Allison Brennan - Carnal Sin

Julie was pale, her aura nearly gone. She was dying.

Moira knelt next to them. “You saved him, Julie. You helped save all of us.”

Grant pushed Moira. “Leave her alone!”

Julie’s eyes fluttered open. “Grant-” She swallowed. “Please.”

“Don’t talk,” Grant told her.

Julie touched his face with one shaky hand, but said to Moira, “Thank you. I understand better now-what you said this morning at the hotel. I–I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused. What I did was so wrong.”

Moira wished she could do something. “Rafe-can you help her?” Moira pleaded.

Rafe said, “I can give Julie last rites.”

Moira kissed Julie’s hand, then stood and gave Rafe some room. She walked to the edge of the portico and wiped away tears.

Rafe knelt next to Julie. “The ambulance will be here-I hear it.”

Julie shook her head. “I-there’s a lot broken inside.”

Rafe anointed her head with oil and prayed.

“No! She’s not going to die! God, no!” Grant cried, holding Julie close.

“Grant-” Julie coughed. “It’s okay.”

“No, we’ll make this work. I promise. I love you, Julie. I love you! I’m so sorry for everything-please, let me make it up to you. Let me-”

“Shh. Please, Grant. I’m dying. I want to do one thing to help someone.”

“I can’t let you die.”

Julie swallowed; her voice was weak. “I have a favor.”

“Anything.”

“There’s a girl at the morgue. She’s been there for years. They don’t know who she is-her name is Amy Carney. Find her family; let them bury her. Her family doesn’t know what happened to her, and the morgue doesn’t know who she is. She just wants them to know what happened.”

Grant’s tears fell on Julie’s chest. He held her close. “Julie,” he sobbed.

Rafe finished the last rites, then took her hand. “Rest in peace, Julie. God is a forgiving God.”

“I hope so,” she said, a hint of fear in her eyes. She coughed and looked at Rafe, her eyes unfocused. “Thank you for letting me share your body. I explained everything to Grant; you and Moira should not have any problems.” She coughed again. “Come closer.”

Her voice was so faint he nearly missed it. He leaned over, his ear to her mouth. She whispered, “I wasn’t the only one in there.”

Moira slipped away to the far side of the church when she saw the ambulance pull into the parking lot. Cops would soon follow, and she wasn’t confident she wouldn’t be spending the night in jail. All she really wanted to do was go home.

But she didn’t have a home. It hurt, an empty, hollow pit in the center of her chest. When she told Rafe she wanted to go home, she’d simply meant go with him, anywhere. Away . Because she didn’t have a place to call her own. She didn’t have much of anything that couldn’t fit in her backpack.

Rafe had changed all that. She’d found a place with him that wasn’t a place at all, but a person. She’d found the one person on earth who wouldn’t judge her, doubt her, or use her. The one person who could love her unconditionally.

Her heart skipped a beat. Love hadn’t been good to her. She didn’t know if she could do it again. Whether she could survive losing another part of herself.

She’d never thought about, never looked for, a love like the one she’d had with Peter. He had saved her, loved her, cared for her. Yet-she’d been young. Naive. In many ways, foolish. But she had loved deeply. When Peter died violently at her hands, she no longer wanted to live. And had she been truly alive ever since? Or had she merely survived?

Rafe wasn’t Peter. What she felt for Rafe wasn’t the pure, innocent love she’d had with Peter. It was deeper, far more terrifying because of its intensity. She couldn’t admit to these feelings, because she feared they would be used against her by her enemies. If Fiona knew … she could use Rafe against Moira. Another tool in her mother’s arsenal of weapons-the man she loved.

A woeful moan escaped her throat and she swallowed it. It was her secret for now. She had to keep it buried deep. To protect herself. To protect Rafe.

Moira saw Jackson and Nina go into his house. She followed, and caught up with them before he closed the door.

“Come in.”

“The paramedics are here. The police are soon to follow. We need to be on the same page.”

Nina said, “I’ll help take care of any problems. I work for the Board of Supervisors-it might help.”

“Skye originally told Grant she was investigating a cult,” Moira reminded Nina.

Nina nodded. “Grant said something about drugs. I’ll make sure he’s with us on this. Wendy and Pam sure acted like they were high.”

“One little thing-I shot Wendy in the leg with Grant’s gun.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not a legal resident. And, um,” Moira looked sheepish, “I might be in the system for stealing cars. But,” she added quickly, “I always left them undamaged and with money for gas.”

“Let’s see if we can keep your name out of it altogether, okay?”

Nina left, and Jackson took the first-aid kit from Moira and took out the supplies.

“Let’s get you fixed up here, since you’re being stubborn about the hospital,” he said.

Moira let him clean her wound with antibacterial spray and seal it with medical glue before rebandaging it. She didn’t know how to bring up the subject she’d wanted to discuss, but finally said, “Jackson, did you take something from Wendy’s house?”

He repacked the first-aid kit. “Why?”

“Wendy thought I took something other than the chalice. I don’t know what, but you were alone for at least ten minutes. What did you take?”

He let out his breath. “Names. Contacts. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to expand my information. You know how important it is to put the associations together, to be able to track these people through the country-”

“You’re looking for Courtney.”

Jackson’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “She’s my daughter.”

“I’m afraid for you, Jackson.”

“I’m not blind.”

“About this, you are.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

“True. I don’t have a daughter. But Courtney was over eighteen.”

“You don’t give up on your children just because they’re adults.”

“Jackson-”

“Don’t. You won’t understand. I’m not going to be rash. I need to know where she is.”

His face was hard, but it was an act. He was hurting inside, and Moira couldn’t do anything to help him. So she let it go. At least for now.

“Why don’t you stay here while I talk to the police?” Jackson said. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you and St. Michael’s.”

“Thank you. And thank you for your help. I’m sorry about your church.”

“It is replaceable.” He touched her lightly on the chin. “You are not.”

Julie was dead by the time the paramedics took her from Grant’s arms. Grant seemed to be in shock. He didn’t speak to anyone, only stared straight ahead. Rafe looked around for Moira, but as soon as the paramedics-followed by a cop car-pulled into the church parking lot, she’d disappeared.

Rafe didn’t want to talk to anyone about what happened. He wished they’d had more time to come up with a believable story.

Two uniformed officers approached. One spoke to the paramedics; the other approached Rafe, who was standing near the door.

“Sir, what’s your name?”

“Raphael Cooper.” He pulled out his wallet and identification.

The officer looked at it, wrote down the information, and handed it back. “We need to remove you from the crime scene if you’re able,” he said.