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“Get me more whiskey?” I shake my empty glass at him.

But he plucks the glass from my fingers and puts it on the coffee table. Then he scoops me up in his strong arms, carries me to the bed, and lays me down. Slowly, his fingers grip the hem of the T-shirt and he slides it over my head.

“Shit.” His fingers brush against my naked breasts as he removes the sweats and his boxers. “You’re drunk. C’mon.”

And he does something strange. Jeans and belt hit the floor. The light flicks off and he climbs in next to me on the bed.

I feel myself getting wet. I think I’ll let him have me. I think?—

He just wraps his arms around me. “Go to fucking sleep, Harry. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And the world curls into the cocoon of his arms, the furnace heat of him. So I melt into him and go to sleep.

The next morning when I wake up, my head hurts and the animals are surrounding me on the mattress. I sit up to see the door slightly ajar. Fighting the headache, I stagger into the shower, dress, and then pad down the hall, looking for signs of life.

Both animals follow me as I curiously look around.But I don’t see anyone. It’s not until I return to the room that I see the pill and glass of water and note from Torin on the nightstand.

Swallow me.

A shiver runs through me as I take the pill with a sip of water. The cat and dog both make themselves at home near me.

I finish the water and put my glass down when I notice the laptop open on his desk. My finger hovers over the keyboard, and with a sharp breath in, I push a key. The thing wakes, but it’s password protected.

“Of course it is,” I mutter, my eyes falling to the notepad next to it. I stare at the writing.

It’s about different gunshot locations in execution and organized crime killings. I flip the page. I don’t want to know about gunshots to the head. Too many flashbacks of Dad. Same placement of the hole I saw?—

I frown. Just one word on this page.

I still, feeling slightly better and slightly worse at the same time. Why does he have Luigi’s name written on the notepad?

No one’s in the hallway near the door, so I grab my coat and phone and slide out the front door.

Father Luigi? Why’s Father Luigi’s name on a piece of paper?

He doesn’t think he’s to blame. He can’t possibly, right?

I dial the priest but it goes straight to voicemail. Panic suddenly consumes me. I rush back upstairs, the cat and dog racing after me. I glance around the brownstone. Oddly, there’s no guard here today, so I risk it.

I run outside and dart in the direction of the church.

It’s early, but the rectory is open even if the door’s locked.

I hurry up the steps of the church and pull open the heavydoor, sliding inside when someone slams into me. I stumble forward as whoever it is pushes me inside. Then I’m tackled to the floor, held in place with my cheek pressed to the cold tile.

A gun muzzle pushes into my temple. “Don’t make a fucking sound or I’ll blow your brains out.”

NINETEEN

torin

I don’t believein higher powers, and I certainly don’t believe in divine intervention.

But in the quiet of St. Jane’s, the low threat carries right through to the confessional where I happen to be hiding.

I ease the door open, drawing my gun, my heart thudding so fucking loud I can barely hear myself think.

My stomach clenches when my worst fears flash bright behind my eyes.