Something Knocking (A Lauren Lamb FBI Thriller—Book One) E-Book

Kate Bold

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Lauren Lamb FBI Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 259

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

After a traumatic serial killer case and the loss of her husband and father, FBI agent Lauren Lamb turns her back on her brilliant career as a BAU special agent, and seeks a quiet life in her father's homeland of Italy. But after a string of unexplained, seemingly supernatural murders, the Vatican convenes a team to separate truth from fiction, and Lauren is needed. Teamed with an exorcist, Lauren must grapple with her faith as she investigates the mysterious death of a nun in an ancient cloister in Italy. Is something greater at work? Or is a killer stalking? "This is an excellent book… When you start reading, be sure you don't have to wake up early!" —Reader review for The Killing Game This is book #1 in a new series by #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Kate Bold, whose bestsellers have received over 1,500 five star ratings and reviews. A page-turning and harrowing crime thriller featuring a brilliant and tortured FBI agent, the series is a riveting mystery, packed with non-stop action, suspense, twists and turns, revelations, and driven by a breakneck pace that will keep you flipping pages late into the night. Fans of Rachel Caine, Teresa Driscoll, and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love. Future books in the series are now available. "This book moved very fast and every page was exciting. Plenty of dialogue, you absolutely love the characters, and you were rooting for the good guy throughout the whole story… I look forward to reading the next in the series." —Reader review for The Killing Game "Kate did an amazing job on this book and I was hooked from the first chapter!" —Reader review for The Killing Game "I really enjoyed this book. The characters were authentic, and I see the bad guys as something we hear about daily on the news... Looking forward to book 2." —Reader review for The Killing Game "This was a really good book. The main characters were real, flawed and human. The story went along quickly and wasn't mired in too many unnecessary details. I really enjoyed it." —Reader review for The Killing Game "Alexa Chase is headstrong, impatient, but most of all brave with a capital B. She never, repeat never, backs down until the bad guys are put where they belong. Clearly five stars!" —Reader review for The Killing Game "Captivating and riveting serial murder with a twist of the macabre… Very well done." —Reader review for The Killing Game "WOW what a great read! Talk about a diabolical killer! Really enjoyed this book. Looking forward to reading others by this author as well." —Reader review for The Killing Game "Page turner for sure. Great characters and relationships. I got into the middle of this story and couldn't put it down. Looking forward to more from Kate Bold." —Reader review for The Killing Game "Hard to put down. It has an excellent plot and has the right amount of suspense. I really enjoyed this book." —Reader review for The Killing Game "Extremely well written, and well worth buying and reading. I can't wait to read book two!" —Reader review for The Killing Game

Leseprobe

S O M E T H I N G

K N O C K I N G

(A Lauren Lamb Mystery—Book 1)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting); the EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); and the LAUREN LAMB FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY KATE BOLD

LAUREN LAMB SUSPENSE THRILLER

SOMETHING KNOCKING (Book #1)

SOMETHING CALLING (Book #2)

SOMETHING WRONG (Book #3)

SOMETHING DARK (Book #4)

SOMETHING TO HIDE (Book #5)

ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)

THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)

THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)

THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)

THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)

THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)

ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER

LET ME GO (Book #1)

LET ME OUT (Book #2)

LET ME LIVE (Book #3)

LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)

LET ME FORGET (Book #5)

LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)

CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT ME (Book #1)

NOT NOW (Book #2)

NOT WELL (Book #3)

NOT HER (Book #4)

NOT NORMAL (Book #5)

NOT AGAIN (Book #6)

NOT SAFE (Book #7)

NOT TODAY (Book #8)

HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)

NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)

NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)

NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)

NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)

NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)

KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

LAST BREATH (Book #1)

LAST CHANCE (Book #2)

LAST WISH (Book #3)

LAST SHOT (Book #4)

LAST MISTAKE (Book #5)

EVE HOPE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IN HIS BLOOD (Book #1)

IN HIS SIGHTS (Book #2)

IN HIS REACH (Book #3)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PROLOGUE

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum…”

Sister Victoria rolled the rosary bead back and forth in her fingers as she prayed. Today, she prayed for strength and protection from impure thoughts. Father Dominic had visited the convent yesterday to meet with the Mother Superior about an upcoming food drive for the poor of Pescara. He had spoken with Sister Victoria only briefly, but the image of his charming smile and bright blue eyes, so kind and yet so strong, lingered with her far longer and more powerfully than they should have.

So, she prayed, kneeling in a small room adjacent to the convent’s cloister and striving to think of the Mystery and thus redirect her focus toward the Lord’s will and away from Father Dominic’s smile, his luxurious, wavy black hair, and his broad shoulders.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and asked Mary to intercede for her. She focused more deeply on the prayer, praying not for strength to overcome the impure thoughts but to have them instead removed from her. She took a breath and thought about Father Dominic’s expressive eyes. They were radiant, his eyes, and—

A loud shriek interrupted both her prayer and her thoughts. She jumped to her feet with a yelp, the rosary clattering to the floor underneath her. She heard footfalls outside in the cloister, and fear stiffened her like a board.

Stay here, her mind whispered. Stay here and whatever it is will go away.

She very nearly followed her own advice, but another shriek sounded and this time she recognized the voice.

“Sister Luisa?” she called, leaping to her feet. She still stood but another cry moved her, and she forced herself to step from the room into the cloister, in spite of the pounding in her heart. “Sister Luisa, are you all…”

Her voice trailed off when she saw Sister Luisa stumbling toward her. “Madre di Dio proteggici,” Victoria whispered. Luisa’s hands clutched her abdomen, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth and both nostrils, and she swayed drunkenly as she approached. She opened her mouth to scream again, and when she did, a gob of blood flew from her mouth and landed on Sister Victoria’s habit.

Her eyes met Sister Victoria’s and the latter stared in horror as they lost their focus and slowly rolled backwards in Sister Luisa’s head. The injured nun collapsed to her knees, and her eyes grew focused again but just long enough to look imploringly at her friend before again growing dull. Sister Luisa fell to the floor. This time it was Sister Victoria’s shriek that shattered the still of the night.

CHAPTER ONE

“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”

Special Agent Lauren Lamb stood ramrod straight and stared directly ahead as the music played and the pallbearers slowly lowered Kevin’s coffin onto the ground next to the grave. To her right, Kevin’s mother and sister wept bitterly and clung to his father, whose own tears fell steadily as he tried and failed to maintain a brave face for his family. To her left, her own sister dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief in between trembling gazes of empathy cast Lauren’s way that Lauren ignored.

Lauren’s own eyes were dry. There was no point in weeping any more than she already had. It wouldn’t assuage her grief and it certainly wouldn’t bring Kevin back. She’d heard of people growing numb in the midst of their grief. She’d heard of them losing the ability to feel and becoming more a detached observer than a victim of the emotion. She wondered if those at the funeral might imagine that was her. It wasn’t. Lauren wasn’t numb. The grief weighed on her with just as much weight as before and the anger grew as well.

The priest stepped to the podium and began to speak. “It is never easy to say goodbye to one we love. Though we as Catholics understand that death is not the end of life but merely the journey from this life to the next, the knowledge that a gulf now separates us from the one we shared so much with is the greatest burden anyone in this life will ever have to bear. I will not tell you, my friends, to ignore your grief or to replace it with joy and celebration. I will only remind you in the midst of your grief to remember that this truly is only the beginning. Our son, our brother…” he met Lauren’s eyes “…our husband, is now in the arms of his Savior and His Holy Mother. We will see him again one day.”

Lauren kept her gaze stoic and allowed both her own and Kevin’s relatives to place comforting arms around her. She knew the priest’s words would comfort them, but they held little comfort for her. She doubted seriously that Kevin was anywhere right now. If he was, then considering God’s track record, Lauren doubted seriously that he was anywhere better than he was before Fiero killed him. She’d long stopped giving credence to the things she’d been taught in that regard.

A stab of pain shot down her left leg, but she clenched her jaw and ignored it. Doctor Hope had warned her that she would experience fleeting jolts of pain for years to come, possibly for the rest of her life. The doctor stressed that it was nothing to worry about. Lauren was healed physically, but the memory of her injury could sometimes cause the nerves to react as though she was still injured.

Phantom pain. She’d heard about it before, pain amputees sometimes felt for limbs that no longer existed. Doctor Hope, and what a name that was, told her it could occur in people who sustained injuries regardless of amputation. Shooting, burning, stabbing sensations. Those were the most commonly reported pains. Just her luck, they typically occurred all at once for her.

According to Hope, the brain could continue to receive signals from nerves that were no longer connected to the missing or healed body part. It was those signals that triggered the sensation of pain, even though there was no actual injury or damage present. It would likely be a part of her life forever.

Well, Kevin got it worse, didn’t he? Fiero had only broken her back. He had killed Kevin.

The music began to play and the gravediggers slowly began to lower Kevin’s coffin into the ground. His mother and sister began to wail loudly and her sister squeezed her arm as she wept.

Lauren’s eyes remained dry.

As the coffin slowly descended, Lauren felt another stab of pain through her left leg, accompanied by a cold wet feeling in her lower back that made her skin crawl. The wound had healed, but a small, rope-like scar at the base of her spine reminded her of the impact of Fiero’s sledgehammer.

The worst part was how she had screamed. It was an animalistic sound, a visceral shriek that she didn’t even recognize as her own voice. Every wall she’d put up, every ounce of strength her training had given her evaporated instantly as the hammer shattered her vertebra and temporarily paralyzed her from the waist down.

It almost wasn’t temporary. She was lucky Wolf was there and able to get her to a hospital quickly. If one of the bone fragments had ended up a centimeter to the left, she would be attending her fiancé’s funeral in a wheelchair.

And if Lauren hadn’t been the agent to break open the Sledgehammer case, she wouldn’t be attending her fiancé’s funeral at all.

Fiero intended to kill her. Probably still did. He had his sledgehammer raised, prepared to bring it down on Lauren’s head, when Wolf shot him. The last thing Lauren remembered before the pain caused her to lose consciousness was the rage on Fiero’s face just before he fled the building.

Well, he’d slaked his rage. Lauren was protected by a bodyguard detail and a full squad of police officers in the hospital, but Kevin hadn’t merited protection. He was, after all, only her fiancé, not yet her husband and not yet entitled to the protection due close family members.

Lauren hadn’t seen Kevin’s body after the attack. She identified him by his left hand, which bore a small tan birthmark on his palm just above the wrist. She had seen the crime scene photos and that was as close as she wanted to come to the carnage Fiero had left.

“He went quickly,” the coroner reassured her, “probably didn’t even know what hit him.”

He hadn’t met her eyes when he said that. He was attempting to be kind and she imagined under other circumstances, circumstances not involving the man she loved being tortured to death, she might have appreciated it. Lauren had been an investigator long enough to know from the photos that Kevin had not gone quickly. The mortal blow was the last one Fiero had struck. At least Fiero had ensured Lauren wouldn’t have to see the expression on his face.

The coffin settled into the grave and fresh hysterics ensued when the gravediggers solemnly began to spade the dirt over the love of her life. She glanced at the stoic faces of the gravediggers and to her eyes, they seemed bored rather than somber. A scintillating beam of white-hot anger shot through her. They didn’t care. Why would they? This was only a job to them. They played a role, but underneath their grim faces, they were probably already wondering how many DeGrom would strike out while pitching tonight, or whether the hot bartender would finally give them a chance.

Anger. It was easier than grief. That had been part of her training; she was taught not to expect the next of kin to react in any particular way. Grief was common but so was silence and so was anger. The psychologist who taught the session said anger was, in fact, as common a visible response as tears or sadness. Sometimes people subconsciously substituted anger for grief because it felt more powerful and easier to express. Anger provided a sense of control over a situation while grief felt overwhelming and uncontrollable.

She wasn’t special. Anger made it easier to deal with her loss. The anger passed as quickly as it came. She couldn’t expect them to understand. Kevin wasn’t their lover.

She endured the half hour of condolences and tears and even managed to offer some of her own to Kevin’s family. She agreed to meet her sister for lunch the next day and promised to call if she needed anything, anything at all.

She wouldn’t call. Her sister couldn’t give her what she needed.

Finally, it was only Lauren and the priest. Father… she forgot his name.

Father whoever-he-was smiled kindly at her and said, “Know that the Holy Spirit looks down on you, Lauren. I know this is the wrong time to mention this—” but he would mention it anyway, of course “—but we would love to see you at Mass this Sunday. God never forsakes His children.”

She scoffed at that before she could stop herself. The Father—Clarence, that was his name—smiled sadly but didn’t press further. He quietly packed his effects and left, not before laying an entirely unwelcome, comforting hand on her shoulder.

She stared at the grave with its white marble tombstone, the only record of the most beautiful life she had ever known.

When she first heard of Kevin’s death, she wanted revenge. She sustained herself with images of Fiero’s head smashed in by the same hammer he used to kill Kevin, telling herself how sweet it would be when she could snuff Fiero’s candle out the way he had snuffed Kevin.

Now, though…

She turned finally and walked from the grave. A black town car waited at the cul-de-sac near the entrance to the cemetery. Typical. Carson had a flair for the dramatic. She wondered if he was wearing his wraparound mirror sunglasses as well.

He was. He got out of the car and opened the door for Lauren, saying nothing at first, only nodding professionally. She got in the car, but when Carson returned to the other side and reached for the start button, she said, “Don’t bother, I’m driving myself home.”

He lowered his hand and said, “Wolf has a lead on Fiero. They found a ticket stub at the apartment after…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it looks like he fled to San Francisco. I’ve already called the Field Office out there.”

“San Francisco’s a big city, Carson,” she responded.

“Yeah, well, so is Houston, and we found him here.”

“Yeah? How did that work out for us?”

“Hey, Lauren?” Carson shifted in his seat to stare at her. “We’re going to catch this prick. I promise you. We’re going to find this asshole, and if we’re lucky, we’ll have a few minutes alone with him when no one’s watching us. People won’t bat an eye if you claim self-defense and put a bullet in his eye.”

Lauren laughed softly, bitterly. “Kevin will still be dead if I do that. My father will still be dead.”

Carson lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together.

Fiero hadn’t killed her father. Nope. That was good old-fashioned lung cancer. Five years in remission, then they found a lump next to his heart. Two months later, he was gone.

She recalled the pain in his voice when he called her and asked to see her before he “passed on.” Worse, she recalled how he tried to hide the pain when she told him she couldn’t leave the hospital for another six weeks—too late for him, far too late. He reassured her that it was all right, that she shouldn’t feel guilty, but what was she supposed to feel?

“It wasn’t your fault, Lauren,” Carson said.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” she snapped, so loudly that Carson flinched. “That’s great, Carson, it’s not my fault. Fucking wonderful. My father died alone, and my fiancé was literally beaten to death with a sledgehammer, but it’s not my fault, so what? I should just move on? I should just let it go?”

“No, Lauren, I—”

“You’re right, Carson. It’s not my fault. Not really. Except, on second thought, it kind of is. I chose this career. I chose to stay here when my father got sick because I was sure I could take a few weeks off when the time came. I chose to stay in the Bureau after meeting Kevin because that’s my personal life, that has nothing to do with the job. I kept chasing bad guys, and Fiero was the baddest of them all, and I had to get him. It had to be me, because I, after all, am God’s vengeance unto the evildoers of this world.”

Hot tears streamed from her eyes now, and their presence only made her angrier. She wiped them angrily from her face, and when she spoke again, the brief sarcasm she exhibited was gone from her tone.

“I should have been there. I should have been making protein shakes with Kevin and going on runs in the park and listening to him talk about options and dividends and futures and giggling along with all the other lucky girls whose rich, prep-school husbands had chosen them. I should have gone to see my father so he could have spent his last months with someone who cared about him and not some nurse. Instead, I had to be a superhero.” She shook her head. “And now everyone I love is dead.”

“Lauren, you would never have been happy living that life,” Carson replied.

“Oh yes, I would have,” she countered. “I would have been very happy living with Kevin and letting someone else hunt the evil in this world. I would have been just dandy.”

“No,” Carson insisted firmly. “That’s not you. You don’t run from evil, you face it and bring it to justice.”

She shook her head again, and Carson said, “Fiero’s still out there, Jules. He’s still killing people. He’s still ruining lives. We’re going to stop him. I have a flight to San Francisco for you and Wolf. It leaves this afternoon.”

Lauren laughed again.

“I know it’s short notice, and if you need a few days, I’ll send Wolf and have you follow him later. But I don’t think you need a break. I think you need closure. I think you need to see this asshole suffer for what he did.”

“You want me to put a bullet in his eye?” Lauren asked. “Is that it? You’re sending me to take justice into my own hands?”

“Someone has to,” Carson said, “and there’s no one better than you.”

“Yeah, well,” Lauren said, reaching into her pocket. “I hope that’s not true.”

Carson’s eyes widened in shock as Lauren tossed the badge onto his lap. “Jules—” he began.

“No,” Lauren interrupted. “I’m done.”

She got out of the car and walked away briskly, ignoring Carson’s calls as she headed to her own car. She got behind the wheel and drove away without looking back.

In her arrogance, she had gotten her fiancé killed and left her father to die alone in a hospital bed with no one but a rotation of nurses for company.

No one else would suffer because of her.

CHAPTER TWO

“Italian Airways Flight 476 is now boarding. Passengers, please collect your belongings and enter the queue designated on your boarding pass.”

Lauren stood and got in line in the third queue, the economy class. She could have afforded a business- or even a first-class ticket if she wanted. Hell, with the money her father left her, she could have chartered a private flight to Florence Airport and not put so much as a dent in her wealth.

But Lauren didn’t care about wealth, and she certainly wasn’t in a mood to be treated with deference, professional or otherwise. She preferred the disinterested politeness occasionally laced with mild contempt that the economy class stewardesses showed her and all the other passengers. The other passengers ignored her utterly, which was all right with her as well.

She headed to her seat and put her headphones on immediately. The in-flight movie wouldn’t start until they reached cruising altitude, which wouldn’t be for another hour at least, and it would almost certainly be the latest sappy, stupid Hollywood romcom, but this would ensure that people continued to ignore her.

She didn’t anticipate being bitter and reclusive the rest of her life. She might not believe in God anymore, but she still believed that a life spent in anger and regret was a life wasted, and she didn’t intend to waste her life. She would find her way again.

But she needed time to heal, first. Her father, who knew her better than probably anyone, even Kevin, had in his final gift to her ensured that she would have as much peace and quiet as she needed to heal.

The stewardess began the safety briefing, but Lauren didn’t hear her. Her mind wandered to her new home in Arezzo, the one that, up until three months ago, had been her father’s.

Her parents had moved to the United States before she was born, and she hadn’t visited them when they moved back to Italy ten years ago, so this would be her first time seeing her ancestral home. Ordinarily, she would be excited to see the wonders of the old country, from the relics of Ancient Rome to the grand architecture of the Medieval and Renaissance principalities, to the freedom and boldness of the modern Republic. She was sure that, with time, she would come to enjoy the opportunity to see a world entirely different from the one she was used to, but for now, she only wanted peace.

She recalled a song she heard many years before when she was in high school. It was a silly, cheesy pop rock song that was no better than any other bubblegum pop song of its own or any other generation, but one line had stuck with her. The singer sung of a woman who expressed a desire to go somewhere no one knew her name. That was what Lauren wanted, and that was what this new place would afford her.

The plane lifted off, carrying Lauren away from the only home she had ever known. She didn’t look back. She wasn’t sure if she would ever see the United States again.

She would go to her father’s house in Italy, and there she would decide what to do next.

Or maybe she would decide she didn’t want to do anything else ever again. Maybe she, like her father, would find her final resting place in the hills of Tuscany. Then, at least, the grief could stop.

***

The house seemed huge to Lauren when she entered. Her father had been a very successful surgeon and had clearly intended to enjoy his wealth with her mother upon his retirement.

Of course, fate had other plans. Or God, if He really was out there still meddling in the lives of creatures too powerless to resist Him. Her mother took ill shortly after they moved to Italy and died less than six months after arriving. Her father had spent ten years alone.

Ten years and Lauren couldn’t find a week to visit him, a few days to ease the loneliness of a man who had sacrificed everything for her. Ten years, he had walked these vast, empty halls, his footsteps echoing as Lauren’s now echoed across the cold marble floors and stone walls of this mansion with no one to keep him company but his own thoughts.

Lauren couldn’t stay there. She rented a room at an inn in town that night, and in the morning, she visited her father’s grave.

Kevin’s tombstone was of white marble, the inscription lined with gold. It sat proudly in a central location in the cemetery, visible from the road. It was a tombstone designed to carry his memory for hundreds of years after those who knew him joined him in death.

Her father’s tombstone was a rough stone slab and simply bore his name, his date of birth and his date of death. He could have afforded his own mausoleum if he wished, but in death it seemed he was as humble as he was in life. No doubt his casket was a simple wooden box, un-cushioned and unadorned. She smiled softly as she imagined him talking with the funeral planner about his final arrangements.

“What would I need a silk pillow for? So my body can be comfortable as it rots? Put me in a box, gioio, and don’t bother with the suit, either. I hated wearing them in life; I don’t want to be buried in one.”

She chuckled and shook her head, but her smile faded as she thought of him at the end, staring into eternity with no one to hold his hand to guide him. It disappeared completely when she reminded herself that she didn’t believe in eternity. There was this life, and then there was the nothingness that humanity couldn’t accept, choosing instead to surround itself with stories that would allow them for a moment to quell the terror of knowing that everything they were, everything they would experience was meaningless in the end.

She leaned over and kissed her father’s tombstone, then stood and walked.

The cemetery was close to the church, as most cemeteries seemed to be. She intended to pass the small chapel, but something seemed to stop her when she walked past the entrance. She turned and looked at the inscription above the door. Chiesa di Nostra Signora Misericordioso, the Church of Our Merciful Lady.

She stared at that inscription for a long moment, then walked inside.

Memories came flooding back when she entered the small, modest building. She had been here before. Not here, exactly, but here, nonetheless. The convent back home may have been a modern, air-conditioned building with electricity, but the air of reverence, of awe, of being somewhere and serving something greater than oneself remained.

She had truly believed that God had called her to be a nun. She had believed it as surely as she believed later that she could make a difference in the FBI.

Now, fifteen years after she first took her vows and ten years after she broke them, she stood in front of the statue of the crucified Christ and wondered why a God who professed to be so loving would be so cruel.

Without being aware of what she was doing, she sank to her knees, bowed her head, and folded her hands in supplication. She began to pray, Latin coming as naturally to her as it had before, though this was the first time in ten years she had spoken it.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis santificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum fiat voluntas tua sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum…”

Her voice trailed off. The words sounded hollow in her ears and felt hollow in her heart. She looked up and met the statue, her eyes beseeching the suffering benevolence in the eyes of Christ, and spoke her heart.

“Why?” she asked. “Why God? If you really do love me, then why do you hurt me? If you really loved Kevin, why did you take him from me, and why did you allow him to be hurt so badly when you took him? Why did you take my father from me at the only time I couldn’t be there to comfort him? Why have you twice shown me the path to escape from despair only to give me even more despair?”

As always, God didn’t answer her. In the past, when she would doubt her beliefs, she would go to the Mother Superior and ask to pray with her. The Mother Superior would kneel with her and plead with Christ and His Holy Mother to grant Sister Giulia the strength to overcome her doubts and resist the temptations of the Adversary.

She would feel somewhat better after these prayers, but not really. Only enough to continue to believe she would understand one day.

It wasn’t until her mother died and God still refused to answer her that she finally accepted that He never would. Now she once more begged Him for comfort.

Her heart hardened, and she stood. “Yeah,” she said bitterly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Well, you can’t expect Him to come down and talk with you face-to-face,” a rich, mellifluous voice spoke.

Lauren jumped and whirled around in shock to find a smiling man in his early sixties returning her gaze. He wore the traditional robe and collar of a priest and regarded her with a genuine kindness and patience that she saw in few priests, even when she believed.

Maybe it was that kindness that prompted her to speak to him and not simply excuse herself and leave the chapel. Maybe she simply needed to hear someone answer her, even if she knew that no answer could assuage her grief.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”