BY THE TIME THEY REACHED Rocky Fork, Jess was ready to collapse with exhaustion and cold. Her arm throbbed with every beat of her heart. Next to her, holding Nicolas, Madrid looked neither cold nor tired. The one thing she didn’t miss was the wariness in his eyes and the fact that he looked over his shoulder every couple of minutes. It was enough to keep her going.
“You think they’ll be back?” she asked.
“I think it’s only a matter of time.” He motioned toward an old stone church and they took the cobblestone walkway toward the rear.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“I know a guy” was all he said.
At the rear of the building Madrid shoved open a heavy wood door and held it for Jess. She stepped inside.
The interior of the old church was dimly lit, but warm. Scents of incense and candle wax floated in the air. Beyond the small nave and old-fashioned pews stood the altar, framed by stained glass windows that rose twenty feet into the air.
“Welcome to St. Augustine. May I help you?”
Jess spun to see a tall man approach. The darkness of his hair and eyes was echoed in his slacks and jacket. She never would have pegged him as a priest, but the collar gave him away.
His friendly smile faded when he spotted Madrid, and for a moment the two men looked very much alike.
“Surprised to see me?” Madrid asked.
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” said the priest.
“It hasn’t been easy.” Madrid extended his hand. “I need your help.”
“Of course you do.” But the other man accepted the handshake. “That’s the only time I see you. When you need something or when you’re bleeding.”
“This time it’s not about me.”
The priest’s eyes flicked to Jess, then to Nicolas. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”
“I’ll fill you in later.” Madrid turned to Jess. “Matt, this is Jessica Atwood. Jess, this is my brother, Father Matthew Madrid.”
For a moment Jess was so shocked she couldn’t speak. Of all the things she’d expected, this was not it. Trying to hide her surprise, she extended her hand. “Hello.”
The other man took it, squeezed it. He had the warmest, most open smile of any man she’d ever met. “Welcome to St. Augustine.” Father Matthew motioned toward Nicolas. “And the boy?”
“Angela’s.”
“Ah. How is she?”
Madrid’s face darkened. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Father Matthew looked taken aback. “How—”
“Is there some place we can talk? Get dry?” Madrid glanced toward the door, a motion that was not lost on his brother.
The priest hesitated.
“Please.” Jess reached out and touched the priest’s arm. “Nicolas needs dry clothes and something to eat.”
“Of course.” Father Matthew motioned toward a door to the right of the chancel rail. “There’s an old rectory that’s not being used.”
He led them through a courtyard to a quaint stucco building not much bigger than a single-car garage. The combined living room and kitchen had old, but functional furniture and the place smelled of dust and air freshener, but it was warm and dry and at the moment Jess couldn’t think of any place more inviting.
“There are towels in the hall closet,” Father Matthew said. “Blankets on the bed. Extras in the closet.”
“Thank you,” Jess said.
Father Matthew smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Madrid crossed to him and shoved several bills into his hand. “Can you get us some food?”
The two brothers’ eyes met. “You owe me an explanation.”
“You’ll get it.”
“I know what kind of lifestyle you lead, Mike. I’m not condemning it, but there are women and children here. I don’t want them in danger.”
“No one knows we’re here.” He grimaced. “We won’t stay long.”
Father Matthew’s eyes went to Jess, and he nodded solemnly. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and let himself out.
JESS FELT ALMOST HUMAN after a hot shower. After re-bandaging her arm, which looked much better thanks to Angela’s antibiotics, she emerged to find that Madrid had washed their clothes. Afterward, she bathed Nicolas, and then the three of them sat at the small kitchen table and feasted on the hot soup and sandwiches Father Matthew had brought them.
“We need to talk.”
Jess was sitting next to Nicolas, watching him play with a toy truck Father Matthew had brought him, when Madrid’s voice came at her from behind. Giving the boy a kiss on top of his head, she rose and turned to Madrid. He seemed incredibly tall, and she resisted the urge to look away as his dark eyes searched hers. “All right,” she said.
He motioned to the kitchen table where two cups of coffee sat steaming. “It’s instant.”
“As long as it’s hot.” She took a final look at Nicolas, then walked to the table and sat. “It was nice of your brother to take us in.”
Madrid smiled. “He got the good genes.”