Devious - Lisa Jackson [159]
She nodded, couldn’t lie. “She’d left it with me. For safekeeping. She was afraid Sister Charity might find it, and she had the BlackBerry . . . then . . . then she was killed and . . . I didn’t know what to do.”
“You were close to her.”
She thought of Camille, and a great sadness swept through her. “Yes.” She met his inquisitive gaze. “The world isn’t all in black and white, not colored like a nun’s habit or a priest’s vestments. There are shades of gray in it, and Camille, she was all about those hues. Sometimes pure as snow, other times black as sin, most often somewhere in between. But, yes, I was close to her, and I miss her like crazy.” She fought a spate of tears and blinked hard.
Cruz shifted his gaze away, then downed the rest of his beer.
“I made a mistake in keeping it, so I sent it to the police department.” She shook her head, looked at the door. “I should have given it up immediately.”
“It probably would have made things easier.”
Five more customers arrived, and unlike Cruz and Lucia, who spoke in soft tones, they were loud, probably half-drunk, and fell into a booth near the front of the building. There were three muscle-bound guys with shaved heads and skintight, sleeveless shirts to show off their tattoos and two women. One in a short skirt, tights, and cropped T-shirt, the other in a sundress and cowboy boots.
Reluctantly, the waitress sauntered up to them and scribbled down their orders in between questions and jokes, laughter, and, from one of the men, a demand for a “round” of beer.
“Make it light beer,” Cowboy Boots insisted, and her friend laughed as the guys shook their shiny pates.
“So why me?” Cruz asked once he’d swung his attention back to Lucia. “When you were pretty damned sure you never wanted to lay eyes on me again.”
She winced and for once tonight was honest. “I knew you’d come.”
“Lucky I was still in town.”
“I know.” She nodded and sucked up the remains of her diet soda through her straw.
“So what now?”
“I want you to take me away.”
That stopped him cold.
“I mean that literally. I’ve thought about it. I want to go to Houston. From there I’ll figure it out.”
“What’s in Houston?”
“Not St. Marguerite’s.”
“You’re giving up on your vows.”
“I don’t know. Probably. The archdiocese won’t take kindly to me leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone. I’ll call as soon as it’s light. Stop long enough to let Sister Charity know that I’m okay and that I haven’t been abducted or . . . or anything,” she added, thinking of Sister Camille and Sister Asteria.
She probably didn’t have to be so devious. She could, she supposed, just have Cruz drive her somewhere and leave her. But was that really possible? If she spent more time with him, touched him, probably kissed him again, would she be able to let him go? Even now she was having second thoughts.
No . . . this was best.
“I just need to use the bathroom,” she said.
“Me too.”
“There’s only one,” she said. “Unisex.”
“Ladies first.” He drained his beer. “I’ll pay up.” He climbed to his feet, and as he did, she stood on her tiptoes and slipped one arm around his waist, her fingers sliding into the pocket of his jacket as she kissed him lightly on the lips.
“Thank you, Cruz,” she said, seeing that he was stunned. Her fingers discovered his key ring. She closed it in her fist, then stepped away from him and hurried down the hall.
He stared after her as she pushed open the door to the restroom. Don’t let him search for his keys, oh, please.
Heart hammering in her ears, she used the toilet, washed, and was out of the restroom just as Cruz was leaving bills on the table. Her throat was dry, her palms wet, and she felt as if she were drowning in her own perfidy.
Oh, Holy Mother, help me.
As she left the restroom, she met him in the hallway. His eyes were dark, flashing.
He knows!
Her knees nearly buckled.
To her surprise, he grabbed her and dragged her against him, pulling her tight, her body fitting to his. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, breathing hard