Sainted

by Slade, Heather

  I closed my eyes. “I remember walking in the big red front doors that morning. It was still dark, but it was so bright inside. The entire area between the altar and the first pew was full of flowers. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but the scent of lilies and hyacinths is something I’ll never forget.”

  When I opened my eyes, his were closed. He was facing the altar, smiling. “Go on,” he said.

  I closed my eyes again. “I remember my grandmother held my hand and led me to the third pew from the front. I sat between her and my grandfather.”

  “Were your parents with you?”

  “No. It was just the three of us.”

  “What else do you remember?”

  “The joy.” I felt a tear run down my cheek, but I wasn’t sad. It was a beautiful memory. “The pipe organ. The choir singing. My grandmother’s hand when she picked up the hymnal and showed me where to follow along.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I remember the minister standing at the front of the church, with all the flowers behind him. The light from the sunrise streamed in the windows, casting a glow over him. I remember him saying Christ had died to save us from sin and that He had risen and was now in Heaven with God, His Father.”

  “Powerful memories for one so young.”

  “The most powerful.”

  When I opened my eyes, he was studying me. “Is that when you knew?”

  I nodded, too moved to speak.

  “While not of blessed Easter, my earliest memories are just as strong. I knew then, too.”

  “I lost my way,” I confessed.

  “It happens.”

  “I’m not sure why I’m here.”

  “But you sense there is a reason.”

  “I do.”

  “Will you pray with me?”

  “I’d be honored.” I took his hand and bowed my head. After several seconds of silence, I opened one eye and saw his still closed. He’d lifted his chin and was facing the altar. I realized then that we were praying together, but each with our own conversation with God.

  “Amen,” I heard him say moments after I did. “What did He have to say?” Reverend Primrose asked.

  “I think this is where I’m supposed to be.”

  He smiled, closed his eyes, and nodded. “That’s what He told me too.”

  We stood and walked the few steps to the back of the small church, where we discussed my education and what my plans were to further it.

  “Am I interrupting?” Saint asked, walking up to us when we stepped outside.

  “Not at all,” said the reverend. “We’ll speak again soon, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  I watched him walk in the direction from which he’d come when he greeted us, knowing in my heart that I truly was where I was supposed to be.

  “How did it go?” Saint asked.

  “Significantly, and before you ask me to explain, I can’t.”

  I expected him to press, but he didn’t. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  We drove the short distance from the church to one of the side streets of the small town that looked like an animated fairy tale brought to life. The cobblestone roads were narrow, but cars still tried to navigate it, coming at each other from both directions when it looked as though there was only room for one.

  Charmingly crooked structures along the main thoroughfare housed shops and restaurants I longed to explore.

  “What’s this?” I asked when he turned off onto a side street, pulled up to the curb, and cut the engine.

  “This cottage has been in my mother’s family for several generations.”

  “Like your flat?”

  “That was my father’s family, but yes.” He exited the car and walked around, opening my door. “Would you like to see inside?”

  “I’d love to.” Saint took my hand and led me through the garden gate. “Wait.”

  He stopped walking when I did. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know who you are, Niven St. Thomas, or why you got on that airplane on the day I needed to meet you the most, but I’m so grateful you did. Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for arranging for me to meet Reverend Primrose.”

  “You’re welcome, Harper.”

  “And while I don’t know why, exactly, you brought me here to this cottage, thank you for that too.”

  Like the town, the property resembled something from a fairy tale. I could envision the overgrown and unkept grounds restored to what had to have been the perfect English garden with rambling white-rose bushes, hollyhocks of every color, peonies, and lavender. I could see herbs mixed in too—dill, rosemary, and catmint would be easy to tame from the sprawling mounds they’d become.

  “I’m buying it.”

  “Wait. I thought you said it was in your mother’s family.”

  “Yes. Uncle Nigel owns it.”

  “And he’s making you buy it? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “He did inherit, so by rights, it is his. Eliza is the one who told me he intended to sell. If anyone were to be put out, it should be her. However, she wants no part of it.”

  “But you do?”

  “I’ve come to realize it, yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it’s just a feeling.”

  I smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “I know this will sound crazy, but I belong here in…in…”

  “Alfriston.”

  I laughed. “Right. In the town whose name I can’t remember.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I thought we might stay here tonight.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Shall we go inside, then?”

  While everything else felt so right, going inside now didn’t. I couldn’t explain either phenomenon; it was just something in my gut.

  “Can we walk around first?”

  I saw a flash of hurt in Saint’s eyes, but he immediately hid it. “Of course.”

  “I’m kind of hungry.”

  “Good point. As am I.”

  Maybe that’s what I was feeling in my gut. Hunger.

  Saint and I ate at the Smuggler’s Tavern, said to be Rudyard Kipling’s inspiration for his poem, “A Smuggler’s Song.” Saint convinced me to try the roasted salmon, which was to die for, but I declined to taste the pork liver paté he ordered. “Maybe next time,” I told him, which he didn’t seem to buy. Wise man.

  I nearly jumped from my chair when my cell phone rang. I’d gone so long without a signal while at Saint’s flat, I’d forgotten to check once we left.

  “Unknown number,” I mumbled, deciding I should probably answer it anyway.

  “Hello,” I said at the same time Saint told me to wait.

  “You fucking bitch. I’ll get even with you for this.”

  “Who was it?” Saint asked when I dropped the phone on the table.

  “I’m not sure.” The call ended before I could respond, but the voice sounded like Dave’s. Not exactly, but close. Something sounded off. “Maybe Dave.”

  “What did he say?”

  I looked to the tables of people to our left and right. “I’d rather not repeat it, but I can tell you it’s what I should’ve said to him, not him to me.”

  “Tell me, Harper.”

  “He called me a filthy name and then said he’d get even with me for ‘this.’”

  Saint nodded and pulled out his own cell phone. It appeared he sent someone a text.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m trying to find out.”

  “Saint?”

  “I asked a colleague to locate him.”

  “And?”

  “I requested your assets be restored. I must say, I’m surprised it happened so quickly. Although I shouldn’t be.”

  “My assets are restored?” While that news should’ve made me wildly happy, instead, I felt a sharp pain in my right temple.

  “I can’t sa
y for certain.” Saint studied me. “Are you all right?”

  I took off my glasses and rubbed my eye. “It happens when I’m under a lot of stress.”

  “What does?”

  “Pain. Here.” I pointed.

  “I’m sure the call from your ex was upsetting, but otherwise, if what I believe happened did, you should feel less stress, not more.”

  “I know.”

  “Has it been happening the whole time? Why didn’t you say? God, again, a complete wanker. I’ve traipsed you all over, and the entire time, you’ve had a headache.”

  I held up my hand for him to stop, and put my glasses back on. How could Saint call himself a wanker? He’d been nothing but sweet to me. “First, it hasn’t been happening the whole time. Second, if it had been, you would’ve known, just like you did when you asked if I was all right. Third, if I didn’t want to ‘traipse all over’ with you, I wouldn’t have.” I rolled my shoulders. “Okay, now, back to my assets.”

  16

  Saint

  Absolute bloody bastard that I was, part of me wished it had taken longer for my colleague, Decker Ashford, to locate Dave the Dildo and get Harper’s money back. The other part was happy for her.

  Of course, this meant she’d likely ask we return to London tonight, and she’d be on a flight back to the States tomorrow.

  As much as the idea of it left me feeling bereft, I should instead be grateful that I’d been able to spend any time at all with the lovely young woman sitting across from me. Wait. The same one scowling at me.

  “Look. I’m pleased for you. I promise I am. Just give me a moment to feel sorry for myself, and then I’ll be over it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I see. You’re feeling sorry for yourself because you think now that I have money—if I have my money back—I’ll go home.” She drummed her fingers on the table as if she was waiting for me to respond. It didn’t seem the statement warranted it.

  “Uh, yes?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Now my head was starting to throb.

  “No, Saint. Think about it. Why would I go home?”

  “Harper, my darling, forgive me, but I am simply not following.”

  “I have nothing at home. Nothing. Well, I have Mouse. She’s my best friend, but she has her own life. Otherwise, nada.”

  “Nada?”

  “Are you finished eating?”

  I looked down at my nearly empty plate. “Yes?”

  “Can we go back to the cottage and talk about this?”

  “The cottage?”

  “Are you going to continue repeating everything I say but as a question?”

  I had been doing that, hadn’t I?

  More finger drumming.

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “I’d offer to get the check, but I’d rather wait to confirm whether I have money or not, so I don’t embarrass myself.”

  Fingers. Drumming.

  “Right. I should get the check so we can go.” Rather than wait, I pushed back my chair and went to the bar to pay the tab. I was about to return to the table but saw Harper standing near the door.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to return to the flat?”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  Harper smiled and put her arm through mine. “Let’s go back to the cottage, Saint. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Once inside the house, Harper used the lavatory while I rummaged in the kitchen, looking for a drink. Anything, really. Even vodka, which I detested, would do.

  “Saint?”

  “In here.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for something containing alcohol.”

  “Come with me.” She held out her hand, and I took it, resigning myself to the fact I would be forced to get through the conversation sober.

  Harper sat on the sofa and pulled me down beside her. “Why are you assuming the worst? You haven’t even heard what I’m thinking.” After removing her glasses, she put her arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. I immediately felt better.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you ready to listen now?”

  “Yes.”

  Harper reiterated everything she’d said when we were at the tavern about there being nothing for her to go home to. She mentioned her best friend again, and how the woman had her own life. While she had a decent enough relationship with her mother, they weren’t terribly close. And that her father had essentially left her high and dry in a foreign country meant she was considering whether or not to speak to him until he offered a contrite apology. Otherwise, she didn’t have any other “relationships” worth returning to the States for.

  “What will you do here?”

  “I haven’t told you about my conversation with Reverend Primrose.”

  My ears perked up.

  “He’s offered me a position as a curate.”

  I didn’t want to go back to questioning every statement she made, so I waited for her to elaborate.

  “His assistant.” She smiled.

  “Right. Thanks for the qualifier.”

  “The role will be unofficial for now, but as soon as he’s able to make arrangements with the church to sponsor me in seminary, the status will change.” She paused and looked into my eyes. “Any questions?”

  “Endless.”

  She smiled. “As far as the seminary is concerned, I have two options. I can attend the University of Sussex or London Seminary. Once I’ve made the decision and have an official position of acceptance, I can apply for a student visa.”

  After asking around, I had learned the vicar was having a difficult time managing the parish that encompassed five churches, which is why I arranged for their meeting in the first place. However, I sensed there was more to his offer to help Harper than a desperate need for assistance.

  When we left the church and they said their goodbyes, there was a visceral connection between them, and it pleased me immensely.

  “I think the stabbing pain that came on at the restaurant was brought on by the idea that I would now be expected to go home.”

  “By whom?”

  Harper raised a brow.

  “Me? If so, please disregard that notion. I have already professed my desire to keep you in England indefinitely far too often.”

  “I need to make the decision about where to go to seminary.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I’m glad you asked. We haven’t known each other—”

  “Stop right there. I’ve something I want to ask before you continue that line of thought.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Go ahead.”

  “Tell me about your interactions with the vicar.” As curious as I was, I was also trying to prove a point.

  “They were the same as my interactions with you, but very different too.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she lowered her gaze.

  I cleared my throat. “Exceedingly glad to hear.”

  “I get it, Saint, but what I’m going to ask isn’t about a few days. I need to know that the decision I’m making is the right one for me for the time I’m at seminary.”

  “Ask.”

  “The vicar said the University of Sussex is about twenty minutes from Alfriston.”

  “And London is two hours.”

  “Yes.”

  “Here is what I suggest. We visit both, and any others worthy of consideration, and make the decision based on your comfort level.”

  “Saint, I don’t expect—”

  “I realize I interrupt you far too often, Harper, but there are times I find it too hard to bear the words I fear you’re about to say. I want to do this. It isn’t about obligation or merely being polite to a houseguest. I would be deeply disappointed if you didn’t ask me to accompany you.”

  “I won’t bring it up again, then. If th
e time comes when you don’t have availability to be my personal escort around England, I trust you’ll let me know.”

  “I will do.”

  “On that subject…”

  I smiled. “Yes?”

  “You said you wanted to beg off having dinner with your uncle, but isn’t the idea to get him to help you get your job back?”

  I’d given that subject a great deal of thought as I reacquainted myself with Alfriston. Did I want my job with MI6 back, or was it merely a means to an end that I didn’t believe could be achieved any other way?

  Ultimately, I wanted to be part of an independent team. There were three firms I would be interested in working with. The question was whether or not they’d have me.

  My first choice would be the Invincible Intelligence and Security Group. They operated both out of Europe and the US. My former boss, Lennox “Lynx” Edgemon, the one married to my former crush, ran the Invincibles’ East Coast headquarters near Boston. He’d likely be the hardest sell in agreeing to bring me on. Decker Ashford, the man I’d contacted to help find Harper’s ex and get her money back, was a founding partner of the firm and ran the remaining US operations from his home in Texas.

  In Europe, a man named Cortez “Rile” DeLéon was in charge. He had homes in both the UK and Spain. Of everyone on the Invincibles’ team, he was the one I was closest to. The man had an uncanny way about him that could be unnerving, yet his ability to seemingly know what I was about to say before I did, didn’t bother me in the least.

  As for the other two options, K19 Security Solutions was based entirely in the States. However, in my line of work, missions were global. The third, and smallest, was a start-up run by Wilder Whittaker and his wife and was based solely in the UK. From what I’d heard, they were known more for cyber security.

  That I’d made a yet-unfulfilled vow to Adam Benjamin was my primary concern, over whether I was employed or not. He had agreed to not interfere in the US whistleblower’s extraction, and in exchange, I had agreed to help him find his son.

  My intention the morning after my “transgression” in DC had been to request the CIA’s assistance in doing so. Knowing the intelligence the man could provide would be invaluable to the agency, I was prepared to make my pitch. After coming face-to-face with my prior night’s one-night stand, I opted not to pursue the pitch. Looking back on it, my reasoning for abandoning the notion was based far more on my insecurity than my belief Money McTiernan would turn me down.