The priest ushered us into his sitting room, furnished with antiques, and sat on a small, red tartan settee. I glanced around for a housekeeper or someone else and seeing no one around, walked over and squatted in front of Father Gilmartin.
“Can I fix you some tea, or a small whisky, Father?”
He smiled up at me, the rheumy eyes creasing at the corners. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Tea, please. That would be lovely, Wes. My housekeeper went away home early since sheknew I’d be hosting the families at the church this evening.” He pointed. “The kitchen is right through there.”
I stood and met Patsy’s eyes. “Be right back.”
“I’ll help ya.” He glanced at Napoleon. “Stay with Father Gilmartin.”
“Of course.”
Patsy’s big friend sat on the couch beside the priest, leaning close and saying something I couldn’t hear as Patsy started after me. As soon as we were out of earshot, he stopped me. “Are ya crazy?”
I frowned at him. “What?”
“Followin’ those men. What did ya think ya were goin’ to do if ya caught up to them?”
“I didn’t think that far ahead…maybe I just wanted to get a better look at them so I could give an accurate description to the police.”
Patsy lifted his shirt, showing me the sidearm he wore at his belt. “And I’m the one armed. If it escaped yer notice, yer not.”
I frowned. “And I suppose you would have shot them.” I waved my hand at the window. “With all those families out there.”
He thinned his lips. “No! I—”
“No, you wouldn’t. I know we just met and we don’t know each other very well, but I know one thing. You would have done anything to avoid putting a child in the crosshairs of assholes who beat up priests.” I shook my head when his mouth dropped open. Deciding it was better to get the father some tea, than to stand there looking at how sexy his mouth looked, I turned awayfrom him, walking over to turn on the kettle. When I glanced back, his phone was in his hand and he was calling someone.
“Who’re you calling?”
He held up a finger. “Cassidy? This is Agent Patsy Good.” He paused. “Hi there…grand…yes…hey listen…I don’t s’pose you and Detective Williams are workin’ tonight—” There was another short pause. “Oh, aye…that’s good because somethin’ happened and I could use ya help.” He paused again. “No, Cassidy, not the team, just me and Napoleon.” Another pause. “Yes, everyone’s good as gold, but I’m at Father Gilmartin’s house, an elderly priest at the Blessed Sacrament in Hollywood. He was assaulted tonight and rather than call it in, I was wonderin’ if you and Mike wouldn’t mind stoppin’ by and speakin’ to him about the incident.”
He paused again as I began looking for the teabags in the cabinets. “He’s okay. They landed a punch to his solar plexus, and he’s not wantin’ to make a big fuss about it, but I think—” He paused again and seemed to absently reach for a tin before handing it to me.
“Yes, that would be grand. The church—ya know it?”
I opened the tin and found loose leaf black tea. Patsy pointed to what looked like an ugly orange and brown knitted hat with a pompom sitting on the counter. He pulled it off and revealed a sturdy, brown teapot. Running the hot water, he filled the pot, and held up a finger while he gave the other party directions. When he finally thanked the man on the phone, I held up the tin.
Without asking, he tipped out the hot water, and said, “One spoon for each person and one for the pot. That was a friend of mine. He’s a detective out of LAPD’s Brentwood division, but he works better with us than some of those feckers here inHollywood.” He stepped closer. “I’m sorry I took ya head off, Wes. Seein’ Father Gilmartin hurt, shook me up.”
He poured the boiling water over the tea and refitted the tea hat.
I smiled. “It’s okay, Patsy.” I moved past him, headed for the sitting room.
“Did ya get a look at them…other than from a distance?” he asked from behind me.
I slowed, letting him catch up. “Vaguely…enough to know they’re shorter than me by several inches. I can tell you their general builds and ages, but as far as doing a police sketch, no…I don’t think so.” He nodded at me.
“Okay then. That’s grand. Ya can give whatever description ya have to Cassidy and Mike. I promise, they’re really good guys who’ve worked with the FBI many times.” He studied my face, seeming to look for a reaction. He must have seen something because the next words out of his mouth were very kind. “They’re nothing like the coppers you’ve had contact with, Wes. I’d never ask ya to talk to them if they were.”
Warmth flooded my belly. This caring man had a way of seeing me the way few did. I couldn’t say there were a lot of people who could look past the scruffy clothing and slightly gamey smell of bathing only a few times a week at the local YMCA when I got the chance. I still hated the idea of talking to the police again but the sincere look in Patsy’s blue eyes made it impossible not to trust him. I couldn’t imagine refusing him anything, if it was in my power to give it to him. “Sure.”
He smiled again, reaching out to touch my arm. His fingers sent shivers running down my spine. “Thank ya, Wes.” We walked into the sitting room so I could hand Father Gilmartin his tea tray.
“Here you are, Father. It’s strong, black tea.”
“Did ya make it yerself, lad?”
“Patsy supervised.”
