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you.”
    She smiled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Kit,” she said, “is the teenager all parents pray their child won’t turn into. Sullen, rude, impetuous and lazy. She’s also smart and beautiful and talented. Strong, in the same way my mother was strong. Every once in a while, the clouds will part and I’ll catch a glimpse of Momma in there. Then the clouds move back in, and I’m convinced Kit’s some doppelganger planted by aliens for the express purpose of driving me crazy.”
    His smile returned, turning those golden eyes of his to molten lava. “She sounds like a normal teenager to me.”
    “If by normal, you mean obnoxious and unhappy and thoroughly unlikable, then yes, she’s normal.” Sarah’s voice softened. “I have to tell you this up front, Father. I’d lay down my life for that girl. I don’t expect you to understand. I know you’re concerned about the risks. So am I. Not for myself, but for you. If you got into trouble because of me, I’d feel terrible. But I’m desperate, and—”
    “It wouldn’t be the first time. Do you have a picture of her?”
    “Right here.” She fumbled in her purse, pulled it out, and slid it across the desk. “What do you mean, it wouldn’t be the first time?”
    He glanced at the picture. “Pretty girl. She looks just like you.” He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper, picked up a felt-tipped pen in his left hand, and began writing. Even upside-down, his handwriting was distinctive. Like him, it was dark and bold and elegant. “I’ve been in trouble before,” he said. “The sky didn’t fall.” Still writing, he added, “I need some information about Kit. Height, weight, date of birth, any identifying characteristics.”
    She answered his questions, watched his hand as it followed the words across the paper. His fingers were long and narrow, his wrist bony and lightly dusted with dark hair. “Are you sure you’re really a priest?” she said.
    He crossed a final
t
, capped the pen and glanced up at her. “You know,” he said, “that’s the same question I ask myself at least twice a day. Do you like flowers?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Flowers. One of my parishioners gave me two tickets to the spring flower show. If I invite my secretary—” he glanced at the closed door and grimaced “—let’s just say it’s not a good idea for me to invite my secretary. We’re walking a fine line already. If you’re free for a couple of hours, I’ll treat you to a taste of spring. While we’re looking at flowers, we’ll cook up some kind of game plan for finding your niece.”
    His offer was tempting. All those flowers. An abundance of color and sweetness to feed her withered soul and provide some respite from winter’s monotony. And it wouldn’t be terribly painful to spend the next couple of hours in his presence. The man was charming and intelligent, and he exuded an energy so fierce the air around him vibrated with it. The fact that he was a priest was an asset. She wouldn’t have to worry that he’d make any moves on her.
    “I’ll have to call Josie,” she said. “I can’t just disappear in the middle of a busy Saturday. She’ll think I got mowed down by a transit bus.”
    He picked up the phone, held the receiver in midair. “I’ll give her a call. What’s the number?”
    She gave in to the inevitable and reeled off Bookmark’s phone number. Standing, he pulled a shapeless black wool coat from the coatrack beside his desk. “Jose?” he said as he shrugged into it. “It’s Clancy. I’m kidnapping your boss for a couple of hours.”
    The coat reached past his knees, exaggerating his lanki-ness. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he leaned to open a desk drawer, pulled out an envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. “Fine, then,” he said, shifting the phone back to his left hand. “Don’t look for her until you see the whites of her eyes.”
    When he ushered Sarah into the outer office,