Read Online Sacred Sword (Ben Hope 7) by Scott Mariani - Free Book Online Page A

and apprehension. She was quiet for a few moments, then said something about needing to check something upstairs, and disappeared.
    Simeon was still on the phone to the archdeacon. Left to his own devices Ben went to the annexe to put Michaela’s present away safely in his bag, then wandered outside to the woodshed to gather some logs for the living room fire, which he’d noticed was getting low. The firewood was neatly stacked along the shed wall near the door, a heavy log-splitting axe and a small hatchet resting against the chopping block. He hefted a piece of well-seasoned oak onto the block, grabbed the axe, and with a downward swing cracked the log neatly in two. He set the split pieces aside and grabbed another log. His breath billowed in clouds as he worked.
    He felt something nudge his leg, and turned to see what it was. ‘Hey there, Scruffy,’ he said as the dog nuzzled against him, and stroked the coarse fur of his head. The dog wasn’t the prettiest of creatures – the bull neck and alligator snout of a Staffordshire mixed up with the wiry, untameable coat of a Border Terrier – but there was a look of calm intelligence in those wide-set eyes. Criminal or saint: Ben wasn’t too sure which he was.
    ‘You like being a vicar’s dog?’ Ben said.
    Scruffy cocked his head and looked at him curiously, then went off to settle on the floor a few yards away and gnaw contentedly at a piece of wood. If only life could be that simple for humans, Ben thought.
    Going on chopping, Ben heard Simeon’s voice from inside the vicarage, calling up the stairs to Michaela that he had to rush out to attend to a church matter. Moments later, the Lotus was roaring off into the distance.
    Ben added two more split logs to his growing pile and wondered how it could be that Simeon Arundel – this vicar whom everyone seemed to admire and respect, living this cosy life out here in the tranquillity of the English countryside, writing books on religion and running his churches – was talking about being in danger. It seemed so incongruous and bizarre. The way Ben saw it, Simeon was the last person on earth anyone would want to harm.
    He suddenly had the feeling he was being watched. He glanced up from the chopping block and through the open door of the barn, just in time to spot Michaela backing away from an upstairs window of the vicarage. In the split second their eyes met, Ben could see the odd look on her face.
    Why had she been watching him? He kept seeing her strange expression in his mind as he tossed the split logs into a sack and headed outside. With the dog trotting behind him he lugged the logs inside the house to stack beside the living room fireplace.
    As the fire revived, Ben sat with the dog and watched the flames, wondering what secrets were being harboured behind the idyllic face of Arundel family life. Something was going on, and he had the feeling it somehow involved him.
    ‘It’s all a bit of a puzzle, isn’t it, Scruff?’ he said softly, turning to the dog.
    Scruffy licked Ben’s hand. Whatever he knew about it, he was keeping to himself.

Chapter Eight
    The road was long and dark as Wesley Holland threaded his way slowly eastwards across New York State to the beat of his windscreen wipers and the steady flurry of snowflakes in his headlights. The snow had thickened so badly shortly after Oneida in Madison County that he’d thought his route might become impassable – but the snow patrols were fighting to keep the roads open in what was turning out to be one of the toughest winters in years.
    He kept driving doggedly on, stopping for gas about an hour beyond Schenectady, at the snowy feet of the Appalachian Mountains. He was still suffering from shock, grief-stricken and freezing and exhausted. It was over five hundred miles to his destination; in this weather it seemed like five thousand. No way for a billionaire to be travelling.
    Yet there was no way Wesley Holland was stepping on a plane, either. Even