Chapter 7 - Dinner for the Enemy
Evelyn Riley walked into June’s apartment alive.
Cormac forgot how to breathe.
She was fifty-one, elegant but exhausted, with silver threaded through dark hair.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then Cormac said, “Eight years.”
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I had to.”
“You had to?”
June quietly moved away.
This was not her grief.
But Evelyn looked at her.
“Ray saved my life.”
Cormac’s anger faltered.
Evelyn explained.
Patrick had discovered she was gathering evidence against him.
Ray created a false death.
The forged certificate.
The staged accident.
Everything.
She had remained hidden while working with federal investigators too compromised to move openly.
“Why come back now?”
“Because Ray is missing.”
June’s heart stopped.
“Missing?”
Evelyn nodded.
“He was alive after the funeral photograph.”
June gripped the table.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
The body June buried had been a man selected because of physical resemblance and corrupted identification records.
The heart attack in the diner had been real—but not fatal.
Ray had awakened during transport.
One of Patrick’s people intercepted the ambulance.
Ray had been held ever since.
June sank into a chair.
Her husband might be alive.
Hope arrived like violence.
Cormac knelt beside her.
“Breathe.”
“Don’t tell me to breathe.”
“All right.”
“Find him.”
“I will.”
“No.”
June looked at Evelyn.
“We will.”
Ray’s ledger contained coded references to catered dinners.
June finally understood Cormac’s contract.
The catering arrangement was a way to put June inside locations connected to Patrick without attracting suspicion.
Cormac had known Ray used menus and invoices to encode information.
“You planned to use me as bait.”
“Yes.”
June slapped the contract onto the table.
“And you threatened me into signing.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re consistent.”
“I needed you alive.”
“You could have asked.”
“Would you have agreed?”
“No.”
Cormac raised an eyebrow.
June hated that he had a point.
Their first target was a private dinner at an old social club controlled by Patrick.
June would cater.
Cormac would attend.
Evelyn would monitor from outside.
The dinner began at eight.
June wore black.
Not because Cormac asked.
Because black hid sauce stains.
She supervised plates while listening.
Patrick arrived.
Declan joined him.
June carried their meals personally.
Patrick smiled.
“Mrs. Holloway.”
“Mr. Dead Man.”
His smile widened.
Cormac almost choked on his whiskey.
During dessert, June spotted numbers scratched beneath Patrick’s bread plate.
Ray’s code.
She excused herself.
In the pantry, she decoded them.
A location.
An abandoned church.
And a time.
11:40.
Tonight.
June showed Cormac.
They left separately.
At 11:38, they entered the church.
A single candle burned near the altar.
Someone sat in the front pew.
June stopped.
The man stood.
Older.
Thinner.
Bearded.
But she knew the shape of his shoulders.
“Ray?”
The man turned.
June’s knees nearly collapsed.
Ray Holloway looked at his wife.
“Junebug.”
She crossed the church.
Then stopped ten feet from him.
Twenty-seven years of love collided with six weeks of betrayal.
Ray began crying.
“I’m sorry.”
June’s hand rose.
Cormac probably expected another slap.
Instead June covered her mouth.
“Are you real?”
Ray nodded.
She walked toward him.
Then a red laser appeared on Ray’s chest.
Cormac shouted.
“DOWN!”
The church windows shattered.
June hit the floor.
Gunfire erupted.
Ray disappeared behind a pew.
When the shooting stopped, June crawled toward him.
“Ray!”
No answer.
She reached the pew.
Blood covered the floor.
But Ray was gone.
A trapdoor beneath the pew stood open.
From the darkness below came a voice.
“June!”
Ray was alive.
May you like
Then another voice shouted behind him.
And the trapdoor slammed shut.
