Devious - Lisa Jackson [169]
She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and stiffened her spine. This was no time for retrospection or second-guessing.
Her gaze returned to Father Paul, a desperate priest gathering his flock. Beside him, Father O’Toole stood, white-faced and stricken. Unlike the impassioned Father Paul, the younger priest was just going through the motions of his profession, his expression slightly dazed.
Father Frank O’Toole’s mind, it seemed, was several thousand light-years away.
CHAPTER 48
“Just for the record, I think this is a big mistake,” Slade said. He was futzing with his tie, scowling into the mirror and trying to talk Val out of attending the St. Elsinore’s auction.
She wasn’t about to be dissuaded.
“I know. You’ve said—oh, about a hundred times.” She was already dressed in a black silk sheath and heels, her hair twisted onto her head. “Let me do that,” she said, and fixed his tie, then saw their reflection in the full-length mirror she’d propped into a corner of her bedroom. “Oh, God, look,” she said, and grinned at their reflection. “It’s so not us!”
“Thank the good Lord for small favors,” he mocked, but grinned at the image—she in the floor-length dress, black because she was in mourning, he in dark slacks and a white shirt, tie, and jacket, his hair combed, his jaw devoid of even the smallest beard stubble.
A far cry from the dusty jeans and faded work shirts they’d both worn on the ranch. Though, she reminded herself, she’d already packed a small bag filled with a flashlight, her tennis shoes, and a change of clothes. She intended to look around the old school tonight, to find out more about her birth parents and whatever it was that Camille had found, while the auction was in progress.
She hadn’t mentioned her plan to Slade, didn’t want to hear his arguments. Not that he didn’t have legitimate concerns; ever since she’d received her latest threat, she’d been edgy. Somehow she’d become a more pressing target. From You’re on the lisssst to You’re nexxxt!
As Slade said, she was coming up in the world, at least from the killer’s perspective, and it gnawed at her. Big-time. Then there was the worrisome fact that two more nuns had gone missing. She’d talked to Bentz earlier, and he’d informed her that Sisters Lucia and Louise were missing. So far, no bodies had been located, and no one was certain whether they were alive or dead—though Bentz had hinted he believed Sister Lucia was still with the living.
Slade, upon hearing the news, had flat-out refused to attend the auction, but when she’d told him she was going with or without him, he’d been forced to agree. “No way are you going there alone!” he’d said, and hadn’t accepted her offhanded remark about being with hundreds of people.
The bottom line was that people were being killed. People attached to St. Elsinore’s and St. Marguerite’s.
Nuns, she reminded herself, and didn’t want to think about the prostitute who had also been killed. The press had tried to link the murders, but so far the police hadn’t indicated that they were connected.
Any way around it, the citizens of New Orleans were worried.
And, truth to tell, so was she.
A part of her wanted to run and hide, but the other part, that section of her that had become a cop, was ready to track down this sick, anonymous coward and nail his ass.
Slade’s gaze met hers in the mirror. “But you do look amazing,” he admitted. “You know, we could order in and spend the night in bed.”
“No way.