Mortal Sin (6 page)

“She was certain that they can,” Lily said. “She scared me.”

“That’s her job,” Moira said. “To keep you anxious. We’re not going to let them get to you.” Moira bit her lip. Rafe studied her. Something else was on her mind. Then she said, “I’ll take her to Olivet. It’s the only place she can truly be safe.”

“I don’t want to leave Jared,” Lily said.

“It’s not forever,” Moira said. “A couple weeks. Olivet’s a fortress. Everyone there is well trained. And while you’re there, maybe Rico and his band of merry men can figure out what your dreams mean.” She glanced at Rafe.

“And?” Rafe asked. She was holding back.

“Rico wants me up there, anyway. I’ll bring Lily with me.”

Anthony leaned forward and glared at Moira. When was his hostility going to end? It was grating on Rafe. “He didn’t tell me.”

Moira jumped up, confrontational. “Always suspicious, aren’t you? Think you need to be consulted on everything?”

Rafe interceded. “Why?” he asked her. “What does Rico want?”

“A hot spot popped up and he needs my help. We’re spread too thin right now.”

“I’ll join you,” Rafe said.

“I wish you could,” she said. “But Rico said specifically for you and Anthony to remain here. And with Bertrand dead, we don’t know if he was taken out by a demon or a human, so it’s better if you’re here.”

Rafe took her hand. “I don’t like these assignments Rico sends you on.”

“I always come back in one piece, right?” She smiled brightly, too bright.

Rafe touched her cheek. He wanted to tell her so much, but not here, not now. “When do you leave?”

“Tonight. Last flight from Santa Barbara with a stop-over in San Francisco. I should leave soon.”

“I’ll drive you,” Rafe said. Something else was going on, and Rafe needed to find out what it was.

Anthony said, “I’m calling Rico.” Then he stepped out.

“Do I have to go?” Lily asked, her voice a whisper.

Moira nodded. “You’ll be safer at Olivet. We don’t know what your mother has planned, or why this triad is back in town, or why they attacked Jared. Rafe and I can’t protect you if we’re looking for answers. You have enough time to say good-bye to Jared.”

Rafe turned to Lily and squatted in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders and all he felt was the bones beneath her skin. She was so scared, so young. His heart ached; he wanted to protect her, and he didn’t know how. Moira’s idea was a good one; they couldn’t worry about Lily if they had a coming battle here in Santa Louisa. “Moira’s right, Lily,” he said. “The nightmares you’ve been having, the trances, they appear to be natural, but something is going on and you can’t be out in the middle of it.”

Her eyes watered. “Was Jared attacked because of me?”

“No,” Moira said.

“Then why? Why Jared?”

Moira hesitated, then said, “To see what I would do.”

Rafe jumped up, but Moira avoided his eyes.

“Moira. We need to talk.”

“No,” she said, “we don’t. We don’t know why they did what they did, but I think it was a test. See how I reacted. If I’m gone, everyone’s safer.”

“That’s not true.” She couldn’t possibly believe that. “Everyone’s safer when you’re here, with me.” Rico loved Moira, but he would sacrifice her for the cause if that what it took to stop the Seven. Rafe was not going to let her die. Moira had people after her, someone needed to watch her back, and Rafe was the best person to do so. And she damn well knew it.

“Rafe, we’ll talk about this when I get back.”

“No! We need to talk about this
now.
We both know things have been on edge here in Santa Louisa. With Bertrand dead, we don’t know what’s going to happen. The town needs us. Rico can wait.”

“That’s why you need to stay, to protect them.”

“We are stronger together, Moira.”

“We’re pretty good apart, too.”

He didn’t like her tone. He took her hand and led her outside. He needed to talk to her alone.

Anthony was standing next to St. Jude’s fountain, which he’d inexplicitly restored first when there were far more pressing structural issues to address. He’d never told Rafe why, and Rafe didn’t ask. But it seemed to give Anthony peace, so Rafe let it be.

The renovations were slow. The teams of trusted men from St. Michael’s who had come in to clear the debris left over from the fire that had destroyed most of the mission had to leave because there were hot spots of evil popping up all over the world. They came back in small groups, worked for a short time, then left again. They’d finally rebuilt the exterior of the chapel, then left two weeks ago. It would take years to rebuild at this rate.

Rafe hoped they had years.

He took Moira down a path, away from Anthony and the shell of a mission, toward where he used to grow vegetables. His garden was overgrown and needed a lot of work. He wanted to fix it, but hadn’t had the time.

“You promised you wouldn’t go to the cliffs alone.”

“Did not,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“I had to. Something… something is simmering here. The truth is here, I just can’t see it. The answers are
there
, on the cliffs, if I just know how to look.”

“Those cliffs are draining you. I see it in your eyes.” He stepped closer and rubbed her arms. When he touched Moira, he believed they would survive, that they would stop Fiona and send the Seven back to Hell. Apart, his doubts crept in, taunting him. He couldn’t do this alone… and neither could Moira. He kissed her because he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to stop her from killing herself. From punishing herself for sins that weren’t her fault.

One kiss was never enough. He eagerly devoured her lips, and she welcomed him, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. She was delicious. And strong. She was his rock in this crazy world where evil reigned and they seemed to constantly tilt at windmills.

“Rafe,” she murmured.

He stopped her from saying anything more because he knew her fears. She feared for everyone but herself. She had never formed attachments because attachments were dangerous. But this was different;
he
was different.

His mouth crushed hers, trying to give her hope and strength and love. His lips kissed her jawline, her neck. Dear Lord, she smelled so sweet. She was hard and soft, tough and sensitive. He licked her behind the ear and her body trembled in his arms. He wanted to make love to her here, under the sky. They’d done it before, in the quiet of the mountains, under the moonlight. Here, where his life had changed forever.

He would not let her die. He would not let Rico use her like a weapon. He kissed the underside of her neck, his hands trembling.

“Rafe—please,” she whispered. “You’re panicking.”

“I’m not panicking,” he said. He sometimes forgot how truth sensitive she’d become, that she could read his moods with ease.

She stepped back. He reluctantly pulled his mouth from her neck, but he didn’t let her go. He stared in her bottomless blue eyes. “Tell me what you didn’t before.”

She hesitated.

“Moira, I need to know.”

“John’s missing.”

“John Martinelli?”

She nodded. “He disappeared while hunting a demon in Canada.”

Rafe saw the truth instantly. “So Rico wants you to track John down in Canada.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Rico’s coming.”

“I’m coming.”

“You can’t. Rafe—like you said, something bad is happening here, and you need to be here. To protect Anthony. And Skye. I won’t be long. A couple days, tops.”

“Rico keeps doing this. Sending you here and there and you come back exhausted and haunted.”

“There’ll be time to rest after we trap the Seven.”

“Don’t be flip.”

“I’m not—you know I’m right. John is missing, Rafe. He’s one of the good guys. If I can find him, help him—I have to do it.”

“Maybe you should stop taking orders from Rico.”

“Rafe, don’t.”

Rafe pulled her back into his arms. She was always so tense, always on alert. Watching. Worried about everyone else except herself.

“Do not
ever
forget that I love you.”

“How could I? You tell me all the time.”

She was trying to make a joke, but he didn’t let her. He held her at arm’s length and stared into her deep, deep blue eyes. He could look at her forever. “My love will save you.”

Her lip quivered. “I can’t lose you, Rafe.”

“You won’t.”

She didn’t believe him. She feared for him.

“I don’t trust Rico,” he said.

“I know.”

“But you do.”

“I have to.” She didn’t have to. She trusted Rico because he’d trained her. He was, essentially, her commander. Moira was loyal.

She kissed him slowly. Warmly. “I
will
be back.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I need you. You need me. We are so much better when we’re together, Moira. I don’t think Rico understands that.” Except, maybe he did. Rico was in love with Moira. He would never act on it, at least Rafe didn’t think he would, but Rico had made it clear that he thought Rafe was a threat. Would he use this time alone with her to try and put a wedge between him and Moira? Could he? What did Rafe really fear?

“I’m not reckless,” Moira said.

“Yes you are.”

“Not as much as I used to be.”

“
Ex ordine caeli, et eiecti sunt vincti
,” Rafe whispered.

Rafe took a step back. The words just came out, he didn’t understand why, he hadn’t been thinking about it. Moira stared at him with a deep concern. He didn’t want to worry her now.

“What?” she demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Dammit, not now!” She glared at him. “It sounds Latin. An exorcism?”

He closed his eyes, saw the words in his head. “‘You are bound and banished,’” he mumbled.

“If it were only that easy,” she said.

“Moira—I don’t know what it means, but obviously, it’s something you need to know. Remember it.”

“Bullshit!” She turned away.

He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around and forced her to look at him. “Moira—” He stopped. He didn’t want to tell her his suspicions, not until he could figure out what they meant. But he had to put her mind at rest while they were apart. “I’m okay.”

“They did something to you, Bertrand and the others, and now we’ll never know what.”

“It wasn’t Bertrand. It was from before.”

“You’re making no sense.”

How did he explain it? The migraines were because he was trying to force the memories to the surface, seeking answers that wouldn’t come without pain and suffering. He hadn’t told Moira he was causing the migraines because she would have made him stop. But it was his head. His thoughts. He needed the truth.

“Six months ago, when I walked into the chapel as the last man died… I felt…” His voice trailed off.

“Don’t think about it.”

“I have to! The answers are there, in my head, the answers to everything.” He’d been locked in his room at the mission, his door bolted not by a lock, but by magic. He heard the screams of his friends, the troubled priests he was sent to Saint Louisa to help. And he’d failed. They were all dead because he didn’t see the truth until it was too late.

He continued. “It’s like all that death, all that blood—the memories—their memories—are
here
.” He tapped his head. “All of them. I just can’t access the memories on my own. They come and go. Nightmares. Dreams. Information when I need it, but I can’t lift up the hood and see how it all works.”

“Don’t look. You don’t know that it wasn’t a spell. A curse.”

“But
you
would look. If you felt what I did, you would want to know the truth.”

“Rafe—stop this now. While I’m gone, at the very least, please put it aside. I beg you. I need you whole when I return.”

She leaned into him, grabbing his shirt as if she were drowning. She kissed him, but a deep, dark fear suddenly overwhelmed him. “Don’t go,” he said, panic rising.

“I have to.” She brushed back his hair.

“You can say no.”

She kissed him again, desperately. He held her face in his hands, assaulted her lips. Her neck. Her ears. If she died, they would lose this war. He would lose his soul because he would scorch the Earth to avenge her. He couldn’t explain in words how much he needed her, this overwhelming, overflowing love that could only be compared to how Christ loved His church.

Even more. And if that was sacrilegious, so be it. His heart beat for Moira O’Donnell alone.

“Three days,” she said. “Tops.”

Skye pulled on latex gloves, a cheap disposable gown, and over-sized paper booties over her work shoes. She stepped into Rod Fielding’s morgue and stared at the body. She didn’t like Richard Bertrand, and she was pretty certain he was instrumental in what went down at the mission—all those people killed—but she couldn’t prove it, and she would have rather have arrested him than seen him dead. Now she had to find his killer, and hoped it wasn’t someone she knew. Like Rafe. Or Anthony.

“Thanks for rushing this,” she said to Rod.

“I’m just about to start, but it’s pretty clear that cause of death is blunt force trauma.” Bertrand was laid out on the table, clean and naked. The blows to his head were powerful enough to make his skull lopsided.

Rod turned the victim’s head a bit to show Skye the deep gouges on the side and back of the skull. She didn’t need for him to do it; it was obvious at first glance. But she observed professionally.

“There were three distinct blows,” Rod continued, “but I’m suspecting a fourth overlapped. I’ll have to get the skull under a microscope to confirm if the X-rays aren’t clear enough. Each blow was done with great force. Based on other evidence at the scene, he was on the ground for all of them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Unofficially, I’m sure. I hope to confirm it when I’m finished. It’s the angle of the blows that tell me he was prone. The other odd thing was there are no defensive wounds.” He gestured to his arms. “No bruising or cuts that would suggest he attempted to stop his attacker.” Rod pointed to faint discoloration on the chest. “He was in a fight as well.”