Page 71 of Sinner (Priest 2)
First order of business: I think I’ve found a place for the sisters, a renovated warehouse sitting empty on the north end of downtown, with an owner who’s desperate for any kind of tax relief on the vacant property. It would need a kitchen and dormitory space, but not only is it centrally located to bus stops and interstates, but it has ample room for a birthing center in an adjoining property that the owner is willing to lease out as well.
I take some time out of my afternoon to tour it personally, politely listening to the owner chatter on about all his financial woes since taking the property on and how hard it is to find commercial tenants in this part of town and—
Okay, maybe I’m not so politely listening to him because I ignore the rest of what he says. It’s irrelevant—I’ve seen his financials and I know that the write-off that the nuns would bring would give him a huge boost. We leave on a handshake deal and I call my assistant to see if he’ll arrange a meeting between me and the prioress.
He calls me back a few minutes later.
“So the prioress says that she already met with Charles Northcutt. Well, she and Zenobia Iverson met with him. Before lunch.”
Roaring red flames my vision, making everything crimson and hateful.
I’m.
Going.
To.
Kill.
Him.
I call Zenny immediately, but I know she won’t answer because she’s in class and she’s one of those nice humans who silences her phone in those situations. I fume for a minute—not at her, never at her—but at Northcutt. At whatever he’s done.
And when I get back to the office, surprise, surprise, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably left early to get his devil horns sanded down before the fundraiser tonight.
Which brings me to the second order of business: there’s a fucking fundraiser tonight, and it was supposed to be glamorous and fun and the perfect prelude to finally taking my little nun to bed, but unfortunately now it’s going to have to be the scene of a homicide. Northcutt-icide.
I’m going to kill him.
Chapter Twenty
I can hear Zenny’s breath trembling over the phone. “This is for me?”
“It’s for you,” I confirm. I pin my phone between my shoulder and my ear and glance around the dull-ass country club. Valdman is supposed to meet me here, and I’ve encountered several Valdman-like men, pouchy and white and entitled, but no actual Valdman. Just lots of polo shirts and huffing laughter.
“Sean, I…this is beautiful. Thank you.”
I scrub at my perfect hair in frustration. I was supposed to be there right now, I was supposed to be there with Zenny surprising her with the gorgeous gown I bought for her, helping her change into it, dropping teasing hints about when I’d peel the dress back off her body. I’d made big fucking plans about every detail of tonight—Zenny hadn’t even known I was taking her to this fundraiser, it was going to be a little surprise—and now it’s been ruined because I have to see Valdman about Northcutt before he does any more damage.
“Nothing’s too beautiful for you,” I tell her seriously. “I’m so upset that I can’t see you right now.”
She laughs. “You’ll see me soon enough. What time is this party again?”
I look at my watch and stifle an impatient groan. “Ninety minutes. Look, I have to meet with my boss, but I’ll—”
“I completely understand,” she says, although she doesn’t exactly. I haven’t spoken to her about Northcutt yet because I want to have everything fixed before I ask her what happened and what inevitable shitty thing he did or said during the meeting. I want to be able to pull her into my arms and croon that Sean’s taken care of everything, that everything is going to be okay, and that Northcutt is going to be castrated for his crimes. “You’ve got a job. A big fancy job. I get that and I’m a big girl, Sean. I can handle dressing myself.” She sounds amused.
“Okay, well, there’s a car service planning to pick you up in eighty minutes in case I’m running too late to get you myself. I’m not sure how long this thing with Valdman will go.”
“You do remember who my parents are? I’ve been to hundreds of these parties. They’re all the same, and I know what to do.”
“I know, but—”
“Sean,” she chides. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
I worry about her.
It’s almost an hour later that I pin down Valdman wandering in drunk from the golf course, a young woman who is definitely not his wife petting his arm and asking about dinner. And look, generally I’ve never cared that Valdman is a garbage person because he’s good at running his company, and there didn’t seem any reason to care about the first when the latter seemed more important.
