by Lacey Silks
“Yes, he is, Father. He’s married to the church. He serves God.”
I took in a sharp inhale, somewhat expecting her next words.
“It’s you, Father.”
Shit!
I shot off my chair, stepped out from the confessional without finishing the sacrament, reached into her nook, and took her by her arm.
“Father, what are you doing?” she asked.
I led her across the church into one of the side hallways. Kate followed me with her mouth half open, blinking over and over again like plastic shutters in high wind. The echo of our footsteps faded as soon as we reached the carpeted area.
“Father Cameron, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Shh, just be quiet, will you?” My rude words were met by her sad eyes, but I had no time to play games. Time was running out for both my brothers and I. And now, with her mother’s enemy in town, time was certainly running out for her as well. She just didn’t know it yet.
“Kate, we can forget about what you said in there. I promise, I won’t judge.”
“I’m not taking my words back.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Her eyes glistened, and the first tear spilled down her cheek. She seemed so delicate. I took her beautiful face between my palms.
“I don’t want you to take your words back. I don’t want you to regret what happened between us either. But you cannot be in love with me. It’s impossible for us. It’s impossible for me to think of you in a way you want me to, and you deserve more. You deserve an honest man. What I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t want you to feel like you did something wrong.”
“I don’t. It feels… right.”
I know.
“How did this happen? When did this happen?”
I knew exactly when, because for the past few months, I’d been falling in love with this woman more each day.
“I, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but I can’t help how I feel about you. I tried to block it out. I really did.”
If it were anyone else, or a different time, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, and I’d be between her legs in seconds, slurping on the delicious feast she hid in her panties.
“You have to stop, Kate. I’m not good for you.”
“Don’t you think I know that? You’re a priest.”
Oh, I was much more than that. I was a conniving beast who wanted to take this woman against the wall and fuck her senseless until she couldn’t feel a muscle in her body.
“Yes, I’m a priest,” I sighed. It was becoming more and more difficult to repeat these words to her.
“Don’t you want to be one anymore?”
“That’s a tricky yet a very relative question.” It was also a question I chose to ignore. “Kate, what happened between us was wrong. Very wrong. I didn’t mean to test your faith that way. Not ever.”
“You didn’t test my faith in any way.”
Her stubbornness had no limits.
“You can’t be in love with me.”
“Yes, I know. You’re a priest. You’ve said that already, but I know what I feel, and nothing you say will change my mind.”
I highly doubted that. After Kate heard what I had to say, she’d stay as far away from me as I would need to be from her.
“Kate—”
“Father, I don’t know when it happened or how it happened. I tried to stop it so many times, but you… you’re… you’re an amazing man and a priest. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for putting you in this situation.”
“And I’m sorry that I hurt you. We should leave.”
“You’re wrong. You haven’t hurt me. You gave me what I’ve been craving all my life. You gave me a sense of self-worth. You helped me believe that this world still has places like here, in this little town of Pace, that are peaceful and hold hope. Ten months ago I thought my life was over. I thought I had no one; and then I met you. You helped me believe in love again.”
“What I did was destroy your faith, Kate. Don’t you see that? If you cannot regret sleeping with a priest, then my sin will remain as deep as yours will, forever. If only you knew everything.” I shook my head. “We can never be together, Kate. Never. You mean too much to me to drag you into my messed up life.”
The sound of loud steps echoed through the church. Our heads turned toward the side entry leading to Father John’s office. I’d been at this church for a while now and I could pretty much distinguish every parishioner’s walk, but not this one. I haven’t heard such shuffling before. I grabbed Kate by her waist and pulled her into another confessional with me. The momentum didn’t stop us until I was sitting back in the chair, holding Kate in my lap. Her breathing against my face quickened, and as I hardened underneath her, I realized that letting this woman go would be almost impossible. I covered her mouth with my hand and held her tight against my body before slowly letting go of her mouth.
“We have to stop doing this,” I whispered.
“What?”
“You falling into my arms like this. Do you trust me, Kate?”
“Yes,” she replied right into my ear. Her breath carried her whisper like it was a hallucinogen.
“Good. Because you’re going to hate me for what I’m about to do.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
I crushed my lips to hers, seizing her surprised mouth. The forced kiss heated in an instant as she responded, but just as quick, I pulled away.
“Sorry, but I had to shut you up.” Hopefully the kiss would preoccupy her mind for a little longer and she’d keep quiet. “We need to get out of here, Kate.”
Without waiting for her reply, I lifted her off me and peeked out of the confessional. Mateo Cortez and his son, Aaron, were standing in the doorway with their backs turned to us. I looked back at Kate and put my finger to my lips. Still half-shocked, she nodded. We tiptoed to the back door, but stopped at the familiar voices when we reached Father John’s office.
Fuck!
“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Pablo Cortez asked Father John.
He was standing there with another one of his thugs I remembered from the night that put me in this mess and ultimately sent me on my quest to find Cortez.
“No. I don’t keep track of everyone’s whereabouts.”
Cortez took a threatening step toward Father John, and I felt Kate recoil. It made me cringe. It made me realize how afraid she must have been all these months, while searching for answers about her family and finding that her mother’s enemy was none other than Mateo Cortez.
“We had a deal, Father John.”
“And it looks like you broke it. The deal was that you stay away from town.”
“Our sources say that someone is digging through old family papers.”
“We’re organizing the parish. That’s all.”
“What you’re doing is digging your own grave, Father.”
“They can’t talk to him like that,” she loud whispered. Despite her knees clattering together, she appeared to be brave. And as much as she tried to persuade me to help Father John, her body was set on high alert, as if it wanted to run away.
“If I go in there, we’re both dead,” I said.
“I don’t understand. They don’t know you. You can go. I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me. But we have to help Father John.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kate. They do know me. They know me very well. Wait, how do you think they know you?”
She stilled, and suddenly the trust we’d built over the past few months was gone.
Poof.
She tilted her head to the side. “Who are you?”
“If you want to stay alive, you’ll come with me, Kate.”
She ripped her arm away from me. I grabbed her by her waist before she reached the door and pulled her into the hall closet.
“You have to trust me, Kate. If there is anything you could ever do for me, please, trust me.” I whispered in her ear, fighting the
urge to nip at the tiny diamond earring she had pierced through the upper cartilage. “I’ll help you leave through the back, and then I’ll help Father John. You’re going to go straight to Lola’s and tell her that you’re in trouble and Cam sent you.”
If my gut was right, Lola would know exactly what to do.
“Fath—“
“Not Father today. Just Cameron. Can you say it exactly that way?”
She nodded. I reached for the single hanging jacket in the closet and removed my piece from the inside pocket.
Kate gasped. “Why do you have a gun?”
“Shh.”
“You have a gun,” she repeated, her voice even louder.
“You said you’d trust me.”
“Yeah, but a gun?” Kate was no longer caring to whisper. I had to stop her before she revealed our hiding spot to the entire town.
“But you’re a—”
She opened her mouth in protest but I shut her up by sealing her lips with mine, hoping I could hold onto our connection, praying that not all was lost. Instant relief washed over me the moment our mouths touched. Each time I kissed her, it felt like I’d waited years to feel the gentle texture of her mouth. I pressed my lips harder to hers, and she moaned. That little sound which flew right into my mouth and headed straight for my dick had the strength of Viagra.
“Why… why did you do that again?” She was breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell against mine as her fingers mindlessly skimmed over my arm. I wasn’t one to get goosebumps, but I still got them.
“It seems it’s the only way to shut you up. You need to trust me, Kate.”
“Okay. I trust you today. But tomorrow, I want the truth.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” I warned.
“I’m done with careful. Careful and safe have never worked for me yet.”
She was right. Unfortunately, Kate would soon realize that I was as close to safe as pigs were to flying.
Chapter 20
Kate
Eight months earlier
The night, full of mysterious shadows, awakened both my nerves and my instinct as I pulled up to an abandoned warehouse and parked. I tapped my fingers on my steering wheel and looked to the passenger seat, where a case full of money — three-quarters of a million dollars, to be exact — was supposed to be waiting.
Except there was no money.
I had failed at the most important task of my life: to save my mother’s life.
My road to hell had begun a week ago when I returned home from a week in Vegas — one last week of a mother-daughter fun trip before the exchange and her surgery. Except we no longer had a home. Red and blue lights flashed as we pulled into our street, and an orange glow illuminated the night sky over our burning house. A few hours later, the only remains were ashes, along with a few stronger brick walls. The house was gone, and the money was gone as well.
“Jack Pace,” my mother repeated in shock. They were the only two words she’d said since she saw our house burning down. The doctors had said it was due to trauma and they didn’t know whether it would return, but we were hopeful.
“Mom, you’re going to be fine. I promise.” I held her hand as she lay in a hotel bed that night, but I too struggled to believe my own promise.
She’d lost a lot of weight in the past month. Her appetite dwindled and her body weakened. Her time to get a healthy heart for a transplant was running out. The organ was failing, and her body became weaker every day. I’d spent every hour of my days searching for ways to increase her chances of survival. We had a better chance of finding a heart under the Christmas tree than waiting for a matching organ at the hospital. I felt like I was standing in a long line with a number, wondering when my mother’s name would be called out to meet the Grim Reaper. I needed to find a matching donor, and I needed one now.
I didn’t find one; well, at least not a legal one.
With odds against us, I used my contacts at the precinct to find one of the most powerful cartels in the country and stuck a deal: seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a heart.
Except I didn’t have the money, and they had my mother’s heart. I pulled the black mask down from my forehead, covering my face.
Fuck them if they’re going to give my heart to someone else.
As soon as I asked for an extension, Aaron Cortez backed out of our deal. I took a chance coming here tonight and still I wasn’t sure if I was in the right place. They could have changed the original location of our meeting. They might not have a viable heart.
I turned off the ignition. I’d used the remaining cash in my bank to buy this unregistered car at a scrap yard. I opened the glove compartment and removed the little brown bag. When I reached inside, the cold metal gun handle felt just right, and I was glad that my training as a detective had given me that extra set of balls I’d need for tonight to pull off my plan. If the evening didn’t go well, tomorrow I could be looking at gun charges, kidnapping, and illegal organ trafficking, to name just a few. Or maybe someone would be writing my obituary.
I parked the car about half a mile away from the warehouse and did my first run around the complex, preparing my escape route, slashing the tires of parked cars and checking for a second exit if something went wrong. Much-needed adrenaline pumped through my veins. I opened the door and closed it gently before tiptoeing along the night’s darkest path toward the warehouse. A second glance at the parked expensive cars with deflated tires boosted my confidence.
When I reached the building, I could hear an argument brewing from within. I climbed up the discarded skid pieces, then on top of a garbage dump until I reached a rusted staircase. I rubbed my sleeve over the partially broken window glass to clear the dust and peeked through. Three men in black suits had their backs turned to me as they walked out a door into a different room. My gaze skidded to the left, where a man in a white coat with a cooler in his hand stood beside another man who was dressed in a suit. He was shorter and held a typical black doctor’s bag. I assumed he was a doctor hired to perform the surgery. The sight of a cigarette in his hand made me question his hygiene standards, and I wondered whether Fate had intervened when our house burnt down to save my mother’s life from a possible disaster. Now that I had a closer look, I was happy that a trustworthy friend had agreed to do the surgery. This guy didn’t appear to be someone I’d want to perform my mom’s heart transplant.
I made my way down the staircase. With my back pressed against the warehouse wall, I crept toward the door. The doctor was whispering something to the other man.
My hands shook, and my heart drummed in my chest. I took a deep breath, removed the empty gun from the back of my jeans, and gave myself a little pep talk. “You can do this, Hope. It’s for your mother.”
I adjusted my ski mask, counted to three, and stepped out from behind the wall. With my arms out in front I approached with confidence, pointing the gun their way. They didn’t notice me until I was a dozen or so feet away. It was right about the same time that the smell of fuel hit me. Four open red containers were lined up near the trunk’s tank, and gas had leaked down the side of the vehicle’s body. Whomever had filled it up did a messy job.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll shoot. You answer me without talking, do you understand?”
They both nodded, glancing toward the door the other men had left through minutes ago.
“Are you the doctor?” I asked the guy with the black bag.
He moved his head up and down to acknowledge.
The other guy, the one holding onto the cooler, looked up from underneath his baseball cap. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You can still walk away before it’s too late and we won’t say anything.”
“Which part of no talking did you not understand, you asshole?” I said through gritted teeth. “Does that cooler have a heart?”
He nodded.
“Let me see the paperwork.”
He removed a folder from a briefcase that was hanging over his sho
ulder across his chest. I quickly scanned the details, the way my surgeon friend had instructed me. It was a match. The same heart my mother was supposed to have transplanted this evening was resting within my reach.
I followed their nervous gazes to the truck and motioned with my gun to go to the back. “Open the trunk.”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I said, open it.”
The door rolled up. Rows of stacked pouches filled the van. Ten other coolers with what appeared to be organs, each one with a folder attached to its side, lined one of the walls. I wondered how many other people were waiting for their lives to be saved with these trades. I took the army knife from the holster at my thigh and cut through one plastic pouch. White powder spilled, and I swore under my breath as I realized that I stumbled upon a larger operation. My steady nerves began to fray.
The warehouse side door opened and a brawny man with a moustache came out. He stopped as soon as he saw us and reached behind him for the door.
“Don’t you dare even think about it,” I called out.
“You chose the wrong people to cross, bitch.”
“Shut up and stand beside these two.” I motioned with my gun.
But he didn’t listen. Instead, his mouth opened like a dragon’s as he yelled, “Security!”
A jolt of panic electrified my veins. From that moment, I relied on my adrenaline and instinct. “Get in the car.” I pointed to the van’s door.
The surgeon threw his cigarette butt to the ground. Flames shot upward, their heat forcing me to step back. The fire reached the tank, and I grabbed the guy holding the cooler, pulling him off to the side. The explosion that followed threw us back a dozen or so feet. His arm caught fire and he dropped the cooler. I raced forward and grabbed it, keeping my gun pointed at the thug who’d ruined my plan to make a quiet escape and kept screaming, “Security!”
