Finn was already stripping off his shirt. The dressing across his ribs had come loose, and he yanked it off in frustration, but the butterfly bandages still held and there was no fresh blood. He could see Beth’s assessing eyes on the wound, but she said nothing, merely diving under an enveloping dress of black cotton. He turned his back on them, pulling on the old-fashioned priest’s cassock he’d found.
Whoever had last worn the thing was a man who enjoyed his food, and Finn had to distribute the folds of cloth beneath the rope belt. The priests in Ireland had given up wearing such old-fashioned cassocks, but he could hope the backwaters of South America would be behind the times. He fastened the high collar, looked at the two black-garbed crows and laughed.
“You make a more believable nun than Beth does, kid,” he drawled. “It’s those limpid blue eyes of yours”
“Fuck you,” Dylan snarled.
“The rules go for you as well. Eyes downcast, no talking.”
“Fuck you,” Dylan said in an artificially high-pitched voice.
He glanced at Beth. He’d had the distant hope that wrapping her in a nun’s habit would help keep her off-limits in his sex-starved brain, but just his luck. It had the opposite effect. She looked serene, saintly, exquisitely pure and beautiful. And he wanted nothing more than to debauch the hell out of her. If his fantasies had been dark before, they were now bordering on depraved. What was it about purity that made a man want to defile it? Bring her down to his level? She’d never make it – it was too far to sink. In fact, Dylan would be keeping her company, and he could count on Sister Beth to keep the kid in his place. And with Dylan there, Finn wouldn’t be able to get any closer.
Check and mate. “We ready?” he said, irritated.
Beth looked at him. “Yes, Father,” she murmured in a dulcet voice that made him want to throw
her on the hood of the SUV and take her then and there.
“Then get in the Goddamn car,” he growled.
It certainly wasn’t the worst hotel MacGowan had ever spent the night in, but it came damned close. By the time he’d stashed the SUV it was pitch dark, and even the lights of the small city didn’t penetrate into the dock area where he’d decided to stash the three of them. The hotel owner seemed taken aback that members of the church would choose his less than respectable establishment, but after MacGowan had explained in perfect idiomatic Spanish that they’d taken a vow of poverty he was willing enough to accept the money MacGowan gave him before handing over a key.
“You don’t mind sharing a room, Father?” the greasy-haired owner had asked.
He heard Beth’s choked protest, but his voice covered it. “We prefer it that way, señor.” He kept a solemn expression on his face. “These are dangerous times, and we stay together.”
The man shrugged. He was about thirty, pock-marked and unwashed, with the same feral expression in his eyes that many of the rebels had. It was too late to change his mind, and the man didn’t seem interested in more than taking his money and returning to the soccer game he was watching, but MacGowan felt uneasy.
Not that he’d felt anything but uneasy since he’d started his escape. He still had the gun tucked in the waist of his jeans, but it would take a while to get to it under the enveloping folds of the cassock, and he wished to hell he had some other kind of weapon. Once he locked the good sisters in for the night he’d have to see about getting a second, smaller gun, and a couple of good knives. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
The room was small, shabby, and none-too-clean, and he didn’t need to see Beth’s expression to know what she was thinking. There was a table, two chairs, and two beds, and Dylan threw himself down on one, ripping the wimple off his head in disgust. “Don’t think I’m sharing with you, dude. Wearing skirts is bad enough.”
“You’re not sleeping with me, kid,” Beth said with asperity. She’d left her veil on, and he knew why. To remind him that she was off-limits.
It annoyed him. He had no intention of getting any nearer than he had to, for his own self-preservation, but he didn’t need her making that decision.
He’d planned to sleep on the floor. Instead he gave Beth a slow, wicked smile. “Good to know you prefer me.”
She didn’t rise to the bait. “Where are we going to eat? We haven’t had much food today and I’m starving.”
“I’ll have the innkeeper send something up. I’ve got things to do and I need you two buttoned up here so I don’t have to worry.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it without a word.
“Whatever,” Dylan said. “Just tell me where the bathroom is. I need to take a dump.”
“End of the hall. And put your fucking veil on again.”
Dylan yanked it onto his head, slamming the door as he went. Leaving him alone with saintly Sister Beth.
She looked up at him then with those clear blue eyes that saw him all too well. “Are you coming back?”
The question annoyed him, partly because he’d been considering dumping them, leaving the two of them to their own devices. He had enough money on his own if he stretched it, and they were slowing him down. By this point they should be able to make it the rest of the way home unless they were really stupid.
The temptation had passed as quickly as it had come. Revenge was a dish best served cold. He could take his time getting to Madsen. The better to enjoy killing him.
He looked at her, annoyed that she’d read his mind. “I brought you this far, didn’t I? I’d be a fool to leave you now. Once we get to Spain I’ll put you on a plane and you’ll never have to see me again.”