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“Tunnel goes to the rectory garage.”
Roman arrived a second later, blood on his knuckles, eyes scanning Emma first, then Lily.
“You hurt?”
“No.”
His gaze moved to Caleb, who still had a hand near Emma’s back.
Caleb removed it.
Dominic bolted the door behind them. “We don’t have long.”
They ran through the tunnel, breath fogging in the cold air. Emma’s legs burned. Lily sobbed until her cries turned hoarse.
At the garage, Father Michael lifted the door just enough for them to see the alley beyond.
Empty.
Roman looked to Dominic. “Car?”
“Two blocks west.”
Caleb shook his head. “Too obvious.”
Roman turned slowly. “You have a better idea?”
“Yes.”
He pulled a key from his coat.
Roman stared at it. “What is that?”
Caleb looked at Emma.
“My car is under the rectory. I kept it there in case I ever had to get them out.”
Emma laughed once, a cracked and bitter sound. “You planned for everything except being a father.”
Caleb’s face crumpled again.
Roman took the key from him. “You’re not driving.”
They piled into an old black sedan hidden beneath a tarp. Roman drove. Emma sat in the back with Lily. Caleb sat beside her, not touching, not speaking. Dominic rode in front, checking the gun in his lap.
The car slid into the night.
Behind them, St. Agnes glowed with red and blue light that did not yet belong to police.
Emma looked at Caleb.
He seemed older than thirty. There were scars near his hairline, one across his lower lip. His hands were the same, though. The same hands that had once built a crib from mismatched wood because they could not afford a new one.
“You were alive,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you let me hate myself for not being enough to make you stay.”
His eyes filled. “It was never you.”
“But you let me think it was.”
He had no answer.
Roman’s eyes met Emma’s in the rearview mirror.
For one second, the strange bond between them returned. Not trust. Not comfort. Something more dangerous because it had been born too quickly under fire.
Understanding.
Then Lily stopped crying.
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