“This is our kingdom.” He waved his hand, indicating the hotel. “Or will be when I’m done with it.”

“But Fuller beat us to it. It’s sold.”

“I’ll buy it from him. And if he won’t sell, I’ll steal it.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Sam said in a stern voice. “Seriously. Politicians suck up to Reverend Fuller all the time just so he’ll tell his TV flock to donate to their campaigns. He’s famous. He’s important. And he will not be happy if you fuck with him.”

“Do you want his church in this town?” Kingsley asked.

“No,” she admitted. “I hate his church.”

He looked at her through narrowed eyes.

“Tell me why you’re on my side,” Kingsley ordered. Sam didn’t answer at first.

Finally she spoke.

“The Fullers... Their church... They run reorienting camps.”

“What are those?”

“It’s where they send gay kids to try to turn them straight.”

“That can’t be legal,” Kingsley said, eying her with horror.

“It’s legal. There are hundreds of kids at those camps right now.”

“That gives me even more reason to fuck with him.”

Sam sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“Sam, I dreamed of this building. I recognized it the second I saw the picture in the paper. This is fate.”

“Fate is a bad thing. Fate is why Oedipus screwed his mother and lost his eyeballs.”

“My mother is dead. I’ll get a guide dog. I always wanted a dog.”

“You’re crazy. You’re going to buy his church from Reverend Fuller and turn it into an S and M club?”

“You know you love this idea. Admit it.”

“Get back at Fuller and his fucking church? Let’s do it.”

“Keep that bottle of champagne I bought tonight.”

“Why?”

“We’ll drink it together, you and I, on opening night.”

“I serve at your pleasure, Your Majesty.” She gave him a mock bow.

“Good,” Kingsley said. “Now let’s build a kingdom.”

15

KINGSLEY WAS DISAPPOINTED but not surprised when Fuller’s ministry refused to sell the Renaissance to him. He upped his offer, and they turned it down flat. He tried buying the building through one of his more legitimate fronts, a fake travel agency he “owned” as a way to manage excess cash flow, and Fuller still wouldn’t sell.

Time for Plan B.

“What’s Plan B?” Sam asked as she flipped a page on her clipboard. For a week, she’d been working for Kingsley, and so far she’d done everything he’d told her to do in a timely and efficient manner. He’d told her to go buy a computer if she wanted one. Instead, she kept his entire life in order on her clipboard.

“Plan B is blackmail,” Kingsley said as he took a seat behind his desk. “We need dirt on the Fullers. Real dirt.”

“What kind of dirt?”

“Any dirt will do as long as it sticks. Do you know anything incriminating about the church?”

“Um...well, they’re very fundamentalist. They believe women should submit to their husbands.”

“That’s terrible. What if the husband’s the submissive?”

“Kingsley, be serious. A lot of the men in the church beat their wives because of that mind-set.”

“I believe it, but as horrible as that is, that’s dirt on the church, not the Fullers. We need to find out if Fuller is beating his wife. Or cheating on her. Or laundering money. Or anything. But whatever it is, it has to be something he is directly involved in. We don’t need a bullet. We need a bomb.”

Sam sighed and ran her hands through her hair. Her warm hazel eyes shone with deep intelligence, and he’d been impressed by how quickly she’d learned names in his house.

“A bomb? That’s not going to be easy. The Fullers have been around forever,” she said. “I think Reverend Fuller inherited the ministry from his father.”

“Bizarre.”

“What is?”

“Inheriting a church from your father. My only experience with religion is with the Catholic church. Priests have sons sometimes, but they don’t go around handing the keys of the church over to them.”

“I don’t know much about Catholics. I’m pretty comfortably agnostic. What are you?”

“I’m French,” Kingsley said.

“I’m asking about your religion.”

“That is my religion. And fucking with Fuller is my new religion,” Kingsley said.

“Are you sure about this? I want to fuck with Fuller, too, but he’s powerful. More powerful than you are.”

“That hurts.”

“You said you have a DA and his wife in your pocket. Fuller has the governor in his. And the mayor.”

“I don’t care who his friends are. I don’t care how big his church is. I’m not going to let him turn this city into his playground, Sam. This is my city,” Kingsley said. The thought of some Bible-thumping preacher bringing his message of hate to New York turned Kingsley’s stomach. He could imagine what Fuller would have to say about him and Søren and what had passed between them back at school. Kingsley knew in his soul—if he had one—that nothing he and Søren did had been a sin. Fuller and his kind could go fuck themselves.