Maria heard a sharp inhale behind her. She spun to find Father Murray in the doorway, dressed in civilian clothes—they all were. It was part of the ruse. No one could know they were here on official business of the Catholic Church. Once the man had been captured, he would be turned over to the police and dealt with through the proper channels. Maria didn’t question a word from the priests. They wouldn’t lie. They were devout men of God.
They were stationed in a hotel in downtown Boston. Maria had grown up not too far from where she now stood. It was strange being back around familiar streets. Familiar, yet felt so distant from her life now.
“Sister Maria . . .” Father Murray whispered. Maria felt her cheeks blaze under the priest’s brown-eyed scrutiny. She rebelled against his roving eyes, taking a step back. Seeming to catch the sinful way he was regarding her, Father Murray stood straighter and quickly averted his eyes.
“Father Quinn sent me to see if you were ready. It’s time.”
Maria took one last look at her foreign reflection and picked up the purse the priests had given her. Inside was a tracker. A panic button also lay in the lining of the purse, along with a few other things. When she was ready for the priests to come into the club, or if she felt in danger, she would press the button and they would be there in minutes.
She turned and walked into the living area of the hotel suite. It was an opulent room, all rich golds and thick velvets. The plan was for her to visit the club every night until this “Raphael” appeared. If she could, she was to get as close to him as possible. If God was on her side, she could carry out the more detailed plan.
Father Quinn got to his feet and nodded. “He will be rendered speechless when he sees you, sister.”
Maria lowered her eyes at the compliment. She would find no pride in this mask they had painted on her. She would find no pleasure in this task. This was a sacrifice to God. And she would not be derailed from its purpose.
“Remember,” Father Murray said, “you will know him when you see him. He is beyond attractive. He has olive skin and dark hair that falls over his eyes.” Father Murray paused, a strange look overtaking his face, as though he were lost in a memory of some sort. Clearing his throat, he finished, “But it is his eyes that will confirm it’s him. Light-brown eyes that appear oddly golden.”
Maria nodded. Nervously, she played with her hair. “That,” Father Quinn said, pointing at her moving hand.
Maria dropped her hand. “Sorry. I play with my hair when I’m nervous. It’s why the headdresses we wear at the monastery are a gift.” She tried to smile through her mirth, but it was swept away by her rising anxiety.
“No,” Father Quinn said. “Keeping doing that. Raphael will like it. It will draw his attention. That and the move I showed you.” Father Quinn looked at her expectantly. Maria, understanding she was to practice one final time, tipped her head to one side, pulling all of her hair over one shoulder, baring her naked neck. And as Father Murray had insisted, she ran her red-painted nails down the bones underneath her skin. A caressing, seductive movement. It made her feel sick every time she did it.
“Yes,” Father Murray hissed. The pleasured burst of praise made Maria stop dead. Her gaze snapped to the priest. For the first time since she had met him, Maria saw something unusual in his expression—want, need . . . all from staring at her bared neck. Maria quickly righted her hair, covering both shoulders and hiding her throat. Father Quinn took hold of Father Murray, who was still staring. The touch of his superior’s hand snapped him from whatever impure thought he was lost in. Father Murray’s eyes widened when he saw Maria staring, and Father Quinn whispered something into his ear.
“I’ll be right back. I need to check on something.” Father Murray fled into his bedroom. Maria flinched as the door slammed shut and she heard the running water of the shower.
“He is tense,” Father Quinn said from beside her. Maria jumped; she hadn’t realized the older priest was so close. “He wants this sinner caught. Taken off the streets to protect innocent lives. It pains him that this task has fallen to us, to the church.”
Sadness plowed through the high defensive walls Maria had built years ago. “I understand.” She tightened her grip on the purse. She knew what it was like to feel failed by the authorities. She knew how it felt to lose hope.
“Are you ready, child?”
Maria nodded at Father Quinn, trying not to fall into the black well of despair. She had crawled out of the abyss once. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to do so again.