“Shhh! Sister Maura,” another tall one said. She was pretty, with even features and a pleasant smile. “I think Sister Lucia can handle herself. I’m Sister Devota.”

“But no one’s supposed to be in this part of the convent!” Sister Maura insisted.

A chubby nun with rosy cheeks giggled. “Oh, Maura, give it a rest.”

“I will not, Sister Angela!” the bookish one said, blushing.

Lucia, white-faced, stepped forward. “I’ll talk to him. He’s . . . . uh, an old family friend. Cruz Montoya”—she shot him a look guaranteed to cut through steel, then said through tight lips—“this is Zita,” as she motioned toward a black girl standing nearby.

“I’m Edwina,” said an athletic woman with strong, Norse features and deep-set blue eyes that regarded him with suspicion.

Others, some of whom he’d heard called by name, introduced themselves quickly. As she introduced herself, plump Dorothy wrung her hands, and a nervous tic appeared at the corner of her eye. Louise, who was carrying sheet music, offered him a kind, if questioning, smile.

“Come with me,” Lucia said to Cruz. “We can talk in the garden.” She led him down the stairs, along a back hallway, and through double doors to a garden where a fountain gurgled.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Lucia whirled on him. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

“After all this time?”

“You disappeared.”

She stared at him. “I know. On purpose.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She rolled her eyes. “Because I didn’t want to see you again.”

“You could have just said so.”

“And you would have just walked away?”

He hesitated, remembering the guilt he’d felt after the accident, remembering how much he’d loved her. If that was the right word. Back then, guilt, desire, and love were all tangled up in his mind.

“See?” She touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Go away, Cruz. I’m taking vows to live the rest of my life as a servant of God.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm, and though he noticed a sliver of doubt in her eyes, she stood tall, her chin up. He felt as if a cloud had passed over the sun, though no shadow stretched across the flowering shrubs. “Go,” she added more urgently, as if she, too, had sensed the anomaly.

“Just one question.”

“What?”

“Why did you decide to become a nun?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Cruz?” she said. “I did it because of you.”

His throat tightened, and he felt the ridiculous urge to kiss her. She tried to retreat, but he grabbed the crook of her arm, spinning her around. “And what did you mean when you said ‘danger’ the night of the accident?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Okay, I lied.” His fingers curled over the heavy material of her habit. “What was the danger?”

She licked her lips nervously, making him groan inwardly. “Lucia?”