voice quivered. "The way you killed Gwen?"

He didn't deny it. "I don't enjoy the killing. I do it because it's a necessity. Because-"

From the doorway came the soft click of a gun's hammer falling into place. "Off the bed, son."

Matt twisted, hand going to his weapon.

"Try it and you're dead," the older man warned.

"You will be, too." Matt's hand hovered over his weapon. "And poor Avery will lie on this bed and rot."

Buddy's aim didn't waver. "Drop the fucking gun. To the floor. Now!"

Matt hesitated, then slid the weapon from his waistband and tossed it to the floor.

"Good boy. Now, off the bed. Hands up." He motioned with the gun. "To the wall."

Matt lifted his hands, climbed off the bed. "Think this through, Dad. Don't make a mistake."

Buddy moved into the room, gun trained on his son. "Hands on the wall." When Matt obeyed, Buddy

bent, never talking his gaze from the other man, retrieved the gun and slid it into his waistband.

"It's okay, baby girl," he said, inching toward the bed. "Everything's going to be okay."

He freed Avery's hands, then feet. She saw that his cheeks were wet.

She pulled up her pants, then scrambled into a sitting position. After tying the pieces of T-shirt together,

she scrambled off the bed and crossed to stand behind Buddy.

"You have to stop, Matt." Buddy took a step toward his son. "The killing has to stop."

Matt turned, held out a hand to his father, expression pleading. "We're in this together. Everything I've

done, I've done for us. The family. The community." Tears trickled down Buddy's cheeks. "You're ill, son. I should have faced it long ago but I didn't want to see. That night...Sallie Waguespack, I thought I was doing the right thing. But it wasn't right. I've been covering up and making excuses all these years. And these past months, pretending I didn't suspect something was wrong." "It's not me, Dad. It's her. She won't keep quiet. We have to keep her quiet. To protect the family. She's just like Sallie."

"I didn't know, baby girl," Buddy said, voice heavy with pain. "Not about your daddy. Not about the

others. I thought...let myself believe it wasn't happening. That all the deaths were just what they appeared to be."

Matt's expression went soft. "What would you have had me do? Phillip was going to the district attorney.

The others were going to back him up. Tell everyone about Sallie and The Seven. I only meant to protect us."

"I know. I'm sorry." He removed his handcuffs from the pouch on his utility belt. "I've got to cuff you."

"Don't do it, Dad." His eyes filled with tears. "Please, don't cuff me."

Avery saw the emotional toll this was taking on the older man. She ached for him-the father having to face the consequences of his mistakes and the terrible truth about his own flesh and blood.

"I've got to son. I'm sorry."

Matt held out his arms. "I'll come quietly then. If you believe this is the right thing, I'll do whatever you

say."

"I'll protect you as best I can, Matt. Within the law." Buddy lowered his weapon, crossed to his son.

Matt's gaze flicked to Avery's. In his she saw triumph.

"Buddy!" she cried, seeing the switchblade cupped in Mart's palm. "It's a trick!"

Matt lunged forward, catching his father by surprise. The blade popped out. He buried it in the side of

Buddy's neck.

"No!" Avery screamed. A look of surprise crossed the older man's face; he reached up to grab the blade. Matt twisted it, then yanked it out. Blood sprayed.

Buddy looked at his son, mouth working. He took a step. Wobbled, then crashed to the floor.

Avery turned to run. Matt grabbed her around the middle, dragged her to his chest and brought the blade

to her throat. She saw that his hand was splattered with blood. His father's blood.

"See, Avery? Weak. Stupid." He gazed down at his father's still-twitching form. "And a traitor as well."

She saw no remorse in his expression. No regret. "You're crazy. A psychotic, murdering son of a bitch!"

"I'm a soldier. I'm fighting for something bigger than you or I or an old man who'd forgotten what was

important." He bent and retrieved his father's handcuffs. Wrenching an arm behind her back, Matt cuffed

one wrist, then the next.

He turned his emotionless gaze on her. "You have been judged and found guilty, Avery Chauvin. Of crimes against this community. Of attempting to bring an end to a way of life that has existed for a century. The Seven will decide your fate."

CHAPTER 53.

Avery fought to keep hysteria at bay as Matt forced her deeper into the bowels of the charred canning factory. The odor, simply unpleasant from the outside, turned foul inside. Overpowering, like the stench of the grave.

Her throat and eyes burned. She saw that parts of the interior, though fire damaged, were still intact. Here and there a wall stood, oddly unmarred. A piece of untouched furniture sat beside a gaping hole in the flooring, as if the flames had been fickle, choosing one but not another.

Matt nudged her forward, gun between her shoulder blades. Obviously, he had spent a good bit of time here. Though the place was as dark as the devil's will, he guided her through the charred landscape without hesitation.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. "We're going up. But watch your step, you wouldn't want to miss your date with my generals."

"Go to hell."

He laughed, the sound delighted. "We're there, don't you think?"

She did, though she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response.

They made their way up the fire-ravaged stairs. As they did he murmured directions in her ear, "Step left, skip the next stair, go all the way right."

She stumbled and righted herself, a difficult feat without her arms for balance. He didn't offer a hand and

she sensed he enjoyed watching her struggle. That her discomfort amused him.

Finally at the top landing, she could see. A portion of the roof was gone and moonlight spilled through the opening, revealing a rabbit's warren of doors, hallways and half walls.

They stopped in front of a closed door fixed with a padlock. "We're here," he said.

He took his eyes off her as he unlocked the door. She glanced back toward the stairs. She could take

her chances, run. But how far would she get before she stumbled, fell through the floor or he shot her in the back? Two steps? A half-dozen?

"Go ahead," he murmured as if reading her thoughts. "Take your chance. As you lay bleeding to death

from internal injuries, you'll beg me to finish you off with a bullet."

"Bastard."

"You think so, that's understandable, I suppose." He unfastened the padlock, swung the door open. "But

future generations will hold me up as a hero. A visionary."

"Future generations?" she spat. "You'll be reviled, then forgotten as you rot in a cell at Angola. Or the Feliciana Forensic Facility for the Criminally Insane in Jackson."

"Poor Avery," he murmured. "Blind like the others. In you go." He grabbed her arm and shoved her

violently through the door. Without her arms to break her fall, she landed on her knees, then pitched

forward. Her chin struck the concrete floor.

Matt chuckled as he slammed and locked the door behind her. She managed to get to her feet, ran to the door. She threw herself against it. "Bastard!" she shouted, kicking it. "You won't get away with this!"

"Don't waste your energy, there's no way out."