stories, but I don’t remember them beyond the odd hazy images of very young birthdays.

How old were you when they died?

Five.

Huh. Pejo was five when he came to live with us full time.

What happened to his parents?

They, and my daddy, got caught in a barn fire tryin’ to save the horses. The roof collapsed in on them.

Holly’s jaw dropped open. Good. Lord.

What about yours?

They were trapped inside their own excavation when the roof collapsed in on them.

The car fishtailed a little when Wyatt’s head whipped around to look at her. C’mon, now.. you’re serious?

Quite. Holly nodded and reached for her soda, her mouth suddenly a little dry. Not fire, however.. water. Torrential rain, actually.

I’m afraid to ask what date they died.

Four days before my birthday.

Wyatt’s barked laugh was a little ragged as he shoved a hand through his hair. Holy. Shit.

Nooo.. Holly breathed, her gray eyes widening when she saw the abrupt nod. Good Lord.

He came to live with me, Mama and Granddaddy and we grew up as brothers in the same house for damned near twenty years. Wyatt followed the signs for Corpus Christi and merged from one Interstate to another smoothly. We fixed up his daddy’s old house when Pejo came home from college and he’s been livin’ there ever since.. well.. he’s at my house more often than not, but his mail goes to the other place.

How far away from you does he live?

About a quarter of a mile as the crow flies.

You both own the land?

Yes, ma’am. Every blade of grass is split right down the middle and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

That’s why Pejo was in on the telephone call.

Yes, ma’am. If it involves the land, it concerns him.

What does he do?

Do?

For work.

He fixes things. Wyatt told her with a shrug. If it has logic in its workin’ parts, he can fix it if it’s broke.

Oh, how I envy him that talent.. Holly sighed. I am quite proficient in breaking things, but if I even think about fixing it myself it seems to break more, if that’s possible.

Wyatt’s laughter rolled, deep and quiet. A match made in heaven. Pejo would be doggin’ your steps just to clean up after you.. you don’t want to know him when he’s bored, darlin’..

He won’t be. Holly rolled her eyes on a soft laugh. Will I be meeting any Mrs. Coltrains?

No, ma’am. Not since mama went to God. You married?

Only to my way of life.

Wyatt nodded firmly. Same for us. We ain’t never met a woman who didn’t try to change things to suit herself.

And I’ve yet to meet a man who didn’t have expectations of me ‘settling down’ and starting a family.

You don’t want kids?

Holly shrugged. I just don’t feel it necessary to be a mother to live a fulfilled and exciting life. I already have that without a stretch mark to be seen. That may well change one day, but I’m forty years old and I stopped listening to my biological clock ticking a long time ago. What about you?

Well.. havin’ kids would be the essence of changin’ things, darlin’.. Wyatt turned a lazy grin on her. I like my house the way it is. I like smokin’ inside and stayin’ up til four in the mornin’ talkin’ shit and drinkin’ beer with Pejo when the mood strikes. I like eatin’ when I want to and eatin’ what I want to without givin’ a crap about my cholesterol levels.

Oh. Holly dropped her head against the back of the seat. How utterly refreshing. I do believe, Sheriff Coltrain, that we are going to get along famously.

I do believe, Dr. Desmond.. His amusement wove through every word. That we already are.

Welcome to Singristy, Holly. Wyatt slowed down as he drove through the small, but thriving, town, quiet and sleeping in the early morning hours.

Holly sat forward and took in the pretty, well maintained main street. It’s lovely. She said sincerely. There are a lot more trees than I was expecting to see. It’s greener than the Texas I had in my head.

Dirt streets and tumble weeds?

Something like that. Blame Hollywood and the spaghetti westerns Des was hopelessly addicted to.

Up in the pan handle is where you’ll find that Texas. Down this end of the state is the hill country where traffic slows for the wildflowers growin’ by the road and the grass is so green it hurts your eyes.

Sounds like home. Holly wasn’t aware of the hint of longing in her voice.

But Wyatt heard it clearly. Where’s home, Holly?

Des’s house in Devon.

In England?

Yes.

Why haven’t you been back?

Because I’m not ready to be there without him. Holly shrugged a little. Don’t know that I ever will be.

There’ll come a time when the need to go back outweighs the fear of it, darlin’. Wyatt slowed to take the corner. And that time will be of its own making and not a whisper sooner.

You don’t have to draw your weapon very often do you, Sheriff? Holly said after a few moments.

Only twice in damned near ten years. Wyatt flashed her a look as he flipped on his high beams and accelerated on the long, empty road. How’d you know that?

Because words of wisdom roll off your tongue like air. She told him with a soft laugh. I think I’d rather enjoy watching you talk your way out of trouble, Sheriff. I believe it would be highly entertaining.

Pejo certainly thinks so. Wyatt told her ruefully.

When will I meet him?

If he’s not at my house waitin’ on us, I’ll eat my badge.

If he’s that anxious to meet me.. Holly said with a soft laugh. Why didn’t he come to the airport with you?

He was plannin’ to but he hit a skunk with his pick up.. he was still scrubbin’ and swearin’ when I left. Wyatt’s chuckle blended easily with her burst of laughter. I’ll be surprised if that truck has any chrome left.

So don’t mention any odor attached to Pejo when I shake his hand?

If there’s any smell other than aftershave, it’ll be tomatoes.

Tomatoes?

Yes, ma’am. It’s the only thing that’ll take off skunk funk with any degree of success.

How interesting. Holly gave it some thought. Tomato is very acidic and would certainly work if the spray was alkali based. Well. You learn something new every day.

Wyatt slowed right down for the sharp turn into the private road. If you’re payin’ attention.

Holly felt a frisson of excitement zip through her when she saw lights through the tall oak trees that grew on both sides of the narrow road. Have I thanked you yet for allowing me to come here, Wyatt?

Yes, ma’am. Several times, in fact.

If I become annoying, please tell me. She sat forward and watched the sprawling ranch house appear from the darkness, the front door opening to spill more light as they approached. Pejo, I’m assuming? Holly blinked as most of the light was blocked by a tall body with broad shoulders.

Yes, ma’am.

You already look like brothers and I have yet to see his face.

Brace yourself. Wyatt flashed her a grin as he turned into the circular driveway and shut off his headlights. He’s ugly.

And a brother’s opinion is completely unbiased? Holly unclipped her seat belt as he parked in front of the path that led to the porch steps.

Oh. Completely. Wyatt shut off the engine as Pejo opened the passenger side door.

Holly turned her head with a smile of greeting and was met with pale blue eyes in a cocoa and cream colored face. Apart from the tan, you could pass for Wyatt.

I could pass for white? Pejo’s face split into a wide grin at her soft tsk. Why would I want to? Y’all can’t dance.

Oh, for goodness sake.. Holly took the large hand he offered her and climbed down from the high vehicle. You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?

Oh, yes, ma’am.

She shook the hand she had a hold of and smiled up at him. Holly Desmond.

Patrick Joseph Coltrain. Call me Pejo.. everyone does. Pejo released her on the path and turned back to Wyatt’s truck as the tail gate was dropped. How was your flight?

Holly closed her eyes and dropped her head back, drawing in her first deep breath of Texas. It’s extremely hard to complain about first class, regardless of the hours upon hours you may spend there. The two men exchanged looks as they unloaded the heavy, hard shelled cases and her huge backpack. I’ve done my fair share of hopping mail flights and milk runs, don’t get me wrong. And I’ve lost count of the bruises incurred while flying sardine airlines over the years. She opened her eyes to smile at them as they carried her baggage between them. I like to spoil myself wherever I can. Here.. She reached for the backpack slung over Pejo’s shoulder. I can take that.

Touch it and cry, woman. He jerked his chin towards the open front door. Take your ass on in the house, boots off at the door.. straight down the hallway to the kitchen.

Holly held her hands up, palms out and turned to climb the stairs, oblivious to the attention focused on the patches sewn onto the back pockets of her jeans. This house is quite old, isn’t it? She pulled off her boots with a groan of appreciation and set them neatly to one side.

Coltrains have been on this land since before Texas was Texas. Wyatt told her as he kicked the door closed behind him, both men setting their burdens down to remove their boots, a lifelong habit neither even considered breaking. There have been three ranch houses in that time, all built on the same spot. This one is pushing the century mark.

It’s a phoenix house. Holly ‘oh’d’ in delight as she stepped into the enormous kitchen and dining room.

Rising from the ashes of its own destruction? Pejo set her bags down against the wall, Wyatt setting his down beside them.

Yes. If she was surprised, it didn’t show. What time is it? Holly shrugged her small pack off her shoulder and set it on an empty chair, her denim jacket draped over the high back

Almost half past one.

Holly grimaced a little as she looked at the two men. I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Pejo. As I told Wyatt, I wasn’t expecting to be picked up at the airport, I was planning on spending the night at a hotel and hiring a car tomorrow.

We don’t exactly keep regular hours when left to our own choices. Pejo waved it off and crossed to the fridge. Can I offer you a beer?

Good Lord, yes. Holly groaned softly. It’s drinking time in Melbourne and I’m still on their schedule.

Silver Bullet okay with you?

I have no idea. Holly answered with a smile. Let’s find out, shall we?

Make yourself comfortable, Holly.

Are you sure? Holly patted the counter top that separated kitchen from dining area. I’m a notorious bench warmer.

Wyatt jerked a thumb to Pejo. So’s he. Have at it.

Wonderful. Holly straight armed herself up onto the counter, both men a little surprised at the play of muscles in her arms at the move. She took the icy bottle from Pejo and read the silvery label as she unscrewed the cap with a sharp twist of her wrist.

Welcome to the Americas, Dr. Desmond. Wyatt opened his own beer in time with Pejo.

Absolutely thrilled to be here. Holly told them sincerely and took a long, deep swallow of the cold brew. Ohh.. lovely. She sighed happily and took another drink. I like ‘Coors Lite’ beer very much.

Wyatt set his half empty bottle down beside her. I need out from under the badge. Be right back. Pejo.. ask the girl to start listin’ the stuff you two have in common. Then hold onto your drawers, bro.

Aw, c’mon now.. Wyatt chuckled softly as he came back into Pejo’s incredulous voice, comfortable once more in faded jeans and equally faded t-shirt. Are you SERIOUS?

Told you, man. Wyatt reclaimed his beer and leaned his back against the wall oven, kicking one bare foot over the other. Makes you start thinkin’ that Granddaddy was right about all that fate and destiny stuff, don’t it..?

No shit. Pejo watched Holly’s calm face, seeing a sweetness to her pretty, make-up and blemish free, that deepened into lovely when she smiled. The birthday thing I can nod away.. even the dead folks isn’t that ground shaking.. but.. damn, man. Both sets taken out in a roof collapse on the same damned day? His shiver was not entirely faked. That’s just downright spooky.

And she was sent to live with her Granddaddy. Wyatt drank half of what was left in his bottle. Do you smoke, Holly?

You were serious about smoking inside the house?

Yes, ma’am.

Oh. I am liking Texas so much already. Holly set her beer down and dropped to her feet, rounding the counter to open her small pack. I was glared at in Los Angeles for smoking outside. Outside for God’s sake. There were ashtrays there and everything. she found her cigarette pack and heavy Zippo lighter and walked back into the kitchen. I mean.. good Lord. With the beige atmosphere that engulfs the entire city, you’d think they’d be a little less uptight about a lonely smoker while they drive their gas-guzzling, poison-spewing SUV’s to the shop for milk. Bloody hypocrites. Holly straight armed herself back up to her perch, flipped the top open on the box and offered it to them, an impish smile answering their almost identical snorts of amusement. Australian cigarette?

What’s the difference? They both accepted then took lights from the Zippo she flicked to flame.

A little less formaldehyde in the recipe. To disguise the fact that they’re almost priced out of existence in Australia. Holly told them wryly and took a deep drag and exhaled on a groan. Hello, darkness my old friend.. She began to sing in amusement. I’ve come to talk with you again.. Two, almost identical, barks of laughter rang out. I left Melbourne twenty-six hours ago and I’d not set foot out of non-smoking zones until Los Angeles and the natives promptly scared me right back in.

Smooth. Wyatt rolled the smoke around his mouth before drawing it deep. Tasty.

Holly sighed gustily and rolled her head slowly to ease her tired muscles. Why’d you have to be a cop, Wyatt? She almost whimpered the question.

Ten years ago I was bored. Wyatt flashed her a grin. It’s a small town, the opportunities are limited. Why do you ask?

Holly looked him in the eye when she said it, her gray eyes lit with rueful amusement. Know any reliable pot contacts, Sheriff?

Pejo’s laughter was a deep roll of sound. Girl.. I like you.

Unless you’re properly licensed.. Wyatt tsked softly on a slow shake of his head. The growing, harvesting, distribution and-or use of marijuana is illegal in the state of Texas, ma’am.

Bugger. Stupid bloody law. Holly sighed, shrugged and took another drag on her cigarette. Do either of you know why Friday the thirteenth is considered to be unlucky?

Wyatt blinked at the sudden subject change but went with it. I’ve never really thought about it.

I always thought it had something to do with Halloween, but I never figured how it could be. Pejo leaned over and tapped ash off his cigarette, the large crystal ashtray on the counter beside Holly’s perch.

On Friday, September 13th, 1307, the order to arrest and imprison every last Templar Knight and seize the Templar assets was carried out across Christendom, beginning in France. Holly told them simply. The Grand Master of the French Order, Jacques de Molay and many of his Knights were arrested and imprisoned in France on that day. It has been considered unlucky ever since.

Well, I’ll be damned.. Pejo said on a soft laugh. I had no idea that was about the Templar Knights.

Most don’t. Holly shrugged and drained her beer. Until Dan Brown burst onto the literary scene, the Templars were more myth than fact.

What’s your take on his ‘holy grail’? Pejo collected empties and dropped them with a clatter into the garbage bin then moved to the fridge for replacements.

Holly bobbed her head and rocked one hand, side to side. It’s as good a theory as any. There’s actually a groundswell of support for the ‘Grail is bloodline’ hypothesis and I can see no more reason to sniff at that than at any other. I, personally, believe that the Grail is the journey one has to take in search of it. The pure intellectual challenge of following the Grail markers through time has to change a person and the Grail can only be claimed by the pure of heart, so the spiritual journey alone is worth the price of admission. She took the fresh, icy bottle from Pejo, set it down on the counter and dropped to her feet. Where is your bathroom, please?

Wyatt pointed down the hallway. The second door on the right. The light switch is right beside the door as you go in.

Thank you.

Holly returned, relieved and refreshed, her face, hands and arms washed and feeling clean again. Feel free to go to bed whenever you feel the urge. Just point me towards the couch and I’ll be as happy as a lark.

Catch.

Holly snatched the tightly rolled bag from the air and arched her brows at Wyatt. If this is what I think it is, Sheriff, you may well be kissed full on the lips.

Pucker up, darlin’. Wyatt flashed a smile at her as she returned to her elevated perch to unroll the bag.

Do it twice. Pejo watched her inhale deeply through her nose, her eyes closing on a soft sigh. I grew it.

I am loving Texas. Soooo much. Holly said it with such feeling the two men chuckled as they watched her pluck two papers from the narrow cardboard casing. What would happen to you if you were caught with this, Wyatt? Holly asked as she patched the two papers together into an ‘L’ shape.

Wyatt shrugged and sipped his beer, watching her closely. I’d lose my badge.

Holly glanced up at him as she crumbled dried marijuana bud into the extended paper. You don’t seem too concerned with the possibility.

I’m kinda done playing Sheriff. He told her.

About damned time. Pejo said mildly, also watching Holly’s long, elegant fingers manipulate the fragile papers into a long, thin tube, the tail of the ‘L’ wrapping around the joint to reinforce the length, the excess torn away with a practiced movement. I’m gettin’ a mite weary of waitin’ on your ass so I’ll have a drinkin’ buddy.

Holly tore off a thin strip of the cardboard paper’s case, her actions absent as she turned what she knew of the Coltrain men over in her mind. Where’s your money coming from? She asked the question bluntly as she rolled the thin strip between thumb and forefinger, creating a very tight coil, then looked up with a hard grimace when she heard her own words. "Don’t answer that. How terribly rude of me to even ask. Forgive me and please put it down to jet