Before He Sins (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 7)

PROLOGUE The sun had cracked the horizon but had not yet burned off the last chills of night—Christy’s favorite time of day. Seeing the sun come up over the city was a stark reminder for her that every night had its end, something she needed to know, as she had started to feel further and further away from God. Seeing the sun coming up over the buildings of Washington, DC, and pushing away the night reminded her of the lyrics to a worship song: Although there’s pain in the night, the sun comes in the morning… She recited that line over and over as she walked up the street toward the church. She’d been trying to talk herself into doing this for weeks now. Her faith had been challenged, as she had given in to sin and temptation. The idea of confession had come to her right away but it was also hard. It was never easy to confess one’s sins. But she knew she had to. The longer a sin existed between her and God, the harder it would be to correct that imbalance. The sooner she could confess that sin, the better chance she had of regaining her footing and reestablishing her faith—a faith that had defined her life ever since the age of ten. As she saw the edges of the church come into view, her heart sagged. Can I really do this? Can I really confess this? The familiar edges and shape of Blessed Heart Catholic Church seemed to tell her that yes, she could. Christy started to tremble. She wasn’t sure she’d call what she had been doing an affair or not. She’d only kissed the man once and had called it out for what it was then. But she had continued to see him, had continued to let herself be lifted up by his words of praise and adoration—words her own husband had stopped uttering to her years ago. She could almost feel that sin burned away from her as the sun rose higher in the sky, casting golds and soft oranges around the edges of Blessed Heart. If she needed any further sign that she was supposed to be confessing her sins to a priest on this particular morning, that was it. She came to the steps of Blessed Heart with a heaviness on her shoulders. But she knew that within moments, it would be gone. She could return home, her sins confessed, her heart unburdened, and her mind— When she reached the front doors, Christy screamed. She backed away, still screaming. She nearly fell down the concrete stairs as she stumbled back. Her hands went to her mouth, doing very little to muffle the scream. Father Costas was hanging from the doors. He had been stripped down to his underwear and there was a long horizontal cut on his brow. His head hung down, looking toward his bare feet, which were dangling two feet above the concrete stoop. Little tendrils of blood dripped from his toes, collecting in a dingy pool on the stoop. Crucified, Christy thought. Father Costas has been crucified.