Page 85 of Crossed
I hate that it’s another man giving her that confidence. It makes me insane with the need to hunt down Parker and beat him to death.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Amaya says sweetly, a sugary sweet grin taking over her face. “I’m marrying Parker.”
Florence’s mouth pops open, her eyes widening in alarm. “MyParker?”
I cock my head.Interesting.
Amaya’s eyes sparkle. “The one and only. I know you had athingfor him once upon a time, so no hard feelings, I hope.”
If I have to listen to either of them swoon over Parker for another minute, I’ll lose my mind.
“And why are you here, Mrs. Gammond?” I ask.
“Helping with rehearsal.” She steps closer. “It’s so nice of you to let the kids practice here, Father. You’re breathing life back into this parish, and it’s amazing to see.”
I hum my approval, her words petting me with their praise. It’s all bullshit though. I haven’t done a thing other than stalk Amaya and beat myself for the sin.
She side-eyes Amaya. “Although I wish we’d be more…selectiveabout who we let in the front doors.”
Amaya blinks at her, then turns and walks away without another word.
Everything in me wants to follow, but something Florence said keeps me in place.
Taken off Amaya’s defense.
Smiling, I place my hand on the small of Florence’s back, ushering her into the empty room. “Mrs. Gammond, if I can have a word?”
She follows me effortlessly. “Of course, Father.”
The moment we’re in the room, I close the door and spin around to face her. “What did you mean about defense?”
Florence bites her lip and looks uncomfortable, shifting the weight on her feet. “I really can’t say.”
I chuckle, shaking my head slightly and changing my tactic. “Forgive me, I just…if there’s something going on in Festivalé, something I need to be aware of with regard to who I let in our church…around our children, I’d like to know.”
“If anyone knows I told you, I could lose my job.”
“Consider this a confession.” I lean in close, frowning. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She nods slowly. “Amaya’s been instructed not to leave the state.”
My brows shoot up, surprise hitting me square in the chest.
“Why?”
“Because she murdered Andrew Gleeson.”
The statement shocks me, and I physically stumble back. “What?”
She nods. “Well,allegedly. She’s not really a suspect, but it’s only a matter of time. I was the defense put on her case, but she clearly didn’t like that much.”
Florence chuckles and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out howanythingabout this is humorous.
Memories of the past few days flash like a highlight reel. The way I was consumed with rage and killed Andrew with my bare hands, then tossed him in that dumpster where he belongs.
How a few nights later, Amaya showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, eyes red-rimmed and teary, and how instead of letting her speak, I gave in to my weakness and pinned her to the wall.
How the next day, she was engaged.
