Mortal Sin (43 page)

But she hadn’t given up hope. Her brief, furtive phone call to Aunt Sarah had renewed her faith. Sarah had broken down and cried at the sound of her voice. That, more than anything, had told Kit that her aunt would continue ceaselessly to pursue Rio’s trail. Sooner or later, this nightmare would come to an end. Sarah would find her. And if she didn’t, as long as Kit stayed quiet, as long as she didn’t rock the boat, as long as she remained vigilant, sooner or later the opportunity for escape would present itself. Sooner or later he’d make a mistake, turn his back on her, leave her unattended. And then she would run, as far and as fast as her legs would carry her. Back to the ugly blue house in Revere—which didn’t seem quite so ugly anymore—and back to Aunt Sarah, who’d treated her with more kindness and warmth than anybody else ever had.

Rio crossed the room in front of her and picked up the remote, silencing the television with the click of a button. “Great news,” he said. “Remember the client from the shoot we did a couple weeks ago?”

Would she ever forget the distinguished-looking gentleman who’d paid an exorbitant fee to be abused by Terry? Not likely. “Why?” she said.

Rio picked up a plum from the bowl on the coffee table, polished it on his shirt, and bit into it. Juice squirted in every direction. He wiped his chin carelessly with his sleeve. “Apparently, he was quite taken by you.”

Her heart began to beat a little faster as she pondered the implications of his words. “I didn’t think he even noticed I was there.”

“He noticed, all right. He mentioned you to a friend who’s in town on business. The guy scheduled a session with you for tonight.”

She shoved Pixel’s head aside and leaned forward. Pix woke abruptly and looked around, puzzled at having been cast aside so thoughtlessly. “With me?” she said, horrified.

Rio turned his back on her, headed to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Kit got up off the couch and dogged his footsteps. He took out a quart of milk, poured himself a glass, and drank it. Refilling the glass with the last of the milk, he said, “You don’t have to worry. He’s a lawyer. Loaded with money, class all the way. Tom wouldn’t have recommended him if he was a pig.”

He kneed the refrigerator door shut and tossed the empty milk carton into the trash. Leaning against the counter, he said, “Now, why are you looking at me like that? You wanted to be in show business. Here’s your chance.”

“I’m not taking off my clothes in front of your camera, and I’m not having sex with some strange man.”

He squared his jaw. “Seems to me, kitten, as though you don’t have much of a choice. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who calls the shots around here.”

“You’re crazy. Absolutely bugfuck.”

“Not much you can do about that, is there?”

She shot him a dagger-sharp look. “It won’t be that bad,” he said. “You won’t have to do the stuff Terry does. This guy’s a marshmallow. Straight sex. Nothing kinky. I’d never let him near you if I thought he wanted to hurt you. One hour, Kit, and we’ve made our three grand. I’ll split it with you, 60-40. How does that sound?”

Pix padded into the kitchen and stood forlornly watching them. “I don’t want your filthy money,” Kit said.

Color crept up his cheeks. “But you’ve sure enjoyed the benefits that come with it, haven’t you, Princess? The digital cable, the stereo, the hot tub. The filet mignon.” He glanced at Pix. “Even the freaking dog I bought with the fruits of my labor. I don’t see you squawking about that stuff.”

“I didn’t know! And it’s not exactly
your
labor we’re talking about. You’re nothing more than a rich pimp!”

Anger flushed his cheeks even redder. “And you’re a really stupid teenage girl,” he said. “Here’s the bottom line, tootsie. You’ll do as I say, like it or not. Let me tell you a little story. Your aunt has this friend. He’s been snooping around, nosing in my business, making a real nuisance of himself. A couple of weeks ago, Luis and Tico paid him a visit. They taught him a lesson he won’t soon forget.”

“And your point is?”

“My point, sweet thing, is that if you don’t cooperate, your aunt is next on their list.”

Sarah had just climbed out of the shower when she heard someone banging at her door. Wrapping a towel around her head, she slipped into her terry-cloth robe and hurried to answer it.

Clancy stood on her front porch, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re early, sugar,” she said, toweling her tangled curls. “I didn’t expect you for another couple of hours.”

Those amber eyes studied her somberly before he said, “We need to talk.”

She froze, the towel still in her hands. Her stomach went into free fall, plummeting like a roller coaster on a hot July noon. She wasn’t going to like this. Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t like it. “Come in,” she said. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

Droplets of water ran down the back of her neck. She slung the towel around her shoulders to catch the runoff and leaned against the sink for support. Hands braced against the edge of the countertop, she said, “This sounds serious.”

He stood in the doorway, halfway between kitchen and living room, as though he couldn’t make up his mind which way to go. “A few days ago,” he said, “Bishop Halloran called me into his office and offered me a transfer to a parish in Detroit.” He paused, while her heart fluttered madly in her chest. “This afternoon, I called him and accepted it.”

Everything went still inside her. He continued talking, but his words didn’t really register,
inner city… needy parish
…

gang activity… retirement… prostate cancer… desperately need the hand of God in their lives…

“Would you please say something?” he said desperately. “I feel as though I’m standing here babbling to myself.”

She was holding on to the edge of the kitchen counter so hard she would probably leave her fingerprints embedded in the Formica. She wet her lips and whispered, “When?”

“A few days. A week at the most. They want me there by the fifteenth.”

Let me check my to-do list… yes, there is it. Break Sarah’s heart
. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been giddy as a teenage girl, practically dancing on air. Now, with a single sentence, he’d crushed her hopes and left her battered and bleeding. What was it that old song said?
What a difference a day makes
. Whoever wrote that knew exactly what he was talking about.

She struggled for oxygen, fought against the burning pain in her chest. “Tell me, Father. Is there a sign tattooed on my forehead that says Loser?”

“Sarah, darling. Don’t be angry. Please.”

“Angry? I’m not angry. Hurt, maybe. Stunned, for sure, I imagine the word devastated would even be appropriate.” She turned away from him, took a plastic tumbler from the cupboard, and turned on the cold water tap full blast to fill it up. “Why would I be angry? I’m a modern woman.” She drank the cold water in a series of fast, angry swallows, then slammed the plastic tumbler into the sink and turned on him. “I understand, sugar. I understand that last night was nothing more than a roll in the hay.”

She registered his wounded expression, took a moment’s satisfaction in knowing she’d hurt him. “You know better than that,” he said quietly. “If all I’d wanted was a roll in the hay, do you really think I would have waited eleven years? Last night was incredible, the most amazing night of my life.”

“Yet you’re still leaving. Maybe you could explain that to me, because I just don’t seem to be smart enough to get it.”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings for you.” He crossed the kitchen, looked out the back door. Walked back across the room to where he’d started. “And it has everything to do with them.”

“Make up your mind, Father,” she said tartly. “You can’t have it both ways.”

“That’s just it.” He stopped pacing to look at her. “After we talked to Tom this afternoon, I looked in the mirror, and I didn’t much like what I saw.”

“Are you implying that you’re like him? Because if you are, that’s bullshit! You aren’t anything like him. If you were, I wouldn’t—” She stopped abruptly, fearful that if she didn’t rein in her fury, she’d turn the full extent of it on him. It wouldn’t be a pretty picture.

“But how long would it take before I turned into him? God, Sarah.” He heaved a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “If I didn’t care so much for you, it wouldn’t matter. But we both know that if I stay in Boston, we’ll end up sneaking around to be together. It’ll turn something beautiful into something tawdry, and that would kill me. I’m not the kind of man who can live with something like that. And you deserve better.”

“Stop trying to save me from myself, Clancy. That’s the same thing Remy did, and it got real old, real fast. I’m a big girl, I don’t need saving. Matter of fact, I’m big enough to read the writing on the wall. I asked you how I was supposed to compete with God. Now I have my answer. God one, Sarah zero. The math is pretty simple.”

“It’s not that simple!” Emotion turned his golden eyes to molten lava. “It’s not a matter of choosing one over the other. I am what I am, Sarah. I don’t know how to be anything else. I made a commitment a long time ago. If I cave the instant temptation comes along, what kind of priest does that make me? What kind of man?”

“The kind that runs away when he doesn’t know what to do?”

He stood before her, chest heaving. “That’s not a very complimentary description,” he said, “but it’s probably accurate. The way I feel about you… it terrifies me.” He took a step toward her. “I want to be with you so much it hurts. But I’m not ready to give up the priesthood, and the two are mutually exclusive.” He moved closer, enveloping her in his body heat. “The problem isn’t between you and me,” he said softly, fingering a strand of her wet hair. “It’s between me and the Catholic Church.”

She’d given up on men before, more times than she cared to remember. Usually not because it was what she wanted, but because it was the right thing to do. Breakups always hurt, some more than others. It had nearly killed her when she’d left Jackson. And the split with Remy had torn a hole in her heart. But this—this was a hundred times worse than both of them put together. “You want to know what the hardest part is?” she said brokenly. “I know you’re running for your life. I want to hate you, but I can’t, because there’s a part of me that understands where you’re coming from.”

He closed the gap between them and buried his face in her sodden hair. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

“That makes two of us, sugar.” She wound her arms around him, rested her head on his shoulder, and absorbed his warmth, his scent, the feel of his hard body against hers. “Make love to me,” she whispered.

Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The bed was still unmade, still smelling of perfume, and of last night’s lovemaking. In the fading light of early evening, they undressed and crawled beneath the tangled bedcovers.

Last night had been about passion, about a frenzied mating of bodies too long denied. Tonight was a mating of souls.

They moved together with exquisite harmony, hands exploring, mapping, imprinting. His breath was hot and sweet against her face, his words of love swallowed by her greedy mouth. Torture, slow and sweet, made even more poignant by the inevitability of parting that hung over them like a double-edged sword.

With a fingertip, she traced the heart tattoo that bore another woman’s name, insanely jealous because she wanted to be the one he carried with him forever instead of some long-dead eighteen-year-old girl. Then he rolled over, taking her with him, and she forgot jealousy as he rocked her hard and fast and blistering hot until she reached flashpoint and exploded in a conflagration that burned hotter than the fires of Hell.

Lord have mercy.

As dusk turned to darkness outside the window, they lay together, warmth to warmth, in the sticky aftermath of love. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her cheek, and those lovely fingers of his stroked her with exquisite tenderness. For as long as it lasted, she pretended this moment would never end.

But, as all good things do, eventually it had to end. “Sarah?” he whispered. “It’s time.”

She peeled her sticky flesh away from his and turned to look at the bedside clock. In just over an hour, he would come face to face with Rio. He would either rescue Kit, or die trying.

It was a terrifying proposition.

She leaned to kiss him. “I’ll shower first,” she said, and left him alone in her bed.