“Please, sit.” His voice is measured, but there’s an edge underneath I can’t quite identify.
Once again, there aren’t enough chairs. Charlie and I take the two facing the desk while Marcus and Elijah stand behind us. I’m hyperaware of Charlie’s presence beside me, of the way her dress clings to curves that will soon change with pregnancy.
I imagine her body swelling with our child, imagine my hands spanning her growing stomach, imagine claiming her while she’s round and full and mine.
Stop.I force my thoughts back to the present danger.
The Bishop pulls a manila envelope from his briefcase, setting it on the desk between us. “I received an anonymous letter three days ago. Detailed allegations about inappropriate relationships between clergy and a young female parishioner.” His steel-gray eyes move between the four of us. “The letter included dates, times, and locations. Very specific information.”
My hands curl into fists on my lap. This is it. We’re done.
“However,” the Bishop continues, and the word makes me look up sharply, “I’ve been a priest for forty years. I know when I’m being manipulated.” He opens the envelope, spreading photographs across the desk. “These images were included with the letter. They show the four of you in various compromising positions. Or they appear to.”
I lean forward, studying the photos with growing confusion.
There’s one of Charlie and me in the garden, standing close enough that it looks intimate.
But the angle is wrong, the perspective distorted.
Another shows Marcus’s hand on Charlie’s during communion preparation, but the timestamp doesn’t match our actual schedule that day.
A third captures Elijah and Charlie in the choir loft, their bodies angled toward each other in ways that suggest more than professional interaction, but I know for a fact Elijah was at a diocesan meeting when that photo was supposedly taken.
“These are doctored,” Marcus says, his accent thickening with barely contained rage. “The timestamps are wrong. The locations don’t match.”
“Precisely.” The Bishop’s expression shifts to something that might be approval. “Which led me to investigate Victory Life Church’s involvement in your parish’s difficulties.” He pulls out more documents. “Pastor Whitmore has been targeting St. Michael’s for months. The website hack, the inspection complaints, the negative reviews. All coordinated attacks designed to force you into selling your property.”
Charlie leans forward, her hazel eyes sharp with intelligence as she studies the documents.
I watch her mind work.
Even now, even pregnant and terrified, she’s brilliant.
The realization makes my chest tight with something that feels dangerously like love.
“But why manufacture evidence about us?” Elijah asks quietly. “What does that accomplish?”
“Scandal,” the Bishop says simply. “If St. Michael’s clergy are embroiled in a sex scandal, the diocese would be forced to shut down the parish immediately. No investigation, no appeals. Just closure.” He taps one of the doctored photos. “Whitmore was counting on me accepting these at face value. He didn’t expect me to actually investigate.”
The relief flooding through me is so intense it’s almost painful. We’re not being condemned. We’re being…what? Recruited?
“Your Excellency,” I start carefully, “what are you proposing?”
The Bishop leans back, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I’m proposing an alliance. Victory Life is corrupt, and I have evidence to prove it. But I need your help gathering more. Someone inside St. Michael’s has been feeding Whitmore information, helping him coordinate these attacks.” His steel-gray eyes move between us. “I need you to help me identify who.”
Charlie’s hand finds mine beneath the desk, her fingers cold and trembling. I squeeze gently, trying to offer comfort I don’t feel.
The Bishop’s gaze drops to our joined hands, and I watch him make a note in his leather-bound journal. But he doesn’t comment, doesn’t pull us apart. Just continues as if he hasn’t seen anything.
“We have already been looking into Victory Life. We’ve found unsettling speculations, but we’re hoping to find hard evidence,” Elijah explains.
“Continue doing so.” The Bishop pulls out a list. “And see who may have connections with them as well. Mrs. Delacroix, Deacon Paul Hendricks have both shown unusual interest in your activities.” He looks at Charlie. “Including your mother, Miss Davis.”
Charlie’s face goes pale, but her voice is steady when she speaks. “Diane would absolutely sell information for the right price.”
I watch her profile as she analyzes the situation, see the way her teeth worry her bottom lip when she’s thinking.
The Bishop spreads more documents across the desk, surveillance logs and financial records that paint a damning picture of Victory Life’s operations.
