“I know!” he said loudly, then held up a hand to stop her from gathering steam again. “Trust me, I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t blame you. It was wrong and we . . . I knew it going in. I was the person she trusted, the man in power, the priest who had vowed celibacy.” He drew in a long, soul-wrenching breath. “It . . . it was a terrible, terrible mistake.” In that second, with the sunlight beating against his face, he looked older than he had, as if he’d aged with the admission. “But if it’s any consolation to you, I want you to know that I loved her.” His gaze returned to Val’s, and she felt a slight stirring in the air, an undercurrent of electricity she couldn’t quite name.

“And the baby?”

He closed his eyes, and pain etched his features with deep lines as he whispered, “A poor innocent.”

“They both were,” she said, not ready to be fooled by his act of contrition. “My sister and my niece or my nephew!” It was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking, to hold back the tears that threatened. This man, dressed in black robes and a pall of regret, was the reason Camille was dead.

“I’m so sorry. If you only knew how horrible I feel, how . . . guilty and sinful. I’ve prayed to the Father for guidance and help.”

“Like you did before? With Sister Lila or Lily or . . . ?”

She waited, saw him swallow nervously, his Adam’s apple wobbling in his throat.

“Sister Lea.” He closed his eyes. Sweat beaded his brow.

“What happened to her?”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “She moved away.”

“To where?”

“The West Coast. The Bay Area—San Francisco, I think.”

“Because of you?”

His eyes squeezed shut as if pained. “Yes.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? You took vows to uphold the laws of the church, and you broke them with several women.”

“I do understand,” he said quietly, his lips folding in on themselves. “And believe me, I’ve atoned for my sins. Paid for them.”

“How?” She couldn’t believe his egomania. “My sister is dead, Father. As is her unborn child. And you know what I think?” she demanded, close to him, her gaze pinning his. Before he could answer, she said, “I think she was a big inconvenience for you, and even though she was breaking up with you, you killed her.”

“What? No!” He turned ashen in his shock.

“No?”

He held up a hand. “Murder? Are you serious? And what’s this about ‘breaking up’? It’s not as if we were dating. . . .” He let out another long, pained sigh. “I am truly sorry about Sister Camille, and, yes, it’s true we were involved, but I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . No. Are you serious?” His jaw slackened in disbelief.