Devious - Lisa Jackson [47]
“And the baby?”
He closed his eyes, and pain etched his features with deep lines as he whispered, “A poor innocent.”
“They both were,” she said, not ready to be fooled by his act of contrition. “My sister and my niece or my nephew!” It was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking, to hold back the tears that threatened. This man, dressed in black robes and a pall of regret, was the reason Camille was dead.
“I’m so sorry. If you only knew how horrible I feel, how . . . guilty and sinful. I’ve prayed to the Father for guidance and help.”
“Like you did before? With Sister Lila or Lily or . . . ?”
She waited, saw him swallow nervously, his Adam’s apple wobbling in his throat.
“Sister Lea.” He closed his eyes. Sweat beaded his brow.
“What happened to her?”
He let out a shuddering sigh. “She moved away.”
“To where?”
“The West Coast. The Bay Area—San Francisco, I think.”
“Because of you?”
His eyes squeezed shut as if pained. “Yes.”
“You just don’t get it, do you? You took vows to uphold the laws of the church, and you broke them with several women.”
“I do understand,” he said quietly, his lips folding in on themselves. “And believe me, I’ve atoned for my sins. Paid for them.”
“How?” She couldn’t believe his egomania. “My sister is dead, Father. As is her unborn child. And you know what I think?” she demanded, close to him, her gaze pinning his. Before he could answer, she said, “I think she was a big inconvenience for you, and even though she was breaking up with you, you killed her.”
“What? No!” He turned ashen in his shock.
“No?”
He held up a hand. “Murder? Are you serious? And what’s this about ‘breaking up’? It’s not as if we were dating. . . .” He let out another long, pained sigh. “I am truly sorry about Sister Camille, and, yes, it’s true we were involved, but I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . No. Are you serious?” His jaw slackened in disbelief.
“Deadly.” She pushed, her grief throbbing through her. “How would it look for a priest of your stature to admit to an affair, to fathering a child?”
“Not good, but—”
“You’d lose everything. Stripped of your priesthood. Probably excommunicated, right? Tossed out on the street like so much garbage!”
Anger flashed in his pitch-dark eyes, and the warmth of the garden seemed to drop ten degrees. “I didn’t murder her,” he said again, his teeth set, his blade-thin lips barely moving. Rage flushed his skin, and to her surprise, he grabbed her arm and leaned close to whisper, “I loved her. I swear to you and to the Holy Father, I would never hurt her. Never!” His sincerity was nearly convincing. Nearly. “On my life, Valerie, I’m telling you I would never have hurt her or the child.” His gaze was intense. Fervid. The hand gripping her forearm clenching. “I loved her.”
“Like you love Sister Asteria?”
“What?” His jaw slackened. “You think that I—”
“Truthfully, I don’t know what to think, but my sister was in love with you and now she’s dead. Another woman, Sister Lea, left because of you.”
He drew in a long breath. Color began to return to his face.
“And just now I saw how that other girl was looking up at you, idolizing you, as if you couldn’t possibly do her any harm.”
“No. Sister Asteria and I . . .” He dropped her arm and closed his eyes for a second, slowly shaking his head. “I am so sorry,” he said. “So very, very sorry.”
“So am I.”
When he opened his