floor she saw James Campion put the gun in his mouth and fire one more shot. That was the last thing Gwen Patterson saw before everything went black.
CHAPTER 85
Maggie had never believed that confession was good for the soul. As far as she was concerned, nothing much came from it, other than wasted time that could be better spent elsewhere. There was no such thing as closure. Everyone had past baggage they carried around, some just a little heavier than others. She had never talked about her mother's drunken binges with anyone other than Gwen. What good did it do to relive those miserable times? Without effort she could easily conjure up the hot, sour smell of whiskey breath from her mother's boyfriends trying to slam her small, twelve-year-old frame into the corner for a kiss or a 'quick rub,' as one had put it.
Instead of sharing the gruesome details, she simply told Sister Kate, 'Let's just say my mother's suitors were not always the most polite of gentlemen.'
Sister Kate nodded as if she understood the entire situation from that brief statement. 'How old were you?'
'Twelve, thirteen. By the time I was fourteen she finally made them get hotel rooms. Of course, that wasn't until one of her men friends suggested a threesome.'
'Ah, I see,' Sister Kate said, but without alarm or surprise. 'Which left you all alone?'
'It felt like a blessing at the time,' Maggie confided. She didn't need all her years of studying psychology to self-diagnose that being alone as a child and associating it with freedom from harm had certainly overlapped into her adult life.
'Did you ever think,' Sister Kate said, 'that might be one of the reasons you joined the FBI?'
'What exactly do you mean?' Maggie had no intention of this turning into a shrink session.
'Maybe it's a way for you to be that knight in shining armor who comes to the rescue _ the one who never came to your rescue as a child.'
Maggie took a sip of her wine when she really wanted a gulp. She was beginning to realize this conversation would take more than one glass of wine unless she could turn it around soon.
'So what about you?' she asked. 'You said your grandfather had rescued you from what I believe you said was a particularly difficult situation?'
'I suppose it wasn't all that different from your situation. It was the year I turned eleven. He was a friend who my parents trusted and respected __
She looked back at Maggie, checking to see if she still had her attention. Maggie simply stared at her, unable to speak.
'My parents didn't believe me at first,' Sister Kate continued. 'But there're some things… details, proof that an eleven-year-old girl can't make up.' She reached for her wineglass and took a sip. 'To this day I still can't look at a pot roast,' she said, smiling.
'That's one thing that always amazes me,' Maggie said. 'The different ways in which each of us deals with the evil we've experienced. Most serial killers have been abused at some point during their childhood. They end up butchering innocent people, usually at random, sometimes using their abuse as an excuse or a justification. But you turned around and gave your life to the church.'
'And you the FBI,' Sister Kate followed up. 'I guess we both wanted to be knights in shining armor.'
CHAPTER 86
Nick tried not to panic. It wouldn't do any good to panic. And yet, he couldn't stop thinking that it was happening all over again just like four years ago.
No, that wasn't right, that wasn't fair. Timmy was older now. And he wouldn't go with just anyone. But what if someone had grabbed him? Brother Sebastian was a lot taller and bigger than Timmy. Why hadn't he taught the boy some self-defense stuff? Yeah right, how could he? How could he teach Timmy anything from thirteen hundred miles away in Boston. Nick shook his head. It wouldn't help to beat himself up with guilt.
He had asked the desk clerk, on the off chance that someone from the hotel had called his suite. No such luck. The clerk had been there since three and hadn't taken any outside calls for a Nick Morrelli. Although the clerk thought he remembered putting through a room-to-room call to a Morrelli. That didn't make sense. Something wasn't adding up.
He checked everywhere _ the swimming pool, the fitness center, the terrace, even the restaurant and lounge. He felt like apparent looking for his toddler and asking everyone he saw.
He walked each floor's hallway and asked housekeepers coming in and out of rooms. Those who spoke no English just shrugged. Those who spoke English also shrugged.
Finally after what felt like several hours but was, in fact, not even one hour, he returned to the suite.
'Did he call?' he asked Gibson as soon as he came in the door.
'No. You didn't see him?' Gibson sat on the edge of one bed, rocking back and forth.
'Nobody's seen him. And I've been all over this place.'
Nick started pacing but stopped at the window and looked out over the Old Market. He was the adult. He was supposed to keep them both calm but all Nick could think about was four years ago when Timmy had been kidnapped by a madman and they had almost lost him for good. Where the hell could he be? Should he call Christine? No. It was too soon to call Christine. He had to be around here. He couldn't have just disappeared into thin air.
'Do you think he would have gone over to the Old Market?' Nick asked. 'You know, just to pick something up or out of curiosity?'
Gibson shrugged and Nick looked out at the small shops across the street, checking out anyone wearing orange or red.
'Mr. Morrelli,' Gibson said and Nick didn't know what to tell the kid. He let out a sigh before he turned around to look at him, expecting him to have questions.
'I think there's something I'd better show you,' Gibson said and pulled out of his backpack what looked like a leather portfolio.
CHAPTER 87
Maggie had barely returned to her suite when there was a knock at the door. It was Nick Morrelli, only this time his hair was tousled and his eyes had a wild, almost panicked look. He had a teenage boy with him, standing back out of the way, but Maggie knew he wasn't Timmy.
