Covet (Fallen Angels 1)

He didn't like whoring himself out, but you had to do what you had to do...and he was willing to bet that mantra was something Marie-Terese knew all about, too.

As soon as he pulled into his studio's gravel drive, Dog came out from under the truck and limped with joy over to the bike, all wags as he escorted the way into the garage. After Jim took off his helmet, he leaned down for a proper hello and Dog's tail got going so fast, it was a damn miracle the little guy could stay on his paws.

Odd to have someone to welcome him home.

Jim picked the dog up, hooked him over his arm, and went up the stairs to unlock the door. Inside, he did the petting thing while he found his cell phone in the messy bed.

Sitting down on the mattress and feeling Dog's small, warm body curl up around his hip, Jim thought long and hard before dialing. It felt like a step backward, and the familiarity of it sickened him, which was kind of interesting.

Christ, had he been trying to make a fresh start of things here?

Looking around, he saw what Vin had seen: two piles of clothes, a twin bed that no one bigger than a twelve-year-old could be comfortable in, furniture that had Goodwill stamped all over it, and a single ceiling light with a crack through its cover.

Not exactly fresh-start material, but then again, compared to where he'd been and what he'd been doing, sleeping on a park bench would have counted.

As he stared at the phone, the ramifications of what would happen if that old, familiar voice came on the line were very clear.

Jim punched in the eleven digits and hit send anyway.

When the ringing stopped and there was no voice mail, he said one word: "Zacharias." The reply was nothing but the laconic laugh of a man for whom life held no more surprises. "Well, well, well...never thought I'd get that name again."

"I need some information."

"Do you."

Jim's grip cranked down hard on the cell. "It's just a license plate trace and an identity search. You could do it in your f**king sleep, you piece of shit."

"Yes, clearly that is the way to get me to do anything for you. Absolutely. You always were such a diplomat."

"Fuck you. You owe me."

"Do I."

"Yes."

There was a long silence, but Jim knew damn well that the call hadn't gotten dropped: The kind of satellites that the government used for people like his former boss were powerful enough to beam a signal down into the center of the frickin' Earth.

That low laugh came again. "Sorry, my old friend. There's a statute of limitations on obligation and yours has passed. Don't ever call me again."

The phone went dead.

Jim stared at the thing for a moment, then tossed it back on the bed. "Guess that's a deadend, Dog."

Christ, what if Marie-Terese was some kind of con artist and Vin was just getting snowed?

Stretching out on the rumpled sheets, he arranged Dog on his chest before reaching over to the little table and snagging the TV remote. As he stroked Dog's rough coat, he pointed the thing at the tiny TV across from the head of the bed, his thumb hovering over the red button marked power.

I could use some help, lads, he thought. Which way am I supposed to be going with all this?

He pushed down and the picture came forward, summoned out of the glass screen, blooming into a clear image. A woman in a long red gown was being led by a guy in a tuxedo from a limousine to a jet airplane. He didn't recognize the movie, but considering he'd spent the last twenty years of his life in the hard-core military, there hadn't been a lot of time for going to the damn pictures.

When he hit info, Jim had to laugh. Pretty Woman was evidently about a prostitute and a businessman falling in love. He glanced up at the ceiling. "Guess I got it wrong the first time, huh, boys."

That evening, when Marie-Terese walked into St. Patrick's Cathedral, her feet were slow and the aisle down to the altar seemed a mile long. As she passed by the chapels of the saints, heading for the confessionals, she paused at the fourth bay in. The life-sized figure of a pious Mary Magdalene had been removed from its pedestal, the white marble statue no doubt having been taken to be cleaned of dust and incense residue.

The empty space made her realize that she'd decided to leave Caldwell.

It was all getting to be too much. She just was not in a place in her life where she could afford to get emotionally attached to a man, and that was happening with Vin already. Those dead college boys aside, more time around him was not going to help her, and she was a free agent, able to hit the road at any moment -

The creaking of a door behind her pricked her nerves, but when she looked over her shoulder, no one was close by. As usual, the church and all of its pews were essentially empty, with just two women in black veils praying up front and a man wearing a Red Sox baseball cap settling on his knees in the far back.

As she continued down the aisle, the weight of her decision to pull out of town exhausted her. Where would she go? And how much would it cost to think up another identity? And work. What would she do about that? Trez was unique in the business, and the Iron Mask was the only place she could imagine doing what she did.

Except how would she cover the bills?

At the pair of confessionals, there were a couple of people before her, so she waited with them, smiling once in greeting and then keeping her eyes elsewhere, as they did. Which was always the way it went. The guilty tended not to want to make conversation when they were about to unload, and she wondered if the others were practicing what they would say, just as she was.

No matter what their issues were, she figured she could lap them in the sin contest. Easy.

"Hello."

She glanced behind her and recognized a guy from the prayer group. He was a quiet one like her, a regular attendee who rarely opened his mouth. "Hello," she said.

He nodded once and then stared at the ground, clasping his hands together and keeping to himself. For no particular reason, she noticed that he smelled like incense, the kind that was used in the church, and she was comforted by the smoky, sweet scent.

Together they moved up two paces when someone else went in...then another two paces...and then Marie-Terese was up next.

After a lady with red-rimmed eyes came out from behind the thick velvet curtain, it was Marie-Terese's turn to go in, and she gave the prayer group guy a smile of goodbye before stepping up to the cubicle.

When she'd shut herself in and taken a seat, the wooden panel slid back and the priest's profile was revealed on the far side of the brass screen that separated them.

After making the sign of the cross, she said softly, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession."

She paused, because even though she'd said the words many, many times, they were hard to get out.

"Speak to me, my child. Unburden yourself."

"Father, I have...sinned."

"In what manner."

Even though he knew. But the point of confession was the vocalized recitation of evil deeds; without that there could be no absolution, no relief.

She cleared her throat. "I have...been with men unlawfully. And I have committed adultery." Because some of them had had wedding rings on. "And...I took the Lord's name in vain." When she'd seen Vin hit the ground by the diner. "And I..."

It was a while before her list dried up and the priest's profile nodded gravely when she fell silent. "My child...surely you know the errors of your ways."

"I do."

"And the transgressions against God's ways cannot go..."

As the priest's voice continued, Marie-Terese closed her eyes and took the message deep inside. The pain of how far she had sunk and what she was doing to herself squeezed her lungs until she couldn't draw in any air at all.

"Marie-Terese."

She shook herself and looked at the screen. "Yes, Father?"

"...and therefore, I shall..." The priest paused. "Excuse me?"

"You said my name?"

A frown appeared on his profile. "No, my child. I did not. But for your sins, I shall decree that..." Marie-Terese looked around, even though there was nothing to see but the wood paneling and the red velvet curtain.

"...te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

Dropping her head, she thanked the priest, and after he'd closed the partition, she took a deep breath, picked up her bag, and stepped out of the confessional. Next to the one she'd been in, she could hear the voice of the other sinner. Soft. Muffled. Utterly indistinct.