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“He’s a priest,” Wesley said as the reality of Søren’s profession finally sank in. He knew, of
course. He’d known from the beginning. Nora never hid that from him. But seeing the collar...
“He is. And possibly the finest priest in America if not the world. And if he wants to remain a
priest and get his lover back, then it’s for the best we leave the authorities out of this. I can only
protect his secrets so much. He’ll thank me later.”
Kingsley closed the door and started back down the hall.
“Kingsley, we have to call the police. I don’t care what happens to Søren or you or even me. We’re
wasting time. We don’t even know where she is.”
“You call the police if your car gets stolen. You don’t call them for anything that matters. I know
who has your fiancée, and believe me, if you value your beloved’s life at all, you will trust me—
calling the authorities would equal a death sentence for her.”
The truth of the words shone in Kingsley’s eyes. As much as Wesley didn’t want to believe him,
something told him that whatever happened to Nora, it wasn’t some kidnap for ransom, wasn’t some
prank or game.
“The woman who has your fiancée is willing to kill. She’s done it before. She’s also willing to die.
Something else she’s done before. A dangerous combination. We raise the alarm, the siren sounds,
Nora dies.”
“How do you know this person’s willing to die?”
“Because, mon petit prince, she pissed me off. That is a good indictor she had a death wish.”
Kingsley’s brash words failed to give any comfort.
“They’re going to kill Nora, aren’t they? The words on the walls...” Wesley whispered, his heart
clenching as he remembered the fear upon seeing the French words, even not knowing what they
meant. “Søren said they mean ‘I will kill the bitch.’”
“If it comforts you at all, ‘the bitch’ is not your Nora. I’ll leave the story for the priest to tell.”
“No way. You knocked him out so now you’re going to tell me.” Wesley stared Kingsley down.
Kingsley might be strong and dangerous, but he was also in pain and pain made him vulnerable.
Wesley wouldn’t back down this time. “And you’re going to tell me now.”
Kingsley exhaled heavily through his nose before shrugging again.
“Those words—I will kill the bitch—were uttered thirty years ago by the woman the priest
married at age eighteen. His wife, Marie-Laure...my sister.”
“Thirty years ago...Søren was married to your sister?”
“Yes. A marriage of convenience. That was what it was supposed to be. That is what he told her it
would be. She wanted more, more than he could give.”
“She was in love with him?”
“Oui, or whatever she had in her heart that passed for love. Obsession would be a more accurate
word. When she found out he loved another she said those words as a threat. For whatever reason she
waited thirty years to carry out her threat.”
“Nora would have been four years old then. She didn’t even meet Søren until she was fifteen,
which is bad enough. No way could Nora have been the other woman at four years old.”
“Exactement. That’s why I say you can take some comfort in that threat. That’s why I know she’s
alive and safe...for the time being. Le prêtre was in love with someone else at the time. But your
fiancée was not the bitch my sister meant.”
“Who was she, then? Maybe we should talk to her.”