“You’re nice,” she said. “And you’re handsome. And you make me laugh. But I’m going to prison. I’ll be deported. My husband has friends. He’ll see to it.”

“I have better friends than he does. I can help you out of this.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I told you—I need you. If you agree to come work for me, I promise that, from now on, you will be doing all the beating. Do you like the sound of that?”

Kingsley stood up and looked down at her. She gazed up at him without smiling.

“I love the sound of that.”

He held out his hand to shake. Instead of shaking it, Irina lifted up her foot and put it in his palm. Flexible. Also a good sign.

Kingsley bent and kissed her boot at the ankle.

“Don’t speak to anyone,” he whispered. Detective Cooper waited for him at the door. “I’ll take care of this.”

He left her alone in the cell, and Cooper locked it behind them.

“Well?” Cooper asked.

“You were right,” Kingsley said.

“Told you so.”

“How do you know Russian?” Cooper asked, clearly impressed.

“I used to hunt there.”

“No shit. You’re a hunter? What’s there to hunt in Russia? Bears?”

Kingsley smiled. “KGB.”

Upon leaving the police station, Kingsley headed back to the town house to change clothes. He found Sam in his office.

“You have your checklist?” he asked her.

“Always,” she said, picking up a pen.

“Check off one dominatrix.”

“Check,” she said. “Is she good?”

“She’ll be perfect when I’m done with her.”

“Mistress Felicia?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on her.”

“She won’t return your calls?”

“Not a one.” Kingsley sighed. “But I’ll keep trying. You keep digging on Reverend Fuller. I have to leave again.”

“Again? Where to this time? More secret sex missions?”

Kingsley sighed heavily. “If only.”

Kingsley changed clothes and made it to the North Meadow of Central Park by 3:05 p.m.

He stood there by the grass feeling foolish. Here he was, notorious club owner and underground figure, standing in Central Park in a white T-shirt and black-and-red running pants. He had work to do, professionals to hire, bigoted televangelists to blackmail, a Russian husband-poisoner to get out of jail. He was building a kingdom. He didn’t have time for—

Balls.

A soccer ball sailed toward Kingsley’s head. He grabbed it out of the air before it made impact.

“Keeps your balls out of my face,” Kingsley said as Søren jogged over to him. He wore black track pants, a black T-shirt and sunglasses. Even in casual attire he still looked like a fucking priest.

“You almost ended up with a black eye,” Søren said. “Pay more attention.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Kingsley looked down at the ball in his hand.

“I thought you’d want some retribution for the day I scored on you in school.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Kingsley said.

“You can’t have sex for two weeks. That has to give you at least a spare ten minutes a day,” Søren said.

“Ten minutes? Ten? You know I can last longer than ten minutes.”

“Do I? I seem to recall having to punish you a few times—”

“I was sixteen. And I’m leaving. Sam needs me to help her with the files.”

Kingsley turned around, intending to head back to the street.

“Coward,” Søren said.

“What did you call me?” Kingsley turned back around.

“You heard me. Are you intimidated because I’m taller than you are? Or is it because I’ve been living in Italy where the best football players in the world live?”

“France. The best football players in the world are in France.”

“I heard Denmark had a better team this year.” Søren dropped the ball and juggled it with a few deft kicks on his foot.

“My high school team could have beat Denmark this year.”

Søren kicked the ball three feet in the air. Kingsley caught it.

“You’re trying to get me to play with you. It won’t work,” he said.

“Why not? Scared I’ll beat you?”

“You forget, I like it when you beat me. But you’re very arrogant and proud of yourself,” Kingsley said. “And I’m fully capable of destroying you right now, and I’m not sure you’ll ever recover from the blow to your massive blond ego.”

“We seem to have acquired an audience,” Søren said, glancing around. Kingsley noticed at least a dozen young women in shorts and barely-there T-shirts had gathered round, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably.

“He’s a Catholic priest,” Kingsley yelled at them. The girls booed.

“He’s not.” Søren called out to them.

The girls cheered.

“I can’t have sex for two weeks,” Kingsley reminded him.

“You know you can spend time with someone you’re attracted to without having sex with them.”

“You really have lost your mind.”

“Try it. I dare you.”

“Drop the fucking ball,” Kingsley said.