Page 66 of The Princess and the P.I.

Fiona watched in horror as the officer, whom Maurice had once considered a brother, lead him down the hallway.

Fiona had heard of this kind of gentleman’s arrest. Something had shaken loose in the case or Ryan wanted something out of Maurice.

She didn’t know what, but it felt dangerous.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Fiona didn’t even have time to feel shock and disbelief.

Her mind raced, trying to piece together what had just happened.

It was a betrayal of the worst kind, and Fiona had another realization about herself—she would walk through the gates of hell for the people she loved.

Gathering her composure, she quickly dialed Maurice’s sister Liza first. Her words were steady despite the fun-house-mirror queasiness she felt. “It’s Fiona. Maurice has been taken in for questioning. We need help.”

She answered as many questions as she could, and before Liza could begin a second wave, Fiona hung up.

Fiona set her mind to the task at hand. She sifted through the case files, revisiting every detail, every piece of evidence they had gathered.

She flicked through picture after picture.

Soon, she was scrolling through Detective Ryan’s Facebook and Instagram photos.

Something caught her eye, could be small, but she would work every angle she knew.

Reddit was her frontier, and Maurice was right. She was a detective. She was damned good. She could do this.

Amelia’s Instagram had gone dead. Fiona feared she may be in deeper than she meant to be.

She browsed Mark’s Facebook Marketplace listings near Dupont Circle. Mark was still moving to Ghana, and international moves forced you to be judicious in what you brought with you. International moves were expensive too. Now that Sara was gone, Mark was cashing out.

She let her mind slip into the familiar rhythm of investigation. She also knew that if there was an Esi, a Sara, or Tameka, there were other young wives, and maybe they had suffered abuse at the hands of the church.

People were astonishingly open with the details they shared online.

Every post, every picture, every check-in created a digital trail as real as anything else.

Fiona had always been good at this—reading between the lines, piecing together fragments of information to form a full picture.

She had felt major impostor syndrome watching Maurice coax information out of people.

Secrets tumbled out of their mouths and right into his notebook.

Though she would love to have that skill, she didn’t actually need Maurice’s vampiric mesmerism.

Fiona didn’t need to be invited in. The realization made her laugh despite the circumstances.

Social media was the new public square, and she could find anything .

Her sister stomped up the stairs. Esi’s hair peeked out of her bonnet. “The guards are gone,” she said.

“Maurice has stepped out.”

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know, Esi,” Fiona responded distractedly.

Fiona eased onto the barstool with care. This was a poor choice of seat. Her sister’s mouth opened, then snapped shut.

Esi pulled Maurice’s ridiculous velvet smoking jacket closed on Fiona. “You never came back downstairs last night.”

I…lost track of time.” Fiona shook her head, trying to get back to her research.

Esi considered that. “How did we get like this? That we lie to each other? You’re in love with him. Which is probably fun, but ultimately stupid.”

“Esi, you have made your opinion of Maurice very clear. And some of your points are very right. He curses and drinks, his sisters are a handful, and he overidentifies with Inuyasha. He’s not innocent, Esi. But I want him.”

“Look, contrary to what you might think, I don’t dislike Maurice. But you should have seen the gleam in his eye when he recognized Dad on that tape, Fiona.”

She grabbed Fiona’s shoulders, like she really needed her to know this.

“He didn’t care about us, didn’t care about anything but putting Dad in prison.

And now there are no bouncers at the door.

I want to hold your hand as I ask this.” Esi only touched her hand, though.

“What do you think you get if you do all of this? A hard launch on Insta?” She moved close to Fiona’s ear.

“I see you wincing when you sit. I see he got what he wanted. Can we just leave it at that? We don’t have to report the insulin.

It’s old man plus party drugs right now, and that’s what it can stay. No one has to go to jail for murder.”

“You and Dad agreed to this?”

“Of course Dad wouldn’t agree to this. You know it’s his greatest dream to die on the cross. Which is why we need to take the choice from him.”

Esi pulled Fiona’s lips closed with her thumb and forefinger as she heard their father’s slow shuffle up the stairs.

Kofi looked between the two of them.

“The sad state of us,” he murmured.

“Dad, do you want egg and pepper?” Fiona asked.

He looked at her like she was a fool to ask.

When Fiona got up too slowly, it was her father who held her arm.

“Are you hurt?” His genuine concern made her feel guilty instead of protected.

Esi snorted under her breath.

Maurice’s mouth and hands flashed in front of Fiona’s eyes.

Are you hurt?

“No, Dad. Thank you. If you’re not going to eat, I need to get back to work.”

Her father looked overwhelmed by the stack of papers. “What are we looking for?”

We .

Esi flashed her a tight look.

It’s old man plus party drugs right now, and that’s what it can stay , she’d said.

“Dad, you don’t—” Esi started, trying for reason. “We could leave this mess behind. The insulin trick? It’s clean. The self-inflicted overdose would save you, Fiona too.”

“Esi.” Kofi sighed. “We do not leave messes behind in this family. Eh? Party drugs? You want no one to know what that man did to my son? My own blood?” He slapped his hand down on the table, and the sound seemed to shake the room.

By the time Kofi was talking only in questions, he was past reasoning.

“I only agreed to Sara’s plan because she would ruin him—out his misdeeds for the world to see.

I will not go quietly. I want his son’s sons to know it was me. ”

Fiona’s heart sped up a little.

“What else did Sara have in that manuscript?” she asked, barely a whisper. “Did she have proof of what Robert did?”

Kofi nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. “She did. In little folders, neat as a pin,” he said. “Kept them on her phone, always on her, like a talisman.”

Fiona leaned forward, the seed of an idea taking root. “We cloned files from her phone,” she said, her words rushing out. “There might be something in there.”

At this, Kofi straightened. “Then let me gather that information for you,” he said. “I may not wear a leather jacket—”

“Dad,” Fiona began, but Kofi silenced her with a raised hand.

“But I can build a case. I will put together a document that proves what Robert did to my son. Everyone must know. And I am prepared,” he said. He looked from Esi to Fiona, his gaze sharp enough to cut. “I have always been prepared to give my life for it.”

“But listen. We don’t know Maurice—” Esi started, but Kofi cut her off with a slow shake of his head.

“Esi, my daughter, this is not about that boy. The truth is what I will deliver. Robert did not die of party drugs. It was premeditated justice,” he said. “And this is the only statement I will give at your hearing, Fiona.”

Fiona felt a lump rise in her throat. “Dad—”

“I have decided,” he said. It was firm and final.

Fiona felt the weight of his resolve heavy on her shoulders. She pulled her laptop open, and her fingers trembled over the keys.

“So, I have three days,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Three days wasn’t much time. But it had to be enough.

She was going to pay Mark a visit first. But he was careful online, even guarded about the things he posted. She dug deeper, taking coffee breaks until the sun dipped low into the sky and her hands shook.

Her breakthrough came unexpectedly—a listing on Facebook Marketplace where he was selling some electronics. She scanned the details. This was her chance.

She leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers against the edge of the keyboard—a habit Maurice had somehow rubbed off on her. She had a location and a time that Mark would definitely be at home.

Fiona closed the laptop with a snap, the sound startling in the quiet room. “I have to talk to him.”

“Fiona, where are you going?” Esi asked.

Fiona didn’t answer. If they knew, they would stop her.

—

Maurice slid into Tony’s passenger seat and was surprised that it felt like it had always felt. Like no time had passed. His text to his sister was short:

Send food + Fiona’s clothes to condo. Will explain later.

Maurice didn’t know exactly what was going on, but his Hell or Jail Detector was popping off right now.

Tony didn’t start the engine right away.

He just sat there, like he wanted to say something but didn’t want to be the first to say it.

Maurice’s body was still thrumming from the night before, from Fiona, from the way Fiona had let him worship her, drink from her.

He had woken up wanting it all over again.

Instead, he was here. In this car. With him.

Tony exhaled sharply, one hand still drumming against the wheel. “What the hell are you mixed up in, man?”

Maurice didn’t answer. His eyes flicked toward the rearview mirror, where a sleek black car was parked across the street from his house, its windows too dark. Another sat at the corner. Different makes. Same quiet menace.

Maurice’s ears pulled back like a Doberman. “Who the hell are these clowns?”

Tony followed his gaze and let out a humorless chuckle. “You see it too. Good. I was hoping you weren’t so far up your own ass you missed it.”

Maurice let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s roll and see if they follow us.” He slapped the dashboard. “What do you want, Tony?”

Tony started the car, easing them onto the road like they had all the time in the world.

Maurice watched the rearview mirror as the cars pulled out a little after them. Good, I can draw them away from my house.

“Look,” Tony said, “if you can’t tell by this amateur tail job, you’ve pissed off some real movers.

” He shot Maurice a sidelong glance. “I got a network waking up, people trying to figure out what the hell you’re into.

And I think—” He made a sharp turn, and Maurice caught the way his grip tightened on the wheel.

The way he checked the mirrors for the black cars.

“I think you got that big-ass church scared.”

They pulled up to Kofi’s home in Riverdale, the glow of police lights flickering against the porch, and Maurice felt the sickly churn of dread settle deep in his gut.

Two cruisers idled outside. He didn’t wait for Tony to cut the engine before he was out of the car, striding toward the front door.

The light-up Jesus was toppled and cracked.

“What happened here?” Maurice wasn’t really asking Tony.

Inside, it was a war zone.

The house had been turned inside out. Cabinets flung open, drawers yanked from their slots. No shattered windows, no valuables missing. The TV was still mounted.

Maurice swept the space, his mind slotting pieces together, cataloging the damage. Someone had sprayed the walls in the same color paint as Fiona’s suite.

Heretic

Den of Jezebels and Sodomites

Maurice snapped a photo. It wasn’t a robbery. It looked like someone wanted to send a message.

The books were all ripped up. The religious ones. The Bible, Kofi’s dog-eared study guides, the old hymnals that hadn’t been cracked open in years—all gone. Not stolen. Removed.

Maurice turned to Tony, voice flat. “This was the church.”

Tony blew out a breath, stepping carefully over the wreckage, the sole of his shoe crunching against broken glass. He lifted a picture frame, the photo of Fiona’s father removed, the empty backing staring up at him like a missing tooth. “Seems that way.”

Maurice felt something cold settle in his chest.

He pulled out his phone, thumbs flying over the screen as he logged into Reddit. Fiona would be proud.

He tapped in ABBEY + intimidation tactics? + harassment .

The search results came in quicker than expected.

Some were vague, some with details that made his skin crawl.

“It’s a form of punishment. They don’t rob you, they fuck with you.

” One user claimed they’d come home to find all their personal belongings rearranged like someone had reached into their life and moved things just enough to make them doubt themselves.

“They take what reminds you of who you are. Pictures. Books. Anything that ties you to the past.”

“Look at me.” Tameka slapped the table. The same one he and Fiona sat at. “Look. At. Me. Why have you not gone to the police?” Her shoulders rose and fell. “My brother in Christ, you know what happened to me. And you promised—”

“I know what I promised.” Maurice looked around the room, nodding at the officers.

“Tell your friend.” Tameka pointed at the passing officer.

“That’s not my friend.”

“Oh, because you have your Fiona-shaped body pillow now? You don’t need other people?” She jumped up and down. “Maurice, I can taste the other side. Look at my arms.” She stretched her arms out and pushed them into a wall. “I can’t even hold things anymore.”

“I know we’re close. But I don’ trust…I just don’t want this to fall through the cracks. I want this solid.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” she mumbled, but when he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Tony walked back into the room with one hand on his hips, the other hand dragging over his waves.

He was making a show of looking around. “It’s psychological.

They want you rattled, questioning your own damn reflection.

God, this would be the bust of a century if we pulled these dirty bastards down. What do you think, Bennett?”

Maurice swallowed hard. “Oh no,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

Tony turned to him. “What?”

Maurice exhaled sharply. “I’m not doing your fucking homework, Tony. You’re confused? Stay that way.”

“I was afraid you’d be like this.” Tony sighed then looked around, closing the distance between them.

“Look. Whatever beef we have, I’m not going to let you go out like this.

I could lose my job if anyone finds out I gave you this information, but I know when someone is dropping a false dime. ” He let the implications of that hang.

“Somebody dropped off evidence in the case of Sara Al Haddad,” he said.

That got Maurice’s attention. His head snapped up. “What do they have?”

Tony hesitated. Then his eyes met Maurice’s. “They have you, Maurice. Dead to rights.”