Kicking the Habit

by Kari Lee Townsend

  Knocking three times, he rocked back on his heels and prayed the nun’s sister wouldn’t answer. Moments later, the door swung open, and a vision of pure sin stood before him. Dark, almond-shaped eyes stared back at him. She had skin like silk, curves in all the right places, and a head of hair more magnificent than anything he’d ever seen—thick, dark chocolate curls cascading all the way down to her waist.

  He stood there, speechless for a moment, and then found his tongue. “Uh, hi. I—I’m Detective Jackson, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. Twice. “I’m looking for Sister Mary Cecelia.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” A bewildered look crossed her heart-shaped face. “I’m standing right here, Detective, and please call me Cece. I told you, I’m not a nun anymore.”

  “Get the fuck out of here!” he blurted, wishing instantly he could snatch the words back.

  Her jaw unhinged so wide, he could see clear back to her tonsils. “Excuse me?”

  “I am so sorry, Sister. I had no idea.” This woman in no way, shape, or form resembled the short, little nun in billowing dress he’d met yesterday morning.

  “Y–y–you just look so different,” he finally got out, feeling like a complete ass. “I mean, I’ve only seen you once; and in my defense, you were buried beneath that … that … ‘thing.’ How was I supposed to know all that—” he waved his hand up and down through the air, gesturing from her head to her toe several times, “—was hidden beneath those robes?”

  The sister turned cotton-candy pink. “Oh,” she said. “I guess I didn’t realize I look that different when I’m not wearing a habit and gown.”

  “Different? Not even close. You look like someone else entirely.” What the hell was he doing? She was a nun, for God’s sake. “You just took me by surprise.” He swiped the moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m fine now. So, can I come in?”

  “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? You’re soaked to the bone.” She led the way into the house, and he couldn’t help noticing that her jeans hugged her curves in all the right places.

  Christ. He hung his sports jacket on the wooden coat tree in the foyer, still recovering from the thought of finding a nun attractive, and wiped his shoes on the Berber throw rug. “Thank you, Sister.” He would continue to call her “sister” to ensure his “bone” would behave.

  “You caught me just in time.” She stopped in the kitchen and turned on the kettle. What was it with these “holy” people and their goddamn tea? he wondered. “I was about to leave for my new apartment,” she continued.

  He frowned as he sat at the old Formica table and studied her. “Wow, you work fast. How did that come about?”

  She took a moment to open the packets of a couple of tea bags, her hair swaying like a cloud of temptation. He squeezed his fingers into fists, keeping them firmly beneath the table as he tried to focus on her words. “Well, the town donated a building for my new clinic, and it has a studio apartment above. It’s right on Main Street, so it’s perfect. Isn’t that wonderful?” Turning around, she smiled at him.

  His lips twitched, and he had the urge to smile back … until her words sank in. “No, it’s not wonderful. Main Street is in plain sight. You really don’t get that you’re in danger, do you?”

  She pursed her full lips and cocked her head. “Please, Detective, methinks you’re being a bit dramatic.”

  “Methinks?” Jesus, who the hell talked like that? Then he realized she was doing it on purpose. Treating him like a child because she didn’t take him seriously at all. “Well, me thinks you’re being a lot pigheaded.” He threw up his hands. “There’s a killer on the loose. Nothing dramatic about that.”

  “I’m twenty-eight. I can take care of myself.” She set his cup of tea before him and sat across from him.

  “Take care of yourself?” He pushed his cup away, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Please. You’ve been sheltered for most of your life.”

  “I have not.”

  “You have too. First your parents, then your grandmother, and then the sisterhood. From what I’ve read, you’ve never been on your own. What in God’s name makes you think you can take care of yourself?”

  “You checked up on me?” Her eyes widened and her lips parted.

  “I’m a detective, and you’re involved in a high-profile murder case. It’s my job.” He shrugged. “You heard the Feds. I’m supposed to stick to you like a bad habit.”

  She narrowed her eyes and stiffened her spine. “Well, I’ll thank you to do your job someplace else. Go investigate something, would you? I have my own clues—I mean things to do.” She leaned forward and glared at him.

  Riiight. He slapped his hands on the table and matched her stance, glaring right back. “Which is exactly why I’m not letting you out of my sight, sweetheart.”

  She gasped, her cheeks turning flamingo-pink this time. “Well, good luck with that, Detective. When I was a nun, we sisters were very quiet and had an uncanny knack for slipping in and out of places without being seen or heard. Feel free to follow me,” she smirked, “if you can find me, that is.”

  “Just because you wore slippers beneath your robes doesn’t make you quiet.” She looked surprised, and his smile came slow and sweet. “Don’t you worry, Sister, I’m very good at my job. In fact, I’m—”

  “You’re the devil himself, is what you are,” a gravelly voice cackled as an old woman ambled into the kitchen. She wore a different set of black robes and hat that spoke of an order that stood for the complete opposite of everything a nun represented.

  Cece sighed. “Detective, meet my granny, Hester Monroe. She thinks she’s a witch.”

  The old woman, whose long gray curls resembled a frizzy version of the nun’s, scowled at the sister. “I don’t think, lovie; I know. I was born a witch, and I’ll always be a witch, but you were born with the seven holy virtues. You’re a nun, and you’ll always be a nun. But he is the devil incarnate.” She pointed a crooked finger with a long jagged nail at him.

  “He’s the reason you left the church. My crystal ball told me so, but I was too late to stop it. Don’t you worry, though. I put a hex on him that should send him back to the gates of hell, where he belongs.” She walked over and poured herself a cup of tea. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just sic my lucky black cat on him.”

  What was it with these old crones condemning him to hell? Was he really that bad?

  A one-eyed, brown-haired dog trotted into the kitchen, stopping to sniff Ace’s feet. Dropping lazily to the floor, the dog’s tongue rolled out and he began to pant.

  Her granny screeched, “Sic him, Kitty. Scratch his eye out, and maybe we can have it put back in yours, my precious.”

  What the hell did he say to that? Ace thought. At a loss for words, he stared from the nun to her whacked-out, color-blind granny. Jesus, she lived in the Twilight Zone.

  “Granny, please.” Cece stared up at the ceiling and closed her eyes for a moment, and then she winced as she looked at him. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He lifted one shoulder. “In my business, I meet all sorts of strange characters. You should see some of the people I’ve busted.”

  Right on cue, the nun’s sister waltzed into the room, with a smirk on her face, her shoulder-length bob bouncing as she walked. “Like me, Detective?” A perfect ten, she had most men eating out of her hands. But he wasn’t most men. He preferred the softer, more natural look of a real woman like … his gaze shot to Cece. Well, hell!

  “Candy Monroe.” He focused back on Cece’s sister and blew out a long, exhausted breath. He had a sinking feeling nun-sitting was going to be a humongous pain in his ass. “Nice to see you with some clothes on—for a change,” he added.

  “You two know each other?” Cece gaped.

  Oh, yeah. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  ***

  Candy scowled at Ace then turned to her sister. “He’s the asshole who busted me a month ago, hauled me in with a bunch of
prostitutes during some sting operation at the club. I tried to tell him I was a pole dancer, not a hooker, but he wouldn’t listen until we got to the station. When he found out the truth, he had to let me go, right Jackass?”

  “It’s Jackson.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  Everyone had to mangle his name. It was getting old. “You mean there’s a difference between a stripper and a hooker? Who knew?” He threw her words back at her, knowing he was baiting her and angering her sister, but he’d had enough. Patience might be a virtue in the nun’s world, but he was fresh out.

  “Why, you—” Candy started.

  “Okay, then,” Cece interjected, “I’d better get going so I can move my belongings in before it gets too late. I have a bunch of things to do this afternoon. The sun sets so early during fall, don’t you think?” The nun stared at him intensely.

  “Right. Let me give you a hand. Do you have a U-Haul?”

  “What for?” She pointed to the box in the corner. “My stuff’s over there.”

  “That’s it?” He gaped.

  “Waste not, want not, right?”

  “I guess.” But he couldn’t imagine existing in a world where all that he owned fit into a single box. He headed to the corner and picked up the box as she said her good-byes.

  “I’m not going far, Charity, just down the street this time. I promise I’ll stop by more often,” Cece said.

  “My name’s Candy now. I’m not, nor have I ever been, someone’s charity case.”

  “I know that, but I can’t call you Candy. You’ll always be Charity to me,” Cece said softly, and Candy rolled her eyes as she tossed up her hands.

  “You could always come to church with me, you know. Then, you’d see me more. We could get to know one another better. We only have each other, Charity. Please don’t shut me out.”

  “Don’t push it, Cece. It’s enough that you’re back, so let’s just take it from there, okay?”

  Cece squeezed her sister’s hand. “Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow after the wake. Maybe we’ll have lunch.”

  “It’s a date. Gran, you wanna join us?” Candy asked over her shoulder.

  “Got plans.” Granny shot a wicked glance at Ace and cackled in a way that made his skin crawl. “Big plans that involve my cauldron and a special brew,” she hissed. “Just gotta find me a squirrel’s tail in the woods and a pinch of gunpowder at the mini-market.”

  “Gran, you can’t get gunpowder at the mini-market.” Candy looked at Cece and tried to hide a grin.

  “That’s what you think.” Gran cackled louder, her eyes never leaving Ace.

  He ignored her crazy ramblings and looked away. Damn woman gave him the creeps. “You ready, Sister?” He hefted the box.

  She kissed her granny’s cheek, patted Kitty on his sleeping head, then grabbed her coat and led the way outside.

  Ace stored her box in the back of his pickup, because the rain had let up, and jogged around to open her door. He might not be a church-going man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a gentleman. His mother did teach him a few things before he’d gotten the hell out of there and joined the service.

  “I really do appreciate the help, but after this you don’t need to stick around, okay?” Cece said.

  He could feel her eyes boring into him, but he wasn’t about to leave her alone. Rocco had told him the ballistics report had come back this morning, and the bullet used to kill the senator had come from an M16A2 assault rifle. That weapon was a military-issued gun, not something a simple hunter could buy. She had information; therefore, she wasn’t safe.

  “You’re welcome, and I don’t mind,” he said. “My partner is handling the rest of our caseload, and my sole job is to focus on you. If I leave, I won’t have anything to do, Sister. Have mercy on me, would ya? Besides, what if you get into trouble and need me to save you?”

  “You don’t need mercy; you need to cleanse your soul. In fact, I think you should go to confession. You are the one in need of saving. It will probably take a week to confess all your sins, but you’ll feel much better when you’re done.”

  Confession? Not in this lifetime, he thought. “I don’t need saving, and even if I did, your clinic is more my speed.”

  She gave him the same look Sister Mary Ethel used on him, like she could see right through him. “Trust me; you look like you need a full priest. Someone much more experienced, like Father Flannigan. He’ll steer you down the right path.” She patted Ace’s arm, again making him feel like a child.

  How the hell had the conversation turned from him saving her life to her saving his soul?

  Before he could utter a single protest, she glanced out the window and said, “Oh, look—here we are. You can drop me off at the curb, and I’ll be on my way.”

  He stared up at the rundown excuse for a building. You’ve got to be kidding me. Whoever donated this building to her wasn’t looking out for her best interest,—that was for damn sure. He made a mental note to check out that lead. “Drop you off? Not a chance. I’m not leaving you alone until I see for myself that it’s safe. You need all new locks, among other things, in this dive if I’m ever going to be able to protect you.”

  “I’ll be fine, and I keep telling you I don’t need protection. It’s not that bad, really. I would never dream of complaining after the mayor so generously donated this building to me, with the town’s help of course.”

  The mayor, huh? “Whatever. I’m still not leaving you alone, whether you like it or not.” Ace grunted as he pulled up to the curb, threw the truck into park, and hopped out. Walking around to her side, he opened her door and reached inside.

  She grabbed his wrists to still the forward-reaching path of his hands. “Honestly, Detective, I think I can manage. I’m not a child.”

  “No, but you are extremely short, and this truck is very high.” He nudged her fingers off and placed his hands on both sides of her waist, then helped her down, his hands lingering longer than they should have.

  “Oh …” She stared at his hands for a moment, looking dazed. “Well, thank you.” She jerked out of her stupor and stepped away from his touch. “Just because you’re a giant, doesn’t mean you can boss people around. Good-bye, Detective.” She marched toward the front of the building, with her key in hand.

  “Wait! You forgot your box.” Ace snagged her belongings and chased after her, his long strides bringing him right behind her in no time. Just before they reached the front door, a loud bang rang out from behind them. Shit. “Get down!” He dropped the box as she spun around, dark eyes huge round saucers, surrounded by a sea of white.

  She let out a scream as he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her. Twisting as they fell, he landed on his back with her on top. Then he rolled them over in a flash and covered her head with his hand, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

  Her soft curves molded to his rock-hard body, and he felt every breath she took. Every beat of her heart as it pounded against his. His senses swam in the headiness of her scent: a hint of starch, a whiff of fabric softener, and something that was sinfully Cece.

  “I can’t breathe, Detective,” she said, wheezing. “What is the matter with you?”

  He peeked over his shoulder and scanned the area. Nothing. Still cautious, Ace lifted his weight up onto his elbows and stared down into her eyes. “What’s the matter with me? I just saved your life.”

  “From what? Exhaust fumes?”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “That was a car backfiring. A mechanic working over at the garage next door works on his car every day, and every day at one, it backfires right on schedule. Granny has complained for the past week that it interferes with her digestion, since she lives right down the street.”

  Ace rolled to his feet and helped the nun up with him. He glanced over at the mechanic, who waved a rag in the air and shouted, “Sorry.”

  Ace scowled and shook his head. During his years in the service and then
on the city streets as a cop, he’d honed his senses in order to survive. He hadn’t been in a small town long enough to lose that, and all morning the tingle in his spine told him someone was watching them. “It was a car this time, but next time, you might not be so lucky. My gut tells me it’s only a matter of time before the bad guys figure out you’re not hiding behind the church anymore.”

  “Well, my gut tells me I’m more in danger with you around, Detective. My backside is going to be bruised beyond belief. Do you know how hard that ground is this time of year?” She stared at him, looking thoroughly frustrated and confused.

  She wasn’t the only one frustrated and confused, and the ground sure as hell wasn’t the only thing that was hard, but one thing was for certain. If his hunch was right, and it usually was, she was in danger, and he was thoroughly screwed. Especially because the senator’s killer had apparently found a new target.

  ***

  Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Again. Big surprise there. Anywho, snooping is harder than I thought. Not that I think I’m a detective or anything. I’m simply having conversations. Asking questions. Helping people. And if I discover a few more clues along the way, and maybe don’t tell a certain real detective, it’s not obstructing justice. I mean, I fully intend to follow up on the clues people reveal in confidence, being that I’m a counselor of sorts now. And counselors have a confidentiality clause, right? Right. I feel so much better now that we talked.

  Cece watched with a heavy heart as Senator Sloan’s wife read the cards on the bounty of floral sprays that filled the funeral home. Soft, soothing music filtered through the sound system, and the pungent aroma of flowers settled over the packed room. After a moment, Mrs. Sloan lovingly placed a rose on her husband’s casket, then turned and froze Cece with an icy look.