He’s tall and lean-muscled with a sharp nose, angular jaw, and hooded blue eyes. I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if he turned out to be a fashion model despite his military-style haircut that leaves little more than a layer of fuzz on his perfectly shaped head. We didn’t have magazines around the house, but I saw them once or twice in the library. He’s wearing Saint Amos’s school uniform, but his collar is loose, and his tie crooked.
A smug smile carves a dimple into his cheek. “You miss the turn off for Sisters of Mercy or something?” He runs his gaze down my body before snapping them back to my eyes. “Or did you somehow miss the fact that this in all-boys school when you enrolled?”
What the hell is he talking about? I shake my head, and stagger back when he slips inside the room.
“Can you talk?” He glances about the room as if the answer doesn’t concern him. “Or are you an orphan and a mute?”
I’m starting to wonder the same thing, because I seem incapable of forming words. It doesn’t help that he keeps moving closer, and the only way to keep my distance in this tiny room would be to climb over the bed.
“’Cos I’m pretty sure they’d tell the hallway monitor to expect a mute orphan.” His eyes flicker to me. “Especially one as adorably fuckable as you.”
Hallway monitor? My cheeks flare with heat. “Excuse me?” I bark out before I can stop myself.
“Aw,” the guy says, pouting lush lips. “You just became slightly less tragic.”
“Who the hell are you?”
Air whistles through his teeth. He rushes forward. The closet door bangs as he pushes me up against it so hard, the air knocks out of my lungs.
“Blasphemous little slut,” he hisses. I open my mouth to scream.
His fingers wrap around my throat, and suddenly yelling for help isn’t an option anymore. He leans close enough for his breath to caress my lips. “I don’t like surprises.” His voice is dangerously low.
“Please,” I manage, grabbing his wrists and digging my fingernails into his skin.
He doesn’t even seem to notice. “Maybe you’re not even a girl,” he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that his lips brush my skin. “Is that why they sent you here?” His free hand skims across my stomach and latches onto the top of my jeans. With a twist of his wrist, the button pops open.
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he murmurs. His fingertips slide behind the elastic band of my underwear.
My body goes stiff. Nothing exists but his creeping fingers.
A gong sounds out.
It’s not exceptionally loud, but it’s so unexpected I jerk in surprise. His fingertips slip out from behind my underwear.
He steps back. Cool air rushes down my throat. I cough, sagging against the closet as he studies me.
“Saved by the bell,” he says through a laugh. His face transforms into a hard, unfriendly mask. “See you around, slut.”
Then he’s gone.
I count ten thundering heartbeats before I dare go over to the door and check if he truly has left. The hallway outside is empty. Slamming closed the door, I back up into the room until the bed knocks into the back of my knees. I sit on automatic, staring at the door through wide eyes.
How the hell am I supposed to process what just happened?
Who was that guy?
Why on earth did he—
I flinch at a knock on the door. Swallow.
He’s back.
But of course it’s not him. He’s not the kind of guy to knock.
So what fresh hell is this then?
“Trinity?”
Another knock.
I jump to my feet and race to throw open the door.
A man in his late thirties regards me from across the threshold. His mouth is set in a gentle curve.
“Good to see you again, Trinity,” he says, his warm chestnut brown eyes wrinkling in the corners as his smile inches up.
“Father Gabriel! It’s—”
A wave crashes down on me, choking the words. His is the first familiar face I’ve seen in weeks.
I’d never known what loneliness was. The longest I’d been apart from my parents had been a few hours. But from that moment the bell rang, and I opened the door, and I saw a police officer standing where I’d been expecting my parents—perhaps Mom juggling a bag of groceries while she hunted for her keys, or Dad looking sheepish because he’d left his pair inside the house—I’d had no one.
No one.
A week later I realized the policeman hadn’t come to tell me my parents had died in a car accident. He’d come to say nothing would ever be the same again. I was destined for a dark, lonely future where flowers didn’t bloom, the sun no longer shone, and food had lost its taste.
For weeks, I’ve been handed from person to person like a goddamn parcel with no return address, the receiver simply marked as ‘To Whom it May Concern’.
Strong arms wrap around me, squeeze me, warm me. Cigarette smoke and candle wax waft up to me in a familiar and oh so comforting smell.
A sob wracks me. I cling to Father Gabriel like I’d fall if I were to let go.
My knees weaken when he strokes my head and murmurs, “Hush, child. You’re safe now.”
Chapter Three
Trinity
Pulling away from Father Gabriel is one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in weeks, and that includes identifying my parents at the morgue. But I’m behaving like a kid, and he’s the last person I want to disappoint. So I suck up my sorrow, and wriggle out of his arms. My smile isn’t as steady as I want it to be, but at least it’s there.
I know I should tell him about the guy who was just here. What he’d been about to do. But the thought of relaying those sordid details makes my stomach shrivel up with humiliation. What’ll it change, anyway? It might make him even angrier.
“Are you all settled?” Gabriel asks, using a knuckle to swipe a tear from my cheek.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll show you around.” He holds out an arm, his smile inching up when I take it.
He looks odd in his pale, cable-knit sweater and dark slacks. His loafers barely make a sound as he leads me out of the room. I guess he only wears his official clerical garb when he’s visiting a member of his congregation.
I pause, and then lean back to pull the door closed. He pats my arm, his smile growing a little sad around the edges.
“You’re safe now, child. This is the Lord’s house. He will watch over you while you’re under His roof.”
I think back to the stained glass window, the one with that big eye in the sky with the people toiling beneath it. And then the guy who slipped into my room.
If God was watching me, then it seems He was more interested in seeing how far he’d get than putting a stop to it.
But then a bell rang, and he stopped. I’d call that divine intervention, wouldn’t you?
“Thank you,” I murmur, dropping my gaze. My cheeks grow hot again. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t become my guardian.”
“A foster home is no place for a child of God,” he says. “Especially one as bright and talented as you. I’m more than happy to help.”