"Yeah, guess so. I forgot you're such a lightweight." She grinned. "Hey, Tony? I miss you. And I'm glad you're okay. I've been praying for you, you know."
It was true. She found herself talking to no one, in her own head, confiding the desperation and fear for her partner's safety. It took her a moment to finally recognize that she was praying. Out of practice as she was, it felt like the closest she'd come to believing again. And with Tony taking a turn for the better, who was she to argue with the process?
"Will wonders never cease?" he replied. "Take care, Mac. Let me know how those hard cases turn out."
"I will, partner. I miss you. Did I mention that?"
"Yeah, a time or three."
She hung up the phone, struggling to control a grin. Maybe things would turn out after all.
A menacing rumble called her attention to the window. The sky had turned nearly black with the onset of dusk and a brewing storm. The thunder bumper had been expected, but its timing for the five o'clock rush hour was just plain cruel.
The ominous rumble made her skin crawl. Maybe her optimism was a bit premature.
A crack of thunder made her jump. Her pulse quickened. Fiona felt thankful the jet had landed before the weather had gotten this bad. She clutched at her coat collar and drew it tighter around her throat. Her eyes peered over her shoulder into the gloom. The rain poured down like the heavens were angry. And she understood why.
With luggage near her feet, she paced the small waiting room of the Dunhill hangar, glancing at her watch once again. She'd asked for a ride to meet her. The service was late. Rush-hour traffic and the bad weather no doubt contributed to the problem. But the delay didn't entirely displease her. It gave her time to think about what she would say to Christian when she saw him.
Her son.
A lump formed and wedged in her throat. Her beautiful son.
She stopped and closed her eyes, clenching a fist to her lips and pressing hard to stanch the onset of tears. What would she say to him? She had come home to face Christian, to tell him everything. With the reality of that confrontation so near at hand, she wasn't sure she had the courage. But she owed him the truth—and so much more.
The glass door opened behind her. Fiona turned, expecting to see a security driver with her limousine service. She flinched, a gasp punctuating her surprise.
"Christian?" Her voice quivered.
He stood at the door, raindrops clinging to his dark hair, his face slick from the downpour. Those brooding green eyes told her all she needed to know. It had taken years of therapy to find even a semblance of joy buried deep in them. And even those moments were few. But something else lurked beneath the surface of his eyes. Resentment. It was undeniable.
"Surprised to see me?" Cynicism colored his voice. "No more of a shocker than when I came home to find you gone, leaving me in the lurch, neck-deep in a murder investigation."
He hit dead center. Christian never minced words. She wasn't sure she could take the strain of his hostility. And when he bridged the gap between them, stepping closer, her throat tightened. How could she justify what she'd done?
"If I stayed, it would have been worse." She wanted to explain, find the words to make it all right. But everything she said came out wrong. Christian was an intelligent, sensitive man. He would see through her stonewalling.
"Worse for whom? For me ... or for you? I guess you want me to believe you left to protect me." His face grew cold with skepticism. "Nice try. Pardon me if I sound cynical these days."
This was not how she'd envisioned their conversation, but she deserved the full force of his bitterness. Now Christian moved even closer. Her arms ached to hold him, finally as his mother. But she knew he'd never allow it.
Clenching his jaw, he took another tack. "I found out someone else was very interested in your whereabouts, besides me. Did your past catch up with you, Fie?"
Nicky. What did he know about Nicholas? A sinister growl of thunder mirrored her fear. The rain continued its assault, crying the tears she held back.
She had never known Christian to be cruel, but it was clear in his taunt. He had been hurt by her betrayal. The use of his nickname for her twisted his words like a knife to her heart. She merited every ounce of his animosity.
"Yes, I suppose it did." She should have known she could never flee the reality of her base nature. Nicky had stirred the pot, but it was a black kettle of her own creation. She had no one else to blame. "I should have known I would never outrun it. I just wish—"
Regret choked her, but the pain in his eyes tightened the noose.
"Were you ever planning to tell me the truth?" he asked.
His words struck her. Eyes wide, she couldn't hide her reaction. The truth? What did he know exactly? Once this all began, she had wanted to ease him into the reality of his past. But everything had happened too fast. Her instincts forced her to stall, to find out precisely what he knew before she blundered with a reply.
"I wanted to." Her response sounded cagey, even to her. "You deserve to know everything."
And by the look of him, Christian wasn't buying her trite justification.
"Good intentions aren't gonna cut it. When I needed some answers and you weren't around, I searched your personal things." He broke his accusing stare for the first time. His admission apparently shamed him. But he soon recovered. Sarcasm returned to his tone. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, and the breach of faith. Trust is so rare. It should be cherished, don't you think? At least, that's what I believed when I was more gullible."
He no longer looked at her. Folding his arms across his chest, he turned aside and shut his eyes with the strain. After a long moment of silence, he looked over his shoulder. It disturbed her to see him so hurt.
"I thought I knew you . . . and myself. Guess I was wrong on both counts." He spoke in such a hushed tone that she nearly didn't hear him over the storm. Yet even through the low timbre of his voice, she heard the wounded child. That child had been burned into her memory, branded forever by the condemnation of her actions. She raised a hand to touch his shoulder, but stopped short.
"Tell me what you know, Christian. Please."
Rain pelted the window, blowing sideways with erratic winds. Her concentration waned as the blustering storm elevated her uneasiness. It was after five when Raven glanced to the clock on the bullpen wall. She had expected to hear from Christian by now. Playing over their last conversations in her head, she wondered what had happened at work that would keep him so late. Didn't he have enough on his plate without the added stress? And with his employer being Fiona Dun-hill, the woman who'd kept such damaging secrets from her own son, her anxiety mounted.
"What's up with you, Christian?" she muttered.
"Hey, Mackenzie." The desk sergeant poked his head through the doorway. "I got a message to deliver. From Father Antonio." He handed her a note.
"Why didn't you just direct the call back to me?" Her eyes were drawn to the pink slip of paper. "Did he want me to call him back?" She glanced up.
"No. He just wanted to leave the message." The officer slouched against the door frame. "Seemed in a hurry."
"How did he know I was here?" It seemed odd that the priest only left his message, not waiting to speak to her directly. She narrowed her eyes at the note, finding it hard to decipher the message. But the sergeant elaborated.
"Oh, he asked about you and I told him you were here. Then he asked if he could just leave a message."
The man shrugged. "He wants you to meet him at the rectory in a half hour, by the side parking lot. Says he may have a witness for the Blair case."