shelf.
“One plate only, honey.” Demon tabulated this new info. “No one retires from FARC and lives to tell the tale.”
“That is true. And why Sister Helen trained me and the younger nuns. She feared they would find out where she lived. We patrolled the grounds vigilantly. And only Sister Concilli had contact with the outside.” She returned one of the white dishes to its storage spot.
“How many nuns are in this cloister?” After Jacinta loaded the food onto the plate, Demon lifted her onto his lap.
“Eleven elders and only five younger. When I was a little girl, there were many more. But first the malaria and then the sleeping sickness claimed half.” Jacinta batted his hands away when Demon attempted to pick up a fork. “This time, I feed you. You are a large man and need your strength. Do not think I haven’t noticed you do not eat until I have finished.”
Demon tried not to grimace at the first bite. She obviously didn’t know dried cod was almost always salted and needed to be washed in water before it became edible. “And how old is Sister Helen?”
“Sadly she is near fifty and very worried about caring for the elders. That is why I want to talk to her. I have decided that though I will not take my vows, I will help care for them until they rest in peace.”
Over his dead body. No way he’d let her go back to the cloister. No way she left his side. “When did Sister Helen join the cloister?”
She shrugged. “She has always been there. I do not remember a time she wasn’t there.”
“When did you get to the cloister?”
“I have no memory of any other place.”
She’d been sent to the cloister as a baby. If Sister Helen had been at the cloiser twenty-odd years, she had left FARC as a woman of twenty-nine. “Why did Sister Helen leave FARC?”
“Her brothers were murdered by their commander. She was next. The fish is bad?”
Demon took one look at her glum expression and lied like a rug. “It’s good. Tasty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are not speaking the truth.”
“What do you know about your parents?”
The distraction tactic worked. All the color drained from her face. “That they had died. That’s what all the nuns told me. But after Emilio showed me the picture of my mother, I wrote to Sister Helen asking her to tell me the truth.”
“She never replied?” No fucking way this was just another coincidence. If Sister Helen knew who had fathered Jacinta, both the nun and Jacinta were toast. Big-time.
Chapter Six
“No. She did not. I knew then something was wrong. We wrote to each other every day. I had two, three letters from her every week. Then nothing for ten days. The principal of my school said not to worry. That maybe a bridge had washed away.” Jacinta sighed.
“Did you tell Sister Helen about Emilio?”
“ Mas —of course. I wanted to send her the picture of my mother. But Emilio said I had to wait until he could make a copy. But I knew. Looking at that picture was like looking in a mirror. I believed Emilio. For so long I had thought my parents dead. I had accepted that, made peace with it. Then that photo.” She shook her head and swiped hard at the stupid tears wetting her cheeks. “I will not cry.”
The soothing motion of his hand caressing her back eased the tight knots in her neck. She breathed in the scent of him, all tangy and full of the river, caressed the bunched muscles of his massive arms, letting her gaze roam over the severe angles and planes of his face. The more time she spent with him, the more his harsh beauty called to her soul—the ridged cheekbones, the jagged scar on the left side of his mouth that deepened the uneven dimples when he smiled.
“It’s not good to keep things bottled up. Let it out. You must’ve been angry and confused.”
She sniffed and swallowed. “I don’t have the words for it. In any language. Rage. Hurt. A deep sadness. I wanted to know—why? Why did my mother give me away? Why did she not
“One plate only, honey.” Demon tabulated this new info. “No one retires from FARC and lives to tell the tale.”
“That is true. And why Sister Helen trained me and the younger nuns. She feared they would find out where she lived. We patrolled the grounds vigilantly. And only Sister Concilli had contact with the outside.” She returned one of the white dishes to its storage spot.
“How many nuns are in this cloister?” After Jacinta loaded the food onto the plate, Demon lifted her onto his lap.
“Eleven elders and only five younger. When I was a little girl, there were many more. But first the malaria and then the sleeping sickness claimed half.” Jacinta batted his hands away when Demon attempted to pick up a fork. “This time, I feed you. You are a large man and need your strength. Do not think I haven’t noticed you do not eat until I have finished.”
Demon tried not to grimace at the first bite. She obviously didn’t know dried cod was almost always salted and needed to be washed in water before it became edible. “And how old is Sister Helen?”
“Sadly she is near fifty and very worried about caring for the elders. That is why I want to talk to her. I have decided that though I will not take my vows, I will help care for them until they rest in peace.”
Over his dead body. No way he’d let her go back to the cloister. No way she left his side. “When did Sister Helen join the cloister?”
She shrugged. “She has always been there. I do not remember a time she wasn’t there.”
“When did you get to the cloister?”
“I have no memory of any other place.”
She’d been sent to the cloister as a baby. If Sister Helen had been at the cloiser twenty-odd years, she had left FARC as a woman of twenty-nine. “Why did Sister Helen leave FARC?”
“Her brothers were murdered by their commander. She was next. The fish is bad?”
Demon took one look at her glum expression and lied like a rug. “It’s good. Tasty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You are not speaking the truth.”
“What do you know about your parents?”
The distraction tactic worked. All the color drained from her face. “That they had died. That’s what all the nuns told me. But after Emilio showed me the picture of my mother, I wrote to Sister Helen asking her to tell me the truth.”
“She never replied?” No fucking way this was just another coincidence. If Sister Helen knew who had fathered Jacinta, both the nun and Jacinta were toast. Big-time.
Chapter Six
“No. She did not. I knew then something was wrong. We wrote to each other every day. I had two, three letters from her every week. Then nothing for ten days. The principal of my school said not to worry. That maybe a bridge had washed away.” Jacinta sighed.
“Did you tell Sister Helen about Emilio?”
“ Mas —of course. I wanted to send her the picture of my mother. But Emilio said I had to wait until he could make a copy. But I knew. Looking at that picture was like looking in a mirror. I believed Emilio. For so long I had thought my parents dead. I had accepted that, made peace with it. Then that photo.” She shook her head and swiped hard at the stupid tears wetting her cheeks. “I will not cry.”
The soothing motion of his hand caressing her back eased the tight knots in her neck. She breathed in the scent of him, all tangy and full of the river, caressed the bunched muscles of his massive arms, letting her gaze roam over the severe angles and planes of his face. The more time she spent with him, the more his harsh beauty called to her soul—the ridged cheekbones, the jagged scar on the left side of his mouth that deepened the uneven dimples when he smiled.
“It’s not good to keep things bottled up. Let it out. You must’ve been angry and confused.”
She sniffed and swallowed. “I don’t have the words for it. In any language. Rage. Hurt. A deep sadness. I wanted to know—why? Why did my mother give me away? Why did she not
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