The King

“Good,” Kingsley said. “That will make it easier to find what I need.”

“You’re not going to find anything. And if you keep looking, so will I. And not only at you.”

“My friends have nothing to hide, either.”

“Even the priest in the family?”

“I’ll tell you anything about him you want to know. Did you know he was abused as a child? Hospitalized after his father broke his arm? Did you know he killed a sexual predator at his school? He also gave up a huge fortune to become a priest after he was widowed at age eighteen. He spent several summers volunteering at a leper colony in India. How much time have you spent volunteering in leper colonies?”

Kingsley gave Fuller a long, pointed look. Fuller didn’t answer.

“Take some advice,” Kingsley said, “and keep your eyes on me. If you stare at him too long, you might learn something about what it means to be a man of God.”

Fuller raised his chin.

“You can go now, Mr. Edge. I think we’ve talked man to man enough.”

“I will. I don’t want to be late for my game. My other game.”

Kingsley gave a mock bow and headed out.

“Mr. Edge?” Fuller called out after him. Kingsley turned on his heel.

“Oui?”

“I have more money than you. And more contacts. And friends in higher places. Remember that.”

“Quite the Goliath, aren’t you?” Kingsley smiled once more. “When I get your hotel and turn it into my club, I’ll fuck a man on opening night in your honor. By the way, do you have any sons?”

“Pardon my French, Monsieur Edge, but get the fuck out of my office.”

Kingsley happily obliged the man.

He walked out of Fuller’s building and to his car. Nothing productive had come from his meeting with Fuller. No secrets were uncovered. No truths revealed. And yet...

Fuller was scared and Kingsley had seen it. Fear meant one thing only—Fuller did have something to hide. And Kingsley was going to find it.

But something else had come of the meeting. Kingsley had a leak in his personal security. Five people had his private line number. Five suspects. Sam, Blaise and Søren were out. Sam hated the Fullers more than he did. Blaise was actively campaigning against them. And Søren wouldn’t betray Kingsley to Fuller if someone put a gun to his head.

So that left his lawyer and his friend on the force. Kingsley would give them both a call very soon.

But not right now. He had better things to do with his time. And if not better, than certainly more enjoyable.

He made it to Wakefield an hour before the game started and found Søren working in his office. He had his collar and clerics on and had stacks of books piled high on the desk, note cards marking pages. The only photograph in the office was on Søren’s desk—him in his white vestments standing next to a lovely blonde woman gazing on him adoringly. Søren and his mother on the day of his ordination. A small but elegant office. A sacred space devoted to learning and prayer. It couldn’t have been more different than Fuller’s. Not a golf club in sight.

“If you came for confession,” Søren said, glancing up at him from his notes, “do it now. I will not be in a state of grace after this game if we lose.”

“We aren’t going to lose.”

“Do you know what their pastor said to me after the last game? He said their team was predestined to win. Now I understand how holy wars get started.”

Kingsley laughed and sat in the chair opposite Søren’s desk.

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” Kingsley asked.

“You just did,” Søren said, making a note on a white card.

Kingsley paused and laughed.

“What?” Søren glanced up from his writing.

“Déjà vu. Anyway, you didn’t give anyone my private phone number, did you? Write it down? Give it to your secretary?”

“No. I have it memorized, and I’d never tell anyone unless it was a life-and-death situation. Why?”

“No reason. Are you ready to go?” Kingsley asked. “We should warm up.”

“I suppose. It’ll be a better use of my time than this.” Søren slipped his legal pad into his top desk drawer.

“What are you working on?”

“My Ph.D. dissertation.”

“I can think of a nearly infinite number of things that would be better uses of your time. And surprisingly, only half of them are sexual.”

“Only half?”

“Two-thirds,” Kingsley said. “Let’s go.”

“Going,” Søren said. “I need to stop by the house and change. I’ll meet you at the field.”

“Do you have to wear the collar on Saturdays, too?”

“No. But it’s for the best I do.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Eleanor’s here today, and I need as much armor as possible around her.”

“She’s here?” Kingsley sat up straighter.

“No.”

“You just said—”

“Pretend I didn’t.”

“Can I see her?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“She’s busy, and I don’t want you distracting her.”

“She’s sixteen. What’s she doing that’s so important?”

“Youth group.”