No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 23

  At one point, Manuel spoke rapidly, sounding completely shocked. I looked at Slash, but he remained calm and continued to speak. This went on for several minutes where Slash would say something, and Manuel would look more and more in disbelief. I was dying to know what was going on but didn’t want to interrupt.

  Slash finally turned to fill me in. “I asked him if he remembered the baby boy brought in during the great storm.”

  “Did he?”

  “He did, and I told him I was that baby.”

  “And?” My heart skipped a beat.

  “He said I was the reason he left the priesthood.”

  I almost dropped the coffee mug. Luckily I caught it and placed it gingerly on the table. Manuel was watching me curiously. Guess it was his turn to figure out what we were saying. “Why were you the reason he left the priesthood?”

  Slash shrugged. “Apparently he connected with me. Well, with the baby. He said that seeing me for those three days at the church made him realize he didn’t want to be celibate all his life. He wanted children—a wife and a family. So, he returned to Rome and left the priesthood. He married a few years later. After a long time of he and his wife trying to conceive, he discovered he couldn’t have children of his own. His wife didn’t want to adopt, so she divorced him. He’s been alone ever since. He believes this is his penance for betraying God.”

  “Oh, no,” I murmured. Running through my head was the theory of the Butterfly Effect—the concept that the smallest of events can have nonlinear impacts on a complex world. The theory concluded that a butterfly flapping its wings could serve as a part of an interconnected catalyst that could start a typhoon. Slash was the catalyst here. He was born, brought to the church in San Mauro, and so many lives had been affected as a result, mine included.

  “I’m sorry for him. What a painful thing to have endured.” I lowered my eyes to my coffee cup because I didn’t want Manuel to see the pity and sadness in my eyes.

  It was an unfortunate set of circumstances for all of us involved, but especially the two of them. Manuel, because his life had been so dramatically changed by one decision, and for Slash because it meant the hunt for his father was still on. It also meant Slash would now add it to the long list of what he perceived were his transgressions against others, regardless of how ridiculous it was to blame himself for being an abandoned baby.

  “That’s not all,” Slash said. “There’s more.”

  I looked up, puzzled. “What more can there be?”

  “He remembers the night I was brought in. The night of the storm. He said he was there, in the church, praying in a corner. He thinks no one knew he was there.”

  My eyes widened. “Did he see who brought in the baby?”

  “He did. It was a woman, holding the infant in her arms. Father Armando came out, as if he’d been waiting for her. They talked for at least ten minutes. This wasn’t a simple abandonment.”

  I took a moment to digest that huge revelation. “Did he recognize the woman?”

  “Unfortunately, no. He says she was young with long brown hair. She spoke with Father Armando for some time before she left.”

  “Did he overhear anything of the conversation?”

  “He did. He heard it all. Voices echo in an empty church. However, he didn’t understand any of it.”

  “Why not?” The hurt in Slash’s voice was starting to really worry me.

  “Because they were speaking English.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Slash

  “What?” Lexi blurted out.

  He wondered if his shocked expression mirrored hers. “The woman spoke English?” she asked.

  “Apparently so. The woman who brought me to the church in San Mauro wasn’t Italian.” His mind sorted through the possibilities. Could his biological mother be American? Was that why he supposedly had American citizenship? But if she gave him up for adoption, wouldn’t he have forfeited the citizenship? Was that even possible?

  What the hell is going on?

  They weren’t going to find any more answers here. After thanking Manuel for his time and the coffee, he left a business card with his contact information and ushered Lexi out of the apartment. He saw the surprise on her face when he led her toward the beach instead of the car, but he needed some fresh air and a bit of a walk to clear his head and thoughts. Having to drive with the distraction of what was going through his head at the moment was neither wise nor safe. Thankfully, she didn’t question him, just followed his lead, understanding that he didn’t feel like talking at the moment. He needed time to process first, to figure out what everything meant.

  He took her hand as they walked, taking comfort in her presence. They strolled for nearly a mile in silence, before he spoke.

  “I don’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved he isn’t my biological father,” he said. “Not that it matters. That’s not why we came.”

  She’d returned the floppy hat to her head. The ribbon was only half on and the breeze caused it to stream out behind her as they walked. Strange, but he’d become kind of attached to the hat on her.

  “Regardless of why we came, I know that finding out the truth about your family is important to you,” she said.

  “I know who my family is. This isn’t about that.” It came out sharper than he intended, and he tried to temper his tone. “I just want to know who my father is. I can take it from there.”

  She wasn’t going to let him get away with that comment. “Are you sure that’s all?” She turned her gaze on him, tucking her arm into his elbow. “You’re a mystery, Slash. There are things that don’t add up about you. Your citizenship, your missing past and why the president of the Vatican is so obsessed with your paternity. But having said that, yes, you do know who your family is, and that includes me. Unfortunately we’re back to square one. Manuel de Rosa isn’t your father, but he did give us useful information. Your biological mother, or at least the woman who brought you to Father Armando, spoke English. That alone could account for the American citizenship you didn’t know about.”

  “Perhaps. But who is she and how can we know for sure if she was my mother?” He sounded irritable, testy, because he was. He was used to getting immediate results, setting his mind to something and taking care of it. Instead, he’d faced disappointment after disappointment since he’d arrived, and they seemed no closer to the answers to their questions they sought.

  “Other than the fact that you somehow have American citizenship without naturalization, I don’t think we can know for sure yet.”

  God help him, there was a reason he’d never opened this can of worms. Now that the can had been pried open, he wanted nothing more than to toss it into the sea. But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to stop Cardinal Lazo. Not if he was going to fix things with the woman he loved. That meant the search for his father stayed on. One thing was certain, however, he did not want to dig into the past of his biological mother. He’d shut out any thought of her for so long that opening that door was not somewhere he wanted to go. He was still not able to fathom how she could have left him and gone on with her life, while he’d lost the first seven years of his to events so awful he couldn’t remember them.

  Regardless, a part of him argued that line of reasoning wasn’t logical. It wasn’t fair to judge his mother when he had no idea of her circumstances. He also couldn’t afford to keep her out of the equation. His mother’s identity could be an important clue to the identity of his father, perhaps the only way he could get the answers he sought.

  So, he had to stay focused and objective—look at it the way Lexi was doing—logically, clinically and without the uncomfortable emotions that were coloring his judgment.

  He wouldn’t get the answers or the truth any other way.

  They walked along a path that paralleled the shore, passing a couple of joggers, a mother pushing a pram and some
teenagers. The crash of the waves, the sound of the seagulls and Lexi’s presence calmed him, helped him think.

  “You’re right, cara,” he finally said. “The American connection would make sense if the woman who brought me to Father Armando actually was my mother. How do we know it wasn’t someone else acting as a proxy on her behalf?”

  “It could have been, but it still doesn’t change the fact that in order for you to get the citizenship your mother would have to have been American.” Her brow furrowed as she looked out at the water, thinking.

  “If my American citizenship is a real thing,” he said.

  She wound a strand of hair around her finger, still thinking. “Whether we like it or not, Slash, we’re at a dead end. We can hack anywhere in the world, but without the name of either your biological mother or father, we have nowhere to start and we have to get back to our lives in the States.”

  “I know.” Examining these truths about his childhood was more difficult than he’d expected. He’d believed that if he ignored them, their significance would fade. But that hadn’t happened. Instead they’d surfaced, driving an ugly wedge between him and the one person he loved more than anyone in the world.

  “Do you have any idea how many people stare at you?” she suddenly asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

  “Hmmm?”

  “People look at you, Slash. I mean, really look at you. Father Armando said something interesting about you when I spoke with him. He said you have a compelling way about you—a certain magnetism. I think he was onto something. People are drawn to you, Slash. Even when you were a baby.”

  He shrugged. “Babies are helpless and physical attributes are surface-deep. People like looking at pretty things. It means nothing.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Magnetism isn’t physical. It’s chemical. People feel something when they look at you.”

  “Is that so? Then how did you resist me for so long?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Because you refrained, mostly, from seducing me with your stellar good looks and charm, although you could have easily done so. You approached me differently. You said so yourself.”

  “That’s true,” he conceded. “You were completely different from any other woman I’d ever met. I didn’t want you to come to me the way most people did. But it also meant I wasn’t sure how to go about getting you to love me.”

  “That makes no sense. You just had to be yourself. Obviously, that was enough for me.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed an exposed finger. “A miracle. I thank God for you every day.”

  She stopped walking and looked at him, her expression troubled. “Slash, what do we do next?”

  He reached out and touched her cheek. He left his palm resting against her face, wishing he could freeze time. Just the two of them, like this, forever. But inside he knew what he needed to do.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, cara.”

  He watched as anxiety and fear crossed her face. He hated that he had contributed to that expression. But he was finished with trying to outrun his past.

  The time had come for him to stand and face it. Otherwise, there would be no going on together.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Slash

  He found an empty bench, and they sat side by side, watching the ocean and listening to the waves crash and recede. An oversize yacht sailed past, and a few sailboats dotted the horizon. Lexi removed her hat and placed it in her lap, playing with the ribbon and waiting for him to speak. He thought he’d figured out exactly what he was going to say, but he kept revising the plan until he lost track of the starting point. He was overthinking things to distraction. He needed to start, get it out, and trust she would understand.

  “You tried to hack into a file at the CIA a few days ago,” he finally said.

  He felt her jolt in surprise, then steady herself. “Yes.” There was no accusation, hurt or defensiveness in her tone, just a simple answer. “Elvis and Xavier were helping me.”

  “That was me on the other side, trying to stop you. Did you know?”

  She still didn’t look at him, and he hated himself for how much he’d hurt her. “I knew. Not at first, but eventually.”

  He turned to her, pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He had to know. “You had the file in your grasp. You were moments from taking it. Why did you back off?”

  She turned her gaze from the sea to look at him. “Because the moment I realized it was you on the other side, taking on all three of us by yourself, I knew it was something you desperately didn’t want me to know.”

  “That’s why you stopped?” He thought it over. “Because I didn’t want you to know?”

  “Yes. And because I love you. We’re not on opposing sides, Slash. I’m trying to help you, not hurt you. If you don’t want me know what’s in that file, or in any other files you have hidden away somewhere, I won’t press further. But I’m not going to let anyone drive you from me. If you want to walk away from this—from us—do it on your own terms, not because you’re trying to protect me from something in your past. I’m not a child, and I’m aware of the kinds of things men who have jobs like you are required to do. I can make my own decisions in regard to my safety and life. Just so we’re clear on that.”

  He deserved that dressing-down, but it didn’t make things any easier. He looked back out to the sea. His chest tightened, so he relied on his training for responding to high-stress situations. Deep breaths. Focus on the moment and avoid worrying about the future. Invite the calm. Get enough information to move forward and be decisive. He forced the muscles in his neck and shoulders to relax.

  She waited for an answer, but no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t say what was in his heart. But he had to say something.

  God help him, why couldn’t he do this?

  She must have sensed the indecision warring within him, because she rested a bandaged hand on his knee and left it there, not saying anything, but linking them and letting him know she was there.

  Wherever the hell there was.

  Her small gesture calmed him and gave him the opening to reflect further and work it out in his head.

  Can I risk the truth with her?

  Can I risk our relationship with the truth?

  Am I unworthy of her love if I reveal all of myself? How will I know unless I tell her?

  The risk was incalculable. The loss would be catastrophic.

  He blinked and looked out at the sea. How long had they been sitting there in silence? He’d lost track of time, yet she waited patiently for him.

  Finally, he exhaled and leaned back on the bench. “How much do you know about the situation in the Congo? I assume you know something since you knew right where to look.”

  “Just the basics,” she said. “About your exact role in the situation—very little. Gray found a news clip of the day of the assassination and we saw you dressed as a priest at the presidential palace. All of which means I know enough to speculate, but not have any definitive answers.”

  So, Grayson had been brought into this, too. He should have known Lexi would be resourceful when asking their friends for help. It shamed him that while he’d been keeping secrets from her, she’d always been forthright with him. He had no excuse for that other than he’d been keeping and chasing secrets his entire life. It was a part of who he was. But was it a part of who he wanted to be?

  He kept his eyes on the sea and the timeless push and pull of the water. Seagulls circled and swooped down to skim the waves, looking for their next meal. The world could go to hell, but the sea would remain a constant force—the peaceful waves masking the dangerous turmoil beneath. Yet even the sea grew and adapted as new environments were forged.

  “You came to Italy,” he finally said. “To me. Why?”

  The question surprised her. “Why? Sl
ash, do you really have to ask me that? When you gave me this ring, I understood it to mean we’re a team in all parts of our lives. The good and the bad. We may not have had the wedding yet, but this ring means everything we face, we face together.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wanted to start fresh with you. I didn’t want this to touch you...touch us.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she said. “If it touches you, it touches me. It already has. We all have a past, Slash. The question is, are you going to remain a prisoner to yours?”

  He considered her words. Emotions, responsibilities, fear and wariness still raged within him. If he decided to change, he would do it with her—and go wherever that led them. But it started by sharing his worst secret, a part of him he’d never wanted her to know.

  “Several years ago the Vatican was brokering a deal in the Congo to promote a peaceful transition to democracy,” he said quietly. “We were working with Congolese bishops to form a deal between the leader—an embattled dictator by the name of Harun Apeloko—and rebel forces. The deal was that Apeloko would step down after elections were held to ensure a smooth democratic transition. The problem was that Apeloko didn’t officially agree to the deal. He never signed anything or made an official pronouncement. He made some vague promises, but was careful to never put his signature on anything. He was quite clever—a cruel despot, but far from stupid. He was a well-educated, charming man, who spent most of his years in power carefully destroying or controlling every major institution in the country. Except for one.”

  “The Catholic Church,” Lexi said quietly.

  “Si. The church was holding together the very fabric of the country. People were dying, cara, the elderly were in unimaginable pain, and children were succumbing to starvation and disease. They looked to the church for their salvation, and the church tried to help them. The Vatican did everything they could to oust Apeloko. Secret offers of money, safe haven, whatever he might want. Anything and everything was on the table.”