Sensuous Angel (8 page)

“Yeah,” Andrew said dryly. “Lorna has mentioned her to me several times. Or, I should say, when she’s talking to me at all, she talks about Donna and her family.” He hesitated. “When we first met, she told me a lot about the Miros. Lorna’s an only child of older parents who died when she was in college. But from what I understand, she used to spend all her time with them even when she was a kid.”

Luke emitted a sigh of exasperation. “Then you must have expected someone to come around looking for Lorna! If she is close to this girl—”

“She promised me that she’d taken care of it!” Andrew exclaimed with annoyance. “The little”—he glanced at his brother and apparently amended his thought—“witch!”

Luke chuckled softly. “She was once the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. What happened?”

“How do I know? She’s impossible!”

“She’s probably frightened—and she has every right to be.”

“She should have a little more faith in me.” He sighed. “It really doesn’t matter. I haven’t seen her in a while—and it will probably be awhile before I can see her again.”

Luke shrugged, but his eyes twinkled a warm gold in the artificial light. “Things will improve eventually.”

“Umm. Someday this will end, and Lorna can go home and be entirely out of my hair.”

“I see. Can’t wait to get her completely out of sight—and mind?”

“Definitely.”

Luke had no reply, so he turned away before his brother could see his laughter. Andrew had always been high on freedom. Adventuresome, independent. It was difficult for him to accept the fact that he was falling in love with his key witness. So difficult that he was refusing to accept it.

“Well, what are you going to do about Donna Miro?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew murmured. “But it’s sure given me one hell of a headache. Damn that Lorna! She should have said she was taking an Alaskan cruise or something.”

“Well, yes, I’d say something should have been done differently. You’re going to have to come up with something now. The truth would probably be the best bet. Donna Miro is determined. She isn’t going to give up.”

“My superiors will play havoc with this one.” Andrew moaned.

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is. Lorna is my responsibility.”

“I wouldn’t worry. It will work out.”

“I hope so. I’ve been at this so long. And….” He paused, glancing at his brother again. “I hope so,” he repeated.

Luke sighed. “You don’t have to tiptoe with my feelings, Andrew. It’s been a long time now.”

“It must still hurt.”

“It does. It always will. But it’s more important that we solve everything now. No matter how hard I prayed, I couldn’t change the past. But I do believe in the future.”

“God’s will?” Andrew asked his brother dryly.

Luke gave him a half smile. “I guess you’ve got me there, Drew. Yeah, God’s will. It will work out.”

Andrew began to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I guess I’ll have to tell her the truth, or else I could wind up in trouble.”

“Yeah, that’s why I think you should make sure you arrive here looking half respectable tomorrow night.”

“Well, if I tell her the truth, she can check out my story.”

“And put herself into possible danger if she’s seen by the wrong people.”

“Damn Lorna! This thing is so fragile!”

“That’s true. And you’ve put a hell of a lot into being Andrew ‘McKennon’—bum, wino, et cetera. You’ve put months and months of your life into it. Almost a year….” Luke paused suddenly; he couldn’t help it. It hurt to remember when it had all begun—because it had all begun with April’s death. And when he thought about April, he still felt a sense of shock settling over him. It couldn’t be…and yet it was. Shock became that horrible sense of loss and pain—and helpless fury at that loss. He had to remind himself that he was a priest with a strong belief. April did not lie in the ground; she had entered a higher place. Life was something that he had learned to live without her—with the aid of his faith. If he could help, it had to be the
living
whom he helped. But no matter what his faith, he was human. He wanted the murderer caught. He wanted his brother to lead a saner life. And, God help him, more than anything, he wanted Lorna Doria to live and come out of everything okay.

Luke drew in a deep breath and continued. “This has cost you a great deal of personal happiness. It’s cost everyone…so much. Donna is a problem, but I think if it’s explained to her properly, she’ll accept it all and just lay low. The truth will be the best bet, Andrew. I don’t think she’d accept anything but. And if she nosed around elsewhere, you could be out of a good cover. The newspapers would hop all over the story.”

“Yeah,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “I guess I’d better make the best possible impression.” He paused for a minute, then gazed at his brother again. “They want to see you down at headquarters again.”

A pained expression passed quickly over Luke’s handsome features. “I’ve tried, Drew. You know that. I just come up with a blank wall.”

“Different case—and I don’t need help on the other one. I know what’s going on. I just have to figure out how to prove it.” Andrew shook his head, as if to clear it from the problem that had long plagued his days and nights. “They need help bad on what they suspect to be a kidnapping. No clues except a scrap of cloth.”

“Tell them I’ll be in on Monday,” Luke said.

“They’ll appreciate it.”

“Yeah. I think they’re afraid of me.”

“No.” Andrew laughed. “Not you, Luke. They’re a bit in awe of you. You’re a priest, and I guess they really think you have a direct line to heavenly assistance.”

“Great,” Luke muttered.

“Hey, what difference does it make? You can help sometimes, and you know it.”

“I’ll be there.”

Andrew stood regretfully, looking back at the comfortable, well-padded Victorian chair. “I guess I’ll go haunt St. Patricks, then head downtown. Got another cigarette?”

“Take the pack.”

Andrew accepted it, grinning. “Poor Mom and Dad! They were hoping for a lawyer and a doctor and they got an overgrown hippie and a crazy guru.”

“Speak for yourself!” Luke laughed. “My bishops would be horrified by your description of one of their priests!”

Andrew chuckled again, then slipped silently out the window, the same way he had come. Luke stared after his brother a long while, then thoughtfully stripped down to the buff and crawled into bed.

He didn’t sleep. He stared out the window to the garden beyond and watched the way the moonbeams created shadow and light. He hadn’t felt quite so restless in a long time.

It was the girl, of course. He hadn’t felt quite so affected by a woman in a long, long time. Maybe never. When he was near her, all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. He smiled in the darkness, fully aware that she felt the same tension drawing them together and that it horrified her.

He rolled over suddenly, wondering why he had decided to trust her when it threw a new problem right in his brother’s lap. No, he’d had little choice. She might have gone elsewhere. And she might have wound up in all the wrong places at all the wrong time.

It was strange. He had just met her, but she had already eased him somewhat. For the first time in months, he hadn’t thought about April, not until Andrew’s arrival. That was the way of things, he told himself wryly. Life went on for the living. Human nature. A time to mourn, a time to live again. A new love—not to replace the lost, but to exist strong and sure on its own.

Luke laughed aloud and twisted around to lie comfortably on his pillow. Love! He’d just met her. But he was attracted. So attracted, he was almost afraid of being close. She’d really be shocked if a priest swept her into his arms, tossed her onto her bed, and made desperate, passionate love to her!

But, oh, what a lovely dream!

St. Philip’s Episcopal Church.

Episcopal!

Oh, what an idiot she had been! She should have known—she should have realized the truth about “Father Luke.” She had just been conditioned all her life to believe that a man called priest was naturally a Roman Catholic.

He wasn’t. He was Protestant. Episcopalian. Donna closed her eyes for a minute, angry but smiling dryly. To her grandfather, anyone who wasn’t a Roman Catholic was a bit of a heathen.

Donna repeated the simple fact in her mind. Luke Trudeau wasn’t a Roman Catholic. He wasn’t sworn to a celibate life.

Great. She had spent her night wondering if there really was a hell where she might burn in torment forever for lusting after a priest and he was an Episcopalian, allowed by his religion to marry, to love a woman. And he had known that she thought him a Roman Catholic and he had played on her sense of morality with a great deal of amusement. Damn him! Even if he was a priest!

“Donna? We should really go in. The service is about to begin.”

Donna mechanically curled her lips into a smile for Tricia. “Yes, heaven forbid! I’d hate to walk in late and disturb the service.”

Tricia, who had arrived at the Plaza at precisely four with a waiting taxi, looked confused by her tone of voice. Donna tried to make her smile into something more sincere. She failed miserably; she was too angry to smile. But she slipped an arm through the other woman’s and led the way down the walk to the church.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured inanely, needing something to say.

“Yes, isn’t it? It’s one of the oldest churches in Manhattan. The stained glass was brought from England, and a lot of the marble came from Italy. It really is a beautiful church.”

Donna smiled her reply because they had entered the small apse. There was a peaceful quiet within the church—one that almost negated her feeling of anger, but didn’t quite succeed. She still felt as if she had been taken for a fool as she followed Tricia into a back pew and knelt beside her, lowering her head in silent prayer. Nothing came to mind except for the itching desire to slap a too-handsome priest across the face.

The chorus began to sing, accompanied by the strains of an organ, several flutes, and a number of softly strummed guitars. She saw Luke then, as the service began. His voice was deep and husky, pleasantly resonant as it carried throughout the church. She didn’t hear the service, just his voice.

He wore black and white robes, and despite her anger, Donna found herself dropping her eyes. Even if he was an Episcopalian, she was somewhat ashamed of her thoughts. They were extremely irreligious. She didn’t hear the words of prayer, just the rise and fall of his husky tenor, and it seemed that her stomach formed knots as she listened.

And then, to her dismay, she discovered that his eyes had locked with hers. The fire within them seemed to ignite a burning low within her belly. Eternity passed—or was it just moments? She looked about herself. Nothing was amiss. But it was, it was. She was sitting through a church service, and all she could think about was this man.

But it was all right to think about him. Episcopalian priests married, but did they become involved in affairs? An affair? The last thing she would want from him would be an affair. Then what did she want? Marriage? Oh, what was she thinking about? She still wanted to kill him.

She looked at her hands and discovered that her fingers were trembling, as if they too were lost in memory of touching the dark hair that curled over his collar, feeling the hard knot of muscle in his shoulders as they danced.

Donna took a deep breath. She hadn’t even been thinking about Lorna or about her coming interview with Andrew McKennon, the man she was there this evening to see.

Tricia gave her a nudge on the arm, and Donna glanced up, startled. “The collection plate!” Tricia prodded her. Donna turned guiltily to the woman on her left and accepted the silver dish. She fumbled for two dollar bills to slip into it, then passed it on to Tricia, who smiled at her peculiarly.

Donna took a deep breath, finding that she could finally pray. She prayed for the service to end.

The chorus began to sing again, and Tricia was leading her out of the church. “We might as well walk around to the rectory,” Tricia said. “Luke will be busy for a while yet, but I’m willing to bet that Mary will have coffee and tea and some pastry ready.”

Donna nodded. She felt a little foolish suddenly, as if her mind and imagination had carried her away. When she wasn’t near Luke, when she didn’t see him or hear him, she could convince herself that she was being absurd.

Lorna—and Andrew McKennon. She had to remember her priorities. Very soon, hopefully, she would discover that her “faith” had been well founded and that Lorna was fine. And then she could go home, leave New York, and forget the Reverend Lucien Trudeau.

Did she really want to leave? And could she leave? There could be no simple answer to all the mystery surrounding Lorna’s disappearance.

Nor could there be a simple answer to the mystery of Luke Trudeau. He was no ordinary priest, and he was no ordinary man. Nor was the feeling that engulfed her when she was near him.

Andrew McKennon could solve at least one of her mysteries. And she was due to see him very soon.

Donna glanced at Tricia as they began to walk, remembering that she had promised to go by faith and not ask questions. But it had seemed last night that Tricia was not so alarmed at being questioned and that Donna just might get a few answers.

“Tricia,” she murmured suddenly, “how well do you know Lorna?”

“Oh, fairly well.” Tricia smiled. “Well enough to like her very much.”

“I’m glad,” Donna murmured.

“So am I.” Tricia laughed.

“And…and Andrew McKennon?”

Tricia smiled again. “I’ve known Andrew for years. He’s as close as a brother. And so is Luke.”

Donna tried hard to conceal a grimace. She couldn’t think of the “Father” as anyone’s brother. His attitude toward the fairer sex just didn’t seem to be very fraternal or paternal.

“Luke is a wonderful man,” Tricia said.

“Oh, yes, dandy,” Donna returned.

Tricia suddenly stopped walking. It was growing dark around them, but the street was tree-lined and surrounded by rare, propertied residential homes. A few blocks away there might be slums, but this was an upper-class Manhattan neighborhood.