Page 42
I’m a good leader.
Chapter 20
Brioni
I’m giddy with excitement when I get home from the range. I hit all 10s three clips in a row, and Cora declared she had nothing more to teach me.
Liam isn’t home. I know it’s selfish to feel disappointment, but the sensation fills me all the same. He’s out doing important work for the good of the family and all the people he leads. The least I can do is get used to his odd hours.
He doesn’t come home until after I’m asleep, and by the time I wake up, he’s gone. I only know he’s been here because he readied my breakfast ingredients on the counter. Oats, blueberries, and a small container of brown sugar, plus a single bowl and spoon. I smile, but my heart still feels heavy to find him gone.
As Gus drives me to the shop, I have to work up the courage to turn on my phone. It’s the thought that Liam might’ve texted that finally gets me to do it. When my standard unlock screen appears, I let out a gust of breath.
The morning after our engagement celebration, I’d woken up to another of Harrison’s messages on my frozen phone.
Great party.
Those two words threatened to taint our wonderful night, and I couldn’t let that happen. I escaped to the bathroom to get my thoughts straight. What Liam and I shared was beautiful, and I refused to let Harrison’s threats ruin my memories of that night.
I remind myself they’re empty threats. Chewing my lip, I sit at my sewing machine and convince myself I’m being paranoid. My needle whirs, the noise blending into the upbeat background music of the shop. Harrison hacking my phone isn’t a threat to my physical safety. And I’m still not one hundred percent certain I actually saw him that night I sprinted to the pub.
If he’s still in Silicon Valley, which he is, then he can’t hurt me, only scare me. And only if I allow myself to be scared. I take a deep breath as I feed more fabric beneath my needle. Honestly, it’s silly to be afraid of my own phone. I’m acting like one of those little old ladies from church, the ones who keep their Jitterbugs in a specially lined pouch so the government can’t spy on them.
My foot slips off the pedal, and my sewing machine stops. Using one of those pouches might not be a bad idea. It’d be much more convenient than having to turn my phone off and on all the time. And I know exactly where Estelle keeps her stash of specially lined pouches, ready to hand out every Sunday to anyone who asks.
I’m not going to wait until Sunday.
Estelle likes to think of herself as my boss at the church. She’s decades older than me, which she reminds me at every opportunity. Her lifetime of experience is why she gets to lead the true Sunday school lessons, while I’m only in charge of Friday night youth group.
I don’t feel like waiting until Friday night, either. I resume my sewing, having made up my mind. I’m going to the church tonight, and I’m going to take one of those phone pouches for myself.
Gus doesn’t like the change in plan when I tell him about it after work. I reassure him that it’ll only be a quick stop at the church before going back to the high-rise, but he makes his grumpiness known before agreeing.
It’s after dark, so I sense rather than see his grimace in the rearview mirror. As he pulls the bulletproof town car off of the curb, I discreetly double-check my gun in the backseat. Cora gave me a leather handbag designed for concealed carry, and it’s surprisingly stylish: a crossbody bag with exquisite stitching.
My scalp prickles.
I glance up from my purse, silently panicking as I scan the dark street. It appears empty, but that prickle tells me that Harrison’s nearby. Try as I might, I can’t convince myself he’s in California right now. Some of the shops surrounding the tailor’s are still open, and Harrison could be hiding in any one of them. Watching me. I swivel around to see all that I can, but there’s no verifiable sign of him.
My guard glances at me in the rearview.
“Something I should know about.” Gus doesn’t ask it as a question. The suspicion in his voice tells me he’s ready to call off our detour to the church.
“No.” The lie gnaws at me so badly I wonder if Father Naughton would be available to hear my confession tonight.
I can’t tell Gus about my fear. It’s just a scalp prickle, a sensation based on zero evidence. Besides, Gus has definitely been ordered to update Liam with constant reports. If I told him that Harrison’s still physically stalking me, it would result in Liam dropping all of his responsibilities to guard the shop himself again. He already has enough on his shoulders.
What he needs is a fiancée who can share his burdens, not add to them.
Gus escorts me to the side door of the church, then tells me he’ll walk the perimeter while I’m inside. With my paranoia out of control, I tiptoe through the darkened church, making my way to the basement.
Estelle’s office is next to the youth group room, and her door’s open a crack, with light spilling out into the hallway. When I see it, I freeze. I get ready to abandon my foolish quest for a phone pouch that probably won’t achieve anything against Harrison. Especially not if there’s a chance he’s so physically close.
But then I hear voices. They’re passionate voices, one male and one female, in a heated debate about something. The female voice is Estelle’s, and a moment later, I recognize the other as Father Naughton’s.
“It isn’t right,” he says. It’s one of his most frequently used phrases. Lately, he’s been repeating it whenever he discusses the latest actions of Father Ryan, the priest who’s slated to be his replacement when he retires. The way Father Ryan dresses casually for Saturday activities, it isn’t right. The way he inserts humor in his sermons, the way he holds the chalice or swings the incense—nothing Father Ryan does is right.
But tonight, Father Naughton clearly isn’t talking about the assisting priest. When he says it isn’t right, his words aren’t choked with anger, but guilt.
