Chapter Nine
Waves crashed against the shore with unrelenting fury. Inside Lassi’s mind and body, waves of confusion crashed even harder. For a second, she glared at Cillian. He knows more than he’s letting on.
“We’re got to go. It isn’t safe,” he said, once more reaching for her hand.
“You got that right.” She whirled away from Cillian, trying to right her chaotic emotions. Her eyes flicked to the vandalized grave. Who would do such a thing? “If you’re out there, show yourself,” she called in the direction of the snapping branch.
“Lassi, no!” Cillian scrubbed his cheeks, his temples, and his forehead with his palms like he might tear his sins free and start over with a new face.
“Hey,” she said, staring at him, puzzlement drawing her face into a frown.
He stopped his furious gestures and raked his hands through his thick hair. His eyes flashed with something like torment. He puffed his cheeks with air and slowly blew it out. “What?”
His alarming expression reminded her of her stint in the emergency room, when victims were brought in for treatment from a car accident and all their family members had died in the wreck. Invariably, they’d want to join their dearly departed.
“What’s going on? Why did you bring me here? Dylan’s been murdered. Isn’t that more important than a ravaged grave?” She indicated the hole. “Or, are you thinking there’s a connection?” She used her best, no-nonsense, soothing voice—the kind reserved for mothers about to push a baby from their loins.
His mouth fell open as if he were going to say something. Dark clouds of emotion flitted across his face, draining the color from his cheeks.
Lassi took a step back, wondering if a tongue lashing was about to come her way. She’d never been scolded by a priest, even an extremely hot priest who made her panties wet from a flame-worthy kiss.
His chest rose and fell. A neutral expression gradually replaced the stormy one. “It’s hard to say whether the two are connected, but maybe. And if you don’t start listening to me, you might be in danger.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Sirens caught her attention. She twisted her head to look behind her.
Up the hill, heading toward Ballynagaul, two out-of-town Garda vehicles whizzed by.
“That would be Dungarvan Garda, don’t you think? Lassi peered in the direction the cars had zoomed past.
Cillian clutched the cross hanging from his neck. “Yes.”
For a second, a laugh bubbled in her throat. “You’re not thinking of breaking that chain, are you, Father?” She smiled. “I don’t think it will help matters. It’s going to take more than a few ‘Hail, Mary’s’ to absolve yourself of kissing me. And, for you to get off the hook for accusing me of digging up a grave.”
He uncurled his fingers from the gold cross and stared at his palm. “No, I guess it will take more than that.”
He lowered his arm. His attention turned toward the town. A frown pulled at his face as if that Bally gravity tug was having its way with him.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. But, I think we might want to tell them about the dug up grave, don’t you think? There might be evidence which will help the case.” She pivoted on her heel, ready to march into town.
Cillian lunged, stumbled, and caught her arm. “No!” he practically shouted. “We can’t tell them anything about this. No one can find out.”
She stared down at his knuckles gripping her biceps. Peeling his fingers free, she said, “Pull yourself together, Father. There’s been a murder and a vandalized grave. The Garda need to investigate. That’s what the Garda does.”
He edged himself directly in front of her and rested his furnace-worthy hot hands on her shoulders.
She stared at one of his hands before meeting his gaze. This guy rocks some serious heat. She curled her fingers into fists to keep from wrapping them around his hips.
“Look,” he said, his eyebrows stitched together in concern. “You’ve got to trust me. You don’t live here.”
A laugh escaped her throat. “You got that right. Nor do I wish to. I can’t wait to get back to Dublin.” She drew her arms behind her back. It felt weird to have him so close, his hands at her shoulders, and not reciprocate with her own touch. But, she didn’t want to tempt the devil, or add to the wing already reserved for her in hell.
Cillian withdrew from her, as if sensing her discomfort. “Bally is filled with superstition. Let me deal with it. I’ve lived here a long time.”
“You’re not that old, Father.” She chuckled again.
All kinds of warring emotions fluttered across his face.
This guy’s sure complex. She waited for him to regain his composure. Her gaze tracked from the grave, to the town, and back to Cillian. “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Father, but it sure seems there’s more here than meets the eye. And, honestly, all I want to do is get back to Dublin. So, I’ll keep your secrets until further notice even though I’m confused about everything.”
His shoulders relaxed and his gaze softened. “Thank you.”
“Can we at least head back? I’m getting cold. Bally is a fecking nightmare when it comes to weather. It’s bloody July, for God’s sake.” Her attention flitted to the heavy clouds and howling wind. She pulled her coat tight.
“Of course. I wasn’t thinking. Come.” He put his arm around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I’d sure like to.” She snuggled into him, grateful for his warmth.
His cheeks grew the color of a bad sunburn at her inappropriate joke.
“Sorry, I was...” She shook her head, the heat of her cheeks no doubt matching his.
They strode toward town as one confused, throbbing body, their steps were in perfect sync with one another. Their boots kicked aside leaves and squished through mud.
Lassi glanced up at him.
He kept his attention focused on the path ahead, a stony expression fixed in place. He feels what I feel—desire, more potent than a night of pints and whiskey. A quick flick of her gaze to his hips proved her right. There, in the middle of his slim fit black trousers, pushed a straining-to-get-free bulge.
How long must it have been since he released his urges? Since he was a teen? She licked her lips. The space between her legs throbbed with longing. She may as well have held a checkered flag to wave him past the finish line into her “pit stop.” Mentally, she smiled at the image. He’s not the first priest to question celibacy. Or, accidentally act on it. Remembering the parish priest in her neighborhood in Dublin whose “housekeeper” was basically his wife in all but name, she frowned. That man tried to keep it all a secret but everyone knew. She pictured herself pretending to tend house for Father Ward—which would never happen in a million years since I barely keep my own house clean—while she enjoyed life as his clandestine consort. I can see it. Him pounding into me with his tight ass and muscles. Oh, I want to do more than see it. A smile curved along her face.
“A penny for your thoughts, Miss Finn.”
“What?” She blinked up at him.
He studied her intently, with his piercing green-eyed gaze, his face framed by stormy skies. His dark brown locks swirled around his head, tossed by the frenetic wind.
Her cheeks grew hot, despite the frigid air surrounding her. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“It sure looked like something.” He cocked his head and quirked his mouth into a half-smile. “But, from the pink of your cheeks, it’s best you keep whatever you are thinking to yourself.” His attention diverted toward the village. “And I’d best practice a modicum of decorum.” He removed his arm from her shoulders.
The warmth from being close to him was quickly replaced by the nip of the biting wind. She hugged herself. “Yes, put on your best grave face.” Her cheeks grew hotter. “I mean, serious face. Never mind.”
She hurried ahead of him.
Twenty minutes later, they approached the crime scene, her in the lead. Siobhan was nowhere to be seen. A few villagers lingered on the sidewalk in front of the house, no doubt finding this gruesome occasion the highlight of their existence.
They hushed and turned in unison at the squeaking wheels of the gurney, which carried a sheet-covered body. The Medical Examiner, cloaked from head to toe in protective blue gear, pushed it. Two uniformed Garda strode behind, their faces grim.
Garda Galbraith shuffled behind the other Garda.
Lassi paused.
Cillian stopped next to her, keeping at least a meter of space between them.
“There you are,” Garda Galbraith said, stepping past the gurney.
“Here I am,” she said with a shrug. “Any clues yet?”
He released his hand from the steel edge and held it up to stop the procession. His breathing was labored, like he’d hiked the Wicklow mountains. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his sweaty brow. “Where did you go? I told you I needed you for questioning.”
“For what? I didn’t do anything.” Her chest jutted at him, like she was itching for a fight.
“Lassi.” Cillian’s hand landed on her arm. “She was clearly upset by the sight of poor Dylan,” he said to Galbraith. “You saw her. She was in such a panic I had to walk with her to get her to calm down.”
It took everything she had not to snort and roll her eyes at the utterly ridiculous and unbelievable excuse. I’m a nurse. I deal with blood, guts, gore, and screaming women daily. But when she pictured the horrid image of Dylan holding his own tongue, she blanched and shook free of his grip.
“That’s right, Galbraith. My heart was fluttering so.” She made small taps on her breastbone. “Like a scared rabbit, I was. The good Father ushered me away from here so I could get a hold of myself.” And then he plundered me with his sexy mouth and ground his priestly man-meat into my belly.
Galbraith eyed her. Then he eyed Father Ward.
One of the other Garda said, “Galbraith, let’s get this body loaded up and headed for the morgue. There are investigations to be had and an autopsy to perform.”
“Right,” he said, his stony gray eyes pointed back in her direction. “Don’t you be going anywhere, Miss Finn. We may need you for...”
The chill of fear washed through her. Lassi’s eyes widened. “For?”
“Questioning.” Garda Galbraith puffed out his chest.
“Oh, come on!” She threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous! You know I’m innocent. You’ve got it all wrong. I’ve been too busy with my great-aunt’s place to even think of doing something so... so...” She shuddered.
Galbraith pinned his sharp-edged gaze on her. “All I’m saying is…stay put.”
Anger exploded in her belly. “You know I didn’t do it. I’m innocent!” She gestured wildly, her hands flying. “And if you’re implying I can’t move freely around this fecking village, you’re mistaken.”
“You’re a person of interest, that’s all I’m at liberty to say. Don’t leave the village.”
“Galbraith! Get over here,” the medical examiner snapped.
When Galbraith trundled out of sight, she hissed to Cillian. “This sucks. This whole thing. I should never have come to Bally.” She pulled a handful of her hair. “And, it’s a bloody good thing we’re both innocent, because you’re the most shite liar I’ve ever heard. Me, panic? I’d have been booted out of nursing school.”
“I’ll work on it.” He skewered her with his gaze.
“What, lying? First, you kiss me and now you want to lie? How is that representative of the cloth?” Her hands flew to her hips.
He brought his finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. “The villagers are terrible gossips. Keep your voice down.” His eyes slid to the small group, a few yards away. When his attention was back on her, he said, loudly, “You poor thing. I think you need to be getting home to rest. This has been a shock for you.”
She rolled her eyes.
Galbraith, standing near the medic van, called, “Father Ward. Miss Finn.”
Lassi stalked toward him, heedless of whether Cillian would follow. This whole day has turned into monkey balls.
“These two are the Garda inspectors from Dungarvan. This is Moira Brown and Ryan Conway.”
Lassi shook their hands, giving them a clinical once over.
Plump Moira, with her iron-gray hair and disapproving-face, looked like the one to watch out for.
Ryan was a young, skinny, ferret-faced fellow with oily hair and beady eyes. He seemed like the lesser evil.
“I’ll do whatever I can to assist you in your investigation,” Lassi said, a tone of defiance leaking through her words.
“Thank you,” Ryan said. “We’ll let you know if we need to talk with you.” He nodded and turned toward the other Garda.
This whole experience—being a suspect, the murder, the people, the everything—became too much. A sudden, swirling light-headed sensation overtook her, like she was one heartbeat away from fainting. Fearing she might collapse in a heap, she did the only thing she could think of—she ran.