Once again Griffin stopped and stared at him. Michael hugged his knees to his chest and tucked his long hair behind his ears. It made him a little uncomfortable the way Griffin looked at him. But uncomfortable in a way he kind of liked.
“Right, okay,” Griffin said, pulling a sheaf of papers and a pen out of his back pocket. “Easy enough. Everything’s on a one-to-five scale—one meaning it turns you on as much as kissing your grandmother and five meaning it makes you spray your shorts just thinking about it. Doesn’t matter if you’ve done it or not—just if you want to do it. First category—sex.”
“Five,” Michael answered.
Griffin grinned at him. “That was just the category. But I like your enthusiasm, Mick.”
“Mick?”
“Can I call you Mick? Michael’s too formal. I’m not formal. You’re lucky I’ve even got pants on today.”
Michael mulled it over. No one had ever called him anything other than Michael except for his father, who’d called him Mikey as a kid—a nickname Michael loathed. And Nora called him Angel. But she was Nora. She could call him anything.
“I like it,” Michael decided and smiled.
While skimming the pages of the checklist, Griffin muttered something that sounded to Michael like “assassinate the Pope for this.” Michael decided he must have misheard.
“Category one,” Griffin continued, “on a scale of one to five…vaginal sex?”
“Five.”
“Agreed. Oral sex?”
“Five.”
Griffin looked at him before dropping his eyes to his notes again.
“Even better. Anal sex?”
Michael coughed. “Five.”
“Multiple partners?”
Michael looked down at his wrists and checked that his watch and wristband completely covered his scars.
“Five.”
“Threesomes?”
“Five.”
Michael didn’t look up but he could feel Griffin’s curious eyes on him.
“Two women and one man?”
“Five.”
“Two men and one woman?”
Michael shifted on the floor and didn’t look up at Griffin. It took him a long time to answer.
* * *
Five minutes after Thursday evening Mass ended, Suzanne stood outside of Sacred Heart in the shade of a willow tree and watched Father Stearns.
Gorgeous. The priest, her target, was absolutely gorgeous. The congregation filed out of the front doors and greeted their priest in the warm evening air. With the men he exchanged handshakes. From most of the women he received light, chaste hugs. Every child received a touch on the top of the head like a tiny blessing. Every child but one.
A young boy of about six or seven with unruly black hair stormed up to Father Stearns and turned an angry face up to the priest.
“Owen, I’ve already told you—” Father Stearns began but the small boy wouldn’t let him finish.
“It’s not fair,” he said, stamping his tiny foot. “I want to say thank-you. You have to tell me—”
“Owen,” Father Stearns said, bending low to meet the boy eye to eye. “You know priests aren’t allowed to tell secrets. The person who gave you your tuition money asked me not to tell you.”
Suzanne stiffened at the sight of the little boy, Owen, and the priest standing so close together. At least the boy didn’t seem intimidated by Father Stearns. She already was.
Owen raised his little fist, narrowed his eyes and growled.
“Young man, did you just growl at me?”
The boy looked immediately contrite.
“Maybe,” he confessed, wrinkling his face up.
“Clearly you’ve been spending too much time with your Miss Ellie. She growls at me too.”
At the mention of the mysterious Miss Ellie, Owen’s anger fell from his face.
“When’s she coming back?” Owen said. “I did a new painting for her.”
“I can’t say,” Father Stearns said, standing back up to his full height again. “She may be gone for some time.”
Owen nodded and stared down at his shoes.
“I miss her,” the boy said, digging the toes of his sneakers into the grass.
Father Stearns sighed and tapped the boy on the top of his head.
“As do I.”
Owen ran off at that, and Suzanne realized she finally had an opening. Nervously she strode up to Father Stearns and plastered on her best attempt at a weathergirl grin.
“Father Marcus Stearns?”
He turned to her with the slightest smile on the edge of his lips.
“Very nice to see a new face at Sacred Heart. How do you do, Miss…?” he began and extended his hand.
Suzanne froze momentarily before remembering she was undercover. She held out her hand and let him take it. He had perfect hands, sculpted like a statue’s. Smooth, warm skin but strong, very strong, although he gripped her fingers lightly. He grasped her hand like a man who knew his own strength, knew how to command and control it.
“Kanter,” she supplied. “Suzanne Kanter. I’m very well, thank you,” she said, answering etiquette with etiquette as she pulled her hand back. “I enjoyed the Mass.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What brings you to Sacred Heart?” he asked, his voice curious but not suspicious. Suzanne decided to press her luck a little and see if she could get a reaction out of him.
“Nothing very pious. You see, I heard a rumor that Nora Sutherlin attends church here. I’m a big fan so I thought I’d drop in. But I didn’t see anyone who looked like a famous writer.”