the diocese and involve themselves thoroughly in the investigation.”
“The press, huh? Explains why you were on the phone with Kingsley already today.”
Kingsley had a fascinating relationship with the press—fascinating in the way the sack of Rome by invading Barbarian hordes was fascinating. A reporter once threatened to run a story exposing one of Kingsley’s clients—an internationally renowned human-rights attorney—as a transvestite with multiple sexual fetishes. Two nights before the story ran, a sex tape that the reporter and her husband had made played in an endless loop on every computer in their six-year-old’s exclusive private school. The video was unremovable. All two hundred computers had to be scrapped and replaced.
The story never ran.
“I’d rather not resort to any of Kingsley’s methods to keep our private life private,” Søren said. Søren might be a sadist but he only hurt people consensually. “But his information is often invaluable. Rest assured, Eleanor, I will find a way to avoid becoming the next bishop. That is not why I called you both here.”
“I’m already dying not to know why you called us here,” Nora said. Something in Søren’s gray eyes warned her that whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it.
“You and Michael are the only two members of Sacred Heart who know who and what I am. The press will come, and they will ask questions. I cannot ask either of you to lie for me. And as I know neither of you will tell the truth when asked—”
“Damn straight,” Michael said under his breath, and Nora said a prayer of thanks for Michael’s loyalty. She knew Michael credited Søren with saving his life. She’d never heard the whole story, but she knew Søren had risked his career by telling Michael the truth about himself and his relationship with Nora. The night she and Michael spent together over a year ago was Søren’s reward to Michael for going an entire year without harming himself again. Although an unusually wise and mature teenager then and now, Michael had been fifteen the night she’d taken his virginity. Sixteen, not fifteen, was legal age in Connecticut and New York, and that made their night together a crime. She’d done the deed not knowing his age, but Søren had made the introductions.
“Okay. So Michael and I aren’t allowed to lie about you? Vow of silence then?”
Søren smiled. “You taking a vow of silence, Eleanor, is as likely as you taking a vow of celibacy. No, I think it’s best that you both leave town while this is going on. Together.”
Silence descended on the room like a shroud.
“Can I talk to you alone for one minute please, sir?” Nora asked, and Søren released a much put-upon sigh.
“Michael, would you mind?”
Michael stood up and left the office.
“Are you insane?”
“Little one, who owns you?”
Nora sunk back into her chair.
“You, sir. But you really want—”
“Eleanor, if a reporter asked you if we were lovers what would you do?”
“I’d tell him to mind his own goddamn business. Then I’d have Kingsley freeze his credit cards and bank accounts for the week just for fun.”
Søren raised his eyebrow.
“Okay. Point taken,” she said.
“I need to able to deal with this situation without worrying about you. But the most important reason is Michael. He needs you.”
“Needs me for what?”
“What you are best at,” Søren said simply.
“You expect me to train Michael?” Nora asked, aghast. “I was a pay-for-play dominatrix, remember? Training wasn’t my area. Surely there’s someone else—”
“There’s no one else I trust. And no one else Michael trusts. He starts college in the fall. This summer is our last chance to help him.”
Nora heard something underneath Søren’s words, and a shiver of worry rippled through her. She hadn’t really talked to Michael since their one night together, but she still cared about the kid.
“Help him? The last time I helped him it was because you were afraid he was going to try to kill himself again. What’s wrong with Michael?”
“Nothing I can tell you, I’m afraid.”
Sighing, Nora stood up and wandered over to the stained-glass window that adorned the back wall of Søren’s office. Unlike the stained-glass windows in the sanctuary, this window depicted no saints or biblical scenes but instead a bursting bloodred rose. Nora traced one of the cool metal spokes of the beautiful window with the tip of her finger.
“Søren, we’ve only been back together for a year,” she reminded him, reluctant to leave him for a day much less the entire summer.
“I know, Eleanor.” Søren stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her stomach. “But you have to trust me, trust that I know what I’m doing. I need you to help Michael. I need you to help me.”
I need you…. The infamous underground community they belonged to universally considered Søren its top dominant. Søren had even earned the nickname the Alpha and Omega Male. But those words—I need you—had escaped his lips more times than most who thought they knew him would believe. During their five years apart, Nora would sometimes be awoken early in the morning by a phone call and those three words from Søren. Although she had left him, she never told him no on those rare occasions that he called. Sometimes even he could not rein in his own dark desires. I need you, he would say, and Nora would leave her bed and answer simply, Okay. Tell me where and when.
“Okay.” She answered that need now. “Where and when?”
“As soon as possible, I’m afraid. And I’ll leave the where to you. I would only suggest you go far enough away that no one would attempt to follow you.”
“England?” she asked. “Zach and Grace are trying to get pregnant. This is something I can help them with. Or at least, you know, watch.”
“Out of the question,” Søren said. “I know how you behave in other countries. That you still are allowed a passport is one of the universe’s great mysteries.”
“That was not my fault,” she reminded him. “The consulate cleared me.”
“Eleanor …”
“Fine. We’ll go to Griffin’s,” she said. “He inherited his grandparents’ old horse farm, and he’s been bugging me for months to visit. How’s that?”
Søren heaved a labored sigh. “Griffin …”
Nora bit back a laugh. “Come on, Griffin’s okay. He’s one of my best friends.”
“He’s spoiled, juvenile and a coward.”
He was also rich, gorgeous and great in bed, but she
