Author: Tiffany Reisz

“We aren’t friends, no.” Søren said the words with a magnanimous air. “But must we be enemies?”

Wesley summoned all his courage.

“You hit Nora. You hit her often. You’ve sprained her wrists. You’ve bruised her ribs. You’ve done stuff to her she wouldn’t even tell me about. Yeah, Søren, I think we’ll be enemies.”

Søren didn’t seem the least surprised or intimidated by Wesley’s words. In fact, he seemed almost pleased.

“I am a pacifist, Wesley. I have no interest in getting into any kind of fight with you. I think Eleanor would never recover from the laughing fit that would induce if she discovered we’d scuffled over her.”

“Where is Nora anyway?” Wesley demanded. “I came to see her, not talk to you. You’re about the last person in the world I want to talk to.”

The insult didn’t seem to register. The man was a wall nothing could penetrate.

“She’s upstate with two friends for the summer. I won’t bore you with the details of why, but she’s quite content, I assure you. Do you care to tell me what you’re doing in Eleanor’s home?”

Wesley didn’t answer at first. He turned his back to Søren and weighed how much to tell the man.

“She’s not,” Wesley finally said.

“Pardon?”

Wesley turned back around and glared at Søren.

“She is not content. I don’t believe that, and something tells me you don’t, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” Wesley pulled his keys from his pocket. “I still have a key. This was my home with Nora. What are you doing here?”

“Kingsley had the house alarmed when she went upstate. Silent alarm. You tripped it when you entered. I was nearby and came to investigate.”

Wesley’s stomach knotted up.

“Alarm? This is a really safe neighborhood. Why would you alarm Nora’s house when she’s not even here?”

Søren didn’t answer and the silence scared him more than any explanation.

“Things are happening,” Søren finally said.

Wesley gave a short, empty laugh.

“Well, that explains everything. Thanks for that, Father Stearns.”

“Her file was stolen from Kingsley’s office. That file contained everything there is to know about her. We don’t know who stole it. We don’t know why anyone would take such a risk.”

Wesley’s anger turned to fear.

“You assholes—you and Kingsley both. You keep her safe or you’ll answer to me. And I know that doesn’t scare you, but I’ll make it scare you if I have to. Now I guess I’ll go. Gotta run upstate to find Nora and make sure she’s okay.” Wesley headed for the door, knowing he’d have to barrel past Søren to get through. In his mood, he rather relished the idea. “Somebody’s got to and obviously you don’t give a damn about her.”

Wesley headed for the gap between Søren’s body and the door frame, a gap just wide enough for him to fit through. But Søren’s arm suddenly clapped down against the frame and barred Wesley’s way.

An icy bolt of fear raced into the pit of Wesley’s stomach as Søren turned brutally cold eyes onto him.

“Wesley…” Søren said his name with the unmistakable hint of menace in his voice. “I said I didn’t want us to be enemies. For your own sake, I’d highly suggest adjusting your tone.”

Wesley couldn’t meet his eyes, wouldn’t meet them. He stared past Søren and out into the hallway. Out there he could see the ghostly outline of Nora padding down that hall in her penguin pajamas with her wet hair up in a bun and a cup of cocoa in her hand. His Nora…his best friend…the woman he would have given everything to. Once he’d offered her every penny he had and she’d turned it down. Maybe he’d offer again and this time he’d tell her exactly how many millions of pennies he had. And then it would be him and her and cocoa and penguin pajamas and Battleship games and stupid jokes about druids for the rest of their lives.

“I love her,” Wesley whispered. “I love her more than my own life, and you…” He finally met Søren’s eyes. “You hurt her.”

Søren nodded.

“I do.”

“You beat her. You do stuff to her that turns my stomach.”

“I know it does, Wesley.” Søren spoke the words with such sympathy that Wesley’s throat tightened.

Wesley took a step back.

“What? You aren’t going to defend yourself? Justify it? Tell me it’s what Nora likes? What she wants?”

Søren shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t have to, after all. You know as well as I do that she loves being with me, loves what I can give. Even more, she needs it.”

Wesley pulled himself to his full height of six feet and yet Søren still dwarfed him. But what he lacked in height he made up for in youth and rage.

“Needs it? She doesn’t need getting beaten. No one needs that. You’ve trained her, messed with her mind, made her think that’s what sex is supposed to be like.”

“So you, a virgin, are going teach Eleanor what sex should be like?”

The five fingers on Wesley’s right hand slowly balled themselves into a tight fist. What he wouldn’t give to be able to break that beautiful face that stared at him with such arrogance, such hauteur....

“I’d do a lot better than a sick sadistic Catholic priest who can’t even hold her hand in public.”

Something in Søren’s eyes flinched…just a little, just enough Wesley could see that he’d finally struck home.

Wesley waited. Søren said nothing else.

“I helped her paint this room, you know?” Wesley nodded at the walls. “Moved the furniture, put down the drop cloths… We painted all day. Took three coats to get the walls as red as she wanted. That print over the bed? I hung it for her. She spent a solid hour trying to figure out exactly where she wanted it. We rearranged the furniture in here until after midnight. Then we ate pizza at one in the morning. And you know what she said after all that? Do you?”

Søren stared at him.

“No.”

“She said, ‘Wes, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I hope I never have to find out.’” Wesley smiled at Søren. “Took four months but we repainted every room in this damn house. Repainted, rearranged the furniture… This was our house. Mine and hers. I know she’d sneak over to the rectory every once in a while and let you wail on her for a night. But I got her the rest of the time. I cooked her breakfast. I answered her fan mail. I put her to bed when she fell asleep at her desk writing. I rubbed her back when she was sore from overworking herself. And when she got all wrought up over you, it was me she cried on. No, she and I never had sex. That’s true. But we had love, real love that didn’t take anything out of us, that didn’t bruise us or break us. I loved her without hurting her. You asked me if I, a virgin, could teach her what sex should be? No, course not. Hell no. But at least I can teach her what love should be like. And she knows it too.”

“Does she now?”

Wesley smiled.

“Seen her new book yet? Read the dedication page. Then you’ll see why I say she’s not quite as content as you want to pretend she is.”

Wesley raised his chin and gave Søren the longest, coldest look he could summon. Søren only stared back, his gaze a second longer and one degree colder. Sighing, Wesley gave up and gave in.

“Whatever,” he said. “Like you care. I’m gone. Have a nice motorcycle ride back to your church where you can have fun pretending to be some kind of saint we all know you aren’t.”

This time when Wesley pushed through the gap, Søren let him pass. Wesley made it five paces down the hall when he heard his name.

“What?” Wesley asked, spinning around.

“Wesley…” Søren gave him a look that terrified Wesley more than any of the dark, cold glares Søren had already thrown at him. This look was almost—Wesley searched for the right word—humble. “Please, Wesley. I need to ask a favor of you.”

21

Money greeted Suzanne as she turned onto the tree-lined driveway that led to a grand, three-story Federal-style mansion. She parked her car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. A boy of about ten years old with wide violet eyes opened it.

“Hello?” Suzanne said, not knowing what else to say.

The boy turned his head back into the house. “Mom!” he called out and ran up the stairs, leaving the front door wide-open. A woman came down the hall with a towel in her hand. She wore a white men’s-style shirt and jeans. Black streaks covered the shirt. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and a dark smudge of dirt adorned her cheek like a bruise.

“Andrew obviously doesn’t have a future as a doorman,” the woman said, smiling at Suzanne.

“He’s got good lungs though. Maybe an announcer?”

“Possibly. How can I help you?” the woman asked.

Suzanne exhaled heavily and searched for the words. She decided to simply go with the truth and see where it got her.

“My name is Suzanne Kanter. I’m a reporter. And I’m investigating your brother. Will you answer some questions?”

Elizabeth’s hands tightened on the towel. According to Suzanne’s records, Elizabeth was a mere forty-eight, although her face looked far younger, the veins in her hands aged her far beyond those years.

“Come to the greenhouse,” Elizabeth finally said. “The boys never go in there. We’ll be able to talk in private.”

Once inside the greenhouse, Elizabeth handed Suzanne a trowel and together they planted tiny seedlings in large clay pots.

“Investigating my brother?” Elizabeth asked. “Do I even want to know why?”

“He’s up for bishop of the diocese. The youngest priest by ten years on the short list.”

Elizabeth only snorted a laugh as she stabbed her trowel into the black dirt.

“I got an anonymous tip about him,” Suzanne continued. “The list of names for the priests on the short list. His name had an asterisk beside it and a note that said there was possible conflict of interest. It’s not much, I know. But I get the feeling he’s got secrets. Maybe dangerous ones.”

“My brother has secrets on top of secrets. He has secrets he might not even know he has.” Elizabeth picked up a seedling, peeled off a few leaves and set it in a hole in the dirt. “Why do you think I would know them?”

“Kingsley Edge…he told me to ask you if I wanted to know about Father Stearns. I thought about talking to Claire. She seems interesting.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “You won’t get anything from Claire. She’s in love with our brother. Has been all our life. He absolutely hung the moon to her. When she pictures God, he looks like our brother.”

“That sounds…unhealthy.”

“Not unhealthy. Just excessive. She didn’t grow up with him the way I did. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. He’s not. He’s almost as worthy of her adoration as she thinks he is.”

“But only almost?” Suzanne prompted.

Elizabeth exhaled and sat her trowel aside.

“Ms. Kanter—”

“You can call me Suzanne.”

“Suzanne…when you tell me you’re investigating my brother, a Catholic priest, I have to assume you’re looking for evidence of sexual abuse. Yes?”

Suzanne didn’t demur. “Yes. It’s really the only thing that concerns me.”