Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [565]
This book is dedicated to all you faithful readers who insisted on the return of Father Keller.
From San Mateo, California, to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, from McCook, Nebraska, to Milan, Italy—it didn’t matter where I went or which of my five books I was promoting, readers always asked the same question. “When are you going to take care of Father Keller?”
I must confess that five years ago when I wrote A Perfect Evil, I never dreamed it would make such an impact on so many of you. And so this book, A Necessary Evil is dedicated to all of you who have patiently waited for this long-overdue sequel.
Please consider this book my thank-you for an invaluable lesson that as writers and storytellers we do have the ability to breathe life into characters—characters who otherwise live only in our imaginations. And with that ability comes, perhaps, a certain responsibility to allow those characters to continue to breathe, to speak, to grow and even to be brought to justice.
“It is necessary only for the good
to do nothing for evil to triumph.”
—Edmund Burke
CHAPTER 1
Friday, July 2
Eppley Airport
Omaha, Nebraska
Monsignor William O’Sullivan was certain no one had recognized him. So why was his forehead damp? He hadn’t gone through the security checkpoint yet. Instead, he had decided to wait until it got closer to his flight time. Just in case someone did recognize him. On this side, he could still pretend to be picking up a colleague rather than admit he was leaving.
He fidgeted in the plastic chair, clutching the leather portfolio closer to his chest. So close, so tight it seemed to crush his lungs, causing that pain again, a pain he may have dismissed too quickly as heartburn. But of course, it was only heartburn. He simply wasn’t used to eating such a large meal for lunch, but he knew the flight to New York and the later one to Rome would include cardboard renditions of food, causing much more damage to his overly sensitive stomach than Sophia’s leftover meat loaf and mashed potatoes did.
Yes, surely the leftovers were responsible for his discomfort, he told himself, and yet his eyes darted around the busy airport terminal, looking for a bathroom. He remained seated, not wanting to move until he examined and found an acceptable path. He shoved a thumb and index finger up under his wire-rim glasses to dig the fatigue out of his eyes, and then he began his search again.
He’d avoid the shortest route, not wanting to pass the exotic black woman handing out “reading material”—as she called it—to anyone too polite to say no. She wore colorful beads in her hair, what looked like her Sunday best dress with splashes of purple that made her hips even larger, but sensible shoes. Her smooth, deep voice almost made it a song when she asked, “Can I offer you some reading material?” And to everyone—including those who huffed their responses and rushed by—she greeted them with yet another melodic, polite stanza, “You have a most pleasant day.”
Monsignor O’Sullivan knew what her reading material was without seeing it. He supposed she was a sort of present-day missionary, in her own right. If he passed her, would she sense their connection? Both of them ministers, distributors of God’s word. One in sensible shoes, another with a portfolio stuffed with secrets.
Better to avoid her.
He checked the Krispy Kreme counter. A long line of zombies waited patiently for their afternoon dose of energy, like drug addicts getting one more shot before their flight. To his right he watched the bookstore entrance, quickly glancing away when a young man in a baseball cap looked in his direction. Had the youth recognized him, despite his street clothes? His stomach churned while his eyes studied his shoes. His cotton-knit polo—a gift from his sister—was now sticking to his wet back. Over the loudspeakers came the repetitive message, warning travelers not to leave their