Still, Sister Louise beamed as Father Paul said, “Sister Charity’s right. We must go on about our tasks here, for we do God’s work. Whether you teach children, work with the homeless, or hold the hands of the sick, your job is important. We need to stand together, to be unafraid. Our work here will continue and we will persevere. We will let no henchman of the dark angel drive a stake of fear into our hearts.” He looked at each and every person in the room, daring them to defy him.

Once satisfied that he had everyone’s attention, his voice softened. “We will go about our duties, and I expect all of you to attend the auction at St. Elsinore’s tomorrow night. Father Thomas is dedicating the event to the memory of Sister Camille and Sister Asteria. It’s a beautiful gesture, and we at St. Marguerite’s will support it.” His gaze brooked no argument. “Now . . . together,” he said, offering a smile that was intended to warm the coldest, most godforsaken heart. He lifted his hands as if in supplication to heaven. “Let us pray . . .” Then he clasped his hands together in front of him and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father . . .”

Lucia, too, bent her head but slid a look at Sister Edwina, who met her gaze for just an instant. And in that moment, Lucia realized that all the calming words in the world were of little help.

Edwina, like the other nuns, was scared to death.

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 43

“I think this message”—Valerie pointed a finger at the notes she’d scribbled on the flyer for the auction at St. Elsinore’s, the one that said C U N 7734 C V—“means ‘See you in hell, Charity Varisco.’ ” She leaned back in her desk chair so that Slade, who had been making a sandwich in her kitchen, could take another look at the note. It wasn’t the original, of course, nor even the copy, but what she’d written from memory and thought about for the past three days.

“Maybe.” He was noncommittal as he carried over a plate with a tuna sandwich complete with pickles and set it in front of her. “Here, this is for you.”

“Thanks.” She cast a smile up at him as he leaned over her, so close she smelled his aftershave, a clean, brisk scent that brought back unwanted memories of making love to him in the morning, their naked bodies entwined in the sun-dried sheets, the Texas morning sliding in through the open window. The songs of the warblers getting interrupted by the chatter of jays and underscored by the low bawl of a lonely calf.

Her throat thickened as she realized how much she missed the ranch. How much she’d missed Slade.

If he noticed her reaction, he hid it, his eyes studying her scribbled note.