No One Left to Tell (43 page)

She pushed the thought from her brain.

Her mind waged war against the thought of living her future without him.
Hell! Who was she kidding?
Her life began the day they first met. He awakened something in her, something she had never felt before. As she leaned her head back against the wall, tears filled her eyes. She gazed up at the clock as it squandered precious minutes, struggling to keep her eyes open. Shutting them only reminded her of the ordeal she'd barely survived.

A motion to her right caught her attention. The waiting room door opened. As Raven turned, a friendly face greeted her.

"How is he, Detective?"

"Father Antonio, please sit." She laid her bandaged hand on the chair next to her, forcing a weary smile. "He's still in surgery. Are you okay?"

"Yes, thanks to Mr. Delacorte. I owe him my life."

"Yes. I just hope—" She closed her eyes, demanding her brain to focus on the positive. He was still alive, still in surgery.

"God does work in mysterious ways." The priest reached for her uninjured hand, tugging at it affectionately.

"Yes, I've heard that said a lot lately." She smiled.

"I know it's a cliche, but so true. God had brought your friend to my door on many occasions. I used to be afraid, perhaps intimidated by your Mr. Delacorte. Something in his eyes scared me, like death found refuge in him. But after what he did for us both, I can no longer believe that. I owe him everything. I just hope I get a chance to tell him how I feel."

"He knows, Father."

"No, you don't understand, most likely because I'm rambling." The priest glanced down at her hand as he held it, closing his eyes for a moment. He took another breath, then spoke softly. "In that room, in the dark, when I was by myself—I could do nothing but think. And I have to admit, I wasn't ready to die. I have never been so scared."

He looked up and found her eyes. "But when you came, I found the courage to hope. You could have left me behind, but you didn't. I will always be grateful to you for that."

"Father, you don't have to—"

Father Antonio raised his hand to stop her. "Please let me finish. I need to say this, to fully grasp it myself." With a blank stare, he gathered his thoughts. "When your friend offered his life in place of ours, I have never seen such sacrifice—except in the Bible, of course. It gave me courage to face my own fear. In that moment, I felt a deeper connection to Christ. And I wasn't afraid anymore. I was ready to die."

Raven understood the man's epiphany, and she had one of her own. "And when I saw what Christian had been willing to sacrifice, it had the opposite effect on me. I just wanted to live." She patted the back of his hand and crooked her lips in a smile. "I love him so much, Father."

An odd sensation came over her. Just a short time ago, Christian had been a complete stranger. Yet now, she felt like she'd known him for a lifetime. He had risked everything to save her. Raven knew all she needed to know about the man she loved beyond all reason.

The priest's voice drew her back. "I think after all we've been through together, you can call me Antonio." A shy grin warmed his face.

"And you can call me Raven. I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Antonio."

"With such an auspicious beginning, how can it not?" His smile was fleeting. "Do you mind if I pray for your friend?"

His simple request took a moment to sink in. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she nodded. She had no words for how she felt. Praying for Christian felt more like last rites. The finality of it scared her. Yet having Antonio by her side gave comfort all the same, a strange contradiction.

Raven watched the priest mouth the words. The meaning clouded her mind. His familiar mantra soothed her, but an unsettling feeling of dread lurked beneath the surface of his kindness. A tear lost its grip and dropped to her cheek.

She closed her eyes to shake the feeling, but a noise drew her attention. Raven turned her head toward the sound. As if in slow motion, the waiting room door opened once more. A man dressed in faded green stepped into the room.

Raven swallowed hard. Expectation took its toll. Her heart punished her eardrums. A rapid incessant beat. She gazed upon the doleful expression of a surgeon, his eyes depleted and unreadable.

"Oh, please—NO," she cried, her voice drained of faith. She gripped the hand of the priest. "Antonio, I can't do this. I just can't—"

St. Sebastian's Chapel
Five Months Later

Raven pulled the coat tighter around her neck as she walked, fending off the lingering chill in the morning air. The ground gave way with each step, still saturated from the runoff of melting snow. As blades of brown grass poked through, she noticed they were infused with tender green sprouts, a hint of the coming spring. She pushed open the wrought-iron gate that encircled the cemetery at St. Sebastian's. It creaked in protest and clanged when she shoved it closed behind her.

This early on a Sunday morning, the cemetery was empty except for a tall, dark-haired man and a petite woman wearing a black hat, a veil covering her face. Dressed in long, dark coats, they stood with heads bowed, their backs to her. The image of grief left a memorable impression. She lowered her head, her gaze focused.

In reverence, she neared the headstone marked
Delacorte,
then crouched in front of his. Raven ran a gloved finger along each letter, giving thanks to the man for his selfless act of courage. He had changed her life and touched so many others. Looking at the date on the marker, she commemorated his birthday with a dozen long-stemmed white roses, removing one for herself. As she stood, the fragrance of a single white rose filled her nostrils. Its velvety softness touched the tip of her nose.

But she hadn't been the first to pay respects. A colorful batch of fresh flowers had already been placed on the grave, along with a new doll, replacing a worn, tattered one. The tiny cloth toy looked so lost in this place of death, a sad reminder of Christian's tragedy. It broke her heart.

Closing her eyes, she lowered her head to say a prayer.

"I'm glad you could make it." His rich baritone brought a smile to her lips. Before she turned, Raven drank in the familiar honey of his voice, committing the sound to memory. "It means a lot to me that you're here, Raven."

Christian stepped closer, pulling her into his embrace. His hand cradled the back of her head as he nuzzled her neck, the tip of his nose cold to the touch.

"Thanks for celebrating my father's birthday with me."

"I wouldn't miss it, honey," she whispered into his ear, then kissed his cheek. "If it weren't for your father's courage and sacrifice, I wouldn't have you."

Releasing her, he gazed into her eyes as if he were absorbing every detail of her face. No words were necessary. He trailed a finger down her cheek, then brushed back a strand of hair. For her, the chill in the air disappeared and the cemetery faded into nothingness. Only her connection to Christian lingered. She had come close to losing him. Raven had so much to be thankful for.

"The chief officially made me close the Blair case."

"Well, you said yourself, McBride confessed to killing Mick."

"Yeah, but my gut is in a knot over this one. Logan was more connected to my father than to anything dealing with your past. It just doesn't make any sense. Something feels—wrong. And when I asked the reason why he killed Blair, McBride said
professional courtesy.
What's that all about?"

"The man enjoyed his head games. Maybe that's all it was. I mean, he and Mickey were both hired guns, right? Maybe it was a case of doing away with the competition."

"But why tie this to you, and to Fiona?"

"Yeah, that's been bugging me too. And McBride mentioned the name Blue Blood, like I would know the reference. I'd never heard it before that day." He narrowed his eyes in thought, then heaved a sigh.
"Seek the truth, Christian.
Guess the truth doesn't always set you free."

"And that's another thing. The phrase about seeking the truth? It's way too sophisticated for a scumbag like McBride. The man was a pig. The subtlety of that message would have been lost on the goon." Raven laid a gloved hand to his coat sleeve and squeezed his arm. "How is Fiona these days? You haven't talked about her in a while."

"She's putting up a good front, but I know better. Fie's got a court date in three weeks." His eyes filled with pain as he reached for her hand. "With all her financial resources, I figured she would've contested the charges. But after she confessed, all she wanted was an opportunity to get her affairs in order before—" He shook his head. "I don't know how she's gonna do the prison time."

"And how are you doing, with her, I mean?"

He grimaced, then stared off toward the church.

"She still refuses to tell me who my biological father is. It's like she's protecting me from something. I just don't get it." Frustration tinged his voice. "She's admitted so much; why hold back on this?"

"Give her time, honey. She's got a lot on her mind. It took courage to admit what she'd done. And without any real evidence against her, she could've skated on the charges. Yet she chose to do the right thing. That took guts."

Christian looked deep in thought as he put his arm around her. He led her toward the church, walking at an unhurried pace.

"Yeah, that it did. But knowing what she did still hurts too much. Maybe I'm the one needing a little time."

She stepped in front of him, bracing her hands on his elbows. Standing before him, Raven gazed into his expressive eyes, cherishing the miracle of his existence.

"And I'm so glad you have it, that
we
have time. I thought for sure that I'd lost you. Now every minute we have together, it's a gift, Christian."

"You make it sound like I'm living on borrowed time." A lazy smile graced his handsome face for an instant, then faded. "My life had been balanced on a single point in time. I couldn't move forward and I couldn't go back and change it. I'd been held hostage to that one dark moment. But now, I feel more alive than I ever thought I could be. And I have you to thank for that."

He pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. The subtle fragrance of his cologne fused with the irresistible scent of his skin, filling her senses. He lowered his lips to hers. Raven shut her eyes, wanting to feel every nuance of his kiss. Slowly, his lips explored hers with an unrivaled sweetness. But his tender show of affection soon gave way to hungry need, matching her own. She belonged to Christian as surely as he carried the mark of her love. Raven had never felt so loved.

Father Antonio walked briskly through the breezeway with only the soft rustle of his cassock and the sound of his footsteps to keep him company. Morning rays of sunlight filtered through the arched windows along the corridor, suspending dust particles in the warm light. A change of season from winter to spring always lifted his spirits.

Movement from the cemetery below caught his eye. He stopped for a look. Squinting into the light, the priest grinned at the sight of Christian and Raven in each other's arms. The moment of deja vu gave him a feeling of contentment. Everything had come full circle.