I nod, like what he says makes total sense, then act as if I’ve had a sudden realization.
“Shoot! I’m sorry, I need to text my family really quick to let them know I’ll be home late.”
“No problem,” he says.
I slip the handcuffs from beneath my thighs, push the chair back a few inches, and lower myself to the ground, pretending to dig through my bag for a phone that doesn’t exist. I use the rustling to cover the sound of a handcufflatching around the leg of the desk, then use both hands to quickly secure the other end around his ankle.
He draws his leg back, but it’s too late. “What in the world?”
I pop back up on the other side of the desk and meet his confused stare.
“What’s this all about?” he asks when I don’t provide an explanation.
Grabbing my bag, I stand and lean against the wall near the door. I’m fairly certain the desk is heavy enough that he won’t be able to lift it, but I’m not about to take my chances in case I need to make a run for it.
“And do you think you’ve done a good job at following the moral code you preach? Do you think you’ve been following God’s plan in the way He would want?”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, quickly followed by anger. “Stop playing games and let me out of this.” He attempts to stand and lift the desk to free the handcuff, but it doesn’t budge. Perfect.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He pats his pockets, searching for his cell phone, until he realizes it’s on one of the bookshelves furthest from him. Out of reach.
“Seriously, what’s this all about? Who sent you?” He’s still angry and confrontational, but panic laces his tone now.
“Maybe God sent me.” I smirk.
He scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“The truth is,” I say, “I’ve seen you in the news and wanted to figure out what was going on for myself. There seem to be a lot of people saying you’re using your status to manipulate the members of your congregation.”
“Those are just allegations from people who don’t have the full context. My lawyer is dealing with it.”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Why would so many people accuse you of something so heinous if it wasn’t true? You’re supposed to be a man of God, after all. People trust you. But I suppose that’s how you managed to fuck over so many people in the first place, right?”
His eyes narrow on me. “Like I said, the media has taken everything out of context. People are just angry that they didn’t get as much money from their dying relatives as they expected to, so they’re looking for someone to blame.”
“Hmm, is that really the story you’re going with?” Leaning down to rummage through my tote bag, I pull out a book of matches and place them on the small table beside me.
Pastor Delaney casts a wary glance at them, then pins me with a glare. “Those people wanted to help the church. I don’t know what the hell you want from me, but you’re going to regret this.”
I smile as I lean down again to pull out the gallon of gasoline in my bag.
“One more chance…”
His face pales when he makes the connection, and he pulls against the cuff around his ankle, causing the metals to clang together. “Seriously, this isn’t funny.”
“It’s not meant to be. I was hoping it might elicit a confession, though.”
“Okay, okay,” he says in a panicked tone, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Imighthave persuaded some of these people a little more than I should have, but it was all for the church!”
I cock my head, waiting for him to elaborate.
“So much needs to be fixed in this building, and I don’t have money for the repairs, and everything’s getting more expensive these days.”
“So why haven’t there been any renovations?” I ask. Idon’t know if there actually have been, but from his reaction, I seem to have guessed accurately.
“I’ve been planning them, I swear!”
