18. Chapter 18
Kingsley
“The punk’s pushing his luck,” Rome commented on Harley’s summary of her ex’s visit that afternoon.
He was leaning against his bike outside Saint James Monastery, arms folded.
The moon offered just enough light that I could read his expression.
“That means he’s still on the island. Just hiding like the coward he is.
According to my source in the DRPD he took leave. ”
“I don’t like that,” Harley voiced my own thoughts. “Sounds like he’s up to something.”
“Possible.”
“What’s the news?” I asked, wanting to get over with this before someone from the community happened upon us.
Rome stretched his neck. “Found email traffic of our guys and the seller. As Fuller admitted, they dealt in weapons. Firearms, grenades, MANPADS.”
Harley’s brow furrowed. “What the heck are MANPADS?”
“You never heard of those?” Rome clicked his tongue. “Pads for men.”
“Pads for men? What would you guys need pads for?”
I bit back a laugh. Just long enough until Harley’s face registered that she was being messed with.
“Oh, you . . . You guys are unbelievable!” She swatted at Rome, then me, which only made me laugh harder. I loved when she did that. Mostly because it was an excuse for us to touch.
Which we shouldn’t. I had meant every word I’d said earlier about what her touch did to me. The hurt flashing in her eyes when I told her not to do it again had cut right into my heart.
Rome grinned shamelessly. “MANPADS is the acronym for Man-Portable Air Defense Systems. Shoulder-fired missiles that can take down an aircraft. At least the kind that doesn’t move too fast and isn’t too high up.”
Harley gaped at him. “Are you serious or is this another joke?”
“It’s true,” I said. “Wentworth told me about those a while back. They’re extremely dangerous and can give a single person a lot of power.”
“What does Craig want with them?” She shook her head. “Shoot a helicopter down? A plane? Why would he do that?”
Rome lifted a shoulder. “Either because he has specific targets, demonstration of power, or sell them and make some sweet cash.”
“Sounds like a lot of risk for a detective,” I said.
“This trade is a gravy train. Might think it’s worth the risk.”
I didn’t know the guy well enough to judge whether he’d play with his career for a better paycheck. But money blinded a lot of people. “How many MANPADS are we talking?”
“Twelve. Two hundred grenades, and all sorts of firearms.”
“And where did they go?” Harley asked. “It’s not like he can hide that stuff in his garage.”
“I’m guessing some kind of storage.”
Made sense. “What now?”
Rome jutted his chin at me. “You keep protecting her, I’ll keep searching. My men are watching all airfields and ports.”
Chest tightening, I slid a glance at Harley. That meant she would stay even longer. More possibilities to mess up.
Funny how I’d preached to her about repenting of our sins and then letting them go, yet I still hadn’t talked to Father Cruz.
Sure, I’d confessed everything to God, but that wasn’t enough.
Father Cruz needed to know and then decide the consequences.
If I’d get excommunicated, or worse, expelled.
If Matt came forward, the latter was more likely.
I still couldn’t believe he’d tried to kiss me.
Lord, I . . . Had no right to beg for His mercy. This one was on me. I’d messed up—bad—and had to accept whatever the consequences would be.
Rome cleared his throat, his gaze bouncing between me and Harley. “Holy crap, you—”
“Don’t.” Moonlight glinted in Harley’s glower. “Whatever is on your mind, keep it there.”
Rome lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Not saying anything.”
How had he figured it out? Did we look that guilty? If he could tell at a glance, so could anyone in the monastic community.
My gut contracted. I’d really, really screwed up.
“A’ight, I’ll keep you guys posted.” Rome straddled his bike and donned the helmet. “Harley, you’re not coming back to work until this is cleared up. And you kids keep your pants on.” He looked at me. “Or your habit down.”
I gritted my teeth. The fact that the son of a Mafia don could call me out on my sins showed how far I’d fallen.
The messed up thing was, that, despite the guilt eating me alive, I couldn’t stop thinking about last night.
Earlier today I’d read in Judges how Gideon had held the people of Sukkoth accountable by tearing their flesh with desert thorns and briars.
Maybe that’s the kind of punishment I needed—a good whipping with desert thorns and briars.
Because obviously repenting did nothing.
“You’re one to talk.” Harley smacked Rome’s helmet with her flat hand.
He caught her wrist and pulled her close. The harshness in his move almost had me step in, but Harley laughed. He said something to her I couldn’t hear, then let her go.
After Rome had disappeared down the road, I escorted Harley back to the guesthouse. We stopped at the door, her inside, me outside.
“Goodnight, Harley.” I tried to keep as much distance between us as possible. My body was already heating up simply because we were alone. The only sound came from an army of crickets surrounding us. Same setup as last night. Dangerous.
“Goodnight, Kingsley.”
As if rooted to the ground, neither of us moved. For the longest moment, we just stared at each other in the dim light of the kerosene lamp Harley had set down next to the door.
I was the one who broke the spell. But instead of leaving, I took two steps forward, shoved Harley into the hallway, and kicked the door shut behind us.
The all-consuming need she had talked about this afternoon seized me, mercilessly silencing all sirens blaring somewhere in the back of my head.
The same thing had to be happening to her, because she made no move to stop us either.
I used my body to back her against the stone wall and captured her lips with mine. She tasted like passion and love and . . . temptation. You need to . . . stop, man. Don’t go . . . go there again . . .
The heavy fog of desire shrouding my mind thickened again, shutting up my inner voice for good. The feeling of Harley’s curves under my touch, her smell and taste, had me completely at her mercy.
My breath came heavy when I pulled back just a little. “I love you, Harley Raines,” I whispered the words born in the depths of my soul.
I heard her suck in a breath, but couldn’t make out much past my leaden eyelids. Didn’t matter if she rejected me for it, or if she didn’t say the words back, but I needed her to know how I felt about her. How much she meant to me.
Her hand cupped my jaw and she stroked my beard. “I love you, too, Kingsley Grady.”