The Mistress

“I know she’s been taken. I know who has her. Where she’s been taken, I do not know that.”

“Does Søren know anything?”

“Søren knows more than you and I combined. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know where she is, either.”

“But you know who has her?”

“Oui.”

Kingsley turned around and started to leave the room. Wesley raced after him and grabbed the back of his long coat. Before he knew what had happened, Wesley found himself with his back planted hard into the wall and Kingsley’s face inches from his own.

“Young man, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Kingsley held Wesley immobile. “I used to kill people for a living. I never officially retired.”

“You don’t scare me.” Wesley hoped the pounding of his heart against his rib cage didn’t betray him. Kingsley dressed like someone off a romance novel cover but Wesley discerned genuine danger in the Frenchman’s eyes. Nora worked for this man? Called him the Frog to his face? She was braver than Wesley had ever given her credit for.

“You’re more attractive in person than you are in your photographs,” Kingsley said, giving Wesley’s face a close inspection. “I’m still not quite sure what she sees in you, however. Unless she lied to me about wanting a child of her own.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Not quite a man yet, either. Don’t worry. You will grow up quickly in this house. Peut-être …” Kingsley moved an inch closer to Wesley’s face and stared deep into his eyes. “She sees in you what I see in you.”

“What’s that?”

Wesley attempted to wrest himself out of Kingsley’s grasp. Kingsley didn’t let go.

“Everything she doesn’t see when she looks in the mirror.” With that, Kingsley released him and Wesley wrenched himself away. He felt a wave of nausea as if his brain bashed against his skull. But he didn’t give in to it. He breathed through his nose and stood his ground.

“I want to see Søren. Now,” Wesley said.

Kingsley straightened his jacket and smoothed his vest.

“Answer two questions first. Then I’ll let you see him.”

“Whatever. Fine. What?”

“Question one—is it true that you are affianced to her?”

Wesley narrowed his eyes at Kingsley, who stood waiting, tapping the toe of one of his stupid boots against the floor.

“Yes. Right before she got kidnapped, we went horseback riding. I asked her to marry me. When we got back to the stables, she said yes.”

Kingsley nodded as he rubbed his bottom lip with his fingertip before raising two fingers.

“Second question. Did you ask her to marry you before or after your head injury?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?” Wesley asked, coming up to him again. Cautiously this time, however. If Kingsley pushed him into the wall again, Wesley knew he’d lose whatever nothing was in his stomach for sure.

“Oui. But only once. I made sure they never said it again. Come along. You want to see the priest? I’ll show you the priest.”

Kingsley started up the stairs and Wesley had no choice but to follow. He noticed Kingsley wincing slightly as they turned a corner and headed to the third floor. Was he injured? Had someone attacked Kingsley, too?

“Are you all right?” Wesley asked, his loathing temporarily giving way to his better instincts. Kingsley might be the asshole of the universe, but Wesley hated to see anyone in pain.

“It is safe to say I’ve been better.”

“Did someone attack you, too?”

“I wouldn’t call it an attack.”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I’d call it one of the better nights of my life.”

Kingsley said nothing more as he led them down a hall to a room on the right.

“I’m afraid le prêtre won’t be much good to you.”

“I don’t care. I need to talk to him.”

“If you insist.” Kingsley opened the door to a room at the end of the hall. Wesley’s eyes widened when he took in the scene. On the floor, at the end of the biggest red bed he’d ever seen in his life, sat Søren, his blond head bowed, his eyes closed. “Talk away. He may not talk back, however.”

“What the hell …?”

“He threatened to call the police,” Kingsley said matter-of-factly. “The police, the church and all city, state and federal authorities. I couldn’t allow that. For his sake.”

“So you …”

“Sedated him. And handcuffed him. He’ll be out another hour at least with the shot I gave him.”

“You drugged Søren?”

“I have a very well-stocked medicine cabinet in case of emergencies.”

“You’re crazy.”

Kingsley gave a shrug so nonchalant it could only be described as French.

“Turnabout is fair play, non? His turn to wear the handcuffs.”

Wesley could only stare at Søren on the floor. Even unconscious he had a certain broken nobility to him in his black clerics and his white collar. The one time Wesley had spoken face-to-face with the man, he’d been wearing secular clothes.

“He’s a priest,” Wesley said as the reality of Søren’s profession finally sank in. He knew, of course. He’d known from the beginning. Nora never hid that from him. But seeing the collar …

“He is. And possibly the finest priest in America if not the world. And if he wants to remain a priest and get his lover back, then it’s for the best we leave the authorities out of this. I can only protect his secrets so much. He’ll thank me later.”

Kingsley closed the door and started back down the hall.

“Kingsley, we have to call the police. I don’t care what happens to Søren or you or even me. We’re wasting time. We don’t even know where she is.”