The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) by William Casey Moreton Read Free Book Online Page B

and then the familiar texture of the lawn.
    “Take a deep breath,” Alexander said.
    She tried but couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to vomit.
    “Take a deep breath,” he told her. “You are doing fine, Tatum.”
    She didn’t feel fine. Whatever the opposite of fine was, that is what she felt.
    “Praise God,” he said, and quoted a passage of scripture from the New Testament. “The Savior has granted you this strength today. Isn’t that right, Tatum? Can you feel his strength?”
    Another tear spilled from her eyes and clung to her chin. She nodded, yes.
    “I’m so proud of you,” he said, and she could hear the pride in his voice. “How do you feel?”
    “I just want to go back inside,” she pleaded.
    “First, open your eyes,” he said.
    Every ounce of her being resisted, but at last she forced her eyes open. In an instant, all the fear was erased. It was nighttime, the moon visible in the opening above the trees.  
    Tears flowed down her face. There had not been anything to fear. She had made herself sick for nothing. The relief she felt was overwhelming. She put her hands to her face and wept.
    “This was a test from God,” Alexander said, “and you proved to Him that your faith is great. You will be greatly rewarded.”
    Then he helped her inside and embraced her as her sobbing finally subsided.  

TEN

    The black Mercedes with the dark windows didn’t need to follow the Land Cruiser too closely because a tracking device had already been put in place to allow them to track it from a distance. The two men in the car waited patiently in freeway traffic, perfectly aware of Ryan Archer’s exact location. The Land Cruiser was half a mile of ahead of them. That was fine. They would catch up soon enough. There was no hurry.  
    The Mercedes wasn’t a typical model that rolled off the line in Germany. The entire car was bulletproof. The tag was legal but registered under a corporate name with an official address in Salt Lake City, Utah.  
    Both men were dressed in tailored suits specifically fitted to hide the handguns worn under their jackets. Both stood over six feet tall and were wide in the shoulders and muscular. Both had dark hair and square jaws.  
    The red blip on the GPS led them through the maze of Los Angeles streets. They had followed Archer for the past few hours and he had seemed completely unaware of their presence. He had made no attempt to shake them, so they were confident they had been successful in their effort to remain invisible. Their job was to watch, follow, listen, and react in whatever matter the situation eventually dictated. There would be no hesitation to use the guns.
    The red blip was cruising down the 101. They watched as it exited toward the Hollywood Bowl.

    * * *
    Archer stopped outside a gate and parked out of the way. The sprawl of the Hollywood Bowl loomed before them. Cory seemed to know her way around. He followed her through a door in the gate and she waved at the guard.
    “That’s Liz’s uncle,” Cory said.
    Archer had been to concerts at the Bowl a few times. He couldn’t name the bands he’d seen or the women he’d taken to see them. He glanced up at the Hollywood Hills and spotted the Hollywood sign to the northeast. Smith’s house was up there somewhere.
    “We hang out here sometimes and listen to the bands rehearse. Pretty awesome,” Cory was saying.
    The rest of the girls had already arrived. They were clustered on the front row, staring up at an empty stage.  
    “I’m ready for my solo,” Cory announced, striking a pose in front of her friends, jamming on her air guitar in dramatic fashion. The other four girls applauded and laughed.
    “Archer,” Cory said, by way of introduction, “meet Danielle, Liz, Lucy, and the effervescent Mocha. Girls, meet Archer.”
    Mocha was black with a very bright white smile. She wore tight dreads and bright pink lipstick. She leaned forward off her seat and offered Archer a fist bump.