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Looking away, I slip into drive and pull onto the road. “The GPS coordinates are over an hour away…” can’t help the sour, “Sister.”
“Dee.”
“For a nun, you sure don’t like to be called Sister.”
Her fingers move to the leather bracelet on her wrist. “Thanks for the suggestion of changing my outfit.”
Wasn’t really my suggestion, but I like that she didn’t deny what I know is the truth. “You wear it well. Seems more natural than your tunic.”
“Sean.”
There’s soft warning in her voice, but I find I’m not interested in her threats or disapproval. I want her truth.
Nearly missing the turn—the streets aren’t well lit or well-maintained—I hit the brakes, jerk the wheel, then make the right.
Dee slides in her seat.
I don’t apologize. I’m finding I’m unreasonably angry. Keyed up, actually. “I researched the nun group you claim to be from, and though it’s on the fringes of possible, it’s also highly unlikely.”
Exhaling a long, low breath, she says, “Do you remember what you told me the day we met when I called you Sean on the street?”
“Aye. I said I couldn’t be that man, not here.”
“And I said I’d keep your secret.” She turns and looks at me. “I have. Now, I’m asking you to please stop questioning me about things I can’t give you the answers to.”
Shecan’tanswer, notwon’t. That makes a difference. Somehow, makes me feel better. Proof that whoever she works for wouldn’t like her spilling the beans.
I nod. “As long as we both know I’m not the only one playing a role, I’m good with it.”
She doesn’t nod, doesn’t agree, but her eyes dip closed for one second before she turns forward again in her seat.
Feeling like we’re making progress, I head toward the four-hundred-acre property Geraldo’s coordinates fall in the middle of.
14
DADA
It’s nearly midnight and the only lights on this dark, desert road are the ones from Sean’s car. There’s a rough chill coming through the vibrating window. The car smells of leather seats, cool desert, and gorgeous man. Sean and I have barely spoken since our initial conversation when I got into his car. It’s my fault.
I’m off my game. I’ve never told an informant as much as I’ve revealed to Sean tonight. Even though I walked the line of not saying it directly, it was obvious to us both what I meant. The thing is, I’m glad I told him.
He’s risking so much to help so many people, and the only thing he’s asked for is the truth from me. I’ve done what I could, but I wish I could do more.
Sean pulls over on the side of the dirt road and parks overtop of scrub and brush. It’s a smart move. We haven’t seen any cars along the ride, but the roadway is unlit and compact enough that, if he hadn’t pulled over this far, someone could’ve sideswiped his car.
“This is it,” he says. “Can’t get closer to the coordinates in this thing. It might be pretty, but this old Cadillac can’t make it over all that brush and large stones.”
“I’m prepared,” I say, pulling up my backpack. “I have water, flashlights, equipment, and nutrient bars.”
He grunts with what I take as approval. It’s not always easy to decipher the subtle differences in his nonverbal responses. Well, some of them. There are those that are unmistakable, like the soft way he moaned into my mouth the first time he kissed me.
Reaching into my bag, I take out my extra Glock, run through a quick series of instructions, and offer it to him. His hands go tight on the wheel.
He shakes his head. “I’ll not be carrying that.”
“But—”
“No, luv. Put it away. I won’t touch that thing.”
