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Book: The Sword of God - John Milton #5 (John Milton Thrillers) by Mark Dawson
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Authors: Mark Dawson
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about it here.” He waved a dismissive hand at the shabby room, the peeling wallpaper, the folding table with the breakfast things.
His voice was firm and patriarchal, as if he was addressing a rebellious teen who was insistent that she was going to leave the house in that dress. It was as if his way of dealing with it was to try to ignore everything that she had said. It made her grit her teeth with frustration, but there were other people in the breakfast room now, and she didn’t want to cause a scene.
“All right?”
She really couldn’t be bothered with it. She didn’t have the energy, and as far as she was concerned, what was done was done. He could continue on with his own deluded version of the truth if he wanted to. It made no difference to her.
“Ellie?”
“Fine, Orville. That’s what we’ll do.”
Chapter 9
MALLORY STANTON kept to a careful distance. She knew Lester Grogan just like everyone in town knew him. He wasn’t a bad man, but he could get so that he was intoxicated with the idea of being sheriff, drunk with the notion of his authority, thinking that everyone else ought to have respect for his office. Mallory didn’t hold all of those views. Truth be told, she didn’t believe in any of them, especially not since Arty had disappeared into the woods and Sheriff Lester Grogan and all of his cronies in the Sheriff’s Office had been about as useful as lips on a chicken.
No , she thought. You boys aren’t going to help me out one bit.
The cruiser’s brake lights shone bright red through the misty morning, and it turned off into the parking lot of the Village Inn. Mallory wasn’t sure what the protocol was to follow someone, but she figured that it wouldn’t do to turn into the parking lot too, so she drove on another quarter mile, turned in the forecourt of Pizza Place on Truth Road and came back up on them again.
The cruiser was pulling away, headed back into town, and, for a moment, Mallory wondered if she had lost her chance. She followed, driving past the inn and staring hard at the Ford Taurus until she was as sure as she could be that the passenger side was empty. She turned around again in Woodland Road and, as she approached the Inn for the third time, she slowed and drove into the lot.
She had just reached down to turn the ignition when the passenger door opened and a man slipped into the seat next to her.
She mishandled the door handle in her panicked attempt to get out.
He reached across and fastened a strong hand around her right shoulder.
“Easy,” he said.
Her heart thumped as she turned her head and looked over at him. It was the man from the bar, the man Lester Grogan had arrested.
The man she wanted to speak to.
“Why are you following me?”
He had clear blue eyes, and there was steel in them. She had noticed that at the bar last night. Those two men, especially the big one, would have given most people pause for thought. But he had been implacable, steady, as if possessed of an unshakeable confidence that this was nothing that he couldn’t handle.
Turned out he had been right about that.
It had been one hell of a demonstration.
Mallory had decided she had to speak to him.
She remembered what she was here for and found a little composure. “I need to talk to you.”
“And so you followed me all the way here? What was wrong with the Sheriff’s Office?”
“Grogan thinks I’m nuts. I can’t speak to you when he’s around.”
“Did it cross your mind that I might think you were nuts?”
She found herself smiling at that: the absurdity of the situation, despite the desperation that had driven her to it. “You don’t know what I want to talk to you about yet.”
“No,” he said, removing his hand from her shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Mallory.”
“Mallory?”
“Mallory Stanton. Who are you?”
“John Milton.”
She put out a hand uncertainly. “Good to meet you, Mr. Milton.”
He took it gently. “You mind me asking how
His voice was firm and patriarchal, as if he was addressing a rebellious teen who was insistent that she was going to leave the house in that dress. It was as if his way of dealing with it was to try to ignore everything that she had said. It made her grit her teeth with frustration, but there were other people in the breakfast room now, and she didn’t want to cause a scene.
“All right?”
She really couldn’t be bothered with it. She didn’t have the energy, and as far as she was concerned, what was done was done. He could continue on with his own deluded version of the truth if he wanted to. It made no difference to her.
“Ellie?”
“Fine, Orville. That’s what we’ll do.”
Chapter 9
MALLORY STANTON kept to a careful distance. She knew Lester Grogan just like everyone in town knew him. He wasn’t a bad man, but he could get so that he was intoxicated with the idea of being sheriff, drunk with the notion of his authority, thinking that everyone else ought to have respect for his office. Mallory didn’t hold all of those views. Truth be told, she didn’t believe in any of them, especially not since Arty had disappeared into the woods and Sheriff Lester Grogan and all of his cronies in the Sheriff’s Office had been about as useful as lips on a chicken.
No , she thought. You boys aren’t going to help me out one bit.
The cruiser’s brake lights shone bright red through the misty morning, and it turned off into the parking lot of the Village Inn. Mallory wasn’t sure what the protocol was to follow someone, but she figured that it wouldn’t do to turn into the parking lot too, so she drove on another quarter mile, turned in the forecourt of Pizza Place on Truth Road and came back up on them again.
The cruiser was pulling away, headed back into town, and, for a moment, Mallory wondered if she had lost her chance. She followed, driving past the inn and staring hard at the Ford Taurus until she was as sure as she could be that the passenger side was empty. She turned around again in Woodland Road and, as she approached the Inn for the third time, she slowed and drove into the lot.
She had just reached down to turn the ignition when the passenger door opened and a man slipped into the seat next to her.
She mishandled the door handle in her panicked attempt to get out.
He reached across and fastened a strong hand around her right shoulder.
“Easy,” he said.
Her heart thumped as she turned her head and looked over at him. It was the man from the bar, the man Lester Grogan had arrested.
The man she wanted to speak to.
“Why are you following me?”
He had clear blue eyes, and there was steel in them. She had noticed that at the bar last night. Those two men, especially the big one, would have given most people pause for thought. But he had been implacable, steady, as if possessed of an unshakeable confidence that this was nothing that he couldn’t handle.
Turned out he had been right about that.
It had been one hell of a demonstration.
Mallory had decided she had to speak to him.
She remembered what she was here for and found a little composure. “I need to talk to you.”
“And so you followed me all the way here? What was wrong with the Sheriff’s Office?”
“Grogan thinks I’m nuts. I can’t speak to you when he’s around.”
“Did it cross your mind that I might think you were nuts?”
She found herself smiling at that: the absurdity of the situation, despite the desperation that had driven her to it. “You don’t know what I want to talk to you about yet.”
“No,” he said, removing his hand from her shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Mallory.”
“Mallory?”
“Mallory Stanton. Who are you?”
“John Milton.”
She put out a hand uncertainly. “Good to meet you, Mr. Milton.”
He took it gently. “You mind me asking how
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