“How did you get in here?” she demanded, running to keep up.
He shushed her. Lucy held her tongue, and then they heard it — scratching at the door. Whispering. His sister’s eyes grew wide. Oh yeah. She got it.
Zach drew his gun and pushed Lucy behind him. “Hide, would you?” Lucy kept back against the wall. He mentally braced himself, gripped his gun tighter, and reached for the knob.
He threw the door open, revealing — two teenage girls? The girls reared back and shrieked in unison. Zach shifted to hide the gun behind the door.
“Hey, Lucy?” he called over his shoulder. He turned back to the girls. “Can I help you?” Then he saw the paper hearts on the door. Not the kind of heart attack he was trying to prevent.
“We’re trying to surprise Lucy,” said the girl in the I can’t . . . I’m Mormon sweatshirt. “Is this the right place?”
“Yeah, she’s just —” He glanced over his shoulder again.
Lucy stepped up. “Oh, look at my door!” She forced a smile.
“We don’t want to interrupt anything.” The second girl gaped at Zach.
“This is really sweet of you.” Lucy managed to convince the still-stunned girls to leave in less than a minute. As soon as the door shut behind them, Zach sighed and rubbed his temples. He didn’t need those girls undermining his warning to Lucy.
“Glad I have my big brother to save me from a heart attack.” She flopped onto the couch.
“You need to watch yourself.”
She nailed him with a yeah-right look. “What, another random act of kindness in my future?”
“If you see anything suspicious, go somewhere safe and public and call me right away.”
The sarcasm in her expression softened. Lucy looked away and pulled at a strand of her hair. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you about Tuesday.”
“What?” He leaned forward, showing more of his concern than he wanted to.
“Probably nothing — just . . . Ian Murphy stayed after school.” His little sister stared up at him, her brown eyes wide with innocent fear. “Something about you and not having to take my crap much longer.”
He couldn’t tell her they threatened to kill her. Half the truth would be enough to keep her safe. “They only said they’d start rumors about us.”
“Rumors? What would they — oh.” Lucy threw herself back against the couch and groaned. “I swear, if one more person thinks we dated —”
“Who said that?”
“No one — well, not in so many words. But Father Fitzgerald’s been all freaky about it, and Molly acts like I’m a leper whenever you come up, and then yesterday, Paul actually — oh, great.” She nodded slowly. “That’ll make next week at work fun.”
“What will?”
“She and Paul overheard us talking yesterday.” Lucy shook her head. “The part about how we still love each other. Apparently they got the wrong idea.”
He made a show of gagging. “Gross.”
“No kidding. Actually, Paul warned me you were ‘playing the field.’”
“As a priest?”
She shrugged. “He said he’d seen it before. You’d never let it ‘get out of hand,’ but you’d string me and Molly along forever.” She grabbed a blue throw pillow and tugged at its corners.
Zach groaned. Had Paul told Molly that, too? “I suppose one day, we’ll look back at this and laugh. You know, if we both live that long.”
“Just like we’ll laugh about whatever Leah and Kristi say when they corner me at church tomorrow? What am I supposed to tell them?”
“You’re taking the Catholic discussions? Harboring a fugitive priest?”
She gave him a sarcastic smirk. “That’ll go over well.”
“That I’m in town for a costume party?”
“And you’re an old prison buddy?” Lucy tossed the pillow at his face.
He swatted it away. “Say I’m a friend and leave it at that. Can’t risk anything else getting around.”
“And hopefully they won’t see you at the grocery store. Wait, do you shop?”
Zach rolled his eyes. “No, I subsist on donated food.”
“You’re a regular martyr to the cause. A real saint.”
“All my life.” He started for the door, but stopped short. “Oh, I need a favor.”
Lucy sighed and dragged herself to her feet. “Now what?”
“We’re having a parish talent show and we need your help.” Especially if he was getting yanked this weekend.
She snorted. That was her entire reply.
He searched for the dorkiest talent he could think of. “Okay, great, I’ll put you down for yodeling. Thanks for helping us out.”
“When is it?”
“The fifth — next Friday — and you wouldn’t have to do much. I’ll get your boyfriend to come.” He grinned, though he didn’t really intend to drag Paul there.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” She pushed past him to grab the doorknob. “The answer’s no.”
“Come on, Luce. We’ve had a bunch of people back out already, and now Grace Carver can’t do it because her backup singers have a conflict, and I thought I could depend on you for help.” A little guilt trip couldn’t hurt.
Lucy let go of the doorknob. “Zach, you know I hate doing talent shows.”
“Please? I told Molly you would.”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine, but only for her. And you’re not getting a Christmas present, or a birthday present next year — this is it.”
“Like I could come for Christmas.”
“And you have to do something for me. Remember that college fair I wanted to do Tuesday after school? Tell Principal Hickburn you approved it.”
Zach didn’t remember, but wouldn’t say so. As long as it wasn’t another background check. “You got it.” He glanced at the contemporary-style clock in Lucy’s kitchen. If he didn’t get back, Fitzgerald would get suspicious. “Better go.”
“Stay safe.” Lucy looked away.
Did she understand? This could be his last chance to warn her — or see her — unless Sellars had talked to the archbishop. “You’ll be careful?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gave him a halfhearted hug before practically shoving him out the door.
So much for not letting it get personal.
Molly reached her flat Saturday afternoon and balanced her grocery sack on her hip. She fished in her handbag for her keys — but stopped short at the voices approaching down the hall. Cally Lonegan, more sloped-shouldered than usual, rounded the corner. He nodded to her.
This was her chance if she wanted to fulfill the “mission” Father Tim had given her two days ago. The day he told another woman he loved her.
Molly doubled back to her neighbor. As much as Father Tim’s conversation with Lucy hurt her, it didn’t change the fact that Cally could probably use a friend — and a priest — like Father Tim now, and he’d asked her to do this for him. “How are you gettin’ along, Cally?”
He nodded again.
“We’re all sick at heart about what’s happened.”
“You shouldn’t be. We’ll deal with it ourselves.”
Before she could come up with an appropriate response, Doyle Murphy stepped from behind Cally. He lifted his chin in greeting to Molly.
How could she tell Cally Father Tim wanted to meet with him and tell Doyle he was too busy? Both of them had to be going through the same torment now. She shifted her grocery sack to her other hip and steeled herself. “We’re worried about both of you.”
Cally looked to Doyle as if asking permission to speak to her. Doyle lifted one eyebrow and one corner of his mouth in a hint of odd amusement. What about their situation was funny?
Molly looked back to Cally. “Father Tim’s especially concerned.”
“Figures.” Doyle folded his arms across his chest.
And it figured a mobster like Doyle Murphy was incapable of actually
caring about his own son. Molly focused on Cally. “You should come to Mass tomorrow. It’s the beginnin’ of Advent, you know yourself.”
Doyle snorted derisively. “We’ll see.”
“Really, Cally.” What had Father Fitzgerald and the archbishop said in the press conference? “Might help you find healin’ and peace, especially with Christmas comin’.”
“We’ll think about it.” He glanced at Doyle again; Doyle glared back. Before Molly could press Cally for something concrete, he turned to his flat, leaving Doyle and Molly alone.
“Father Tim’s all worked up over Cally, eh? Any particular reason — other than . . . you know.” He waved his hand. His son’s accusation and the lawsuit were nothing?
“Other than that?” She scrutinized Doyle, and he returned the hard stare as though he could measure her mettle. But he’d already misjudged her, and so far she’d managed to stay ahead of him. The shredded Kincaid Wholesalers contract and the appointment book now with the FBI were proof. “Father Tim wouldn’t go revealin’ anythin’ confidential, Doyle. Even if he did, I certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake.”
“Sure.” Doyle’s tone conveyed the full weight of his sarcasm and he continued to his door.
Molly shook off the lingering uneasiness that followed any encounter with Doyle Murphy. It didn’t appear Cally was avoiding Father Tim on purpose — in fact, Doyle looked to be the one pulling the puppet strings. She’d fulfilled Father Tim’s mission. Apparently another woman receiving the declaration Molly had longed for — and dreaded — didn’t change the fact that she’d do almost anything Tim asked.
Maybe this was for the best. She had an even better reason to let him go, to see him as only her priest. Once she reported to him tomorrow, of course. And maybe then, if she could really see him as a priest, she could ask him about overcoming weakness.
Though it seemed he was already trying to help her do that.
The deadline, the first day of Advent. That meant no organ, so Zach was at the front of the chapel for Mass again — and expecting someone from the archdiocese to drag him out any minute.
After the first Mass cleared out, Zach bid the last of the parishioners goodbye and scanned the parking lot for a Bureau sedan. He started back into the church to help collect bulletins left in the pews — but he didn’t make it past the vestibule. Molly stood by the heavy wooden door in the exact spot he’d occupied two weeks ago as Kathleen and Murphy gossiped about them. Molly beckoned Zach over.
She glanced around, her stealth laced with enough cool composure to be utterly convincing, even to a professional spy. “Never got to report back to you Thursday.”
“What’d you find out?”
“If he’s avoidin’ you, it isn’t personal. No one’s spoken to him all week.”
“He all right? Has anyone seen him?”
Molly moved a little closer. “I saw him in the hallway yesterday.”
“Any idea how long before he’ll talk to me?”
She tilted her head toward him and lowered her voice. “I’d keep my eyes open.”
What could she have said to make him come to church? “Nice work, Malone.”
Molly snapped to a palm-out salute — though her wry smile undercut the formal gesture. “Now, I don’t plan on bein’ your permanent spy.”
“I don’t know, Molly ‘The Mole’ Malone has a certain ring to it.”
She laughed. “But really — I can’t be sneakin’ around for you forever. You’re goin’ to have to talk to him yourself.”
“I will. I just want to make sure —” A footfall behind Zach stopped him short. Was Lonegan here already? Zach turned to find Father Fitzgerald and his favorite reproving look.
How much had Fitzgerald heard? Zach mentally reviewed the conversation. Had the priest come in before or after “I can’t be sneakin’ around for you forever”?
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Zach bid Molly before heading into the chapel proper. He winced at her expression — the longing in her eyes, like she wanted him to stay one more minute to talk to her.
Fitzgerald had to have seen, too. “Tim.” His most authoritative tone echoed off the arched ceilings.
Zach wheeled on him. He hoped his sarcastic scowl said all he needed to.
“What are you doing?” Fitzgerald demanded.
Zach didn’t bother to play innocent. “Whatever you heard was out of context.”
His chest thrust out like a bantam, Fitzgerald stalked forward into Zach’s personal space. “And there’s some context where that interaction is perfectly fine?” he shouted.
The echo rang through the chapel. Zach leveled him with a cool glare. “You’re overreacting. She was checking on Cally Lonegan for me.” One thing he wouldn’t miss after today: Fitzgerald. Zach strode away, leaving the other priest in the aisle, confused and fuming.
Monday morning, Zach got the call: the archbishop had given him one more week. Like that would be long enough to make a difference. Still, he had to try. Zach didn’t give Molly the option of saying no to a bank run today. With that contract still missing and Lonegan refusing his calls, the only way to build a case against Murphy was to seem like he was cooperating.
Molly gripped the steering wheel hard enough to leave nail marks in the plastic. Whatever she’d wanted to say to him yesterday, she wasn’t now.
“Father?” She hesitated before she finished her question, staring straight ahead. “How does Christ help us when we’re weak?”
Oh, great. A doctrinal question. Zach turned to her, choosing his words carefully. “What do you mean?”
“A friend — Lucy told me that God gives us weakness so that we can become strong. Do you think that’s true?”
Oh man. Not just any doctrinal question. Zach adjusted his seat belt, but it didn’t make it any easier to breathe. This was too fine a line to walk. She had to be asking him as her priest. “Well,” he said slowly. This definitely wasn’t covered in his seminary training — Catholic or Mormon. “I guess we see examples of that in the scriptures. What brings this on, Moll?”
She stopped at a red light and focused on the beige steering wheel. “Suppose I should’ve told you sooner.”
Zach shifted awkwardly in his seat. “You’ve been talking to Lucy?”
“Well, Lucy, Brian — the fella who came by last week — and their missionaries.” The traffic light changed, but Molly still stared at her hands.
“You’ve got a green light.”
She looked up at him, clearly surprised. “Father?”
He pointed to the traffic signal.
“Oh, of course.”
“You have a green light for the missionaries’ lessons, too, if you want.”
Molly drew a deep breath. “You wouldn’t tell me not to?”
“It’s your choice.” As a priest, he probably should object. This moment was fast becoming the most difficult conflict between his cover and his real life. He still didn’t expect God to bless him in this assignment, but Zach said a quick prayer for the right words.
However, he did not say the first words that came into his mind: I’m Special Agent Zachary Saint, and I know the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.
“I don’t see any harm in understanding your friend’s beliefs.” The second response was a little more appropriate.
“That’s just the thing — I don’t understand them. How does Christ help us overcome weakness?”
It took Zach great effort not to turn away. What was Catholic doctrine here? “When we turn to Him for help, asking Him in faith.”
“Have you done that?”
“Sure.”
“About . . . ?” Molly gestured at the two of them.
She thought he meant something about their relationship? “I, um —”
“Sorry, that’s too personal, isn’t it.”
“That’s all right.” He steeled himself. “I probably should. It’s a process, though, not a
n overnight thing.”
Molly kept her attention on her driving, but her expression grew contemplative.
He hoped he’d handled that okay. His job was supposed to be rooting out corruption in the church, not leading its members . . . anywhere.
This wasn’t his doing, though. He only needed to keep it that way for six more days and let Molly follow her heart — when it came to the Church, anyway.
Zach scanned Brennan’s parking lot that night, a last ditch shot in the dark. The GPS unit said Lonegan was here. Sure enough, his blue Ford was on the far side of the lot. Zach headed for the bar entrance. But as Zach neared the door, one man lumbered out alone. Zach squinted under the single streetlight. Was that Cally?
The man raked his hair across his forehead and shoved on a knit cap. Yep. Lonegan all right.
“Cally!” Zach called, still ten feet away.
He expected the other man to scowl or maybe try to get away, but instead Lonegan raised an arm in greeting. Was he actually smiling? “Father Tim. How you been?”
“Little worried about you.” He reached Lonegan and offered a sympathetic frown. “How are you and Lisa holding up?”
Lonegan shrugged. “Same old. Why?”
“I mean . . . after Brandon and Father Patrick.”
“Oh, that.” Lonegan scratched the back of his neck. “We’re doing better than you’d think.”
Zach nodded. Did he know the truth? “On your way out?”
“Yep, just had to stop in to talk to Doyle. You going in?” He jerked his head toward the entrance.
“Actually, I was looking for you.”
Lonegan glanced around the parking lot. “Want a ride?”
“Sure.” He seemed sober. Zach followed Lonegan to his car. Once they were on the road, Lonegan shook his shoulders like a weight was dropping off him. “Father, I gotta tell ya — I really didn’t think you had a clue.”
Zach shot him a mock-glower. “Gee, thanks, Cal.”
“But you were right!” Lonegan drummed the steering wheel. “I thought about what you said, about believing Jesus, and I started reading, and —” He broke off, grinning so broadly he couldn’t continue.
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