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Her sigh was full of relief, and then she flashed a saccharin smile. “Thank you, Lucifer,” she purred.
Time would tell if her gratitude would extend beyond the scrutiny I would enact.
I added packing a tactical knife to the mental file I’d created on Willa Brennan.
St. Patrick’s was closed, as Raphael knew it would be, but copies of the parish’s keys had been in the Flynn family’s possession for as long as I could remember. Anytime the locks were upgraded, Father O’Brien saw to it that our access was as well.
Willa watched me unlock the door with intrigue until what appeared to be a curtain of dread and despair fell across her face.
“I didn’t realize you were on these kinds of”—she flailed her hands at the door—“terms with the church ... and, uh ... Father O’Brien.”
I detected the panic in her tone.
Movement out of the corner of my eye and the sound of tires rolling over wet pavement forced my attention away. Willa’s curious interest in my family’s relationship with Father O’Brien would have to wait.
I edged open the right side of the cathedral door and nudged her inside. “In you get. I’ll be right behind you.”
Before I could close the door, Willa grabbed my hand in both of hers. The keys dug into my palm as she clung to me with more strength than I expected given her petite stature.
Sheer terror chased across her eyes. “Is it Raphael? Is he pissed? He’s the one who said yes! He told you to bring me! He can’t be pissed if it was his freaking idea—right?”
I stared into her haunted gaze. Confused as fuck.
I stole one final glance at the street, accomplishing absolutely fucking nothing, then shoved Willa inside the vestibule, regretting my decision the moment I did. She stumbled and tripped, catching her left arm on the Lavabo bowl before righting herself. She glared back at me over her shoulder, but it was emotional hurt that registered on her face.
I shook my head, trying to clear the image. “It’s not Raphael. Now, go pray or do whatever the fuck it is that you need to do.”
Her cheeks flamed like a child who’d been reprimanded, and then she rubbed her elbow and winced.
My self-loathing dialed up a notch as I gave her my back.
The sound of Willa’s footsteps died out as she crossed through the entrance hall and into the sanctuary. I drew my phone from the interior chest pocket of my jacket and dialed Keegan.
“Yo,” he answered. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Mass or some shit?”
“Or some shit,” I grumbled. Then I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye, recalling Willa’s near face-plant—by my hands. “Listen. I may or may not have Russian company. We’re at St. Patrick’s—care to join us?”
Shuffling in the background told me that I’d probably caught Keegan in his office, and he was already on the move. Yet he still chose to fuck around with me. “May or may not ... could you be any less Lucifer-like? Give me more?”
He was right. I’d hardly been myself since Jack’s daughter appeared like a fucking apparition. This marked two consecutive nights that she’d disarmed me.
“We’re already inside. I can’t see fuck through the stained glass, and I’m not about to walk out the front door to find out what’s waiting out there.” And I’m not leaving Willa, an irresponsible part of myself wanted to add. A part that wasn’t motivated by familial obligation.
Keegan chuckled. He sounded winded just enough that I knew he was jogging, and then the interior chime of his Hummer sounded. “You’re lucky I woke up feeling dangerous this morning, Lucifer.”
Every thought returned to Willa. I disconnected the call and found myself drifting in her direction, needing to put eyes on her.
My fingers breached the surface of holy water, then I did the sign of the cross.
God willing, Keegan’s mood would be for naught.
Willa
I walked away from Lucifer on wooden legs. Moisture gathered on my lower lashes, and I swiped at it with the back of my hand.
God, he was infuriating.
I really wanted to hate him.
