I sighed and sat back down. "Sorry, Mike, but I already bought tickets to the charity ball, so I don't think there's any more I can do for you."
Such a shame, I thought, allowing myself one last look at the way the stripes of sunlight fell across his chest. I should've figured him for a cop. My earlier assessment of his manly charms neglected to include the slight bulge of the standard-issue Glock tucked into the shoulder holster. With a clearer eye, I ticked off the other dead giveaways. The way he stood, all ready for action, held a certain flat-footedness that I should've picked up before. The biggest clue was the dumbstruck expression on his face. That said cop all over it.
Pressing the space bar, I retrieved the article I'd saved from the Times. I feigned an overwhelming interest in the screen, and added, "You boys should know I don't involve myself with police work anymore."
Michael eased his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He stood there, as if to tell me he had no plans of moving anytime soon.
Waving a hand in the air, I shooed him out of the office. "Come on, Officer, you managed to find the door once."
He glanced at the door, then swung his handsome face back in my direction. A lesser woman might've swooned, but I just tightened my smile. I gave up on the Times with a sigh. "Let me guess this time is different: it's a matter of life or death."
"Actually ..." Michael sauntered over to my desk and propped himself up on the edge. "It's more serious than that."
I laughed. Leaning forward onto my elbows, I rested my head on my hands. "What
could be more serious than life or death?"
"Some things have eternal consequences." He smiled slightly, turning up the very edges of his mouth. The effect on his face was stunning. His eyes widened just enough to smooth the crease from the middle of his brow. Michelangelo eat your heart out.
"Some things do," I managed to say. "But I'm not running a church. You look like the football and Bible type. Why don't you try the Promise Keepers Church down the road? It's a drive-through."
"What they're selling can't help me."
I looked back at his face, trying to judge by his expression how he meant that. The tone sounded almost mocking, but his mouth turned down, and his eyes were serious.
"Yeah? But I can, eh?" I gave him a tired smile, "I have to warn you, I don't have any plastic figurines or Bible scorecards to offer."
"I'll have to make do," he said. Michael took my words as an invitation to stay and settled himself more securely on top of the scattered snail-news clippings and other clutter of my desk. His knee grazed the edge of a pewter picture frame. The back-prop folded and began to tip over, but Michael reached out to rescue it. He turned the frame over in his hands and glanced down at the photo. Something in the picture caught his attention, and his eyes flicked over it as if searching for some clue.
I leaned back in my swivel chair to observe him. The springs of the chair creaked noisily. He showed me the photo, "Family?"
"Yeah," I admitted, wary of the direction this conversation was going. My personal life was off-limits. Still, I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. "My brother, the priest."
As he set the frame down near its original spot, his deep-set eyes searched out mine. I didn't like the intimacy of his gaze, so I found myself bristling and talking without thinking.
"So, what are you implying? My brother's a problem?" I scoffed. "Mike, I have it on good authority that Eion's nearly a saint."
"What? No, no, not at all. I was just ... hmm-mmmmm." He paused, as if searching for the right words. Absently, Michael pushed at the glossy cover of the dog-eared paperback novel I'd been reading. His finger traced the edge of the design, skirting the hem of the heroine's ripped bodice. Slowly, along the embossed folds of the dress, his fingertip moved toward her bosom. Grabbing the book out from under his touch, I slapped the cover facedown on the desk, surprising both of us.
When he raised his eyes, I gaped at him mutely. I couldn't explain why I'd reacted that way. The feeling was silly, and I was losing control of this conversation. So, I grabbed the novel and tossed it into the bottom drawer of my desk. I kicked it shut with the toe of my shoe. "Bad habit." I shrugged.
Michael lowered his eyes. That slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth again. "Tell me something, McMannus. Are you still Catholic?"
"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" I fired back.
His gray eyes flashed up at my words, pinning me under a harsh glare. Determined to stay on top of the pecking order we seemed to be establishing, I stared back just as hard.
"So what does my faith have to do with anything?" I asked. "What? Are you one of the New Christian Righters out proselytizing for Letourneau? I always figured the force was crawling with Letourneau's minions. Listen, Officer, I have less than no time for you if ..."
"I'm not," he cut me off. "Though in a way, it's Letourneau that brought me here."