“Clever,” Christian said.
“Maybe. But maybe it would have been cleverer to finish them off while I had the chance. I somehow doubt she’ll be accepting any more glasses of drugged wine from me.” He rubbed his scalp. He hated rehashing the past. But then it was no longer the past—enough to give anyone a headache.
“Enough of Andarta. Right now, I’m hungry.” He pressed the comm unit on his desk. “Graham, get me the London address of the mother house of the Sisters of…” Shit, he couldn’t remember. “Whatever it was they were sisters of.” He could hear the tap of Graham’s fingers on the keyboard.
“There is no mother house in London,” he said a few seconds later.
“What?”
“The mother house is in Devon.”
“Really?”
“What is it?” Christian asked.
“It appears our little nun was telling a few untruths.”
“Why?”
“How the hell should I know? But I aim to find out. Graham—find her.”
…
By the time Roz reached home, it was after two in the morning. The apartment was quiet and in darkness, but Maria popped her head out of her bedroom as Roz collapsed on the sofa.
“Is everything okay?” Maria asked.
“Fine.” She grinned. “In fact, everything is great.” Though it occurred to her that she was going to have to break the news that she was leaving soon and it was time for Sister Maria to return to the convent. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that.
“You look tired,” Maria said. “Would you like me to make some coffee?”
What she really craved was her bed, but she needed to contact Shera first—set things in motion. And also check the bug. See what was going down at the Order. Whether they had heard about Jessica being found, and whether it mattered to them. “Yeah, I’d love a coffee.”
Grabbing her laptop, she sat cross-legged on the sofa waiting for it to power up. After sending an email to Shera, she opened the program, and a whole load of conversation filled the screen.
She read it quickly, knowing she would go back and read more slowly, but right now, she was fascinated. In the last couple of days, she’d learned more about the supernatural world than in the previous five centuries. But when she got to the mention of Asmodai, she stopped and reread. She could feel her eyes going round in amazement.
Asmodai was Christian Roth’s father-in-law.
The idea was staggering. That meant Asmodai had a daughter? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine it. Did he love her? He had certainly never mentioned her in all the time Roz had known him.
She continued reading. Until she got to the end, and shock closed down her mind for long seconds.
“Holy shit. Bugger. Crap.”
Maria placed a mug of coffee on the table in front of her, and the movement brought Roz back to herself. She blinked and slammed the laptop closed.
“What is it?” Maria asked.
“We have to get out of here.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Nothing…yet. But we have to leave. Now.”
A fist pounded on the door.
Too late.
Roz glanced from Maria to the door, her mind working furiously. What to do? Go hide under the bed and pretend they weren’t here? Or let them in and plead ignorance?
Much as she liked the hiding under the bed option, she wasn’t sure they would take the hint and go away. No, she’d have to call their bluff. She peered down at herself and for the first time ever, wished she were wearing the habit. Did she have time to put it on?
The knock came again, louder. More insistent.
“Just a minute,” she shouted toward the door. “Maria, get in your room and don’t come out unless I say.”
“What is it? Are they back? Is it the man from the convent?”
“No. I think it’s the people we met in London. They’ve probably just got a few more questions for us. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll deal with it.”
Christ, she was a good liar.
But Maria’s face cleared of the panic, and she nodded. As she disappeared into her bedroom, Roz ran for her own, stripping off her clothes as she went. She dragged the dreaded habit out of the bin—again—and tugged it on over her panties and bra—no time for nun-like underwear. They were banging at the door again—no time for the headdress either—but then she wasn’t likely to have been wearing that in bed anyway. This would have to do. She still had her heeled boots on as well, but as long as they didn’t peek under her habit, no one should notice. And no one was going to peek under her habit. Were they?
She ran a hand through her hair and gave herself a quick glance in the mirror on her way out. Shit, she was wearing makeup—what sort of nun wore make-up to bed? Maybe they wouldn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t know anything about nuns. Except Asmodai had said Piers had had a thing for nuns. The pervert.
Taking a deep breath, she walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, Piers had his hand raised to bang again.