Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  No. I don’t. But I will, because if I don’t, I’ll be committing another sin while on my knees in the confessional. “I have had sexual relations outside of marriage. And used birth control.” Another sin.

  “Were you forced or coerced in any way to have sexual relations, or did you give your body willingly?”

  I know confessing can be like this, especially during the modern reconciliation, but I’m not accustomed to having such frank discussions about my sexuality with a priest. Usually we both skirt around the issue with some embarrassment and dispose of it as quickly as possible.

  “Kate?”

  “I gave myself willingly.”

  He is quiet for a moment while I fidget. “Are you sorry?”

  I attempt a deep breath, but the guilt and shame are heavy in my chest, clogging the airways and the most I can muster is a shallow breath. “No.”

  “Will you continue to have relations with him?”

  I squeeze my eyes together. “Yes.”

  “Is this something you enjoyed?”

  I don’t understand the question. It’s a sin, whether I enjoyed it or not. I want to get this over with. “Yes.” I feel so exposed.

  My head is bowed, but my eyes are open. I see a flash of anger in Father Jesse’s eyes. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s hard to tell from this angle.

  “Let’s sit, Kate.”

  It’s quiet until we’re both seated at the window, again. “I can’t absolve you of your sins unless you have a pure heart.”

  I know this.

  “I don’t know how to put it delicately, so I’m just going to share with you my perspective as a priest, a shepherd, with many years of experience bringing lost lambs back into the flock.” He pauses for a moment. “Sinclair is a bad influence on you. He’s the devil tempting you into sins of the flesh. Bad things happen when you don’t resist him. It’s not a punishment, but rather a sign from God who loves you. Your conscience will not be light again until you shun the devil’s advances.”

  The devil? No. I don’t accept that. “He’s a good man,” I say peevishly, in defense of Smith. “And he’s my friend. I have feelings for him. Strong feelings—not just physical—I care about him. I might love him. I’m not certain.”

  Father Jesse moves to the edge of his seat, closer to me. “Lust and love are two emotions often mistaken for one another.” He says it matter-of-factly. I feel like I’m fifteen sitting in Father Tierney’s office on that awful night in the frat house. He said something very similar to me.

  “God doesn’t always make it easy for us, but He is always there to light the way. I will absolve you of all your sins, but for the sin of fornication. I will be here when you begin to see things more clearly, when you choose a righteous God, because I know you will. Until then, I will pray that the Holy Spirit imbues you with wisdom.”

  I nod. I know the devil reference was to make a point. But I’m hurt and angry at him for the comparison.

  “I’m not going to give you penance—not a traditional penance, anyway.” I glance at him. “I want you to think about Sinclair, about who he is, and how he fits into your Catholic faith. In a week, you’ll come back, and we’ll discuss your thoughts. Deal?”

  “Yes.” I give him a small contrite smile. But my anger hasn’t dissipated.

  “Why don’t we go back to my office and take a look at the bulletins you created?”

  Yes, please. When we step out of the room, I’m finally able to take a deep breath.

  When I get back to Smith’s place, I change into shorts, and after a restless forty-five minutes where I can’t stop thinking about what Father Jesse said about Smith, I decide to go for a walk. Maybe I can find the pond with the little bridge. I leave a note in case Smith stops in. Although he’s in DC on business today, and I doubt he’ll be back before me. I also text Josh before leaving the house.

  Kate: I’m going to take a walk around the property. Is that a problem?

  Josh: Not as long as you have your phone with you and you don’t set one foot off Sweetgrass.

  Kate: Yes to both. Smith said not to go anywhere without my gun. It’s at the security office.

  Josh: You can’t have it on the premises. The property is closely monitored. You don’t need it.

  When we were at the range this morning, Smith told me I needed to carry my gun with me everywhere. I suppose he meant everywhere that wasn’t Sweetgrass.

  Being at the range with Smith was quite an experience. He’s an excellent shot. Scary good. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve clocked endless hours at the range. Me, on the other hand? I was rusty, and of course since I was trying to impress, I was off my mark a lot. But Smith was patient, and by the time we left, I was more confident, and hitting the target more often than not. He promised to take me back this week.

  I walk past the stable, still thinking about the way Father Jesse talked about Smith. I realize Christians aren’t very Christian when it comes to stomping out evil, and Catholics are no exception, but to call Smith the devil—even to make a point—that was wrong. Wrong in so many ways. I will do my penance and consider how Smith fits into my life, Catholic or otherwise. But I won’t be choosing the strict teachings of my faith over him. That I already know.

  Just when I’m sure I’ve lost my way, I stumble onto the pond in the center of the property. As I cross the bridge, I notice Gabby with the baby. They don’t see me. Gabby is blowing bubbles, and Gracie is sitting in the stroller waving her hands and kicking her feet, trying to snatch bubbles from the air. I watch them for a few moments—deciding whether to spoil their fun, but more than anything, I am transfixed by the beauty of the pair. The natural simplicity of the bond between mother and daughter. In the ultimate act of indulgence, I allow myself to do something I haven’t done in a long, long time.

  I imagine a woman with wavy, burnt-red hair and alabaster skin, playing with her little red-haired daughter on a blanket in the park down the street from where I grew up. The woman’s three older sons are off climbing on the playground equipment, so it’s just the two of them. The mother tells the baby how much she loves her, cooing softly, while blowing raspberries on her belly. The little girl squeals in delight. It’s fanciful, and exists only in my imagination because there are no photographs, no evidence of it ever happening. But every time I walked by that park on my way to elementary school, I imagined my mother, on one of the few good days she had, taking us to the neighborhood park.

  I take out my phone and snap some pictures of Gabby and Gracie. I’ll frame one and give it to Gabby as a thank you for allowing me to stay at Sweetgrass, despite all the trouble. I scroll through the photos and save the best one to the cloud. I can edit it from my laptop and pick up a nice frame when I’m no longer confined to the premises.

  Gabby will love it, and one day, maybe Gracie will, too. Although I hope she never needs photos to remember her mother.

  I fell asleep in the recliner with the TV on while I waited for Smith to come home from DC. I don’t wake when he comes in, but the foraging in the kitchen rouses me.

  He’s leaning against the counter eating cold macaroni and cheese from a casserole Lally sent over with some chicken.

  “I can heat that up for you.”

  “I don’t need it heated up. I need you to come here.” He wraps me in a warm embrace. “I would say I’m sorry I woke you, but that would be a lie.” He licks his way into my mouth, placing the food on the counter behind him.

  “Eat,” I say after a few long minutes of kissing that I know is going to end in sex.

  “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

  I roll my eyes as he grabs the dish. “How did it go today with Josh and Ty?”

  “Better than I expected. Ty is a little scary, but I guess it’s because I’m used to seeing Josh lurking.” I want to ask him if he found anything more about the break in, but he looks exhausted and it can wait until the morning.

  He rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher. He has th
e neat and orderly habits of a soldier living in close quarters. When my brothers first came home on leave, they would be neat and tidy too, but after a few days they were back to their old selves.

  “How was your day?” I ask, while he puts the leftover chicken in the fridge.

  “Better than expected too. I caught up with a couple guys at the Pentagon from my old unit, and we had a beer before I came back. Rebel rousers.” He grins.

  “Takes one to know one. I bet you got into your share of trouble in the desert and left a trail of broken hearts in the sand.”

  “I didn’t leave a single broken heart there.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it. I never once touched a woman while I was deployed—let me take that back. In the desert, never. On leave in the Mediterranean, might have been one or two.” He winks at me. “But never in the desert. Too risky.”

  “You afraid some girl’s father was going to chase you down with a shotgun?”

  “I wasn’t afraid for myself. But women who are even suspected of having sex outside of marriage are stoned to death. No way to protect them. Even sex with me isn’t worth dying for.” He pinches my ass, and I yelp and swat his hand.

  The devil. There couldn’t be anything further from the truth. I’m angry at Father Jesse all over again.

  “We didn’t get much of anywhere on the break in today. Cops still have nothing. Your neighborhood is residential and doesn’t have cameras that we can get into.”

  “You have that capability?” It’s a dumb question, but it’s too late to take back.

  “What do you think I run around here, some lame back-ass operation? I have a couple guys who are good. But Chase Wilder is a pro.”

  “Chase? Really?”

  “Yep. Little nerd’s got game.”

  “It’s funny, people aren’t always as they appear. Delilah looked familiar. But it was this morning at the range, with her hair pulled back, when I finally put it together. I remember the trial and all the news coverage when she was outed. Her hair had been dark. It’s funny how such a small thing can throw you off the trail.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Delilah. I want to talk about why you’re not naked in my bed, waiting for me, with a green-jeweled plug in your ass. The one that matches your eyes.” He tosses me over one shoulder and slaps my backside on the way to his bed. “We’re about to fix that.”

  36

  Smith

  It’s been nearly a week since the break in, and we’re not any closer to knowing why it happened. All the leads are cold. Nothing points back to King or to any of his cronies. Not a single thing. Although that doesn’t surprise me.

  The robbery itself was amateur hour, but that’s what they wanted us to believe. The people surrounding King are pros. They don’t give a shit about him. It’s all about protecting his judicial seat. We’ll eventually figure it out, but it’s taking more time and resources than it should.

  I’ve been dragging my feet on beefing up security at Kate’s. I had the mattress replaced and the apartment thoroughly cleaned after we swept it for evidence. But I’ve got to get my ass into gear. She agreed to take the week off, but that’s it, and Gabby is beyond restless. I can see it in her eyes. She stopped by to talk to me yesterday, wanted to know if we’d made any progress.

  JD and I haven’t exchanged a single civil word since Sunday evening. He’s blown off our morning runs and avoided me at every turn. In truth, I haven’t gone out of my way to see him, either. He’s right. I’m putting his family at risk. It’s a tiny risk, but it’s not nothing. This pains me. I love Gabby and Grace, and my job has been to protect them, above all else. Up until now, I’ve never let anything get in the way of that.

  What JD’s wrong about is that I did it for some woman.

  Kate’s not just some woman. And the last few days while we’ve been playing house, it’s occurred to me that I would miss her if she wasn’t here. Not just in my bed—although I would sure as hell miss her there, but I would miss the smell of her shampoo on the sheets. I would miss someone giving a damn about how my day had gone. I would miss her green eyes and her sassy smile and her clever retorts. And the way my heart stills and softens when she’s in my arms.

  I’m pretty much fucked. At least I know it.

  I glance out the window to JD pulling up. From the looks of him getting out of the vehicle, I doubt he’s here to apologize. It takes less than ten seconds from the moment the car door slams until he’s breathing fire in my office.

  “What the fuck is this?” He shoves a newspaper in front of me.

  It’s a photo of Gabby and Grace near the fishpond.

  I stare at the image. But I can’t fully comprehend what I’m seeing. It’s as though my brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. I’m not sure it’s firing at all.

  “That reporter took a picture of my daughter and sent it to the paper.” He is spewing venom, out of his mind with rage, and I can’t blame him. “From the moment she was born, I promised Grace, and myself, that I would not let her be dangled in public. That she would be a normal kid. That she would be safe.”

  He picks up the paper and slams it on the desk, like he’s catching a fly. “The AP picked it up, and it’s all over the internet. All over town. All over the fucking country—maybe the world. How much do you think the photograph of my daughter earned her?”

  I still can’t form a single fucking word. My chest is collapsing. It’s as though a crane dropped a steel pallet on it.

  “I want her gone. Now.” He’s going to want to exact retribution. I can’t blame him for that, either. Right now, I want to hurt her, too.

  “I’ll escort her off the property myself if necessary.” His voice is menacing. “I want her out of Charleston before the sun sets on the Sabbath. If you aren’t man enough to do it, I’ll find someone else to protect my family.”

  “I’ll fix this.”

  “There’s no fixing this. It’s out there. Forever. We can only mitigate the damage.”

  “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

  “You brought the enemy inside. Cozied up to her, and let her weasel her way into your bed until all you could think about was her pussy. You turned your back on the people who care about you. For what? For a stupid bitch that we knew all along couldn’t be trusted.”

  After spewing venom all over the office, he turns to leave. “JD—”

  “Save it. If you give a shit about what happens to my daughter, help me pick up the pieces. Start next door.”

  The outside door slams behind him. No one from the other room, aside from Delilah, lifts their head. They all heard it, though. Every word. Some leader I turned out to be.

  Delilah peeks into the office. “Do you want me to go next door and take care of it?”

  “No,” I bark. “Leave me alone for a few minutes.”

  I pick up the paper, and then pull the image up on my computer. Gracie’s smiling little face. Her innocent little face. It’s everywhere. How could Kate betray me like this? How?

  I grab the newspaper, and stick my head into the conference room, waving the evidence of my stupidity in the air. “Get on this. Call Chase Wilder for help. We won’t be able to shut it all down, but we can get the photo off the mainstream outlets.” That just leaves the dark corners of the web. Fuck.

  I stalk next door, the rage and the pain of betrayal, yes, fucking pain, all-consuming. Kate’s in the shower. I take the steps two at a time, and drag her from under the warm spray. “Get dressed, get your things together, and get out. You have thirty minutes, so don’t stand there with your damn mouth open wasting time.”

  “What? Wait!” She reaches into the shower and turns off the water, then wraps a towel around herself. She can stand there naked for all I care. She’s never looked less appealing.

  I shove the paper at her. “Did you take this photo?”

  Her eyes widen in surprise. “Yes,” she says softly. “I took it on Monday afternoon.”

  �
��How could you do this? How? And why? If you needed money, I would have given you money. You didn’t need to exploit my friends like this. People, who despite the risk, opened their home to you.”

  “I didn’t sell the photo. It—”

  “You gave it away? For a damn Pulitzer?” I slap the paper against my thigh. “I don’t know what’s worse.”

  “No! I took the photo—”

  “I don’t want to hear your bullshit. You betrayed them. You betrayed me. In a way I can never forgive.”

  “I—”

  “No. I don’t want to hear another damn lie from your mouth. Get your things and Josh will take you home. Plan on leaving Charleston within the next two days.”

  “I have responsibilities here. I can’t just walk away. You have the right to kick me out of your home, but you have no right to make me leave Charleston. I did nothing wrong. If you bothered to look into your heart for just a single minute, to see me as something other than the enemy, you would see that I love you. That I would never betray you—or the Wilders, for that matter.”

  “You took the photo. You haven’t left this place with your phone since. The only way it could have gotten out is if you sent it to someone. You are the enemy. The one I let in.”

  I slam the door on my way out. Pussy makes a man stupid. It never has before, but it certainly made me a moron this time. Jesus Christ.

  “Go next door,” I instruct Josh, “and make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble while she packs. Then take her home, and you and Ty take turns with the surveillance. We’re stepping back her security.”

  “One man on her at a time?” he asks, skeptically. Josh likes her, and I can see he doesn’t agree with my decision to step back security.

  I glare at him. “One at a time. I won’t waste any more resources than that on her. If you have a problem with—”

  “No problems,” he responds coolly.

  I’m tempted to pull everything, but—I crack my knuckles—but I can’t. I don’t have the balls to do it.