“Only what is necessary to successfully complete the assignment, nothing more, ma’am. And nothing of a personal nature,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Wyatt.”

“It’s not my place, ma’am.”

I nodded and fidgeted a bit, uncomfortable about the heavy silence. “Well,” I said, clearing the air. “I have an appointment I can’t miss.”

“Right,” he replied, escorting me up the block and back to the gas station. As if he knew precisely what he was looking for, he lowered himself to the ground and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, shining it on the undercarriage of the SUV. “Just as I expected,” he commented, reaching underneath the car. After a few seconds, he raised himself.

“What is it?” I asked.

“GPS tracker,” he said. “Government-issue, too. Identical to the one I pulled off your convertible this morning. It looks like our friend stuck it beneath Mr. Weller’s car so he could track your whereabouts.”

“Government-issue?” I asked. I didn’t know what was worse…an unknown entity keeping tabs on me or a federal agent. “Why didn’t you remove it?”

“Because if I keep the tracker on, I can lead him straight to me and find out who he is and what he wants.”

“Do you think he’s looking for my father, too?”

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it? Give me your keys. We’re switching cars,” he said, tossing his keys at me. I reached into my purse and handed him the keys to Brayden’s SUV. “You go do what you need to do, but I will check in every hour. Understand?”

A million thoughts circling in my head about who the man in the sedan could possibly be, I remained in a daze as Wyatt walked me to his car and helped me into the driver’s seat. With each day that went by, my life was spiraling more and more out of control, ghosts of my past resurfacing. I feared it would only be a matter of time before it all came crumbling down on top of me.

Mackenzie

THE SUN WAS SWELTERING when I stepped out of the car several hours later and made my way across the church parking lot, past the main building, and proceeded up the familiar path to the rectory. It had to be over a hundred degrees, the white material of my dress sticking to my skin.

As I approached, I tried to suppress my urge to turn around. I was apprehensive about seeing my father for the first time in over four months. So much had happened, I didn’t even know where to start. Between the drama with Charlie, Tyler’s deception, and the pregnancy, I had no idea how he was going to react. I prayed he would offer me some sort of guidance about what to do, like my mother would have if she were still alive.

I knocked on the door, fanning myself. It was nearly five in the evening, but the rays of the sun were strong and practically unbearable. The door opened and I felt a momentary relief when a rush of cool air escaped the house. I expected a nun to answer, as was normally the case. Instead, I stared into Father Slattery’s tired eyes.

“Good evening, Mackenzie.”

“Father Slattery,” I said, nodding.

He surveyed my appearance, his eyes settling on my stomach. Taking a timid step backwards, I pulled at the hem of my dress and stared at my feet. I didn’t know what to say. I thought about defending myself, but didn’t the church teach forgiveness, not judgment? I couldn’t really remember anymore.

“When’s the last time you went to confession, Mackenzie?” he asked in the same pacifying voice that calmed me when I was younger.

“It’s been a while, Father.” I shuffled my feet, staring off into the distance, feeling ashamed.

“I suspected as much. Please, come in.”

I shot my eyes to him. “But the mass for my mother… I need to–”

“Some things are more important and can’t be handled during a mass,” he interrupted, almost trying to tell me something with the way he stared at me, his gaze narrowed. “Please, Mackenzie. Come in.” For the first time in nearly fifteen years, I cautiously stepped foot in the rectory.

Being back here made my skin crawl with the memories I had struggled to forget over the years. It looked just as it did during the period of time my mother and I lived in a cramped room. Removed from the only life I had known. Forced into hiding. And why? I still had no definitive answers, only speculation.

“This way, child,” Father Slattery instructed, heading down a long, dark hallway and stopping outside a large cherry wood door. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a key and unlocked it, pushing it open.

I stepped into a spacious, dimly lit office, the smell of old books and wood finding its way to my senses. The walls were lined with shelves containing hundreds of hardbound books. In the center of the room sat a large desk, and several chairs were strewn throughout. The windows were covered with blackout curtains, although one was pulled back slightly, allowing a sliver of sunlight to filter into the room. Dust particles danced in the air and I smiled as a memory rushed forward.

“What are those, Daddy?” I had asked my father when I couldn’t have been more than three or four.

“Those are angels, mi bichito. They’re just here to check on you.”

I still thought of my father and angels whenever I saw dust particles being illuminated by sunlight.

The sound of the door shutting startled me and I jumped, spinning around to see that Father Slattery was no longer behind me, as I expected him to be. The door knob began to jiggle and I heard the click of a lock.

My heart began racing. I had never questioned Father Slattery’s intentions before. He was the one who helped us escape North Carolina, after all. He put his reputation on the line and hid us in this very house for nearly two years. Now I wondered if there was more to it than that.

“Serafina,” a voice cracked and I whirled around, my eyes falling on a familiar silhouette sitting in a reading chair by one of the large windows. Confused, I glanced over my shoulder at the locked door. “Please, come sit. There’s much to discuss.”

I remained speechless, my voice nowhere to be found. Eyeing him guardedly, I hesitantly put one foot in front of the other and sat in the reading chair opposite him, noticing a tray of cheese and crackers set out on a table between us.

“I’d ask if you’d like some wine,” he said in the husky voice that once lulled me to sleep, “but I suppose that question is not quite appropriate, is it?”

I looked up, almost expecting to see a disappointed look on my father’s time-worn face, but that wasn’t the case at all. He actually looked genuinely happy, perhaps even proud of the woman I had become. For years, the only conversations I’d had with this man were when he’d sit behind me in church, not face-to-face, for fear someone would put the pieces together of who we both truly were. Now that we were in the same room and looking into each other’s eyes, I didn’t want this moment to end.

 My eyes scanned my father, trying to imprint everything about him to memory. His face showed signs of his age. His brilliant blue eyes no longer exuded the vitality I remembered growing up. Scars still covered the entire left side of his body, reminding me of the purpose of this visit. I wanted to know precisely how he1` got those burn marks, and whether his side of the story corroborated Charlie’s.

“I see you got my letter.” He poured wine into one glass and water into another. “I’m sure you have a thousand questions.”

“I–”

“But,” he interrupted, “this works both ways. Full disclosure from this moment forward. I will tell you everything, Serafina. However, I expect reciprocity from you. I want you to understand where I’m coming from and why things have to be the way they are. But I need to know exactly what’s going on in your life. I need to know you’re okay, that you’ll be okay knowing the truth.”