Page 62 of The Sin

Rose lived in a row house on the outskirts of the Bohemian Quarter. I parked my bicycle against the weathered, eggshell wall of Number 12, Rue Street, and rapped firmly on the front door.

Across the road, a woman practically hung out of a window on the second story, watching the goings on in her street. A pair of young mothers walked by, one pushing a stroller, the other holding onto the hand of a toddler.

I knocked again, feeling conspicuous, exposed, even though I wasn’t doing anything illegal. Not yet.

The door finally opened.

Rose took one look at me and her welcome smile soured. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in the silky harem pants she seemed to favor. Her blond hair was scraped into a severe bun and while I would have liked to say that was just her hairstyle, it was pretty much her entire personality.

I gave her a cheerful wave. I have no idea why. “Hi.”

She glanced passed me, probably noticed the busybody pouring out the window across the road, and freshened up her smile. “Georga, this is a surprise. I don’t recall arranging a visit.”

“I needed to see you,” I said.

“That’s not how this works.” She was still smiling for the benefit of her neighbors, but her voice was prickly.

The frosty reception wasn’t exactly unexpected. Rose wasn’t a big fan of my tendency to rock up on her doorstep out of the blue. But dealing with her wasn’t all fun and games for me, either. I was her little protégée, however, and she was my only contact with the Sisterhood, so we both just had to suck it up.

Or she could slam the door on my face, and it looked like she was about to do so. Although after another painfully drawn out hesitation, she stood back. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

I stepped over the threshold gratefully.

She closed the door and rounded on me. “The protocols are in place for a good reason.”

“This is important.”

“I can’t help you with your husband.”

My mind went blank. “What do you mean?”

“You tell me,” she said irritably. “There’s been whispers of rehab.”

So, that’s what she was talking about. “How on earth did you hear about that?”

She ignored me. “The Sisterhood can’t be linked to troublesome behavior, Georga. I thought I’d made that clear.”

I glared at her.

Her eyes narrowed into me.

A child’s squeal broke into our stalemate. Her gaze softened a fraction as she glanced in that direction.

I adjusted my attitude. The strict protocols and prohibitive secrecy didn’t just protect the Sisters of Capra, they protected Rose’s children, too.

“I’ll wait here, if you need to tend to him,” I said.

She shook her head, and sighed. “You know your way to the kitchen. Wait there.”

I didn’t feel great about imposing myself—and the risks I brought with me—on her family, her children, but Rose also had a baby girl. And maybe, just maybe, what I had to say might make a difference to her daughter’s future. And maybe that was worth the risk. Rose certainly believed so. That’s why she’d chosen to hold a prominent position in the Sisterhood.

I had to pass through the cluttered living room to the kitchen. As I stepped over a stuffed giraffe, my gaze landed on the cot. Through the white-painted wooden bars, I could see Rose’s baby sleeping on her side, blond curls plastered to a pink cheek.

Snowy, their black-haired German Shephard, twitched an ear and I moved on, afraid he’d yap at a stranger in his living room and wake the baby.

It was about ten minutes before Rose joined me at the kitchen table. She didn’t offer me tea, just asked point blank, “So, what’s this about?”

“It does have something to do with that trouble you heard about,” I admitted, and launched into a brief summary of how I’d stowed myself on Roman’s truck and what I’d discovered at the trading post, Sector Five.

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