Page 36 of Cruel Hearts

Behind me, the door creaked open and shut, then Kendrick’s footsteps approached. He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarled.

“What did you say to Mr. Burgh?” asked Kendrick.

I jerked away from his grip and continued toward the paddocks that led to the driveway. “There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“What?”

“You assume everything is my fault. Anyone would think you were obsessed.”

“Then explain why a well-respected headmaster would attack a priest.”

A laugh bubbled out of my throat. Kendrick was the last person I would hand over a family secret.

“Lilah,” he snapped.

I whirled around. “What do you want?”

“I deserve an explanation after convincing Father Neapolitan not to call the authorities.”

“That fucker wouldn’t want the police anywhere near his skeletons.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped. “Did he touch you?”

The note of concern in his voice resonated with my heart. I jerked my head to the side and squeezed my eyes shut as though that might tamp down the deluge of love and hurt and betrayal that kept surging up at the worst moments.

This had to be the aspect of Kendrick’s personality Maxwell had mimicked during his elaborate deception. Too much was happening right now for me to dredge up the hurt of getting to know someone—getting to feel something for them, only to discover the person was a sham.

One cold, deep breath calmed my emotions, another made them numb. I opened my eyes. “Do you know those boys?”

Kendrick stared down at me as though I’d sprouted tusks. Pale streams of sunlight colored the ends of his mahogany hair a deep bronze. How I hated his straight nose, those high cheekbones, and strong jaw.

“The boys who accepted the collection money Elizabeth stole,” I snapped. “Who are they?”

He frowned. “Fifth years, but—”

“If you’re serious about getting even with Elizabeth, there’s your chance.” I tore my gaze away from his. Without the twist of hatred and annoyance, he looked too much like the boy from last term. “Find out what those boys have on her and use that instead of unearthing distant relatives to steal her title.”

Kendrick’s nostrils flared. I rolled my eyes and walked away. He didn’t follow, and I hoped he had taken the short route back to the academy. Behind me in the distance, I thought I heard the slamming of a door. A quick glance over my shoulder found Father Neapolitan exiting the chapel.

“Shit.” I picked up my pace and hurried to the end of the track.

The cough of his ignition and the growl of his engine set my teeth on edge. A bead of sweat trickled down my brow. I had threatened to expose him. If this was Richley and I’d threatened to expose a rapist, I’d fully expect him to mow me down in his car.

Up ahead stood a post and rail fence that sectioned off a frost-covered paddock. Behind, the gravel rumbled from the car reversing out of its parking space. Father Neapolitan revved his engine, making my heart rate skyrocket.

Fuck pride.

Fuck trying to look cool.

Feeling the heat of the car’s engine on my back, and the roar of its accelerator in my ears, I broke into a sprint, scrambled over the fence, landed on my hands and knees, and leaped to the side. Father Neapolitan swerved at the last minute and sped down the track.

“Bloody. Fucking. Hell!”

Picking myself off the ground and breathing like a racehorse, I gaped at the retreating car.

I didn’t need a degree in criminology to determine Father Neapolitan’s guilt. That attempt to intimidate or mow me down was an admission that the black-hearted bastard had something to hide.