Their Will be Done - Logan Fox Page 0,46

Quarter past eight.

I press the laptop’s power button. It starts shutting down as I yank out the drive and hike up my skirt to slip it behind my underwear again.

A noise reaches me from the passageway outside Gabriel’s room. So faint, it could have been my imagination, but I’m not taking any chances. Whether the drive had enough time to copy everything it needed, I don’t know.

I slam closed the lid and pull out the cable, shoving the laptop back in the bag before winding up the cord as I trace it back to the power outlet.

Was that a door opening?

My heart knocks against my breast bone. I’m seconds away from puking with nerves.

I break off the tip of my nail when I pull out the power cord. I kick the side of the nightstand, shoving it back against the wall with my foot.

Tossing everything in the bag, I zip it up and crawl under the bed.

I can’t bear going all the way to the back.

You’re taking too long!

Fuck. I crawl out again, jump to my feet, and spin to face the door on the other side of the apartment.

Then I remember to breathe, and let out a massive sigh of stale air.

I tug my dress straight as I hurry back to the fireplace, glancing back over my shoulder to make sure the bedroom is in the same condition I found it.

I hiss in pain when my ass hits the chair. Despite the cushioning, I felt that impact all through my body. I shudder as I try to ignore the pain, and gently shift into a more comfortable position.

What were you doing while I was gone, Trinity? Who, me? Just been sitting here the whole time. Sitting here, watching the fire.

God, my heart’s pounding. I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead, and then use both hands to swipe the sweat from my hairline.

Crackle, pop, grumble.

Caught between a hungry fire and an angry thunderstorm.

Shit, it’s hot in here.

I get up again, scanning the bedroom again as I pass. Dear Lord, I hope I didn’t fuck this up. I open the window and stick my head into the wet, chilly air.

Better.

Lightning fractures the sky, and a few seconds later a muted crack rumbles around Saint Amos.

I check the clock.

Twenty minutes past eight.

Damn it! I could still have been going through his emails. It only took me a minute to find the one my mom sent. Father Gabriel—Gabe?—is super organized. His emails were all sorted into folders. Accounts, Personal, Redmond, Bishop, To-Do, Unsorted, Spam, Sent, Deleted.

Mom’s letter had been the tenth one in the personal folder. I guess it says a lot that the entire folder only contained a little over thirty emails. But although Gabriel likes to pretend he doesn’t have a personal life, judging from my mom’s email, he’s had his nose stuck in our family’s affairs for a long time.

His guidance?

If she only knew the shit the Brotherhood was accusing Gabriel of.

Oh, wait. She’ll never know. She’s dead.

There’s no warning. One minute I’m glaring out at the black thunderstorm—the next everything blurs with angry tears.

I push away from the window sill and stalk back to the fire. Trinity the Wimp is yelling at me to stop, but I shove her in a mental closet and lock the fucking door.

Wine sloshes over the rim of the glass when I rip it off the side table. I tip my head back and swallow it all down in one go. Then I pour myself another from the decanter.

I even stare at Gabriel’s pack of cigarettes for a moment, wondering if they’d help suppress the sudden swell of immutable fury roaring through me, but I dismiss the thought.

Weed. That’s what I need.

I drain my glass, and press my hand to the back of my mouth as I pause, waiting for everything to come right back up again. It’s red wine—what a fucking mess that will make of this pretty carpet.

A bitter laugh bursts out of me instead. I consider drinking straight from the decanter but then I remember I’m not a fucking animal so I pour myself another glass.

“That’s enough, child.”

I gasp in shock, spilling wine over my hand and—yup!—ruining the pretty fucking carpet. Spinning around, I stare at Gabriel with a slack mouth as he comes closer.

He takes the glass from my hand and urges me into the chair before perching on the arm. His head dips as he massages the back of his eyelids and lets out a long