She made the sign of the cross and stood, turning only to spy Father Tony standing in the balcony, gazing down upon her. Dressed in black, his clerical collar in stark contrast to his black shirt and slacks, he was a tall, handsome man. Too handsome to be a priest. She glanced away, sniffing and self-consciously dashing her tears from her eyes, but she heard his tread on the staircase, knew she couldn’t make it out the carved doors of the chapel without facing him, talking with him, maybe even being persuaded into the confessional.

She sent up another small prayer and hurried past the rows of pews and was nearly to the front doors when he rounded a corner on the stairs and descended the last few steps into the vestibule, where candles had been lit, their small flames flickering as he passed.

“Ariel,” he whispered, the hint of an Italian accent discernible. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight, the expression on his even, handsome features solemn and concerned. “You are troubled,” he said softly. Knowingly. Gently, he touched her hand with his warm fingers.

“Y–yes, Father.” She nodded, unable to keep the tears from running down her cheeks.

“So many are. You know you’re not alone. You must trust in the Father.” Dark eyebrows drew together and his eyes, a pale ethereal blue, searched hers. She noticed the tightness in the corners of his mouth, the fact that his nose had obviously once been broken. “Talk to me, my child,” he suggested, softly, almost seductively.

Ariel swallowed hard. Dare she trust him? Her private thoughts were so personal, her dilemma one no mortal man would understand, and yet she was tempted. Staring into a gaze that could surely see into her soul, she wondered how much she could bare her soul and how far she could stretch her lie.

Kristi gulped down her final swallow of coffee and left her cup in the sink, then made sure the window was open a crack for Houdini to enter and leave at will. Sunlight filtered into her apartment, the first time there had been a cloudless day since she’d moved in. And the clear skies had a way of lifting her spirits, a welcome change after she’d immersed herself in cults, vampires, and missing girls, doing research, making charts, logging in hours on the Internet searching news articles and personal pages. She was beginning to understand the missing girls, getting a sense of their dysfunctional family lives.

Didn’t anyone care?

Kristi had approached the dean of students and had received a frosty “none of your business” indicating to her that the school was covering its ass, worried about bad press.