Joe Pickett Novels Novels & Stories

While their posture only proved that they were forced to take that picture. Joe nodded his head in pity and swiped the front picture to the back. Another image had Peter and a girl in a sex posture. All this disgusted Joe that he did not bother looking further. He dropped the picture to lay on the floor while he took the box that laid behind the pictures. A gun was there too. It was hiding beneath the book Joe carried. This book looked as though it were a diary or an account of someone's life story. Joe quickly placed the things back in the box. Except for the book, which he carried out to take a proper look at it.

The heavy oak doors of the cathedral slammed shut, muffling the cacophony of the riot of faith. Inside, the war of words raged on. Outside, on the sun-drenched steps, a different kind of silence fell—tense, brittle, and charged with the aftershock of Davidson’s declaration. Joe’s hand tightened on Davidson’s arm, a brief, grounding pressure. “They will come for us now,” Joe murmured, his voice low, his gaze scanning the line of black town cars waiting at the curb. “Not with sermons. With subpoenas and stock options.”