"Let's call it a night, shall we?" I opened the door and climbed into the truck.

He stood up straight. "Just say no, huh?" His laugh was light, but it had a bitter undertone. "Too risky? Big moral dilemma?"

"Morality doesn't have anything to do with it," I said.

"I'm just figuring out what I want." I stuck the key in the ignition.

"What you want is me," he said firmly. "Listen, China, there's no reason we can't. We're not strangers. We're both free." He spaced the words for emphasis. "You're your own woman, totally independent. You don't owe anybody anything."

He was right. I didn't owe anything to anybody. Except myself.

I had my hand on the key. "That's why it's no."

His sigh was raw, heavy. He put a hand on the open door handle. "Don't run away, China. I've never really stopped loving you. Who's to know if we please ourselves tonight?"

Are all protestations of love and lust, however heartfelt, doomed to sound like dialogue from an old movie? "I really have to go now," I said. I pulled the door shut and turned the key.

The engine turned over, coughed regretfully, and died. I pumped the gas pedal a couple of times and cranked it again.

Another cough, almost a hiccup.

The third time, it didn't even burp.

"I am not believing this," I muttered. Tom had stepped back and was watching me, hands in his coat pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. After a long, embarrassing moment, I rolled down the window. "You don't happen to have a pair of jumper cables, do you?" I asked in a small voice.

He eyed me for a moment, calculating, not in any hurry to answer. "What's it worth to you?" he asked finally.

I stared at him. Damn it, he was seriousl I picked up my purse. "I'll call the garage."

He looked at me a moment longer. And then said, explosively, "Oh, shit."

It took ten minutes to dig the cables out of his car, hook them up, and start the truck-neither of us saying more

than the necessary put this here and turn it over when I tell you. When we were finished and die truck was running again, he came around to the door.

"Listen, China, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to bargain. I was just-"

"Thanks for the jump," I said. "I've got to go now."

His mouth quirked. "Yeah, well, at least we had Paris." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's something."

I raised my hand, fighting the almost irresistible temptation to say, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." I shifted into first gear and drove off.

I stopped at the first phone booth, left the truck running and hopped out, and called McQuaid. I was eager to hear his voice, feel connected again. But it was Brian who answered the phone.

"Dad's playing poker with Sheriff Blackwell," he said. "Hey, China, you done good." He sounded excited. "Real good."

I frowned. "I did good?" I asked cautiously. "What did I do?"

"You know. You guys really know how to pray. Maybe it's because everybody out there is so holy."

"I'm not so sure about that," I said. Arson, poison-pen letters, questionable deaths, a political takeover… "Excuse me, Brian, but I think I missed something. What are we talking about?"

He giggled, elated. "You mean, you didn't hear yet? The Cowboys beat the Packers yesterday. Coach said on TV it was the answer to a prayer. I figure it had to be yours."

"Credit where credit is due," I said. "Listen, tell your dad I called, okay? Tell him I'm having a great time and I wish he was here." And at that moment, it was true, definitely true. I wished McQuaid were here, wrapping me in his arms, holding me tight, nuzzling me.

"Yeah," Brian said, "you wish he was there. Anything else?"

I hesitated. "Tell him I love him. Lots and lots. Tons."

"Mush," he said with eleven-year-old disgust.

"'And I love you too," I said, feeling generous. "And Howard Cosell and Khat and-" I stopped. Not Einstein. I had to draw the line somewhere.

"Thanks," he said, grudgingly grateful. "Me too. Say, China, will you ask those nuns to keep praying? Next week it's the 'Niners."

Chapter Fourteen

It was my alarm clock, not the fire bell, that jarred me out of a sound sleep at first light the next morning. I got up, pulled on my sweats, and took a brisk walk along the river. I surprised a white-tailed doe drinking at the water's edge and startled a great blue heron, statuesque in a quiet pool, waiting for a silver minnow to dart out from under a rock. He lifted heavily into flight, flapped across the river, and dropped into another pool, where he fixed a suspicious eye on me. The wind had swung back around to the southwest again, and it was warming up. It was going to be a cool, crisp day, one of Texas's January jewels.

Back at Jeremiah, I grabbed a quick shower, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, feeling virtuous for having fended off temptation the night before. I pulled on cords and a sweater and set off for breakfast, ready for whatever fireworks Sadie Marsh might launch at the board meeting.

As I passed the green Dodge truck in the parking lot on the way to the refectory, I patted it affectionately. Given its performance in the Lone Star parking lot last night, I'd been a little worried about the twelve-mile drive from Carr to the monastery. I hadn't relished the idea of getting stranded and having to hitch a ride to St. T's from some

colorful local character on his way home after a hard night's drinking.

But the truck behaved and the only person 1 met was hardly colorful. At the turnoff to the monastery, I encountered a Honda. It came from the opposite direction, made a sharp left in front of me, and stopped at the gate. Somebody-it was too dark to see who-got out hurriedly, retrieved the key and opened the gate, then drove through, leaving it open. I drove through, closed it, then drove fast to catch up, curious to know which of the nuns was out at this late hour. I pulled into the lot behind Sophia just as the driver, dressed in dark slacks and a dark jacket, got out.

"Sister Olivia!" I said, surprised. "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow."

She recognized me and stiffened. "My plans changed," she said, taking a small suitcase from the backseat

I thought of my list of questions-Mother Hilaria's hot plate, Father Steven's scar, the letters. "Now that you're back, I'd like to make a time to talk. It really is important that I ask you about-"

She slammed the car door and locked it. "No," she said. She came around the car and the light fell on her. Her face was a white mask, her eyes two dark smudges.

"I don't mean that we have to talk right now," I persisted. "How about after breakfast tomorrow?"

"No," she said again. Her voice was rising, frantic, half-hysterical. "I have nothing to say to you. Nothing at all, do you hear?" She pushed past me into the dark. I could hear the staccato tattoo of her heels on the cement sidewalk.

"Good morning," Maggie said cheerfully, interrupting my thoughts as I came around the truck. "It's a pretty day, isn't it?" She gave me a quick glance. "How'd it go last night?"

"How'd it go?" I repeated, still wondering why Sister Olivia had been so anxious to escape from me. She had been almost running.

The corners of her mouth twitched. ' 'You know. Your date. With Tom."

"Oh, that." I grinned. "It was okay."

She held the door open as we went inside Sophia. "What? No champagne and roses?" Her mouth twitched. "No propositions?"

"There was a proposition," I said offhandedly. "I just said no."

The twitch became a smile. ' 'You see? Never underestimate the power of prayer."