Page 19 of Crossed

He scoffs, picking an invisible piece of lint off the arm of his suit jacket. “I’m a businessman, Amaya. Your mother made a deal with me, and she left before fulfilling her end. As her next of kin, it falls to you.”

I lift a brow. “You pimped her out to your clients. You didn’t sign a million-dollar contract. It would hardly stand up in court.”

“Semantics.” He shrugs. “It holds up where it matters. Should I remind you of that again?”

I swallow around my suddenly dry throat, becauseno, he doesn’t have to remind me. I got the message loud and clear after Mom left and I tried to tell him no.

Huffing, I reach into my worn purse and pull out the wad of bills, almost everything I was able to make this past week, dropping it in the small space between us.

He snatches it up immediately, his thumb flicking through the tops of the rubber- banded bills. “This feels light.”

My heart stutters. “Just by a hundred bucks, Parker. I need…I need to keep the internet on.”

“That’s not my problem.”

I swallow.

“You won’tletit be my problem,” he amends.

“Well, paying you isn’t supposed to bemyproblem either,” I bite back.

Chuckling, he reaches out and cups my cheek. To an outsider, it would look like a tender moment between us, but his grip is tight and his eyes are empty. “As long as your last name is Paquette, it is.”

He stands up then, clutching the money in his fist and turning his back, effectively dismissing me. I follow suit, my legs tingling from the blood rushing back into them, and I walk to his office door, flicking the lock open.

“Same time next week, Amaya,” I hear from behind me. “And don’t be short or you won’t like how I’ll make you pay.”

Chapter7

Cade

FATHER JEREMIAH IS A RECENTLY ORDAINED PRIEST in his early twenties. He’s youthful and eager to learn. His eyes still sparkle with mirth, and there’s hope and innocence weaved into his gaze, the kind that only exists when you haven’t experienced heavy things like grief spawned from trauma. He was the apprentice of my predecessor, Father Clark, so when Clark was pushed out and I was brought in, Jeremiah stayed on to ease the transition.

A twinge of guilt hits me when I think about how it’s been days and we’re just now meeting. He should have been the first one I sought out, but distractions seem to latch on extra tight here in Festivalé. Jeremiah doesn’t seem to mind though. Within the first ten minutes of being together, he’s at my heels like a dog eager for a bone, which is just fine by me. He’ll be beneficial to have at my back.

We’re driving to the monastery today in the thick of the Green Mountains. It’s about an hour away from town, and the second Jeremiah mentioned it to me, I decided it was imperative to visit. Apparently, it’s a well-kept secret, one that’s attached to the local church but kept away from the people of Festivalé and surrounding areas. It’s reserved solely for the Carmelite nuns who vow a life of solitude. And I’m always looking for a quiet spot when I need to get away. Sometimes, a silent mind and a place to recover from my nights of self-inflicted wounds are the only things I want.

“Have you lived in Festivalé your entire life?” I ask him.

“Yep, born and raised,” he replies.

“And you like it?”

He shrugs. “As much as anyone does. My mom runs the café down on Champagne Street, so this town and its people are all I’ve ever known.”

My fingers tap against the car door as I take him in. “And what made you want to be a priest, Jeremiah?”

He grins, his teeth bright white and sparkly against the deep brown of his skin. “It was either that or become a tour guide.”

I laugh. “Not much to tour in Festivalé outside the town square, is there?”

He shakes his head. “I suppose not. But there’s history in everything. Most of these buildings have been around since the 1700s, you know? Great Britain won the territory in the Seven Years’ War, but our French roots are strong.”

“I think you would have made a wonderful tour guide, Jeremiah.”

He laughs. “The church is my calling, Father. Same as you, I’m sure.”

Doubtful.