Page 8 of Priest (Confessions 3)

“My name is Joel Priestley. But most people call me Priest.”

The man scoffed. “Yeah, okay. Sorry, but I’m not really the religious type,” he said, and then got to his feet. “Where’s Logan?”

Priest trailed his eyes up the long legs wrapped in tailored black pants, and as he inspected the leather belt wrapped around the man’s narrow waist, Priest couldn’t help but wish he was alone with the mouthy little spitfire. He’d like to teach him a lesson or two in…manners.

“He’s been held up. So for now, you’ll have to make do with me.”

As the man’s vivid azure eyes lowered back to meet his, Priest sat back in his chair, arched a cool eyebrow, and took immense pleasure when the man’s face flushed and his spine stiffened.

Yes. You feel that spark too. Don’t you, sweetheart?

“Of course, Mr. Priestley,” the older woman in the room said, breaking the connection. Mrs. Cheryl Bianchi, according to the files. “Mr. Mitchell spoke very highly of you.”

Priest said nothing in response, too caught up by the pretty distraction now walking over to the door to peer out of it.

“He said you’re the best at what you do,” she continued, and Priest most certainly had an answer for that.

“He’s right. I am,” Priest said, and caught the man by the door rolling his eyes.

So much attitude. So much fire, Priest thought, and then lowered his eyes to the red shoes again, wondering how this man would look out of that work getup, which Priest assumed his tailored pants and bright red shirt was. “Is there a reason you won’t sit down, Mister…?”

“Bianchi,” the man said as he turned Priest’s way and angled his chin up like a member of royalty deigning to speak with a mere commoner. “Robert Bianchi. And yes, I’m waiting for Logan to get back.”

“Robert,” Cheryl said. “Come and sit down or you’ll wear a hole in the floor.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed a fraction on Priest, and then he slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants and walked back to the two women. He took a seat beside Vanessa, crossed his legs, and said, “Logan told us you were only here for a little while. Where do you usually work?”

“Los Angeles,” Priest said, and got the impression that Robert had taken an instant dislike to him—right around the moment he’d realized he was attracted to Priest.

“And how do we know you’re good enough to get Vanessa off?”

“Because if I decide to take something on, I always make sure to get the person off.” Priest made sure to keep his expression neutral as he locked horns with the man across from him. But when Robert ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, Priest’s eyes fell to follow its path without any conscious thought from him.

“Robert,” Cheryl snapped. “Stop grilling the man and give him a chance to talk.”

“I’m just making sure he’s capable.”

Priest sat forward in his chair and rested his arms on the table as he sized Robert up. It had been a long time—well, since he first met Julien—that someone had been so impertinent with him, and the pull Priest felt toward Mr. Robert Bianchi was a difficult one to resist.

“I assure you, I am more than capable. I’m the best. That is why I have the luxury of being able to pick and choose the cases I work of those I suspect have been wronged. Your cousin’s is one of them. What she did was foolish, but after ten minutes of talking to her, I feel that I can help.” Priest looked to Vanessa. “Trying to hide drugs from the police, even if they weren’t yours, was a bad move. It made you look guilty—”

“But I’m not,” Vanessa said, her voice as timid as a mouse, even though she was trying her hardest to project it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Priest said, his tone cool, calm, and direct. “You look guilty. That’s all the jury has to see, and feel, to put you behind bars for the next eighteen years.”

“Hey?” Robert interrupted, his tone pissy, his expression fiercely protective as he leaned forward on his crossed legs and waved a finger Priest’s way. “You want to maybe cool it on the whole doom-and-gloom spiel? I thought you were here to help.”

“I thought I was here to do my job. Not lie to make you feel better.”

Robert’s mouth fell open, and his eyes practically bugged out of his head before he finally got himself under control enough to say, “You’re very rude.”

“I am? You’re the one who decided I couldn’t do this before you even spoke to me. You’re still looking out the door now waiting for Logan.” Which, Priest had to admit, was pissing him off more than it should.

“Robert,” Cheryl said. “Hush. Mr. Priestley isn’t telling us anything we don’t already know. Your Mr. Mitchell told us the exact same thing.”

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