“Oh, okay. Are we still on for your talent show?”
What would it take to get through to him? “We’d be glad to have you come,” she said, subtly emphasizing the we, “but you must know I really don’t see this goin’ anywhere.”
She ducked into her car to end the conversation, but Brian laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting much. Not like you’re a professional dancer or anything. See you Friday!”
Not a professional —? She’d been a world-ranked champion and retired before the man could shave. Before she “snapped” at him again, Brian shut her car door. Still flabbergasted, Molly watched him hobble away. He was really that mad — absolutely crazy. But his brush-off wasn’t what made her feel so unsettled as she pulled out and started for home.
How could this belief feel so foreign and yet sound perfectly logical? Why was she still entertaining the idea of joining the Mormon church?
Faith. The answer was so simple and yet so hard. Sure, she believed in Christ, believed in His atonement.
She found herself slowing out of habit as she passed the church. The lights in the priests’ brick cottage were on.
If anyone could put her mind to rights, it would be Father Tim. And a doctrinal question would be a perfectly safe reason to seek him out — who better to talk to than her priest?
She turned into the car park and hurried to knock on the door. Father Fitzgerald answered. “Molly? Are you all right?”
She clutched her handbag tighter. This was the opportunity she wanted. “I’d like to speak with you, if you have the time.”
“Of course.” Father Fitzgerald escorted her into the parish house. Once she’d settled in the shabby armchair of indiscriminate color, he waited patiently for her to begin.
As if she knew where to start. “Father,” she finally said, “how does Christ’s atonement work?”
Father Fitzgerald raised his bushy silver eyebrows. “Not quite what I expected.” The priest settled back in the couch. “There are a number of theories, but I’m guessing you’re not here for a theological debate. What aspect of the atonement are you wondering about?”
“How does His atonement make us better?”
“That’s one of the mysteries of God, really.” Father Fitzgerald studied her for a moment, his expression verging on consternation. “Why do you ask?”
She sorted through the words to find the best way to tell him. Perhaps if she went back to Lucy. “A friend said something to me about how Christ’s atonement helps us when we’re weak.”
“Certainly — think of the novenas, all the devotions, the Hail Mary. We always pray for help from God and from all the saints to strengthen us.”
Molly focused on the black-and-neon afghan behind Father Fitzgerald. She knew every prayer, though she hadn’t exactly used them lately. That didn’t seem to be what Lucy and the missionaries meant, but Molly couldn’t quite put her finger on the words to articulate the difference.
“How about this?” Father Fitzgerald began. “Try something like studying the scriptures or adoration for half an hour, perhaps the Stations of the Cross. You might even try witnessing of the faith. To help you have the spirit of Christ.”
Witness of the faith? That would require having real faith. How could any of those things help her when she had to face Father Tim? “What if I’m still weak?”
Father Fitzgerald grew quiet. “We’re all weak, Molly. We’re human. We’re tempted by lust and anger and pride. God won’t tempt us above what we’re able to withstand, so we have to overcome our temptations. And if we don’t . . .” His voice trailed into a hollow echo. Molly glanced at him. Father Fitzgerald’s eyes were empty, as if he’d retreated into the cavern formed by his hunched body. He had no more help to offer. She thanked him and left.
The last thing she needed was yet another source of turmoil.
Zach swallowed another groan. Whether Lucy was mad that Zach was between her and her “unboyfriend” Paul or she just liked to annoy him, he’d endured ninety minutes of her sniping between ladling gravy onto the volunteers’ plates. Working alongside parishioners and other volunteers, the mobsters were serving the indigents already filling the long tables in the school gym.
Zach deposited a scoop of mashed potatoes onto the Gallaher boy’s plate, and ignored Lucy’s dig about the girl he’d had a crush on in middle school.
“Speaking of crushes,” Lucy murmured, eye-pointing toward the next in line: Molly.
“Shut up,” Zach hissed back. He dished potatoes onto Molly’s Styrofoam plate, but when she tried to move on, he didn’t let go. After a second, Molly cast a meaningful glance at the bustle around them — Lucy serving gravy, Paul doling out rolls.
Zach leaned over the pot of potatoes. “I have a mission for you.”
“What kind of mission?” She bent forward, mirroring his intimate posture — and his amused smile.
He lowered her plate, allowing them to draw close enough to speak without being overheard. “I need to talk to Cally Lonegan.”
“He’s not here.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a mission if he were.” He broadened his grin a split second. “I want you to find out if he’s avoiding me.”
Molly narrowed her eyes with an undertone of flirting. “Secretary, Father, not spy.”
“Even Miss Moneypenny got pulled onto the job sometimes.”
“But Miss Moneypenny wasn’t Bond’s secretary, it was —”
“Miss Ponsonby and then Miss Goodnight.”
She gave him an oh-you-think-you’re-so-clever look, like he was the man who knew too much about the world’s most famous spy.
“And you’re not my personal secretary anyway, Miss Malone.” He nodded at the table where Jay Gallaher and Miles Hennessy were taking a break from serving Thanksgiving meals.
Molly cast another glance around them. The delay was beginning to hold up the line — and attract attention.
“And I’m tellin’ you, Father —” She raised the plate and her voice for anyone within five feet to notice. “ — we can give them more than that!”
Zach pursed his lips in a show of exasperation, but kept the smile in his eyes and slapped more potatoes onto the plate. Molly made for Gallaher and Hennessy with her trademark springing step.
Lucy elbow-nudged Zach. “Smooth, Captain Obvious,” she said, waggling her eyebrows in Molly’s direction. “Why don’t you kiss her and get it over with?”
“Shut. Up.” He gave an exaggerated look around. Couldn’t she be more careful? Maybe not — to her this was more of a game than a hunt for a mob and a murderer.
“Sensitive,” she muttered.
Zach tilted his head toward Paul. He wasn’t the only one with a secret flame.
“All right, Scrooge. Where’s the holiday spirit?”
“Why don’t you work on your own problems, spinster?” The instant he said it, regret stabbed his gut. Lucy slowly set her spoon in the gravy pot, then shoved past Zach. Why did they always end up bickering like kids?
“I better see if she’s okay.” Paul dropped the bag of rolls onto the table.
Noble, but Zach kind of had something to say to her. “No, I caused this, so I’d better fix it. Man the potatoes.”
He followed his sister past the table where Molly sat chatting with Hennessy and Gallaher, and found Lucy a few feet outside behind a tall hedge, alone, crying in the cold. Like she was trying to make him feel worse. “Lucy.”
She turned her back on him. “Go away. How could you say that to me?”
“Luce —”
“It’s not fair for you to call me a spinster. That’s just so . . . hateful.”
“You do realize I’m four years older than you and still single, right? Pot, kettle, black?”
Lucy shot a glare over her shoulder. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Fine. I’m sorry, Lucy.” Yeah, it was a low blow. But did she really have to tease him about Molly —
in the same room as the people who’d kill them both without a second thought? “I need you to be more careful. It’s one thing in front of Paul, but the rest of the parish —”
“More careful about what? I didn’t say anything loud enough for anyone to hear. You’re the one who needs to be careful. Your badge doesn’t give you a license to be cruel.”
He scoffed. It was always about her, wasn’t it? “Yeah, you’re right. If I end up dead because you blow my cover, I’ll die happy knowing I haven’t hurt your feelings lately.” Their older siblings were right: Lucy could get away with murder.
She sniffled and sulked in silence.
“Look at me.”
Lucy aimed a sullen scowl at him.
“I know this seems like playing dress up to you, but this isn’t a game.” He leaned closer to emphasize his point. “You know how dangerous this could be.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. Zach seriously considered leaving her out there in the cold until she got it through her brain that if anyone here thought he was anything other than a priest, he’d be in serious trouble, and not only with the Bureau.
How could she possibly not get this was dangerous? She’d received a threat from the mob herself, and it seemed pretty traumatizing — she had to be in denial.
He couldn’t walk away from his own sister. “All right, you want to tell me what’s really going on here?”
“All of a sudden I’m the expert on the situation? I thought you were the only one who was allowed to know what’s going on.”
Zach folded his arms across his chest, which had the added benefit of a little extra warmth. “Come on. This is your chance to tell me why you’re acting like you hate me.”
“Like you care.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I could’ve let Paul come to you — maybe I should’ve.”
Lucy whirled around. “This is the first substantial conversation we’ve had in four years. You were my best friend, Zach.”
His heart stopped for a split second. He glanced around to see if anyone heard her slip. They were alone. His sister noticed her mistake and grimaced. “Sorry.”
He nodded. “Guess it has been a while.” Had this been bugging her all this time? “I’m sorry. Really.” Zach held out his arms and Lucy reluctantly yielded to a hug.
Somehow, he’d violated a cardinal rule: to protect her, he had to get his sister to trust him. He’d assumed that was a given, and he was wrong. “What have I missed?”
Lucy sighed. “Where do I start?”
Molly waited for the two mobsters to acknowledge her question about Cally. Though she wanted to keep Father Tim from their outfit, they were all worried about the Lonegans. All except Miles Hennessy and Jay Gallaher, apparently. Miles finally stopped shoveling pie between his thick lips to snort. “What, don’t they have enough problems?”
“Miles, we’re all concerned for them. Maybe Teresa’s talked to Lisa?”
He shook his head. “Try their lawyer.”
“Talk about closing ranks,” Jay Gallaher jumped in. “Nobody’s been able to talk to Cally ever since.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like dealin’ with this.” Molly searched their faces. “Father Fitzgerald and Father Tim really want to reach out to their families, offer them the support of the parish.”
“Y’know, they’re just . . . I dunno.” Jay propped his sharp elbows on the table. “Doyle’s still talking to us, but Cally’s taking it hard.”
“Which is why it’s so important we talk to him and his family.”
“Good luck.” Miles bowed over his plate.
Molly nodded and stood. Father Tim would be reassured he wasn’t the only one getting the silent treatment from Cally — and her mission was accomplished.
Pity. An “undercover mission” was a bit of a thrill, though she wasn’t sure whether it was spying or working with Tim that made her fingers tingle with excitement.
But when she got back to the pot of potatoes, Paul greeted her.
“Hi, Paul. Have you seen Father Tim?”
Paul’s gaze snapped to the side doors. “He’s outside.”
Molly frowned at the trepidation in his tone — and the fact that Paul was now the only person left at their serving table. Lucy was gone, too. “He left you here alone? I needed to speak with him.”
Though she hadn’t meant she’d go after Tim, Paul tossed the ladle into the potatoes. “I’ll go with you.” He rounded the table, and Molly followed him to the side doors.
Molly opened the metal door that led outside. Before she released the handle, alerting anyone nearby to their presence, voices carried from beyond a tall brick enclosure a meter away. Paul and Molly froze to listen.
“Moving here has been way harder than I expected.” Lucy — had she been crying? “I’m just . . . lonely. You’re here, but it doesn’t count because we have to keep everything a secret.”
Paul glanced at Molly, the unease she felt evident on his face, too. Everything?
“I’m sorry things aren’t like they used to be,” Father Tim said, “and there might not be a whole lot I can do to change that. But I do love you — you know I always will.”
Her stomach dropped. That declaration should be hers. Not that she necessarily wanted to hear it, but —
“I love you too,” Lucy said, unknowingly twisting the knife. “And I’m really not trying to get you in trouble or make you lose your job.”
“Thanks. I’m not — okay, I was trying to hurt your feelings. But I’ll try not to do it again.”
Paul shrank back into the building and Molly followed, careful not to let the door latch make a sound.
“That was probably . . . nothing.” He nodded, confirming his own shaky conclusion, as they reached the main hall. “She was upset and he was just concerned, as a priest.”
“He isn’t her priest.” Molly’s good sense beat out her jealousy, and she stopped short — she was standing only meters from other parishioners. She didn’t need to badmouth Tim in front of everyone, no matter how he was hurting her. She checked the nearest table. Miles Hennessy and Jay Gallaher stared up at her in silence.
The metal doors swung open behind her, but she didn’t look back.
“Back to work!” Lucy announced. “You guys holding up without us?”
Molly still didn’t turn around. “Grand, as always.” She returned to the beginning of the food service line without looking at Lucy or Father Tim.
She knew she was a fool for falling for a priest, but she didn’t realize she was quite that big a fool.
Zach frowned up at the white stucco apartment building Friday night. If Lonegan’s neighbors weren’t mobsters, Zach would still be banging on his door. But neither of them needed extra attention from Murphy and their ilk — and apparently Lonegan didn’t want Father Tim’s attention either. As Zach finished sticking the GPS tracker on Lonegan’s car, though, his phone rang. He tried to contain his rising hope.
Doyle Murphy. Zach glanced back at Lonegan’s dark windows. Just in case, he stepped into the shadows of the Dumpster pen to answer the phone. “Yeah?”
“You must’ve forgotten to tell me you’re on the account. Got the contract, right?”
“Haven’t seen it. Better have your secretary send over another.”
Murphy snorted. “You’re on the account, then?”
“It’s been a short week — the bank closed early on Wednesday, and I didn’t have a chance before that.” And he had no actual intention of following through — but now that Lonegan was incommunicado, he might have to. More evidence couldn’t hurt.
“Don’t drag your feet,” Murphy said.
“Yeah.” The taut irritation in his voice was a little too real. He shouldn’t antagonize the man, but he didn’t have to sound eager to be extorted.
“Be a real shame to bring Miss Saint into this.”
A flash of panic at his name subsided quickly — although threatening h
is sister wasn’t any better. He peered over his shoulder to check Murphy’s windows. Was he watching the lot? No shadows on the blinds. “Lucy?”
“How many different rumors do you think it’d take to get back to the archbishop?”
That was probably supposed to be the convincing part of Murphy’s argument. Instead it just made the mob’s posturing even more ridiculous. He was only supposed to be here two more days anyway. “Come on. If I deny it, what’s he going to do? Pawn me off on Cleveland?”
“Oh, that’s right. I heard you like to play games. Well, this isn’t basketball, kid.”
“Tell me again why I shouldn’t go to the feds?”
“Hey, you know, do what you gotta do. But remember, rumors aren’t the only option. We wouldn’t mind taking care of Miss Saint, too.”
Zach’s ribs tightened a notch. He might only have another couple days here, but Lucy and Molly would still be there to face the consequences. “I’ll go to the bank Monday.”
“You have the paperwork.” Again, Murphy maintained his casual tone.
Zach hung up without saying goodbye. Should he tell Lucy? He might be able to remind her this wasn’t a cloak-and-dagger game.
Half an hour later, he reached Lucy’s building — and a movement in the shadows by her front door drew his attention. Two figures skulked in the dark there.
His pulse throbbed in his temples. They were already starting on her.
If he surprised them and any of them made a noise, Lucy might open the door and get dragged in. He hurried to the back of Lucy’s ground-floor apartment, popped open her scarily-insecure window and climbed in.
Then he realized arriving through her bedroom window would alarm Lucy as much as a scuffle outside her door. Sure enough, when he opened the bedroom door, Lucy was crouched in the hall. She jumped up, but Zach clamped a hand over her mouth before she screamed.
“It’s only me,” he said. Their gazes locked, and alarm traded places with annoyance in her eyes.
He dared to release her. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Are they here?”
“Don’t know. But they’re trying to get to me through you.” Zach strode past her to the living room. He wanted her to understand how serious this was, not have a coronary.
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