“We’ve hurt each other. We had to.” She paused, and said bitterly, “It’s what your almighty God demands, isn’t it?” Her words were meant to wound, and by his sudden silence she knew they had found their mark. He said nothing as they approached her neighborhood, as he pulled into her driveway and shut off the engine. He sat for a moment, then turned to her.

“You’re right,” he said. “My God demands too damn much.” And he pulled her toward him.

She should have resisted; she should have pushed him away and stepped out of his car. But she didn’t, because for too long she had wanted this embrace, this kiss. And more, much more. This was crazy; this could never turn out right. But neither common sense, nor his God, stood between them now.

Lead us not into temptation. They kissed their way from the car to her front door. Deliver us from evil. Futile words, a mere sand castle standing against the relentless tide. They stepped into the house. She did not turn on the light, and as they stood in the shadowy foyer, the darkness seemed to magnify the harsh sound of their breathing, the rustle of wool. She shed the bloodstained coat and it fell to the floor in a puddle of black. Only the faint glow from the windows lit the hallway. There were no lights to illuminate their sin, no other eyes to witness their fall from grace.

She led the way to the bedroom. To her bed.

For a year they had been circling in this dance, every step inching them to this moment. She knew this man’s heart, and he knew hers, but his flesh was a stranger’s never before touched, never tasted. Her fingers brushed across warm skin and traced down the curve of his spine, all of it new territory that she was hungry to explore.

The last of their clothes slithered off; the last chance to turn back slipped away. “Maura,” he whispered as he pressed kisses to her neck, her breasts. “My Maura.” His words were soft as a prayer, not to his Lord, but to her. She felt no guilt at all as she welcomed him into her arms. It was not her vow that was broken, not her conscience that would suffer. Tonight, God, for this moment, he’s mine, she thought, reveling in her victory as Daniel groaned against her, as she wrapped her legs around him, tormented him, urged him on. I have what you, God, can never give him. I take him from you. I claim him. Go ahead and call in all your demons; I don’t give a damn.

Tonight, neither did Daniel.

When at last their bodies found release, he collapsed into her arms. For a long time they lay silent. By the light through her windows she could see the faint gleam of his eyes, staring at the darkness. Not asleep, but thinking. Perhaps regretting. As the moments passed, she could stand the silence no longer.

“Are you sorry?” she finally asked.

“No,” he whispered. His fingers slid along her arm.

“Why am I not convinced?”

“Do you need to be?”

“I want you to be glad. What we did is natural. It’s human.” She paused and said with a sigh, “But maybe that’s just a poor excuse for sin.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking about at all.”

“What are you thinking?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his breath warming her hair. “I’m thinking about what happens next.”

“What do you want to happen?”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You don’t have to. It’s your choice.”

“My choice,” he said softly. “It’s like having to choose between breathing in and breathing out.” He rolled onto his back. For a moment, he was silent. “I think I told you, once,” he said, “how I came to take my vows.”

“You said your sister was dying. Leukemia.”

“And I made a bargain. A deal with God. He delivered, and Sophie’s alive now. I kept my side of the bargain as well.”

“You were only fourteen. That’s too young to promise away the rest of your life.”

“But I did make that promise. And I can do so much good in His name, Maura. I’ve been happy, keeping that promise.”

“And then you met me.”

He sighed. “And then I met you.”

“You do have to choose, Daniel.”

“Or you’ll walk out of my life. I know.”

“I don’t want to.”

He looked at her. “Then don’t, Maura! Please. These past few months without you, I’ve been lost in the wilderness. I felt so guilty, wanting you. But you were all I thought about.”

“So where does this leave me, if I stay in your life? You get to keep your church, but what do I get to have?” She stared up at the darkness. “Nothing has really changed, has it?”

“Everything has changed.” He reached for her hand. “I love you.”

But not enough. Not as much as you love your God.

Yet she let him pull her into his arms again. She met his kisses with her own. This time their lovemaking was not a tender joining; this coupling was fierce, bodies colliding. Not love, but punishment. Tonight they’d use each other. If she couldn’t have love, then lust it would be. Give him something to remember that would haunt him on those nights when God was not enough. This is what you’ll give up when you leave me. This is the Heaven you’ll walk away from.

Before dawn, he did walk away. She felt him stir awake beside her, then slowly sit up on the side of the bed and begin to dress. But of course; it was Sunday morning, and the flock must be tended to.

He bent to kiss her hair. “I have to leave,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I love you, Maura. I never thought I’d say that to a woman. But I’m saying it now.” He stroked her face and she turned away, so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.

“Let me make you coffee,” she said, starting to sit up.

“No, you stay warm in bed. I’ll find my own way out.” Another kiss, and he rose to his feet. She heard him walk down the hall, and the front door closed.

So it had finally happened. She’d become just another cliché. Eve with her apple. The temptress luring a holy man to sin. This time, the snake that seduced them was not Satan, but their own lonely hearts. You want to find the Devil, Mr. Sansone. Just take a look at me.

Take a look at any one of us.

Outside the sky slowly lightened to a cold, bright dawn. She pushed aside sheets, and the scent of their lovemaking rose from the warm linen: the heady scent of sin. She did not shower it off, but simply pulled on a robe, stepped into slippers, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Standing at the sink, filling the carafe, she gazed out at clematis vines crystallized in ice, at rhododendrons huddling with leaves crumpled, and did not need to look at a thermometer to know that today the cold would be brutal. She imagined Daniel’s parishioners hugging their coats as they stepped from their cars and walked toward the church of Our Lady of Divine Light, braving this Sunday chill for the uplifting words of Father Brophy. And what would he say to them this morning? Would he confess to his flock that even he, their shepherd, had lost his way?

She started the coffeemaker and went to the front door for her newspaper. Stepping outside, she was stunned by the cold. It burned her throat, stung her nostrils. She wasted no time retrieving the newspaper, which had landed on the front walkway, then turned and scurried back up the porch steps. She was just reaching for the doorknob when she suddenly froze, her gaze fixed on the door.

On the words, the symbols, scrawled there.

She spun around, frantically scanning the street. She saw sunshine glinting off icy pavement, heard only the silence of a Sunday morning.

She scrambled into the house, slammed the door shut, and rammed the dead bolt home. Then she ran for the phone and called Jane Rizzoli.