Devious - Lisa Jackson [94]
Val fought a tightening in her throat as they walked from the infirmary to a hallway she knew, from memory, led to the chapel.
“Oh, here we go,” the reverend mother said as they passed a window with a view of the playground. “Sister Simone was very close to Camille.” She walked rapidly toward a doorway leading outside, where a woman, Sister Simone presumably, was gathering some balls and a Wiffle-ball bat that had been forgotten during cleanup.
With coffee-colored skin and curly black hair, Simone was nearly five ten, big-boned with dark, slightly suspicious eyes. She’d been humming to herself, a pop song Valerie couldn’t quite name, but stopped abruptly as they approached.
When Sister Georgia introduced them and explained that Val was Camille’s sister, Simone’s face fell into sadness. She offered her condolences, then said, “I’m really going to miss Camille. She was never late, always had a smile.”
“Sister Georgia?” the receptionist called from a doorway. “There you are! You have a phone call.”
“I’m sorry,” Sister Georgia said quickly. “No rest for the wicked. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Or weary,” Sister Simone said. Her curly black hair was unruly, her smile a wide slash of white against her smooth skin. “Works either way.”
“Of course it does.” The mother superior was distracted. “Would you mind showing Valerie around?”
Before Simone could answer, the reverend mother bustled off and through the doorway.
“I guess you’re on,” Val said, “whether you want to be or not.”
“Sister, are you all right?” a blond woman asked Lucia, who was still stunned from the near accident and the fact that Cruz, still holding her, had probably saved her life.
She realized that people were still looking at her—no, make that at them. She in full nun’s habit—wimple, scapular, veil, and all—and Cruz in his T-shirt and jeans, his arms lingering a little too long around her as he yanked her from the street.
“I’m fine . . . fine,” she assured the woman and a few others who had gathered—two black teens who cast suspicious glances her way, the blond woman with her two children, and a group of young girls, each with a cell phone attached firmly to her ear. There were a couple of businessmen as well, and, as luck would have it, a priest speaking to a homeless guy pushing a shopping cart. Lucia wanted to die a thousand deaths. “I, um, I guess I was lost in thought.” She forced a smile to the blonde and felt the heat wash up her face.
The light changed, and most of the pedestrians crossed, the worried woman clutching her children’s hands as they hurried across the street to the park where playground equipment was visible through the stands of live oaks and hedgerows of vibrant crepe myrtle.
Lucia didn’t follow but took a deep breath, then turned her attention to Cruz, her erstwhile savior. “So what are you doing here?” she demanded, casting a nervous glance at the post office. “Following me?”
“Yep.”
Oh, dear Mother, this was not what she needed! Not now. Well, not ever.
His mouth was that insanely sexy slash of white, and she mentally kicked herself for noticing.
“Why?”
“To save you from deadly SUVs?”
She almost laughed. Almost. “The real reason?”
“Because the last time we talked, you told me to stay away, something like forever.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Part of my charm.”
“Right.” Still shaken from nearly being run down, she started walking along the sidewalk, away from the corner and the few remaining people who still cast curious glances her way. Quickly, she walked along the storefronts, and as she did, she told herself her nerves were stretched tight because of the adrenaline still racing through her bloodstream, that it had nothing to do with Cruz. But, of course, she was lying to herself again.
This lying, it was becoming a habit. Not healthy.
To her consternation, Cruz fell into step with her. “I think we’re even now, right?”
“Even?” She shook her head. “I’m not keeping score.”
“Sure.”