Chapter 9
When I open the door to the house, the man whose name I still don’t know jolts up slightly, his arm extending, and in his hand is a gun pointed directly at me.
I freeze in place, but he quickly adjusts, using the back of his gun-wielding hand to rub his eyes.
“Sorry.”
I step inside and kick the door closed before taking the bags to the kitchen. I return to lock the deadbolt before heading back to unload my purchases.
“Is someone looking for you?” I question.
“Probably.”
After I put away almost everything, I make my way to the living room where I set down a bottle of Gatorade and a convenience store sandwich wrapped in plastic.
“There’s a little variety in the fridge. Also,” I place a bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “There’s these.”
“Thanks,” he grunts, attempting to sit up fully, a grimace marring his face.
“Hold on.” I go back to a bag in the kitchen and remove the sterile wound dressing I picked up at a CVS. “Let me properly cover the stitches.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he says with a sigh as he lies back.
“It could get infected.”
He peeks at me from under the arm he has draped over his forehead. “Fine.”
I open the box and then peel open the wrapper. I found the largest one they had, and place the padding over the wound while pressing the adhesive edges to his skin.
When I’m done, I stand up, unsure what to do next and still trying to determine why he looks familiar.
“Do you need anything else?”
He glances at me before sitting up. “You’ve done plenty.” Reaching for the sandwich, he says, “Unless you’re asking if I need to confess.”
“Well, I’m sure you do,” I tell him. “But I’m not holding my breath.”
His lips twitch. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks, but hey, I’m alive. Can’t complain.”
“You’ve been stabbed. That’s probably worth a complaint or two.”
He snorts before taking a big bite of the sandwich. Before he’s done chewing, he starts talking.
“I know you said the confessions are confidential, and considering I haven’t had cops on my tail, I can assume you’ve kept what I said to yourself. But this right here,” he says, gesturing between us. “This is confidential too.”
He’s not asking me if it is. He’s telling me I need to keep this encounter between us.
“I won’t say anything.” I go silent for a few seconds before adding, “But you can’t keep putting me in a moral dilemma.”
He peers up at me, his eyes no longer suspicious, but perhaps a little amused.
“Oh, I think you’re always in a moral dilemma, Father.”
His eyes pin me in place, his tone teasing but with an underlying thread of knowledge.
When he doesn’t break eye-contact, I feel sweat prickle under my arms. I play it off.
“I think we all struggle with our morality. It’s part of being human.”
“Nah. That’s not what I mean. I mean, you specifically.”
My head tilts slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“You tell me,” he says between bites.
“I have nothing to tell,” I say, straightening my spine.
He finishes chewing and wipes at his mouth before standing up, swiping the gun from the table. The movement hurts him, and makes him a little slow, but he still approaches me, his body coming within inches.
I force myself to keep my footing, my arms in front of me, hands clasped. He inspects me closely, dark eyes roaming my face. I feel his breath on my lips as he cocks his head, leaning in even closer, moving toward my neck.
I suck in a breath and then he’s back in front of me, staring into my eyes. His tongue wets his lips and I track the movement before meeting his gaze again.
He reaches for my collar, tugging on the white material. I stumble just slightly, my hands brushing against his crotch.
I hastily step back, clearing my throat and turning my head. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”
“I pull a gun on you when you walk in, and you hardly react. I bring it over here and you don’t even pretend to be afraid.” He erases any space between us, and my pulse spikes. “I get close to you and you can’t control your breathing or your wandering eyes.”
My brows knit together at his implication. “That—”
“You go to a titty bar and don’t look at the women once.”
I cock my head, brows furrowing even further. “That was you. At the bar. Outside.”
He makes his way back to the couch now. “I’m just doing my research, Father. I need to know who I’m talking to.”
“And who do you think you’re talking to?” I ask, afraid he’s aware of my connection to Johnny. To my father who owns that bar.
“Someone who has something to hide. A sinner,” he says with a smirk, gazing up at me.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m simply a man of God who doesn’t think to lust after women, whether they’re clothed or not.”
He snorts. “I see.” After taking a sip from the bottle, he leans back on the couch. “So, tell me, Father. Why go to that sort of bar at all? You do know what it is, right? Did you get lost?”
Fear claws at my throat. Not because I think he’s going to do anything to me, but because I’m afraid he’s getting too close to knowing too much. I don’t have an excuse for driving all that way simply to have a drink.
“I have to go,” I tell him, turning toward the door. “I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you, and I’ll come back tomorrow to see if you’re okay. After that, you’ll need to find another safe house and leave me out of whatever it is you have going on.”
“You have nothing to confess, Father?” he asks.
I ignore him and unlock the deadbolt.
“That bar is pretty far, isn’t it? I mean, you have to pass at least three to get there. I’m unsure why a holy man like yourself would go to such a place.”
I put my hand on the knob and turn, but before I leave, I make the mistake of looking back at him.
He smirks, his eyes informing me he knows I’m not on the up and up. His finger runs across his bottom lip, and I can’t help but focus on it for a second too long. Then I leave, slamming the door behind me.