Page 5

“But you still love me.”
“I see Tomas has made it home.”
We look over toward the stairs at Mom’s voice, watching as she descends the last step, a friendly smile in place.
“It’s good to have you back.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Rivers.” Tomas smiles.
“Will you ever call me Caroline?”
He chuckles. “Probably not.”
“Will you be joining us for church today?”
Tomas inclines his head. “I’ll be there. Dad and I are leaving from here.”
“That’s wonderful,” she remarks.
The door behind us opens and Dad walks out, momentarily pausing when he sees the three of us standing there. Rafaele appears behind him, and he nods to his son.
“Good to see you, Tomas,” Dad says, stepping forward and holding out his hand for Tomas to shake.
“You too.”
“Mrs. Teller?” Dad asks.
“Safe in the location she chose.”
Dad nods. “I trust I’ll have your full report in my email by this evening?”
“I’ve already sent it,” Tomas replies.
“Good. Bennett said you did well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dad lifts his arm and checks the time on his watch. “We better get going or we’ll miss the beginning of Father Vaughn’s service.”
My lips twitch,and I stifle a laugh at the funny face Tomas is making.
I reach over and pinch his thigh. “Behave,” I hiss under my breath.
His grunt of pain is so low I barely hear it, and I bring my hand back to my lap. A moment later, I barely catch the snort before it leaves my throat when Tomas makes a circle with his thumb and pointer finger with one hand and slides his other pointer finger through it.
Sometimes he can still be such an immature child.
Feeling eyes on me, I slide my gaze to Dad and see his brows tucked into a frown as he looks at me and Tomas.
“Sorry,” I mouth silently and focus my attention back to the front.
Father Vaughn is currently regaling his parishioners about Jesus’ disciples. He isn’t your typical catholic priest. My guess is he’s in his mid-thirties. Just below the cuffs of his black clerical shirt, the edges of black tattoos are visible. His dark hair is cut short on the sides, but hangs a little longer on the top, and he has a few days of hair growth covering his cheeks and chin. He’s tall,well over six feet, and you can tell by the way his clothes fit that his body is solid muscle underneath.
I never would have imagined I would find a priest attractive, but Father Vaughn definitely fits the bill.
As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes move from looking at his parishioners to the pew we’re occupying. He looks at Tomas for a moment before they lock on me. A cold feeling slithers over my skin, just as it always does when I look into this man’s eyes. They appear solid black and seem to bore into a person’s soul. Without fail, each time I look into his eyes, I get the feeling of judgment. The notion makes no sense, because as a man of the cloth, he should only believe in judgment that comes from God himself.
I break my eyes from him and stare down at my lap. My fingers are locked together, and I tighten the grip I have around them, pushing away the chilly feeling Father Vaughn invokes in me.