“Go,” she ordered herself.
Eve retreated toward the door. She figured if she made it to the parking lot before he came back, her escape was meant to be.
There was a padlocked tithing box on the wall near the exit. She dropped his business card into the slot and reached for the door handle.
Her hand had barely made contact with the cool metal when Riesgo reappeared at the end of the aisle with a dark red bag in his hand. Her often lamentable curiosity kicked in with a vengeance. The priest looked both excited and impassioned, making it impossible for her to turn away.
He reached her in no time and began to speak in a rush. “Last week, I was compelled to buy this—” he reached into the bag and withdrew a book “—although I didn’t know why. My sister owns a Bible that’s been passed down in my family for generations and my mother is no longer with us.”
Eve accepted the proffered Bible with tentative hands. It was covered in satin-soft burgundy leather and trimmed with ornate, feminine embroidery of floral vines and colorful butterflies. Such craftsmanship was costly. She stared at it in confusion.
“It’s yours,” he said.
Her stunned gaze lifted to meet his. “I can’t accept this!”
“I bought it for you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes,” his eyes twinkled, “I did.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I believe in miracles.”
She thrust it at him. “Take it back.”
“No.”
“I’m going to drop it,” she threatened.
“I don’t think you can.”
“Watch me.”
“Borrow it,” he suggested.
“Huh?”
“You need a Bible. I have one. Borrow it. When you’re done, bring it back.”
Her nose wrinkled.
His arms crossed, making it clear he wasn’t budging.
“You’re wrong about me,” she said. “I’m not a lost soul looking to be found.”
She’d already been found. That was the problem.
“Fine,” he countered easily. “Do your research and bring it back. The Good Book should get some use, not sit in a bag in a desk drawer.”
When Eve stepped out of the church a few minutes later, she couldn’t believe she had the Bible in her hand. Frustrated by the bizarre twists that were marring the once steady course of her life, she paused on the sidewalk at the edge of the parking lot and groaned.
“I don’t like this,” she said aloud, figuring the proximity to the church couldn’t hurt her chances of being heard by someone upstairs.
A drop of water hit her cheek. Then another splattered on the end of her nose. Frowning, she looked up at the cloudless blue sky. A droplet hit her smack in the eye and stung.
“Ow! Damn it.”
High pitched chortling turned her gaze back to the church. She rubbed her eyes and searched for the source. Just as her vision cleared, a stream of liquid hit her dead center on the forehead.
Eve jumped back and swiped the back of her hand across her face. Her gaze lifted to the archway above her.
“Ha-ha!” cried a gleeful voice.
Her eyes widened when she found the source, then narrowed defensively when she realized the water spraying her was urine.
Gargoyle urine.
The little cement beast was about the size of a gallon of milk. He sported tiny wings and a broad grin. Dancing with joy, he hopped from foot to foot in a frenetic circle that should have toppled him to the ground.
“Joey marked the Mark! Joey marked the Mark!” he chanted, pissing all the while.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, pinching herself.
A sharp whack to the back of her head knocked the bag from her hands and confirmed that she wasn’t having a nightmare.
“Shame on you!”
Clutching her skull, Eve turned to face her attacker—a stooped el der ly woman brandishing a very heavy handbag.
“It’s not what you think,” Eve complained, rubbing at a rapidly swelling knot.
“Whack her again, Granny,” suggested the angelic-looking heathen at her side.
“Beat it!” the woman ordered with a menacing shake of her bag.
Eve debated the merits of laughing . . . or bawling. “Give me a break, lady.”
“Sinner,” the heathen child said.
“I am not a sinner! This is not my fault.”
A large, warm hand touched Eve’s shoulder, then the dropped bag came into her line of vision. “Here.”
Father Riesgo. The voice was unmistakable.
Eve glanced at the archway behind them. The gargoyle was gone. The Gothic creature had been out of place on the modern exterior of the church.
“Father,” the purse-wielding woman greeted sweetly.
“I see you’ve met Ms. Hollis.” He glanced at Eve. “Don’t give up on her yet, Mrs. Bradley. I have high hopes.”
Accepting the bag, Eve stepped away in a rush. “Thanks. Bye.”
As she hurried to her car, she ignored the fulminating glare from Mrs. Bradley that was burning a hole in the back of her head. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched by a darker, more malevolent force.
The sensation scared the hell out of her.
After sliding into the driver’s seat, Eve locked the doors and released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“I’m getting out of this,” she promised whoever might be listening. She reached into her purse and withdrew the hand wipes her mother, a retired nurse, insisted she carry.
After she scrubbed her face and hands, Eve turned the ignition. Then she drove around the block, looking for “Joey.” She had no idea what she’d do when she found him, but damned if she’d let herself get pissed on and not track the little shit down.
CHAPTER 8
An hour of fruitless searching later, Eve parked her car in her assigned spot in her condominium complex’s parking garage. With her hands wrapped around the steering wheel, she refused to look at the empty space where Alec’s Harley had been when she left. He might be gone for five minutes or five years or forever.
The first time they made love, he’d disappeared before she awoke. She’d waited in their hotel room all morning. Tired. Sore. Madly, stupidly in love. She had believed he intended to come back for her. No man could hold a woman as he’d held her and not return.
In the end, she’d left only when the maid told her she would have to pay for another night if she didn’t vacate.
Days of waiting and hoping and heartbreak followed. Weeks passed, then years. She wanted to kick herself for being in the same spot, feeling the same pain ten years later. Smart people learned from their mistakes; they didn’t keep making the same ones.
A sudden rapping on her car window jolted her out of her musings. Frightened, she looked out the window and found Mrs. Basso leaning over with a frown.
“Eve? Are you okay?”
Her tense shoulders sagged with relief. She pushed open the door. “You scared me.”
“You’re jumpy today.” Mrs. Basso held mail and keys in her frail hands. The mailboxes were all located on the ground floor, just a few feet away from the parking garage.
Climbing out of her car, Eve managed a reassuring smile. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“I bet part of it is six foot two and around two hundred pounds.”
Eve blinked.
“He was looking for you,” Mrs. Basso said. “Seemed really concerned that you were gone.”
“Did he say where he was going?” Or if he’d be back?
“No. He had a duffel bag with him though. Don’t fret. If he’s got a brain, he’ll be back. You’re worth it.”
Touching Mrs. Basso’s shoulder gently, Eve kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Thank you.”
“Come on, I’ll walk up with you.”
Depressed by the prospect of returning to her empty condo, Eve briefly considered heading to her parents’ place but didn’t think she could deal with her mother at the moment. Some days, her mom’s quirkiness was just what the doctor ordered. Most days, however, it drove her nuts. Since she was already on the edge of insanity, she thought it best to keep her distance for now.
Eve shook her head. “I think I need to walk a bit and clear my mind.”
“I would feel better if you came upstairs. You’ve had a rough week.”
Eve laughed softly, without humor. She wished she could explain. Part of her believed her friend would understand. “I won’t be gone long. Just a few minutes.”
Mrs. Basso sighed. “Okay. We still on for the movies?”
“You betcha.”
She watched Mrs. Basso head to the elevators, then left the building through the garage’s pedestrian gate.
It was a beautiful day and the number of sunbathers on the beach gave her a feeling of security. Too many witnesses. Which was both good and bad. The exposure that kept her safe also exposed her when she most wished to be private.
As she walked the length of the beach, she kept her head down to discourage interaction. She was too busy thinking to be interested in casual conversation. If she wanted out of this mark business, she’d need something of value to bargain with.
The wind whipped loose strands of her hair across her face and throat. Her heightened senses magnified the sensation until it was almost unbearable. Not in an uncomfortable way, just alien. Disconcerting.
She’d always controlled every aspect of her life, even as a kid. Her mom, a native of Japan, was an eclectic mix of old-world Bushido and 1970s hippy nonchalance, and her Alabama-native dad was so mellow, she wondered if he was awake half the time. A twenty-year employee of the phone company, Darrel Hollis’s normal tone of voice was that of a terminally bored telephone operator. In response to her parents’ loving indifference, Eve had become self-reliant and responsible to an extreme degree. Everything had its place and could be neatly compartmentalized. Interior design fit beautifully within that structured way of thinking. Assassinating monsters for God didn’t.