The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(17)
Kingsley rubbed his forehead, felt the weariness in his bones. He needed a better reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
Kingsley walked four blocks and found a pay phone.
“It’s me,” Kingsley said when S?ren answered. He spoke in French. No need for names.
“What’s the verdict?” S?ren asked.
“She’ll get community service. Good enough?”
He heard a pause on the other end, and Kingsley lived and died in that pause. Just like old times.
“Thank you,” S?ren said. “That is more than I’d dared to hope for.”
“Let me ask you something. If I hadn’t been able to help your little girl, what would you have done? What was Plan B?”
“I think she and my mother would get along quite well.”
Kingsley shook his head and laughed to himself. “I’m glad I could save you from the necessity of kidnapping a minor and transporting her across international borders.”
“Kidnapping is such a strong word. I prefer the term rescuing.”
“You really love her.”
“You will, too.”
“What’s so special about this girl you’re willing to commit felonies on her behalf?”
“Truth?”
“Truth,” Kingsley said.
“She reminds me of you.”
“That’s why you love her?” Kingsley asked, hoping the answer was “yes” but knowing it wasn’t.
“That’s why I’m trying to help her.”
Kingsley heard the pointed note in S?ren’s words.
“I don’t need help,” Kingsley said.
“Are you certain of that?”
“Yes,” Kingsley said, and hung up the phone.
As he walked away, he had a f leeting thought.
What was the penance for lying to a priest?
7
April “HIT ME,” KINGSLEY SAID AS HE TAPPED THE TABLE. “I’m not going to hit you,” S?ren said.
“You have to do what I say. And I say hit me.” S?ren glared at him. Kingsley glared back.
“You have an ace and an eight,” S?ren said.
“Which means I have nine or nineteen. I’m calling it nine.
Hit me.”
“You want another card because you want to say ‘hit me’
to me as many times as possible tonight.”
“I’m not disagreeing with that.” Kingsley tapped the table
again. “Hit me.”
S?ren gave Kingsley another card—a second ace. Now he
had twenty or ten, depending on how he wanted to play it. He
and S?ren weren’t playing blackjack for money, so he didn’t
care much if he won or not. In fact, he didn’t care at all. But
he couldn’t deny the fact he was enjoying himself. Kingsley needed time to stop and stop completely. He hadn’t felt
this… He couldn’t even find the right word. He hadn’t felt
this something in years. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to lose it, and he’d found it the instant S?ren had stepped through
his front door.
“Kingsley?”
“I’m thinking.”
“You have twenty. You should stand.”
“I’m not going to take the strategy advice of my enemy.” “I’m the dealer, not the enemy.”
“When did you start playing blackjack anyway?” Kingsley
demanded as he perused his cards again. One more ace and
he’d have blackjack. “Do they teach this in seminary?” “Cards were an extracurricular activity. An entire household full of men who aren’t allowed to have sex? We find
other hobbies.”
“So, blackjack?”
“Among other things.”
Kingsley gave him a searching look.
“Care to tell me what these other hobbies of yours are?”
Kingsley asked.
“They’re on a need-to-know basis. You don’t need to
know,” S?ren said, fanning the cards in front of him. “I need to know everything,” Kingsley said. “If I’m going
to keep you from getting excommunicated or going to prison
for seducing and/or kidnapping a teenage girl—” “Seduce her? I haven’t even seen her for a full month.” Kingsley cocked an eyebrow at S?ren.
“She quit church?”
S?ren cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. “She’s grounded.”
Kingsley dropped his head on to the table.
“Why didn’t I defect to Russia when I had the chance?”
Kingsley sighed.
“Are you going to make a decision about your cards, or are
we going to be here all night?”
“We’re going to be here all night.” Kingsley sat up again.
S?ren shook his head in disgust. “Don’t look at me like
that. I’m not the one with a girlfriend young enough to be
grounded.”
Exhaling with exasperation, S?ren swept up his cards and
Kingsley’s. With his agile pianist’s fingers, he shuff led the cards
one-handed. Kingsley watched the display of casual grace and