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situation could become serious. A threat—no matter how subtle—wasn’t the kind of thing you ignored, especially if you were the daughter of a controversial, high-profile religious icon in a city full of sinners. He wanted to think this was working out exactly the way he’d hoped it would. A quick security inspection and he was out of there. But in some small corner of his mind, he wondered if Julia’s resistance had to do with the incident in Chicago. If she somehow knew about it. If maybe she thought he was incompetent because he’d shot and killed a fellow cop. The shame that followed cut with unexpected force.
    “This is exactly the kind of thing that could escalate and turn into something ugly if you’re not on top of the situation,” he said.
    Sighing, she looked to the heavens in exasperation. “I’m outnumbered.”
    “What you are,” John said, “is smart enough to know when you need help.”
    Benjamin Wainwright stepped forward and set his hands on her shoulders. “Julia, darlin’, you’ve known John since you were a kid. Be reasonable and let him take a look at those letters.” He looked around the shop with mild distaste. “Let him hang out for a couple of days and keep an eye on things for you.”
    “Dad—”
    Wainwright’s cell phone chirped. Giving his daughter a final frown, he yanked the phone from his belt, glared at the display for a moment, then growled, “Honey, I’ve got to take this. It’s the folks from Our Lady of Saint Agnes. ’Scuse me.” The bell jingled when he pushed open the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
    “Saved by the phone,” she muttered.
    John stood his ground near the counter, wondering who’d won the tug-of-war. He told himself that even if the old man claimed victory and John ended up spending the next few days here, the assignment would be a piece of cake. The problem was that John was in no frame of mind to be playing rent-a-cop. He had enough problems just getting through the day without some high-maintenance, difficult-minded female complicating things.
    Without speaking to him, Julia went back to her place behind the counter. Pulling cash from the drawer, she began counting, slapping each bill down with a little too much force. “I apologize for my father putting you on the spot.”
    “I’m sure he has your best interest at heart.”
    “I want you to know . . . none of what was said has anything to do with you personally.”
    John winced. “I didn’t take it personally.”
    “Please don’t feel an obligation to—”
    “Babysit you?”
    She didn’t stop counting bills, but her mouth quirked. “Something like that.”
    “He’s only trying to protect you.”
    She stopped counting and looked at him, her expression softening. “I know.”
    “You’d make him a happy man if you let me hang out here for a couple of days.”
    She banded the bills. “He’s never approved of my having this shop.”
    “Why not?”
    She lifted a shoulder, let it fall. “He wanted me to get my master’s degree. Get involved with the ministry, either teaching or missionary work.”
    “He got a bookstore instead.”
    “Not nearly as respectable.”
    “Respectable is overrated.”
    John watched her place the bills in the register, trying not to notice that her hands were as pretty and slender as the rest of her.
    “Are you speaking from experience?”
    He looked up, found her eyes already on him. “I’m an expert on disrepute.”
    She was about to say something when the bell on the door jangled, announcing Wainwright’s reentry. “Honey, I’ve got to go. Parker and I have to go meet with members of the Historical Society. Charlie Bouchet is pressuring me to buy and restore Our Lady of St. Agnes, and I’m just not sure it’s a wise use of funds.”
    “I think John and I can handle the rest of this without your input,” Julia said sweetly.
    Frowning at her, Wainwright turned to John. “Don’t let her railroad you out of here. She’s tricky and