Mortal Sin (33 page)

“Don’t be an idiot. You do remember high school? Back when girls used to say—” she scrunched up her face in an expression of mock horror, and put on a squeaky falsetto voice “But if I use birth control, then it’ll be like I’m
planning
to have sex.” In her own voice, she added, “I never did quite understand that approach. Shame versus protection, with shame winning by a mile.”

“Josie… “

“Let me put it another way. Would you rather be the paramour of our favorite parish priest, or the mother of his child?”

Sarah’s headache took an unexpected turn for the worse. “I hope you’re happy, Jose. After that remark, God will strike us both dead for sure.”

Josie patted her arm. “You’re in the clear, hon. You’re not Catholic.” She got up, rummaged around the shelf below the cash register, found a pen and a piece of paper. “Here’s the name and phone number of my ob/gyn. He’s a peach. Give him a call, tell the receptionist I sent you. She’ll squeeze you in.” Josie held out the slip of paper.

Sarah hesitated, her stomach turned upside down by the image of what Josie was suggesting. She already came close to detonating if the good Father so much as touched her arm. What would happen if he ever touched her more intimately?

Suddenly, she was damp everywhere. Under her arms. Beneath her breasts. Between her legs. Panic took over as she stared at temptation in the form of a tiny scrap of paper that amounted to a license to sin. “I can’t,” she said. “Really, Jose. If I took that, it would be—no. I’m not ready to think about that yet.” She quickly corrected herself. “Ever.”

“You, my friend, are in deep, deep denial.”

“And that’s exactly where I’m planning to stay. But I appreciate the offer. Really.”

“If you change your mind, it’ll be right here.” Josie punched a button on the cash register and the drawer opened. She lifted the change tray and tucked the paper beneath.

Sarah blew out a hard breath. “Can I ask you something? Something I’ve been wondering about?”

“Sure. Anything you want to know. My bra size? I.Q.? The names of the last three men I slept with?”

“Very funny. I’m serious, Josie. Who’s Meg?”

Josie’s expressive face went suddenly, carefully blank. “Meg?” she said. “Where’d you hear that name?”

“He has a tattoo. On his arm.” At Josie’s raised eyebrow, she felt a flush climb her face. “Will you stop it? Lord almighty, you have such a gutter mind! I happened to see it under purely innocent circumstances. I just thought it was a little odd, for a priest to have a tattoo of a woman’s name on his arm.”

“I didn’t know he had a tattoo.”

“It’s on his left bicep. A heart with her name inside.”

“I see. And he hasn’t mentioned Meg to you?”

“No. Is there some reason he should? Is she some deep, dark secret?”

“It’s no secret. If you ask around long enough, sooner or later somebody will tell you the whole sordid story. But it won’t be me.”

“What the hell do you mean, it won’t be you?”

Josie returned her attention to the box of figurines she was setting on display. “It’s not up to me to tell you.” She reached into the box and met Sarah’s glance, and the sadness in her eyes made Sarah clamp her mouth abruptly shut. “When he’s ready to tell you about Meg, he will.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it.” Josie unwrapped a blue dolphin figurine and set it on the shelf. “You know, when I said you needed to get out and meet men—” she glanced up, the sadness in her eyes replaced by pure deviltry “—this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

The phone rang, and Sarah reached to answer it. “Bookmark.”

At the other end, there was no response, just the crackling of an open line. “Hello?” she said. “Is anybody there?”

And a small, hesitant voice said, “Aunt Sarah?”

The boys were rowdy today, loaded with after-school energy they needed to burn off one way or another. Clancy assigned them ten laps around the perimeter of the church parking lot and thanked the good Lord he did this only once a week. At thirty-five, he hadn’t started slowing down yet, but keeping up with a dozen rambunctious thirteen-and fourteen-year-old boys placed demands on his body that it hadn’t seen in a long time. That, combined with the aftereffects of his encounter with Rio’s henchmen, convinced him he’d seen better days.

He blew his whistle to gather the kids back together and set them to work practicing jump shots and defensive maneuvers. Most of the boys were still pretty shaky, but he wasn’t trying to make NBA stars out of them. He did this for other reasons: to build their self-esteem, to help them develop camaraderie, to keep them off the streets and away from the temptations presented by drugs and gang membership. Most of their families belonged to his parish, but any kid who needed a little guidance was welcome. He never turned away anybody in need.

After they’d warmed up, he separated them into two teams and put them through a rigorous practice session. The boys were loud and boisterous and they didn’t always follow the rules, but their enthusiasm was infectious. By the time they’d finished a full game, he was as much into it as the kids were. He played for one team and then the other—taking caution with his still painful ribs—gave them pointers, demonstrated proper court behavior, and kindly but firmly corrected their mistakes.

After a quick break, he stood Jimmy Munoz in front of the basket and lined him up to demonstrate a proper free throw while the rest of the crew stood by snickering and looking at each other. The tallest of this motley little group, Jimmy also happened to be the best player, and the boy had the makings of a leader, if he didn’t fall on the wrong side of the law and screw up his life before it even got started.

“All right,” Clancy told them. “I want you to watch Jimmy and see what—” He glanced up, over Jimmy’s head, and everything went still inside him. While the boys continued to laugh and shove and trade insults, he stood frozen, the basketball still in his hands. For an instant, he thought he’d imagined her, leaning against the door of the Mustang and watching him while the flirtatious sun teased golden highlights from her hair. Then a passing breeze lifted a strand of that hair, and with a fluid motion, she tossed it away from her face.

Sarah.

His knees buckled, and his hands, still holding the basketball, trembled like a junkie’s. She looked fresh and cool and together, while he was clad in the ratty gray Harvard sweatshirt he only wore for basketball practice. His hair was damp and mussed, he was sticky from two hours of running and jumping and dribbling, and he could feel grit clinging to him, under his arms and in the folds of his skin between neck and shoulder. He probably smelled like the hind end of a horse.

He willed his hands to stop trembling. This was absurd. He was a grown man, shaking like a kid who’d never seen a woman before. And she was—

Exquisite. Magnificent. Perfect in every way.

“Hey, Father, you grow roots or what?”

He returned to reality, to eleven scruffy boys who studied him with varying levels of curiosity. He glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was nearly five-thirty. He tossed the basketball to Jimmy. “Practice is over for today. Make sure the ball goes back in the storage closet when you’re done with it.” On shaky legs, he began walking across cracked and pitted asphalt to where Sarah waited.

She stepped away from the car and stood in the late-afternoon sunshine watching him approach. There was something in her face he couldn’t decipher. “Everything okay?” he said.

“I tried to get you on your cell phone, but you didn’t answer. She called me, Clancy.”

Temporarily lost in the play of light and shadow in her hair, it took him a moment to catch up. “Who called you?”

“Kit. She called me. About a half hour ago.” Tears welled up in those blue eyes. “Damn it,” she said.

He reached out and caught her by the arm, guided her back against the fender of the car. “Take a deep breath,” he said.

She took a breath, held it, took another. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. What did she say?”

She took another hard, shuddering breath. “That she wanted to come home. That he won’t let her.” There was a mixture of fury and sorrow in her eyes. “She’s a prisoner, Clancy. He keeps her locked in. This is the first time she’s had an opportunity to make contact with anyone. He left his cell phone out while he was in the shower, and she used it. I don’t know what to do.”

“First of all, you need to calm down.”

She nodded agreement, and he awkwardly rested a hand on her shoulder and waited for her to gain control. From the corner of his eye, he saw several of the boys still on the basketball court watching them with interest. He glanced over at the rectory. He thought about privacy, about propriety, about smelling like something that had crawled up out of the sewer.

About the wrath of God raining down on his head.

“Come inside,” he said. “I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

Inside the rectory, it was cool and dark. They paused just inside the door, and Sarah glanced around the foyer, paneled in a rich mahogany and decorated in an ornate Victorian style in keeping with the design of the church. “This is where you live?” she said.

“Actually, this is the public area of the rectory. My private quarters are upstairs.” He considered and immediately vetoed the possibility of entertaining a female guest in his monastic little second-floor suite. There were times and situations when it was acceptable to push the boundaries. This wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t take you up there.”

Instead, he led her into the front parlor, which was furnished with antiques upholstered in rich brocades and polished to a righteous gleam. Abby Sullivan, the rectory housekeeper, took to heart the truism that cleanliness was next to godliness. Religious artifacts were scattered about the room: a simple candelabra on the mantel, a crucifix above it. A photograph of the Pope. On a long inner wall, a reproduction of da Vinci’s
The Last Supper
. “Sit,” he said, and she perched on the edge of a hard Victorian sofa. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be okay. It was just such a shock, hearing her voice after all this time. I sort of went to pieces.”

And came running to you.

She didn’t say the words, but he heard them just the same. He sat down beside her on the sofa, leaving a safe margin of space between them. “How did she sound?”

“Young. Scared. Regretful. I tried to reassure her. I told her to hold on, that we were coming for her, that we wouldn’t give up until we found her. I’m not sure how much of an impression I made. We didn’t have long to talk.”

“She’s young and smart and resilient.” He took Sarah’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m sure she was comforted by what you had to say.”

“Lord.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “I thought for sure I was tougher than this.”

“You’re rattled. It’s understandable.” He squeezed her hand again, then dropped it. “What else did she tell you? Anything at all that will help us?”

Sarah ran her hands over her face. “Not really. She’s in a warehouse somewhere that’s been converted into apartments. Or at least an apartment. He has a friend named Gonzales who wears too much gold jewelry. She heard Rio tell him to take care of you. Sound familiar?”