Mortal Sin (65 page)

Rafe laughed. “I can see that.”

Finally, they were talking. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe… well, maybe the future wasn’t so bleak.

#

Rico decided not to rebuild the mission. It saddened Rafe, but he understood. Still, as he walked around, he felt a deep sense of loss. So much had happened here, good and evil, that in the back of his mind, Rafe though they might be able to salvage the good. But Rico was right. With the closure of St. Michael’s in Sicily and the move to Olivet, coupled with the fact that their one benefactor at the Vatican turned out to be a traitor—they had no one to fund them, no one to protect them. They were on their own.

The grounds would again be consecrated, and Anthony had promised to check the area periodically to make sure no young witches decided it was a good place to summon a spirit.

There was no telling who they might bring forth.

Rafe was saddened by the loss, but perhaps it was better this way. Santa Louisa de los Padres had been called the “Lost” Mission, and maybe it had been lost not only because it was off the mission trail, but because the people who ran it had been lost.

He was at peace because the souls of the priests were at peace. He still had their memories, but the memories had integrated with his own, become passive, not active. The souls had found rest, and Rafe, for the first time in his life, was content.

He said a prayer at the memorial marker next to the fountain of St. Jude, then turned his face to the clear, blue sky. The sun washed over him and he let his heart absorb the peace.

He walked back to the cabin an hour later and found Moira sitting at the small table, her head in her arms.

She looked up. “Where’d Phineas and Rico go?”

“They’re at Skye’s collecting their things. They’ll be leaving for Olivet tomorrow with Nikolas. Rico agreed to let Gideon stay here awhile.”

“For Lily.”

“And to make sure there’re no residual problems.” He sat next to her and touched her hair. She was so tired. So drawn. His heart was breaking to see her in such anguish. He took her hand. “Moira, tell me what’s on your mind. You’ve been distant.”

He waited. Because with Moira, sometimes waiting was all one could do.

He would wait forever if that’s what she needed.

It took her a few minutes. Then she pulled a paper out of her back pocket and slid it over to him.

He unfolded it. It was an ultrasound. Of a baby.

Of two babies.

“That’s mine.”

He hesitated. “Yours?”

“My ultrasound. Our ultrasound.”

“Moira—”

She burst into tears. “How? How could God do this to me? I’m cursed. My mother was insane. I don’t know who my father was. He could be a demon for all I know, and I’m growing not one but two babies? Is this a cruel joke? Is He going to give me hope and take it all away?”

It took Rafe time to absorb what she said. What Moira meant.

“Moira, you are not the sum of your mother and father. You have your own soul. You have your own free will. I will do everything in my power to love and protect all of you.”

“I’m scared.”

“Don’t be afraid, Moira. Please don’t.” He reached for her, and she came into his arms. He held her close and closed his eyes.

He was going to be a father. Twins. A family.

He’d craved a family his entire life. It was what all the young men at St. Michael’s secretly wanted, and maybe that’s why none of them were truly at peace. But Rafe didn’t simply want a family, he wanted love. Companionship. Hope. When they did what they did, when they battled dark forces that few people understood, hope was rare. They had faith; it was all they really had, and the warriors at St. Michael’s clung to faith like a lifeline.

But even God himself said that there must be faith, hope, and love. He had faith. With children, there was hope for the future. With Moira, there was a lifetime of love.

With Moira, his life was complete.

“Moira, I love you with all my heart, with all my soul. I love these babies as I love you. This is the sign I’ve been waiting for,
hope.
”

He got down on his knees and looked up at her sad, blue eyes. He squeezed her hands. “Do not be sad.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

“They are
ours.
They are perfect.”

She smiled, just a bit. “I do love you, Rafe. I just never once in my life considered having a child. There is so much evil in the world. And it seems evil is attracted to us.”

“We can’t change the world, but we can protect our small corner of it.”

Fear clouded her expression. “Serena.”

“She’s dead”

Moira shook her head. “She’s out there.”

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

She nodded. “I know she survived. I don’t know why I know, but I don’t doubt the knowledge. I’ve accepted that there are things I will always know. I’m not seeking out the information, but just like your memories, it’s there when I need it.”

“And between the two of us, we will raise, protect, and love these children.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just okay?” He smiled and pulled her up into his arms and kissed her. This kiss was different. There was no fear, no desperation, no hopelessness. The kiss was full of peace. A sign of a future full of kisses and love and affection. “I love you so much, Moira.”

She looked up and smiled at him. “Even when I grow fat and crabby?”

“The crabbier the better.”

She laughed. A rarity, and Rafe vowed to make Moira laugh more. She deserved it.

“I have a confession to make. I’ve had these overwhelming cravings for pistachio ice cream.”

“Let’s go.”

“Get ice cream?”

He smiled and nodded. “Anything you want. But I mean, let’s leave Santa Louisa. We need to.”

She shook her head. “We can’t leave. Skye needs us. Lily. Even Anthony.”

“They’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“But—”

“No buts. We don’t know the future unless God decides to show you. For now, we have each other.” He put his hand on her stomach. “And these two miracles.” They were certainly miracles. What Moira had endured over the last three months that she’d been pregnant… he froze.

She felt his emotions and pulled him to her. “You’re scared, too,” she said.

“They are fine. They are healthy”

“We don’t know that.”

“They are you plus me. They are perfect.”

He held her close and prayed. “We can’t tell anyone. Not Skye, not Anthony, not Phineas. Not even Rico. The fewer people who know, the better, until you give birth. With everything that’s gone on, and Gabriel’s Sword not completely disbanded, and demons still coming and going, and spirits in the wind—it’s better that no one knows you’re pregnant.”

She nodded. “You think she’s alive, too.”

He hesitated. “I’m not confident she’s dead.” He only wished it were so.

“As long as I have you, I’ll be okay.” She smiled. “So, where are we going?” she asked, sounding like her old self. Maybe an act, but they were both content with their decision. Secrecy was, sometimes, for the best.

“Wherever you want.”

“I want to go back to Ireland,” she said, “but I don’t think it would be safe. Not now. If
she
is alive, that’s where she’ll go.”

“What about Australia? At least until the babies are born. I have a friend there, a priest I trust explicitly. He’ll help us get settled, create new identities. We’ll be safe. And if we’re safe and happy, then maybe we’ll stay for a lifetime.”

She smiled. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Rafe looked at the ultrasound again and smiled. “It says you’re due in November. That means… ” He mentally counted back.

“It means the night we returned to Santa Louisa after battling the demon in L.A.”

He smiled. “I remember that night. That was… special.”

“Special? That’s all you can say?”

“How badly do you want that pistachio ice cream?”

“Oh, I want it badly. But I think I can wait an hour.”

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. “An hour… or two?”

She pulled him down on top of her and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I might even be able to wait until tomorrow.”

#

Serena O’Donnell crawled up the sand bar and collapsed. Drained, half-dead, heart-broken.

Her mother had gone crazy.

Her father had been murdered.

And she alone had survived.

Serena pulled herself to her feet and walked along the packed sand. She didn’t know where she was; she didn’t know how she’d survived the fall into the pits of Hell. She’d fallen for what seemed like eternity, then suddenly felt like she was drowning. She fought the currents and broke through the surface of an ocean, somewhere in the world.

But she
had
survived.

Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.

She smiled humorlessly. “Not anymore. Vengeance is
mine.
”

Moira would not know the day or the hour, but Serena would return and destroy her.

All she needed was time, resources, and a promise.

# # #

Book one in the Max Revere investigative reporter series, on sale now in hardcover. On sale in hardcover and e-book now, in mass market on December 30, 2014.

Chapter One

Going home was a bitch.

Maxine Revere had flirted with the idea of flying in solely for Kevin’s funeral so her perfect and dysfunctional family wouldn’t hear about her visit until she was already on a plane back to New York City. Three things stopped her.

Foremost, Max did not run away from uncomfortable situations. She recognized that she wasn’t the same nineteen-year-old who’d defied her family.

She’d also get a kick from walking into the family mansion unannounced and watching a reboot of
Dallas,
set in California. The Sterling-Revere Family could take on the Ewings and win without breaking a nail or going to jail. Being the blackest sheep in the herd was more fun than taking two cross-country flights in one day.

But the primary reason she was staying for the weekend was for Kevin’s sister, Jodi O’Neal. Kevin had been Max’s former best friend and confidante. He’d killed himself and Jodi had questions. She had no answers for the college co-ed, but she understood why Jodi sought truth where there had only been lies. Max had survived grief, she’d been a close acquaintance to death, and maybe she could give Jodi a modicum of peace.

Traveling first-class had advantages, including prompt disembarking. Max strode off the plane at San Francisco International Airport, her long legs putting distance between her and the other passengers. Her two-inch heels made her an even six feet, but her confident stride and stunning looks caused heads to turn. She ignored the attention. Her cell phone vibrated and she ignored that too.

Her full-time assistant and as-needed bodyguard, former Army Ranger David Kane, easily kept up with her. He turned heads as well, mostly from fear. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he’d kill you with no remorse or pleasure. He didn’t smile often. But as Max had learned, looks were a form of lying. David’s steel core protected him as much as her pursuit of truth protected Max.

“I don’t need you,” she told him. “We settled this yesterday, or were you placating me?”

“All I suggested was that I drive you to Atherton before I head to Marin.”

“It’s foolish for you to drive an hour out of your way. I’m not incapable of driving myself.” She ignored David’s subtle smirk. “And I need a car. This isn’t New York where I can walk everywhere or grab a taxi.
Go.
Emma is waiting.”

“If you’re sure.”

She glared at him. “She’s your daughter.”

“She comes with her mother.”

“I’m not the one who screwed Brittney in a failed attempt to prove I wasn’t gay,” Max said, “and I will not let you use me as an excuse to avoid the selfish bitch.” Tough love. David adored his twelve-year-old daughter, but her mother made their relationship difficult. Brittney wouldn’t let David spend a minute more with Emma than the court mandated, and the flight delay had already cost him two hours.

They wove through the crowd at baggage claim without slowing down, and stopped at the turnstile where their luggage would be delivered.

“Emma wants to see you,” David said.

“The funeral is tomorrow. You’ll be on a plane to Hawaii Sunday morning. Enjoy your vacation—when you get back, if I’m still here, we can meet up in the city for lunch and I’ll take Emma shopping.”

David grunted. “She doesn’t need more clothes.”

“A girl can never have too many shoes.” Max doubted she’d have kids of her own, and she enjoyed playing aunt to David’s daughter when Emma visited him in New York.

Max parked herself near the luggage opening because she didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to. Airports were part of her life, but she grew tired of the waiting part. Before leaving Miami, she’d shipped one of her suitcases back home to New York; and the second, smaller bag of essentials she’d brought with her to California. She didn’t plan to stay in town long.

“Ms. Revere?” an elderly voice behind her asked.

Max turned and looked down at an older couple. The man, at least eighty and maybe five-foot-four in lifts, stood with his wife, who barely topped five feet. They both had white hair and blue eyes and would have looked like cherubs if their faces weren’t so deeply wrinkled.

Max smiled politely. “Yes, I’m Maxine Revere.” She expected them to ask for autographs or question what investigation brought her to California. The true crime show she hosted every month on cable television had been moving up in the ratings. When she only wrote newspaper articles and books, few people outside of the business knew what she looked like. Now that she was on camera, people approached her regularly.

There were pros and cons to being recognized. She was on a tight time schedule today, but the couple looked sweet.