Page 132 of Crossed

Again, the heart rate monitor increases, and my gaze wanders to it before focusing back. I’ll need to hurry. Much more stress and a nurse will show up.

None of what I’m saying is true, but she doesn’t know that, and Parker’s not around to dispute the claim. “He had a lot to confess over the past few months,Mrs.Gammond. His poor, unfortunate soul was more than happy to hand the tapes to the church, to ease his conscience and allow God to grant mercy on his soul.” I lift a brow. “Do you think there were any of you?”

She tries to sit, and I move closer, pressing lightly against her chest and keeping her pinned to her bed.

I lean down close and whisper in her ear, “If you don’t do exactly as I say, I will release them all. You’ll be the laughingstock of Vermont, blacklisted from everysinglecareer path you wish to take. I’ll put it on display so your mother sees it. Your father. Your husband. Yourson. Do you understand?”

“My husband can’t know. He can’t—”

“Does he know Bradley isn’t his?”

That shuts her up quick.I had a feeling.

I whisper her instructions and leave as quickly as I came, heading back up into the mountains to be with Amaya and Quinten.

And then I pray like I’ve never prayed before, hoping my empty threats will work.

They do.

Three days later, a press conference is held with Detective Fuller announcing that with Florence Gammond’s help, they were able to connect the Green Mountain Strangler to Parker Errien.

According to her, he wasobsessedwith his wife, Amaya, long before she agreed to be his. He stalked her to her work, killing Andrew out of a jealous rage. It was a fortuitous coincidence that he also frequented the woman I murdered on my first night.

Florence said she was tired of the games, threatening to tell Amaya about their affair, and he followed her in a rage, beating her to a pulp in the bathroom. When they found Dalia murdered with his cuff link at her side, it was an open- and-shut case.

Both Festivalé and Coddington Heights would rather people stay calm and think they’ve caught the killer, even if the story doesn’tquiteline up.

I’m just grateful Amaya wasn’t the one who ended up stuck in the crosshairs.

Since Parker’s not around to dispute the charges, they assume he fled the scene, and a national manhunt is underway.

They won’t find him. Not unless I decide they should.

His wife, on the other hand, is free and clear, and after the dust settles and we wind up wherever it is she wants to be, we’ll handle the assets that Parker’s lawyer insists are now in Amaya’s control. He has no living relatives, no working will— the conceited prick— and no prenup signed to prevent her from accessing the funds.

Technically, he’s still alive in the eyes of the law, so if a body eventually needs to show up in order for everything to remain hers, I’ll make that happen.

I would doanythingfor her.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

I’m in the monastery’s living room, looking out at the snow- covered pine trees with Amaya tucked into my side.

She nods, biting on her lower lip. “I’m sad. But if I let my grief consume me, then Parker wins. And Dalia would hate me for it.”

I press a kiss to her head, my monster quiet and sated, purring deep in my chest. I’m no longer a priest, not officially anyway. I resigned and left the priesthood yesterday with Bishop Lamont, and he’s allowing us to stay here in the monastery until we decide where we’d like to go.

“So now what?” I muse.

She smiles, glancing over at Quinten, who’s lining up his new set of dinosaurs that I bought him on my way back from town.

She leans into my chest, resting her hand over my heart.

“Now, we live.”

I reach down and tip up her chin, leaning down and nipping her mouth with my teeth until the skin breaks and I can lap up the blood. “And, petite pécheresse,” I whisper against her lips.

“Tell me…who do you belong to?”